Boys of Summer by Paula Wilshe

Comments about this story can be sent to: PWilshe@aol.com

Boys of Summer

Paula Wilshe

The pool was crystal blue, and Hutch sighed with pleasure as the cool, chlorined water soothed the aches and heat from his body. He let himself in slowly, easing himself lower till first his stomach, then his chest, and his shoulders were submerged.

He took a breath, held it, and without making so much as a ripple on the surface of the pool, allowed his head to go under. At that precise moment, the oncoming headache, a by-product of the heat and the humidity of Duluth in early August, receded until it was no longer a probability.

He stayed under for a minute, then in a serene movement, broke the surface once again, blond bangs down over his eyes, droplets of water cascading down over sunburned cheeks and nose. Squinting open an eye against the slight burn of the chlorine, he grinned as he found himself face to face with his partner, who lounged, dry, on the side of the pool.

"Hi," he said, running a hand over his face to clear off the drips.

"Hi yourself," smiled Starsky, turning over on his side, and propping up his head on an elbow. "Feel good?"

"Feels won--feels okay," Hutch shrugged his shoulders.

"S'okay, Hutch, don't pretend you're not enjoyin' it," Starsky said, the barest trace of a whine in his voice. "Even though you won't let me..."

Hutch moved over to the side of the pool and rested his chin on the side. He raised his hand out of the water, and allowed the droplets to fall along Starsky's arm. "I'm sorry, Starsk," he said, dipping his hand back in and repeating the process, then trickling water along Starsky's chest where the drops gleamed against healing scars and bristly chest hair, still in the process of growing back. "The doc said..."

"...the doc said it was a bug, Hutch. A sore throat. Same thing you had, same thing half the guys in the department had...and it had nothin' to do with..."

"I know," Hutch sighed, "It's just...it's the first time since...and it sca--I was worried, and." He tugged at Starsky's arm, and rubbed his wet forehead against Starsky's wrist. "And you've still got a little fever, and…."

"And I'm hot as hell because it's ninety degrees out," Starsky replied, but he softened his words with a kiss to his partner's damp head.

Hutch looked up at him and smiled shyly. "I know," he said. "I do know. But it's hot, your body's warm, the water's cold, I just don't think it's a good idea to--"

"Okay," Starsky acquiesced, settling his hand against the back of Hutch's head and pulling him closer again. "I'll live vicariously. How's the headache?"

"I don't have a headache."

"You were getting one."

"No I..." Hutch shook his head. "Better," he said. "Was from the heat, I guess, mowing the lawn." He dipped his hand back into the cool water and placed it, dripping, on the back of Starsky's neck.

Starsky sighed blissfully and closed his eyes. "That feels so good," he said gratefully.

Hutch did it again; smiling at the pleasure this small gesture brought his partner. It was hard to be tough with Starsky sometimes, after all he'd been through, denying him the pleasure of a cooling dip in the pool seemed so mean. It wasn't forever, he told himself, Starsky's recovery was going more beautifully than he ever dared hope, just this stupid virus had set him back some, and the thought of plunging a ninety nine point four degreed body into water chilled by the early hint of autumn in the air at night...just seemed like taking an unnecessary chance, and this week...Hutch wasn't into taking chances.

This was the week to relax, regroup, and do a little outside work on the house of his childhood while his parents were away on business. He and Starsky had eagerly accepted the gift of airplane tickets in exchange for watching the Hutchinson Homestead, which Hutch knew was only small part of the reason his parents had asked them to come.

"They want us safe," he'd thought, with a smile, "for one week, they can go away and know that the worst thing going to happen to us is poison ivy." His parents had been a godsend to him, and to Starsky, really, during the latter's hospitalization and recovery, visiting twice, and lending a sympathetic ear to their son, and to his dark haired partner whom they'd come to view as one of their own over the years.

"Swim." Starsky ordered.

"What?" Hutch asked, confused out of his reverie.

"Swim," Starsky repeated. "If you're not going to let me come in there with you, the least you can do is afford me the pleasure of watching your lithe, tanned body slice through the water."

Hutch burst out laughing. "Where the hell'd you read that?" he asked, when he could speak. "Slice?"

"I made it up," Starsky grinned. He nudged Hutch's chest. "Now go. Slice."

Hutch lurched away from him into a surface dive that propelled him nearly to the bottom of the pool. He glided along, moving only his arms, and eventually broke through the water as he reached for the other side of the pool. "How was that?"

"Beautiful, Blondie," Starsky approved. "Now do it again with a little more wiggle."

"Wiggle?" Hutch shook his head, tilting it back, and gazing at Starsky through chlorine squinted eyes. "I don't wiggle."

"You do, though," Starsky chuckled. "And in all the right places."

"You," Hutch answered, "are hopeless." He dove under the water again, gliding back across the pool toward his partner, and came up in a spurt of bubbles, which spattered Starsky with cool wetness.

"Goof," Starsky shook his head. He used a hand to brace himself against the concrete and slowly sat up, wincing slightly at the protest offered by muscles relaxed in the summer sun. "Now get out."

"Get out? Why?"

Starsky tilted his head toward the north. "Thunder."

Hutch shook his head, flipping his hair back, and sending droplets of shimmering water dancing through the air. He waved his hand once to dry it, and dashed at the cascade of moisture running down one cheek. "I didn't hear thunder."

"You were under the water, dummy," Starsky informed him. A low rumble in the distance echoed his words. "See?" he said. "Thunder."

Hutch leaned back into the pool so that the cool water continued to lap at sun kissed shoulders. "It's far away yet," he said.

Starsky got up on his knees, then leaned down, his face inches from his partner's. "Out, now," he insisted. "The only electrical jolt I want going through you," he leaned forward and kissed Hutch's nose, "is me."

"Well, if you put it that way..." Hutch moved forward and draped a dripping arm around Starsky's neck and hugged him, feeling a momentary pang that under normal circumstances he would have tightened his hold and flipped Starsky into the pool alongside him. But nothing in the last three months had been normal, and he squeezed his eyes shut as they began to burn a little, and he thought absently that he'd put too much chlorine in the pool.

"Enough schmoozing, Hutchinson," Starsky hissed into his ear. "Out. Now." He pulled away from Hutch and stood slowly, pulling Hutch's towel from a lounge chair and holding it open as the blond detective emerged from the pool, water cascading from him in sheets.

Hutch allowed himself to be folded into both towel and embrace, the rough terrycloth coupled with his partner's strong arms making him feel inexplicably safe and cherished. "I know what you're doing," he whispered softly in Starsky's ear."

"Doing?" Starsky asked him, all innocence.

"Doing," Hutch repeated. "You're just using me to cool off."

"Busted again," Starsky sighed, pushing Hutch back slightly, and looking down at his chest and shorts, which bore the traces of his partner's more thorough soaking. "You ever think about becoming a detective?"

"Once or twice," Hutch shrugged, "if I could find the right partner."

A low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, but closer now, and the wind began to blow freely, rustling through Starsky's hair. "See? You heard it that time."

Hutch shivered as the cooling wind sent a chill through his already cooled frame. "Blowing up quick," he agreed, squinting at the sky, and noting the dark clouds, which had materialized and were now chasing the sun across the horizon. "Might be a bad one," he offered. "I'd better go put the mower away and make sure the car windows are closed." He shivered again.

"Change first," Starsky advised.

"No time," Hutch offered with an apologetic grin. He plunked himself down on the end of the lounge and began to pull on his sneakers, making a face as they resisted their normal fit against wet feet. "You wanna go make sure all the windows are closed inside?"

Starsky stepped into his own sneakers without bothering to unlace them. "Mm hm, sure," he agreed. "I'll start dinner too. What do you want?"

"Um..." Hutch thought a minute. "Something easy. Grilled cheese? Soup?"

"Okay," Starsky agreed affably. He pointed to the radio, suntan lotion, and now empty iced tea glasses they had brought out with them. "I'll take all of this stuff in too."

The sky darkened again, perceptibly this time, as the storm began to come closer, and the wind blew harder, dropping the temperature by tangible degrees. "Must be blowing off the lake," Hutch observed, "in from Canada. They always call that a 'Canadian Cold Front' on the news."

"You are just a font of information." Starsky tucked the radio under his arm, and slung an extra towel over his shoulder. "I had no idea you were so meteorogically aware. All I know is, it's getting colder and." he looked up toward the sky, "I think I just felt a drop of rain."

