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Musings From The Psychic

by 

Mer

   Starsky was amazed at what the body could do even when seemingly pushed beyond its limits. He had followed Hutch on his madcap run through the neighbourhood, barely able to keep up on a motorcycle, not knowing how his partner kept going, kept making those deadlines. And then it ended, the race finishing with a bullet that sent Hutch reeling backwards through the glass door.

   He had pushed his way through the crowd of onlookers with a shattered heart, knowing his best friend was gone. But Hutch was sitting up, bleeding from a dozen cuts and gasping for breath, but alive, gloriously alive. Starsky felt his legs give way in relief and he slid to the ground, reaching for his partner. "I thought you were dead," he cried and was rewarded with a tired smile.

   "Bulletproof vest, remember?" And a minute later he was on his feet, dragging Starsky to Collandra, racing again, racing to find the girl, stopping only to let Starsky bandage the worst of the cuts. Only when Joanna was safe and back with her family did he pause and reluctantly allow Starsky to take him to the emergency room.

   Even then Starsky watched as Hutch paced around the waiting room like a caged animal. "Sit down, buddy, you're making me dizzy," he said lightly, but Hutch only glared at him. Starsky knew how much his partner hated hospitals, so he didn't push it. Fortunately, it was a quiet afternoon, so a doctor was able to attend to Hutch relatively quickly. There was no question of Starsky waiting outside, but when the doctor removed Hutch's shirt and vest and he saw the spreading bruise from the bullet's impact, he gasped. Hutch glanced over at him and smiled reassuringly. Starsky forced himself to smile back and grasped Hutch on the arm, willing comfort through his fingers. Even before the doctor began gently probing the bruise he could feel the tension vibrating through Hutch's body and his pulse racing under his fingers. Yet Hutch barely flinched as the worst of the glass cuts were cleaned and stitched, and when the doctor said he could go, he jumped off the examining table and strode out of the room.

   The doctor held Starsky back. "Keep an eye on him. He's running on sheer adrenaline right now. When he crashes, he's going to crash hard, so it would be better if he weren't alone."

   Starsky nodded and jogged after his partner, who was already through the doors and waiting impatiently at the Torino. "Do you want to get something to eat?" Starsky asked.

   Hutch shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

   "Come on, you gotta eat. When was the last time we stopped for food?" When he didn't get an answer he resorted to manipulation. "I'm starving to death," he complained, knowing that Hutch would relent for his sake.

   Hutch rolled his eyes. "Take me home and I'll fix you something to eat."

   "No way," Starsky retorted. "I've seen what's in your fridge. I want food, not fungus."

   Hutch smiled despite himself. "Fine. We'll stop and pick up some pizza and beer. I could use a drink right now."

   Starsky refrained from suggesting that alcohol probably wasn't the best idea at the moment, taking his victories where he could. He drove away, stealing a glance at his passenger whenever he could spare his attention from the road. Hutch was staring straight ahead, his whole body tense. It was almost as if he had channeled all his energy into remaining still. "How are ya feeling?" Starsky asked, running his eyes over his battered partner. The doctor had sutured the largest of the cuts that scored his face and side, but it wasn't the stitches that disturbed Starsky. It was Hutch's eyes, normally so bright and inquisitive. They were still bright, but unnaturally so, as if the adrenaline in his system was literally burning its way out. Unable to stop himself, he reached over and felt Hutch's brow.

   "I'm fine, Starsk, stop worrying," Hutch snapped, and perversely Starsky was reassured by this display of normality. Hutch jerked away from the touch, but then took a closer look at his partner's face. I thought you were dead, Starsky had said. He imagined how he would have felt if it had been Starsky thrown through that door and found he couldn't even bear the thought. "Really, buddy, I'm okay. I'm tougher than I look."

   Starsky grinned. "That wouldn't take much right now. You look like a breeze would knock you over." He reached out again, pretending to cuff Hutch in the shoulder, at the last minute turning it into an affectionate rub.

   "Maybe so," Hutch admitted, "but I know you'd be there to pick me up."

********

   By the time they reached Hutch's apartment, the blonde man was beginning to lose some of the manic intensity that had kept him going all day, and he was clearly beginning to feel some pain. Although his faltering gait tore at Starsky, he forced himself to be silent, knowing Hutch would ask for help if he wanted it. Once inside the apartment, however, he herded Hutch onto the couch, pacifying him with a bottle of beer while he grabbed some plates and napkins for the pizza.

   Hutch was touched, despite himself, more so when he saw that Starsky had ordered a vegetarian pizza. He picked up a slice and nibbled at it, but his stomach rebelled at the taste. On the other hand, the beer went down remarkably easily, too easily he realised when he discovered that he had drained most of the bottle. He tried another baby bite of pizza, washing it down with the remainder of the beer. While Starsky was looking the other way he grabbed another bottle and quickly twisted it open.

