Part 15

A few days later Hutch sat down and stretched out on the couch, yawning wearily from the exertions his day had brought. Starsky had been discharged from the hospital earlier that afternoon and both he and Huggy had spent the day settling him into Venice Place.

Hutch himself had started to feel a little better for the plate of food which Starsky had encouraged him to eat – having noticed that all he had managed to consume that day had been some soup which Huggy had prepared for them at lunchtime – plus a small glass of water. He had eaten the food reluctantly to please his convalescing friend, but by the time Starsky had turned in for the evening he was starting to feel rather sick, and fearing yet another sleepless night plagued by bad dreams and the rebellion of his upset stomach, Hutch started to seriously doubt that he would be able to keep the contents of his stomach down. He removed his jacket carefully – his movements slow and purposeful as he tried to hold back the nauseous feeling in his stomach - and draped it over the arm of the couch. He seriously considered making a second trip to the bathroom as felt the bile rise unpleasantly in his throat. He'd cleared just enough of the food on his plate to pacify his concerned partner, but he was beginning to wish that he hadn't eaten quite so much.

He could hear the sound of Starsky snoring in the bedroom, but as he turned in the direction of the bathroom – realising that he wasn't going to be able to he caught a glimpse of the piece of paper placed purposefully on a cushion, folded several times into a tiny square. His name had been scribbled in Starsk'y familiar handwriting.

He took a few deep breaths and sat down slowly, turning the delicate sheet over in his cold hands for a moment, before finally unfolding it and beginning to read.

Hutch, (he read)

I know that I cannot even begin to understand the pain that you and everybody else have lived through over the past few weeks, but it is a pain which I know you still live through every day. I too know a pain, not the physical pain of a body broken by bullets, but the pain of having to witness my partner and best friend become a shell of the man he once was, and it tears me up inside to watch you suffering as I know you are.

I know that you're probably not yet ready to hear any of this, which is why I'm hoping it'll help for me to put it all down on paper for you. Hopefully in time it may become a little easier for you to talk, and I wonder how we ever let any of this get so far, but when that time comes I'll be here for you.

I just want to let you know that I know about the nightmares and the sleepless nights. You don't need to try and hide them from me. You've been broken Hutch, we can all see that. But I also want you to know that I believe in you, you're strong enough to beat this, and I'm begging you to at least try to find a way to fight. Don't let what happened change you – please buddy, don't let Gunther win. I certainly don't intend to let it change me, but there is no me without you Hutch.

I'm here for the long haul buddy, however long it takes. I'm not going anywhere – not even if you ask me to – and I'm not going to let this to continue to hurt you. I'm not going to let you do that to yourself. I'll find a way to reach you somehow.

Just remember that we're all here for you – Huggy and Dobey too. You're not alone anymore, you never have been. Im here if you need to talk.

Starsk.

As Hutch finished reading he sighed and looked up from the sheet of scrunched up paper on which the note had been composed. He'd put the creases there himself The apartment had suddenly gone noticeably silent, and as Hutch listened further he realised that Starsky was no longer snoring.

Hutch smiled. One could never normally relax with the knowledge that the other was in trouble, he should have suspected that Starsky had never been asleep in the first place. He'd probably been waiting for Hutch to discover the note, he'd probably also been listening out for any sign of distress from his partner.

Hutch swallowed hard to try and stem the nausea – the sick feeling was getting worse but he wanted to try and fight it, at least until he knew that Starsky really had fallen asleep. He downed a couple of over the counter sleeping pills, hoping to keep the night terrors at bay.

He then carefully crawled between the sheets he'd laid out for himself on the couch. He listened and was relieved when the sound of deep breathing coming from his bedroom resumed – signifying that Starsky had finally succumbed to sleep – as his own eyes drifted closed.

He awoke a few hours later in a pool of sweat and thrashing out in his distress. He caught his own injured wrist on the sharp corner of the coffee table in the process and recoiled at the pain.

He managed to stifle the cry which forced its way up through his throat, the force of the exclamation dying on his tongue and it escaped from his mouth as a pained whimper. He lay where he was for a moment, breathing deeply. He still felt a little sick, but he had managed to hold back from vomiting until now. Listening, he wanted to make sure that he hadn't disturbed Starsky, but relieved by the enduring quiet of the apartment he tentatively rolled back over onto his side, and finally found himself drifting back off to sleep.