As always, massive thanks to the Usual Suspects, I could not continue to write this story without your help. (Hugs)
Warnings: Some disturbing imagery. Yep, it's another depressing chapter. Sorry!
Chapter 5
"Starsky?"
It had been several weeks since the accident, or ATA - After The Accident, as Dobey now identified that time. He watched as the dark haired detective hobbled into the kitchen. Starsky was now a pro at maneuvering around on crutches. Dobey stared across the room to the rack of plants that resided there. They were Hutch's plants. He had installed (with Huggy's help) several racks for Hutch's plants along with some UV lights, since Starsky didn't have a greenhouse. He and Huggy brought the plants over so Starsky would have something of Hutch's to care for. He wondered now if it had been the right thing to do.
David Starsky was in obvious pain. Mental pain. Dobey knew the agony of losing a partner. He and Elmo had been every bit as tight as Starsky and Hutch were… had been. But in Starsky's case, it might even be a little worse. Elmo had been murdered. There had been some form of closure for Dobey. He feared there would be no closure for Starsky. For not only was Hutch hurt while Starsky was driving, the young man was not legally permitted to see his friend again, because of a restraining order.
He and Huggy watched as the brunet methodically wiped down the counter top.
"Starsky," Dobey called, a little louder this time.
The man startled and looked over his shoulder. It was as if he had somehow forgotten that Dobey and Huggy had stopped by for a visit. "Yeah Cap?"
"The coffee…" Dobey let the words linger.
Starsky blinked quizzically at him. "Coffee?"
"Yes, coffee… You went into the kitchen to see if it was done." Dobey prompted his distracted detective. He exchanged a look with Huggy. The bar owner gave him a commiserating look.
"I'll get it." Huggy got up and went to the cupboard, retrieved three cups and the coffee pot with practiced ease. The thin bartender brought the multiple items into the living room and set them on the coffee table. Out of habit, he poured the brew into each cup.
Dobey watched as Starsky threw the towel over his shoulder, grabbed his crutches and moved back into the room. "Use the coasters or you're gonna leave rings on my table." The brunet grumbled as he sat down and shoved coasters over to Huggy and Dobey, putting one under his own cup as well. He took the kitchen towel off of his shoulder, reached over and wiped away the rings where the three cups had been. As though feeling the weight of their combined stare, Starsky looked up. "What?"
Huggy put up his hands and said nothing. He then busied himself by adding cream and sugar to his coffee.
The captain cleared his throat. "Starsky… everything checks out. The restraining order is legal." He looked down at his coffee cup, picked up a spoon and stirred the dark liquid, avoiding eye contact as he struggled to find the right words to tell his detective the rest of what he had to say.
"Well I didn't think Hutch's dad was joking when he told me that, Cap." Starsky sighed sarcastically "What about that other stuff you were gonna check on?" He glanced up at his superior.
Dobey pulled out his hanky and wiped his dampening brow "Hutch has been placed on long-term disability for now. That'll run out after about eight to ten months."
"What about his apartment? His rent is due in one week. I paid off last month with the donations from the Department. Be sure to thank everyone for me, okay? It means a lot to me and Hutch... I can use my own money for next month and the month after that, if necessary. I owe him…" Starsky looked away, leaving the sentence dangling, unfinished, as he became lost in private thoughts once more.
The husky captain watched as the brunet reached for his cup. As he lifted it, some of the liquid sloshed out, landing on the table. Starsky set the cup back down and wiped the spot away before picking up his coffee again.
Dobey and Huggy exchanged at quick look.
Dobey gritted his teeth. There was no easy way to say what he had to "Starsky… Dave, I've spoken with Hutch's doctor. Hutch is not improving-"
Starsky's wandering attention snapped back to the captain. He stood up and glared at his superior, "WHAT! Why didn't you say something about this before? What's wrong with you?" He wobbled as he lurched forward in an aggressive manner.
The captain calmly continued, "Physically, he is recovering. He has regained feeling and some movement of his right side. Doctor Lottridge is confidant Hutch'll be able to walk again. But mentally, he is no better than he was when you last saw him… I'm sorry."
The brunet gaped at his superior for a long moment, and then exploded. "Sorry? You're sorry? That's all I ever hear. Everybody says they're sorry…why are they all sorry? I'm the one that did this to him! I'm the one that's sorry! I'm the one to blame… No one else did this to Hutch, so why do people keep sayin' they're sorry? Huh? Answer me that?" His eyes burned with unshed tears.
Dobey silently watched the younger man, deciding -for the moment- to let Starsky yell. The curly haired detective needed to get it out of his system. He needed to holler at someone. And Dobey and Huggy were there to take the heat. Normally, this would be something that Hutch would do. He groaned inwardly, knowing that those days were now gone. He ran a frustrated hand through his tight, graying curls as Starsky went on with his rant.
"Nobody's as sorry as I am! Fat lot of good it does, bein' sorry…" Starsky continued he began to shake with barely suppressed rage. "Sorry won't cure Hutch, will it?" He snatched up his full cup of coffee and threw it across the room. It smashed against the wall, covering it with coffee and shards of porcelain. The throw as so forceful that some of the cup stuck in the sheetrock, the remainder crashed to the floor.
