Heart Thaw

157

A Sweet Revenge missing scene between Hutch leaving to arrest Gunther and the tag. Hutch has a job to do, and his heart is ice.

 

For a 20 minute fic challenge using the words: Hot, Cold

---

Hutch stood in the police chief’s office in San Francisco staring out at the skyline.

“Everything looks in order, Detective.” The chief handed him back the papers he’d brought from Bay City. “How do you want to handle this?”

Hutch pulled his attention back to the upcoming arrest. “I go in alone.”

“Alone.”

“Alone. I don’t care how many other people you send with me, but I go in the house alone.” Hutch was fully aware of how cold his voice sounded. He’d turned off the emotion the moment he left the hospital.

The chief was silent and Hutch could hear a clock ticking—time and time and time. Heartbeat, please keep him safe.

“Give us a half hour,” the chief said.

Hutch nodded and waited—kept his eyes on the skyline. Outside the sun shone, spring day, flowers bloomed, trees unfurled leaves. But his heart stayed cold, distant. He had a job to do.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” a young woman asked. Secretary, he registered.

“No.” He barely recognized his voice. He winced when he saw her pull into herself a little. “Wait. Would it be possible for me to make a phone call?”

“Certainly, sir.” She smiled and led him to an office, left him alone.

He dialed a number he knew by heart.

“Intensive Care,” he said when the switchboard answered.

He waited as another clock ticked. Heartbeat. Time passing. Cold heart, turn it off.

“This is Detective Hutchinson,” he said when the nurse answered. “How is he doing? Can I speak to him?”

“He’s stable. Sleeping.”

“Can I speak to him?”

There was a pause on the other end and then.. “I have the phone at his ear.”

Hutch took a deep breath, put the small kernel of sun-warmth he had buried into his voice. “Starsk. It’s me. I’ll be home soon. I promise. We’re getting him, babe. Remember I love you.” He held the receiver close to his ear, heard Starsky’s steady breaths.

“Thank you,” he said to the nurse and buried the sun again, let his heart turn to ice.

It was one fifteen in the morning when he got on the airplane back to Bay City. It was three thirty when he walked into the hospital.

He rode the elevator up to the unit, the ice melting, the cold receding. Gunther was in custody, being transported by San Francisco PD to Bay City in the back of a black and white, handcuffed, humbled.

“Detective.” One of the nurses smiled at him, sunshine, warmth.

“I…”

“You can see him,” she said. “Go ahead.”

He nodded to the officer by Starsky’s door. “Jenkins.”

“Detective.”

Hutch slipped into the room, dim light illuminating Starsky’s face, body.

He watched Starsky’s chest rise and fall and felt warmth suffuse him. Sunshine, heat, growing things, summer to come.

He pulled a chair close, sat down, watched, waited. He drew Starsky’s fingers into his own, folded his hand around them and held on to the alive-ness of him.

Starsky opened his eyes, drug glazed, confused. But he smiled when he saw Hutch.

“Hu…” It was just a puff of air but it was the first word Starsky had spoken since the day Hutch’s heart had turned to ice.

“Yeah. Me,” Hutch said. His heart thawed and all the meltwater came out in tears.