Keep Breathing

A missing scene for The Plague, before the tag.

When the medical staff came in with the oxygen tent, Hutch knew that his time was running out. To be honest he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep fighting anyway. Every single, shallow breath he took was excruciating. It would almost be a relief to stop struggling for air, to stop trying to fill his desperate lungs, to just stop.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, unsure of how much time had passed. He wished Starsky was there but he was also glad he wasn’t.

The tiny part of him clinging onto hope knew if Starsky was still ‘out there’ seeking Callander then there was a small chance of a cure. The larger part that was too exhausted to hope was glad his friend wasn’t there to watch him die. He knew it would tear Starsky apart.

But being alone was no fun. Nurses came and went. Rushed off their feet, they mopped his brow and then left to check on the next poor victim fighting the same ugly sucker that was inside him.

It got harder and harder to breathe. He no longer had the strength to keep his eyes open. He knew he was dying. At that moment, he wished with all his heart that his friend was beside him holding his hand. Darkness crowded in around him, sounds faded, thoughts slowed and stopped.

*****

He became aware of light the other side of his eyelids. Soft voices murmured around him. His brow was wiped with a deliciously cool cloth. Silence.

Then someone took hold of his hand. He couldn’t move, couldn’t respond, but it was nice to feel that human connection even if it was the last thing he would ever feel. He couldn’t feel pain anymore. He couldn’t feel anything other than the hand holding his. The light faded again as did his thoughts.

*****

There was still pain with every breath he took…but he was still breathing! Maybe the pain was a little less sharp. He tried but couldn’t open his eyelids. The attempt was too much and caused him to groan softly. He realised his hand was still being held but couldn’t move his own.

How long had he been like this? How long would he be like this? He felt a stirring of panic.

Then somehow it didn’t matter that he couldn’t move. The hand holding his squeezed his fingers – as if responding to his thoughts or his groan.

“I’m here, Hutch…You’re gonna make it. You just gotta give it time.”

Hutch tried to respond. He tried to move a finger, open an eyelid, open his mouth. Maybe he’d managed the last one because he heard himself groan again.

“Hey…hey.” A gentle hand brushed his hair. “Hey, don’t panic, pal. We got the cure. It’s working away inside you. I know it probably don’t feel like it yet but you’re getting better. Just keep breathing, Hutch. I ain’t going nowhere. I’m staying beside you every step of the fight. Just keep breathing.”

Starsk.

The word written in red floated in front of his eyes. That word: a comfort, a protection, a symbol, a promise. And a hope.

*****

The darkness receded slowly. Hutch tried to open his eyes and succeeded in cracking one open just a little. He took a tentative breath and he found he could breathe without pain. Relief ran through his frame.

After a moment, he managed to open both eyes fully. He looked around and found his partner asleep beside him, head pillowed on his arms.

Slowly, Hutch lifted his hand and laid it on Starsky’s head. That small amount of effort left him exhausted.

Starsky stirred slightly and then suddenly sat up, staring at him in disbelief. Then he grinned. Then he covered his face with his hands as tears began to fall.

Hutch was distressed to see Starsky so upset. “Starsky,” he whispered, trying to offer comfort.

Starsky attempted to pull himself together and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

“I’m okay, pal.” He clasped Hutch’s hand. After a long silence, he added in a choked whisper, “You made it.”

Hutch squeezed his partner’s hand and whispered a question: “Thanks to you?”

Starsky’s eyes filled with tears again, the strain and exhaustion of the last few days clearly written on his face. He simply nodded.

Hutch held his look, everlasting gratitude shining in his eyes. He wanted to speak, but didn’t have the strength to do so.

Starsky poured a glass of water and got a straw and held it up for Hutch to drink from. He supported his friend as he tried to lift his head.

Hutch sipped as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. And maybe it was. Hutch lay back. His eyes were full of questions.

“We’ll take it apart later,” Starsky said, as if it were the aftermath of a case that needed dissecting. “Right now all you need to do is drink, eat, rest.”

Energy already ebbing away, Hutch still managed to whisper, “You too.”

Starsky nodded, but settled back down on the chair beside the bed.

As Hutch fell asleep, he was aware that Starsky’s hand was on his arm, keeping that vital connection alive between them: the connection that gave them both strength and somehow helped to achieve the impossible. He smiled as his breathing softened into the natural rhythms of restorative sleep.