Chapter 7 (By Kirsty Welsh)
Hutch huddled over the bed, never letting go of Starsky's hand. He had no idea how long he stayed there, not moving, hardly breathing in case the precarious balance of his partner's life was tipped into oblivion. The brunet looked so terribly delicate laid in the hospital bed, a single white sheet covering his nakedness. The nurses explained it was easier, with such sick patients if the didn't have to fuss with pyjama pants and shirts. The added movements caused by removing them for various procedures adding to the patient's discomfort. But truth to tell, with the terrible state of the smaller mans' legs, it would have been almost impossible to put pants over them, not to say downright murderously painful. The bag from the catheter dangled over the side of the bed, making sure that one again the brunet didn't need to move even for that most basic of functions.
All in all, there was not a thing that Starsky was able to do for himself, save for allowing his heart to beat rhythmically inside his damaged and bandaged chest.
Hutch closed his eyes, wondering what to say to his partner. Once upon a time, words came so easily to him. Once upon a time he would have started prattling about anything and everything. Once upon a time, their friendship had been as strong as Everest, and it had seemed, just as unbreakable. This felt more as though he were starting over with a new friendship, as though he hardly knew the man he'd spent the last 10 years with. And yet, in a way, he was starting over.
When they had the massive falling out over Kira, he'd felt as though life was coming to an end. Starsky was angry at him. No, scrap that. There was more than anger. There was hurt and betrayal and fear. Fear that what they once had, had come to an abrupt and mindless end. When they'd finally gotten to talking again, it had been strained but they'd both worked at their friendship all over again and it had healed, mending almost all of the cracks in their relationship. And although it was never quite as good as new, it was still closer than most men get to a partner, male or female in a lifetime.
But when Starsky had walked out of his life those months ago, Hutch felt as though he would most likely die. What was the saying? You don't know what you've got till it's gone? He'd berated himself all over again for the things he'd said: the vitriolic tirade he'd used back that Easter when his still healing partner had arrived at his house in the Easter Bunny costume. Shit, it was Starsky that was hurting. It was Starsky who'd been told that the life he loved, and lived for as a street cop was at an end. And it was Starsky who was trying bravely and without recriminations to get on with his life in the only way he knew how – with humour and a virtual two fingers at the world.
But what had Hutch done? He'd felt sorry for himself. He'd shut himself away from the one man who understood what not having a partner at his side meant to him. He'd closed down, trying, he supposed to ease the burden of having to look for someone else to watch his back. And, more importantly, from going back to the same job he too loved and hiding his happiness at his return from Starsky. Because that would hurt both of them too much. However Starsky might tell the blond that he was happy for him and he should get right on with his life, Hutch would never be able to ignore that tiny little bit of unhappiness and jealousy in those indigo eyes.
The nurse came into the room and shook him from his reverie. She went to the bed, checking flow rates on the drips, measuring vitals and noting her observations down on the chart which she hung at the bottom of the brunet's bed.
'How's he doing?' Hutch asked, his voice cracking.
'He's holding his own. He's no worse than when he came in here' she said.
'No worse? But no better either?'
She grasped Hutch's shoulder and patted it gently. 'No news is good news. Especially at this stage of his recovery. We just need to keep watching and monitoring. The rest is up to him. So long as he has the will to live and something to fight for he'll pull through'. She looked at the haggard face of the blond, his mussed flaxen hair, his five o'clock shadow of bristles and the slight tremble in his hands. 'Can I get you anything?'
Hutch thought for a moment. He longed for some "down time" when the pain of seeing his partner like this didn't hurt quite so much. He longed for someone to wave a magic wand and make t all better, but that only happened in fairy tales and his life was more of a tragedy than a child's story. He longed for oblivion and he made his decision.
'Erm….its kinda embarrassing' he said, forcing a smile. 'My Doctor gave me something to calm me down a little. I was erm…..taking work too seriously, ya know the thing? Anyway, he gave me some….erm….Valium tablets and said I really needed to take them regularly, but in my rush over here, I forgot 'em. Is there any chance you could….'
'I'm sorry Sir. We aren't allowed to give out medication without sight of a doctor's prescription'.
Hutch felt the hunger claw at his stomach, the yearning for the drug more intense now that it was so far away. He put a winning smile on his face and tried again.
'And that's a very sensible approach. Do you think maybe you could …erm….ring my doctor? His surgery should be open soon. I'm sure he'd verify that I am who I am. I don't look like a junkie do I?'
The nurse appraised the flaxen haired man. She saw a tired face, but she put that down to worry for his friend. She saw black circles under the eyes, but that too would be the worry. And she saw a handsome, open countenance, asking for her help. He was a policeman wasn't he? And all cops were good guys. She dithered between rules and regulations and maybe scoring with the handsome blond.
Hutch saw the indecision and went in for the kill. 'I'd go home for my own supply, but I don't want to leave him here on his own, just in case he wakes up. We've been through so much together. I'd hate for him to wake and think he was on his own. He'd be so scared'.
That did it. He saw the indecision flee from her eyes, knowing that she'd probably been told about the brunet's heroic recovery by her friends on the ward.
'I'll see what I can do' she dimpled and left.
