While You Were Under

“Do you have to eat that now?” Hutch asked, wrinkling his nose.

“What?” Starsky protested, licking sauce off his thumb “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Neither have I.”

“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to.” Starsky took another bite from his burrito.

“Exactly. You could show a little consideration and not eat in front of me.”

“I am being considerate. I’m eating something I know you don’t like, so you won’t be tempted.”

Hutch rolled his eyes and tried to preoccupy his mind by finding a more comfortable position in the hospital bed. He was wondering just how much longer he was going to be left waiting. He had a ticking time bomb of an inflamed appendix waiting to come out and the doctors were taking their sweet time. Or at least it felt like it, in reality he’d only been waiting an hour.

The pains had started when he and Starsky had just started their shift. He’d ignored the belly ache and nausea at first, thinking he’d just eaten something bad the night before, but when at the end of their shift a moderately hard elbow in the gut from a purse snatcher had left him writhing on the ground, he knew it was something more serious.

“Are you planning to wait around?” Hutch asked.

“I might go out and get something else to eat. These maybe the best burritos in the city, but they’re child sized.”

“Speaking of best in the city, if you’re going out, can you pick me up a protein shake from the market? Any flavour is fine, but don’t add anything yourself.”

Starsky give his partner an innocent look. “Would I do that?”

Hutch gave a knowing look back.

Starsky smiled. “Okay, one boring, plain protein shake coming up.” He finished the last bite of his burrito and threw the wrapper in the bin. He crossed his arms and the two sat in silence for a few minutes.

“The appendix is a really weird organ when you think of it,” Starsky pondered. “”I mean, it doesn’t do anything, but it can just go boom inside your stomach at any moment and kill you.”

Hutch glared at his partner. “It’s not quite as dramatic as that.”

“That’s more or less what the doctor said. That’s why it has to come out before it fills your innards with pus.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me, very comforting thought,” Hutch growled.

Starsky rubbed his own stomach. “Wonder when mine’s going to blow.”

Hutch refused to contribute further to the conversation.

“Kinda makes you wonder how many other organs are useless. I lost my spleen and I’ve been fine without it…”

“Can we please change the subject?” Hutch begged, not wanting to talk about exploding appendixes or how many organ’s Starsky was missing.

Thankfully, a nurse chose that moment to enter carrying a tray.

“Ready to take a little nap?” she asked bubbly.

“More than ready, thank you,” he said trying to sound charming while he grumbled.

Once the pre-surgery meds were in, a team of orderlies came to take Hutch up to the surgery floor. Starsky followed and along the way, kept repeating to himself that despite how serious appendicitis could be, the surgery was pretty routine and it was highly unlikely anything would go wrong. He just wished he hadn’t ready that stupid book, “100 Weird and Random Ways People Have Died,” the other week. A guy had actually died of a broken ankle.

A scrubbed up nurse met them on the way, where she explained to a sleepy Hutch that Doctor Richards was currently scrubbing up and if he had any questions.

“No, just want this over with,” Hutch said his eyes barely staying open.

“Just make sure the surgeon takes out the right organ,” Starsky teased. “Though I’ve heard you can live with only one kidney.”

Hutch rolled his eyes.

The nurse gave Starsky a humouring smile. “Doctor Richards has preformed this operation many times. Very routine.”

“Thank you, I know I’m in safe hands,” Hutch said, glaring at his lover.

“Okay, well, see you on the other side.” Starsky wanted to lean down and plant a good luck kiss on Hutch’s lips, but they were both still a little uncomfortable with displaying affection in public and opted instead to give Hutch’s hand a supportive squeeze.

The gurney was wheeled into the theatre, leaving Starsky alone in the waiting room. He stood for a few moments after the doors swung shut, wondering what to do next. He had a few hours to kill and didn’t really want to sit around reading the same magazine over and over. However, it was a little early to get Hutch his protein shake and he didn’t have any other errands to run. The one thing he did need to do was go to the bathroom. That would give him some time to think about what he wanted to do.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t been enough time as he still hadn’t made up his mind as he was leaving. However, as he was leaving the bathroom he spotted a tall, heavily built man in scrubs approaching the door to the operating room Hutch was in. At first he thought nothing of it. Maybe he was another surgeon who needed to speak to one of the doctors. But just before the man entered the room he looked around the waiting room and double checked the corridor he’d just come down. He’d not spotted Starsky who was partially hidden by the bathroom door. It was just as the man pushed open the theatre doors that Starsky spotted a shiny thing in his hand. It looked very much like a gun.