"Meet you in the house," Hutch said over his shoulder as he loped toward the driveway.

Hutch made short work of pulling the lawnmower from the driveway into the garage, and cleaning up the other gardening tools he'd left out, having intended to finish the chores after spending some time in the pool. The wind continued to increase in velocity as he moved quickly around the property, checking to make sure that he'd left nothing out which could sustain potential storm damage.

He felt a drop of rain, then another, and suddenly the skies opened up in a drenching downpour and the temperature dropped again almost instantaneously. The howling wind fed upon itself, whirling around leaves and debris, and Hutch marveled at the ferocity of the storm, something quite different than the less angry wintry California rains to which he had become accustomed over the last years.

He heard a loud, not quite rhythmic banging from behind the garage, and the crunching sound of wood slamming against wood. Moving close to the garage as if to afford himself some protection from the rain and wind, he came around the corner to see a loose shutter slamming itself against the back wall, perilously close to the window it framed.

Hutch grabbed hold of the edge of the shutter trying to hold it firm so he could assess the damage and decide what to do. A sudden gust of wind billowed up under the wooden piece, nearly wrenching it from his grasp, and crashing both the shutter and his hand through the closed glass window. The glass shattered into shards, large and small, and they traversed the air like small missiles from the trajectory when Hutch instinctively pulled his hand back. In reflex, his hand lost purchase on the shutter, and it came flying toward him, grazing the side of his head hard. He grabbed out with a bloody arm to steady himself as a wave of shock and dizziness crashed over him, but to no avail, and he lost a battle with consciousness as he dropped to the ground in a heavy, sodden mass.

~~~~~~~~

Starsky stirred halfheartedly at the vegetable soup Hutch's mom had made and frozen for them. He moved to the window for the third time, peering through the sheets of falling rain for a glimpse of his blond haired partner. He wiped impatiently at the condensation on the inside of the window, and leaned closer to the glass as if that few inches would give him a different perspective and he would be able to spot Hutch.

"Should have been in here ten minutes ago," he thought to himself, beginning to grow impatient as he pictured his perfectionist of a partner cleaning mower blades. Frowning, he began to worry the soup again, but after another ten minutes his irritation turned to concern. He turned off the burner, and wondered at the irony of Hutch's insisting he not swim, yet taking so long outside that Starsky felt compelled to look for him in a driving rainstorm.

He grabbed a yellow rain slicker from the hook by the door, which obviously belonged to Hutch's dad, and stepped out into the wind and rain. He started to call for Hutch, but realized that his voice was lost against the crazy wind, and instead concentrated his efforts in moving quickly to the places he knew Hutch had intended to go.

A quick check of the rental car rendered nothing, the windows were rolled up tight. Starsky looked up toward the open garage door at the head of the driveway, and could see the mower sitting inside one of the bays--although Hutch had left the garage door open, which Starsky found odd. He hunched his shoulders against the slicing wetness and jogged into the structure, stopping for a moment to shake off the slicker, and shake wet hair from his eyes.

As he looked up, his gaze lit on the shattered window. "Oh shit," he said aloud, striding over and leaning out through the destroyed window. "Oh SHIT," he breathed, as he saw his partner, sprawled on the ground with what looked like blood all over him.

Starsky streaked back out the door, and around the two corners until he stood a foot from Hutch. For a moment he didn't move, didn't even know what he should do. Should he move him? Should he cover him? Why the fuck was there so much blood? Maybe the rain was making the blood look worse than it actually was. Maybe he should drag him inside the garage. Maybe just to the car and get him to a hospital. Thoughts whirled through his mind like dry leaves caught up in a tornado. Shaking his head to regain momentum, he crouched down beside the blond.

"Hutch?" He said softly. Then louder, "Hutch." He reached out and touched a shoulder, then squeezed it gently. "Hutch!"

Hutch's eyes began to flutter, lashes fanning against his cheeks, which, until a short while ago, looked sunburned. Now he was pale, and his eyes, once open, lacked focus. "Starss..."

"I'm here, Hutch, it's okay," Starsky said quickly, wishing to both reassure his partner of his presence, and indicate by the tone of his voice that he was calm and collected. Which he surely was not.

"...hursss..."

"I know it hurts, where does it hurt?"

"mm...my...head...arm...think I...cut..."

Starsky pushed at Hutch's hair. "You cut your head?"

"Nnnnn....dunno...." Hutch started to roll over to his side. "I dunno...hurts, Starss..."

"I know, I know it hurts." Starsky gently worked at getting Hutch's soaked hair off his forehead finding, not a cut, but a huge contusion, already bruising, not two inches from his temple. "No blood...then where...oh shit, Hutch." Starsky had started to pick up Hutch's left hand to squeeze it in reassurance and was suddenly confronted with several irregular lacerations, oozing the blood that trailed onto the wet ground.

Hutch began to shiver violently as he came to more full awareness, and he clenched his jaw in an effort to stop his teeth from chattering. "Just...all of a sudden cold," he managed.

"Okay, babe, okay," Starsky said, pulling the slicker over his head. He draped it over his partner and quickly pulled off his own t-shirt, which he wrapped tightly around Hutch's bloody arm. "Gotta get you out of this rain." He leaned in close to Hutch's ear. "Need to get you up, Hutch, do ya think you can help me?"

Hutch shook his head slightly as if to clear it, then winced from the discomfort caused by the movement. He shivered his way to a sitting position, and sat for a moment, resting his throbbing head against his knees. "Oh boy…" he breathed, his voice muffled. After a moment he raised his head slowly, and blinked his eyes, trying to focus on his partner. "Starsk…" he reached out and grabbed a handful of shirt.

"Yeah, what? Right here."

"I told you no…swimming…you're wet…" Even cloudy with pain, there was an unmistakable twinkle in Hutch's eye.

"Oh boy," Starsky shook his head. "You're too much, Hutchinson." He wrapped an arm around his partner's shoulder, dropping a light kiss on a wet ear, absurdly relieved that Hutch's attempt at humor…well, sounded like Hutch's normal attempts at humor—which most of the time, fell well short of respectable joke telling, in Starsky's opinion. He stood, then, and leaned down, wrapping a strong arm around Hutch's waist, effectively pulling the blond to his feet.

Hutch swayed momentarily, as his legs decided whether or not they would accept his weight. "I'm okay," he said softly, as Starsky tightened his grip.

"Sure you are," Starsky replied, looking him over. "Think you can make it?"

Hutch looked up through dripping bangs, closed his eyes once, and nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yeah…was the… the house always…" he took a breath. "…so far from the driveway?"

"I'm pretty sure it was, Blintz," Starsky assured him. "Come on."

The two made fairly quick progress to the back kitchen door, mostly due to Starsky's intense desire to get his partner someplace warm and dry, where he could have a look at exactly what kind of damage Hutch's head and arm had sustained. He kicked the kitchen door shut with a foot, and deposited Hutch in a chair. Hanging on to the blond's arm so he wouldn't slide to the floor, he crouched down beside him. "Put your head down," he directed, "I need to get some towels, and I don't want you to go slidin' off the chair."

Hutch held up his bloody arm helplessly. "M-m-my mom's f-f-floor…" he said through chattering teeth, as drips of blood welled up from within the lacerations.

Starsky rewrapped his t-shirt around Hutch's forearm firmly, his voice calm and quiet. "It's okay, I'll take care of the floor." He lay Hutch's arm down on the table, palm up, and urged the blond head down next to it. "Don't go away." The crashes of thunder outside were nearly simultaneous with flashes of lightning, which were visible from within the darkening kitchen.

"Uh huh," Hutch closed his eyes against a nearly palpable wave of dizziness.

"You gonna be sick?"

"Uh uh." Blond lashes fluttered against a pale cheek, and Hutch's arm moved slightly. "You got…enough to clean up already…"

Starsky ran his fingers across Hutch's back, then disappeared down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom. He came back, moments later, arms laden with clean towels, washcloths, and every single thing which remotely resembled a first aid accoutrement that he could find. Just as he re-entered the kitchen, the lights flickered and went off.

"Starsk?"

"Yeah?" Starsky answered, moving toward the sink.

"Think I'm…losing vision…dark…" Hutch observed, a wry edge to his voice.

"Very funny, dummy," Starsky retorted. "But that really sucks. No power. Your parents have a generator or anything?"

"Mm mm."

"Okay." Starsky turned on the tap, and held his fingers underneath the stream of water till it was warm enough to suit him. He grabbed a clean pot from the dish drainer and filled it halfway, then soaked a few of the washcloths, before turning off the tap and returning to the table. Crouching down beside Hutch once again, he pushed back a tangled mass of blond hair. "How you doin', huh?"

"I'm okay, Starsk, I'm fine…" Hutch insisted, trying to lift his head. He took a ragged breath, and lay his head back down. "No I'm not…"

"No you're not," Starsky echoed fondly. He plied the washcloth carefully, working on Hutch's face first, and gentling it over the knot on his forehead. "How bad's this hurt, huh?"

"Not bad…" Hutch said, hissing as Starsky touched a tender spot. "Stings…s-s-sorry…" he managed, though shivers, knowing that his movement was making the cleanup more complicated.

Starsky looked up for a moment, then strode to the den, where he pulled a fleece blanket from the back of the couch. "Here you go," he said as he returned and draped it around Hutch's shoulders. "I'm sorry, babe, I forgot how cold you were." He moved his hands up and down Hutch's upper arms. "That a little better?"

Hutch lifted his head from the table. "Better," he agreed. "How bad?"

"Your head? Not too bad. It's a bump." Starsky tilted Hutch's chin with a finger. "Can you see okay?" The room lit as the sky brightened again with lightning from the raging storm.

"Mm hm…" Hutch tried to focus on him. "Little dizzy. Flashing…"

"Put your head down again," Starsky urged. "'Cause I need to look at your arm."

Hutch did not protest, but lay his head down gingerly on top of the soft towel, which had somehow materialized there, although he had not noticed Starsky placing it. "Soft…" he murmured. "…thanks…"

Starsky ran caressing fingers down the uninjured side of Hutch's face. "You ready?"

He began to unwrap Hutch's arm, hesitating, as the blond was unable to contain a soft moan of pain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Starsky apologized. He wrapped the arm back up and sat back on his heels. "Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not touchin' this. I think you need stitches."

"No…band aids…"

"Not this time, buddy," Starsky chuckled. "And there's not enough light in here that I can even see to clean them up without hurting you." Starsky snapped his fingers. "Hey, your neighbor, your dad's friend…Howard? Isn't he a doctor?

"Starsky…" Hutch took a breath and opened his eyes. "He's…pediatrician…"

"I don't care if he's a gynecologist," Starsky answered. "He went to med school, didn't he?" He moved over to the wall and picked up the telephone, holding it to his ear. He made a disgusted face, and hit the button several times. "Damn it, phone's out too."

He hung up the receiver, and leaned down next to his partner. "Need you to get up, Blintz."

"Why?" Hutch asked him suspiciously. "Comfy right here…" he closed his eyes again.

"Nope, I'm gonna put you on the couch so I don't have to worry about you falling, and I’m goin' to get Howard."

Hutch's eyes flicked over him. "Change…you're still sick…"

Starsky urged Hutch to his feet and began leading him toward the den. "I'll change when I get back. I'm running through the rain to get there, no sense getting changed twice." After a few moments, Hutch was safely settled on the couch, and with Starsky's help, managed to exchange his wet bathing suit for a dry pair of sweat pants. Starsky pulled the fleece up over him carefully, tucking it in over one shoulder, and keeping the other arm free of the encumbrance. "How much does it hurt?"

Hutch looked as if he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Duzzn't…kinda numb," he said fuzzily.

"Terrific," Starsky muttered. He leaned down and carded his fingers through Hutch's hair, then kissed his forehead lightly. "It's okay," he said, "you close your eyes a little bit. I'm gonna put the trash can right here next to you in case you feel sick. Don't get up. You hear me?"

"Hear ya," Hutch said, his voice low. "Won' get up."

"That's right. I'll be back in a couple of minutes. Love ya, ya big stupid klutz."

Hutch smiled, his face relaxing slightly. "Love you too, Starss," he whispered. "M'okay…"

"Okay."

