Part 36

The next couple of weeks passed in a painful blur for Starsky, without Hutch. The first few days were the hardest, he would wake up every morning in Hutch's bed expecting to hear the drone of the radio drifting into the bedroom from the small living area, and the sound of Hutch's voice emanating from the kitchen whilst he made breakfast. It would take him a few seconds before the inevitable realisation hit him that Hutch was gone. The wound which his best friend's absence had torn for him was one which could not be healed, and neither Huggy nor Captain Dobey could understand why Starsky continued to stay at Venice Place when there was nothing left to keep him there anymore. Starsky couldn't explain it himself either – why he felt so drawn to a place which now only contributed to his pain – except perhaps for the fact that being there somehow helped him feel closer to Hutch. Each morning he'd ease himself slowly out of bed, allowing his broken body the time it now needed to adjust to being mobile again after hours spent motionless beneath the sheets. He'd take stock of his surroundings – of Hutch's things around him. He'd dress gingerly, slipping himself into crumpled clothes, before making his way into the small kitchen to fix himself some breakfast – but cold pizza left over from the evening before and root beer didn't carry quite the same appeal without Hutch around to complain about how unhealthy it was, and admonish him on how he'd be much better off with one of his revolting concoctions. He would sit down on his friend's couch to eat, and would worry about where he was – what he was eating, where he was sleeping – and he hoped that he was taking care of himself. Hutch had called him a few times since he'd left, and these phone calls had done little to allay Starsky's fears. Starsky hadn't expected Hutch to be away for very long, he'd hoped that after a couple of days he'd realise his mistake and come home – but as the days drifted by and passed into weeks he'd come to the painful conclusion that Hutch really wasn't coming back any time soon, and it was with a heavy heart that the day eventually came for him to reluctantly pull the door shut on Venice Place and return home.

It had been so long since he'd been there that his own small apartment didn't feel much like home anymore. It had been months since he'd been there on his own, even longer since he'd slept there – he'd only been back a couple of times since being discharged from the hospital, to pick up a few of his things which Hutch and Huggy had been unable to locate when they'd collected his belongings for him. He'd often wondered to himself why he'd continued to go to the expense of keeping the place on, but he'd realised that he couldn't continue living with Hutch forever. He'd once loved his own little apartment – it had been his haven, a place to come home to after a busy day spent patrolling the frequently hostile streets, where he could relax and unwind - where he'd once felt free to be himself. He'd been comfortable here. There had been no need to put on a show for anyone – he'd laughed here, he'd cried here, and had drunk himself into oblivion here. Looking around it now though he only felt cold and empty, the bareness of the walls reflected the loneliness in his heart.

Captain Dobey and Huggy did their best to keep his spirits up and took it in turns to keep him company. Huggy visited him most evenings and would often stay overnight, whilst Captain Dobey too paid him a visit at least a couple of times a week – but both of them realised that they weren't really the ones Starsky wanted. They would drink beer, and eat takeaway and sometimes they would sit silently and listen to the radio or Starsky would put a record on, but mostly they would talk. They would discuss the events of the day at length – talk about little Rosie's ballet recital, Junior's latest victory on the school basketball court, and of how Edith sent him her well wishes. Huggy talked about general things just to try and fill the silent void, but inevitably the conversation would quickly turn to the subject which was forefront on all of their minds, and that was Hutch.

One evening, a couple of weeks following Starsky's move back home, he turned to Captain Dobey who was sitting on the couch opposite, reclining into the cushions. He looked at him sitting in exactly the same spot Hutch had also sat in, so many times before him, and for a split second it could almost have been his partner sitting in that seat. He pictured the empty beer cans lined up on the coffee table between them, the two of them tipsy and merry with the mild alcohol they'd consumed, and looked down to see the empty takeaway boxes in their place. They'd ordered enough food between them to satisfy the appetites of four men – the remains of rice and noodles cooked in soy sauce, chicken and marinated beef leaving a stale smell in the air. He sighed.

