Brooklyn Boy

Chapter 17

Dobey found Starsky where he guessed he'd be.

With his living partner and not his dead brother.

Emotional triage, Dobey supposed. Attend to those with a chance before those with little or none. In this case, attend to the living before the dead. Except, Dobey's gut gave him the notion that if the situation were reversed, if it were Nick who was being loaded into the ambulance and Hutchinson whose cooling body was waiting to be place into the next body bag - that Starsky would still be with his partner. Despite blood, despite family and loyalty, Hutchinson's central role in Starsky's life meant that he took priority. Dead or alive.

That was just how it was and had always seemed to be between his two detectives. A bond like no other Dobey could ever remember seeing. It was disquieting in its depth and intensity. Frightening, because what it would mean if one were taken from the other.

Starsky stood at the rear ambulance doors, keeping vigil as the paramedics did their last checks on Hutch before loading him into the back of the van.

As Dobey watched, Starsky spoke to the paramedics, nodded, frowned, nodded again and then leaned down toward his partner to share something with him. He could make out Hutchinson, who was semi-conscious from a combination of pain relief and the adrenalin crash after what had gone down inside the hangar, trying to lift a shaky arm. Dobey saw Starsky take the wavering hand and tuck it beneath the light sheet, his face strained and emotional in the white light of the airfield's spotlights.

As the medics moved in to lift the gurney, Starsky took a few steps back, waited for them to do their job, and then with another word to the medics, jumped inside the back of the ambulance quickly. The overly bright interior lights of the ambulance seemed too intrusive on the interplay between the partners. Dobey felt the need to turn away as Starsky said some final words to Hutchinson before he shimmied back out of the van.

As the ambulance drove off, Starsky waited unmoving, his eyes following the strobe lights until they disappeared down the main road of the airfield. He stayed like that, his back to the activity behind him, rooted to the spot, his body still, his back a little stooped. Then he turned and looked over at the coroner's wagons parked twenty feet away.

Two of Durniak's men's bodies had already been bagged and loaded, with an empty wagon waiting off to the side. Dobey knew it was earmarked for Nick Starsky.

Starsky turned his attention to the last gurney being wheeled out from the hangar, its cargo sealed inside a black bag, its plastic surface shiny and sleek under the big lights. It seemed, by the way Starsky gave the gurney his full attention, as though he must have known this last bag held his brother. Dobey wondered briefly whether he had missed the transaction between his detective and the coroner's attendants, or whether Starsky was working on intuition alone.

Starsky approached the gurney, his steps sluggish, all of the urgency displayed in attending to his wounded partner gone. What would be the point anyway, Dobey thought? His brother was dead; the ominous body bag was a gruesome symbol that any emotional overtures were too little, too late. When Starsky did grieve the loss of his only brother, Dobey sensed it would not be in public.

The captain didn't know the full story about his detective and his wayward younger brother, but he knew enough. Enough to know that what had gone on before this tragic finale meant his detective would have a considerable amount of psychological adjustment to make. The death of a family member was never an easy road, let alone such a senseless and violent death like Nick Starsky's.

At the side of the gurney, Starsky said nothing to the attendants, but they stopped in their tracks nonetheless. The Coroner's attendants, recognizing he was a cop, let him take his time beside the gurney. He stood rigidly beside the form in the bag before drawing down the zipper to display his brother's face. As the attendants turned their own heads discreetly to the side, allowing the officer a quiet moment, Dobey did the same. He would offer his condolences and support later. Right now, Starsky would want some space.

Dobey walked off toward the rear of the hanger to find how the injured Simonetti was faring. Although it had been a full night already, he still had hours of work ahead of him before he could go home to his wife and family.

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If someone told Dobey two weeks ago that he'd walk into a hospital waiting room, or any room on the planet, and find David Starsky sitting beside Lieutenant Carlson as the older man shared some quiet words with him, Dobey would have questioned that person's mentality. Yet, when he rounded the corner of the OR waiting area, here the two men were. Starsky had his head down, forearms on his knees as he leaned forward, listening to Carlson.

