Chapter 10

When Starsky woke again, it was to find his long time friend Blaine sitting patiently by the side of his bed. The older cop smiled as he opened his eyes, and gently he stroked a stray curl away from the brunet's brow as he had done once before when a frightened sick boy of 14 had tried to find his way back home from Bay City to New York.

'Hey Pipsqueak. What's all this about?' Blaine asked softly.

'John….glad you're here' Starsky mumbled, still fighting the pain meds the doctor had given him.

'What happened?'

The brunet shrugged his shoulders, winced and then snorted. 'Guess I can't spar as well as I thought I could.'

'Not with broken ribs you can't. No. But that's not what I meant. What started all this?'

Piercing indigo blue eyes glared defiantly at him. 'All what?'

'Jeez David. Don't you ever take a break? I didn't teach ya to box just so as you could go round getting' beaten up. Hutch tells me…..'

'Hutch don't know nuthin.'

'He knows there's something going on between you and Ball. So are ya gonna tell me, or do I have to go to the Sergeant?'

No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than Sergeant Ball appeared at the door of the small Infirmary. The small man's face fell when he saw Starsky's visitor and he stalked stiff backed over to the bed. Blaine stood up and faced the Sergeant.

'Bouncer. How's things?' he asked.

'Fine. And you John? How are you?'

'I'm good.'

Ball gave a funny, disquieted look at the big cop. 'I didn't know you knew Cadet Starsky.'

'David and I go back a few years. We're old friends' Blaine explained. 'I didn't know you were his Sergeant. I thought you'd have packed it in years ago. You always hated being a cop.'

'I found my niche' Ball said importantly. 'I was just coming to see how the Cadet was doing. Just checking up on him.'

'M'fine' Starsky mumbled. 'Everythin's fine.'

'It is? Well maybe I should just stay here with you for a while if John's going….'

'I wasn't going anywhere' Blaine said easily, sitting down more comfortably onto the chair. 'David's fine, I can see to him. Doc Gibson said I could have till 8:00pm with him. That's another three quarters of an hour. Why don't you go an' get your supper?'

Ball glared at the older cop, glared even harder at Starsky, cocked a warning eyebrow at the cadet and without another word, turned and left. Starsky watched him go, more than a little pleased with himself that he hadn't told anyone why the Sergeant hated him so. And yet Ball still didn't trust him. He yawned again and regarded Blaine through sleep befuddled eyes.

'Bouncer?' he asked with an amused grin. 'Why'd ya call him Bouncer?'

Blaine also grinned at the memory. 'We were at the Academy together and he was um…well let's just say he didn't do too well at physical fitness. With that reputation an' a name like Ball….Bouncing…..Bouncer….. It just kinda stuck like it was kinda ironic.'

Starsky wriggled in the bed, trying to find a comfortable spot. Lying on his side was good for the drain in his side, but the arm he was forced to lie on was getting pins and needles. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and turned his head into the pillow, the pain on his face too evident. He didn't want John to see how bad it was getting because he enjoyed the older man's company, but John was perceptive and the brunet's visitor could see that Starsky was tiring.

'Hey, I'm gonna go an' let you sleep, ok? Gonna go and catch up with the doctor and maybe I can come by tomorrow an' see you again?'

The curly haired cadet smiled shyly. 'Yeah, I'd like that. John…. Don't tell Rosey huh? She'll only tell Ma and then Ma will get on the first plane outa JFK. I just can't handle that right now.'

'Sure thing Pipsqueak. Your secret is safe with me. Get some sleep huh? How's the pain?'

Another wave of discomfort hit and despite his best intentions, Starsky moaned softly and bit his bottom lip. 'Could be better' he admitted.

'I knew it! Why don't ya just tell someone Davey, instead of trying to deal with everything yourself?'

The brunet grinned tightly. 'Cos I hate takin' the easy way out.'

'Try to relax, I'll be back tomorrow an' I'll send in the Doc with somethin' to help you sleep.'

Starsky snuggled his head into the pillow. He did feel tired and more sore than he cared to admit, but at the same time, somehow more at peace. He had John to look out for him, and more than that, he had Hutch. The big blond cadet with the slightly klutzy ways was a born comforter and not since Thomas Trafford, Starsky's closest friend in the Army had he felt so at ease with another guy.

A minute or so later, Doc Gibson came bustling in with a needle which he inserted with practiced ease into the muscle on Starsky's upper arm. The brunet felt the cold of the drug suffuse his body and as the feeling spread, it cancelled out the pains in his muscles. As his eyelids slid closed and he drifted off into his dream world, there was a small smile playing over the handsome, somewhat bruised face as it lay almost extinguished against the white pillowcase.

Some time around midnight, the brunet's eyes opened and he was dreamily awake. Unsure at first what had wakened him, Starsky at first thought that maybe Doc Gibson had come back to look in on him and give him some more of the good stuff. The doctor had been careful to tell him to rest and that he'd check on him periodically during the night, although no-one actually slept in the Infirmary, other than the occasional patient.

