Starsky was almost home. He had been driving on autopilot for nearly the whole journey, his thoughts focused solely on his partner. Why was Hutch so worked up over this case? Starsky's own heart ached for the little girl that may never make it home, but, as sad and disgusting as it was, that was life. Not all endings were happy. Starsky was confident that they were doing everything in their power to bring this girl home. In the meantime, there had to be something he could do to help get Hutch's mind off the case for a little while. Starsky realized belatedly that he should have forced the blond to come over for pizza and beers.
The Torino purred as he coasted to the end of the street and took a right turn. Starsky was always a little hesitant about forcing Hutch to do anything when the blond was in one of 'those' moods. Hutch guarded himself very well and even Starsky, who knew him so completely, was unsure of how to make Hutch happy again. Stomping his feet and demanding that Hutch just act normally often had unpredictable results. Sometimes, Starsky's temper tantrums worked and Hutch loosened up, but other times the blond shoved Starsky further away.
Starsky sighed to himself. Pizza and beer sounded really good right now.
Starsky shivered as the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. April Bently's case was wearing all the detectives very thin as the hours grew long and no traces of the little girl were found. Starsky had a bad feeling about the whole thing. Whoever had taken the little girl wanted the girl- not money or fame. It was one of the worst kinds of crimes that could be committed, and if he had to guess, Starsky would bet money that the world would be short one little girl by the time this was over. Starsky hit the steering wheel in frustration. There had to be a connection somewhere!
The radio mounted to the Torino's dash beeped to life. The call that followed froze Starsky's heart and numbed his body.
"Attention all units, please respond to a automobile accident near Vine and 4th. Vehicle is a 1970 LTD, the victim is detective Hutchinson."
Starsky's jaw opened before his hand was even on the radio. "This is Zebra three, are you sure about that Mildred?" Please don't be true, please don't be-
"I'm afraid so Starsky. A bystander saw the whole thing and called it in. Said he found Hutch's badge after he pulled him out."
Starsky swallowed, although there was no moisture left in his mouth. "I'm on it," was all he could reply as he slammed on the brakes, ignoring the protest from the Torino, and floored it again when the nose of the car was facing the right direction.
It was the call he never wanted to hear. Hutch was in danger and injured. Streetlights and trees and mailboxes all blurred together as the Torino carried him quickly through the streets of Bay City, towards his friend. Starsky set his jaw and fought to keep his heart in his chest as it tried to claw it's way up his throat. Images of Hutch's battered car flashed through his mind quickly and Starsky's foot pushed on the gas peddle a little harder. The Torino did not fight him.
I'm comin' buddy, hold on... Starsky glanced in the rearview mirror out of nervous habit. Nothing was behind him. The streets were empty at this time of night, save for the occasional bar-hopper that was turning in for the night. Starsky turned the wheel hard and the tires squealed as the heavy car skidded onto 4th Street. Seconds were bleeding into one another as adrenaline pumped heavily through his veins. He was almost there.
When Starsky did get there, he wished he hadn't. The Torino squealed to a halt and in the following silence, Starsky took in the sight from behind the safety of the windshield. It seemed that even the Torino mourned.
The scene was dimly lit only by the full moon overhead. The LTD was thirty feet from the road, it's bent form framed picture-esquely by a broken guardrail. Hutch's car was wrapped around a large tree and the hissing smoke was still raising into the looming branches overhead. Starsky's breath caught in his throat and he was unable to bring oxygen to his body.
Starsky launched himself from the leather seat and he ran towards the vehicle, staying in the center of the LTD's tell-tale tire tracks. He passed through the broken guardrails and headed straight for the two figures on the ground, some distance away from the wreckage. As he came alongside the LTD, Starsky saw the extent of the damage and almost faltered in his gait. The car's crumpled hood was up, exposing the deformed engine, and the grill was probably permanently imbedded in the tree trunk. The windshield was shattered and the driver's door hung open, revealing the blood and glass that littered the front seat, sparkling in the moonlight. The smell of smoke and pain hung heavy in the crisp night air.
Starsky landed on his knees in the wet grass. "Get away," he breathed, pushing the civilian away from his fallen partner. In a practiced and fluid motion, Starsky sat down and gathered Hutch in his arms, feeling for injuries as he did so. "Hutch..."