A couple of officers from the precinct and another detective from IA were standing in the corner of the room, sharing coffee and talking amongst themselves. Obviously, they were waiting on news of Hutchinson and Simonetti. From experience, Dobey knew that the other men from his squad, although keen to show support for Hutchinson, would know to leave the space around Starsky clear. Of his two homicide detectives, Starsky always seemed to fare worse in the hospital waiting room at the best of times, let alone when the waiting was for his partner. How the hell must he be feeling at that moment, Dobey wondered, with Hutchinson on the operating table and his brother in the morgue?

Before he moved toward Starsky and Carlson, Dobey went up to the other officers and had a quick word with them. Carlson, more attentive to his surroundings than Starsky, looked up as Dobey left the small group of men and approached.

"Captain," Carlson greeted. His face, although showing the strains of the night's dramas, expressed an openness and ease that Dobey was not used to seeing in the reserved IA lieutenant.

As he realized Dobey was now in front of him, Starsky raised his head, "Cap'n," he said dispiritedly, "we're still waiting."

Dobey stretched out his hand and let it rest firmly on Starsky's shoulder. "It won't be long now, I'm sure. Hutch is in good hands." Dobey's comment was conjecture. Still, it was a comforting thing to say to a man who looked like he could use every ounce of comfort that he could get..

"Nothing on either of them yet," Carlson said, "though I had a chance to talk to Simonetti before he was taken in. He was in good enough spirits. Hutchin – Hutch," Carlson corrected himself, "had already been taken into pre-op before we arrived at the hospital."

Dobey didn't miss the clear shift in Carlson's attitude toward his two detectives. He looked at his watch. "I'm sure the doctors will be out soon." It had been more than two hours since the two wounded officers had arrived at the hospital.

Starsky said nothing, and Dobey suspected he must resent Dobey's attempts to pacify him. Dobey didn't know why he forced out these pathetic platitudes in these situations. Over the years, he had simply run out of material to spin to his officers as they endured the lonely wait. Every cop feared being the one left in the waiting room, watching their injured partner disappear behind the emergency doors.

"Dave," Dobey tried again, "is there anything you want me to do for you regarding your brother? Arrange someone to contact your mother or –"

"No. I'll take care of it. I'll deal with – with him and my family." Starsky's expression seemed blank as he referred to his brother.

Carlson cleared his throat and looked at Dobey sympathetically – no doubt sensing his discomfort.

Before Dobey had a chance to wonder whether Starsky had had a chance to contact his mother, Starsky shifted the subject. "Durniak?"

"He and his men who survived the bust are being processed. When I left the station, his lawyer was already with him."

"I want to be kept informed of any developments with Durniak, okay?" Starsky said. "As soon as it happens."

"I understand," Dobey said. "My staff will contact me if anything changes, but I don't see much happening until tomorrow morning."

Starsky grunted, using his posture to end any further interaction.

"Starsky?" Carlson asked, looking up at Dobey quickly, "can I get you a coffee?"

Starsky shook his head and leaned forward on his elbows, his thumbs pressing the sides of his temples. He barely seemed to register that Carlson had stood.

Carlson gave Dobey a slight nod, and at the cue, Dobey said, "I could use one myself. Excuse us, Starsky."

The two men left the waiting area to move to the small anteroom nearby that held various vending machines.

Once out of the waiting room, Dobey lowered his voice. "I appreciate what you did for Starsky tonight, Carlson. I heard from a couple of the uniforms that you pulled him back from what could have easily been ah –" he cleared his throat before choosing the word, "an emotional reaction when Starsky had Durniak cornered."

"He's a mess. I've tried to draw him out – even said I'd stay with him while he called his mother, but he didn't seem ready to cross that bridge yet." Carlson pressed buttons on the coffee machine.

Dobey's mouth set into a grim line. "He won't relax until he sees Hutch. That's his only focus right now. And Hutch is the only person who'll be able to help him with losing his brother – so that makes it doubly hard on him."

As the machine filled Carlson's cup, he asked, "Is it always this – this strained? With Starsky I mean?" Or is it just because it's me –"

"No, this time it's not you," Dobey said. "Trust me, the way Starsky has been the past months, if he still felt you were the enemy or didn't want you around, he wouldn't be allowing you anywhere near him. It's just the way it always is with him – with the both of them."

"Yeah. I feel like I'm sitting next to a ticking bomb."

Dobey sighed and nodded. "Doesn't matter which one is out here waiting, or even if the situation isn't dire – until they can see their partner and know that they're okay –" Dobey paused, "it's hellish to be around either of them."