Without hesitating, Starsky ran across the waiting room and up to the operating room doors. There was no window, so he had to push the door open a little to look inside. The first room was a preparation area with sinks for the doctors to scrub up and sterilize before surgery. There was a big glass window that looked into the operating room. The man was stood in front of this window, watching the doctors prepare to cut in to Hutch. He raised his gun and aimed at window.

Starsky swiftly, but quietly drew his own gun and pointed it at the gunman.

“Freeze!” he said just loud enough for the man to hear. “Drop the gun.”

The gunman looked over his shoulder, but kept his gun trained on the operating room.

“I said, drop the gun,” Starsky repeated, moving a little closer.

The gunman slowly lowered his weapon and turned around. He hesitated a moment before dropping the gun on the floor.

“Turn around, slowly.” The gunman started to do as he was told, but half way through his turn he suddenly grabbed a metal tray on the table next to him and using it as a shield ran at Starsky, who didn’t manage to get a shot off before the man barrelled into him. They both tumbled through the theatre room doors, into the waiting room. Starsky’s gun went flying out of his hands. The gunman ended up on top of Starsky and raised the metal tray over his head, intending to hit Starsky with it, but the cop was able to punch the man in the face first, knocking him sideways. Recovering quickly, the man tried again, but was struck with more force this time and sent sprawling to the ground beside Starsky, who was quick to get to his feet. However, as he went to retrieve his gun, the man kicked him in the shin, knocking him onto one knee. The man got his legs under him and crawled to where the gun was lying, followed by Starsky.

“What’s going on here?” The question distracted both men. They turned to see a young, dark haired nurse standing at the entrance to the waiting room.

The gunman recovered first and dived for the gun. Gripping it tightly, he turned and pointed it at Starsky.

“Now it’s your turn to freeze,” the gunman said, smiling.

The nurse tried to back away, but he trained the gun on her as he leapt to his feet. “Not so fast, sweetheart.” He alternated pointing the gun at each of them, but kept his eyes mainly on Starsky.

“You fire that here, you’ll draw a lot of attention,” Starsky said, slowly moving towards the nurse.

“Both of you in that room,” the gunman ordered, pointing to a different operating room. When neither of them moved, the gunman grabbed the nurse, pulled her close and put the gun to her head.

“Am I not being clear enough? Into the room!” he demanded, keeping his voice at a moderate level.

Starsky walked through the double doors, keeping his eyes on the gunman all the way and his hands in the air. The gunman followed, dragging the poor nurse along with him. He gestured for them to go through the prep room and into the operating room. Without an operation in process the room looked cold and empty. All the necessity equipment was pushed to the walls while an uncomfortable looking bed was front and centre. The gunman flipped a switch, but only the lights above the table table came on. It reminded Starsky of a late night movie he’d watched once where an evil surgeon was stealing peoples organs and selling them to hungry aliens.

“What now?” Starsky asked.

“First, you tell me who are you?” the gunman asked, still holding onto the nurse. “Are you hospital security?”

“Close. I’m a cop.”

The gunman’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well…that makes this interesting.”

“I’ll say it does. You really don’t want to kill a cop?”

“If you do as I say, I won’t need to.” The gunman looked around the room. “Are there any restraints in this room?” He whispered to the nurse.

“Yes, there…there have been times when patients have needed…restraining.”

“Good, go get them, but don’t try anything or one of you will get shot.”

He let go of the nurse, but kept his gun trained on her. She slowly went over to a cabinet in the corner and took out a couple of wrist restraints.

“On the table, cop,” the gunman instructed, waving his gun at the operating table.

“Front or back?” Starsky asked, thinking back to the last time he was forcibly restrained to a gurney.

“Back,” the gunman said, a little perplexed.

Starsky lay himself down on the table, keeping his eyes on the gunman.

“Will you do the honours?” the gunman said to the nurse.

Hesitantly and with an apologetic look, the nurse attached the restraints to each of Starsky’s wrist.

“Don’t worry, honey,” Starsky whispered as the nurse did up the buckles. “I’ll get us out of this.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but the nurse didn’t look convinced as she quickly wiped a tear from her eye.

“Now, you’re coming with me.” The gunman went over to the nurse, grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the doors.

“How many of the doctor’s are you planning to kill?” Starsky asked. “Which one pissed you off?”

