A Coffin Unused

Missing scene from “A Coffin For Starsky” — the events of the day take their toll on Hutch.

My first ever S+H fic — written in ten minutes in the middle of the night, after having only ever seen ten episodes — I must be mad!!

“I think your friend is going to be just fine.”

At the doctor’s words, the iron bands that had closed around Hutch’s heart at four o’clock the previous morning finally released their hold. Ever since hearing Starsky’s muffled voice asking for help down the phone, he’d been running on adrenaline, fueled by sheer, blind panic. The prospect of losing Starsky had opened before him like a huge chasm, and he’d spent the rest of the day teetering on the brink, desperately trying not to tumble into the gaping darkness.

Now, as he looked down at his sleeping friend, the stress and strain of the last twenty-four hours suddenly washed over Hutch in a wave of crushing fatigue, forcing him to clutch at the bars on the side of the bed for support. But he couldn’t rest, not yet; not until he was absolutely sure that Starsky would be all right, and he wouldn’t be sure until he heard it from Starsky himself.

His partner’s face looked peaceful in repose, but the smooth, pain-free features did nothing to comfort Hutch. Seeing Starsky so still only served to remind him of how close he had come to losing his friend altogether.

Later, after the nurses had moved Starsky to a private room upstairs, Hutch sat by his bedside, still unwilling to leave. The doctor had taken pity on him and allowed him to stay, against hospital policy, somehow realizing how important it was to the blond detective to reassure himself that his partner was still alive.

The silence was getting to Hutch; it had been far too long since he had heard Starsky’s voice, and he began to speak, just to fill the awful emptiness of the room.

“This one was too close, buddy,” he began, finally letting his feelings out. “I really thought I’d lost you this time. God, Starsk, I don’t know if I could have handled that, knowing I’d been too slow, that I’d failed you when you needed me most. You’ve always been there for me, Starsk — hell, you were even there for me today, saving my life and destroying any hope we had of finding an antidote in the process. When you killed Vic Bellamy up on that roof, I thought that was it — game over. And I wished Vic had got me first — I didn’t want to go on living, not without you.”

Overcome with exhaustion and emotion, Hutch let his head fall onto his arms as they rested on the side of the bed, and he started to cry softly. After a few moments, he felt a slight movement above his head, and suddenly Starsky was gently stroking his hair. Hutch didn’t move, wanting the moment to last as long as possible, reveling in the soothing motion of Starsky’s fingers.

The familiar voice he’d been waiting to hear finally spoke up, the words tender.

“Hey, what’s the matter, Blondie? I’m okay — you figured it out in time, and everything’s okay. What’re you crying for, huh?”

At that, Hutch lifted his head and looked straight into the sapphire eyes of the man who meant more to him than anything in the world. The words tumbled out of his mouth without asking permission from his brain.

“I love you, ya big lug.”

Starsky’s face split into a wide grin.

“I love you too, Blintz,” he replied. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? What would we do without each other?”

Hutch’s reply was heartfelt. “Let’s hope we never have to find out.”

“Yeah, let’s hope so,” Starsky agreed. “Now, it looks to me like you need some rest. You look terrible!”

Smiling at the echo of his words from earlier, Hutch laid his head back down on his arms and closed his eyes. With Starsky’s hand once more in his hair, he finally slept.