Chapter 7

Hutch had asked one of the squad guys to bring his car over to the hospital with some clothes for his partner to wear, and was now busy taking care of Starsky's antibiotics and pain meds. Taking the bottles and checking their labels so that he knew what to give and when, he went back into the room to see Starsky weakly trying to pull on his jeans. He smiled a little

'That'll teach ya for having 'em so tight' he chuckled. 'Here, let me help' and he reached down and pulled them over Starsky's slim hips.

Standing back, he watched as the brunette pulled the red tee shirt over his head, hiding the bruises over his body. Nothing now showed of his injuries save for the bruised eye and the white dressing on his neck.

'All set to roll?' he asked

'No arguments from me' Starsky replied, heading for the door.

They walked slowly down the corridor, down in the lift and out to the waiting car. Hutch opened the door, and Starsky got stiffly in, careful not to jar his neck and ribs too much. Hutch started the engine, and they drove in silence. They had been going about five minutes when the brunette looked up.

'Hey, this isn't the way to my apartment' he said.

Hutch shook his head. 'I kinda thought you might like a break from there. Memories a bit too close?'

Starsky was grateful all over again at his partner's understanding as he settled back into the leather seat and continued his morose staring at the brown interior of the car.

The drive took no more than 20 minutes and the car drew up outside Venice Place just as the clock was striking 11.00am. Hutch got out and walked round the car to open the door for the brunette who struggled out and stood swaying as Hutch opened the door. Starsky found it hard to get up the steps. His body felt heavy and tired. All he wanted to do was to go to bed and forget life. To curl himself up into a little ball and ignore the world. He felt stiff, sore, embarrassed and completely screwed up. He made his way into the familiar apartment and sat down heavily on the settee as Hutch busied himself with drinks and pills.

Eventually, Hutch finished his preparations, took his phone off the hook, locked the door and came to sit down on the chair next to his partner. He reached for his cup of coffee, sat back in his chair and fixed his gaze on the brunette.

Starsky returned the look, locking his eyes with the blond, challenging him to break the silence first. Hutch accepted that unspoken challenge.

'Well, we're not going to be disturbed. You've had your pills. We have drinks, so there's no reason for us not to have this talk', he said calmly. 'Oh, and if you were wondering, I'm not accepting excuses. I've known you for over seven years. I've seen you blind drunk, so looped on pain meds you couldn't think straight, madder than hell, but I've never seen you like this. An' I also know you well enough to know that you've been lying to me. Walking into doors! God, I'm not that much of an idiot you know'.

There was an uncomfortable pause, Starsky looking physically sick. How the hell was he supposed to tell Hutch what it was all about when he didn't really know himself. He knew he'd have to tell someone sooner or later, and he'd rather that someone be Hutch, the man he would trust his life to. He took a deep breath, trying to get the thoughts that were cascading through his head into some sort of order.

'I did really love her, ya know?' he started, amost inaudibly, his eyes searching his partner's for some sort of understanding.

Hutch pushed the lump in his throat down. 'I know ya did buddy, I know'.

'It was fine at first. I loved her being around. She had my sense of humour, she liked re-runs of black and white films. She even laughed at my jokes. She never said I was stupid, or called me mush brains. The sex was ……well, sensational. We'd spend long hours just sitting cuddled up and I really thought I'd found the one, Hutch. She was so perfect. An' then one day, I was late for a date an' she was like a different woman. She shouted and yelled and then she slapped me. Just the once. The look on her face afterwards! Gods, Hutch, she was so upset. She said she had issues, but that I made her feel good and she'd try to get over it. She said she been in an abusive relationship and was trying to come to terms with it. She caught me off guard and I really wanted to help her'.

He smiled a sad little smile.

'Didn't realise it was her that was the abusive one in the relationship. She said she'd get help an' I brought her some stuff home from work – names and addresses of counsellors'.

'She was fine for a few days, then it happened again, but it didn't stop with just one slap, she was like a wild thing, hitting and punching until I got her and held her to me and hung on till she stopped. All because I was late home for supper. God, she was so upset! An' I didn't know what to do. It's not like ya can go to work an' tell everyone your girlfriends beatin' up on ya. I could just imaging the laughin' that'd go on'. Starsky's voice broke and he looked towards the blond for help.