“None of your concern.” The gunman pushed open the door.

“Seems a little sloppy to kill just one of them and then walk away. Leaving so many witnesses.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to kill them all?”

Which would include Hutch. Even if the gunman didn’t shoot him, he’d leave Hutch lying on an operating table with his abdomen open, slowly bleeding to death. Starsky felt sick at the thought of it.

“You really want that much blood on your hands?” Starsky tried hard not to let the desperation he felt dictate the pace of his words.

“Do you have a better suggestion?” the gunman asked, clearly annoyed, but staying by the door.

“What you want is to get the doctor away from everyone,” Starsky suggested. “Get him in here.”

“And why should I listen to a cop?”

“Just trying to prevent a massacre.” He swallowed. “And stopping you from becoming a mass murderer.” And from killing my partner, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t let that bit of information slip.

The gunman considered his words. He looked at the nurse and then through the window into the prep area.

“What’s your name?” he asked the nurse.

“Debbie,” she whispered.

“Okay Debbie. I want you to do me a favour. I want you to go and get Doctor Richards for me. I don’t care how, but get him in here. Say there’s been an accident, whatever, but get him here.” He pulled her closer. “But remember, you have just 10 minutes. If you’re not back by then or try and get help, I’ll kill the cop. Could you live with that?”

Debbie looked between Starsky and the gunman. She shook her head.

“Good, now go and remember, 10 minutes, not a second more.” He pushed her through the doors and watched her go.

Left alone with the gunman, Starsky tried to put together a plan. He’d managed to get the gunman away from Hutch, but he now needed to keep him from killing the doctor. He needed more information. So far he’d learned nothing about this man.

“What have you got against Doctor Richards?” Starsky asked.

“That’s none of your concern,” the gunman said, still looking out the window.

“He must have hurt you bad to deserve to die,” Starsky speculated. “Botched operation?”

“Shut up.”

“Or are you a hitman?” Starsky shook his head. “No, a hitman wouldn’t be this sloppy.”

The gunman came over to Starsky and pushed the gun against his temple. “I said shut up or I’ll blow your brains out.” He didn’t raise his voice, or appear angry, merely frustrated.

“I thought I had 10 minutes.”

“Nurse Debbie has 10 minutes.”

Starsky swallowed hard, but appeared otherwise calm. He needed to keep this guy distracted, maybe anger him enough to say something, let something slip. He’d yet to kill anyone so he wasn’t as trigger happy as he made himself sound.

“Are you going to kill the nurse?” Starsky asked.

“I’m here to kill Richards,” he said simply.

“Why? Was he unable to save a loved one of yours?” Starsky asked.

“Wouldn’t that be the easy answer.” He pressed the gun a little harder against his head. “Now, I have a question for you. Why are you here?”

Starsky didn’t answer.

“You can’t have been waiting for me. No one knew I was coming. So maybe you’re waiting on the man Doctor Richards is operating on.”

Starsky kept his face blank, unwilling to give the gunman any information.

“Is he a prisoner, a friend, a brother…a partner?”

“Got lost on the way to the john,” Starsky said, simply.

“I’m sure you did.” He looked up at the doors, but no one came through them. He kept gazing at seemingly nothing for a moment. Then he smiled and it didn’t look pleasant.

“Well, whatever the reason, I need you to keep quiet while I speak to the good doctor.” He lifted the gun from Starsky’s temple and went over to the cabinets.

Starsky was confused. Why did the gunman suddenly want to talk to the doctor. He’d been about to snipe the guy through a window a few minutes ago, what did they need to talk about now? A cold feeling spread over Starsky’s body. Whatever this guys new plan was he had a feeling it had something to do with Hutch. What exactly he had no clue, he just had a sickly, sinking feeling in his gut. He desperately needed to get free.

While the gunman had his back to him, Starsky tried to loosen the restraint around his left wrist. The nurse thankfully hadn’t done them up to tight, but there still wasn’t enough give to just slip out.

“I doubt there’s any duct tape around here,” the gunman said, looking in the cabinets, “but maybe I can gag you with…” he paused. Starsky watched the man pull something out of a draw. Starsky didn’t like the smile that spread over the man’s face. “This’ll work.”

He came back over to Starsky, holding a long, thick tube. Starsky recognised it and gave him instant flashbacks to when he’d last been in the hospital after Gunther’s attack. “You don’t have to use that, I’ll stay quiet.”