Hutch had called him that afternoon. It had been a few days since he'd last heard from him and Starsky had initially been relieved to hear his friend's voice, but his relief had been short lived. The longer he'd spoken with Hutch the more he'd realised that there was something not quite right with him. He'd known the man for long enough now to recognise that he was doing his best to keep it from him, but Starsky had noticed his hoarseness of voice – deeper and more gravely than its usual smooth tone. He'd been away for weeks now and he didn't sound any better – in fact if anything he'd seemed more broken and worn out than he had done on the day he'd left. His voice shook as he spoke, his pain still running deep. His breath hitched intermittently and he'd developed a slight cough which Starsky hadn't liked the sound of. He'd refrained from trying to convince him to come home, concerned that to do so might actually end up pushing him further away, but it was taking every fibre of will power he had not to voice his concerns to Hutch and plead with him to come back to him. The past few weeks had been hard, but he suspected that no matter how hard they'd been for him things had been even worse for Hutch. He could be stubborn, often to the point of his own detriment. The memory of the time they'd both decided to spend their weekend off playing hide and seek had returned to him. Hutch had bet him two weeks salary that he could stay hidden from him for the entire weekend – neither of them could have foreseen Hutch contracting botulism, and the life and death city-wide man hunt which had ensured. He'd refused to give up the game, even when he'd started to feel unwell, and if it hadn't been for the girlfriend of Ray Pardee – the felon they'd had under surveillance at the time – it could have cost him his life.

Hutch had sounded so sick over the phone, but Starsky suspected, and worried, that pride would once again prevent him from seeking help.

Dobey looked across at him, noticing that Starsky looked as dejected as he himself felt. He knew that he was supposed to be keeping him company, but he didn't feel particularly sociable tonight. It had come as a massive shock to him when Starsky had called him to let him know that Hutch had left town – especially when he'd learned that Starsky had let him go without a fight. There was something about Hutch's decision to seemingly abandon his partner which didn't sit well with him – it seemed so out of character, and wasn't in line with the way the pair usually worked. Dobey knew that Hutch would never dream of leaving Starsky, it had broken his heart to witness his struggle whilst his best friend had been in a coma in the hospital, and he'd pushed himself to the brink of breaking point in order to bring the man responsible for his shooting to justice. It was because of Hutch that Starsky hadn't had to stay in the hospital any longer than was necessary, and he'd tentatively taken care of his partner since his discharge – he'd given up his bed, and given his partner the one thing he'd needed more than anything else – time. Never at any point had he told anyone how he himself had been feeling, and by the time any of them had realised it had already been too late. It was a testament to just how much Hutch had been suffering that he'd felt the only way through the darkness had been to get away from it all, and Dobey's feelings of guilt weighed heavy – they had let Hutch down, and in doing so had let Starsky down too.

"What ya thinking son?" He asked Starsky, who he noticed had a troubled look in his eyes. He instinctively leaned forward, and as he looked up at him Starsky could see the sadness in Dobey's eyes too. He watched as he picked up one of the empty takeaway boxes on the table in front of him, examining its paltry contents. Finding it empty he proceeded to scrutinize another – more out of need of a distraction than any residual pangs of hunger. The man would never voice his feelings out loud, but everyone who worked for him knew how he felt about Starsky and Hutch. A captain wasn't supposed to have favourites amongst his men, but it was almost inevitable that he would – and they all realised that his concern for the two Detectives went far beyond what could be considered natural professional interest.

"About Hutch." Starsky confessed and breathed a heavy sigh, trying to alleviate some of the weight which had settled within his heart. "I didn't tell you, but he called again today." He told him – he'd been avoiding talking about the subject all evening. He knew that talking wouldn't change anything, and he was so weary of feeling helpless, but whilst talking about it never seemed to do any good, he knew deep down that not talking was even worse. Not talking was what had got Hutch into this situation in the first place. "He sounded so sick Cap'n," He explained sadly. "I thought letting him go would help him, I thought I was doing the right thing, but if anything he sounded so much worse today and he's got this cough I just don't like the sound of. It's killin me, not being able to help him through this."

