The exhaustion crept up on Starsky and despite his uncomfortable position on the ground, he drifted off into a troubled sleep. His dreams were full of falling buildings and guns pointing at him in the dark and he tried hard to get away from them, but his legs felt as though they were made of lead and refused to carry him to safety. He felt as though he were running through molasses, each step seeming to take a lifetime and he reached for bricks and wood on either side of him, pulling himself tortuously forward and inch at a time. He knew that he was dreaming and a small part of his mind told him time and again to wake up, but still the dreams kept rolling around his head: earthquake, guns, earthquake, guns, until finally even his fatigued brain had had enough of the cycle and shook him awake. He cried out in the darkness, then jumped at the sound of his own voice. He stared into the dimness.
His first thought was that his sight had left him once again. He whimpered out loud and he felt the panic rising like a sick tide as he tried to comprehend what a life spent in a black void would really be like. It had scared him so much to have to be lead everywhere and the hellish assault course of rubble they'd had to negotiate was both painful and scary. There was no way the brunette would want to have to go through the rest of his life like that. He moved his head from side to side experimentally, then something gleamed in the dim light and he saw it with the corner of his eye, feeling stupid as he realised he wasn't blind again, but the afternoon had turned to late evening or night. Belatedly he realised he'd been asleep and he berated himself for allowing himself that luxury when his partner needed him.
He struggled stiffly and painfully to his feet, trying hard not to pull at the chain connecting him to the blond. The toll of the earthquake and his injuries showed in his body. In the adrenaline rush of the operation, he'd not really paid too much attention to his own injuries, but now each one argued with him. His headache had backed down slightly though and he reached up, feeling the bandage still around his head. He remembered Hutch's ministrations and the cut he'd sustained, but the gauze felt hot and clumsy and he pulled it off, relieved that the bleeding seemed to have stopped.
As he stood, he realised his left leg hurt with a vengeance and he looked down, seeing in the dim light that his jeans leg had a patch of glistening wet on it, the blood from the injury showing up black. Starsky tried to remember how he'd gotten the injury and realised it was probably from when the wood fell across it after they'd run down the corridor to escape Richardson. Seeing the blood renewed the pain and he stifled a gasp as he put his weight on it, turning to get a good look at his still unconscious partner.
In the dim light, he saw that Hutch's body had hardly moved since he'd passed out at the end of the operation earlier, but he also saw that the flaxen hair had turned a darker golden as sweat formed a sheen on the pale skin of his friend's face and soaked the blond bangs. Hutch was rolling his head feebly and now that the brunette was up close he could hear mutterings and mumblings as Hutch fought the fever raging through his body. Gently, Starsky put his hand out and brushed away a stray lock of damp hair, grimacing as the blond flinched away from the touch. He bent closer to the sick detective.
'Ssh, s'ok Hutch. I'm here. Ssh. Take it easy buddy. Just try 'n' rest babe' he whispered, wishing he could get through to his ailing partner.
But Hutch was lost in his own nightmarish world. The brunette could only imagine what thoughts were streaming through that flaxen head, but the cries and mumblings tore at his heart.
'No….not that…..be good, promise…..no Dad, please…..no, hurts. Dad,... not that, please... noooo'. The blonde's hand made a feeble swiping gesture before falling back limply to the table. Starsky knew his partner's relationship with his father had never been good, but he could only wonder at what behaviour had precipitated this nightmare.
He looked around their dismal surroundings, trying to find some comfort there, but all he saw was dark and destruction, mirroring his partner's ramblings. He slowly stroked the sweating brow again, trying to penetrate Hutch's nightmarish, confused world. Slowly the thrashing ceased, as Hutch seemed to recognise the touch and snuggled closer to the hand, sighing in his sleep as he relaxed marginally. Starsky smiled a little as he looked at the injured detective lying in front of him. Just like a little kid hiding from the monsters. For an age, the brunette stood by the bedside, his hand running lightly up and down the pale cheek. Once he tried to withdraw the hand, but the blond whimpered at the absence, his head questing for the familiar warmth and Starsky quickly replaced it again and continued caressing his partner's face, glad he could bring a little comfort and at the same time receiving comfort in return from the repetitive motion.
