Part 8

Huggy recalled with a heavy heart an incident which had occurred on the evening that he, Hutch and Captain Dobey had invaded Starsky's room long after official visiting hours were over, to partake of a picnic supper to celebrate Starsky's recovery. It had been a week following Gunther's arrest and a few days following Starsky's release from the ICU. Hutch had seemed slightly withdrawn in the days following his final encounter with the crime mogul. Gunther's arrest had been the culmination of nearly a week's worth of work for Hutch, who had almost single handedly made it his mission to bring down the man who had almost killed his partner and best friend. Both Huggy and Captain Dobey had realised that his hunt for their would-be-murderer had been the only thing keeping Hutch going throughout the first few difficult days – during which nobody had known whether Starsky was going to make it, and they'd all had to somehow find a way of dealing with the knowledge that they could have lost him at any moment. But their blonde haired friend had appeared to rally slightly with the thought of spending an evening at Starsky's bedside, in good company and with good food, and they'd both felt relieved to be able to relax after the close watch they'd been keeping on him since the case had finally been closed.

He'd seemed in good spirits as the day had progressed and the three of them had spent the afternoon preparing the food for Starsky's surprise supper. They'd arranged to meet each other at the hospital at around eight o' clock, and to make their way up to their friend's room separately to reduce the risk of them being caught and stopped. Hutch had reached the room first, closely followed by Captain Dobey and Huggy had found himself bringing up the rear, having been seen and subsequently chased by a very large nurse. By the time the Captain and Huggy had arrived Hutch had been tucked up in the bed beside his partner, who had already started tucking into the veal his best friend had prepared, and both had to concede that it had been good to see the two of them together again – laughing and joking just like the old days. The mood had been jovial, and Hutch had seemed to have been in particularly high spirits, but nobody had noticed the fact that he hadn't seemed to have been eating with the rest of them. It appeared that the weeks of living in limbo had already started to take their toll on the Detective, and in hindsight Huggy now realised that he had already been looking a little tired and pale.

At some stage in the proceedings a paraffin lamp had been hung from a heat sensitive sprinkler system – rather ashamedly Huggy now looked back at his clumsiness, for it had been by he – and had subsequently soaked all of them. The commotion had brought Marion back into the room.

"What are you all doing in here?" She'd exclaimed, surprised to see the four very wet men before her, before jumping back, out of the line of the last weak spray of the sprinkler system. They'd all looked at her rather sheepishly – even Captain Dobey's usually short temper had been dampened somewhat by the cold spray, and his soaking wet suit which now clung to him like a second skin. Starsky looked at her with an impish grin upon his face but Hutch had suddenly gone very quiet.

"I might have been prepared to accept Detective Hutchinson's presence at this time of night," she'd continued angrily, "but this is too much!"

"You mean you knew?" Starsky asked her.

"What? That the blonde haired, man sized buldge you were trying to hide beneath your sheets just now was Detective Hutchinson Mr Starsky?." She nodded. "Of course I knew. Not to mention the fact that the trey of veil you were tucking into was clearly not from the hospital cafeteria!"

"Oh…"

"Oh indeed! Now who's responsible for this mess?" She asked of the three men – not counting Starsky in the hospital bed.

"Ummm… that would be me." Huggy raised a guilty hand. "Sorry."

"Honestly! Captain you should be ashamed! A police chief of your standing allowing such behaviour. Detective Starsky's only recently out of the ICU!"

"With all due respect miss I think I know my two men well enough by now, and when Huggy suggested the idea to me a few days ago I thought it was exactly what they both needed!"

"And with all due respect Captain you are not Mr Starsky's doctor! You have no medical training! If you wanted to arrange something special for Mr Starsky we have proper channels for this sort of thing! Who knows what damage you might have done!

Oh never mind… let's get you out of those wet things!"

Captain Dobey, Huggy and Hutch had then found themselves unceremoniously moved away from Starsky's bedside, as Marion had started to strip the bed of its sheets and had helped her patient to sit up slowly so that she could start to assist him out of the bed. Her frustrations had been evident but there had been no trace of genuine anger in her eyes. Looking back at it now though Huggy couldn't really blame her for being annoyed with them all, and he'd felt particularly embarrassed by his mistake. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to regret what had happened. Whilst Marion had turned her attention to making sure that the man in the bed hadn't suffered any serious repercussions from his soaking, which might have set his recovery back, Starsky had been laughing harder than he had done in a long time. It had been a sound none of them could have hoped to hear again – but the curly haired brunette's eyes had twinkled with the sheer childish joy of the moment as he'd wiped the tears which had streamed from them.