"I know it is son." Dobey nodded – quite understanding Starsky's feelings of helplessness. Sometimes it was so hard to comprehend how Gunther had managed to steal so much away from the two men – they had faced him once before, and he hadn't beaten them then. They'd all believed that they'd managed to put him behind them. No one could have foreseen what the man had planned. On the other hand they should have foreseen that neither man could simply walk back into the job after everything they had been through. Starsky's body had been so badly broken that nobody had known in the early stages of his recovery if he could even return to living a normal life – let alone return to work. They had all just assumed that once Hutch had been reassured that Starsky's life was no longer in any immediate danger he would be alright – that had been all he had ever needed to know in the past – but the circumstances this time had been very different. They'd both experienced some very close calls over the years, each giving the other a terrible scare on more than one occasion, but never had either of them found themselves quite so close to death before. Dobey and Huggy had stood and watched as Starsky had flatlined that first afternoon in the hospital. As they'd stood at the large observation window, observing Starsky's medical team try unsuccessfully to revive him, they'd thought then that they'd been watching their friend die. In his heart Dobey had realised that it had been no coincidence that Starsky's heart had started beating again just as Hutch had arrived at the hospital. Until that moment he had been afraid that Hutch wouldn't get there in time to say goodbye, and in hindsight they should have been keeping a much closer eye on him. Hutch had always been the type to suffer in silence, rather than ask for help, and it bothered Dobey to think that none of them had noticed him getting sicker and sicker. All the signs had been there, but even after Hutch had been taken ill on the evening they had all planned a picnic supper for Starsky whilst he'd still been in the hospital they still hadn't quite grasped the seriousness of his condition.

He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd ever felt as angry as he felt now. Gunther had not yet had his day in court, but Dobey had resolved to do everything in his power to make sure that he paid dearly for what he had done, and if he had his way the man would never see the outside of a prison cell again. He knew that he couldn't do much, and anything he could do would never be enough to repair what damage had been done, but from mighty to forgotten fallen he would make sure that Gunther spent the rest of his life stagnating behind metal bars.

As for Starsky and Hutch all he could do was hope that they could eventually find a way through the trauma of what they had been through. He knew that that would be the ultimate revenge in Gunther's eyes – but that all seemed a very long way off at the moment.

Having been unsuccessful in finding any leftover food in the empty takeaway boxes he took a gulp of stale coffee from the cup in front of him, grimacing as he found the dregs to be cold. He then proceeded to neatly stack the boxes on the coffee table in front of him before sweeping them into the trash can beneath, and leaning back in his seat. He sighed as his shoulders sagged wearily. He'd already stayed much later than he'd intended, the hour was late and Starsky could see how tired he was feeling.

"I agree that Hutch should be amongst friends whilst he recovers." He told Starsky solemnly, running a palm over his face, "but we can't force him to come home, just like we couldn't force him to stay. That's just something he needs to figure out for himself."

Starsky nodded, he knew that Dobey was right, but that didn't make it any easier for him to accept it.

"I think I know what Terry meant now." He exhaled a breath wearily, and Dobey frowned, not quite understanding his meaning. He'd only met Starsky's fiancé a few times, and so he hadn't been privy to all of the details of the last few days of her life, but she'd seemed like a nice young woman. She'd visited the precinct on a couple of occasions to meet Starsky after he'd finished work, and she'd also accompanied him and Hutch one evening, when Edith had invited the two detectives over for dinner.

"When she was dyeing Terry told me she felt like a little girl watching her ball roll into the ocean." Starsky revealed. He felt a hard lump begin to form in his throat and he swallowed hard to try and rid himself of it, but his voice still shook as he spoke, betraying the pain behind his words. He didn't talk about her very often, except perhaps sometimes with Hutch – preferring to carry his grief privately – but Captain Dobey knew that that didn't mean that he'd forgotten about her. He'd simply had to find a way to move forward with his life, and he knew that talking about her still caused Starsky pain, which he had no desire to make worse by prying further. "She knew that her life was slipping away from her, and there was nothing she could do about it." Starsky explained – recalling how he'd spent their last afternoon together searching for her. He'd visited all of her favourite places – the schoolyard and the classroom which she'd loved so much, and the beach – before finally finding her in the last place he'd thought to look – home. Terry had been such an outgoing young woman, her apartment had always just been somewhere to lay her head at the end of a busy day. He'd walked in to find her staring down at the street below wistfully and clutching Olly, her teddy bear, tight to her chest. "That's how I feel now." He confessed. "Hutch may be really sick, and there's nothing I can do to help him."

"He'll find his way back to us son, he just needs some time." Dobey did his best to reassure him. Starsky leaned back in his seat and turned his gaze upwards towards the ceiling sadly.

