Playing Both Sides

954

The Plague tag: Hutch is better now, and ready to take some of the burden from his partner.

 

Written in 2004. Unpublished.

K. Hanna Korossy is a prolific fanfiction writer who has written stories in multiple fandoms, including Starsky & Hutch. You can find more of her fan fiction at Archive of Our Own at this link and at fanfiction.net at this link.

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Hutch was on the verge of calling Dobey when the knock came at the door.

He was still a little slow to move; the long, nearly fatal battle with the plague had taken all his strength with it and he was only now, two weeks later, just starting to get some of it back. But worry added its own push, and he reached the front door before there was a second knock.

Huggy stood there, surprisingly, and behind him, Hutch’s missing partner. Hutch’s stomach lurched briefly at the sight of the butterfly bandage over Starsky’s eye, but he was on his feet on his own power, and his expression was more sheepish than distressed.

Hutch frowned at them both, torn between relief and anger. “Are you okay?” was the first thing that came out.

“He’s fine,” Huggy answered for Starsky, and walked in past Hutch, pulling Starsky along with him by one arm like a jailer his captive. “Just got banged up a little, him and his Tomato.”

“The car?” Hutch blinked, feeling like his mind was as sluggish as his body. “He just went out for some juice and fruit.” Of course, that had been over two hours before.

“Uh-huh.” Huggy crossed his arms, leaning with one hip against the back of the couch. “Well, looks like even that proved to be too much for our intrepid detective — witnesses say he fell asleep at the wheel.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Starsky grumbled. He’d made his way to the other side of the couch and was shrugging out of his jacket while Hutch watched him carefully. There was blood on his shirt and his movements were stiff but not stilted with injury. Hutch took it all in with narrowed eyes, then glared again at Huggy.

“Fell asleep at the wheel? Was anybody else hurt?”

“Just the innocent telephone pole that got in the way.”

Hutch was still grasping for pieces. “And they called you?”

“They wouldn’t let me drive home,” Starsky cut in. His jacket, aimed at the couch, made it into a puddle on the floor instead. Starsky either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Dobey called me. Said he didn’t want to drag you out. ‘Sides, we kinda figured you’d be waiting here to take Curly off my hands.”

Hutch was still watching his partner, concern of a different quality starting to creep back as he watched Starsky stare at nothing. “Uh, yeah, Hug, thanks. Oh, the car — ”

“Dobey’s taking care of it, and the report. You just take care of your better half. He’s lookin’ a little too much half and not enough better, if you know what I mean.”

Hutch huffed a laugh, then gave Huggy an honest smile of thanks and a nod, which the barkeep returned before sidling out the door. He shut it behind him.

The air, or maybe the bravado, seemed to go out of Starsky now that it was just the two of them. He finally glanced at Hutch. “Don’t start, huh?”

“Oh, sure, what’s there to talk about besides the fact that you wrapped the car around a telephone pole, right? Or am I just supposed to ignore that you nearly got yourself killed?”

“It wasn’t that bad — I just got distracted.”

Hutch snorted. “Yeah, by the inside of your eyelids. I thought you said you got some sleep last night.”

“I did, I…” Starsky made a vague motion with his hands. His gaze seemed to be back on some invisible spot on the floor, and he stood loose-limbed and still, as if his body and mind had simply shut down and were no longer giving him instructions on what to do next.

Hutch’s anger gave one last flutter, then died. Yeah, Starsky had said he’d slept the night before, but that was after seeing Hutch to bed, sitting and talking with him until he’d grown drowsy, then cleaning up the kitchen and the living room and probably watching some TV just to get his mind to wind down, if Hutch knew his partner. He’d been up again at dawn to bring Hutch some water when he couldn’t stop coughing and to give him his meds, and then had probably just stayed there to watch him sleep.

Starsky had been doing that a lot, Hutch had noticed ever since he’d woken in the hospital to Starsky’s emotional assurances he was going to be okay. Just sitting and watching over his partner as if Hutch might stop breathing without him there. And in moments when he didn’t think Hutch was looking, the raw joy and terror commingled in his expression was humbling, but Hutch never let on he’d seen. He hadn’t had the strength to do or say much of anything at all, in fact, except be grateful for Starsky’s presence and let himself be cared for.

But at what cost?

Hutch took a breath, switching sides as effortlessly as he ever did with his partner.

“Starsky,” he said softly.

“Huh?” Starsky blinked up at him, looking caught between fatigue and bewilderment.

“I need your help with something.”