~~~~~~~~

As the kitchen door slammed in Starsky's wake, Hutch brought his good hand up to cradle the elbow of his injured right arm. His arm felt as if it were on fire, burning, and pulsing, the beat of his own heart discernible in the twinges of pain. He closed his eyes tightly, willing his stomach to settle, and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Within moments he could hear voices coming in from the kitchen, their rise and fall a counterpoint cadence to the crashes of the storm that still raged outside.

"…in here…" he heard Starsky's voice, tense, worried.

A large hand that was not his partner's settled across Hutch's forehead. "Ken?"

Hutch opened his eyes slowly, and managed a weak smile. "How you doin'?" he asked shyly. "I'm sorry for…"

"Don't be ridiculous, son. My wife had me cleaning the cellar. This is a nice diversion. It's good to see you," answered the grizzled man who had taken care of all the allergies, earaches, and sprained ankles of Hutch's childhood. "David tells me you had a bit of a run in with the garage window."

"Thanks for…"

"Shh," Howard soothed. He looked over his shoulder. "You've got my bag, David?"

"Sure do," Starsky said, stepping forward. "The head doesn't look too bad, but the arm…"

"Okay," Howard responded easily. "I'm going to do the head first, while you go change. You're soaking wet."

"He's been sick," Hutch offered, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, I heard," the older man answered. "Your mother said both of you were down with some bug right before you came out here."

"He gave it to me," Starsky interjected, grinning.

"Did not, dirtball. You got it from…Dobey…besides…he was…"

"I know all about it," Howard answered, squeezing Hutch's shoulder. "We were all praying for both of you." He looked back at Starsky. "Go change, David, I need you to help me with his arm—there's not much light in here."

While Starsky raced up to the bedroom, Howard probed gentle fingers across Hutch's forehead, feeling carefully around the contusion, and back to Hutch's ear, then bringing his touch forward again. Hutch was amazed that the prodding didn't hurt, and he sighed gratefully.

"Not so bad, kiddo," he was told. "Just a good bump, no dents in your skull, I can't feel any bone fragments…" He smiled warmly. "I think you're going to live, despite the…uh…stridency of David's warning."

"He's…worrywart…" Hutch said, blinking his eyes slowly.

"Not casual about that stuff like you are, huh?" responded the doctor, chuckling.

"No, not…bit…" Hutch made a face at him.

"I'm back, Howard, what do you need?" Starsky asked from behind him.

Hutch smiled up at his partner, who'd donned faded but clean jeans, and Hutch's green BCPD sweatshirt. "Wear your own clothes, Gordo," he chided, his voice thin and breathy.

"Mine's dirty," Starsky shrugged. "You warm enough?"

"Getting there."

"We're going to need to sit him up so I can unwrap his arm," Howard told the pair. "Now the light in here is not that great, but I've got a battery powered lantern flashlight in my bag." He grinned. "Found it in the cellar, and tossed it right in before we came over here."

"Okay," Starsky said. "What can I do to help?"

"Basically, I want you to sit down there and keep him as still as you can for me."

"I'm a big boy," Hutch cut in. "C'n stay still…"

The doctor reached down and tousled blond hair. "I know you can, that's not what I meant," he smiled. "But you're chilled and a little shocky here and you might get lightheaded, or be a bit shaky, so I want your partner to back you up."

"Come on, you big thing," Starsky said cheerfully, although his hands were gentle and felt warm and comforting to Hutch as they carefully guided him to a sitting position. Starsky sat down beside him, and urged Hutch's head to rest on his shoulder. He looked down to the floor and pointed at the trashcan with his toe. "You might want to bring that a little closer, Howard," he said.

The doctor did as he was instructed, and moved the coffee table back a few inches, sitting on the edge of it, as he set out the small lantern and bandaging supplies he had in his bag. "You ready, Ken?"

Hutch nodded into Starsky's shoulder. "If I don't cry…"

"…you get a lollipop," Howard affirmed. "Any color you like."

"What about me?" Starsky asked, squeezing Hutch's shoulder lightly.

"You don't…get one…" Hutch smiled slightly, then relented. ""You c'n share mine."

"Oh boy." Starsky grinned at Howard. "Can you believe this guy?"

