Disclaimer: This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders of the rights to Starsky and Hutch.
This is the first time that I will be posting by chapters—thanks Eli and S'gal! Hope it works! Mahalo to all of the wonderful people in my life, who continue to encourage, support, and inspire me in my endeavor to write.
Warning: This story might be considered a dark one and contains some graphic scenes and foul language that may be offensive to some readers.
oo Silent Witness oo
He was floating somewhere . . . just beyond the excruciating pain that hammered relentlessly into his skull; somewhere above the soft murmuring of voices that came and went from his room. He subconsciously perceived that he was once again in a hospital, for he could feel the firm bed beneath his heavy body and hear the soft beeps from the monitor that kept track of his heart and brain activity. Although his mind registered the sharp prodding and poking that caused blinding pulses of pain to stab into the side of his head, he remained still and senseless, choosing instead to float, and passively hover in peaceful oblivion. And yet, despite the tranquil serenity that engulfed his being, it seemed like there was something . . . or someone in the darkness with him . . . quietly waiting . . . watching . . . a presence that willed him to remain . . . and just float . . .
CHAPTER ONE
(Memorial Hospital, ICU Ward)
Hutch walked quickly through the ICU ward, to room 11, and quietly let himself in to the dimly lit room. His curly haired friend was there, lying still and silent in the same position on the bed, the monitors still humming their monotonous tune, as they kept time to the beating of his partner's heart. The blond sighed deeply and dragged a chair over to the side of the brunet's bed.
Other than the bandage, that stood out stark and white against his partner's dark and riotous curls, Starsky looked absolutely fine. His long, dark lashes curled against his pale cheeks, hiding the dark, blue expressiveness of his partner's soul. The peaceful expression on his face was almost a parody to the usual ball of energy that abounded in the bouncing brunet. To see Starsky so pale and motionless made the blond's heart accelerate with anguish and trepidation.
"Hey buddy . . . I'm back. You need to wake up now . . . stop goofing off Gordo." Hutch snorted quietly to himself, using the soft, gentle voice he reserved solely for this man who meant more to him than life itself. The tall blond waited quietly for a reaction . . . any type of response from the brunet that would indicate his partner was still with him. Nothing. Not even a twitch. Hutch pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat heavily in it.
It had been almost six days since the night his partner was brought here to Memorial Hospital. Hutch dragged his fingers through his soft blond locks and thought back to the evening they had both raced down the darkened alley behind Soong's market.
It was nearing the end of their shift and they had responded to a 211 call from dispatch, of an armed robbery in progress. The perps, a couple of teenage boys, ran down the alley behind the store they had just held up and Starsky had given chase, with Hutch at his heels. One of the teens, unbeknownst to the detectives, had ducked behind some crates that were stacked on one side and had fired at the brunet, who had been whipped completely around from the force of the bullet's impact, and had slammed, head first, into a large, dirty, metal garbage bin.
Hutch ducked behind some large cardboard boxes and fired in the direction of the crates; the sound of his magnum sounding like a cannon in the dark, stillness of the alley. "Starsk?" Hutch shouted out, unable to discern his partner's shape, which blended against the dark color of the metal receptacle. "Starsky?"
The blond immediately crouched lower as a barrage of bullets pinged near the box he hid behind. He knew that the boxes were inadequate cover and would offer only meager protection against the fiery slugs.
Hutch's mind raced as wildly as his heart for he knew his partner had taken a hit, however it was too dark to know where, or how badly Starsky was hurt. The fact that his partner did not call out to him, made the blond worry even more. Hutch knew that the dark haired detective would do anything to ease the anxiety he felt, and his friend would have struggled to answer, even if it was with his last dying breath. The need to be with his partner, to see him and to take care of him, drove all caution to the wind.
The blond rose and fired several more shots in the direction of the crates; feeling relieved as he heard police sirens approaching in the distance. Hutch quickly dashed out from behind the box and dove for cover behind the large, metal garbage bin as more bullets slammed into the steel receptacle. Hutch dragged his unconscious partner behind the heavy bin, putting his gun on the concrete beside him to quickly examine his fallen friend.
"Hey buddy," Hutch said worriedly, feeling immensely thankful to see that his partner was still breathing. The tall blond looked over his friend's face, head and neck, checking his partner's upper torso and abdomen, as he quickly scanned his partner's limbs in the meager light from the adjoining street. By this time, the sirens were deafening, and Hutch heard the sound of feet hitting the pavement, as the teenaged hoodlums ran by to escape being caught. The blond gave them no heed; his only concern was for the brunet who lay still and motionless in the dark alley.
Hutch gently rolled his limp partner to one side to check if the bullet had pierced the brunet's back; hearing a soft groan coming from the wounded man's lips. The space between the blond's brow furrowed with concern; knowing he was taking a risk in moving his partner, but unable to see where he needed to render aid. "Hey, take it easy buddy . . . I've got you," Hutch soothed, relieved to hear any sound at all from his dark haired partner. Nothing.
It was hard to see in the dim light behind the bin, but there didn't appear to be any blood at all. The blond was perplexed. He knew his partner was hurt; Starsky and energy were synonymous and went hand in hand. The brunet wouldn't be able to lie this still if he wasn't hurt, not even if his life depended on it and yet, there was no sign of injury anywhere.
"Starsk . . . where do you hurt? Huh pal?" Hutch whispered breathlessly as he crouched over his injured friend. He gently massaged through the dark, curly tangle of his partner's hair and heard a sharp hiss of pain from the brunet, while simultaneously registering the warm, sticky wetness that flowed under his palm near the left side of his partner's head, just above his ear.
"Oh god, Starsk," Hutch whispered as he held his hand up towards the insubstantial light, seeing the dark rivulets of blood that ran down to his wrist. "Oh god . . ."
To be continued . . .