That seemed to turn a few lights on inside. Starsky rallied, straightening. “You okay? Oh, hey, I forgot the juice.” He was already reaching for his jacket, nearly unbalancing at the abrupt change of elevation. “I’ll just — ”

“No, Starsk, I don’t need juice,” Hutch quickly said, and pulled the jacket out of Starsky’s hands. “I just…I need some help in here, okay?” He pointed to the bedroom nook.

“Yeah…sure.” Starsky followed him gamely enough, but his movements were mechanical, none of the usual grace in his stride. It had probably been like that for days, but Hutch had been too busy needing and taking to notice his partner was starting to run dry.

Hutch led the way around the bedroom partition, then gave Starsky a small embarrassed smile he didn’t have to fake much at all, although not for the reason Starsky might have thought. “Would you mind, uh, just staying here a little bit? I was thinking about taking a nap, but I’ve been having these nightmares…”

Compassion replaced the emptiness in Starsky’s face. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah, well…” Hutch shrugged. It wasn’t a complete lie; there were times he woke in breathless terror of the wet clutch of death on his lungs, unable to draw air for a moment. You didn’t knock on death’s door and then walk away untouched. But the worst of those nightmares had worked their way through his imagination in the hospital…helped in no small measure by his partner’s implacable presence every time he started awake.

“You shoulda said something before,” Starsky gently chided, and was already pulling up the chair he’d relocated into Hutch’s bedroom as soon as they’d come home from the hospital.

Hutch stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Uh, actually, that’s not what I had in mind.”

Starsky frowned at him, uncomprehending until Hutch grimaced and glanced at the bed. Then his expression softened again. “You sure? I don’t wanna wake you up.”

“Starsky, I’m so tired, you could do a tango in that bed and it wouldn’t bother me.” At least that part was the honest truth. “And it’s big enough for two. I just…I just need some company, okay?”

No expected wisecrack at the admission, not even a twisted grin, just a look and a soft pat of his cheek that said it was more than okay, and he’d only had to ask. Which, come to think of it, didn’t surprise Hutch at all.

He climbed in on the far side of the bed while Starsky tiredly kicked off his shoes and flopped back. Hutch threw the edge of the quilt over him, and got a small smile for it in return.

“Tango, huh?” Starsky asked a moment later.

“No dipping,” Hutch shot back.

Silence. The bed was soft, the nearness of another human being, one he trusted, more of a balm to his healing body and mind than he would have expected. Hutch didn’t fear anything quite as much, even an invisible viral intruder in his body, with Starsky at his side.

He was just starting to drift off when Starsky’s voice pulled him back.

“You really still havin’ those nightmares?”

The question was sincere, and even though he knew Starsky had seen right through him, Hutch couldn’t lie. “Not really since the hospital.”

A soft chuckle. “Yeah, I kinda figured.” A beat. “You coulda just asked.”

“Would you have listened?” Hutch asked, curious.

Starsky seemed to think about that. “Maybe.”

“That’s why I didn’t just ask.”

More silence, then a soft slide of fabric as Starsky turned on his side to face him. “I’m okay, Hutch,” he said solemnly.

“You went to Hell and back with me, Starsk — don’t tell me you’re not at least wiped.”

Starsky yawned widely, seeming not to see the irony when he followed it with a “‘S not so bad.”

Hutch rolled up on his elbow to look him in the eye. “It could’ve been if you’d hit that pole a little harder, or some family crossing the street.” He regretted his words at Starsky’s wince and gentled his tone. “You’ve done enough, partner — let me make a few of the decisions and do some of the worrying now, okay?”

“Decisions, okay. Worrying, uh-uh. Been doin’ ‘nough of that.” Starsky’s eyes were dragging shut, his speech starting to slur with sleep.

“Fair enough. I’ll save the worrying until we’re both back on our feet.”

Starsky’s laugh was just a puff of air, and then he was breathing deeply and evenly.

It was Hutch’s turn to watch his partner sleep. Strange, Starsky had once commented that Hutch looked younger when he slept, the cares of life falling away from him. But Starsky looked older in sleep, the childlike glee that lifted years from his face when he was awake, faded with unconsciousness to reveal a man who’d dealt with and survived an awful lot in his lifetime. Not just his own poisoning and shooting and kidnapping, either, but every crisis Hutch had gone through, too.

He had needed Starsky to handle it all for a while, too sick to do anything himself for days on end. But Hutch was back now, at least most of the way, and paying attention again, ready to play both sides of the giving and taking balance that was their friendship. The load was heavy carried alone, wearing down Starsky those last few weeks more than Hutch had realized until that day, but it wasn’t so bad when it was shared. And he was up to doing his part now.

Starting with some rest, the only way Starsky wouldn’t have to worry about him. Hutch leaned back onto his pillow and closed his eyes, smiling a little.

“Sleep well, Starsk.”