"Honestly." Marion had clucked disapprovingly, but her own eyes had sparkled too as she'd shared in the moment – understanding the euphoria felt by many patients who'd defied the odds stacked against them, and could therefore find a joy in the simple act of living. For Starsky, being able to share this moment with his friends – even one so unusually troublesome as this – had perhaps been the greatest blessing bestowed upon him. He hadn't thought he had much to complain about a little soaking – the cold of the water had helped to remind him that he was still alive.

She'd had to confess to herself that when she'd first been briefed about his case his patient file had read like that of a dying man. The damage his body had sustained had just been too extensive for most men to survive – with multiple organ and system involvement – and when she'd actually laid eyes on him in the ICU for the first time she'd known then that his chances of survival had been slim. For days she'd sat and watched what had remained of his life force slowly ebb away.

She'd sat and watched Hutch too – and had wondered what would become of him if Starsky didn't make it. They'd seemed irrevocably connected in some way – he'd refused to leave his best friend's bedside unless it was in pursuit of the man who'd organised the hit on them, and every time Starsky had taken a turn for the worst, especially during the first few critical days, he himself had also started to look sick. She'd been sure that she'd been watching Hutch die too – perhaps just a little slower than his partner had been.

At that moment Marion had had to fight a faint twitching at the corners of her own mouth, trying to draw her thin lips up into a faint smile, as she'd checked her patient over – following the required protocol to try to establish if he was in any pain, and to ensure that his vital signs were stable. She'd observed that he'd looked a little pale, and that his eyes had suddenly taken on a dark and sunken appearance – suggestive of a fatigue which was perhaps only to be expected of a man at this early stage of his recovery – but aside from that his pulse and heartrate had been strong and the morphine had continued to do its job at keeping his pain at bay, despite the extra exertion placed upon his body.

Marion had suspected that had he not only recently been given quite a large dose of the strong painkiller he probably wouldn't have been quite so jovial – but for now at least he was feeling no pain, no significant damage had been done, and she'd finally been able to relax a little and turn her attentions to the practicalities of getting him out of his wet clothes and finding him a new room.

Suddenly the nurse's attention seemed to have been drawn to Hutch, who had retreated into the corner of the room. His hair and clothes, just like Starsky's, had been dripping wet, but that hadn't been the reason for her concern. Hutch had been leaning with one arm resting above his head against the wall, doubled over, and his other hand clasped to his chest. His eyes had been tightly shut, as though trying to block out some terrible waking nightmare, and his breath appeared to have been coming in short uneven gasps.

"Are you alright Detective?" She'd asked.

As she'd approached him, confident that as far as Starsky was concerned no serious harm had been done, Hutch had drawn a long shaky breath.

"Yeah… yeah…" He'd gasped, eyes still closed. "I'm fine, just a little dizzy that's all…"

As Starsky's nurse had neared the blonde Detective's side however it had become impossible for him to hide the fact that he quite clearly was not from her trained eye. His complexion had been alarmingly pale and he'd appeared a little unsteady on his feet. His breathing had been shallow, and the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders indicated that he seemed to have been having some difficulty catching his breath. As she'd neared his side she'd reached out to gently touch his shoulder, and he'd instinctively flinched away from the contact.

"Detective?" She'd pressed him. As she'd spoken Captain Dobey and Huggy, who had been helping Starsky out of the wet bed and into a nearby wheelchair, began to make their way over, but she'd calmly put one arm out to stop them, before turning back to Hutch.

"I… I'm alright…" Hutch had faltered.

Starsky's nurse Marion had had to be firm with the Detective on more than one occasion throughout the early stages of his partner's recovery – else she would have never been able to prise him away from his best friend's side and would have found him in Starsky's room at all hours of the day and night – but she hadn't been unsympathetic to Hutch's pain and what he had gone through too. The past couple of weeks had been hell for him, and as he'd clutched at his chest and stomach and let out a small groan she'd taken him gently by the arm and around the small of his back, smiling reassuringly.

"Come on," She'd said kindly, "let's sit you down on the bed."

"Really, I'm fine," He'd protested, "just take care of Starsky." But he'd allowed himself to be guided over to the edge of the bed regardless, and assisted down onto the wet sheets. His legs had trembled with each small step, seemingly no longer able to support his own weight, and he'd literally dropped like a stone into a seated position – his body a dead weight, the sound of his teeth rattling together.

"Hutch, you're shaking." Starsky had observed.

