Chapter 10 –By Kirsty Welsh-
Starsky slipped into a black sea of unconsciousness, relaxing for a while into a world where he didn't need to make any decisions or worry about the fact that that most precious of senses, his sight, had been taken from him. It scared him beyond belief, but at the same time, he was almost accepting of it. Wasn't that strange? To accept something so fundamentally wrong to his being? His mind rebelled against the acceptance. It was wrong. And yet he'd managed to accept not being an active street cop any longer although that had taken work. Now he was kind of consciously making the decision to accept not being able to see?
No! He couldn't. One step too far. He'd taken in stride everything that life had thrown at him. From his Dad being killed when he was still such a young boy in New York, through being drafted into the army at 18, and being taken as a POW at 19. he'd lived trough the leech infested jungle. He'd lived through the two months of torture at the hands of the Viet Cong and he'd lived through the four months of recuperation.
He'd felt like all his birthdays had come at once when he'd hooked up with a tall, dorky, accident prone blond at the police academy, and even that early relationship hadn't been short of incident, especially when on their third day at that hallowed establishment they'd been walking home from a night out on the town, tried to help a young girl and been held hostage by a notorious mass murderer.
And through the long years of their partnership he'd endured without complaint, the poisonings, the shootings, the loss of loved ones, the sight of his partner's sickness ravaged body as he tried desperately to corner Thomas Calendar. And he'd said nothing. Sure he'd gotten angry at the folks around him, but he'd never lost his spirit. He'd gone abut his business as if this was all just meant to happen. Karma. Fate. Whatever it was called. He'd never really riled against it. Never complained. Always Starsky, the stoical brunet.
But this was too much.
Broken bones he could handle. Sickness he could cope with. But sightlessness? … No.
Starsky floated on the tide of morphia. He opened his eyes and found himself back on the flat plain where all this had started, the breeze still whispering through the long grass and the sun still shining from its cerulean blue sky. Perfection. Too perfect!
The brunet looked around and in the distance he saw the familiar tall dark figure. Dan was standing still, watching him, but made no effort to come and join him. Instead, Starsky waved his arm over his head and set off to meet the young cop, the stalks of grass tickling against his legs as he walked.
Dan watched him approach, a look of suspense in his eyes.
'Hey, Danny' Starsky said when he finally got close enough.
'Starsky' the younger man greeted him. 'So you chose to see me again'.
'Chose? Didn't do nuthin consciously. But there's a few questions I wouldn't mind askin'.
'You're mad at me aren't you?' Dan asked carefully.
Starsky snorted. 'Now why should I be mad at ya? Hell you gave me the chance to go back to Hutch didn't ya?'
'Yeah…sort of.'
'Oh, but there was that one little point ya missed'.
'Starsky, I can explain'.
'Well; so explain away buddy. Explain to me how ya can warn me about the shitload 'o pain I'd have from broken legs an' ribs an' God knows what, but ya just happened to miss mentioning that I wouldn't be able to see. Not exactly a minor point now is it?' Starsky snapped.
'Its all for a purpose'.
'Yeah? And just what "purpose" would that be, huh?'
Dan looked sad. 'I can't tell you'.
'Well that's fuckin' convenient aint it?'
'I'm sorry Starsky, I wish I could explain, but I can't'.
'What's the point of me being allowed to choose when you don't give me all the facts? Like missing out that one little snippet. It might have been nuthin to you, but believe me buddy, it'd have made a whole lotta difference to me'.
'Don't you think I didn't know that?'
Starsky snickered. 'This just gets better 'n' better. So you chose not to tell me. And why exactly did you do that Danny boy?'
'Because it would have made a difference to you, and I needed you to decide to go back' Danny said; his eyes downcast as he waited for the brunet to ask THE question.
'You needed me to go back. Well, I got news for ya buddy. It's my life we're talkin' about, an' my life that's pissed around because I can't see. So tell me, oh forgetful one. Tell me why you wanted me to go back'.
Daniel stared into the defiant angry eyes and said simply 'Because of Hutch'.