"I checked for injuries, I think it's just his head-"
The bystander's voice melded with the other thundering thoughts and emotions in Starsky's head. He was barely aware of the ambulance's distant sirens as they raced through the city. His focus was tunneled to the limp, broken body in his lap and the severity of Hutch's injuries. Blood was running steadily from a deep slice on Hutch's forehead that would probably need stitches and leave a scar. Miraculously, other than some scattered mild cuts and scratches, Hutch's body appeared mostly unharmed. Starsky pressed two trembling fingers to the major artery in Hutch's throat and winced inwardly when he felt the spread of warm, sticky blood under his touch. The sensation sent him further into frenzy.
The pulse was very faint and almost undetectable through Starsky's own tremors, but at last it could be found and proved to Starsky that Hutch's heart was still physically beating. There was minimal relief in the discovery.
"Come on Hutch, hold on buddy." Starsky gathered his partner closer, shifting his weight to settle on the cool grass. There was a lot of blood beneath them, and it stained Starsky's clothing and skin as he attempted to press on the wound and staunch the bleeding. On the street, the ambulance came to a stop beside the still-running Torino. Now two pairs of headlights spotlighted Starsky and his attempts to resuscitate Hutch.
Tears were stinging Starsky's eyes by the time the paramedics crashed to the ground at his side. "It's alright detective, we're here to help him."
Starsky knew that already, but he was still reluctant to hand over his best friend. The pain in his chest seemed to only be eased by the physical contact with Hutch. He needed Hutch, needed him as much as the air he was struggling to get enough of.
A few moments later, Starsky found himself being pried away and this time he sat back and watched the paramedics care for his partner. A cold, empty feeling seeped into his bones as Hutch was settled onto a backboard and strapped to it while a basic pressure bandage was wrapped around his head. Within seconds, he was being carried past the wreckage and towards the ambulance. Starsky was following close behind.
"I'm coming," Starsky said, following Hutch as the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance. There was no question in his voice.
The shorter paramedic only nodded, too preoccupied with stabilizing Hutch to really prevent Starsky from climbing into the ambulance. "Just sit tight. We'll get to the hospital in no time."
Eleven minutes later, the sirens fell silent as the ambulance slid to a stop in front of the hospital. A whirlwind of paramedics, doctors, nurses, and one blond detective swept through the front doors of the ER wing, leaving Starsky scrambling to keep up, monitor Hutch and navigate himself at the same time. The hospital's brightly lit rooms were filled with a haphazard collection of lost and crying families awaiting news of their loved ones. Their pain barely registered with Starsky as his concentration remained locked on his own loved one. Triage was being called out over the hustle and the doctors were already shouting preparation orders to the nurses. As they drew closer to the emergency room, the heavy smell of antiseptics assaulted Starsky's nose and made his eyes water. He was stopped from entering the emergency room by a young man in scrubs.
"Your friend is in good hands now, we just need you to have a seat and we'll let you know what's going on as soon as he's stable, okay?"
Starsky nodded faintly and the doctor was gone before he was fully sitting down.
Just like that then. He never felt more alone.
The world continued to spin around him at a frightening speed. Starsky was utterly ignored as he sat in his own personal turmoil, waiting for news on his best friend. News regarding Hutch's very life. His thoughts began to turn dark as Starsky imagined what the doctors were doing his Hutch beyond those closed doors. Head wounds could be much worse than fatal- they could leave people in never-ending, empty comas or life-altering brain damage...
Starsky shuddered. That would not happen to his partner. Hutch was too strong for that. Nobody could damage Hutch's life without going through Starsky first. Anger began boiling inside of Starsky until he erupted from the uncomfortable chair and began pacing the tile floor, against the stark wall of the waiting room. Had someone run his partner off the road? Was it some low-life scum that they had shown mercy to in the past? How the hell did his partner wind up unresponsive on a cold metal table?
"Starsky!"
The deep voice belonged to Captain Dobey. Starsky halted his agitated pacing, still seething, and waited for the black man to approach.
"Starsky, what's going on? Is Hutchinson alright?"
