A DARK DAY IN MAY

CHAPTER 7

I knocked lightly and then opened the door to the private room on the sixth floor of the hospital. After almost a month in intensive care, Starsky had finally gotten strong enough to be moved out of the ICU. He was still as weak as a newborn kitten and in a lot of pain but he was making progress and was considered to be out of immediate danger.

He was going to live but now he would have to pay the price in blood, sweat and tears.

Although Gunther was in jail and his organization in shambles, Starsky was still registered under an assumed name and only those directly involved with his care knew his true identity. His visitors were also restricted to a select few: Captain Dobey, Starsky's mother, Minnie Kaplin, me and Hutch. There was still a police guard on the door to his room to make sure that nobody else, other then authorized medical personnel got into his room. Nobody was taking any chances with Starsky's safety and continued recovery.

Hutch was helping Curly out of bed for a trip to the bathroom. It had only been two days since Starsky had been allowed out of bed for the first time and he was still pretty unsteady on his feet. I pretended not to notice the way his face twisted in pain as Hutch helped him sit up on the edge of the bed.

"Just take it easy, pal." Hutch said in a soft, quiet voice that I never heard him use with anyone else but Starsky when he was hurt. "Just sit there for a minute and catch your breath." Hutch glanced at me with a smile. "Hey, look who's here. It's Huggy."

"Hey, Huggy." Starsky said in a voice so weak that I had to strain to heard the words. He didn't look at me but I knew that he wasn't being rude, he couldn't turn his head without it hurting. He couldn't do much of anything without it hurting.

I slipped over to the opposite side of the bed without saying a word and watched as Hutch slid his hands underneath Starsky's arms, wrapping his arms securely around the burnet's back, taking care not to put too much pressure on still healing wounds and incisions. He was always so gentle when it came to Starsky, treating him as if he were a fragile piece of china, and in a way, that's just what he was right now.

I heard the hiss of pain that escaped involuntarily from Starsky's lips as Hutch helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily against Hutch, who supported most of his weight as they made the slow painful journey to the bathroom. I had to admire Starsky for his courage and his determination. Even though he could have just as easily have chosen to stay in bed and use the bedpan or the urinal like he did at night, during the daytime, he insisted on going to the bathroom, even though Hutch had to stay with him and help him.

It was several minutes before they came out of the bathroom. Starsky's face was drawn with pain, covered with a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion and the pain. Even the few short steps to the bathroom and back was enough to drain what little strength he had and that wasn't much. I could see that on the return trip to the bed, Hutch was doing most of the work. Starsky could barely move.

When they reached the bed, Hutch easily lifted Starsky up into his arms as if he were a baby and gently laid him down on the mattress, carefully arranging the pillows to make him as comfortable as possible. Starsky had lost so much weight since the shooting that he looked like a skeleton with his skin stretched tightly over his bones. His cheeks were sunken and his face gaunt but he still had a ghost of that smile that I'd know anywhere. Not that he had much to smile about these days.

Starsky laid his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes, riding out the agonizing pain that was ripping through his body without making a sound. But the rasping sound of his painful breathing sounded much too loud in the silence of the room.

Hutch leaned over him, gently running his fingers through those thick dark curls, soothing him in a comforting tone. "It's okay, buddy. You can rest now."

"Hurts…" Starsky said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"I know it does…just try to take it easy, okay?" Hutch said. He glanced at me, the sadness showing in his eyes. We both knew Starsky and for him to even hint at the amount of pain he was in meant that it had to be bad. See, that's the thing about Starsky. When he has a cold or a sprained ankle, he'll whine and fuss, demanding your attention. But let him get hurt really bad and he keeps it all locked inside, not wanting anyone to know just how much he's hurting. He'd rather suffer in silence than burden the ones he cared about by letting them see him in so much pain.

After several minutes, Starsky's breathing eased and evened out as he fell asleep. Hutch gently rearranged the covers to make sure he didn't get a chill and then looked at me solemnly. "He's still in so much pain all the time, Hug." His voice trembled with emotion. "God, I wish it had been me instead of him."