"I miss him Cap." He said.

"I know you do." Dobey nodded, quite understanding Starsky's pain. The two men were like two halves of the same whole – and he also realised that wherever he was Hutch would be feeling that same pain too. "I do too. We all do." He added. "But we'll all be here for him when he comes home."

As it transpired Starsky didn't have to wait too long for Dobey's words to come true. Two more weeks went by, during which time Hutch started calling him every day.

Starsky could tell that going away evidently hadn't been the escape he'd hoped it would be. He still had the cough he'd noticed a couple of weeks before – which now seemed worse than it had done the first time he'd noticed it – and he sounded so sad and tired, but Starsky continued to bide his time, hold his words, and give him the space he needed. He sensed that Hutch was starting to reconsider his decision to leave.

Finally – more than a month after he'd left – the day that Starsky had been longing for came, and he received a phone call from his partner one afternoon letting him know that he was coming home. The curly haired brunette could find no words to voice the relief he felt at hearing this. If anything Hutch sounded even more tired than he had done before he'd left, but Starsky felt sure that he would be all the better for being home again, amongst friends.

Hutch informed him that he'd been travelling around a lot, but had wound up about 300 miles away, and would be catching a bus back to Bay City the following morning.

Starsky started moving his stuff back into Hutch's place that afternoon, and Huggy helped him get the apartment ready for Hutch's return. Nobody had set foot inside Venice Place since Starsky had left and a layer of dust seemed to have settled over everything; the bed sheets needed changing, and the fridge restocking. Starsky had forgotten to clear it out before he'd left, and a carton of milk had gone sour in the door.

Hutch's houseplants were in a sorry state, but Edith had determined, to Starsky's relief, that they weren't in fact dead, and had given him some advice on how to bring them back. She'd been only too happy to help with the cleaning, and whilst Huggy had been out at the store picking up groceries she had dusted and vacuumed, changed the bed sheets, emptied the trash and sorted the laundry – all the tasks Starsky still didn't have the energy for. Huggy had returned a couple of hours later laden down with paper bags full of food – milk, butter, bread, cheese, cold meats, eggs, cereal and fruit – and Edith had heated up a pot of beef stew in the oven for Starsky's dinner, before the two of them had left Starsky for the night. Huggy had had to leave to take over the late shift from Anita at The Pits – she'd covered more than her fair share of shifts recently, freeing Huggy up to be there for his two friends – and Edith needed to get back to the two kids, and her husband.

Left alone to his empty contemplations Starsky felt happier than he had done in all the weeks that Hutch had been away, but that happiness was clouded with concern. As he sat alone in Venice Place that evening, taking swigs from a beer bottle in his hand, his thoughts began to drift towards his concerns for his best friend.

Hutch arrived home the next morning. Starsky had been up since dawn, watching the clock, wandering when he would hear the sound of the key in the lock. In truth he'd been up most of the night, and he helplessly distracted himself with the pretence of making sure that the apartment was ready for his partner's return, even though the reality was that there really wasn't all that much to do – Edith had made sure that it had all been done before she'd left the day before. Even so, after he'd prepared himself and eaten a light breakfast of toast and eggs, he busied himself putting away the groceries Huggy had left on the kitchen counter the evening before, in two large paper bags. He'd made sure to put the cheese, butter, milk and cold cuts of meat in the fridge the night before, but there was still the cupboard which needed restocking, and the empty fruit bowel looked sadly lacking. Starsky threw a couple of soft and shrived apples – which were too far gone to even be considered fit for an apple pie – into the trash, their wrinkly skins reminding him of hands which had spent too long submerged in dish water, before filling the bowel with the bananas and fresh apples Huggy had brought. There were a couple of oranges and a small cardboard box of grapes, as well as the couple of loaves of bread and some pasta.

Hutch hadn't told him what time he expected to be back – perhaps in case something happened to delay him, or perhaps he didn't know himself, but finally Starsky heard slow footsteps on the stairs outside and the sound of a key turning in the lock, before the door slowly opened.