It was now time to put a stop to this. "Dave, you're shouting." Captain Dobey quietly chastised the angry man. He stood up and walked around the end of the coffee table.
"I don't care!" Starsky wobbled precariously on his right leg, his wild throw had nearly sent him to the floor. The heavy cast and his anger all but removing his natural grace. He caught his balance with some difficulty.
Captain Dobey moved over to stand in front of the distraught man. Harold stood as tall as he could. He did this consciously. Normally, it was a sight imposing enough to make most men step back a pace. But this wasn't a normal situation, and Starsky wasn't just any man. He was one of his best detectives and one of his favorites. And one who was hurting beyond words.
Dobey reached out and placed his hands on the younger man's upper arms, giving him a gentle shake as he spoke. "According to his doctor, Hutch will never fully recover from this. You're going to have to come to terms with that, no matter how difficult it is for you. Now, I've read the accident report. You did nothing wrong. Despite the weather conditions, your speed was not excessive. You slid. Hit a tree. It was just bad luck that Hutch was hurt in the way he was. It's NOT your fault." He looked firmly into the blue eyes, willing Starsky to understand. "The accident was not your fault. It was an accident and nothing more. It could've happened to anyone."
"It didn't happen to anyone. It happened to me. To us… Get out." Starsky whispered angrily as he pointed to the door. He was obviously no longer in the mood for company. "Just… get out."
Dobey dipped his head in resignation and cast a glance at Huggy. The bar owner nodded back and silently walked to the door. Only time would heal Starsky's wounds. There was little Harold could do for the man's emotions at this point. The next few months of adjusting to the traumatic and dramatic change would ease the pain enough so Starsky could return to work. He would extend Starsky's leave of absence. He would continue to check on him. And if need be, would require him to seek counseling.
Dobey closed the door quietly behind him and both he and Huggy listened at the door for several long minutes. After hearing nothing, they left.
On the steps down to their separate vehicles, Huggy broke the silence. "It's a sad thing."
"What is?" The big man grunted in response as he walked down the steps.
"A Starsky without a Hutch is like a stick shift without a clutch." The thin man rhymed.
Dobey rolled his eyes.
Huggy's brief smile faded. "Did you notice all of that cleanin' he was doin'?"
"Huggy, you know he's a neat nik." Dobey admonished the thin man.
"Yeah, but you ain't bringin' him supplies all the time. He's gone through more cleanin' stuff this past month than I do at my bar."
"That's not saying much Huggy. I've been in your bar."
"Hey!" Huggy gave him a hurt look before shaking his head and making for his vehicle.
Dobey went to his own car, got in. He sat there for the longest time, praying for guidance on how to help Starsky through this ordeal. There was no immediate divine answer forthcoming. After a while he admitted defeat. Reluctantly he closed the driver's side door and fired up the engine.
The captain backed out of the parking space, all the while pondering if Starsky was becoming an obsessive – compulsive clean freak. Well, that wasn't such a bad thing. There were far worse, far more dangerous things the detective could be doing with his time. Dobey patted the gun in his pocket and wondered how long it would be before Starsky missed his Berretta.
XXXX
Starsky stood at his door for several long moments, waiting. It took a while but finally he could hear Dobey and Huggy leave. He wasn't ready to accept defeat. Not yet. Everybody was acting like Hutch was never coming back. He wouldn't believe that. He couldn't believe that. It didn't feel like the truth to him. But there was little he could do at this point. He heard the tinkle of a bit of porcelain falling from the wall to the floor. Well, there was one thing he could fix right now.
Wandering into the kitchen, he collected his cleaning supplies and hobbled over to the coffee splotch on the wall and began to clean it up. Dobey must think he was blind. He saw his captain pocket his gun. That was just fine with him. He had another one, but he had no intention of using it on himself. That wasn't his style. He had to see Hutch again. He had to see the truth for himself. If Hutch truly were permanently damaged...
Starsky slowly scrubbed the wall and carefully picked out each piece of the shattered cup. He might have to paint the coffee spot over and wondered briefly if he had enough paint for the whole wall. It had to match or his landlord would see the difference. He mentally groaned at the possible work that lay ahead of him.
Next he took the paper towels and patted the wet carpet where the coffee had dripped from the wall to the floor, picking up the rest of the pieces of the broken cup as he did so. His mind wandered over the well-beaten path on how to get more information about Hutch… Dobey wasn't lying to him about Hutch's condition, he knew that. He was also aware that Hutch's parents were protecting their son. Hell, if it had been the other way around, he likely would have blamed them for Hutch's injuries.
The brunet climbed carefully to his feet and took the soiled paper towels and smashed cup debris and threw them in the trash. In the preceding weeks, he had picked Dr. Franklin's brain for every scrap of information about head trauma, aphasia and it's complications. Some of the stuff was encouraging. Some was not. There was nothing more for him to investigate, no fact that he hadn't checked and rechecked. Dr. Franklin had given him some old back issues of the medical journal 'Lancet' to go over to further his education on the subject.