"He's a piece of work, that's for sure. He ever tell you about the time he rode his bike over a nest of yellow jackets?" The doctor reached for Hutch's arm, and began to unwrap the blood-soaked t-shirt as he spoke. "He was yelling like a banshee, carrying on, and his mom was crying…"

"Hey," Hutch protested weakly. "Haven't you ever heard of patient confidentiality? He doesn't need to…" he drew a sharp breath as cloth stuck to bloody skin. "…know about that…"

"Not to worry, Blintz." Starsky leaned his cheek against Hutch's hair. "Your mom told me that one years ago."

"Shit."

"Sorry." Starsky squeezed Hutch's shoulder.

Hutch closed his eyes as the t-shirt was pulled free, and squeezed them tight as the cuts on his arm met air. His arm felt like needles, he decided, little needles poking at him with sharp points… "Ow," he breathed.

"You did a good job putting pressure on these, David," Howard said, not taking his eyes off his work. "See how a lot of the bleeding has already stopped?"

"Told you," Hutch said. "Band aids."

"Well, not this time, I'm afraid," Howard said, beginning to clean the arm with antiseptic. "You're going to need some fancy patchwork here."

"I can't…I don't want to go to the hospital," Hutch argued. "It's not that bad, it's…I…"

"Relax, Ken," Howard patted his knee. "How about this? I could do it here, but I don't have enough light, and I don't have the right medications."

"He means needles, Starsk," Hutch interjected.

"Yes, he probably does."

"Well I don't like needles."

"Well, who does, dummy?" Starsky looked up at Howard. "So what do you want to do?"

"Let's take him to my office. Even if the power's out, we've got a generator in the complex, plenty of light, nice sterile conditions. I'll do a great job, and it'll hardly scar at all, I promise. That sound okay, Ken?"

"No."

"Good," Starsky said. "Let's go."

Howard laughed good-naturedly. "You know what, David?" he asked. "I think you're even more stubborn than your partner here. If that's possible."

"I don't think that's possible," Starsky answered, "but I thank you for the compliment. How do you want to do this?"

Howard efficiently wrapped a roll of gauze bandaging around Hutch's arm, and when he reached the end, nodded to Starsky to hold it firmly while he taped down the end with bandage tape. "That should hold us," he said. "Well, I think I should drive. It's storming pretty heavily, and I know the roads. You guys have a car?"

"Yeah," Starsky nodded, "a rental, it's out in the driveway."

"Let's take mine then," Howard suggested. "It's big and heavy, and the wind won't blow us off the road. "I'll run home and get it, and then I'll come back in here and help you get him out."

"I can get out by myself," Hutch said peevishly. He sat up, his face deathly pale, and eyes not quite focused. "Mm…" He closed his eyes and leaned forward slightly.

Starsky inched closer, wrapping a strong arm around Hutch's shoulders. "Yeah, you can do that," he said, squeezing his partner's shoulder. "Reminds me of those toy things your nephew has…the ones that wobble but they don't fall down…"

"Ah, Weebles," offered Howard. "Got some of those in the office."

"Terrific!" Starsky answered cheerfully.

After Howard had let himself out through the kitchen, Starsky leaned in and kissed Hutch softly on the cheek. "How you doin', Bronco?" he asked.

Hutch leaned into the embrace, then straightened up. "Little better," he admitted. "The room's not spinning any more."

"Good. You still cold?"

"Kind of."

"I can't get a shirt over that arm…" Starsky looked around the room. "How about…one of your big flannel shirts, and I'll just drape it?"

"Okay."

Starsky got up and moved toward the back of the house.

"Starsk?"

"Yeah, babe, what?"

Hutch's head came up, self-consciousness flushing the too pale cheeks. "Get the blue one. It's soft."

