Secure Embrace

100

Starsky doesn’t respond in the ICU until Hutch figures out a way to reach him.

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Starsky moaned, obviously in pain, but he still hadn’t regained consciousness from his trauma or the surgery where he died on the table more than once.

Hutch fussed at his bedside in the ICU, moved there from recovery because they weren’t sure he would. “Can’t you do anything for him?”

“We’ve given him all the medication we dare, Detective. Any more and we risk an overdose.” The ICU nurse was checking his vitals again and making notes on Starsky’s chart. “But the fact that he seems to be feeling pain is a good sign he’s beginning to come around. We’ll know more when he does.”

She patted Hutch’s arm on the way out the door. “I’ll be back to check on him in fifteen minutes.”

Another moan from the bed caught Hutch’s attention. “Hutch.” But the word was wishful thinking on Hutch’s part; there was no real indication that Starsky was waking up.

He took Starsky’s hand, squeezed and leaned close. “I’m here, babe. I’m here.”

The monitors were loud and frantic from the readings fed by the tubes, IVs, and patches attached to Starsky’s body, and they scared Hutch because the doctors and nurses were so concerned. “Wake up, Starsk. Talk to me,” he whispered.

But there was no response.

The nurse came in again to check Starsky’s vitals and take more readings.

Hutch let go and paced the room.

She made notes on the chart and studied Hutch sympathetically. “You look exhausted, Detective. Go home and get some rest. If there are any changes, we’ll call you.”

“No. I won’t leave him. I can’t.”

She nodded knowingly. “All right. Let me know if you need—”

“Hutch.” The faint whisper surprised them both, as did Starsky’s movement, his hand flexing for Hutch’s.

“Mr. Starsky?” The nurse reached his side before Hutch did, but he ignored her completely.

“Hutch.” The whisper was even fainter. His movement ceased, but the monitors beeped louder.

Hutch took his hand again. “I’m here, Starsk. I won’t leave you.”

There was a sigh, but no other response from the bed. The nurse made a note on the chart and left the room.

Minutes went by. Hutch was half-asleep in the chair they’d given him next to the bed, when there was another faint moan of pain. “Hurts.”

“Wake up, babe. They can’t give you any more meds until they can talk to you.”

“Hurts.” Starsky’s grip went slack in Hutch’s hand and the monitors fluttered loudly.

“Starsk? Starsk!”

The nurse came in to check her patient and the monitors, frowned at the lack of response. “He needs to wake up.”

“I know that. But I can’t seem to reach him either.” Hutch squeezed the hand he held, with no response.

The nurse shook her head. “You seem so sure you can. Are you…together?” she asked carefully.

“Yeah.” Hutch said nothing more and she didn’t ask. He sat again and she left quietly.

They hadn’t been lovers long, but they’d been partners for years, touching, comforting each other when things got bad and times were tough. It got Hutch thinking, then moving.

He lowered the bed rail very carefully and slipped off his shoes, murmuring to Starsky. “I know what to do, babe. We’ve been here before, hurting bad, no meds allowed, but we got through it.” He slipped into bed next to Starsky, poised on the very edge, but gently gathered Starsky into his arms without disturbing the tubes and IVs. The monitors went crazy for all of ten seconds, then settled down.

When the nurse came in fifteen minutes later, they were both asleep, and Starsky was breathing better, nestled against Hutch, the monitors beeping quietly, showing better results than they had in days.

She took a chance. “Starsky?”

There was no response from him, but Hutch grunted at her.

“You shouldn’t be in bed with him, Detective. He needs to—”

“He’s cold.” The voice was faint, exhausted.

The nurse hesitated, then left the room, but came right back with a blanket and covered them both. “We warmed it. If you need another, let us know.” She checked Starsky’s vitals, made notes on his chart. “I don’t know what you did, but suddenly, he’s better.” She watched them both for another minute, then left.

Hutch went back to sleep, carefully spooned against Starsky.

* * * *

Starsky finally woke up, hurting, but lucid, refusing additional pain meds whenever Hutch was with him. He made rapid progress and was moved to a semi-private room, where the steady stream of visitors, flowers and gifts ensured he had no roommates to bother.

Hutch was with him as much as he could be and once Gunther was locked up, Hutch left him only to shower and change. The staff got used to finding him chastely spooned against Starsky whenever they slept.

“You’re taking me home soon, aren’t you, Hutch?” The words came hesitantly as they settled down for another night in the hospital bed.

“Yeah, I’m hoping tomorrow.” Hutch murmured.

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong, Starsk?” Hutch reached to pull him close, but met resistance. “Starsk?”

“It’s just…I don’t know how you’ll feel about the scars all over my torso now. I’m kind of a mess.”

“You’re alive, babe, and back in my arms. That’s all that matters to me.”

* * * *

And they were finally home.

Starsky was moving slowly, carrying a bag of meds to take and spare dressings to use after the showers he was desperate to take on his own.

They took their time and settled in.

Starsky showered carefully, dried off and slipped into a robe, then wandered into the kitchen where Hutch was making a simple meal of soup and sandwiches.

He wiped his hands and reached to turn the soup down low. “Ready for the dressings?”

Starsky crossed his arms over the robe, in no hurry for Hutch to see the healing wounds on his chest and back. “Let’s eat first. Please?”

Hutch came over and gave him a gentle hug. “It’ll be okay, babe. I’ve seen them already. But we can eat first. Have a seat. I’ll dish it up.” He stepped back to the stove and turned up the heat under the soup while he pulled bowls and plates and silverware out and set them on the counter.

“You’ve seen them?”

“You were out a long time and they stopped kicking me out of the room when I started crawling into bed with you. They weren’t happy with me, but you were better when I did it. One of the nurses started teaching me how to change the dressings.” He tried hard to keep it matter-of-fact. “Milk or soda?”

“Milk, please.”

Hutch pulled it out of the fridge and got two glasses from the cupboard. He set them on the counter in front of Starsky and reached for the sandwiches he’d already made. Those went on the counter next to the milk. “I hope grilled cheese is okay. There’s vegetable beef soup if you want it.” He turned off the heat under the bubbling soup.

“Please.” Starsky poured two glasses of milk and set half a sandwich on a plate as Hutch filled a bowl with steaming soup for him. “It smells great.”

They ate a quiet meal, glad to be home. Afterward, Starsky put the milk away, while Hutch put the dishes on to soak.

He turned to Starsky. “Okay, time to dress those wounds. They’ve been uncovered long enough.”

“Ummm…”

“Now, babe. Let’s go.” Hutch took his hand and led him to the bedroom. The bag of dressings was on the nightstand. “Open the robe. It’ll be okay,” he murmured encouragingly.

Slowly, Starsky opened the robe. He was still naked from the shower, but Hutch didn’t notice. He was more concerned with the fear in Starsky’s eyes as the wounds appeared.

They were ghastly, but healing and Starsky was alive. That was all that mattered. Hutch smiled.