"I'm finally getting an idea of how tight they are. Clare told me often enough, but I just didn't get the extent of it. No wonder everyone told me that if IA ever took on one of them, they took on both." Carlson smiled but it quickly faded.

"It can be both a good and bad thing – this level of closeness to between partners. Every day they hit the streets, they run the risk of being separated – permanently."

"Well – let's hope today is not going to be one of those days," said Carlson.

They're both listed as each other's legal next-of-kin and have power of attorney. So Starsky will be the first to get news, good or bad, about Hutch's condition. But until Starsky gets to see him, he won't drop the brick wall."

"Have you got any news on the two men who are supposedly going to testify for Starsky – what were their names again?" Carlson sipped some coffee.

"Bendetti and Samuels," Dobey provided. "I think their testimony is solid. Fortunately, they don't know Durniak has been taken into custody. I made sure they were removed from the airfield as soon as Starsky got them out to the cruiser. They were gone before the action went down. They had already given their statements when I got back to the precinct – before there was any chance of them getting wind of Durniak's changed circumstances. And we still have the recordings that included their confessions in the hangar."

"Thank God for that," Carlson breathed. "Without them, Starsky would still be left in a precarious position with the case."

Once again, Dobey was surprised by the lieutenant's changed attitude.

"Even when they realize Durniak's not free, I don't think they'll backtrack," Dobey said, as he accepted the Styrofoam cup from Carlson. "Durniak will fulfill his part of the deal, even though things fell apart for him. His honor demands it."

"With everything we recorded and overheard at the hangar, we've got more than enough to clear Starsky," Dobey said.

Carlson and Dobey returned to the waiting room just as a doctor in green scrubs surveyed the waiting area.

"Maybe we got lucky," Dobey said. "Maybe that's the surgeon with some news about one of our men."

Suddenly, Starsky became alert as he noticed the surgeon. Dobey and Carlson moved across the room to be beside Starsky.

"Are you Sergeant Starsky?" the doctor asked as Starsky came to his feet.

"Yes. "Yes, I am."

"I'm Doctor Harris.I operated on Mr. Hutchinson. I understand you're listed as his next of kin. Please. Stay seated." The doctor sat and Starsky resumed his chair. The doctor glanced at Dobey and Carlson hovering over them, and looked questioningly at Starsky.

As though realizing he was waiting for introductions, Starsky indicated the other two. "Uh, Doc... this is Captain Dobey, our commanding officer, and... Detective Carlson... who's a friend. You can speak freely in front of them."

The doctor pulled off his cap. "Mr. Hutchinson's surgery went well. The bullet passed beneath his diaphragm and above the hip. Fortunately, it missed all the major blood vessels and organs. His prognosis for recovery is good. He'll have some necessary aftercare, of course, and you'll be given instructions on how to follow up with his personal physician. He's in recovery, right now, and still sleeping, but you should be able to see him in the morning. We'll have a better idea of when he can be released tomorrow."

Finally, the worst of the tension seemed to leave Starsky and he managed a small smile.

"Have you any word on Officer Simonetti – the other wounded officer?" Carlson asked.

"He wasn't my patient, and I don't know if his family's been notified. You may have to check with them. But I do believe he's also in recovery."

Dobey felt relieved as Starsky offered Carlson a comforting pat on the shoulder. Carlson smiled back at Starsky.

"How long before I can see my partner?" Starsky asked again, his impatience making a fresh return.

"Considering he's still in recovery and the late hour, probably not before morning. You'll be able to find out what room he's in then. The surgeon stood and moved back toward the OR doors.

"I saw Simonetti's wife talking with some of the other IA detectives waiting in the emergency room," Carlson said. "I'll go talk to her to see if she's heard from his doctor."

"I'd like to have a word with her as well," Dobey said. "After that, I have to head back to the station. With a little luck, I'll make it home before dawn." He turned to Carlson. "After we talk to Mrs. Simonetti, we can give the other men the news about the surgery."

Carlson turned to Starsky. "You should take a break, get something to eat. It'll probably be hours before they get them moved."

"No – I – I really need to make some calls," Starsky said, pulling out his cell phone. His expression made it clear what the phone calls would be about.