"It's alright Starsk." Hutch had smiled, still shivering violently but trying to reassure him. "It's just a little cold in here, that's all."

"It's cold because you're wet!" Marion had scolded him, as she'd gone to a cupboard and removed four large white towels. She'd handed one to Starsky, throwing two in the general direction of Huggy and Captain Dobey respectively before returning to Hutch's side. "You don't look well Detective." She'd observed with concern, taking in the blonde's ghostly complexion as she'd handed him the fourth and final towel – helping him to undo the top two buttons of his shirt as she'd noticed his fingers begin to shake too badly for him to be able to perform the task himself with any semblance of dexterity. "If you want my professional opinion I really think you ort to be home resting," she'd advised him kindly, "the past couple of weeks haven't been easy on you."

"I'm alright." Hutch's breathing had still been coming in short and shaky gasps as he'd made a futile attempt to wring some of the excess water from his water-logged clothing – but Marion could see that he clearly wasn't and had remained close. He'd been very shaky on his feet, and even now that he was sitting on the edge of the bed he'd looked as though he might have been about to keel over at any moment.

"Well you don't look alright!" She'd reiterated her concern with a frown. Now that the Detective had dried his face with the towel she'd given him she could see that he was sweating – there were beads of perspiration clinging to his top lip and brow, and his skin was very warm to the touch when she'd expertly placed the back of her hand to his forehead to feel his temperature, suggestive of a fever.

"I'd like to get a doctor in here to take a look at you." She'd told him, also putting two fingers to his wrist to check his pulse. Marion had clearly been concerned by something she'd observed in Hutch's appearance, or perhaps it had been the irregularity of the faint fluttering she'd felt beneath her fingertips – but he'd shaken his head.

Marion had sighed, partly out of frustration but also in sympathy – but she'd been a strong-willed woman and had persisted stubbornly.

"Detective," She'd continued kindly, gently taking the towel from where he'd still been holding it in his shaking fingers – draping it around his shoulders and rubbing them vigorously to try and help warm him as he'd continued to shiver. "I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me honestly. Do you have any pain in your chest?" She'd asked him.

Hutch had given another weak shake of his head – although the gesture had been a little stronger this time. It had taken him a moment to catch his breath enough to be able to speak, but for all of Marion's stern appearance she had turned out to be a kind and patient nurse. She'd seen by the expression on Hutch's face and the way he'd looked at her that he'd been about to say something, and so had waited for him to be able to reply.

"No," He'd finally responded, "No pain. Just a little dizzy, and it's a little hard to breathe." He'd added, breathlessly.

"In that case I'm definitely calling a doctor!" She'd told him, taking the oxygen mask from the wall behind the hospital bed, turning on the tank and adjusting the flow of the gas, before returning to Hutch's side and gently looping it over his head.

"Here, take a few breaths of this Detective." She'd told him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder as she'd watched him take a few shaky breaths of the richly oxygenated air. Starsky, Huggy and Captain Dobey had looked on silently in concern, but after a moment Marion had observed his breathing become a little less laboured and some of the colour had started to return to his cheeks.

"Better?" She'd asked him. Hutch had nodded, and had made a move to remove the oxygen mask from his face, but Marion had immediately put a hand out to stop him.

"No." She'd said, taking him by his one raised hand and gently lowering it back down into his lap – he'd still been using the other to steady himself against the edge of the bed. "Leave it on for a while." She'd told him. "You need it."

He hadn't protested, lifting his head a little and locking eyes with Starsky – who'd offered his partner a slightly lopsided reassuring smile, despite the deep concern etched into his expression – as she'd then returned to the head of the bed to press the emergency call button, which had immediately brought two nurses and Starsky's doctor hurrying into the room.

"What happened?" The doctor had asked, stopping short as he'd observed the state of Starsky's room, almost skidding on a puddle as he'd come to an abrupt halt. "What are these men doing in here?" He'd demanded, as he'd observed Huggy and Captain Dobey and had started making his way over to Starsky in the wheelchair between them, but Marion had quickly diverted his attention to where it was most needed.

"Doctor." She'd beckoned him over to Hutch's side, and the man's concerns had evidently been aroused by the sight of the man sitting on the edge of the wet bed – pale faced and obviously still struggling to breathe, despite the oxygen mask aiding him. He'd seen that Hutch was beginning to tire – as had they all. "I'll explain everything later." She'd told him, as he'd quickly made his way over, reacting to the urgency of the situation. "I've checked Detective Starsky over, and no real damage seems to have been done, but Detective Hutchinson is having a little trouble breathing."

