Part 13
When Hutch finally awoke a few hours later, it wasn't to the familiar surroundings of his own bedroom, the comfort of his apartment, nor the uncomfortably hard couch in the station staffroom – having woken up to all of those associated aches and muscle cramps following a long night spent sprawled out, moulding oneself to it's unforgiving frame. Consciousness returned to him slowly, and he felt groggy as though coming round from a spell of unconsciousness – the type he had come to associate with illness rather than a good night's sleep. He felt something pressed tight to his face and as his blurred vision began to clear his gaze finally came to focus upon his surroundings, and he was able to recognise the by now familiar neutral pallor of hospital walls, and realised the object to be an oxygen mask.
He groaned as he threw up one shaky hand and clumsily removed the plastic from his hot and slightly sweating face, struggling to remember how he had got there. The other hand felt sore, the skin stinging and he reached out and tried to prise whatever it was out, his fingers clumsily tearing away at layers of sticky plaster and bandage.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A familiar voice said, and he looked over to see Huggy sitting in a chair next to him, his face full of concern. He looked down and noticed the IV line feeding a steady stream of saline into the back on his hand from a bag hanging from the stand beside his bed.
"Where's Starsky?" He frowned.
"The nurse said she'd bring him to you when you finally woke up." He explained. "They've had you sedated since you collapsed to make sure that you rest."
"How long have I been out?" Hutch asked, as everything suddenly came rushing back to him in an instant. He grimaced as he remembered and the shame he had felt whilst lying on the floor of the hospital corridor returned to him.
"A couple of hours." Huggy sighed, leaning in closer as if in an attempt to get a closer look at his friend, the slight frown etched into his forehead a subtle indication of the many anxious hours he'd spent in vigil at his bedside. "You're rundown, exhausted and dehydrated. The doctor said that it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Something had to give eventually Hutch, just be grateful that it could have been a lot worse… They want to keep you in overnight for observation, but you can go home tomorrow, providing you eat a hearty meal tonight and breakfast tomorrow."
Hutch sighed.
"Chicken and creamed potatoes." The nurse smiled kindly as she suddenly entered, wheeling Starsky in before her, a trey of food carefully resting upon his lap. Hutch flinched as he looked up.
"Mine was the steak and fries personally." Starsky cut in jovially, with a cheeky wink in Hutch's direction. "Hey buddy." He smiled. "How're you doing?"
"Feeling fairly stupid…" Hutch had to admit. He now knew enough, and what he didn't know for certain he was smart enough to gather, to realise that he he'd made quite a spectacle of himself. "I'm sorry Starsk."
Starsky's smile in response was one of understanding and reassurance, and as the young nurse manoeuvred the Detective's wheelchair closer to Hutch's bed the curly haired brunette reached out and squeezed the blonde by the hand. It was one of those unique, unspoken moments between the two men. Nothing needed to be said, but the action spoke louder than any words.
"Don't be silly." He smiled. "But you know Hutch, you didn't really have to go to such extremes in order to keep an eye on me…"
He could tell that his partner was still weak, pale, and exhausted by weeks of worry, and the haunted look in his eyes still lingered, but as he said this Hutch let out the first genuine laugh they'd heard from him in weeks – a sound which was music to Starsky's ears.