"I don't know, they just took him in. He was run off the road and hit a tree head on. The car's wasted, he's been out of it since I got there-"
Dobey moved closer. "Starsky, calm down. Did anyone see the accident?"
A faint memory of the bystander being questioned by a uniformed officer glanced off Starsky's recollection. "There was a guy there, I don't know how much he saw."
"And naturally, you know where he is now."
"The uniforms questioned him. I would know by now if he had anything to do with it."
Dobey sighed and looked more closely at the detective. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Starsky replied, sounding as if the captain had asked if he drove a red and white striped Torino. "It's my partner you should worry about."
A moment of tense and uncomfortable silence hung between the two men before, as if on cue, the doctor pushed through the doors and quickly tossed his balled-up exam gloves into the trash. Starsky spun and faced the man with a speed that almost had him reaching out to steady himself.
"You came in with Detective Hutchinson, right?" the young doctor asked as he came to a stop. Several other people in the waiting room looked away in disappointment.
"How is he?" Starsky asked quickly. He looked deeply into the doctor's eyes, trying to find a diagnosis in the other man's face.
The doctor shifted his weight into a more relaxed manner. "He'll be fine with time. The worst of his injuries is the head injury. He has a concussion but we can't detect any further brain damage. He-"
"Wait a minute, you can't detect anything? What's that mean?"
The doctor took the interruption in stride and continued with patience. "We'll have to wait until he wakes up and we can talk to him, to make sure there's no amnesia or other brain trauma. Other than a sprained wrist and some pretty impressive bruises, your friend was very lucky."
Starsky snorted softly in agreement. He prayed to God that Hutch's luck never ran out. "Can I see him?"
The doctor nodded and turned sideways. "Sure. As I said, he hasn't woken up yet, so I can't let you stay too long." He motioned for Starsky to follow down the hall.
"I gotta get back," Captain Dobey announced as he turned in the opposite direction. "Give me a call later."
"Sure Cap'n," Starsky tossed over his shoulder. He turned his attention back to following the doctor down the hallway. As his steps echoed on the pale tile, Starsky's thoughts turned inward and towards his partner. Why did malice always seem to find Hutch so easily? What had Hutch done to attract such evil fates? What if this was the time that Hutch woke up and no longer wanted to be a detective- no longer wanted to be Starsky's partner? What if Hutch didn't wake up at all?
"Here he is," the doctor announced, opening a door a crack. "I'll be back in a little while."
Starsky stopped the doctor with a hand on his arm. "Hey, I didn't even get your name."
The doctor smiled and extended his hand. "Doctor Travis."
Starsky shook the doctor's hand and retuned a smile of his own. "Thanks for taking care of my partner, Doctor Travis."
"My pleasure," the doctor returned politely, then Starsky was left standing alone in the doorway.
Starsky stepped into the room slowly, taken aback by the limp figure on the bed. A heart monitor beeped rhythmically from a machine parked in the corner of the room, echoing the valiant beating of Hutch's heart. Next to the bed, a clear bag of fluids dripped within it's tubing and filtered into Hutch's bloodstream. Briefly, Starsky wondered what was being fed to his partner and more importantly, if it was habit-forming. The blood and dirt and glass had been cleaned away from Hutch's face and the blond looked a lot better than he had when Starsky had been holding him not an hour earlier.
With a sigh, Starsky moved to the forlorn chair that was awaiting him. He scooted it closer to the bed, so that his knees were touching the mattress, and bent forward. Starsky rested his elbows on his knees and took a closer look at Hutch. A blinding white bandage covered most of Hutch's forehead and the large, deep bruise that decorated it. The flesh was swollen and looked painful, so Starsky dropped his gaze and checked over the rest of his partner. There was a wrap on Hutch's right wrist. The other wrist was providing an inlet for the IV fluids. Starsky shuddered.
"Well, here we are again buddy," Starsky breathed as he started to reach for Hutch, then stopped himself when he saw the bandages and catheters. Starsky let his hand fall heavily into his lap.