"Your wish is my command," Starsky saluted and trotted down the hallway.

~~~~~~~~

"You got anything here for an upset stomach?" Starsky moved around the examining room, looking at supplies behind glass cabinet doors. "You drive worse than I do."

Howard laughed, looking up from the suture tray he was arranging. "I assumed you wanted me to go around the tree, not over it," he said.

Starsky rubbed his midsection. "Yeah, but…warn a guy, you know?"

"Next time, I promise." Howard looked down at Hutch. "You ready, kiddo? This is lidocaine, and it's going to sting a little bit."

Hutch closed his eyes and nodded. "I can take it," he said. He rolled his head over and opened one eye. "You still got the cherry kind of lollipops?"

Starsky moved silently to his side, and squeezed his partner's hand. "Big baby," he said fondly, but he reached out his other hand and soothed Hutch's forehead as the blond involuntarily clenched at the bite of the needle.

"'Nother little stick, Ken," Howard said conversationally, as he injected all of the lacerations in turn. "Hurts now, but you'll be numb in a couple of minutes."

Hutch nodded but did not speak.

Starsky brushed a thumb across Hutch's eyebrow, and back through his hair, which was finally beginning to dry. "You feelin' okay?"

"Mm hm."

"Warm enough?"

"Mm hm."

"Gonna throw up?"

A slight headshake. "Mm mm."

Finally the arm was numb, and Howard donned sterile gloves and began to suture. He worked slowly, painstakingly, and Starsky watched the process with interest. "How many stitches, you think?" he asked curiously.

"A lot," Howard explained, pointing with a gloved finger, "because there's this one, and this one…and there…so I'm doing a lot, and I'm doing them really tiny, because that way there will be less scarring."

"What'm I gonna have to do to take care of these?"

"Not too much," Howard assured him. "Clean and dry, basically, I'm going to put on sterile dressings. Tomorrow he can have a bath rather than a shower, because we don't want them soaking wet, so you'll want to keep that arm out of the water." He plied the needle again. "We're watching for infection, though, so you're going to have to clean them real carefully twice a day, and change the dressings." He looked up at Starsky. "Or I can always pop over and do it."

"That's okay, I can handle that much," Starsky replied.

"Or I could do it," Hutch murmured dryly. "As it is my arm."

Starsky leaned in close. "Yeah, Mr. Graceful, you'll be real good with your left hand taking care of this. I can see it all now." He grinned at Howard. "Have you ever seen him dance?"

Howard's eyes twinkled. "Did he ever tell you about the time his mom signed him up at Miss Lucille's School of Movement? Almost single-handedly brought down the whole recital, in fact, Miss Lucille said—"

"Howard." Hutch said in a menacing tone.

Starsky laughed merrily. "Hutch, babe, don't piss off the doc while he's sewing up your arm."

Hutch sighed, knowing that both were teasing him to keep his mind on the minor surgery being inflicted upon his arm. He turned his head toward Howard, wincing slightly as the bump on his head brushed against the examining table. "I tripped on Agnes Landowsky's tutu." He offered, by way of explanation, with as much dignity as he could muster. "End of story."

The doctor's eyes never left his work. "It was quite the domino effect, as I recall," he answered. "Twenty seven little swans, going down, one by one…"

"How come you never told me you were a Sugar Plum Fairy, Hutch?" Starsky asked, close in Hutch's ear.

"It was on a 'need to know' basis," Hutch said, though clenched teeth.

"Well," Starsky mused, then paused for a moment, crossing his arms. "I needed to know."

"Thanks for that, Howard," Hutch offered.

"No problem," the physician answered, gentle humor evident in his tone. "We still have the home movies of it someplace."

"Terrific," Hutch muttered. He reached up with his left hand and rubbed at his eyes. "Are we anywhere near done?" he asked.

Starsky looked at him quickly. "Uh, Howard, he's not feelin' good."

"Hang in there one more minute for me, Ken, okay?" Howard replied calmly. "We're almost done." He glanced up at Starsky. "Little refrigerator in the med room, get him a glass of orange juice."

Starsky returned moments later with the glass and a handful of napkins. He gently dabbed at the perspiration that dotted Hutch's forehead, as the doctor rolled his chair backward from the side of the table.

"Help him sit up, and Ken, you drink all of that down," Howard instructed. "We'll give you a couple of minutes to feel better, and then I'll put the dressings on."

Starsky leaned down and helped Hutch sit up, then guided the glass to his lips. Hutch took a sip, swallowed loudly, as if he wasn't sure it was actually going to go down, took a breath, and drank some more.

"Lean a little forward, lean on me," Starsky urged him, and Hutch complied, sitting straighter after a few minutes, and then reaching for the glass himself. Slowly the color began to creep back up into his cheeks.

He blinked a few times and smiled, then picked up his injured arm to inspect the handiwork. "Wow," he breathed softly.

Howard stripped off his gloves, and began gathering up used equipment and gauze pads. "You were awfully lucky," he said. "I'm sure that to you it looks like something out of a horror movie, but really, they were none of them that deep, and you didn't nick any arteries or anything."

"That's a good thing, right?" Hutch asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That is a very good thing."

Starsky leaned down so his face was inches from his partner's. "You feelin' better now?"

"Yeah," Hutch said, and without thinking, draped his left arm around Starsky's neck, pulling him closer, and allowing his lips to brush across a suntanned cheek. "Thanks."

"Uh…"

Hutch blushed crimson, and looked nervously at Howard. "Oops," he said. "I…I'm sorry…we…I wasn't thinking…" He took a deep breath. "Oops," he repeated.

"What are you apologizing for?" Howard asked placidly.

"Uh…I…we…uh…"

"I hate to tell you this, Bronco," Howard began, and Starsky guffawed. "But I'm not seeing anything that wasn't glaringly obvious to me any time over the last ten years whenever you two came to visit."

"B-b-but we…weren't…we…then, we weren't…" Hutch stammered.

"Glaringly obvious," Howard repeated. "It's not my fault if the two of you were a little slower on the uptake." He took Hutch's arm in both of his hands, and laid the sterile dressings in place, then began to wrap it firmly in an ace bandage.

"Oh." Hutch's brow furrowed. "Did my dad tell you?"

"He didn't have to," the doctor said plainly. "Nor did you have to tell him, really."

"Oh. I—I…oh."

"Wow," said Starsky. "And here we were, thinkin' we were bein' clandestine." He grinned.

Howard ruffled Hutch's hair lightly. "I couldn't love you more if you were one of my own kids," he said. "I want you to be happy. Whatever that takes, whomever it takes, that's what I want. Happy and safe, same thing I wish for my own. And your dad says the same thing."

"Wow," breathed Hutch.

The doctor dumped the remaining gauze and supplies in the trashcan, and moved to the sink to wash his hands. "One more thing, and then we need to get this boy home, David," he said over his shoulder. He moved back in front of Hutch, tipping his chin up with a finger. "Your eyes look good," he said, pulling a penlight from his pocket and shining the beam in first one, then the other. "Head hurt a lot?"

"Some," Hutch acquiesced, "but not as bad as before."

"Good." He took both of Hutch's hands in his own. "Squeeze me as hard as you can," he instructed. "I know the right one's hurting, but I need a general idea." Hutch did as he was asked. "Good." He continued to give out instructions until he was satisfied that the neuro exam was well within normal limits. "When was your last tetanus shot?" he asked.

"Um…two…no, three years?"

"Diana," Starsky supplied.

"Right, three years."

"Then you should be good on that." He reached up into the cabinet above the sink and pulled out a new syringe and a vial of medication. "So we'll just do this and then you can get his shirt back on him," he said to Starsky.

"What is that?" Hutch asked, suspiciously.

"Antibiotics," the doctor answered, tapping on the syringe. "Mega dose to start, and then you're going to have to take pills for about ten days. I don't want to chance that mess getting infected." He turned to look at Starsky. "You know to check him for fever and all of that, right?"

"Absolutely," Starsky replied. "Done it many times."

"You want this in your behind, or your other arm?" He asked Hutch.

"Arm," Hutch answered, punctuating the word with an uptilt of shoulder. He winced as the sharp metal point punctured his skin. "I'm having an acupuncture kind of day," he said quietly.

"Keep your eyes closed, Ken," Howard said. He rustled around on the counter for a moment. "Okay, open them."

Hutch opened his eyes slowly to see Howard holding out a handful of lollipops, and he grinned. "I get to pick one?" he asked delightedly.

"You get them all," Howard told him, smiling wide. "You were a model patient."

"Well, what about me? Didn't I do a good job holding him up?" Starsky asked petulantly.

Howard pulled his other hand from behind his back, and dropped an equally large number into Starsky's hands, which shot out just in time to catch them before they fell.

"Wow," Starsky's eyes lit up. "Thanks!" He eagerly unwrapped a green one, stuffing the rest in the front pouch of Hutch's sweatshirt, which he still wore. Pushing the lollipop to the side of his mouth, he wrapped an arm around Hutch's back to ease him off the examining table. "You ready to go home and get tucked in, there, Blondie?" he asked.

Hutch started to protest, then leaned back against the table. "Yeah," he sighed.

Howard had moved back toward the cabinet, and was bent over, writing on the counter.

"Can I get my little boy dressed now, Doc?" Starsky asked, holding out the blue flannel shirt.

"Starsky," Hutch hissed. "Don't make this any worse than it already is."

"Okay, okay." Starsky held the left sleeve aloft for Hutch, and once his goose bumped arm had slipped through, carefully worked the other sleeve over the bandage and dressings on the injured one. He reached down and buttoned the shirt, smoothing down the collar. "I wish I'd brought you a jacket," he said thoughtfully. "You're cold."

"I'm okay," Hutch said, "or I will be once we're home."

Howard moved across the room, holding out two packets to Starsky. "Okay, one of these is the antibiotic, one pill three times a day for ten days. These," he indicated the other envelope, "will help with the pain a little bit, because as that lidocaine wears off, it's gonna start hurting, and probably a lot. He could take two of these every four hours or so, and I'd prefer that he did take them, tonight at least."

"I don't—" Hutch cut in.

"If your body is using up all its energy trying to cope with pain," Howard explained, "then it's not able to have any of that energy left to begin healing. And you won't get good solid rest, which is another component of the process, you follow me?"

Nodding numbly, Hutch answered, "Yeah, okay."

"Gentlemen," Howard opened the door. "Your chariot awaits."

~~~~~~~~

"Just sit there a minute," Starsky said firmly, rooting through Hutch's suitcase.

Hutch perched uncomfortably on the side of the bed. 'I can do it, I can do it," he said, frowning as the fingers of his left hand fumbled, unaccustomed to the intricacies of buttons and buttonholes.

"Yeah, you can do it, no problem. All you did was turn the thing inside out there. The buttons are still attached."

Hutch dropped his hand, sighing. "Or you could help me," he said, resigned.

Starsky made quick work of the buttons, then drew Hutch to him, smiling as he felt Hutch sigh again, and relax against his chest. "You're still cold," he complained, as he felt a shiver.

Hutch didn't argue, just buried his face deeper into his partner's chest. "It's prob'ly just from the…" he didn't complete the sentence, but shrugged a shoulder instead.

Starsky brought both arms around the blond's back, rubbing them up and down the soft flannel to share his body heat. He kissed the top of the blond head softly. "You poor thing," he murmured into the silken strands. "You were having such a good day, too."

"What about you?" Hutch asked him. "All that hauling me around, you didn't hurt anything, did you?"

"Nope," Starsky answered cheerfully. "Which, in and of itself, is a pretty good step, I think." He turned his head and kissed Hutch's ear. "You really scared me today, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry you were scared."

"I'm just glad you're okay. Besides," Starsky pushed him away slightly, so he could look into his eyes. "I get a chance to look after you for a change, and you get a chance to be waited on."

"I don't want—"

"I don't care," Starsky interrupted. "You'll have it, and you'll like it."

"No choice, huh?"

"None. Whatsoever. But first let's get you changed and under these covers before you shiver your stitches loose." Starsky tugged the flannel shirt down off Hutch's good arm, then very painstakingly slid it down the injured one. He quickly replaced it with a loose, long sleeved pajama top, of soft blue cotton, and it smelled like sunshine, and fabric softener, and California, and home.

"Smells good," Hutch murmured.

"You bet it does," Starsky agreed. "My laundry week," he pointed out. "I use Downy."

Hutch stood up and pulled ineffectively at his jeans, then let his arms drop to his sides, as Starsky unbuttoned and unzipped them. "It's not supposed to be like this," he observed.

"Like what?"

"Clinical." Hutch looked down at him, as Starsky worked the jeans down Hutch's legs, then sat gingerly down on the side of the bed again, while Starsky pulled off socks, sneakers, and pants. He sighed. "You know?"

Starsky reached under him and pinched his behind lightly. "Hey," he said, "no fun tryin' to have fun with someone who's barely gonna be awake in half an hour."

