Breakdown Number Five

225

In the immediate aftermath of Starsky receiving the antidote for Jenning’s poison, Hutch realizes that his feelings for Starsky are more than friendship, even if he can’t act on them yet. By his count, this is the fifth breakdown Starsky has given him.

Author’s Note: A missing scene between the time Hutch is told Starsky will make it and the tag of A Coffin for Starsky. I figure Hutch deserves a little breakdown after everything he went through in the episode.

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“I think your friend’s going to make it.”

Hutch thought his legs might give out right there in the treatment room, but he forced a smile. He heard himself say ‘thank you’. Seemed like such a paltry thing to say when the doctor and the lab techs had saved your partner’s life at the last minute.

He glanced at the clock—too damn close. Again. Driving back to the hospital with the syringe, afraid he’d be too late. But Starsky hung on—stubborn to the end. By the time he ran through the doors, Starsky was already in a coma—alive but unresponsive.

And now? Now Starsky would live.

“He’s going back to the ICU,” Doctor Franklin said. “We’ll be monitoring him closely.”

“Can I…”

“I’m afraid not. At least not for some time. I’d suggest you get some sleep, Detective Hutchinson.”

Hutch rubbed the side of his nose. “Uh. Yeah. Sure. Can I at least…before you take him…” Pulling up a sentence felt like he was swimming through molasses.

“Yes. Not long though.”

Doctor Franklin left the room, shooing out the nurses and orderlies ahead of him.

“Hey, Starsk.” Hutch took the moment to brush his fingers over Starsky’s curls. “We made it. You’re gonna be fine.”

He touched his forehead to Starsky’s, remembering a night not so many months ago, when he’d done the same in a dingy back room of an Italian restaurant.

Suddenly everything he wanted to say—I love you. Don’t you dare die now. I love you, Starsk. I love you—stuck in his throat. His hand shook as he pulled back. He touched fingertips to his lips and deposited a kiss there before placing them on Starsky’s lips.

“Detective Hutchinson, we need to get him…” Doctor Franklin said.

Hutch whirled, his world going black for a second, and hoped his secret gesture hadn’t been seen. “Yes. Yes. Thank you again.”

Doctor Franklin put a hand on Hutch’s shoulder, the weight of it the first genuine comfort he felt since Starsky’s call over twenty-four hours ago. “Get some rest.”

Hutch nodded and watched as they took an insensible Starsky away. He stood in the now empty—and quiet—room, unsure of what to do with himself. Tremors ran through his body—lack of food, lack of sleep—he didn’t know.

He walked out the door and headed down the hall.

“Hutch.”

“Captain.”

“How’s Starsky doing?”

Hutch felt his attention drifting—Dobey looked all blurry around the edges like one of those soft focus things they did in old movies. “Fine. He’s gonna make it.”

“Good. That’s good.” Dobey cleared his throat, and Hutch forced his eyes to focus on the man.

He’d keep Dobey’s secret—never let anyone know he noticed suspicious moisture in the captain’s eyes.

“They took him back up…” Hutch stopped, unable to pull the word out of his brain. “Up.” He pointed to the ceiling. “You know.”

“ICU,” Dobey supplied.

That was it—the word he needed. “Yeah. ICU. Doctor Franklin said no visitors for…” What had he said? “Hours.” Hutch leaned against the wall.

“Hutch?” Dobey sounded concerned.

‘If he calls me Ken,’ Hutch thought, ‘I’ll know I’m in trouble.’

“Gonna head home,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

Dobey frowned.

In trouble? What had he done to make Dobey mad?

“You’re not driving, I hope.”

Hutch pulled out the keys to the Torino. “Yeah. Not gonna walk.”

Dobey snatched them from his hand. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Starsky won’t like you driving his car,” Hutch said and wagged his finger.

“I’m not going to drive his car. I’ll drive you home in mine.”

Hutch felt like he was back home being lectured by his dad. “Then how am I going to get back here when I need to?”

