THE EDGE OF DARKNESS
CHAPTER 13
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The needle like pricks behind his eyes and in his nose were the first things that reached Starsky's foggy brain. His small square of existence consisted of a very recognizable, all too familar sensation of a dry nose, burning in his nostrils and a scratchy throat. All of this registered slowly as he grew more aware of his condition. The inside of his mouth felt like sandpaper and he tentatively ran his tongue around his teeth. Nothing obstructed his tongue's path as it scraped against his teeth and darted out to lick his dry lips. The tongue made it from one side of his mouth to the other and to him this was an excellent sign. It meant that there was no ventilator hose stuck down his throat, breathing for him. As he awoke further, he kept his eyes closed against the expected brightness of the sterile room he knew he'd find himself in. But now the fear set in. He didn't want to be alone. He tried speaking but his throat burned with the effort. He wasn't even sure that the sound had made it past his lips. He gave up the effort and for now, slipped back into a cocoon of oblivion.
Starsky had no idea how much time had passed since his first tentative exploration of his person but now he became aware of other sensations, not all of them good. He felt like he was floating on a prickly bed of nails. He tried to wiggle away to a warmer, softer place but the jagged edges seemed to surround him. He thought he heard voices but couldn't understand the words. He could feel the fear wrap around him and he tried to open his eyes. They were heavy and hot but another sensation, this time one of comfort, reached him. Cool, wet and oh so refreshing.
"C'mon buddy... it's time to wake up. You're almost there." Hutch spoke in a soft tone. He wiped Starsky's forehead with the damp cloth. He brushed it against Starsky's dry lips and was rewarded by a tongue that briefly snaked out to lap up the moisture.
For the first time in three days, Hutch felt his breath release fully from his lungs. Starsky's surgery went well but the dark haired man had remained in a coma. The first surgery repaired the immediate damage caused by Stone Crawford. When the crazed man had wielded the bat down on the bullet hole, it caused the projectile to move deeper into the abused man's body. The surgeons spent 6 long hours skillfully and confidently repairing the damage. They found the bullet lodged against Starsky's spine, pressing on nerves. The bullet also had ripped a path through muscle and tissue, shredding and tearing at his insides.
Hutch reached for the hand resting against the white sheet. It was warmer than it had been yesterday and now the blond encircled that limp hand in his.
"I'm here Starsky. Don't be afraid. The lights are turned low because I know that's always the first thing you complain about. So how about it, open those blue eyes!" Hutch remained encouraged with the effort his friend made to pull out of the foggy shroud of sleepiness.
The eyelashes flickered slightly, then the lids rose a fraction but not enough to reveal the sapphire blue of Starsky's eyes. Hutch pushed the call button and shortly, a nurse entered the room with soft, purposeful steps.
Hutch turned as he heard the muted whoosh of the door closing.
"Reba, I'm pretty sure he's waking up. He's moving his eyes more and trying to open them. He even responded to the wetness on his lips." Hutch never took his eyes off the man in the bed and continued stroking Starsky's hand.
"That's good Hutch. Just keep talking to him. I'm just going to take his blood pressure and check his pulse but I'm sure he's coming around." Reba monitored her patient and made some notes on the chart. She touched Hutch on the shoulder to get his attention.
"Here, it's time for your medication." Hutch ignored the petite nurse with the strawberry blond hair. She nudged him again, this time offering the plastic cup with the two pills. She also checked his I.V. and fiddled with the gauge to get a reading of how much time was left before it needed to be replaced. Hutch's surgery had been two days ago and his shoulder and arm remained strapped against his chest. The pain had receeded but the tingling and burning continued. His head still throbbed but not with the swirling confusion he'd experienced while still in the emergency room.
Finally Hutch tore himself away from his vigil long enough to scowl good naturedly at Reba. He raised the cup containing the pills in salute, popped them into his mouth and washed them down with the water that Reba provided. He knew that he had perhaps another hour before the pills would make him groggy. He wanted to stay by his friend's side but also knew the value of rest as part of his own recovery.