Xxxxxxx
Hutch watched as his partner's eyes slowly closed and his breathing assumed the quiet regularity of sleep. He was just as relieved as Starsky that they had this intermission. A break to be able to get their heads together before they had to face the very real prospect of living with blindness. He stood quietly.
'How long will he be out?' he asked Kelly.
'At least six hours. He has a lot of resting and sleeping to do. The more he sleeps, the faster he'll heal… and you need to rest also'.
The blond smiled at her. 'That's just what I'm going to do. I'm gonna go home, have a shower and change and I'll be back before he wakes up, ok?'
She tutted. 'I mean a proper rest. You can't do anything more here. You need to sleep too, you know'.
'I know, but I'll rest when I know he's getting better. If he wakes, tell him I'll be back'.
She nodded and Hutch headed out of the small room and back down the corridor. He'd come to the hospital with Dobey, and there were no passing black and whites, so he dialled the number over the payphone for the local cab company and stood at the entrance waiting until the yellow car came. Minutes later he got in and asked for a ride to Venice Place.
As Hutch sat back, he looked out of the window of the taxi cab. It was getting towards sunset, and the range and pink glow from the sun reflected off of the windows in the office blacks, casting everything in a rosy glow. For a second, hutch thought how beautiful it looked, and then he shuddered. Maybe Starsky would never be able to see that rosy glow again. If things didn't make a turn for the better in the upcoming days or weeks –and Hutch didn't foresee that as a real possibility- Starsky wouldn't be able see the plants in Hutch's apartment ever again, or the sunset over the ocean. He'd never be able to see the photo of Terri on his bedside table, or focus through the viewfinder of his beloved Nikon. He'd never be able to take his wonderful photographs again.
Shit!
Hutch tried to think what it would be like to be blind. For a few minutes, he rode with his eyes closed, trying to internalise the sensation of movement without being able to see it. He tried to capture the different sounds as the car sped past buildings, the dull thunder of the echo from the bricks and glass contrasting with the emptier sound as they drove across an intersection. But by the end of a couple of minutes, he felt nauseous and had to open his eyes again, relief flooding through him as his sight returned. But his partner would never have that relief, would he?
The cab drew up outside his apartment and Hutch paid the driver and got out, walking slowly up the steps to his front door. Pushing it open he went in, closing it behind him and, closing his eyes for a moment he leant back against it. Sanctuary!
He opened his eyes and looked around his untidy living room. Then his eyes rested on the bottle of Vallium pills on his coffee table.
No, not this time… This time he'd be strong and clear headed.
He danced around them keeping his distance as though they would leap into his hand unbidden and went to the bathroom, turning on the shower. He shouldered out of his jacket and shirt, tossing them into a heap on the floor by the side of his laundry basket and padded into his kitchen to the fridge. As he passed the coffee table, his hand jerked reflexively in the direction of the pill bottle. He stopped himself angrily and balled his hand into a fist.
STOP IT
Once in the kitchen he reached for a beer from the fridge and went back to the bathroom. Taking off is pants and boxers, he stood beneath the shower and let the steaming hot jet of water wash off the anaesthetic smell of the hospital. It clung to his hair and skin and he scrubbed hard with the sponge, soaping his hair and holding his breath as he ducked his head under the cascade.
The blond stayed in the shower until the water started to run cold, the comforting warmth easing away the tension form his shoulders and back as he braced his arms against the tile wall. Eventually he reached over and switched it off. Draining the last of his beer, he wrapped a towel round his hips and rubbed another briskly over his hair, finger combing the mussed dark golden mess into some sort of order.
He padded into his bedroom and emerged five minutes later clothed in clean jeans and tee shirt, his holster and gun once again hidden beneath a plaid overshirt.
He looked around.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. When Starsky was with him, there was always noise. Always laughter or some mad cap quip. Now all he had was himself and… the pills. They called to him. One more bout of oblivion. One more period when he didn't need to think about his partner being blind. A few more hours' block where he didn't have to contemplate the finality of the situation. Starsky was blind…And for Hutch, it was entirely his own fault.
