Two hours in the flight, Hutch had continued to doze, and Starsky was flipping through a sports magazine reading about the upcoming baseball season. That made him glance over at Hutch and shake his head. "Contract with the White Sox, buddy, and you didn't take it. Sometimes, I just don't get you, Blondie."
Hutch moaned and his head twisted back and forth. "No. No. She wouldn't do that, she wouldn't, Ingrid, I know she wouldn't."
The stridency in his voice alarmed Starsky. "Hey, buddy, wake up, it's just a bad dream."
"No, you're wrong, there's nothing wrong with me, I'm just losing some weight. I'm tired of being called pudgy. There isn't anything wrong with me; don't send me away, please, please don't send me away."
There was a mixture of fear and despair in Hutch's voice that scared Starsky. In earnest, he began to shake Hutch, even lightly slapping him in the face, but no results. Too late Starsky remembered a cousin who had nightmares when she took valium, she was unable to tell dreams from reality. He had forgotten, as he had never known anyone else to react so badly.
"I'm not dying, I'm not, I'm not, I would never hurt Mickey, ever, you have to help her, you have to make her see I'm fine."
"Hutch! Blondie, wake up, you're scaring me . . ."
"Don't be scared, Mickey, you'll see . . ."
Desperate, Starsky took his cup of water and threw it in his partner's face.
It worked. Hutch gasped, coughed, opened his eyes in confusion, looking around with fear.
"It's okay, buddy, it's okay, I'm here, it was just a bad dream – you had a bad reaction to the valium, I'm sorry, Hutch, I'm sorry, I didn't know, I just wanted you to relax, rest, you've been so sleepy."
Before Starsky could say anything else, his friend, the partner he knew was looking at him skeptically and stated, "And you said I was the one who rambled?"
Starsky huffed out a laugh. "Okay, okay, so I ramble. Hey, look, we're just in time for airline food. What tempts you, buddy?"
Weary, Hutch shook his head.
"All right, I'm putting my foot down now, I'll order you some soup, crackers and ginger ale."
"I think I'd like a martini."
"I think you wouldn't, why in the hell didn't you tell me you had bad reactions to valium?"
"Bad reactions, what do you mean?"
"You were thrashing, moaning and talking crazy. I couldn't get you to snap out of it."
Hutch frowned. "Never taken the stuff. Mickey had bad reactions; she couldn't tell dreams from reality. Scared Ingrid out of her mind. It was a rare thing, really. But the doctor never gave her any again. You wonder I have nightmares with all the cases we have? No big deal."
Skeptical, Starsky raised his dark eyebrows, uncertain how far to push.
He let it ride while the stewardess brought their food, his steak, potatoes, peas and brownie, and the chicken noodle soup, crackers and ale for Hutch.
Hutch shook his head as his partner dug in with gusto. "Why you don't weigh five hundred pounds, I don't know. And you stick me with this."
"I'm a growing boy," Starsky replied over a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
"Don't talk with your mouth open. It's uncivilized." To please his partner, Hutch sipped slowly on the soup, ate a couple of crackers and sipped the ginger ale.
"Hutch . . ." Starsky started, wanting to test the waters.
"Yeah?"
"When you were dreaming, when you were out of it . . ."
"Yeah?"
"Why did you say you weren't dying?"
The soup bowl was flung into the carpet and Hutch's eyes swung wildly. "What?"
Starsky just kept his gaze on Hutch, who caught himself, apologized to the stewardess for the mess and then lay back again with eyes closed.
"You know what our job is like. You stuff down the fear and keep going. We both have had a couple of near misses, right? I'm sure I was dreaming about one of them. No big deal. Don't turn into a Mother Hen."
Starsky finished his martini and, having lost his appetite, gave his tray to the stewardess. 'You're lying to me, buddy. We swore to tell the truth, and I know you are lying to me. That's why I know it is a big deal.' He also knew his partner was feigning sleep to avoid talking, still biting his lower lip.
I'm not one of the best detectives for nothing, Starsky thought. I'm gonna to find out what this is about before I lose you. And that thought sent a chill down his spine.