Not at all surprised that Starsky had declined to join them, Dobey said, "Give Hutch my best when you see him, and let him know I'll visit him in the morning." He and Carlson walked off to find Simonetti's wife, while Starsky stayed where he was.

"You sure he's going to be okay?" Carlson asked dubiously.

Dobey raised an eyebrow. "You asking me that as an IA Lieutenant or as a fellow cop?"

"Neither." Carlson didn't hesitate. "I'm asking it as a man who recognizes another man in pain, and because I can see how in touch you are with your men."

Dobey grunted. "Then here's my answer. He'll be okay. As long as Hutch recovers."

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Starsky didn't watch his captain and Carlson leave. He just wanted to be left alone to work through what had happened. He couldn't do that while Carlson and Dobey were on top of him, as well meaning as Carlson now was.

The hours of waiting, even with Carlson hovering over him, had given him too much time to review his behavior over the past months. As he did, he found it harder and harder to confront all the shit that had gone down around him and Hutch. That he had been the instigator of most of that shit, with his moods and teetering emotions playing havoc in both their lives, didn't help one bit. He'd become a self-centered bastard to everyone since he'd begun to feel sorry for himself. Sorry for losing Clare, who he never really wanted, and not nearly sorry enough for throwing away every woman after her, all of whom he definitely hadn't wanted.

He was especially sorry for not being brave enough to ask for the only person he ever really wanted and offering him the love Starsky kept hidden. Yeah, all of that self pity had made him short-sighted about other people's needs.

He felt bad for Simonetti; he really did – even though the man had been the least likely person to endear himself to Starsky. He was still a cop. A good one. A trustworthy and brave one. He had stood up against Durniak, just as Carlson had done in the end. So, in Starsky's estimation, Simonetti was okay in his books, as was Carlson.

But when Carlson had tried to share the burden of waiting for news of their respective partners, Starsky still couldn't get objective enough to think beyond his own terror that he had come too close to losing what he'd only just found with Hutch. Carlson, as well intended his empathy was, could never comprehend the differences in the experiences each of them was having in that OR waiting area.

Hutch could have died! That very night! Only hours ago – just as – just like –

Starsky remembered skidding back into the hangar and facing a scenario of Hutch, a wild Nicky, and a cornered Durniak –

Then Hutch was down and bleeding, and Nicky…Nicky was…

He shoved the memory away. Not forever. Just for now. He wouldn't be able to hold it at bay for too long, but it was too soon to work through it. He needed Hutch as a safety net for when he would crash.

The possibility of losing Hutch had always been Starsky's worst nightmare. It would destroy him. Hutch had been the center of everything for Starsky for so many years. He probably loved him even before he understood the extent of what Hutch really meant to him. Loved him as a soul mate, the best friend any man could ever hope to have. That love just got stronger and more resilient with each passing year. Starsky didn't think that the depth of it couldn't increase further - until it did. The difference now, of course, was the progression of their relationship. They had taken the step into intimacy, and that had changed the entire playing field of their relationship. Starsky hadn't figured on how loving Hutch in a different way could amplify the fear of losing him, tenfold. Had Hutch figured that out as well?

Now they were intimate, and Starsky's entire playing field had changed. But he hadn't figured on how loving Hutch in a different way could amplify his fear of losing Hutch tenfold. Had Hutch figured that out as well?

Suddenly he had to ask Hutch that very question.

He looked down at his cell phone and refreshed the screen. The contact for his mother was still sitting there – he'd opened it over an hour ago. The number reminded him how much his mother loved to call him using the new iPhone he'd given her as a birthday gift. But he still couldn't make himself call. Once she heard his voice, it would be all over before he could find the words to soften the pain. How could he tell her that her baby boy was dead?

He turned the phone to vibrate and pushed it into his pocket.

Not yet. Not just yet.

Not enough time had passed for Hutch to have been transferred to a room, but Starsky was done with waiting. The pull to be near Hutch, his emotional center, was overwhelming. Hutch was a gunshot victim, and a cop. Starsky would flash his badge, insist they'd just been told Hutch had been threatened by Durniak's organization, and until further notice, Starsky was responsible for his protection. With a little push, he'd probably be able to see him in recovery. Now that he had a plan, Starsky made his way to the elevator.