“Yes, you will and this is my guarantee. Open wide.” The gunman positioned himself over the top of Starsky’s head. Starsky kept his lips firmly shut. He’d had that horrible tube down his throat before, but he’d always been blissfully doped up at the time. And the procedure had been done by a professional, not a butcher who could easily damage his vocal cords or worse.

The gunman smacked the gun against the side of Starsky’s head, leaving him dazed and bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow. He firmly griped Starsky’s jaw, pressing his fingers into his jaw, forcing his mouth open. With no care or idea of what he was doing, the gunman forcibly shoved the tube into Starsky’s mouth, who gagged the moment it hit the back of his throat. He felt the tube scratch and scrape its way down his trachea, the pain of the movement making it hard not to choke. His throat wanted to close up, to stop the invasion, but Starsky tried his best to let the muscles relax, to accept what was happening, even if his mind struggled to do likewise.

Finally, after what felt like the length of a garden hose had forcefully snaked its way down Starsky’s trachea, the man stopped, letting the end rest on Starsky’s bottom lip.

“That’s much better.” He smiled menacingly. “Comfortable?”

Starsky closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on getting enough air. He tried to think back to the last time he’d been intubated after a nasty bout of pneumonia after the shooting and the soft, encouraging words of his partner. If he thought hard enough he could almost feel Hutch’s hand through his hair and voice in his ear, telling him to relax.

Starsky was dimly away of the gunman moving around to his left side.

“You’re right, I’m not a hit man,” the gunman confessed. “This is very much personal and it’ll be personal to you shortly.”

Starsky frowned. What did he mean by that? Was he going to go after Hutch next? Or was he planning to kill Starsky once he was done. He hated not being able to ask.

He stopped thinking about it when he heard a voice coming towards the operating room doors.

Doctor Richards entered with Debbie following behind. He was a fairly young doctor, barely out of his twenties with short, brown hair and a tall, lanky body.

“I still don’t understand why anyone would be messing about in here when…” He stopped talking when he spotted the gunman.

“Leo,” he whispered, a look of horror on his face. “What are you…I thought….I thought you were still in jail.”

“I was until three days ago. They let me out a year early for good behaviour.”

“Oh. “The doctor noticed Starsky’s restrained and gagged body on the operating table. “What are you doing here? Who’s he?”

“Your saviour, who stopped me from killing you while you were operating.” He raised his gun.

Doctor Richards gasped. “You tired too…” He paled, looking like he was about to be sick. “I’m sorry, I really am…please don’t kill me.”

“What did you do?” Debbie asked.

“Oh, me and the good doctor here used to have a business together,” Leo said. “I was an orderly at a hospital in LA, where Doctor Richards was an intern. I’d pinch some pills and sell them on to my many customers. I had quite the network and made some good money…”

“You told me you were giving them to people who couldn’t afford the drugs,” Doctor Richards interrupted. “You told me you were helping people.”

Leo sniggered. “Poor naive boy. I conned you good, didn’t I?” He went back to addressing Debbie. “But then he found out what I was really doing when one of my customers came looking for me at the hospital. That’s when he turned me in.” Leo walked around the operating table, moving closer to the doctor. “I told the cops who allowed me to steal the drugs, but what do you know? The good doctor had a very influential father. One that got him off with a years probation and a suspension on his medical license. While I got 5 years in prison. Five years! Does that seem fair in comparison?”

Doctor Richards had started to sweat more and more as Leo recounted his tale. “L-look, I…I wasn’t the one selling the drugs…but I fully expected to go to jail…I just…”

“But you didn’t!” Leo growled, keeping his voice low. “I did. And when I got out I had no customers left. They’d either moved on or unwilling to do business with me. While you got your license back, moved to this hospital and worked your way up the medical pecking order.”

“Please, please.” Richards backed away as Leo moved closer. “Don’t kill me, I was young, I made a mistake please…”

Leo stopped his advance. “You made a big mistake and I was going to kill you out right for it, but after having a nice chat with our cop friend, I’ve had an idea. I’m going to give you a choice.”

“A…choice?”

“Yes, either I kill you here and now or you kill the patient you’re operating on.”

“What? I can’t…” Richards shook his head, horrified.

“You can if you don’t want to die.”

“But…why, what purpose does that serve?”

“It’ll guarantee you some jail time. You father won’t be able to get you off the hook for that kind of medical negligence and you’ll know what it’s like to have your life ruined.”