Dobey sighed. “Someone will get Starsky’s car to your place. I’m guessing your car is at his place?”

“Okay. Good. That’s good.” Hutch nodded, but that dizzy feeling was back.

He didn’t remember getting to Dobey’s car, only sitting down in the seat and warm air blowing from the heater onto his face, even as the sun rose in the sky.

“Ken.”

Uh oh. Uh oh. This was bad. Dobey never called him Ken.

“How about I take you to my house? Cal and Rosie are off to school, so the house will be quiet. Edith would love to see you.”

Hutch bit his lip to keep from laughing at Dobey’s worry disguised as diplomacy. “I want my bed.”

What he wanted, what he needed, was a place to fall apart. He could feel his world spinning out of control now that Starsky was going to be okay. But what if… what if… he wasn’t? What if Franklin was wrong?

He leaned forward in the seat as if he could make Dobey’s car go faster. The quicker he got to bed, the quicker he could see Starsky again. That was how time worked, wasn’t it? It didn’t quite make sense, but nothing about the last twenty- four, no, had to be more than twenty-four, hours did either.

“Call if you need anything,” Dobey said as he pulled up at the cottage. “I mean that, Hutch.”

Hutch looked at Dobey, who stared back with compassion Hutch didn’t want to see. It hurt too much to take in anyone else’s caring. He clenched his hand into a fist on his thigh. Don’t let them see how you feel. “Thank you, Cap’n. I’ll… I’ll be in later to write up a report.”

“You will not,” Dobey told him. “It can wait.”

Hutch stumbled out of the car before he dissolved in the face of such a small kindness.

He took a deep breath when he opened his door and walked into the cocoon of his home. For a moment, he wondered why he hadn’t asked Dobey to drive him to Starsky’s, but then remembered his partner’s apartment was now a crime scene.

Shower. He needed to take a shower. A shower would take away the stink of fear and soothe muscles that he hadn’t relaxed since Starsky’s phone call.

He started the water and stripped down, vaguely aware of his hands shaking as he undid his shoulder holster and hung it up, as he moved to take off shirts and pants. He stepped into the shower with a sigh and stood unmoving, hands braced on the wall while water sluiced down his back. Under the warm spray, he shivered.

Hutch scrubbed his hair, his skin, desperate to pretend the phone call had never happened, wanting to slow the trip-hammer pounding of his heart. But he heard Starsky’s gun, the shot hitting Bellamy, saw the understanding in Starsky’s eyes as he lay waiting to be taken away from Hutch. So much said without a single word being spoken.

He turned off the faucet, rubbed a towel over his face, down his body, over his hair—rough, hard, but it didn’t help.

Even dressed in a pair of old pajama pants and a bathrobe, the chill remained.

 

How many breakdowns had Starsky given him by now? Was this number four or five? There’d been Giovanni’s, forty-five minutes of terror Hutch never wanted to relive, Starsky peeling away from a parking garage in a car minutes away from blowing sky high. Oh, and he couldn’t forget Starsky taking off to meet Prudholm alone as if Hutch didn’t need to be his back-up.

And the first time, the time he knew he loved Starsky—when they were rookies and he heard about a shootout in Starsky’s precinct–three cops shot, at least two fatalities. He remembered the heart pounding drive to Memorial, not knowing if he would walk in to find his friend dead or alive. He remembered his knees feeling as if they bent backwards when he saw Starsky standing on crutches, his right ankle wrapped in an Ace bandage, his face pale and drawn. Alive. Alive. Alive. Even now, he could feel the singing of his heart when he realized Starsky made it.

So… number five. Fucking breakdown number five. He slammed his hand onto the refrigerator door and knew he had to do something to bleed off the adrenaline.

He changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, took off jogging on a different route than his usual. Around him the neighborhood came to life—traffic picking up, the sound of children laughing as they walked to school, businesses opening blinds and sweeping sidewalks. A delivery truck beeped its horn as he ran in front of it—the sound a mere annoyance. Still, he ran, let the growing heat of the sidewalk soak into his sneakers, listened to his breath as it grew harsher until the anger burned out of him and he slowed to a walk.