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Hutch had come around briefly in the recovery room – long enough to answer an amorphous, shadowy figure leaning over him about his level of perceived pain, long enough to feel the pneumatic blood pressure cuff inflating and deflating, but not long enough to figure out anything else. Soon after, his tenuous awareness dimmed.

The next time information penetrated his fuddled brain; he was able to make out voices. But he heard something meaningful to him in the background. He wanted that to come to the foreground, but couldn't hear it any clearer. He heard the voice, felt the familiar touch, but his eyes wouldn't open. Still, he needed to ask something important. He struggled to say something, not sure if he succeeded. "Nic – Nick – he – Nick, shot."

The familiar voice finally came closer. "Sssh – leave it. Let it go, Hutch. Let it go."

"Stars – Starsky." Opening his eyes with an effort, he could see Starsky's worried face. "Nick's dead. Couldn't stop him - so sorry. "

"Don't talk, Hutch. Rest. Close your eyes and get some more rest."

"But I have to tell you – Nick -"

"No. No, Hutch. I don't need to hear it…. please, just sleep."

Exhausted, Hutch gave up trying as he lost consciousness again.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

The next he woke, he felt something pressing against his lips. Soft, light, and very real.

"Starsk?" he croaked, as his lips moved beneath a warm mouth.

"Hmm?" Starsky's voice came back.

"Are – are you giving me mouth-to-mouth?"

He felt the lips on his smile before they pulled back enough to form words. "Well, I'd like to call it lips-to-lips, but mouth-to-mouth works, too. You are a patient, after all." Starsky might have grinned, but Hutch couldn't see clearly enough yet to know for sure.

"Ah…" Hutch shifted a little, squinting up at the heavily whiskered face hovering above his. "Why?" Hutch tried to focus on the face he knew so well.

"'Cause I can hardly give you tongue-to-tongue, can I? Wouldn't be right."

Hutch had to think on that for a while. "Because we're in – I'm in a hospital? And at any time a nurse or a doctor might walk in and - "

"Nah." Starsky dismissed such a notion with a sweep of his hand. "You think I give a damn about that? Christ, I nearly lost you – again." He moved back enough for Hutch to see his dark blue eyes, tired, but dancing with a mixture of relief and joy and a hint of teasing. "No, I meant that it wouldn't be right with you being so weak and all after your surgery. I couldn't take advantage of you like that, Hutch – but I just had to – had to kiss ya."

Hutch lifted his arm up from the bed; pleased he could so, and pleased even more when his hand found its own way to the dark curly head, his fingers twining in the thick softness. "I can't think of a better way to wake up from surgery," Hutch whispered, his throat constricted with emotion.

Hutch closed his eyes again and tried to align himself with the room around him and the feelings of dull pain coming from his lower chest and side. "Oh God, this – is always the worst part." He bit off the words as he squirmed to find a better position. "The part where you have to swim back to the surface and figure everything out."

"You don't have to figure anything out just now," Starsky said. "How is it? The pain?"

"Not too bad – not yet anyway," Hutch said, though he felt a tightness above his right hip, which was starting to hurt like hell. He suspected Starsky realized he was in pain, too. "Durniak?"

Starsky sighed. "I thought I said stop tryin' to figure things out. Relax."

"I can't relax until I know what happened." Hutch tried to read Starsky's eyes to figure out what he might be hiding. "Last I remember, he was running for the rear of the hangar. Did he – did you-?" For a few seconds, Hutch recalled his fear that Starsky would do something to Durniak after Nick and he had been shot. But even with his sluggish thinking, he figured that Starsky wouldn't be in his hospital room if he had killed Tony Durniak. He'd still be filling out paperwork at the station, or would be waiting on the review board.

"Don't worry, Hutch. Durniak's fine. So, rest easy."

Hutch frowned. "So he is – he's not hurt?"

"Told you, the bastard's fine," Starsky growled.

Hutch knew he wouldn't get the whole story until much later, but he was too tired to pursue it.

"He's in custody," Starsky said, "lawyered up, but he's not goin' anywhere. I don't know much more than that. It's late and I've been preoccupied with something more important." Starsky let his hand rest on top of Hutch's softly.

"What about you? How are you – coping?" He tried to hold Starsky's gaze long enough to see for himself, but predictably, Starsky looked away.