"Yes, I see." He had frowned. As an experienced emergency medical practitioner he'd seen enough seriously ill and injured patient's in his time to immediately recognise the signs of respiratory distress when he saw them.

Doctor Maybrouk had been Starsky's attending physician since he'd first been admitted to the hospital on the afternoon of the shooting. Him and his team had saved his life. He'd also gotten to know Hutch pretty well over the past few weeks, and he could see that the man's physical struggle was now as real as the emotional one had been. He'd smiled kindly as he'd neared his side and hoped that the fact that the man already knew him might help to comfort him slightly.

"Alright Detective." He'd said, as he'd unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck. "Let's take a little look at you shall we. Any chest pain?" He'd asked him – and this time Hutch had hesitated, before nodding weakly. His ribs and diaphragm had started to ache badly with the effort of breathing.

Meanwhile one of the nurses had already ushered a reluctant Captain Dobey out of the room, and the other had been in the process of wheeling Starsky out too when the doctor had noticed Hutch's eyes widen in panic and the breath hitch in his chest. Huggy had remained behind, discreetly lingering in the doorway, whilst Dobey had hovered nervously in the corridor – unsure as to what was going on.

"Starsk…" Hutch had wheezed in weak protest.

Realising the significance of the bond the two men shared – a bond which he was sure had been just as critical to Detective Starsky's recovery as had all the drugs and life support he'd received when he'd been in the ICU, if not more so – the doctor had done his best to reassure him that his partner had been alright. He'd been his main priority in that moment, but he'd also known that Hutch wouldn't let him treat him unless he'd known that Starsky was alright first.

"Detective Starsky is fine." He'd told him. "I'll check him over later just to be sure but for now no real damage seems to have been done – except perhaps that he needs a change of dry clothes." He'd smiled slightly in an attempt to lighten the situation – and had watched as Hutch had visibly relaxed as he'd said this. "It's you I'm more concerned about at the moment." He'd explained, as he'd taken in Hutch's pale complexion. His breathing had eased significantly since Marion had given him the oxygen mask, but it had been obvious that he'd still been struggling, and his chest had been rising and falling rapidly. "Do you mind if I have a little listen to your chest?" He'd asked him.

Hutch had shaken his head, indicating that he didn't object to the examination, and the doctor had listened carefully to his heart and lungs as he'd placed the diaphragm of his stethoscope to his chest. He'd lingered there for a while, not putting Hutch through the usual routine of breathing deeply in and out. The reason for his current distress had quickly become apparent, and once he'd completed his examination the doctor had taken a step back from the bed and pulled the young nurse slightly aside. She'd taken the doctor's lead but had kept a steadying hand on the small of Hutch's back.

"He has some fluid on his lungs." He'd told her.

"A chest infection?" Marion had asked, surprised – she'd seen Hutch earlier that same day and despite perhaps looking a little tired he certainly hadn't appeared unwell. If anything he'd seemed in better spirits than she'd seen him since the afternoon Starsky had awoken from his coma.

"I'm thinking so." Doctor Maybrouk had nodded. "He must have been feeling pretty lousy for the past few days if his lungs are anything to go by. He's also tachycardic." He'd explained to her as he'd turned back to look at Hutch. He too had spoken to him briefly that afternoon to update him on Starsky's condition and hadn't noticed anything significantly amiss, but the man's appearance now had certainly done very little to dispel his hypothesis.

"Let's get him to an examination room." Doctor Maybrouk had told Marion. "Continue with oxygen therapy for now, and get him on some IV antibiotics. We'll go from there."

Marion had nodded. "I'll get a wheelchair." She'd told him, before hurrying from the room.

Doctor Maybrouk had then turned back to Hutch.

"Well Detective," He'd smiled, his tone mild and reassuring. "It looks like you've earned yourself a chariot of your own, and an overnight stay with us in the hospital."

This had been Hutch's second brush with infection in as many weeks. He hadn't escaped unscathed from Gunther and his hit men either – his heavily bandaged wrist had been proof enough of that – and as Starsky had lay in bed a few hours later he'd starred blankly up at the off white ceiling. They'd allocated him a new room, and he'd been given a hospital gown until Huggy could get to his place the following morning to bring him some new clothes, but he hadn't been able to sleep. He'd been too worried about Hutch.

