Chapter 4

By the time they got back to Starsky's house Hutch's arm was throbbing mercilessly and his temper had just about reached rock bottom. It was bad enough that he'd been threatened with demotion, dragged to a Chinese restaurant to compete with his best friend for a girl's attention and spent the night worrying about the narrowing of Starsky's eyes when he moved too quickly. To be shot, albeit by accident by his best friend was one step too far and the anger bubbled beneath the surface like a geyser. Hutch mumbled under his breath as they drove through the quiet streets. He hugged his forearm to him and experimentally waggled his fingers now that the initial shock had worn off. They moved easily enough and the blond admitted to himself that nothing was broken except maybe his temper. Sure he'd have a helluva bruise and another scar to add to his list, but the stray bullet had done little damage in the scheme of things.

Starsky, on the other hand was also beside himself with anger – but at himself and not Hutch. How could he –a detective with more than ten years experience- have allowed his gun to go of like that? Was he getting slow? Was his head more fucked than he had at first thought after his fight in the alley with Kim? He'd come so close to seriously injuring his partner and yet he couldn't bring himself to speak. Instead he drove back to his house at his "compromise" speed of 29 miles per hour, keeping one eye on the road and the other on the blond at his side. Each time Hutch shifted in his seat or took a surreptitious look beneath his sleeve at his arm, Starsky's stomach gave a little lurch and he gripped the steering wheel harder. By the time they pulled up outside Ridgeway, both men were stiff and sore from their injuries and their pent up anger.

'Are you comin' in?' Starsky asked quietly.

'Uh huh. I can't drive tonight. Arm hurts too much' Hutch replied, looking straight ahead rather than at his buddy.

'Damn' Starsky whispered as he opened the car door. He made a small pain noise as he eased himself out of the vehicle and limped around to the passenger side to open the door for Hutch. The blond got out, wincing at the movement and stood with his back to the car as he watched Starsky haul himself up the steps to his front door. Without thinking about it, he swallowed down a chuckle, his anger dissipating rapidly. Starsky looked over his shoulder.

'Pardon me?'

Hutch shook his head. 'I'm sorry Starsk, but looking at the pair of us, would anyone really think we're supposed to be big bad cops?'

Starsky looked down at his partner. Hutch's arm had stopped bleeding, but his gore still stained the front of his shirt. Starsky's shirt was also stained red although whether it was from Hutch's arm or one of his own wounds he didn't know. All Starsky knew for sure was that he had a massive headache and his body felt as though it had been threaded through a mangle. Despite his resolve to remain angry all night, he too grinned.

'Hey, the chicks love scars. We gotta get 'em some way.'

The mirth left Hutch's face. With Starsky's shooting being just less than twelve months ago, the joke about scars was a little too close to the truth. Starsky saw the shadow fall over his friend's face and the rest of his anger dissolved like an ice cube in the rain. Hutch had remained with him throughout his recovery while many other partners would simply have tutted, made the right noises, bought flowers and moved on to the next partner. Theirs was more than friendship, more than love, more than brotherhood. Theirs was a relationship forged on the anvil of life and it would take something huge to part them.

'C'mon Blintz. Lets' get ya cleaned up huh?'

'Thought you'd never ask' Hutch grunted as he made his way up the steps and into Starsky's apartment. As the brunet started to find beer in the fridge and a pizza in the ice box, Hutch made his way through to the bathroom. They knew each other well enough to not need to ask. Both men kept a change of clothes at the others house for emergencies and since the shooting Hutch often stayed over, especially in the early days after Starsky's release from the hospital. The night of "four pain killers, feel no pain" were a dim and distant memory and once the pain killers wore off, the brunet was in agony for months. Now having been back at work and on active duty for just over 6 weeks, the old Starsky was back, new and improved and with even more to prove to the other detectives on the team. As he had said to Hutch on his first day back at work, they had always been Dobey's number one team and five pieces of lead weren't ever going to change that.

Hutch let the hot water pound down on the back of his neck. It felt good to let the cares of the day flow down the drain with the soapy water and although the bite of the soap in the wound on his arm was sharp and immediate, the more he moved the arm, the better it seemed to be. At the end of the shower, Hutch had eased the kinks out of his muscles and although the towel he used to dry himself was soon streaked with blood, the wound on his arm was clean and no more than a couple of inches long. He blessed whatever god was looking after him that it had been nothing more serious. Easing himself into a pair of grey sweatpants, the blond walked out into the living room just in time to see his partner getting the first aid box ready.

'My God. It's Florence McNightlight and her Deadly Lampshade' he grinned as Starsky patted the seat next to him.

'Dr Dave's surgery is now open. Pull up a gunshot wound and sit down' the brunet muttered, placing Hutch's arm on a clean white towel while he looked at the gash.

'It's fine. Stick a bandaid on it and go wash up.'

'Shudup Hutch. I could've killed ya back there.'

The blond winced as Starsky cleaned the wound some more with antiseptic. 'Shit! Was that an apology?'

'The closest you'll get to one. But really, what did happen back there?'

'We let things get outa hand.'

Starsky looked up and his eyes were clouded with misery. 'We? Or I did? I've never been so eager to pull a gun. I've never been so sloppy with it.'

