Goals
Hutch entered the empty hospital room. The walls had been covered with cards from well-wishers and pictures drawn by Rosie Dobey and Lisa Graham. Hutch walked over to the nightstand. He picked up a pad of paper and read the first page. There in Starsky's handwriting, a list titled "Goals." Hutch read through the list, then returned the pad to the nightstand. He remembered vaguely Starsky telling him how the physical therapist asked him to make a list of five goals he wanted to reach. Starsky had grumbled about being too old to do homework, that he wasn't a kid any more.
Hutch pulled out his pocket watch. It was 2:55. Starsky should be through with his physical therapy at 3:00. He'd be wiped out, but he wouldn't complain. That's just the way Starsky was. When he was really in pain, really hurting, he wouldn't say a word unless it was to crack a joke. Any other time, though, and he'd complain to high heaven. A toothache. A pulled muscle. An empty stomach. Something bearable…that he could complain about. Hutch wished Starsky would complain. At least he would know that partner was finally feeling better.
Hutch missed Starsky. Sure, he saw him every day. But he missed the man-child – the dreamer full of excitement, the optimist, always entranced with new ideas, bad jokes, train sets, old movies…. Hutch sighed.
Starsky was finally returned to his room. Hutch helped him from the wheelchair to his bed. He pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, his back to the door, positioned so that Starsky could see him.
"How ya doin' Starsk?" Hutch asked. God, how many times did he ask that a day? He made a mental note to keep track of the number. That was one. No, that was two. He had called him at lunch today and asked the same thing. Okay, three. After all, he had called after breakfast too.
Starsky smiled. "They got me working on strengthening and balancing exercises, you know, so I can walk up stairs and stuff like that. Seems kinda silly to me, seeing that the elevator was invented to prevent me from having to take the stairs."
Hutch returned the smile, making note of the grimace Starsky made when he shifted himself in the bed.
A nurse entered and gave Starsky some pain pills. He popped them in his mouth and took a drink of water. After she left, he spat the pills out into the palm of his hand.
"Starsk, you're obviously in pain. Why don't you take the medicine?" Hutch asked his partner.
"Makes me loopy. Can't carry on a decent conversation when I take those things." Starsky decided to change the subject. "So, how's it going at the station? Anything new happening? You working on the street?"
Hutch sighed. "Gotta couple of leads on the Burke case. Huggy's got his feelers out. I'm hoping it will break soon. I'm not on the street. Told Dobey I'd do any paperwork or phone work he wanted, but I'm not going on the street without my partner."
Starsky shifted once again, causing him to gasp.
Hutch leaped from the chair to Starsky's side. "You okay?" That was four. Technically it was a different question, but the meaning was the same, so it should count, right?
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. Put in quite a workout." Starsky closed his eyes, took in a breath and held it, then released it slowly. He wondered how many times Hutch asked him that every day. It seemed as if every other sentence that came out of his mouth was to ask how he was feeling.
Hutch poured him a cup of water. "Come on, Starsk. Take the pills. I'll head out early. You get some rest, okay?"
Starsky opened his eyes. "Okay, I'll take them, but only if you stay for a little while. At least 'til I fall asleep. Deal?"
"Deal."
Starsky put the pills in his mouth and reached for the cup of water. Hutch handed it to him and watched as Starsky swallowed the medicine.
"You sure you took them this time?" he asked.
"Promise. See?" Starsky opened his mouth and pushed his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
Hutch laughed. "Okay, just wanted to make sure."
"You're worse than my mother," said Starsky. He closed his eyes again and lay very still. After a few minutes his breathing seemed easier.
Hutch squeezed Starsky's arm. "Hey, can I get you anything?"
Starsky slowly opened his eyes. "If you could make the ceiling stop moving, I'd be eternally grateful." He closed his eyes again. "I hate these damn things…make my brain feel fuzzy."
"You sure you're okay?" Damn. Five.
"I'm fine. Relax." Starsky opened his eyes halfway and smiled. He yawned and his eyes closed once again.
Hutch returned to his chair, watching his partner. Starsky shifted in bed again, but this time there was no grimace, only a short intake of air. At least the pills were working. Starsky's breathing slowed, and Hutch knew he had fallen asleep.
Hutch picked up the pad from the nightstand and read the list again. There, in his partner's distinctive handwriting, was an unfinished list of goals.
Watch Hutch's back.
Drive my car.
Beef burrito with extra onions and hot sauce.
Get this stupid list done.
Hutch looked at his sleeping partner. He took a pen out of his jacket and made his own list of goals. Making sure his partner was asleep; he quietly walked out of the room to get a cup of coffee.
XXXXXX
Starsky woke up slowly, his head feeling groggy because of the pain medication. He looked around. Hutch's chair was empty. The pad of paper was propped up on the nightstand and he slowly reached for it. There, underneath his own set of goals, Hutch had written some of his own.
Stop asking Starsk how he's doing every other sentence.
Arrange the 3-course dinner I still owe him.
Change Starsky's eating habits…a guy can dream.
Return to the streets…but only with Starsky by my side.
At the risk of creating a soapy scene – let my partner know how much I love and admire him for not giving up, for always being there for me, and for being the best person I know. No matter what the future holds, we will always be Me and Thee.
The sound of the door being pushed open caused Starsky to look up. Hutch entered slowly, looking toward the bed to see if Starsky was awake. Starsky set the pad of paper down on his lap and brushed away a tear. His eyes met Hutch's and he smiled.
Hutch walked to his chair and sat down. "Hey, Starsk. How ya doing?" Was that six?
Starsky smiled. "I thought you were going to quit asking me that."
"No, just not every other sentence. Uh, I'm still waiting for an answer."
"Well, if you must know, I think the physical therapist is trying to kill me. I mean, she's working muscles I didn't know I had. Good thing she's a lady, or I'd have to deck her for some of the stuff she's making me do."
"What are you complaining about? At least she's—" Hutch paused. Starsky was complaining. He was actually complaining.
Starsky looked at Hutch, puzzled. "What's the matter Blondie? You forget how to talk?"
"Uh, no. I just…I was just thinking. I was thinking about our bet. I owe you a dinner pal, and I was wondering what you had decided on."
"Surprise me." Starsky said, then stifled a yawn and closed his eyes.
Hutch stood. "Okay. You've got a dinner reservation for tomorrow night then. One condition though…you have to do your therapy and take the pain medicine. Okay?"
Starsky peeked through his lashes. "Yes, Mom."
Hutch squeezed Starsky's arm. "Okay, then. I'll stay here until you fall asleep, and then I'll head home. I'll see you tomorrow." He sat back in his chair.
"Hutch?"
"Yeah, Starsk?"
"We are going to get back on the streets. I promise. Me and Thee." Starsky opened his eyes and locked them onto Hutch. Blue met blue, and the nonverbal commitment was verified.
Hutch stood and placed his hand on Starsky's shoulder, unable to speak.
"Hutch?"
"Uh, yeah Buddy?"
"You ain't gonna change my eating habits, so you might as well scratch that off the list." Starsky flashed a lopsided grin at Hutch.
"We'll see about that, Partner. Now get some sleep." Hutch sat down in the chair and watched as Starsky drifted off to sleep. For the first time in weeks he actually felt that things were going to be okay, that it was no longer his wishful thinking, but a reality that was going to happen in time. What had seemed like shattered pieces of his life were now puzzle pieces that were being put together.
Seeing that Starsky was finally asleep, Hutch quietly left the room. He had a dinner to plan.
The End