Reporting for Duty

Starsky’s new on the job as a nurse, and it’s still nerve wracking. Luckily he’s got Hutch beside him.

Part 3 of the Vital Signs universe, several years after Sweet Revenge. Twenty minute fic.

The sequel to this story is Only The Shadow Knows.

“This is a two month old, post op cardiac surgery which was a week ago. Born with VSD, ASD, now all repaired,” Hutch recited, pointing to Aubrey Burns, a cherubic infant with wide brown eyes and a gummy grin. “Her PICC line was DC’d this morning and she’s eating ad lib, due to be discharged any day.”

Starsky scribbled the info on his cheat sheet, trying to remember all the abbreviations Hutch rattled off with such ease. Working in the intensive care nursery was still new, and Starsky felt like a rookie every single day. He’d graduated nursing school four months ago, sure he could get a job in the hospital where he’d worked as a ward clerk for several years. He just hadn’t really anticipated working with babies. He’d expected the med surg floor—helping adults after gall bladder surgery or amputation.

Until Hutch began raving about the ICN. With one year under his belt, he was already on track to learn more advanced techniques such as working on the ECMO machine—a heart lung machine that was brand new in the intensive care world. Not to mention train as a charge nurse.

With only one and a half lungs after the assassination that nearly ended his life and had finished his career as a cop, Starsky had always assumed he couldn’t make it on the nursing floor for too long. It took stamina to care for six adults, running up and down the hall to carry out all his duties.

Intensive care nursery was different—usually only two babies. Maybe one on a ventilator, and one feeder—such as the adorable Aubrey. Plus babies didn’t weigh much, unlike obese patients who had their legs amputated. He’d cared for a man like that six months ago as a student and it had scared the begeezus out of him.

So he’d done twelve weeks of training to care for babies, and had now been on the unit on his own for four weeks. Enough time to stop being terrified—instead, he was only mildly freaked out most of the time. Nothing like walking into a crime scene with a pistol in his hand!

The best part of working in the ICN, of course, was being with Hutch again. At least, for a few minutes of the shift since Hutch worked evenings and Starsky was stuck on nights. But they arranged their schedules to mesh as often as possible, so they had the same days off, and made love on lazy mornings right after Starsky got home and Hutch was waking up.

“Atrial septal defect, ventral septal defect,” Starsky muttered to himself. “How much does she eat?”

“Usually about sixty milliliters Q three,” Hutch continued. “Her mom and dad will be in later for discharge teaching.”

“I haven’t done that yet!” Starsky nearly wailed, looking up into Hutch’s amused face.

“Starsk, you’ll do fine,” Hutch assured, touching his belly.

Their old sign for I’m there for you, you are safe.

“There’s a print out of what they need to know in the top drawer. And then, I think you know Charlie,” Hutch said with an indulgent grin at the six month old sitting in a baby swing.

“I sure do.” Starsky squatted, waving his fingers at the baby. He’d had a gut infection called necrotizing enterocolitis shortly after his premature birth, and had more than half his intestines removed. Now they were waiting for his body to adjust to the very short gut and tolerate formula. “Any changes from yesterday?”

“Not a one.” Hutch gazed at him as if he wanted to cuddle with Starsky right then and there. “You get any sleep?”

“Me and Marisol snoozed in bed all morning, but the Peabody’s dog started barking at about one, so Marisol began to yowl until I let her out,” Starsky reported. “Would have preferred someone else in the bed besides a cat.”

“Tomorrow morning, count on it,” Hutch promised. “Gotta sign out!”

FIN