'You were angry, and so was I. So we spend some more time on the firing range and in the mean time……'

'In the mean time what? I take a water pistol out with me? I mean it Hutch. I could've got ya killed. Is this as a result of…..ya know……the shooting……or sumthin else?'

Hutch sighed and put his finger on the bandage Starsky had wrapped around his arm while his friend tied the knot to hold it in place. 'We've been over this Starsk. The police shrink has been over this. You are gonna feel unsure of yourself maybe for the rest of your life. Anyone who came back from the dead is gonna feel the effects, but you can't keep second guessing yourself. If you're gonna question every action you take, then we're finished. We resign, find a nice little condo by the sea and live out a long, healthy and boring retirement.'

'Don't wanna resign.'

'Then for fucks sake stop feeling sorry for yourself! Shit happens. This could have happened years ago, but it didn't. We live with guns day in and day out buddy. Jeez, I've even been known to sleep with mine. So something like this was bound to happen to one of us. Don't put it down to you bein' shot. If anything put it down to the fact that Kim beat your brains out this morning.'

Starsky cocked his head on one side. 'You had to remind me! You had to say it didn't ya? Being shot was sumthin I couldn't help. Getting beat to a pulp by some acne faced, rice eatin', Bruce Lee look alike is sumthin I'd rather forget.'

It was Hutch's turn to chuckle. 'Confucius say "With age comes wisdom and with age also comes the ability to be beaten to a pile of crap by someone younger and fitter".'

Starsky snickered. 'You say the nicest things' he grunted as he got up from the sofa. 'I'm gonna go and get a shower.'

'I'll fix the pizza.'

Starsky walked through to the bathroom. He ached in places he didn't know he could ache and the annoying whistling in his ear was still loud as ever. Now accompanied by a huge headache, for a moment Starsky almost did the unthinkable and asked to go to the hospital to get checked out. Yet something –probably the fact that he'd spent almost 12 months being prodded and poked by various members of the medical profession stopped him and instead, he turned on the water full force and started to undress.

Back in the kitchen, Hutch was struggling with the new jar of coffee on the counter top. His left hand refused to hold the jar tight enough to unscrew the tight top and his anger was once more surfacing. 'You got a lot to answer for buddy' he muttered under his breath. Out loud he yelled for the brunet and waited. There was no reply and Hutch stalked over to the bathroom door.

'Starsk, open the damned coffee jar huh? Starsk? Starsky!' there was no answer and softly the blond opened the bathroom door, letting his breath out in a low whistle as he saw his buddy naked through the steam. 'Shit! Why didn't ya tell me?'

Starsky turned with a guilty look on his face. He'd managed to get out of his clothes knowing he hurt too much for this to be only a bruise. He felt sick to his stomach as he saw the blackening area over his left rib, overlaying the scar from the third bullet that had taken him out a year ago. The doctors had told him this would always be a weak spot. Healed bone over that area would be thinner than anywhere else, but he'd never expected it to break so readily.

'I didn't know. Truly' Starsky said in a small voice.

Hutch paused, not knowing whether to hug the smaller man to him or to yell at him for not being more careful. The look on Starsky's face told him to do neither and he took a step backwards. 'Get cleaned up Gordo. Dinners nearly ready' he managed to mumble.

Starsky watched the man go. Hutch's face was always so easy to read and the look on his face now indicated that Starsky had seriously pissed him off –and not from the gunshot. Starsky's recovery had been almost as tough for Hutch as it had been for himself. Sure, Starsky had had to endure the pain, the infections and the daily grind of physiotherapy, but Hutch had been there riding the highs and lows of his recovery with him. For weeks, the blond had never left his side and Hutch's own health had suffered as a consequence, so that in the end he'd been referred to the police shrink for counselling. For Starsky to have been hurt again so soon after returning to active duty…… the brunet felt as though he'd let his partner down in some way, and that hurt almost more than the busted rib.

Pulling himself together mentally, Starsky eased himself into the shower and stood beneath the hot water until it started to run cold. Even then, it was an effort to get his ass out, dried and dressed sufficiently to face Hutch over a beer and a slice of pizza. He dressed sufficiently to cover up the incriminating bruises and opened the door to the living room, ready for the recriminations that would surely follow. Yes, he'd been stupid. Sure, he'd been impulsive and no, Mom, he wouldn't do it again. Starsky opened his mouth to apologise before Hutch got the chance to get in there with both barrels blazing and then closed it again quickly. Hutch was sitting on the chair, his feet up on the coffee table and his head resting against the chair back. The bottle of beer was held loosely in his right hand and his injured left hand was cradled across his chest. His eyes were closed and from the soft snuffling noises, it was obvious he was asleep.

Starsky grinned. Hutch's back wasn't going to like him in the morning, but it seemed such a shame to wake the blond man just to have him go home to go to sleep again. He tiptoed to his cupboard, brought out a comforter and gently laid it over Hutch's sleeping body. Short of kissing him goodnight –something both men drew the line at- Starsky could do little more and so with a sigh, he took his own bottle of beer, lay down carefully on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Maybe tomorrow he'd learn to control his temper.

Maybe that was a pig that had just flown past his window!