After two beeps of the heart monitor, Starsky leaned closer and set his elbows on the mattress. Tears stung his eyes as he rested his head in his hands and prayed.
o0O0o
The steady, mechanical beeping that filled the air slowly penetrated the heavy darkness covering Hutch. He let his breathing be guided by the solid rhythm as his other senses came online. The smell of antiseptics and hospitals filled his nose and Hutch accepted that knowledge without surprise. The sounds of a beeping heart monitor were accompanied by the low hum of on IV pump and someone snoring. Further away, people could be herd bustling down a hallway.
What he could not detect, however, were his clothes. The smooth feeling of clean sheets draped over his bare legs informed Hutch that he was most likely dressed in one of those embarrassing hospital gowns. He should have expected as much.
Hutch swallowed the stale saliva in his mouth and winced as various hurts made their presence known all over his body. His chest and wrists ached and there was a dull pain in his knees and ankles. Most importantly though, was the throbbing in his head. Suddenly the overhead lights were too bright, even though his eyes were still closed. Hutch squeezed them shut tighter and turned his head to the side. The minimal action caused his brain to slosh against his skull and Hutch couldn't stop the pathetic whimper that escaped his lips.
"Hey, you awake?" A voice sounded from somewhere overhead. "Take it easy there buddy, it's okay."
Hutch tried to moisten his sticky mouth to no avail. "Starsk?" he called out, hardly recognizing his own broken voice.
"It's me buddy, just relax. I'll get the doctor."
Hutch felt Starsky's hands on him and he tried to obey. Now that he wasn't staring directly up into the lights, he blinked his eyes open and waited for his vision to clear. Starsky was leaning over him, wearing a solemn expression of concern. The fabric of the burnet's red shirt brushed against his bare arm and made Hutch shiver. "What happened?" he asked, trying again to gather enough saliva to quench his thirst.
A white straw was laid between his lips and Starsky asked, "You don't remember?"
Hutch swallowed reflexively, not remembering the last time water has tasted so good. After feeling the cool liquid slide down his throat and pool in his belly, he pulled away and tried to sit up. "I was going home, wasn't I?"
"Yeah," Starsky confirmed, then stopped as if it pained him too much to continue.
Hutch let his eyes fall shut as he tried to remember. "I was driving… I saw-" Hutch's eyes opened wide. "I saw the girl, April. Well, I thought I saw her," he deflated a little, not really sure what he saw. "Something was in the road, I swerved to avoid hitting it…"
Starsky narrowed his eyes. "No one was behind you? No one ran you off the road?"
Hutch's eyebrows dipped in thought. "No. Not that I remember, why?"
Starsky leaned back and looked relieved. "I thought-"
Suddenly a man burst around the doorway and leveled a gun at Starsky's chest. "Thought you could catch me, did ya?" he growled, and even Hutch could detect the trace of insanity in the man's voice. "She's mine now, I found her, I'm keeping her!"
Without any warning, the red-haired gunman braced himself and fired the gun. Hutch flinched in reflex at the sound then quickly recovered and turned to Starsky.
The burnet had caught the bullet in his chest and rich blood was draining through the hole in his flesh. Starsky lay back, slumped in the chair beside Hutch's bed and paralyzed in shock.
"Starsky!" Hutch cried, fumbling in his frantic efforts to get to his partner's side. The gunman was gone now, but the pain and destruction he had left behind filled the room as loudly as the rapidly beeping heart monitor.
Starsky turned his head and locked his blue-eyed gaze on Hutch. "Hey," he wheezed, "at least I'm in a hospital, right?"
The IV pole clattered to the ground as Hutch pulled against the tubing and reached over to hold his partner. "Starsky, stay with me, you're gonna be alright…"
A cold feeling spread on Hutch's arm and he had to look down to recognize Starsky's hand. "I don't think… I'm gonna… be alright…"
Hot tears burned Hutch's eyes and he tried to blink away the sensation. "Listen to me, knucklehead, you're gonna survive this. You have to!"
Starsky was going limp under Hutch's hands. The blood was dripping audibly into a dark pool on the floor under Starsky's chair and his skin was drained of color. "Thanks for… bein' my… partner."
The last word escaped Starsky's lips as a whisper before his lungs deflated for the last time.
"Starsk?" Hutch gave the limp form a shake. "Starsky?" Deep down, Hutch knew it was over. "Starsky! Come on, wake up! Listen to me, Damnit!
"STARSKY!"