Everything I Do

Hutch notes the changes in his relationship with Starsky.

After his early morning run, he’d shower, shave, dress and have his morning elixir. Eye on the clock, he would allow enough time for his ritual stop on the way to pick up his usually late-running partner: fresh, still warm donuts and coffee, or, if he was in a really expansive mood, breakfast burrito.

Today it was a burrito even though he railed against the very thought of anyone consuming such a conglomeration first thing in the morning. The small thought of disgust was easily swept away by the image of his partner’s smile of delight at this occasional treat.

So easy to stir the childishness in this man; so cherished and sought after his sparkling response to such a simple gesture. It was becoming more and more important to him to ensure his partners comfort and pleasure, so much so that he was beginning to question the motives behind his compulsion.

His partner bounced into the car, still struggling into his jacket, with a cheery ‘mornin’ partner’, and after settling himself sent his glance questing for his treat.

A chuckle worked its way out as he reached behind the seat and deposited the take-out bag into Starsky’s lap. The expected grin warmed everything within a five-mile radius. It was going to be a great day.

Sometimes it took great patience to get through a day with Starsky, but lately he felt as if patience was his one great virtue.

He could find no wrong with Starsky’s great leaps from serious discussion to serious absurdity. He would throw in subtle acknowledgements of truth, or disapproval, with the same mild approach. His gaze or touch would linger on his partner to emphasize his earnest attention, often drawing a stare of disbelief, which he ignored. Keeping up with his partner’s quirky mind was no longer a game to be played.

The usual start-of-shift reports seemed easier to bear, as he skillfully toyed with Starsky’s exuberant style and worked their joint effort into an acceptably worded and presented paper. Speeding Torino’s and desperate pursuits into dark alleys became dull routine police work that earned him Starsky’s grumbling but Dobey’s praise for the adhered to standard.

It was another area where he was unexpectedly and unconsciously attempting to limit any harmful criticism of his partner. Occasionally he would slip up and something would sneak through.

When it did, he stood a solid front line of defense, and if he could, assumed a portion of the blame. Threats against Starsky where too serious to ignore.

The day’s patrol went especially well, with only minor incidents to ruin the day. That is until they were called to a robbery-in-progress in the dark, deserted warehouse district.

A silent approach hopefully would limit any hazardous response from the thieves, but a carelessly knocked over stack of cartons on his part sent them both scurrying for shelter, in opposite directions. The thieves responded with heavy gunfire as they attempted their escape to a waiting truck.

A quick assessment showed him that Starsky had ended up basically trapped within the narrow corridor of the thieves escape route, and was in danger of becoming a victim of their heavy fire power.

Instinct took over as he methodically eliminated one man after another in his frantic efforts to reach and protect his partner. Finally they stood together in classic takedown stance as they surveyed the suddenly quiet warehouse.

After a silent consultation, they were about to separate and complete a search and clean up, when, out of the corner of his eye, he watched a figure rise in ambush, his gun zeroed in on Starsky. Reflexes too quick to measure sent Starsky sprawling to one side as two weapons roared their defiance. Silence once again descended as two men tumbled to the ground.

He heard the startled, desperate cry from his partner as he fell, gun falling from his hand as he sought the source of the pain that suddenly seared through his body.

Relief surged through him at his successful defense of his partner. It was O.K. He’d done it. He gave himself permission to surrender to the shock of injury.

As he slowly regained his senses, he found himself cradled in his partner’s arms receiving the best medicine in the world—his partner’s tender, loving care; and his scared, pleading questions.

“Damn you Hutch, you could have been killed! I could kill you myself for that stupid move. Why did you have to do it? Damn.”

He raised an arm and gently wiped a tear.

“Everything I do, I do it for you,” was all he could get out before darkness overcame him.

When the darkness lifted, he knew where he was—hospital, again! And he knew his partner was with him.

The mere opening of his eyes was enough for Starsky to jump up, gently take his hand and encourage him to wakefulness.

The days that followed had his partner performing all the same small simple acts that would ensure his comfort and healing. He reveled in it at the same time as he questioned the reasons.

His own truth had been forcefully thrust upon him in that warehouse, but he doubted that Starsky’s motives originated from the same feelings.

For the umpteenth time he urged Starsky to slow down, take it easy, and stop mothering him. His own words came back at him with Starsky’s soft emotional response.

“Everything I do, I do it for you.”