Eventually, Hutch seemed to slump into an exhausted, but more restful slumber, his feverish mumblings slowing and finally stopping and slowly Starsky stopped the stroking. Knowing he needed to check, he lifted his partner's shirt away from the bandage to look at the wound. The material was stiff with dried blood, but thankfully, the packing and compression bandage seemed to have worked and there was only a slight pink blush on the gauze, rather than the flood of bright red he'd seen earlier. As he touched the bandage though, the blond reacted sharply, groaning, his stomach muscles clenching as he flinched away. Starsky could feel the heat radiating from the infected wound and knew his partner needed antibiotics and a hospital sooner rather than later.
Desperately he looked around again. How the hell could he get them both out of that hellhole? Even if the way hadn't been blocked by debris, Hutch weighed the same as he did. He could carry him maybe a short distance, as Hutch had once carried him from the Italian restaurant's dining area to the couch in the office, but the distance here was far greater. Coupled with that, Starsky himself wasn't feeling A1 and he doubted whether he could make it more than a hundred yards without a break. Even then, moving the blond might do more harm than good and set the wound to bleeding again. He tugged gently at the manacles. If he could just get them off, he could maybe go for help. He examined the heavy iron bracelet. It was an old-fashioned prison manacle, almost an antique, but the metal was sturdy and the hinges showed no signs of corrosion or weakness. He wondered if there was anything he could use as a file in the cupboards opposite, but looking at the cuff and the heavy gauge chain again, he realised he'd be old and grey before he'd managed to file his way through the obstinate metal.
He slumped against the table, feeling weak, weary and sore, his mind refusing to give up on the situation and casting around for any other possible solutions. He realised too that he was thirsty, his throat dried out from breathing all the dust in the place, and he realised that if he felt like that, he knew Hutch would need fluid too to help him through the fever. With as much care as he could in order not to disturb the sleeping man, he stretched out and managed to find some more of the sachets of sterilised water, thanking God and the person who'd stocked the place for their foresight. He ripped the corner off the plastic with his teeth and poured the contents down his throat. The water tasted strange, but the smooth velvety feeling on his parched tongue and throat was like a small slice of liquid heaven. Taking another plastic sachet, he gently poured a tiny amount over his partner's dry, cracked lips, trying not to choke the sick cop. The ice blue eyes flashed open for the briefest second and then the tongue ran weakly around the lips and Hutch swallowed convulsively.
'Thats it Blintz, Just a little more' Starsky said gently, pouring a little more of the water. Hutch opened his mouth a little and took some of the fluid before resting his head back, panting. His eyes were open now, although unfocussed and glazed.
'How's it goin' there partner?' Starsky asked, smiling down at the blond. He noted the pale skin and the flush of red across the feverish cheeks.
Hutch's eyes lingered on his friend as his eyes slowly focussed and the ghost of a smile passed over his face. 'B been better' he whispered before a bout of coughing took him and shook him. He grasped at the wound on his side, holding it protectively as Starsky rubbed his arms, comforting him and trying to take away a little of his friend's pain.
'Easy buddy. Take it easy. Just breath partner, I got ya' he willed as Hutch lay back, panting, the sweat trickling down the sides of his face. He opened his eyes again and locked them on the indigo blue ones above him.
'S some vacation huh?' he mumbled.
The brunette chuckled. 'Yeah, right. Last time I listen to Dobey. How d'ya feel buddy? D'ya want some more water?' he held the sachet and Hutch gulped down another mouthful before sinking back onto the table again. The fluid seemed to revive him a little.
'How's….eyes?' he panted, looking at his partner.
'Terrific. M'more concerned for you. Need t'get ya outta here. D'ya think you can walk any?' he asked not thinking for one second that his partner would be able to.
Hutch tried to raise his head off the table. 'Ungh…..oh God!….Aargh!' he lay back, thrashing his head from side to side and drawing up his knees, clutching again at the pain blasting through his body.
Starsky stroked the pale brow, easing his partner back and watched as slowly the breathing quieted and Hutch relaxed his legs down again, groaning deeply.
'S'ok Hutch, don't try any more. Just rest huh? We can try again later. Just lie back an' sleep'.
'k…s sorry Gordo… try again….soon….sleep' his exhausted partner mumbled, closing his eyes as if trying to shut out the pain.
Starsky could feel the blond trembling, waves of pain causing his body to shudder uncontrollably. He continued stroking the brow again as he rested his head on the table edge, wondering what the hell they were going to do now. He lowered himself gently down to the ground, and in the dark drifted back into a troubled sleep.