“But you don’t understand. That man is a cop!”

Leo smiled and looked over at Starsky, who silently stared back, the fear of what they were discussing nearly making him choke on the tube.

“That’s even better. Well, it’s a simple choice. Your life or the cop’s.”

All eyes turned to Doctor Richards, who looked like he was about to faint. Leo waited patiently for an answer, while Starsky struggled a little harder to get his left hand free. His fear for his partner was a strong motivator, but he still wasn’t having much luck. He knew without having to hear the answer that Richards wouldn’t sacrifice himself. Not that he expected the kid to die for his partner, it was a chose no one should have to make. He just wished he could talk to them, somehow convince Leo to let the Doctor go. It was unlikely to work, but it would as least buy him some time to get free. Maybe he’d get lucky and the doctor would hesitate a few minutes longer or…

“You have 10 more seconds to decide, before I just blow your head off here and now.” Leo aimed the gun at Richards’ head. “1, 2, 3…”

“Please, I don’t want to die…” He was in tears now. “I’ll do it, I’ll go for option…2” He hung his head as he said it.

“I thought you might.” Leo took a couple of steps to the left, towards a cabinet containing surgical garments. “Now, to make sure you do as I say, I’m going into the operating room with you. I’ll have a gun on you the whole time and if you try to say anything to anyone, I’ll shoot you and everyone in the room, including the cop.”

Doctor Richards nodded, as he wiped away his tears.

“What…what are you going to do with me?” Debbie asked, fearful of the answer.

“You will need tying up. Don’t worry, you won’t get the same treatment as the cop.” From the cabinet Leo took out a roll of bandages. “If you could do the honours, Doctor.” He threw the bandages at Richards who reluctantly started tying Debbie’s hands behind her back. Though unbeknownst to Leo, he was tying them very loose.

Meanwhile, keeping his eyes and gun trained on Richards, Leo felt around the cabinet until he found a surgical mask which he awkwardly tried to put on one handed.

With Leo occupied in getting himself ready, Starsky gave one last attempt to slip his hand through the restraint and while it felt like he sprained his wrist in the process, he managed to free his left hand at last. Quickly, but quietly he undid the other restraint, keeping his eyes on Leo the whole time. With both arms free he desperately wanted to yank the tube out of this throat, but he knew he couldn’t do that without making noise and he needed to take Leo by surprise. Unfortunately, the tube kept his neck quiet rigid, making it hard to sit up quietly. Even if he slid off the side of the table, the movement could be spotted by Leo. Starsky needed something to throw at the man, to knock the gun from his hand. He suddenly remembered the penknife in his jacket pocket and was grateful Leo hadn’t thought to search him. He slowly reached into his pocket, pulled out the knife and slowly extracted the blade. He only had one chance to hit the mark which was made harder from his prone position.

“Let’s go,” Leo said, gesturing to Richards and then the door.

With no time left to hesitate, Starsky threw the knife at Leo. The blade struck his bicep, lodging barely an inch into the flesh, but the pain and shock of the attack forced Leo to drop the gun. It skidded across the floor and under a table. Using the distraction, Starsky rolled off the operating table and charged at Leo, tackling him around the waist and knocking them both to the ground. Starsky was able to get on top of Leo to punch the ex-con in the face a couple of times. The blows left Leo bleeding from the nose, but in-between one of Starsky’s swings Leo was able to jab at Starsky’s throat. The blow left Starsky momentarily unable to breath as he found himself once again choking on the tube still down his throat. Leo pressed his advantage by pushing Starsky off of him and getting on top, pressing his forearm into Starsky’s throat, pinning him to the ground. With his airway complete blocked, Starsky struggled hard to get Leo off of him, desperately pushing against him, but Leo had the weight advantage and was putting as much of that weight as he could against Starsky’s throat.

Starsky was starting to black out, but then out of the corner of his eye he saw a gun appear against Leo’s head. The person holding it was Richards, his hands shaking badly.

“Let him go,” Richards said, his voice as unsteady as his hand.

“No.” There wasn’t a trace of fear in Leo’s voice. “You’ll have to shoot me.” He was able to twist enough to look over his shoulder. “Go on.”

Richards griped the gun in both hands, his finger vibrating on the trigger.

“I said go on!” He snapped. Still Richards couldn’t pull the trigger.