'Why didn't you stop it there and then, babe. You took on so much' he said gently.

The brunette gathered himself, folding his arms around his body, protectively. He tried to think of the best way to describe how he'd felt. He didn't understand fully, so how could anyone else? He cleared his throat, knowing that if anyone could understand it would be Hutch.

'I kept thinking about Terry and Emily and Rosey. They all suffered because of me. Terry didn't ask to get shot. She had her whole life ahead of her, and yet Prudholm had her shot to get back at me and there wasn't squat I could do about it. Then I shot Emily and made her go blind – she didn't ask for that. They were so pretty. An' then there was Rosey. Beautiful Rosey. We were good together but her Dad got in the way and I hurt her because she had to choose'. There were tears in the cobalt blue eyes now. He sniffed angrily and scrubbed his hand over his face.

'I don't understand' Hutch said. 'I don't understand what that has to do with Ross abusing you'.

'No, you wouldn't would ya? Mr Educated' Starsky shouted, anger coming unbidden. He took a deep calming breath. 'How could you, Hutch. I don't understand properly myself. You wouldn't understand that every time Ross hit me, it was like it was retribution for every time I hurt them. Every blow that Ross delivered was fitting, paying me back for Terry's bullet, for Emily's sight and for Rosey having to leave. It made it all OK. Every time I moved and felt the bruises and the cracked ribs, it was like a cleansing. If I was hurting so much, it was paying me back for what I'd done to them'. He was openly sobbing now.

'Hutch, don't you understand? I …I wanted those pains. They w were mine and it was r right that I hurt, coz I'd m made them hurt. And all the time I loved Ross because she was making me pay back all the hurt I'd given to Terry and Emily and Rosey.

Oh God, I loved Terry so much, Hutch. Terry……. TERRY!...' he shouted her name as if the volume it self would bring her back. 'Why'd she have to go? Why did she have to leave me?' his speech was robbed from him as sob after racking sob was wrenched from his chest.

Hutch was on the settee at the side of him, holding him and rocking him as the brunette poured his heart out, tears cascading down his cheeks as he released every last bit of anger and sadness at his losses. Starsky's fingers were wrapped in the folds of Hutch's pale blue shirt as he buried his head in his friend's chest. He felt like the weight of the world was taken from his shoulders as he sat there embracing the one person in the world he could open up to fully.

Hutch held him and rocked him, feeling the warm tears wet the front of his shirt as his partner let his grief go. He had always known that Starsky's grief at Terry's death had not really run its course, but for it to manifest itself in such an extreme way was more than the blond could comprehend.

As Starsky's sobs abated and his breathing became a little easier, Hutch gently pushed him back to look into his face, still maintaining contact and rubbing the brunette's arms.

'Ya got a lot to let go of there buddy. I had no idea. Gods, Starsk, why didn't you talk to me about it? We could have sorted it out together ya know'.

Starsky lifted his stormy blue eyes and gave such a look. One that didn't need words. A look that said "that's all I can give ya at the moment. Just give me time". Hutch understood.

'Why don't ya go an' lie down on the bed buddy? You must be completely bushed by now'. He got up and offered a hand to the smaller man. Starsky took the hand and leaned on his partner as they made their way to the bedroom. He lay carefully down on the bed, turning on his side, and looked at the blond.

'Thanks Blondie', he whispered. He watched as the blond got up from the bed. '…..'utch?'

'Yeah buddy'.

'Don't go'.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Hutch had stayed by his friend's side until Starsky's breathing assumed the quiet regularity of sleep. He felt almost as bushed as his friend obviously was, but there was one more thing he had to do.

He got up slowly and padded quietly out of the room, heading for the telephone. He dialled the number he knew off by heart and waited until he heard the gruff tones of his boss.

'Dobey'.

'Hutch here, Cap'n. Starsky's out of hospital. I've got him at my place. He's talking, but Gods, Cap, he's screwed up'.

