Ledges

“Sweet Revenge” tag: Starsky faces an uncertain future but not alone.

Written in 2000. First published in “By My Side 2,” a gen multifandom anthology, in 2004.

K. Hanna Korossy is a prolific fanfiction writer who has written stories in multiple fandoms, including Starsky & Hutch. You can find more of her fan fiction at Archive of Our Own at this link and at fanfiction.net at this link.

The cool air of nightfall often dispersed some of the haze that hung over the sprawling city of Los Angeles. Anyone who cared to look was treated to a view of sprinkled lights that stretched across the valley and up into the hills surrounding the city.

David Starsky didn’t. Despite the vantage point the hospital roof offered, he was too caught in the darkness of his own thoughts to see what lay spread out before him.

The roof had seemed a logical retreat when the walls of the hospital had begun to close in on him. He needed space to breathe, some air, or at least that was what Starsky had told the nurse in no uncertain terms before wheeling himself out of his room and down to the elevator. There was no way he could leave, so the only other direction to go had been up. The elevator let him out onto the small patio on the roof that he knew well from Hutch having taken him up there before. But this time he was relieved to be alone.

Starsky took a deep breath of the night air, then tried not to cough as the cold cut into his abused lungs. Three shots to the chest did a lot of damage. Coughing hurt, but then, a lot of things did. They said that would change, that he’d become more and more mobile and less and less restricted by the pain, but sometimes that seemed an impossibly long time away. He was so tired of his body’s new limitations.

The man responsible, mighty James Marshall Gunther, was rotting in jail now, a broken man, according to Hutch. Never to hurt anyone again, and while Starsky was truly glad of that, vengeance didn’t go far. Maybe Gunther was paying society back for his crimes, but Starsky wasn’t getting anything out of the deal. Thanks to Gunther’s hitmen, he was still struggling to do the most basic things, in pain every waking hour, trapped in a ruined body in a sterile hospital room. And, honestly, even those optimistic doctors weren’t sure he’d recover fully, or be able to return to duty. No one could promise him anything. What was the point of putting himself through hell everyday to reach a goal that maybe wasn’t even there?

Starsky wheeled himself nearer to the edge of the roof, looking at the moving cars down below, people going someplace. He wished so hard he could be among them, it ached worse than his chest did.

“Hey, Starsk,” came the soft voice behind him, the first sign he wasn’t alone.

His face hardened and he growled a “Go ‘way” in response. He didn’t want to have to deal with his partner tonight, with the hungry look in Hutch’s eyes whenever they fell on him, drinking in the fact he was still alive. It was a reminder both of what he’d lost, and of how close he’d come to losing it all.

The voice, when it spoke again, was closer and even quieter. “Nurse said you were having a bad day. What’s goin’ on, Starsky?”

“What’s goin’ on is that I want to be left alone.”

A momentary silence. Then, gravely, “Did the doctor say something?”

Starsky almost snorted. “Same thing he always says. ‘Someday, maybe, probably, no promises’.”

Another pause, and there was a scratch of metal on stone, Hutch no doubt dragging a chair over to sit. “Everyone keeps telling you you’re lucky to be alive, but it doesn’t feel like it sometimes, does it?”

Amen to that, Starsky thought angrily.

His partner’s voice softened to barely audible. “I guess I’m the lucky one–I was willing to take you in any shape I could get you, as long as you were alive. No one asked you if you wanted that deal.”

Starsky blinked hard. It wasn’t fair; he didn’t need–couldn’t take–his partner’s pain on top of his own. He had enough by himself without being reminded at every turn how hard it had been for Hutch.

As if privy to his thoughts, Hutch continued gently, “But I’m listening now, Starsky. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

What was wrong–the question itself was ludicrous. What wasn’t wrong?

“Whatever it is, we can handle it. Let me help.”

Starsky’s throat choked with misery. The kindness was threatening the one bit of control he had, the right to be angry at how his life had been screwed up, and he hated it for that.

There was a long silence behind him, Hutch trying to figure out how to proceed. Starsky ruthlessly squashed his traitorous desire for comfort for the ache inside, and hoped his partner would leave before he lost it altogether. Defiantly, he rolled a little farther away from his partner, staring down at the flashing ambulance lights below as the vehicle stood at the hospital entrance.