The moon was full and it sent a bright cold, silvery white light through the curtainless window of the small room, casting dark, impenetrable shadows across the room. Shafts of moonlight lit up the foot of the bed, making the white sheets on the bed take on a ghostly brightness and Starsky snuggled down deeper into the bed and pulled the sheet up round his ears and prepared to go back to sleep. Obviously, the doctor wasn't there and he'd heard a cat, or an urban fox foraging outside.

Carly watched the young cadet awaken and pulled back into the darkest of the shadows in the room. She watched as Starsky raised his head stiffly, looked around and then led down again and she watched more closely as the sheets over the brunet's chest started to rise and fall evenly, showing that Starsky was once more asleep. As soon as she could hear his breathing become more regular and deep, she crept out of the shadows and over to the bed.

This was her bete noir. This was her one stupid mistake, and this man was a threat to her lifestyle and her marriage. Very slowly, Carly reached out and took a hold of the sheet, pulling it gently down from Starsky's shoulders so that she could see the brown fuzz on his chest. It was so unlike her husband's bald, pale skin that for a moment she wanted to run her nails through it and feel it springy and harsh against her skin. She thought about her night with the young cadet and how he'd made her feel more alive than she had done in months, and then she thought about her comfortable lifestyle, her money and her freedom when Ball wasn't around.

Hardening her heart, Carly silently crossed to the other bed in the room and grabbed the soft pillow from it. She hefted it in her hand, getting the feel for it as she eyed the sleeping brunet and then, before she could think about her actions any more, she launched herself at the other bed, pillow out in front of her as she wedged it over Starsky's face, leaning into it with her full weight.

Below her, Starsky was galvanised into action, his sleep rudely interrupted by an inability to breath. For a split second he thought that something may have gone wrong with the drain in his side. He tried to suck in air through his open moth, but there was something soft and warm blocking the way. Still half asleep and uncoordinated with panic, the brunet tried to push the covering away from his face, shouting into the cloying depths of the feather filled case, although no sound other than a quiet moan escaped him.

A combination of the large amounts of morphine, the sleeping medicine, the injuries and the lack of sleep had taken their toll on his strength and the drain in his side stopped him from moving feely and yet the brunet fought as hard as he could, his legs and arms flailing as Carly held on with grim determination. Ordinarily, the woman would have been no match for the brunet. He would have made minced meat of her within a couple of seconds, but with the drugs and the state of his body, Starsky didn't really stand a chance.

Carly pushed the pillow down with a snarl written over her pretty face. Starsky had caused all the problems and now he was going to pay. It was all his fault and in her head, the small woman exonerated herself of all responsibility and blame as she pushed the pillow more tightly over her victim's face.

Starsky's struggles were showing signs of slowing now. His arms and legs still spasmed, but the brunet could feel the tight burning in his chest that signalled that his lungs were fresh out of oxygen. Desperate for fresh clean air to enter his body and renew his strength, Starsky fought until every fibre in his body burned with the need to breathe and then fought some more, now aware that he was fighting for his life and still Carly hung on, pressing the pillow more firmly against his face.

If he could have seen, Starsky knew his vision would be going. He felt dizzy now and his arms and legs felt heavy and unresponsive, as though moving were too great an effort. Slowly, his mind told him that the time had come to give up and a curious feeling of calmness settled over him. What was the point in making it more difficult for himself? What was the point in struggling any more? Life was tough. He'd survived 'Nam by the skin of his teeth and it had taken him 4 months to recover from General Mai's treatment. He'd survived his childhood in Brooklyn and later in Bay City. He'd survived school and girls and God knows what else, but now? What was there to struggle for any more? Why should he bother? But as he started to prepare himself for the final free wheel down to oblivion one reason for carrying on floated into his head.

A blond head, a golden face, a broad, almost shy grin, and a set of piercing crystal blue eyes looked back at him and he heard a soft Midwest accented voice asking 'Hey, are you ok Buddy?'

The vision of Ken Hutchinson was so strong that it jolted Starsky out of his complacency and he managed one final titanic struggle to get himself free of the smothering cover when to his amazement he heard another voice. It was a man's voice and he'd heard it before, but the voice sounded angry and suddenly the pillow was taken away from his face and he sucked in the sweetest, most beautiful lungful of air he'd ever experience. It was better than a fine wine; better than a sea breeze on a summer night; better than the ice cold wind from the snowy covering of a mountaintop.

Starsky heard the voice yelling for help and a moment later more feet entering the room and more voices shouting. He didn't open his eyes. All his concentration was taken up with getting enough sir into his oxygen starved body to be able to function properly, but as his tortured heart eased down it's laboured pumping, he managed to open his eyes weakly and look around him.

Doctor Gibson was by his side, one hand on his wrist as he checked his patient's pulse and another hand putting an oxygen mask over Starsky's nose and mouth.

'David, can you hear me? Are you ok?' he asked above the commotion in the room.

'Yeah….'m fine' the brunet whispered.

'Hmm, let me be the judge of that. just lie back and try to take some deep breaths' the doctor looked over his shoulder to the others in the room who were still shouting and arguing '….and for Gods sake take that outside' he snapped angrily. 'She's done enough damage as it is.'