'What ya gonna do?' the voice asked.

'I got an idea. Cap. I have a friend I met on a police exchange visit. She lives in England. I think if I can take Starsky away from all this, he might get better quicker'.

Dobey considered. The easier it made it on the curly haired detective the better, as far as he was concerned. 'Whatever it takes, Hutch. Just' he gave an embarrassed cough 'do what it takes'.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Later that evening, Starsky woke feeling stiff and sore. Noticing he was on his own in the room, he struggled off the bed and wandered into the lounge, to see his partner asleep on the settee, a pen and paper on his chest, copious numbers and amounts written on it. Knowing his partner must be just as tired as he was, Starsky padded into the kitchen and busied himself making drinks and scrambled eggs on toast. The smell of the cooking woke the blond and he sat up in surprise, groaning a little as his back protested the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.

'Starsk? Hey, you OK?' he asked

The brunette nodded, shrugging. 'Been better. Ya want toast?' He brought the meal over to the coffee table in front of the blond.

'What's with the numbers?' he asked.

'Well, after you've given your statement tomorrow, we are going on a little trip. Take your mind off things for a while, ya know?'

The brunette's face had fallen. 'I'm not giving a statement'.

'What?'

'You heard' he repeated 'I'm not giving a statement. She's gone, its finished'.

Hutch looked in disbelief. 'It may have escaped your notice that you nearly bled to death yesterday. That…….woman' Hutch couldn't think of a word bad enough to call her, 'nearly killed you. She beat you black and blue and stuck a knife in your neck, and you're not going to give a statement? Just what is it with you? I never took you for a masochist, ya dumb son of a bitch' he was shouting now, tiredness making his patience too thin.

Starsky stared at him as if he'd been hit. He'd never expected his partner to feel so strongly about all this. Sure, he'd been hurt, but wasn't this between him and Ross? He stopped a moment to think, trying to put himself in Hutch's shoes. What would I feel like, he thought.

'I can't give a statement' he pleaded. 'It's bad enough telling you all this. I can't tell anyone else. Please don't make me' he took hold of Hutch's arm. 'Please?'

Hutch sat him down feeling his anger dissipate. 'Starsk' he said as gently as he could. 'Look at what she did to you – to us – don't you want for her to get help? She'll never get it on her own, you know that now. If you don't give a statement, the state can't provide treatment for her. Starsky, look at me. She needs professional help. She's sick'.

Starsky put his head in his hands. He felt as though he were adrift in a stormy sea. Each way he looked he could see only trouble and hurt. He looked up at his friend beseechingly. 'Help me Hutch. Please help me'.

In the end, Hutch had written down Starsky's statement and read it back to him. It took all his self control to stop making comment when the brunette had explained what had gone on.

Ross had come home from work, tired. She'd seen that Starsky hadn't got up, but she'd never asked him why. She'd started banging pots and pans around in the kitchen, muttering and cursing. He'd got out of bed to go and see her and she'd turned on him, a knife in her hand. He hadn't seen it to begin with, until it was too late. He saw her raise her hand and had seen the gleam of metal as she'd brought the knife down and stabbed his neck. He'd stepped back in surprise, to see her staring at her blood coated hand. He'd backed up and managed to get back to his bedroom, clutching his neck, pressing as hard as he could to try and stop the bleeding, but realised that in itself wasn't enough. He'd sat down, knowing he should keep the wound above the level of his heart, and then he'd waited – whether it was for an ambulance, or death, he wasn't really sure – either was fine by him. The next thing he remembered was waking in hospital with Hutch bending over him.

At the end of the statement, both men were emotionally exhausted, and sat in silence for a while, each with their own thoughts. Hutch broke the quiet first and got up to go and wash his face, trying to ease away the strain of the day. When he came back into the room he told Starsky that they were going to England the next week, that they both needed he break.

'I know you're hurtin' buddy. We both are. We need to get away soon, coz this thing is eatin' you up. We both need time, an' I know just the place. Trust me?'

Starsky raised his heavy head and nodded.