Part 33

The next morning Starsky awoke early. He yawned as his tired eyes cracked open, and tried to stretch – although his broken body hadn't faired quite as well with a night on the couch as he'd assured Hutch it would, and he felt the vague familiar ache in his ribs and diaphragm. He eased himself up, slowly and deliberately, and waited for the dull throbbing to ease – an ever constant companion, which he'd had to learn to live with. It no longer bothered him – at least not enough to pay any regard to it – except for when something aggravated it, and it was not so bad that he hadn't learnt to adjust to the pain. The first and only thought on his mind that morning was for Hutch, and he rose stiffly to check on him – relieved to find that he was still sleeping. Neither of them had got much sleep the night before. Starsky had heard Hutch tossing and turning into the early hours, and he'd even got up once to try and convince him to let him take his place on the couch – his misplaced guilt getting the better of him. Starsky had refused, and had finally managed to coax Hutch back into bed, where he had remained since – although Starsky had stayed awake for a couple of hours listening in case he was needed again, just as he suspected Hutch himself had done many evenings before. Once he'd checked on Hutch he showered briefly – the warm water helping to sooth the discomfort in his chest and ribs – and changed, before making preparations for their breakfast – deciding on toast, as he wasn't particularly hungry himself that morning. Huggy had done a grocery run for them a few days before, and had brought back butter, milk, and peanut butter and jelly, at Starsky's request, along with a couple of loaves of freshly baked bread – which he'd said had been a gift from a friend who ran a local bakery. There'd also been a paper bag of warm croissants, and a few different varieties of bagel. One thing could certainly be said of Huggy, and that was that he certainly wasn't going to let either of them go hungry. He'd also stocked up on fruit, cheese, deli meat, and cereal, and had taken it upon himself to adopt the role of their own personal takeaway delivery service. He would deliver hot food to them every evening, and made sure that if neither of them wanted to cook, they didn't have to. Starsky and Hutch both realised that he couldn't continue to do this for them indefinitely, he had a business to run after all, and eventually his employees would grow tired of him disappearing every evening, but they were both grateful to him for doing this for the first few weeks following Starsky's release from the hospital.

Starsky prepared himself a piece of toast – deciding that he would make Hutch one fresh when he woke up – and had just taken his first bite of it when there was a knock at the door. He got up a little too quickly to answer it, not wanting whoever it was to wake Hutch, and jarring his ribs in the process. His hand reached instinctively for his side. He took another tentative bite of the toast in his hand, before placing it down on the plate in front of him, and stiffly made his way over to the front door. Their visitor gave it a couple more hard raps before he had the chance to answer it, and hoping that the noise hadn't disturbed Hutch Starsky opened the door to reveal Captain Dobey – breathless and sweating from his climb up the stairs – standing on the landing.

"Captain…" He smiled, genuinely pleased if not somewhat surprised to see him. It was common knowledge to everyone who knew him that Hutch kept a spare key to his apartment on the doorframe above the front door. It was a habit he'd seemed unable to break, despite knowing about the obvious risks – but they both knew that Captain Dobey would never be so presumptuous as to let himself in, except perhaps for in the case of an emergency. Starsky stood aside to let their boss into the small apartment, and Dobey watched him gently close the door behind him, being careful not to let it slam.

"I'm sorry to call on you both so early." He apologised, looking around when he realised there was no sign of Hutch. "But I wanted to call in on you both on my way to the precinct." He explained, before asking. "How are you both doing?"

Starsky hesitated, and this was enough to let Dobey know that something was wrong. The man sighed, following Starsky's gaze as he looked in the direction of Hutch's bedroom, and rubbed his forehead thoughtfully.

"Coffee Captain?" Starsky offered, as he invited him to sit, and made his way over to the small kitchen whilst Dobey took a seat on the couch and nodded. What was left of the coffee from breakfast was still warm in the pot, and as he poured two cups of the dark brown liquid the comforting smell of toasted beans filled his nostrils as thick steam floated up in wispy tendrils from the brew. He added cream and sugar to both, and stiffly stooped down to place them both on the coffee table as he made his way over and took a seat in a chair opposite his Captain. Dobey reached forwards for his cup and took a sip, relishing in the rich, aromatic taste of the sweet drink.