“Put the gun down, cow-” His sentence was cut off when a mask was placed over his nose and mouth from behind and arms wrapped around his head, holding it firmly in place. It took a moment for Leo to realise what was happening, but when he did he let go of Starsky and grabbed at the hands keeping the mask over his face. Richards used the gun to knock Leo’s hands away. Leo tried again, but by this point his eyes were starting to roll back in his head and his arms were getting heavy. Another few more seconds of feeble struggling did nothing and he was out. Debbie took the mask away from Leo’s face and he slumped to the floor.

With the pressure now gone from Starsky’s neck, he tried to pulling in some air, but he still couldn’t. His hand went up to the tube, desperate to pull it out, but Debbie knelt by his side and took hold of the end of the tube.

“Blow hard,” she instructed. Starsky was just aware enough to follow her instructions and with a firm yank she pulled the tube free from Starsky’s throat. A trail of blood and saliva came out with it. The split second of joy at finally taking a breath was quickly over shadowed by a hard, violent coughing fit. He spat more blood onto the floor, and was vaguely aware of Debbie rubbing his back, encouraging him to take deep, steady breaths. When the coughing finally stopped Starsky slumped on his side, exhausted.

“Thanks.” Starsky forced the painfully croaked word out of his damaged throat. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though her trembling hand on his arm said otherwise. “But you need to get your throat checked out.” She looked over at Leo’s unconscious body. “And someone needs to restrain him.”

“I’ll do it,” Richards said, handing the gun to Starsky, who kept it ready in case Leo woke up. Richards retried the bandages from the floor and began to tie up the unresponsive Leo.

“Shall I get a doctor or can you stand?” Debbie asked. “Just whisper the answer.”

“Go get one,” he whispered, though even that hurt. “I’ll stay here with Leo.” With Debbie’s help, Starsky slowly got to his feet, one hand holding his throat, the other keeping the gun pointed at Leo.

“You better get back to Hutch,” Starsky whispered to Richards.

“Yes, of course.” He turned to the door and then turned back briefly. “Thank you.”

Starsky smiled and waved him away. He watched the Doctor and Debbie leave the room and slumped against the operating table, gun still on Leo. He wondered how he was going to explain this adventure to Hutch. Would he even believe him?

*

The first thing Hutch heard when he started to come round after the operation was a nurse reading out his vital signs. He was unable to pay attention to the words and so he let himself drift back off to sleep. The next time he woke the first thing he noticed was he was back in his room, followed by the presence of his partner by his bed side. Starsky was reading an old magazine about gardening, which he’d clearly swiped from the waiting room.

Hutch tried to speak but his throat was too dry. The only sound he made was a grunt that instantly go Starsky’s attention.

“Hey,” Starsky said in a soft whisper. He put down the magazine and took Hutch’s hand. “Welcome back.”

Hutch wanted to reply, but he still couldn’t get the words out. He licked his dry lips and was thankful when Starsky appeared to read his mind. He poured a glass of water from the jug beside the bed and helped Hutch lift his head up to take a few sips. He knew not to take too much, but he drank enough to wet his throat. It was as Starsky took the cup from Hutch’s lips that Hutch noticed a band-aid over Starsky’s left eyebrow, a bandage around his left wrist and thumb and a dark purple bruise over his neck.

“What happened to you?” Hutch asked once Starsky was sat back down.

Starsky gently touched the bruise on his neck. The doctor had said his trachea was scratched and his larynx was bruised, but nothing was seriously damaged. His wrist was only slightly sprained and the cut hadn’t even needed stitches. The doctor had given him an analgesic throat spray and told Starsky to come back if his throat swelled up.

“Long story,” he croaked.

Hutch was taken back by the roughness of Starsky’s voice. “Did it involve gargling nails?”

Starsky swallowed painfully, really not wanting to talk any more. “I’ll write it down later.”

“I look forward to reading your report.” Hutch really wanted to know more, be he didn’t want to cause his partner any further pain. Instead he put a hand over the bandage covering his wound.

“Did it all go okay?” Hutch asked. “Took out the right organ?”

Starsky smiled, nodded and gave a thumbs up.

“Good” Hutch gestured for Starsky to come closer. With great care not to jostle his healing lover, Starsky placed his hands either side of Hutch and leaned in. Hutch pulled Starsky closer and first kissed the bruise on his neck followed by a deep kiss on the lips.

Breaking apart Hutch stared deep into his lover’s eyes.

“Where’s my protein shake?”