The figure of Hutch which stood before him was clean shaven and smelt vaguely of soap, so Starsky was reasonably reassured that in this way at least he'd been taking care of himself, but he looked thinner than he had done when he'd last seen him, and his complexion was paper pale. There were no words exchanged between the two men at first as they locked eyes, each bearing the tell-tale shimmer of unshed tears. Hutch dropped his bag where he stood in the open doorway and made his way over to Starsky – reaching out for his best friend, who pulled him into a much longed for embrace. Starsky held onto him tightly, feeling as though he never wanted to let go of him again.

"I'm sorry Stark." He whispered – his voice was weak and he sounded tired, as though a sadness had taken route in his heart.

"It's OK." Starsky reassured him – drawing him even closer and squeezing him tight. He didn't think he had held him quite so tight since the evening Gillian had been murdered, but he needed to know that he wasn't dreaming. He had to reassure himself that Hutch really was standing in front of him, and that his best friend really had finally come home. Hutch too seemed in no hurry to let go of Starsky, the past few weeks had passed him by in a blur. He felt as though he'd been floating lost, without an anchor, amongst a sea of strangers. He'd travelled from town to town, by bus and by train – which had been transporting all other manner of lost souls – and each time hoping that the next would be where he would find the solace he'd been seeking. He'd needed to get as far away as he could from Gunther and the memory of what had happened, but the further away he'd travelled from home the more lost and lonely he'd become. Most of the people he'd encountered on his journey had been nice, but they hadn't known him, and Hutch couldn't recall a time he had ever felt so alone. He'd spent hours on the road, finding himself in a new town every few days, and only stopping long enough to eat and sleep. He'd been quite lucky in that the accommodation he'd managed to secure for himself had been relatively decent – it had always been dry and warm, and there had been clean sheets, showers and good food. He hadn't been able to stomach much but money was something he hadn't been short of, and this considerable foresight on his part had served him well. Even so he'd been caught in a terrible downpour after a couple of weeks on the road – the cold of the frigid water as it had cascaded down from the grey skies above and soaked into his clothes had settled into his bones, and he'd found the chill hard to shake. He'd developed a fever, and a bad cough a few days later, the latter of which hadn't seemed to improve even after the fever had broke, and if anything it felt as though it had been getting worse steadily worse as the weeks had rolled on.

Finally Starsky released him, and the two men took a step back from each other.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" He asked him.

"Yes, but not where I expected." Hutch explained. "I knew that I had made a mistake as soon as I had left, but by that time it felt as though it was already too late to change my mind." He confessed. "I felt ashamed Starsk – I hated myself for abandoning you. The truth is though that the further I got away from home the more I realised that what I really needed was here all the time. I was lost for a while. I wanted to escape from the memories of Gunther but in the end I couldn't, because what I was running away from wasn't a person, or a place, but was inside my own head."

Suddenly however he was silenced as, as if on cue, he was gripped by a violent coughing fit, which left him doubled over and panting for breath. He wheezed and hacked – and the curly haired brunette couldn't disguise his grimace at how painful it sounded. It tore at his heart to see Hutch's suffering.

"I'm sorry." He choked out the words, which had evidently been lying so heavily on his heart.

"That's a nasty cough you've got there Hutch." Starsky said with a concerned frown.

"Yeah." Hutch forced a smile, before the smile turned into slight grimace of pain, and his hand reached up to rub at his chest. "Starsk, it hurts when I breathe." He said.

Starsky's face fell and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach on hearing this. He'd known for weeks that something was wrong with his best friend, his instincts had told him so, but he hadn't expected things to be quite this bad. Hutch's hands started to shake and he instinctively led him over to the couch, where he sat down heavily, as though all of the strength had suddenly drained from his limbs. Hutch slowly leaned back into the bed of soft cushions Starsky placed behind him – propping him up in a comfortable position – and he allowed his eyes to close, evidently exhausted.

"It's alright buddy," Starsky sighed, patting him reassuringly and taking comfort in the fact that after weeks of wishing and hoping, and preying, he could finally lay a hand comfortingly on his best friend's shoulder, "let's get you to a doctor to get you checked over, just to be on the safe side. I'll call Doctor Maybrouk." He said, and watched as Hutch nodded weakly. The past few weeks had been hell for him without Starsky at his side – he'd felt the broken part of himself all the more prominently for the lack of his best friend – but as tired and drained as Hutch currently felt he too could also take comfort in the fact that he was home, and he had no intention of leaving again anytime soon.