"Well, after spending two hours with Carlson waiting for you to come out of OR, I have to tell you, I'm doing remarkably well," Starsky said with a lightness that told Hutch he didn't want to talk about himself.

Then Hutch realized what Starsky had just said. "Wait? Carlson? Carlson and you?" Hutch frowned. Was Starsky joking?

"He's my new best bud," Starsky said, surprising him with a smile. "You'd better watch your step, partner. I just might have myself a new wingman."

"I'm missing something…" Hutch wrinkled his brow.

"You missed a lot, babe." Starsky touched Hutch's injured side carefully. "Don't worry – I'll fill you in later. It's not important now. What's important is making sure you do whatever it takes to get better."

"Starsk – I mean it," Hutch tried again, swatting at Starsky's hands. "I want to know how you're doing. I'm worried about you."

"What's new? When have you ever not worried about me?"

"Have you spoken to your mother yet? About what – about -," Hutch grappled with the question, "Nick?" he finished awkwardly.

"You can say his name Hutch. I'm not going to break down if you do."

"It's not easy for me to –"

"I know it isn't. It's all so fresh and raw – for both of us. " Starsky jumped in cutting Hutch off. Whether he did it to save him from a difficult moment or to divert him from his concern about Starsky, Hutch didn't know. Hutch let it go. "No, I haven't phoned Ma," Starsky admitted to him. "Not yet. She'll know soon enough, alright?"

When Hutch didn't reply Starsky cursed softly just loud enough for Hutch to know that his concerns were valid.

"Don't give me that look Hutch. I can see already that you're already building up a head full of worry. I'm not about to lose it. Really, I'm not. Ma will know what's happened. I just had to make sure you're all right first."

"Starsky? I – I know I'm groggy and a little confused – but, I'm here if you want to talk about it." He knew Starsky could leave if he pushed him too hard. His partner was still putting Nick's death in the no-go zone. Starsky wanted to be here with him now, but maybe only on his terms.

He attempted to move to get the pressure of his side, causing a sharp pain to flare across his midriff. He hissed.

Starsky was instantly alarmed. "Damn it, Hutch, lie still, will ya? You want me to buzz the nurse?"

"No." Hutch grabbed Starsky's wrist as he reached for the call button. "It'll pass. No more drugs just yet. I want you to know I tried to stop Nick, but he was crazy, trying to get the meth away from –"

"Hutch. Please…" Starsky sighed. "Don't do this - to yourself – or to me – not yet."

"But I need to, Starsky..." Hutch was getting tired, but felt driven to get this out. "I'm worried that you won't talk about Nick. To anyone...I think you need to – to at least try."

"I'm doing what I need to be doing. Being here with you. Now leave it be."

Hutch continued to look at him, but didn't say anything else.

"Look –" Starsky went on, "I'm havin' a hard enough time dealing with you in a hospital bed as it is… seeing you on the floor of that hangar, knowing Durniak did that to you. It's enough to get through that."

Hutch decided he'd do what Starsky wanted. He'd pull back. Leave the heavy stuff till he was feeling stronger. He didn't want to push Starsky away. "Alright. I'll leave it. But soon? Promise me that, Starsky."

"Okay. Deal," Starsky said.

Hutch would have to be happy with that. He looked around the hospital. "All of it still feels so far away, Starsk," he said, fatigued, "like I might have imagined everything about tonight. It's hard enough to process all of it without thinking through a haze of narcotics."

"Then just stop, Hutch." Starsky tapped his finger on Hutch's forehead. "Shut down that brain."

"One last thing. The two men we traded for the meth? Will it come together? Their testimony?"

"Yes. Dobey says it's in the bag."

"Thank God. That's wonderful news, Starsk."

"Yep. But, if you want to talk about the details, it won't be tonight."

"Did the doctor say anything about when I could get out of here?"

"Get out?" Starsky jerked his head back in disbelief. "You only just came out of a freakin' operation, for God's sake."

"Well, I hate it here already," Hutch grumbled.

"I know you do, babe," Starsky cajoled. "But if you do what your doctors tell you, you'll get better real fast, so you can come home to me." Starsky stroked Hutch's short hair.

Hutch leaned into it for support as he turned toward Starsky's voice.