   Starsky looked up and noticed that his partner seemed more relaxed and felt some of his own tension seep away. "Hey, do you want to see if there's a game on?"

   Hutch's hand was safely around his second beer, so he shrugged easily. "Ca m'est egale."

   "Hunh? Stop speaking Spanish, Blondie."

   Hutch grinned and took another deep drink of beer. "Dos cervecas, por favor. Mi amigo pagaran!" he cried, chuckling to himself.

   Starsky frowned, suddenly noticing the bottles in front of Hutch. "More pizza, less beer," he scolded.

   "Every beer's a sandwich, pal," Hutch retorted, but put down the bottle. Truth be known, he was feeling a tad light-headed and he didn't want Starsky to worry any more than he already was. He picked up the slice of pizza again, but the smell of it caused bile to rise in the back of his throat and he dropped it hastily. Knowing he needed to get some food into his stomach, he picked away at the green peppers and mushrooms. Absently his hand reached for his beer and before he knew it, a second bottle was empty.

   Starsky smiled proudly at his partner. "You know you were great today. Flying through the streets like, like - what are they called - like a Valkyrie."

   "Valkyries are women," Hutch interjected.

   "Whatever. Like a male Valkyrie, leaping trash cans in a single bound."

   "Mixing mythos," corrected his critic.

   "Faster than a speeding bullet," Starsky continued doggedly, his voice trailing away as he remembered another speeding bullet. He closed his eyes, wanting to block the sight of Hutch flying backwards through the glass, but the images played through his mind relentlessly.

   "And then like Thor, he hurled a thunderbolt and destroyed his enemies," Hutch said softly.

   Starsky shook his head. "I thought you were dead," he whispered.

   "I know. It's all right."

   "I thought you were dead," he repeated. "I didn't know the car would explode like that. I didn't want it to, but for a second I was glad."

   "Stop it," Hutch murmured. "You did what you had to. We found the girl. Everything's okay." He reached for his beer and drank deeply again, not willing to admit how frightened he had been himself. He knew that without the bulletproof vest he would be dead. No happy endings, no forever after, just a dead cop.

   "I was your back-up," Starsky said dully. "I didn't do anything. They shot you and I didn't stop them."

   Hutch forgot his own fears then and thought only about comforting his partner. "Don't make yourself crazy, Starsky. I heard you warn me. There just wasn't enough time." Not just a dead cop, he thought. Not to Starsky. "Don't borrow trouble, as me grand-dad used to say. We've got enough as it is."

   "I'm a cop. I'm supposed to protect people. I can't even protect my own partner."

   "The vest, Starsk. That's why we had the vest. You can't eliminate risks in this job, this world. You can only minimize them." He opened another beer and took a swig. "Hell, we could be killed in an earthquake tomorrow. Or a meteor could crash into the apartment."

   "A meteor," Starsky repeated disbelievingly.

   "Yeah, a meteor. Or the Canadians could launch a nuclear attack on us."

   "The hockey team?"

   Hutch rolled his eyes and sighed exaggeratingly. "Oh, now that would just be kooky." His tongue slipped a bit over the words and he chuckled.

   Starsky raised his eyebrows and looked closer at his partner. He gently pried the beer bottle from Hutch's hands. "I think you've had enough."

   Indeed Hutch was beginning to have difficulty focusing, but when he closed his eyes, he could feel the room lurch unpleasantly. Christ, he thought. Two beers and I'm drunk. He opened his eyes again to see Starsky leaning protectively over him.

   "Let's go, kiddo. Time to get you to bed."

   Hutch sank deeper into the couch. "You can have the bed. I'll just stay here."

   "No way, man. Not if you want to be walking tomorrow." He reached down and pulled Hutch gently to his feet. "No, no, this way," he said, as Hutch stumbled towards the kitchen. He pointed him in the right direction and steered him to the bed. "Lie down," Starsky ordered and was pleasantly surprised to see his partner bonelessly obey. Starsky swung Hutch's feet onto the bed and pulled off his shoes. "Hang on buddy, I'll get you some water and aspirin."

   Hutch closed his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't when the room started to spin uncontrollably. He opened his eyes again, and swallowed convulsively, but it was too late. His stomach twisting, he used the last of his strength to launch himself off the bed and towards the bathroom. Fortunately, this time his sense of direction was more accurate, and he lurched past Starsky and paid his respects to the porcelain god. There wasn't much to bring up, but his stomach didn't seem to notice, as it emptied itself of the little food he'd managed to put into it. He cleared his throat and spat out the sour taste, but another spasm wrenched his stomach and he retched up some more liquid. "Oh god," he muttered, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

   Starsky shook his head and ran the cold water, soaking a facecloth. "Easy, Hutch, easy. You're going to be all right," he said, perching on the edge of the bathtub and laying the cold cloth across the back of Hutch's neck. He handed Hutch a glass of water. "Rinse and spit."