A florist shop greeted him on the next block—gladiolas, chrysanthemums, daisies—all set out on display. Hutch patted his pocket and smiled.

He went inside, ordered the biggest bouquet he could find, and gave them Sweet Alice’s address. He didn’t sign a card, only wrote thank you for your help. Alice would know and would be discreet.

Further along the street, he stopped in front of a building he’d passed in his car many times—Venice Place with its beautiful wooden door and the cafe on the first floor. A new sign hung in the cafe’s window—Apartment for Rent. Starsky would tease him unmercifully about doing something impulsive, but he went in anyway and came out an hour later with an apartment he could move into the next month. A new beginning, shedding his old skin, exploring his dawning realization.

He started off at a slow jog and by the time he reached the canal, Huggy was pulling up beside the delivered Torino.

Huggy handed him the keys and stood, shifting from one foot to the other while he looked Hutch up and down. “You run a marathon or something?”

Hutch opened the door, not surprised Huggy followed him in. “Or something.”

He stood in the middle of the room, not sure what he was supposed to do now. His brain said sleep, but he knew rest wouldn’t come until he saw Starsky open his eyes.

“Gotta take a shower,” he mumbled, the need to get away from Huggy’s watchful gaze making him want to take off running again.

He came out ten minutes later to a plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

“Eat.” Huggy put a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table.

“I’m not… Okay, okay, I’m sitting.”

Hutch pulled out the chair and stared at the food, his stomach rumbling, but his mind telling him eating might not be a good idea. He picked up his fork and took a cautious bite and then tried the toast.

“He’s gonna make it,” Hutch told Huggy before he bit off a piece.

“Yeah, man,” Huggy said. “Drink the juice.”

Under Huggy’s watchful eyes, he cleaned his plate. It was worse than being watched by his mother when she used to make cabbage rolls, and he had to eat his portion before being allowed to leave the table.

To his surprise, the food stayed down, and when Huggy made him two more pieces of toast, he ate them too.

He looked at the clock on the stove. It wouldn’t hurt to go back to the hospital now. He ignored his once again shaking hands and the way it felt like someone had poured sand into his eyes.

He stood up.

“Hey, where ya goin’?” Huggy’s hand was on his elbow, and Hutch didn’t remember getting to the middle of the room.

“Hospital. Gotta see Starsk.” Hutch wondered why he couldn’t pull away from Huggy. He felt a laugh bubble up. Maybe he needed to up his weight lifting.

“Nah, man. Time to sleep.”

He felt his pillow under his cheek, cool air on his feet as socks were pulled off. “No.”

He sat up. “Hug. Please.” His voice cracked.

Huggy muttered something Hutch didn’t catch.

“Stay where you are,” Huggy ordered in a voice Hutch had never heard from him before. “I’ll get him.”

“Don’t think he’s ready to be released yet,” Hutch said.

Huggy looked at him as if Hutch had grown two heads. “On the phone.”

Hutch sank down onto his bed again, the pillow cradling his head. He drifted for a while, Huggy’s voice low in the background.

“Here.”

He took the receiver. “Starsk?”

“Hutch.” Starsky sounded weak, but oh dear God, alive, alive, alive.

“Starsk. Just keep breathing, okay?”

“Detective Hutchinson?” Not Starsky. A nurse.

“Yeah.”

“He’s asleep.”

“Can I… please. I need to hear him breathe.”

A sigh, but he could hear her smile as she said, “For a minute.”

Hutch clutched the receiver close and listened to Starsky’s slow, even breaths.

Not today, not tomorrow, but someday. Someday, he would take his own deep breath and confess to Starsky what he should have said a long time ago. I love you. I love you. I love you.

He closed his eyes and surrendered to the dark, no longer afraid.