Hutch’s voice, when it came, was almost abstracted. “You remember when I got too close to a ledge once? Scared you pretty badly. I wasn’t listening to you then.”

Starsky frowned at the unexpected change of subject. Why bring that up now? The memory returned without his permission, crystal sharp in his otherwise foggy mind. Scared was a major understatement; he’d been terrified. But then, he’d had reason to be.

“That warm enough?”

The heater was set on full blast and had already turned the Torino into a dry oven. Starsky had long since peeled off his coat and sweater. And still his partner shivered, cheeks flushed with an unhealthy red.

Hutch waved him off tiredly. “I’m okay, Starsky–it’s just a cold, not pneumonia.”

“Colds don’t come with 102 fevers, pal,” Starsky had retorted worriedly. Pneumonia it probably wasn’t, but it often didn’t have to be with his partner. For all his healthy lifestyle, when Hutch got sick, he tended to do it all the way. Starsky had already reluctantly nursed him through one bout the year before, complete with high fever and delirium, and wasn’t anxious for a repeat.

But the stakeout they were on was an important one and they both knew it. Hutch had said he could handle it and promised to take it easy until it was time to move, sipping orange juice and resting bundled up in the frying hot car, and Starsky had finally relented against his better judgment. It just hadn’t stopped him from keeping an eye on his partner.

Hutch had muttered a response, subsiding back into his cocoon of coats and blankets.

The radio suddenly crackled to life. “Zebra Three, they’re moving in.”

“This is it, you ready?” Starsky asked, casting a glance at his partner as he reached for his discarded coat.

Hutch was already shrugging off the pile of garments and pulling his gun. “Let’s go,” was his only answer, and then he was out of the car.

The men they’d been surveilling, just coming out the front door, soon realized cops were closing in and took off back into the building they’d exited. Starsky and Hutch followed the two other detectives in, joining the chase through dark halls.

The trail led up to the roof at long last, and it was there they rounded up and cuffed the last of the would-be black marketeers. Starsky finished putting the cuffs on his own catch, handing him off to one of the other detectives, before looking around for his partner.

And freezing as he caught sight of Hutch standing at the edge of the roof, peering transfixedly down.

“Hutch! What the–Are you crazy?! What’re you doin’? Get away from there!”

Hutch had glanced up at Starsky’s first strident word, sweeping the roof with a gaze that went right past him, before returning to watching the street below. To Starsky’s growing fright, Hutch’s closer foot shuffled slightly nearer to the edge, the rim of his shoe already over.

Starsky took an involuntary few steps forward, stopping when Hutch looked up at him once more. “Hutch, don’t scare me like that!” he called angrily. “Hutch?”

Hutch blinked at him, face screwed up in confusion.

“For God’s sake, Hutchinson, get over here!” Starsky ordered, beginning to feel the first stirrings of panic.

Hutch flinched, then muttered faintly, “Starsky? I don’t…” He wavered slightly, catching himself before Starsky had taken another step.

Dazed, delirious, whatever, but it was beginning to dawn on Starsky that his partner had no idea what danger he was in and was quite capable of stepping off the roof in his confusion.

Starsky hesitated, then spoke again, gentling his tone, pleading now instead of commanding. “Hutch? Come over here, buddy, huh?” He stretched out a hand, not daring to cross the last few feet separating them for fear of backing Hutch into empty space. “I need you here. Please, partner.”

Hutch’s brow wrinkled, and then he stepped forward and took Starsky’s proffered hand.

Starsky threw an arm around him for a quick, grateful hug, suddenly breathing hard as the fear rushed away and left him weak with relief. Hutch automatically returned the embrace, and Starsky nearly laughed when he heard his partner’s concerned voice in his ear. “Starsk, you okay? You’re shaking. What’s going on?”

Starsky gave him a last squeeze, then backed up to look into a very bewildered pair of blue eyes. “Everything’s fine, but we’re goin’ home and puttin’ you to bed.”

Hutch looked ready to argue, but he was shivering with chills again, obviously still a little befuddled. After a look at Starsky, he shut his mouth. Nor did he protest as Starsky held on tightly to his arm all the way down to the car.

It had only been with two days of bed rest and medicine and a constant companion that Hutch’s fever had finally broken. Another two days, and Starsky confided to him what had happened on the rooftop. The fact that Hutch didn’t remember the incident hadn’t surprised either of them, but he’d been able to imagine what he’d put his partner through. At least it made for a fairly meek patient in the days after, but it was a memory Starsky was otherwise just as happy to put behind him.