"I'm awake," Hutch insisted. He raised his hand to caress his partner's hair, but stopped, midmotion. "Owwww… shit…"

"Like I said," Starsky kissed him fondly. He worked the matching and equally soft pajama bottoms up over Hutch's calves, urging him to stand for another moment, and brought the elastic up around his waist. Supporting Hutch with one arm, he yanked down the covers, and propped an array of pillows against the headboard. "There you go," he said, then, easing Hutch down.

Hutch moaned at the relief of lying down, comfortable, as he was cocooned in soft covers and a fluffy comforter. Starsky leaned over him and pulled a pillow from the other side of the double bed, which he punched into submission and used to prop up Hutch's injured arm. "Ohhh, Starsk…"

"Feels good, huh?" Starsky smiled. He tucked the covers a little tighter around Hutch's chest. "Don't go 'way, now."

"Where you goin'?" Hutch murmured, his eyes beginning to droop slightly. "Don't go."

"Need to get your medicine," Starsky said, and something warm to drink. "You hungry at all?"

"No," Hutch held up his good hand. "No food."

"Little bit of your mom's soup maybe?"

"No. But thanks."

A few moments later, Starsky was back, handing Hutch a glass of juice and two of the pain pills, which Hutch reluctantly swallowed. Starsky took the juice, then, and exchanged it for a warm steaming mug. "Drink this, but be careful, it's hot."

"What is it?"

"Hot chocolate. You need the sugar."

Hutch took small sips of cocoa, closing his eyes gratefully as the comforting warmth of the drink began to warm him from the inside out. "What about you?" he asked. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Starved. But I want you settled first."

"Go get your dinner," Hutch said. "Bring it in here." He nodded at the empty side of the bed. "There."

"I was just gonna have some of your mom's soup," Starsky told him. "But won't the smell make you feel sick?"

"Uh uh," He took another sip of cocoa. "This is really good, Starsk, thank you."

Starsky settled beside him, a short time later, having wolfed down two bowls of soup and a peanut butter sandwich, and he was pleased with himself, as he'd actually cajoled Hutch into sharing a few spoonfuls of the vegetable-rich broth. Hutch snuggled a little closer, leaning into the warm curve of Starsky's body, as Starsky's arm settled around his waist.

"How's the head?" Starsky's fingers trailed gently over warm skin, feeling for the lump. "Still hurtin'?"

"Not so much."

"The arm?"

"Pills took the edge off," Hutch told him. "Feels like pins now, not knives."

"Okay."

"Is it still raining?" Hutch closed his eyes.

"Little bit, but the wind's died down, and it's not thundering any more. At least the power came back on while we were out, that's something, huh?"

"My dad's gonna kill me…" Hutch's voice trailed off.

"Hutch," Starsky settled the blond head against his chest. "Your dad isn't gonna be mad at you about getting hurt, worried, maybe, but not mad."

Hutch smiled slightly. "Meant the garage window," he murmured.

"Oh, that old thing." Starsky kissed the top of Hutch's head. "I'll fix that tomorrow. He'll never know."

"You know my dad. He knows already."

Starsky chuckled. "You're right, he probably does. Not a big deal. I'll hit the Greater Duluth Gateway To The World Hardware Emporium first thing in the morning."

"I'll be able to help you by then," Hutch said, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. "Damn pills make my face itch," he complained.

"You'll be able to sit and watch," Starsky said firmly. "You want to watch some tv, or go to sleep, or what?"

"Or what."

"Uh uh."

Hutch sighed. "You're mean," he said, his mouth quirking in a tiny smile. "'Sides, it's only, what, eight? Eight thirty?" He yawned massively. "I can't go to sleep this early."

"No, you're rarin' to go, Blintz, that's quite obvious." Starsky grinned as Hutch nuzzled into his neck. "You know what, Hutch?"

"Mm?"

Mindful of Hutch's arm, and the bump on his head, Starsky gathered him closer in his arms. "It feels so good to take care of you," he said seriously. "I'd give anything for you not to be hurt, but—" he stroked Hutch's cheek with his fingers, "You're so damned stoic most of the time, and since the shooting, anyway, it's been—"

"I hate it," Hutch muttered. "Don't stop," he added, as Starsky's fingers stilled. "It's hard for me to—"

"I know that," Starsky resumed his petting. "But I guess…sometimes when you do...it means all that much more. That make any sense?"

"Yes," Hutch chuckled softly, "but I'm high on painkillers at the moment, so I'm not sure if me thinking it makes sense really makes sense, if you know what I mean."

"Terrific," Starsky muttered. "You're babbling, and I understand you. That's kind of scary."

"I need you, Starsk," Hutch offered quietly. "I don't always show it, but I… I need you."

"I know you do," his partner replied. "I always know that. But every once in a while…after the last few months…I like that you let me see that, feel that. You've had to be the strong one for so long now."

"I don't—didn't mind that," Hutch yawned. "You needed the care, and I needed to…to be the one to…give…" he yawned again. "…give some of that back…you know?"

"Yes, I absolutely do know," Starsky agreed. "Like when you were so sick with that plague thing and you were finally going to be okay and you came home, and I…"

"Exactly. You were exhausted too, you'd been worried, and running around trying to find…" Hutch rubbed his eyes.

"I guess that's part of it, yeah," Starsky mused. "Because once it's all over, and you feel so helpless, and you've been…terrified…I mean, once you came home, I didn't want anyone else to do anything for you, or touch you or…I just wanted to do it all, because…" He kissed the side of an ear that was lightly feathered with soft blond strands. "Because…I don't know why because."

"Well I do," Hutch said softly. "Now, anyway, even though I really didn't get it then. 'Cause I felt the same way a few months ago. And…and even when I knew you were going to be okay…it was like…every night, I'd sit there and watch you…and be just…so incredibly grateful…and when you came home, I…" he stopped and shrugged one shoulder.

"I know, babe, truly, I do."

Hutch yawned again and rubbed at his face. "Man, I'm so sleepy all of a sudden."

"Then close your eyes, darlin'," Starsky urged, and Hutch did, peacefully. Within moments, the demons of memory were placated once again, and he was sound asleep, cuddled protectively in his lover's arms.