Trying to divert his mind from the alluring bottle of pills, he put on the radio and sat down, picking up a magazine. His eyes danced over the page and he read the same paragraph twice, three times. He closed it and threw it down, the music on the radio getting in his nerves. He switched it off, needing to be back with Starsky. Regardless of what Kelly said, there was no way he could rest if he was apart from the brunet. He stood; ready to get back to the hospital, feeling jumpy and at the same time exhausted. The blond longed to feel relaxed and back to his old self, but the months of stress and worry, coupled with the last days' events had taken their toll.
As if drawn by a string to the bottle, he walked mechanically toward it, reaching out for the small glass bottle with a shaking hand. He withdrew it, balled his fist, and then thought better of it. With renewed strength, he reached for the bottle and unscrewed the top. He shook out his single dose, but two pills fell onto his palm. He looked at them for a moment.
What the hell? They're only small. One more won't make a difference. Tiny little pills.
He looked at them, his hand ready to cram them into his mouth, but the tiny voice of Hutchinson's reason sounded way back in his consciousness. Very slowly he put them back into the bottle and screwed on the top, putting it in his pocket along with the flask of bourbon. Deep inside Hutch knew that what he was doing was wrong, wrong and plainly stupid, but even so, he couldn't help himself. He needed a break from the overwhelming sense of guilt and distress he was feeling. At that point the blond one didn't care if such relief came in the form of a chemical compound and a few drinks.
Getting into his car, he felt focussed, needing to be back with his partner.
Just get back to the hospital you can rest when you get there. It's safer with Starsky… What're ya talking about? You should be looking after him! … OK, OK, just get back there, then ya can relax.
He arrived back at the hospital building and made his way back inside and up to Starsky's room. The brunet was still sleeping and Hutch pulled up the chair so that he could sit by his friend's side.
He sat on the hard chair, holding on to the side of the bed for support. Now that he was back in the brunet's presence, he could relax. He felt he deserved the quiet peace of the Vallium now and with a shaky hand he took the bottle from his pocket shaking out one, two, three white tablets. He'd denied himself so far, now he sought oblivion, just for a few hours. Hutch reached for the flask in his pocket and unscrewed the lid. He took a deep draft of the bourbon and let it blaze a fiery trail down his throat, warming his blood and calming him.
For a little while all was quietness in the room, but then, all of sudden, Hutch's blood seemed to be too loud in his ears and his heart began hammering in his chest as though he'd just run a five mile race.
He felt sick and his head hung down as he tried to breathe deeply. But the effects of the Valium mixed with bourbon in his empty stomach were having an effect on his body now and his reactions were becoming slow and uncoordinated. He tried to raise his head to look at the brunet, but his muscles weren't playing the game and he panicked. With his last vestiges of clear thought, Hutch realised exactly what he'd done.
Grabbing for the covers on the bed, he tried to reach out with a wobbling hand for the nurse call button, but it was hooked on the opposite side of the bed, close to Starsky's left hand and he had no strength left to reach it. Hutch groaned once more, berating himself for the stupidity of his actions.
Great Hutchinson, you're supposed to be looking after him and now ya go an' kill yourself. Abso-fuckin-lutely wonderful. M'sorry Gordo. Forgive me?
As the blonde's body fell sideways off the chair to land with a thud at the side of the bed, Daniel looked into Starsky's eyes.
'I couldn't tell you because you need to be there to save Hutch. Go to him. Now. He needs you'.
And the green plain faded into the background as Starsky woke to the blackness of his blindness, and the sound of a thud on the floor of his room.
'Hutch?' he called, but there was no response
'Hutch?... Buddy, answer me… Hutch!'
Starsky, feeling a cold, sudden terror grasping at his heart felt for the call button by his left hand. Repeatedly he pushed it, while feebly calling out for help; the sound insistent in his head until he heard a presence at his room door and a female voice shouting for someone to get a doctor. TBC