Starsky wet a sponge and got out the rug shampoo, he had to get the stain out of his carpet. And as he blotted and worked at the splotch, he thought there might be an angle or two he hadn't checked out yet. A rare smile crept across his face as he looked thoughtfully at the carefully stacked pile of 'Lancet' magazines.
XXXX
Starsky stifled another yawn and the words in the magazine blurred. Try as he might, he couldn't fight sleep any longer. He looked at the various 'Lancet' medical journals that were scattered all over his bed. There hadn't been anything in them that jumped out at him and begged for a closer look, no new information.
His intuition led him to take a closer look at Hutch's doctor. He rolled his eyes at himself, knowing that he was really grasping for straws now. "Paranoia has set in folks. I'm starting to think like some nut-job… 'No one but me can help Hutch.' Bullshit. He's getting the best help that money can buy." He snorted to the empty room. "And you keep talkin' ta yourself an' you're gonna end up in Cabrillo." He clamped his lips together.
None of the articles he read raised any red flags. But those were medical journals, dry and highly technical there were no hidden meanings, just a desire to communicate medical information to others. Great for doctors and other professionals to read, but a struggle for a layman to slog through. He made a mental note to have Dobey pick him up a medical dictionary of some sort.
Exasperated, he grunted his frustration. Like reading up on the subject was somehow going to make him less responsible for the damage he'd done. Maybe Richard Hutchinson was right in putting a restraining order on him.
He dropped his head into his hands as a wave of exhaustion flowed over him. When a crick started forming in the back of his neck, he rubbed at the ache. Then swiped his hands down his face, pausing to rub at his gritty eyes. Starsky looked over at his bedside clock. The bright red numbers told him it was 2:14 a.m. He leaned back against the headboard and rubbed his eyes, knowing without even looking into a mirror, they were bloodshot.
This was the part of the day he had come to dread. He worked at various chores and tasks to exhaust himself in the hopes of getting a little sleep. Dreamless sleep… nightmare-less sleep. He worked for hours every day at cleaning his apartment to perfection.
Every morning he dusted, wiped, laundered and vacuumed everything he could. When there wasn't anything left to clean, fold or put away, he would wash himself up and crawl onto his bed to watch the late, late shows, next the creature features and finally the ant races as one-by-one the stations went off the air for the evening. The static hiss was his background music that he listened to as he plumbed the medical journals for every scrap of information.
This had become his daily ritual. The ritual of tying himself up with tiny threads of normality, each cleaning task designed to keep him from falling apart. Each and every one designed to help him keep some semblance of order in his life as he bided his time and healed. Once the cast was off, he would go back to Minnesota. He would somehow get onto the Hutchinsons' estate to see Hutch. He would need a disguise of some sort. Couldn't do that with a leg cast on… and then… and then… well, he'd worry about that part when he got there.
He knew that to Huggy and Dobey, it might look like he was obsessive about housekeeping. And maybe he was becoming a little obsessive. What else could he do with all of his time? His left leg was still in a cast and would be for at least a while longer, so getting around was difficult. Huggy and Dobey had their own jobs and lives. He knew that they couldn't always be here distracting him. Hell, half the time when they were here, he forgot that they were in the apartment with him.
Another yawn forced his jaw wide. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep his eyelids open. The words in the journal blurred and swirled on the page. The words melted into a black seam… a black road, bracketed by white… snow white. White snow. The car followed the road and the white dashes that divided the lanes drew him further into picture. He was driving, Hutch by his side. It was night, snow fell and they talked.
The car was responsive and handled nicely, Starsky loved driving, always had. It was a little tricky remembering how to drive in snowy conditions, but he had learned to drive in snow when he had visited his mother in New York. The trick was to go slow and pay attention to the feel of the car and that was something that was so deeply ingrained in his being that he did it without consciously thinking about it.
"Hey Hutch, what do you think my Indian name would be? Huh?"
The blond head slowly turned in his direction and Hutch fixed him with a considering look. One blond brow slowly rose "I don't know… how about 'Runs With Scissors'?"
"'Runs With Scissors, huh?' Well yours should be-"
"Watch the road!""No I was thinking more along the lines of-"
"Starsky look out!"
The car slowly spun beneath them. In slow motion, they exchanged a long look before the vehicle slammed into something, bringing it and them to a crashing halt. He sat up in his seat and looked over at Hutch. The left side of his partner's head was smashed in, blood and brains spilled out of the gaping hole and dangled there like uncooked polish sausage.
Hutch grabbed at the dangling bits of blood and brains and franticly tried to push the bloody gelatinous goo back into the cavernous hole. Seeing that Starsky was watching him, Hutch shook his right index finger at him "This is your fault! You did this to me!"
"NO!"
Starsky sat up and looked around. He had once again fallen asleep with the light on. He was alone in his bed, the'Lancet' medical journals surrounding him, one lay in his lap. He looked at the clock on the nightstand by his bed. The blood red number flashed 4:37 a.m..
He ran a shaky hand through his wet curls and shook with the cold sweat of terror that now bathed him. The brunet pulled his blankets up to his chest in an attempt to warm up, but the sheets were soaked with his perspiration. He gave an accepting sigh. A new day of cleaning had begun.
TBC