Hutch felt weak for asking, but the pull of the drug which made him feel warm and fuzzy enough not to notice how much pain he was really in, was just too much. He'd battled heroin and had never gone back to that most pernicious of drugs, but somehow, with a Doctor's script in his hand, Hutch didn't feel that there was anything too wrong in the Valium. It was just one more way to see him through the day, and coupled with a half bottle of bourbon at night to wash down his final tablet, he got reasonably good night of sleep too.
He clutched at the hand that was shaking against the white sheet of Starsky's bed and held on to it, despising the fact that he couldn't get through the days without some chemical messing up his body. He looked at the unconscious man in the bed next to him.
God Starsk. You used to high as a kite on a couple'a aspirin! And here am I hitting the bottle every night and drowning my sorrows with cheap liquor too. Ok Hutchinson, enough is enough! He's gonna need you now more 'n' ever so sort yourself out. No more pills. No more booze. You've gotta clean up your act and soon. If he recov…..NO. When he recovers he's not gonna want a lush looking after him. You can do this. You kicked the heroin. Ya can kick this too.
At that moment, the nurse returned with a tiny paper cup containing the Valium and a glass of water. She held them out to the blond. 'Doctor says take this it'll make you feel better. We wouldn't want you being sick too, would we? But he says not to broadcast the fact we've given you the meds. Its so against the rules. I'd be fired immediately for persuading him' she smiled.
Hutch's hand went out instinctively for the pill, and he took the cup and glass. 'Thanks' he said as she departed, busily going on to the next person she had to fix.
The flaxen haired cop looked down at the small brown and white pill nestling in the bottom of the cup. His hand shook so that it wobbled from side to side dancing a "come hither" dance for him, taunting him to swallow the blissful peace that he knew it would bring.
You can't. You've just made a promise to yourself that you'd clean up your act. Don't take it. Don't… but the doctor said it would be good for me. He told the nurse I hadn't to get sick… but it's still a tablet Hutchinson. It's still another chemical in your body… I know, but this is the final one. After this one, I won't take any more; ever… you're weak… I'm not, the Doc said… you're hiding behind his words. Stop it. Have some guts for once in your life!... .I have, just, just not tonight… hurts too much tonight. Tomorrow I'll be stronger. Tomorrow's another day and I can start over. Yes, that's it, better to start over on a new day.
Hutch poured the pill into his mouth and washed it down with the water. The doctor had said he should take it, right? Well who was he to argue with the doctor's orders? He sat back in his chair, head back, and closed his eyes, waiting for the effects of the antidepressant to kick in. his hands jittered at his side and his body craved the fiery burn of the bourbon, but that he could hold out against. For tonight, Hutch wouldn't take a drop, he knew that. Starsky needed him to be here for him and although the Valium would calm him, the bourbon would just send him to sleep and he didn't want to sleep. He wanted to be here when Starsky awoke, so that his blond friend would be the first thing those indigo eyes saw when they opened.
He looked again at the man on the bed. Just how many times had he been in this same position? The time of Bellamy's poison, when Starsky had had his lifespan counted in hours rather than years. That time he'd managed to save his partner, finding the antidote in the nick of time and allowing the doctors to concoct an antitoxin. The time in the Italian Restaurant had been no joke either. The lie he'd told his friend about having a little shoulder wound hadn't really be believed. Starsky had known that a shoulder wound wouldn't hurt so much and sap all the warmth from his body. That night at the hospital, Hutch had, as usual, paced the tile floor waiting for news and had been relieved beyond words when the doctor had told him they'd taken the slug from the very top of Starskys left lung.
Too many times, friend. Too many times I've had to wait for news of you. Too many hours in these hospital chairs.
And then there was the real doozy, when Gunther's hitmen had driven past the Torino peppering it with lead. Three bullets the newspapers had said. Three bullets had hit the curly haired cop. Dobey had seen four. He told the guys in the makeshift squad room down the hall that Starsky had been hit four times. But only Hutch and Starsky knew that five white hot pieces of metal had impacted on olive toned flesh that day. Five slugs that tore up his partner's insides until they were just so much red meat, and Starsky had battled each and every one of them until the tears ran down his face and he'd plead with Hutch for just a little more morphine and maybe just a little earlier than the six hours between doses.
Hutch felt the pull of the Valium in his system now. It slowed down his heartbeat and made the pit of his stomach feel warm and full. He cherished the feeling for the numbness it brought to his mind. He didn't need to think. He didn't need to worry or hurt. For just a few hours he could be happy and peaceful.
Until the next dose was due.
In six hours.
'Please Blintz, just a little now. It hurts so much it… ungh… please gimme some now. I know its only five hours, but it's so bad today. Please… c'mon. JUST GIMME SOMETHING, anything… a bullet maybe?...'
His partner's pleadings ran through his mind. The weeks of agonising pain the brunet had endured was for the most part accomplished in tight lipped stoicism. But just occasionally, maybe after a dressing change or a fresh procedure, not even Starsky with his almost superhuman tolerance for pain could stop himself from longing for a needleful of morphine.
And you can't get through six hours without some drug to take your mind away to lala land! Oh Hutchinson, you really are one messed up, shambling son of a bitch! It doesn't hurt… well not physically and yet you can't do without your fix.
Hutch sighed. Enough recriminations for tonight. He pulled himself up straighter and tugged at the corner of the sheet on the bed, straightening out a minute crease there. He stood and ran a hand through the curls on his partner's head, his fingers gently tracing the long cut down the forehead.
'C'mon buddy. Wake up. For me huh? Coz I think I need you as much as you need me'. TBC