"What happened?" He asked Starsky.

Starsky sighed, settling back into his seat. Hutch owned a number of wooden chairs, including a Bow Back and Queen Anne style chair. He sat himself down in the latter, although it wasn't particularly comfortable on his still recovering body, and he felt the pain of every bruise, every laceration, and every small mass of fibrous scar tissue, which hadn't completely healed yet. He shrugged sadly.

"I don't know Captain." He shook his head. "He finally opened up to me last night and it's as though once he started he just couldn't stop." He explained, grimacing slightly as he tried to get comfortable in his chair and the arm dug into a rib. Dobey recognised the torment in his eyes. It was recognised by everyone who knew them that when one was hurting the other one hurt too – and they both seemed to be hurting a lot at the moment.

"He told me he's been depressed since long before I got shot." Starsky revealed. "Which to be honest explains a lot – I just can't believe I didn't notice it sooner – and he's still blaming himself for what happened to me."

Captain Dobey sighed, leaning forward to place his cup back down on the table in front of him. The dregs of its contents swirled around like thick sludge in the bottom of the cup. Starsky had developed a taste for strong coffee in recent months, and whilst Dobey had drained the cup half full he suspected that this had more to do with the earliness of the hour and his need of caffeine than an appreciation for the drink's bitter tang. The Captain ran a hand over his face wearily. Hutch hadn't been himself for a while, that was certainly true, and he debated whether he should share with Starsky the reason behind his early morning visit. He'd been in the police force for twenty six years – ten of those as a Captain – and these types of situations were never easy. He'd lost many of his men in that time – including his own partner and best friend – and he'd hurt for each and every one of them at some point throughout his three decade career, but this time things had felt very different. Starsky's shooting had felt almost as personal as the murder of his partner had nearly twenty years ago. The pain of losing Elmo was still as raw as the day he'd found out about his death, and he felt Starsky and Hutch's same pain now – he realised that he'd have to handle this situation very carefully.

"I was going to ask if he felt up to coming back to work a couple of days a week." He explained thoughtfully. "Just some light desk duties." He clarified. "But if he's still not feeling up to it then it'll wait until he's feeling better. Perhaps it's still too soon."

To his surprise Starsky smiled slightly. Both Hutch and he knew that there was no pressure on either of them to return to work until they were ready, at least not on Dobey's part – they would both be required to pass a physical before they would be allowed to return to the streets anyway – but he didn't think some light desk duties a couple of days a week was a bad idea. Hutch would need to get back on the horse at some point – the potential outcome if he couldn't was unthinkable. He needed to see that there would be a life for them both after Gunther, despite how hard it was for him to see beyond his current fear and pain, and it was his hope that if Hutch could get back to work it might reignite his love for the job and he would remember what had once prompted them both to join the force in the first place.

"Well that's the thing Cap'n, I think last night might actually have been a bit of a turning point." Starsky explained, hopefully. "At least now he's finally opened up to me it makes it harder for him to shut me out again."

Dobey nodded. Starsky continued.

"I think perhaps returning to work might be exactly what he needs."

He smiled, and as he did so they both heard Hutch stir in the adjacent bedroom. Dobey looked at him and Starsky nodded, interpreting the questioning look in his Captain's eyes. Dobey bowed his head in acknowledgment, releasing a heavy sigh as he got to his feet, slowly heading in the direction of Hutch's bedroom. Starsky stiffly got to his feet and followed, watching as Dobey knocked gently before going in.

Starsky stayed lingering a respectful distance from Hutch's bedroom for a while, listening. Hutch still sounded tired, but in better spirits than he had been in the evening before. Starsky felt somewhat reassured by this, despite the fact that he wouldn't put it past his partner to put on a show for Captain Dobey. Even so, with the conversation seeming to go well between the two, he headed in the direction of the kitchen to make a start on making some breakfast for Hutch.