   Hutch did as suggested, gingerly sitting back on his heels. "Oh man, I'm sorry."

   Starsky took the cloth and wiped Hutch's face. "Nothing to be sorry about. I always knew you were a lousy drunk."

   Hutch groaned and leaned back against Starsky's knee. "What an idiot. Guzzling beer like a college freshman."

   Starsky ruffled Hutch's fine blonde hair affectionately. "I don't think it's the beer. You're crashing from a wicked adrenaline high. The doctor said it would happen. You gave it all today, buddy, and your body's reacting."

   Hutch shook his head. "Could have done more," he muttered. "Should have done more."

   "Jesus, Hutch," Starsky exclaimed. "Nobody could have done more. Nobody could have done as much as you did."

   Hutch closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his body. "I blew the exchange. What if Joe hadn't seen anything? We never would have saved her."

   "You didn't know those uniforms were going to butt in. That wasn't your fault. My God, you took a bullet because of it." He put his hands on Hutch's shoulders and felt tremors rippling through the blonde man's body. "You cold?"

   Hutch hugged himself tighter as the tremors grew into outright shivering. "C-c-can't stop shaking. Oh," he gasped as another spasm twisted his stomach.

   Starsky rubbed his back firmly, feeling the muscles bunching and relaxing under his fingers. "You gonna be sick?"

   Hutch coughed, then gasped as pain flared through his chest. He curled himself into a ball, resting his forehead on his knees. Starsky slid onto the floor behind him and wrapped Hutch in his arms, lending his warmth to the trembling man. "Shhhh, shhhh," he whispered. "I'm here, it's okay. You're going to be okay. Lean into me, buddy." He could feel Hutch uncurl slightly and settle against his chest and he hugged him tightly. "I've got you, Hutch. You're okay." He rocked his partner gently, whispering words of comfort in his ear. Gradually the tremors eased until only the occasional shudder ripped through his body. "You think you're okay to get to bed now?"

   It may have been a relaxing of muscles or it could have been the emotional connection they so often shared, but Starsky could actually feel Hutch smiling. "Nah, I thought I'd just crash out on the bathroom floor for the night. It's a little hard, but it's close to all the amenities."

   Starsky grinned. "Get up, ya big lug, and I'll tuck you in."

   Hutch started to push himself upright and groaned. "God, I think every muscle in my body's seized."

   "Hold on, let me get up and give you a hand," Starsky said, extricating himself awkwardly. Once upright, he bent over and grabbed Hutch under the armpits. "All right, on the count of three we'll get up. One...Two...Three." Hutch managed to push up with his legs and with Starsky pulling, sprung upright quicker than both men had anticipated. Unbalanced, Hutch tottered on legs that felt like spaghetti until Starsky was able to hold him steady. "You okay there?"

   Hutch sighed. "Ask me that in a couple of days." He staggered to the bathroom door, grabbing onto the frame to keep himself upright.

   "Whoa there, Nellie," Starsky called. "I think you better swallow your pride and let me help you." Without waiting for an answer he scooted under Hutch's right arm and wrapped his left arm around his partner's waist. "One foot in front of the other."

   Hutch rolled his eyes, but by the time they reached the bedroom, Starsky was supporting most of his weight. They both collapsed on the bed, Hutch panting from the exertion.

   After a moment Starsky got up. "I'm going to try for the water and aspirins again. I'll bring back a bowl just in case you feel sick." He returned as quickly as he could and saw that Hutch hadn't moved. His legs were still dangling off the bed, so Starsky swung them up, swiveling his partner so that he was lying lengthwise. Hutch curled in a ball like frightened porcupine and Starsky pulled the duvet over him, thankful that Hutch hadn't had time to make his bed properly that morning. He paused a moment, resting his hand on Hutch's hair, then straightened up.

   "Starsk?" It was just a whisper, but Starsky could hear it as clear as a bell.

   "What is it?"

   "Nothing."

   Starsky smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Mind if I hang out for a while?" Hutch didn't say anything, but managed to find enough energy to move back and make some more room. Starsky swung his legs onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard. He watched Hutch fade between waking and sleep. "You did good today, buddy. Time to rest." He saw a smile curl the corner of the exhausted man's mouth, measured the slow rising of his chest, and settled down to keep watch.

THE END