Starsky lay awake for a long time after that, holding on to his partner, thankful for the chance to keep him safe, to know they were both safe, and that this time, at least, the stakes had not been quite so high.

~~~~~~~~

Hutch bit his lip, hard, against a sharp stab of pain, which had awakened him from a sound sleep. Starsky was sleeping deeply beside him, and the one thing which kept him from crying out was the knowledge that Starsky was as exhausted as he, and desperately needed the sleep time to continue his own healing process, both from the shooting, and from the virus which had recently laid him low.

The arm felt like it was on fire, Hutch decided, he could feel every single suture, and all of them hot and prickling, lapping at his consciousness and washing up on his pain threshold with amazing accuracy. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried to breathe in a deep normal rhythm, picturing anything he could think of…the beach, the squadroom, his checkbook, for god's sake, just to try to focus on something else.

He did not make a sound, did not move a muscle, and suddenly there was Starsky, hovering over him, his sleep tinged voice husky with concern. "Whatsa matter?"

Hutch realized that lying was not an option, as somehow the mere thought that he was in pain had been enough to rouse Starsky from his sleep. "Hurts," he said, through gritted teeth. "Whole lot, hurts."

"What hurts, Hutch?" Starsky reached up toward the top of Hutch's head, taking great care not to touch the area that had been bruised. "Head or arm?"

"Arm," Hutch said, wasting no words. "Like it's…burning…"

"Okay," Starsky said calmly, "Okay." He leaned away for a moment, saying, "Got to turn the light on," over his shoulder. Within a second, he was back, appraising Hutch with his eyes, his fingertips, and his intuition. His fingers slid to Hutch's forehead, and he was surprised to feel warmth there, turning the back of his hand against Hutch's skin to be sure. "You've got a fever," he frowned.

Hutch shook his head. "No, it's my arm," he said, disconnectedly.

Starsky scrambled off his side of the bed, moving toward the bathroom very quickly for someone who'd been sound asleep not two minutes before. He returned, shaking down the thermometer that Hutch had insisted they bring, "in case you have a relapse."

"Open up, Blondie," Starsky instructed, sitting down on Hutch's side of the bed this time, and pushing the thermometer between reluctant lips.

Hutch's thoughts of protest were short lived, his legs and head and body felt like dead weights against the mattress, and he lacked the energy to even wave a dismissive hand. He closed his eyes gratefully as Starsky's hand settled against his forehead again; thumb smoothing the furrow of his brow.

"You been awake long?" Starsky asked softly. "Huh?"

Hutch gave his head a slight shake.

Starsky ran his fingers down the upper, uninjured part of Hutch's right arm. "You bump this or somethin'?"

Hutch moved his head again, side to side, marginally.

"You sure?"

A nod.

"Okay." Starsky checked his watch to see if the thermometer had had time yet to register. Deciding it had not, he sighed impatiently. "I don't know how this coulda got infected so fast, you know? That's too fast." He shook his head. "Warm enough?"

Hutch nodded once, and fussed with the covers, pushing them away.

"Too hot?"

Hutch nodded again, and Starsky pulled the blanket and comforter away, leaving only the sheet to cover his partner.

"Keep that under your tongue," Starsky instructed, moving from the room. "I'll be right back." He returned moments later, carrying a tall glass of ice water, and Hutch's envelopes of medication. He set them down on the nightstand, and checked his watch again.

Hutch tilted his chin upward as Starsky removed the thermometer, and he reached for the glass as Starsky squinted at the instrument. "Am I gonna live?" he asked tiredly.

"Oh, I think so," Starsky smiled, shaking down the glass tube. "Little over a hundred, not too awful." He reached down and pressed the backs of his fingers against Hutch's cheek. "Except you shouldn't be running a fever at all, and I don't know why you are. I'm going to call Howard."

Hutch's slightly glassy eyes closed halfway. "Aw, don't, Starsk…he did enough for us tonight…can you hold this a minute?" He handed over the glass. "Gotta sit up. Don't call him…he's probably asleep…"

"Yeah, I know, babe, but I just don't want to take a chance. He doesn't have to come over or anything…just, you know…tell me what I'm lookin' for…How can I help you up without hurting your arm more?" Starsky reached down a strong arm behind Hutch's neck, dropping it to his upper back, and Hutch reached out and grasped Starsky's other arm with his left hand, using it as leverage to help pull himself up. Leaning Hutch against his own body, Starsky pushed pillows behind his partner, so that Hutch was propped semi-upright. Starsky re-positioned Hutch's injured arm on the pillow he'd used to prop it the night before. "How's that? Okay?"

"Better," Hutch answered. He reached for the glass of ice water again. "C'n I have that? Really thirsty."

Starsky held out the glass, wrapping his own hand around his partner's as Hutch gulped greedily. "Slow down," he urged. "I'll get you more if you need it."

Hutch drank about half of the water, then sighed. "Thank you."

"Want more?"

Hutch shook his head. "Maybe in a minute…" He closed his eyes tightly, squinting as a wave of pain washed up his arm.

"Think I need to look at that," Starsky told him, setting down the glass. "Take some pills first, that way by the time I'm done, they'll be kicking in."

Hutch did so, and reclined back against the pillows again, looking away pointedly as Starsky unwrapped his arm. "How's it look?" he asked, through gritted teeth, as the last layer of gauze was peeled away.

"Looks really good," Starsky told him. "Not red, not bleeding, nothing." He glanced up at Hutch's pinched face. "I know it hurts, but I think it's just hurtin' the way it's supposed to hurt after goin' through what you did. I don't see anything I didn't see earlier."

"Okay," Hutch let his breath out in a rush, only then realizing he'd been holding it. "That's good." He opened his eyes and tried to focus on Starsky. "Leave the dressing off for a minute?" he asked. "The air helps."

"Sure," Starsky said easily. "We'll put some more ointment on it in a little bit too." He shook his head. "Don't like the fever."

"It's not that much of one."

"Don't care," he said. "Don't like it."

~~~~~~~~

"Well, it was really weird. Thanks, David," Howard smiled up at Starsky as the lampshade was tilted to make visibility better in the dimly lit bedroom. He peered down at Hutch's arm, prodding gently with a thumb and a forefinger, and continued. "Guy looked completely different since he shaved off that mustache, and they showed clips from his new film," he looked at Hutch. "This feel tingly, right here?"

"Mm mm," Hutch said. "Hurts, but not tingly."

"Okay. Anyhow, he's doing this film about skiing…David, can you hand me the…thank you…" Howard poured a dollop of betadine cleanser on the gauze he held in his other hand. "Apparently this guy skis anyhow—has for years, but, I don't know, hurt his back when he was doing that cop show or something."

"Isn't he the one who jumped off the fire escape onto the roof of the car?" Starsky asked curiously. "Or was that a stuntman?"

"No, that was him."

"Stupid," Hutch muttered. "Like a cop would really do something like that."

Howard laughed. "That's just what Johnny Carson said."

"I'm really sorry we pulled you away from that," Starsky offered. "I know it's after midnight, and you must be…"

"Hey, not a problem," Howard assured him. "I'd rather know that this guy's okay than watch some actor plug a film. Sings nice, though." He tossed the used gauze toward the trashcan. "Ken, this really looks fine. It's not weepy at all and," he smiled, "somebody did a rather exquisite suture job."

Hutch smiled, and blinked his eyes.

Howard reached over and felt his forehead. "I have no idea why you've got this little bit of fever," he said, "except I'm pretty sure it's unrelated. Could be from almost anything. And it's not enough that you're really sick, just enough to make you a little more uncomfortable."

"It's actually gone down a little," Starsky pointed out. It's under a hundred, although he did drink water, and I gave him the pills…"

"Let me wrap this back up," Howard offered, plying the gauze. "You want to keep him drinking, do the pills around the clock, mostly," he lifted Hutch's arm gently, "you want him to be comfortable so he can rest. A cool bath would probably feel good, but…" he shook his head. "Too hard to keep this dry…maybe a sponge off or something?" He ran his fingers across the bump on Hutch's head. "The swelling up here has already gone down, that's good," he said. He stood and patted Starsky on the back. "You're doing a great job, kiddo," he said. "Keep doing what you're doing."

"Thanks, Howard," Starsky answered, flushing. "Appreciate that."

Howard looked down at Hutch and smiled fondly. "I think you're lucky to have this guy, Ken."

Hutch smiled. "I think so too," he agreed.

"Well, he's an awful lot of trouble," Starsky allowed, with a crooked grin, "but he has his redeeming qualities."

Hutch flushed, shaking his head. "Starsk…"

"And before you elaborate on those redeeming qualities," Howard replied, "I'm going to bid you gentlemen good night. I'll call you in the morning, all right? Don't have office hours till ten."

"Thanks again," Starsky told him sincerely. "How about I walk you out?"

"Nah," Howard replied, squeezing his shoulder. "You take care of our boy, here. I know the way."

As the door slammed shut in the kitchen, Starsky sat down gently on the edge of the bed. "So how about it, Blondie, those pills startin' to kick in yet?"

"Little bit," he replied. "My arm feels better." He tugged at the sheet. "Still kinda hot, though."

"Well that I can fix," Starsky promised. He disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with a basin of cool water, and a washcloth. "How 'bout a sponge bath, gorgeous?" He waggled an eyebrow.

Hutch shook his head. "No way," he said firmly. "You're exhausted."

"What do you mean?" Starsky asked, trying unsuccessfully to fend off a yawn that came from deep within him. "Totally wide awake, and I can't sleep anyhow, knowing you're hurting." He tugged on the sheet. "Come on, let me take this off, get you out of your pajama bottoms there."

"Uh…" Hutch flushed again.

"Uh what? Since when are you self-conscious around me? I know what you've got."

"No, it's…"

Starsky pulled down the sheet. He stared for a moment, then his gaze crept up Hutch's tall form to meet his eyes. "Um…Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are your pants?"

Hutch ducked his head, looking up through his eyelashes, embarrassed. "Took 'em off," he said, unnecessarily.

"So I see." Starsky slid a hand down Hutch's warm hip. "Why? And when?"

"I was hot," Hutch answered, as if that explained everything.

"Hot?" Starsky grinned. "Yes, you are hot."

"Summer hot," Hutch explained inanely. "Fever hot. Not 'hot' hot."

"Oh." Starsky shook his head. "You are a piece of work, Hutchinson."