When he turned back to the bed, he was delighted and surprised to see Starsky's open stare. It took a second for that fact to sink in but he wasn't the only one to witness the happy event. Reba took another blood pressure reading and checked his pulse. She was relieved when both numbers were stronger than the last time.
"He won't be awake long. Just reassure him that he's okay but once he's asleep, do me a favor and get some rest too. You've been up too long." Reba's words fell on distracted ears as she watched Hutch stand and hover over his friend. She knew better than to argue with the blond or repeat her suggestion. Hutch would stay with Starsky as long as his own reserve would let him. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time she'd found the detective asleep in the recliner beside the silent man in the bed.
Starsky licked his lips again and blinked. He swallowed and grimaced as the dryness reached his throat. Hutch picked up the cup of ice and rubbed a small chip across the cracked lips. Starsky opened his eyes again, the blue a little darker than normal, indicating fear and uncertainty.
"You're gonna be fine pal. I'll fill you in on everything later. Just go back to sleep. Rest and we'll talk tomorrow." Hutch let the ice chip slip into his friend's mouth. Starsky made a contented, sleepy sound. The blond watched for another minute until he was sure that the blue eyes wouldn't open again. He dotted the soft, moist cloth over the pale forehead before giving in to his own fatigue.
Twenty four hours passed until Starsky was able to stay focused enough for conversation. He slowly made his way back to full awarness and once he did, he was full of questions. It unnerved him to have lost four days. He didn't ask for details of those missing days because he was quite certain that he'd be better off not knowing.
As his confusion lifted, he began to catalogue the various things that were connected to him and holding him captive in bed. Starsky had no choice but to accept the confinement
His leg was suspended in a sling - like- contraption with a series of pullys and weights meant to keep the leg in the right position. He was attached to several different IV solutions, a catheter draining his kidneys as well as a tube inserted into the wound at his side that drained undesirable fluids. As soon as he was stronger, surgery to repair his leg would involve placing pins and screws until the bones could knit back together.
Starsky felt he was entitled to complain. Oh, not about the pain or the medications required to combat the infections and promote healing. But the embarrasment of his situation was what caused the dark haired man to bitch the most. Since getting out of bed was not possible, he had to put up with a catheter, he relied on the dreaded bed pan and perhaps the thing that caused the most stress, bedbaths. He didn't know which was worse; the older, drill sergeant type nurse who attacked him with a scratchy sponge and smelly soap and showed no mercy, or the younger nursing students who hadn't yet learned to mask the fear and pity in their eyes.
A week after fully coming out of the coma, Starsky had surgery to place the pins and screws in his leg. He would remain bed bound until the swelling went down. At that point his therapy would include getting out of bed, stretching , regaining muscle tone and convincing his lethargic body to move again.
There was a steady parade of doctors and each one poked and prodded a different part of his anatomy. Starsky searched the faces of the white clad specialists everytime they made their daily rounds. It scared him that the tingling in his toes was often mixed with a creepy crawly feeling that would sometimes start in his big toe and travel all the way up his spine.
The doctors were confident that the numbness and tingling in Starsky's legs would fade once his body began to heal given time and therapy. At first, Starsky was too weak to do much more than sit on the edge of the bed, but because of his stubborn resolve and Hutch's coaching, he slowly began the difficult and painful steps back to independence.
It didn't matter what purpose each person had to be in the room but, it didn't take long for word to get around about the man in bed #2 in room 347. Whether it was the silent but thorough older lady who came by each morning to mop the dingy tile in the room, the volunteer who brought them their meals, the nurses who stuck to the unwavering medication, wound care, vital information checks and other assorted routine but essential duties, but each person understood the meaning of tough. Starsky was rarely left alone in the first weeks after he emerged from his coma and then later, after two surgeries, therapy sessions, wound care, doctor consultations, tests, and other procedures, he still found a way to offer a smile to all who cared for him or about him. Although he was scared and in pain, he always had a kind word to anyone who walked through the door. Of course he was grumpy, short tempered and as Hutch liked to point out, mulish, Starsky turned those emotions inward, pushing himself hourly to improve and make his body heal.