Starsky turned his chair from the roof’s edge, still not quite meeting his partner’s gaze. Holding on tightly to the wheelchair arms, he asked roughly, “What made you think of that?”

Hutch had stood, taking a few steps closer to him, and now lowered himself onto the edge of the skylight next to Starsky, putting them at eye level. “Seeing you sitting there looking over the edge. You probably saved my life that day.”

Starsky shrugged off the words. When had they ever kept count between them?

“What’s eating you, partner?” Hutch asked softly, leaning toward him. Probably as worried about him as Starsky had been about the blond that night on the rooftop, but with wholly different cause. Didn’t matter; they’d always been there for each other. It hadn’t been just about him, or Hutch, for a long time now. And that included the bad times.

“‘M scared,” Starsky found himself abruptly admitting, glancing up into that concerned face. “I can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything, can’t move without it hurtin’. I can’t live like this, Hutch,” he gritted his teeth to keep from an embarrassing wash of tears, but the emotions were overwhelming. “Don’t even…know if ‘m gonna get my life back or…” He clutched the handrest of the wheelchair until his hand was white, ignoring the strong twinge of protesting muscles.

Another hand closed on his, working his fingers loose with a careful awareness of how easily he could still be hurt. “Take it easy,” Hutch soothed. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You can’t promise that, Hutch,” Starsky shot back. “Even the doctors can’t promise that. I could be stuck like this for the rest of my life.”

Hutch met his gaze steadily. “I know you don’t always see it, Starsk, but you’re getting better every day. A few days ago, you wouldn’t have even been able to come up here by yourself. I know you’re frustrated, but it is happening.”

“And what if it doesn’t happen all the way?” Starsky argued.

Hutch shook his head. “You’re not staying in that wheelchair, Starsk, I promise. You might not be able to move exactly how you used to, but it’s not gonna always be like this, buddy. Trust me,” he said earnestly.

That was only one of his fears. “What if they don’t clear me for the streets again?”

“We’ll survive,” Hutch answered just as quickly. “I didn’t get you back just so I could lose you to a doctor’s board. We’ll figure something out then, partner.”

Partner, still. Starsky shook his head in face of his friend’s stubbornness. “What about now?” he whispered.

Hutch’s hand curled around the side of his neck, resting against the underside of his jaw, and he gave Starsky a sober smile. “You can hang on to me. I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me, yell at me, whatever, but we’ll do it together. One day at a time, buddy.”

Maybe he could handle one day instead of the long road that seemed to stretch forever before him. One day, and then…

“Then it’ll be another day, and we’ll handle that one, too. And each one gets a little easier. If it’ll help, I’ll bring in a calendar and we can keep track of the progress.”

Now he was beginning to feel ridiculous. Starsky flushed, half-turning away as he damned the emotional swings he’d been riding since the shooting.

“It’s not stupid.” Hutch really was beginning to read his mind. “Nothing about this is stupid, not how you’re feeling, not anything we can do to make it a little easier. Okay?” he asked. He hadn’t let go, his hand sliding to the back of Starsky’s neck to massage away a little of the fatigue pooled there.

Starsky stared at his partner with bright eyes. How could he have ever thought it was about him alone? “Okay,” he agreed hoarsely.

Hutch gave his neck a last squeeze and then smiled. “I think I’ve got something to start with.”

“What?” Starsky frowned.

“How ’bout two of Huggy’s burgers with everything? They’re down in your room.”

He’d been utterly uninterested in dinner a half-hour before, but suddenly that sounded good. “Fries, too?” Starsky asked grudgingly but with hope. It was a great feeling.

“Fries, too, and shakes. What do you think about that?”

It was hard to be grudging when someone was trying so hard to make you happy. Starsky managed a half-smile and an admission. “I think I’m hungry.”

His partner laughed, a sound that made Starsky’s throat unexpectedly close. He’d heard it a lot more in the past few weeks than he had the year before that, but even then it rarely sounded this carefree. Amazing, but maybe they’d make it after all.

Hutch stood, patting Starsky once lightly on the side before coming around behind him to push the chair. Back inside, toward the room, away from the ledge.

The city lights glowed on, unheeded, behind them.