"Yeah," Hutch nodded. "I know." He grinned, then sighed plaintively. "Don't feel good, Starsk."

Starsky chuckled as he dipped the washcloth into the basin, wringing it out carefully. "So I suppose you think with a sigh and a pout, you'll make me forget about all of this, and I won't tease you later?"

"Well," Hutch bit his lip. "I'm hoping."

"I'll think about it," Starsky allowed, leaning down to peck first nose, then cheek. "Let's get you cooled off first, and then we'll talk about it."

Hutch closed his eyes as Starsky brought the cool cloth over his forehead, smoothing back against the hairline, cooling his temples. He moaned softly at the cool pleasure, and tilted his chin slightly to allow Starsky room to work.

"You like that, huh?"

"Like that…" Hutch murmured.

Starsky dipped the washcloth into the basin again, and wrung it out. He continued to pat gently down Hutch's neck, and across the warm chest, following the cloth with light kisses that trailed down to his partner's belly button.

"Oh…like that too…" Hutch smiled softly, eyes still closed. "What do you call that?" he asked.

"Call what?" Starsky looked up.

"What you're doing there…" Hutch rested the fingers of his right hand against Starsky's cheek, allowing them to trail off onto his own flat abdomen. "That."

"Oh, that," Starsky grinned. "That's incentive."

"Incentive?"

"Yup. Incentive to get better so we can…you know…" he winked suggestively.

"You know?"

"Yeah, I know…do you know?"

"Well…" Hutch sighed, closing his eyes. "I'm feeling better right now…maybe we could…"

"Not a chance," Starsky admonished. "I like my blonds hale, hearty, healthy, and having use of both their arms." He teased Hutch's bellybutton lightly with his tongue. "I have some standards, you know."

"Standards."

"Absolutely." Starsky patted Hutch's stomach fondly. "You still hot?"

"For you?"

"No, dummy, you know what I mean."

"No," Hutch sighed, a slight pout clouding the perfect features. "A little chilly, actually. Everywhere."

"Okay," Starsky chuckled. He pulled the sheet back up and tucked it tenderly around Hutch, then leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "Hang in there for a minute, okay?"

Starsky took the basin and washcloth to the bathroom, then made his way to the kitchen, where he poured a tall glass of ginger ale, brimming with ice cubes. Returning to the bedroom he smiled as Hutch drowsily watched him come closer. "The pain pills are kickin' in, aren't they?" he asked.

Hutch nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "feels a lot better now…"

"Good." Starsky perched on the edge of the bed. "Need you to drink some of this, okay? Keep your fluids up."

Hutch pushed himself up on his good elbow, and when he was sitting upright, accepted the glass from Starsky and sipped at the soda slowly. He blinked owlishly at his partner. "Thank you," he said.

"For what? Ginger Ale?" Starsky shrugged. "No big deal."

"No, for…" Hutch looked around the room. "For everything."

Starsky brushed away the tangled mop of blond hair from Hutch's face. "No problem," he said. "Get some sleep now?"

Hutch nodded. "Think so."

Starsky took the glass from his hand and set it on the nightstand where it would be handy should Hutch wake up thirsty. Moving around to the other side of the bed, he slid between the sheets, smiling as Hutch inched his way closer. His last thought before sleep claimed him was one of profound joy and thankfulness—a year before he could never have imagined all the curves that life and career would throw at him—and Hutch—and that they had weathered the storm together—and moved into the sunshine of an even better existence—was truly worth every ounce of gratitude he possessed.

~~~~~~~~

The pool was crystal blue and Starsky sighed with pleasure as the cool, chlorined water soothed the aches and heat from his body. He let himself in slowly, easing his body down till first his stomach, then his chest, and his shoulders were submerged.

He took a breath, held it, and without making so much as a ripple on the surface of the pool, allowed his head to go under. He stayed under for a minute, then in a serene movement, broke the surface once again, dark, dripping curls down over his eyes, droplets of water cascading down over sunburned cheeks and nose. Squinting open an eye against the slight burn of the chlorine, he grinned as he found himself face to face with his partner, who lounged, dry, on the side of the pool.

"Hi," he said, running a hand over his face to clear off the drips.

"Hi yourself," smiled Hutch, turning over on his side, and propping up his head on an elbow. "Feel good?"

"Feels won--feels okay," Starsky shrugged his shoulders.

"It's okay, Starsk, don't pretend you're not enjoying it," Hutch said, the barest hint of a whine in his voice. "Even though you won't let me..."

Starsky moved over to the side of the pool and rested his chin on the side. He raised his hand out of the water, and allowed the droplets to fall along Hutch's good arm. "I'm sorry, Blintz," he said, dipping his hand back in and repeating the process, then trickling water along Hutch's chest.

"But it's hot," Hutch complained.

Starsky laughed merrily and leaned over to kiss the pouting lips. "You know what Howard said. No pool till the stitches are out and the fever's gone."

"The fever's gone," Hutch told him, "and it has been since yesterday. And I could hold my arm up out of the water and at least get cooled off because I'm---"

"You're what?"

"I'm hot," Hutch answered petulantly. "Really hot."

Starsky nuzzled into his side. "Yes you are, babe, yes you are," he agreed, easing himself back down into the water.

"Hey!" came a shout from across the lawn. "What are you two up to?" Howard moved closer across the grassy yard, wearing golfing slacks and a polo shirt.

"Following doctor's orders," Hutch answered grumpily.

Howard grinned and sat down next to him. "Good boy," he said, ruffling the blond hair. "How's it feeling today?"

"Fine," Hutch said, "same as when you asked me yesterday."

Starsky ran a hand down his face, clearing away the pooldrops. "He's feeling better. We're in the grouchy stage now."

Hutch glared at him. "We are not grouchy," he pronounced. "We are hot."

Starsky rolled his eyes. "Good golf game?" he asked.

"Not bad," Howard smiled. "Miss Ken's dad, though, he's my regular partner. It's a good thing he'll be back next week, we're supposed to go head to head with the neuro group."

Hutch chuckled in spite of himself. "Hey, um…" He glanced over at Howard, then looked down shyly. "Thanks for…all the…you know…"

Howard patted his back fondly. "No problem. I'd say any time, but knowing your track record…"

"Really." Starsky agreed. "You know, Hutch, I think it'd be okay to dunk your feet, as long as you don't splash up your arm." He looked up at the doctor, eyes squinting in the late afternoon sunlight. "Wouldn’t that be okay?"

"Sure," Howard answered. "Seriously, Ken, it's okay with me if you walk down the steps in the shallow end—hold your arm up, make sure you don't slip, and you could get cooled off some…go up to your waist or whatever."

"Really?" Hutch brightened. "That'd be great."

Starsky held up his hands as Hutch stood and moved toward the shallow end of the pool. "Just… go slowly, and be careful."

"Yes, mother," Hutch answered, not even Starsky's cautious words enough to dampen his delight.

Starsky moved over toward the steps and stood within grabbing distance. When he was sure that Hutch was safely in the water and not going to slip, he relaxed slightly, but stayed close. "Feel good?" he asked, grinning.

"Feels wonderful," Hutch breathed, as the water soothed his burning skin.

"Well, guys," Howard stood up. "I'm heading home for dinner. We still on for tonight?"

"Absolutely," answered Starsky with a grin. "Looking forward to it."

"See you around eight," Howard waved and moved back through the trees to his own home.

"What's tonight?" Hutch asked, puzzled.

"We're goin' over to Howard's," Starsk explained. "He invited us the day before yesterday, you were sleepin'…guess I forgot to tell you."

"Oh," Hutch nodded. "Okay. We playing cards or something?"

"Nope," Starsky answered. "Howard needs some help with some equipment or something, and I said I'd give it a look see."

"Oh. What kind of equipment? Car?"

"No."

"Lawnmower?"

"Um…no."

"Then what?" asked Hutch. "What's the big mystery? What are you fixing?"

"Oh, it's a… you know…old movie projector?" Starsky kept his voice casual, but began to sidle away from his partner.

"Starsky…"

"He's got a bunch of, you know, old films he wants to…"

"Starsky…"

"…watch, and so naturally I told him I'd…"

"Starsky…"

Starsky backed further away, and put his arms over his head, performing a perfect pirouette in the deeper water. He grinned at Hutch. "I just love the ballet, don't you?"

THE END