"Then he'd be the one worrying his head off about you instead of the other way around." I pointed out. I knew that Blondie was carrying around a huge guilt trip because he hadn't been able to protect Starsky and keep him from being shot. That's how Hutch was. He blamed himself for everything, even when it was something he had no control over.

"They've got him on morphine every four hours but he's always hurting so bad before the next shot that it tears me apart to see him suffering like that." Hutch said "And you saw how much it hurt him just going to the fucking bathroom but he's too stubborn to use the urinal and the bedpan during the day."

"Yeah, we both know all about that stubborn streak, don't we?" I said with a grin. "But that's part of what brought him this far when the doctors were ready to give up on him."

"He just tries to push himself so hard. I'm afraid he's gonna hurt himself more than he already is."

"That's what you're here for. To make sure he doesn't. You know you're the only one he'll listen to right now."

"Yeah, I know." Hutch said forlornly. "And I know he's still scared to death. Wondering if he'll ever be normal again."

"Hey, Curly never was what you could call normal." I said with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "I thought you knew that by now."

Hutch chuckled back but I could tell it was a forced laugh. He had a long way to go too before his own fear and doubts were put to rest. The doctors were convinced that Starsky would have some permanent damage from the shooting, especially to his left lung which had literally been shredded by the bullets. Realistically, he may never be able to work the streets again. If that happened, it would be a hard adjustment for both him and Hutch to make. Neither one of them would ever be able to work with another partner, they were too tight, too much of a unit to ever operate effectively with anyone else. Taking out Starsky, had effectively crippled Hutch too. Gunter may have not killed Starsky but he may have put the team of Starsky and Hutch out of commission for good.

My attention was drawn back to the bed as a low, soft moan escaped from Starsky's lips as he moved in his sleep, reawakening the pain. He normally slept on his left side, but that wasn't possible in his present condition. He had to lie on his back to minimize the pressure on his healing wounds. But that position was causing him to develop pressure spots on his buttocks, tailbone, and heels that the medical staff was trying to prevent from developing into bedsores. When he was in bed, he wore specially padded booties on his feet to relieve the pressure on his heels but his position still had to be changed every two hours while he was in bed since he couldn't move himself to change positions like he normally would.

Hutch was immediately leaning over him and talking to him softly, easing him back to sleep. Sometimes, I thought it was a shame that Hutch had given up a career in medicine. He would have made a dedicated and caring doctor. But, then again, I doubt if he would have had the same bedside manner with anyone else that he had with Starsky.

I glanced up as a nurse's aide brought in Starsky's lunch tray. Hutch took it from her and sat it down on the bedside table. Because of the severe injuries to his stomach and his digestive tract, Starsky was restricted to soft foods that were easily digestible. It would be quite some time before he'd be able to eat his favorite junk foods again. The bland, unappetizing diet wasn't helping him to regain any of the weight he'd lost. Hutch and I often snuck him in little treats like milkshakes and ice cream, things his damaged system could still tolerate that he could also enjoy eating.

Hutch reluctantly roused Starsky from his nap and helped him to sit up in bed enough to eat, or rather to have Hutch feed him. He was still to weak to even feed himself. Hutch lifted the cover from over the food. Chocolate pudding, tapioca, runny mashed potatoes with something that was supposed to be gravy, and lime Jello. There was also a glass of milk and two glasses of juice. Starsky wasn't allowed to have any coffee or any carbonated drinks. I had to smile when I thought about Starsky's previous eating habits and cast iron stomach. I felt sorry for him each time I saw the only food he was allowed to have now.

The expression on Starsky's face as he surveyed the tray sitting on the table clearly showed his distaste for the meal in front of him. Even with Hutch's coaxing and patience, Starsky only ate about half of his lunch, although he did drink all of his liquids. I left after he was finished. I mean I loved the guy and all but I could only take so much. It hurt too much to see him like this.