"Because I'll be there," Starsky said, "waiting for you, wanting you, needing you…"

Hutch nuzzled Starsky's open palm cupping the side of his face. "When I woke up and felt you against my lips, it was like a beautiful dream. That's what you are. My dream come true." His voice cracked as tears threatened.

Starsky rubbed his thumb against Hutch's cheek. "Hey? Don't cry, babe," Starsky said, worriedly.

"You make me so damn happy. Having you here, like this, loving me… it's all I've wanted for such a long time, Starsky."

"Well, maybe tone down the happy feelings a bit? I hate seeing you cry, Hutch. Even happy tears are too much for me to take right now."

"All right. I'll do my best to not let you make me so happy." Hutch smiled through damp eyes.

Starsky sat back, but kept his hip nestled close to Hutch's bed. "Can I tell you something?"

"Tell me…"

"While I was sitting here, waiting for you to wake up, I kept thinking of all the other times I've sat beside you like this. When you've been hurt and in a hospital bed asleep – or at home, after you've been sick or knocked around and you've been out of it – and –" his face was soft with love, "well, I thought about all those times and how I just wanted to bend over your beautiful face and kiss you awake. Just like I did before. Kiss you better, take that pain away from your mouth and around your eyes, and fill you up with love instead…"

"Damn it, Starsk," Hutch squeezed his eyelids hard against fresh tears.

"But I didn't ever do it, Hutch. I didn't let myself do what I was aching to do. All those times, all those – all those months and – fucking years – I let you lie there like that, with me watching you and wanting you, with you probably wanting the same thing –" He shook his head. "All that wasted time when I didn't have you like I so badly wanted and needed you."

"Those years weren't wasted, Starsk. We still had each other. You were still there whenever I woke up, and you always cared for me, loved me. Always you. You were the first person I always saw when I woke up and the only one I wanted. It was just different, different but incredibly important to me to have you in my life. I wouldn't take a moment of it back, not even to trade it for what we have now. "

Hutch reached out and he clutched Starsky's hand as firmly as he could. "What we have now is where we've been heading. It took us a while to get here, but we did. All those times we shared were as important to me as you are now." When he'd finished, Hutch let his head fall back against the pillows, exhausted from his efforts to convey his feelings.

"I love you, Hutch." Starsky swallowed, as if fighting against tears himself. "Deeply. When you woke up, I wanted to show you, to make it clear – especially after everything that's gone down between us in the last weeks - this life of ours…" He paused and Hutch knew he was thinking of everything they ran the risk of losing every day they holstered up and hit the streets. "We have to take what we can before it takes us. So, no more watching you and wishing I'd done what I hadn't. From now on, I get the urge to kiss you, I'm damn well goin' to do it!"

"You would?" Hutch asked, feigning shock.

"Damn straight Blondie."

"Even in here, Starsky? Inside a hospital room in a busy ward when someone – anyone – might walk in on you taking advantage of me like that?" Hutch said it with just the right amount of provocation to break the emotionally laden mood.

Starsky narrowed his eyes and shuffled even closer. He moved his hand lower down Hutch's face until his fingers found Hutch's lips and parted them gently. Teasingly. "You are so obvious, Hutchinson! Even when you're injured, you're hot for it. You want me to ravage you? Then you'll have to wait till you're all better. But this –" he lowered his head once more and repeated the gentle kiss he had planted on Hutch's lips earlier. "I can offer you this all night long."

Hutch took a much-needed breath against the protracted kiss. "Then I'm going to need an oxygen mask!."

"I'm always available for mouth-to-mouth, remember?" Starsky winked.

"Oh yeah, that's – that's- right…" Hutch closed his eyes against a sudden wash of pain. "My own personal lifesaver."

"Time for me to buzz that nurse now?"

Hutch nodded.

Starsky leaned over and pressed the call button. Smoothing his fingers over Hutch's brow, he dropped a series of kisses over his partner's frown lines.

"Um, Starsk?" Hutch relaxed into the sensation, despite the background pain. "The bit about all night long…"

"Yeah?" Starsky extended his line of kisses to Hutch's temples.

"…sounds great, but that door is going to open any second…"

"I don't really care."

"You don't?" Hutch asked.

"No, and you know why?" Starsky finally pulled back to look down at his partner. The depth of sincerity in his eyes struck Hutch in the heart.

"Because you're mine, Hutchinson. You're mine and you're worth it."

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

TBC...