Starsky sat hunched over the bed tray, stabbing at what looked like meatloaf. His mouth was set in a thin line of displeasure as he continued to push the gloppy mess around on his plate. Finally the fork clattered on the plate and he pushed the tray away.
"When's Huggy comin'?" Starsky glanced over at the blond who at that minute started choking on the dry piece of bread which had stuck in his throat.
Starsky watched the redness leave the pale face as Hutch reached for the glass of water. The glass drained of it's contents, the blond sighed with relief and sat back against the chair. He rotated his shoulder and grabbed at the spot where the pain centered.
"Starsky, I think we've been cooped up in the same room too long. You complain all day about how lousy the food is but when Huggy does bring you something from his bar, you moan about not being hungry. You're really grouchy and I'm damn glad I'm gettin' outta here." Hutch's therapy had continued well even though the blond was still concerned that his range of motion in the shoulder and his ability to grip were still way under what he'd expect or accept. His other injuries had healed and his release date was a few days away.
But he stopped the joking when he saw the fear pass over the other man's face. In the relative quiet of night and in his sleep, Starsky had nightmares that he was never able to identify after he finally pulled himself out of the gloom that invaded his dreams. The only thing that he knew for sure was that Hutch's presence always had the capacity to ground him and reassure him that he was now safe.
Hutch stood up and moved to Starsky's bedside. His friend couldn't hide the fear that loomed in his eyes. For this, Hutch felt the stab of guilt rise up in his chest. The blond reached out to his partner, resting an unsteady hand on a trembling shoulder. Silently the confidence and promise of closeness passed between them until Starsky nodded his head as he pushed himself back against the pillow.
Starsky understood that he didn't have to ask. Hutch would continue to stay with his friend until he also was released. That date was still a few weeks away and Hutch couldn't fault Starsky for his ill temper. But today had been a bad day for both of them. Starsky's therapy had been long and tiresome. No new progress had been achieved and the dark haired man had returned to his room in pain and also very quiet.
Hutch was torn by his conflicting emotions. He was glad that he would be going home but he continued to wrestle with the guilt of their mistreatment at the hands of Stone Crawford. The detective still felt he'd let his partner down by literally turning his back on him when the man needed him most. Hutch continued to work through that guilt with his friend. But Starsky saw no reason for it and as soon as the blue eyes fill with remorse and the furrow between them grew deeper, Starsky wagged a finger in Hutch's face and silently answered back with a hard look of his own.
Starsky continued with his earlier food complaints as he swung his legs to the side of the bed.
"Yeah, well, today I want a beef burito and a fizzy drink. And buddy, ya know I love you but personally, I'm sick of you too." Starsky good naturedly stuck his tongue out at the serious look from the other man. The childish gesture had the desired effect and the smile that reached his friend's blue eyes was sincere and full of gratitude.
A comfortable silence followed but Hutch's eyes grew cloudy and Starsky wanted to know what was behind the lines of worry that had retuned on his friends face. He was pretty sure he knew what the reason was.
"Hutch, will ya stop already with blaming yourself for what happend? We were in the wrong place at the wrong time and that bastard just had it in for us." Starsky shifted on the bed to face his partner directly. He waited until the blue eyes were level with his own before he spoke again.
"Give it a rest, blondie! Nobody blames you. Dobey didn't shout at you did he?" Starsky waited till Hutch had indicated with a shake of his head that the statement was true. The dark head shook as well, only for him, it was more a way to acknowledge the sometimes thick headed, self doubt that plagued his partner.
"But Starsky, I shoulda..." Hutch's words were cut off with a very annoyed huffing sound from his friend.
As if speaking to a small child, Starsky chose his words carefully and spoke slowly to emphasize his point.
"Look, I'm okay now. My therapy is comin' along and another week I'll get outta here. Your going home in a day or two and you're doing well too. But man, just let the guilt go. It's because of you that I made it this far in the first place. Think to the future rather than the shit we just went through."
Hutch blinked at the thoughtful words Starsky had just delivered. Sometimes Starsky knew the right things to say and when to say them. But it always amazed him that his friend was so willing to accept what life threw at him and still see the good there as well.