Marion had promised to let him know how Hutch was doing as soon as she'd heard anymore herself, but that had been at least a couple of hours ago now. Huggy and Captain Dobey hadn't been allowed to stay with him in his new room, and so they'd retreated to the waiting room to await news, whilst Starsky had tossed and turned restlessly in bed, and preyed that Hutch would be OK.

He'd already pressed the call button so many times over the past couple of hours that one nurse had threatened to take it off him and move it out of his reach. Since then he'd done his best to restrain himself – telling himself that no news was good news. It had meant that the doctors were probably still busy treating Hutch, and he'd known Marion well enough by now to trust that she would keep her promise to him. Besides, he'd been concerned that the young nurse with the bad temper would be true to her word, and then he would have had no means of attracting anyone's attention.

On the other hand it had been a whole half an hour since he'd last summoned a nurse, and he didn't think he could take not knowing any longer. He'd just been about to press the button again when there'd been a gentle knocking at his door, and Marion had entered. At first she'd seemed somewhat surprised to still find him awake, and if Starsky had have been any stronger he might have been tempted to jump up and hug her out of the sheer relief of finally having somebody who could tell him how Hutch was doing – but as things were he'd settled for gently easing himself up in the bed.

"Marion, how is he?" He'd asked her.

"He's doing a lot better." She'd reassured him with a smile. "Doctor Maybrouk is still with him at the moment but they're giving him some oxygen, and IV antibiotics will help to address the infection. They think what happened was a result of stress, made worse by the infection, but he seems quite calm and comfortable now. He should be well enough to go home tomorrow." She'd explained – checking his own chart at the foot of his bed, but appearing satisfied with what she'd observed she'd quickly replaced it. Or perhaps doing so had simply given her something practical to do.

"Can I see him?" Starsky had asked her, but she'd shook her head.

"He's exhausted." She'd told him. "They've given him a mild sedative to help him sleep. I've just filled your Captain and friend in on the situation and they've both gone home to get some rest. I suggest you do the same."

"I should be with him though." Starsky had told her. "He needs me!"

"What both of you need right now is sleep!" Marion had responded sternly. She'd then made her way around to the edge of the bed, towering over him as if trying to force the point – but seeing the look of deep concern in her patient's eyes, mirroring that of his partner's when he'd been in the ICU – and the unwavering way that Starsky had held her gaze, she'd softened slightly. As she'd looked up her eyes had come to settle on the second bed on the other side of the room, currently stripped bear, but it wouldn't take too long to put some fresh sheets and blankets on it.

In her heart she'd known that neither man was likely to get much rest whilst they'd both been so worried about the other. She'd been downstairs herself – where Doctor Maybrouk and his team had been working on Hutch – briefly during her break. They'd had him on IV fluids and anti-biotics and because he'd still been complaining about the ache in his chest they'd also given him a mild painkiller to try and make him feel a little more comfortable – but whilst he'd already been looking a lot better than he had done earlier in the evening she'd been told that he'd been fighting the sedative they'd given him, and this had made it harder for them to get his breathing under control.

She'd been concerned that Detective Hutchinson may have been suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder. Doctor Maybrouk had agreed with her, but they'd both thought it best to treat the infection and let him rest at the time. She'd felt sure that if anyone could get him to open up and talk once he'd been feeling a little better it had been Starsky.

"I'll have a word with Doctor Maybrouk and see about having him moved up here as soon as he's stable enough." She'd sighed, and had watched as Starsky's facial muscles had visibly started to relax and the tension had melted away from his expression at the thought of having his best friend somewhere close by where he could keep an eye on him.

Marion had again had cause to marvel at the strength of the two men's friendship and the love they had for each other. She'd seen many close partnerships in her time, and no shortage of police officers brought into the emergency department with serious and life threatening injuries – it was after all a dangerous job – but nothing quite like theirs.

Trying to separate the two men was like trying to sever the heart from the lungs when they were connected by a major artery. Quite simply put they needed each other.

"Thanks." Starsky had smiled gratefully.

"But only if you promise to rest!" She'd told him. "Doctor Maybrouk won't be very pleased with you otherwise."

Starsky had just looked at her, and nodded appeasingly – to be honest he hadn't given a jot what Doctor Maybrouk would think of him. He'd been grateful to him and his team for their care, and he'd known that he wouldn't still be alive without it, but they didn't know Hutch. They would treat his infection and discharge him from the hospital thinking that their job was done, but that's where Starsky's job began – and Huggy's and Captain Dobey's. He wasn't going to be getting out of the hospital anytime soon, and so looking after Hutch was going to be a team effort – but judging by what they'd all seen that night Starsky had known that he wasn't going to make it easy.