Life is Good

An injury disrupts the boys Labor Day weekend plans.

“Shit,” Starsky said as he got to the bottom of the stairs outside his apartment, snapping his fingers. He turned to head back up when his partner said, “What’d you forget? I’ll get it.”

“Sunglasses. They’re probably on the coffee table.” Starsky let his partner retrieve the needed eyewear. It was Hutch’s fault he forgot them anyway. Hutch had spent the night so they could get an early start on their long weekend and he’d promised to wake Starsky before starting his run so he could get his shower in before his partner’s return. Hutch had failed to do his duty, thereby setting them behind on Starsky’s schedule for the day. The Labor Day weekend heralded the end of the summer, and Starsky wanted to take advantage of the first holiday weekend he and Hutch had enjoyed in a long time.

Starsky was feeling rushed and was not going to let Hutch forget it. When they made their way down the stairs, the blistering morning sun reminded the detective that he wouldn’t make it through the day without his shades; it was only fair that Hutch should have to go back in to retrieve them.

“Hey, make it snappy, will ya? We’re behind already,” he yelled to his blond cohort, tapping the crystal on his watch at the same time.

“Starsk, it’s the weekend. You need to relax, buddy.”

“Hey, I’ll start relaxin’ as soon as I get my sunglasses. They’ll finish my weekend ensemble.” Hutch laughed as he eyed his partner’s outfit for the day. It was typical Starsky casual, cut-off jeans, a polo shirt, the ever-present blue Adidas and white sweat socks. He shook his head as he headed back up the stairs.

“Good thing the ladies can look past your wardrobe to find the inner you.” Hutch grinned as he entered Starsky’s apartment.

Smiling at the smart-ass remark, Starsky waited, leaning on the Torino, trying to stay cool in the shade. It was hard to believe it was the beginning of September; it was a steamy morning and the day promised to be a scorcher. Starsky looked up as he heard Hutch shut and then lock his apartment door, and watched as his partner headed down toward him.

“They were in the kitchen. Hope you’re not sweating too much out here waiting for them. I…” Just as he was taking the last step to the first landing, Hutch lost his footing and fell hard, landing badly on his right foot, and slamming his left side solidly into the railing.

Starsky watched the disaster unfold, running toward Hutch as soon as he realized what was happening, knowing he was too far away to stop the fall or even buffer his partner’s hard landing.

“Aaah fuck! Shit!” Starsky heard his partner yell. It was obvious from Starsky’s view of the fall that Hutch had hurt himself—he watched Hutch grab for his ankle with his right hand and then start to rock a little as the pain overwhelmed his partner.

Starsky knelt down quickly. “Hey, don’t move, Hutch. Just take it easy.” Hutch continued to reach for the ankle, moving too much for Starsky’s taste. “You might have broken that foot, Blondie. Just sit still for a sec while we check you out.” Starsky knew that if he took Hutch’s shoe off the swelling would start immediately. He decided to leave the shoe in place and let the ER deal with the foot while he checked out the other side of his partner that had collided with the railing during the fall.

“Starsk, damn. My thigh hurts like hell.” Hutch rubbed the thigh gingerly, continuing the rocking motion as he tried to stay calm through the pain. Starsky knew his partner had taken a hard fall; he wouldn’t be surprised if there were more bruises that started bothering Hutch over the next few hours.

“Yeah, I saw the fall. You slammed pretty hard into the railing pal. Do you think you hurt anything else? You’re such a klutz, Blintz.” Starsky thought he might be able to make his partner feel better if he kept the situation light. What was he thinking?

“Nice comforting manner you got there, buddy. I was rushing to get your glasses, you know.” The ‘buddy’ was said sharply, without any humor, the fault falling heavy on Starsky’s conscience.

Starsky looked down, shoulders slumped, accepting the inferred blame. “Yeah, sorry. Um, do you think you can walk to the car?” Starsky decided to let Hutch’s bad humor go, as he was much more concerned about getting him to the hospital than worrying about whether he’d made his partner mad. He could deal with that fallout later.

“I… I think it’s just my foot and my thigh. I thought I heard a crack when I landed on my foot, but I’m not sure.” Starsky observed that Hutch was in a lot of pain and was just as worried as his partner that the foot might be broken.

“Why don’t we try to get you to the car? If you can’t walk, we’re gonna have to call for an ambulance.” Starsky wanted to get moving; he hated to see his partner in pain for any longer than necessary.

“I can walk,” Hutch replied quickly.

“I don’t know how you can know that,” Starsky muttered softly. Not softly enough.

“Because I know, Starsky!” He raised his voice, but immediately felt bad about it. He looked up at Starsky, smiled and grabbed warmly onto Starsky’s shoulder and said, “I’m being a jerk.”

“You probably earned the right. And you’re forgiven. Come on, let’s try this, Gimpy.” Hutch reached out and Starsky grabbed firmly on his arm, standing close by in case Hutch should falter when attempting to stand.

Hutch got to his feet and seemed pretty steady by Starsky’s estimate. “That’s good, babe,” he said as he looked up with concern at his partner’s pained expression. “You just need to get down two steps and then it’s clear sailing to the car.”

“Yeah,” Hutch replied as he took the first step with his left foot. Starsky was right beside him and felt the weight of his partner as the leg failed to hold up under Hutch’s first step. Starsky held on tight to his partner’s waist.

“Okay, okay,” Starsky started, “just hold it there a second. Can you put any weight on your leg?”

Hutch looked at his partner and said, “What do you think, Starsky? I almost took us both down!” Hutch’s irritation at the situation was directed completely at his partner. Starsky recognized again that he wasn’t the cause of Hutch’s ire, just the unfortunate target of it.

Starsky let out a suffering sigh and then took a deep breath. “I know you can’t step off it, but will it bear weight? I need to know if we need to call for help to get you to the hospital, Hutch.” He gave Hutch that earnest look; the look that said all he wanted for all the world at that moment was to make Hutch feel better. Hutch felt his face redden, embarrassed for the way he was treating his best friend. Starsky’s face: sympathy, concern, love. It was too much. Too much to hold on to the anger, for sure.

“Hutch?”

“Yeah, sorry. Um, I’m gonna put some weight on it.” Hutch gave his partner a lopsided grin.

“Good idea.” Starsky smiled back.

Hutch put his weight on the leg and found he was able to stand steady, with no pain. “Seems okay. I guess it’s just when I push off of it—my thigh feels like it’s on fire.”

Starsky didn’t like the sound of that. But he was pretty confident that there wasn’t anything broken if Hutch could put weight on it with little pain. He knew that if the femur were broken Hutch would have no chance of putting any pressure on it at all, the leg just wouldn’t hold up under the weight. Starsky and Hutch had learned a lot about the bones in the leg when Roy Slater had driven Hutch off that canyon road. The doctors had said then that with the multiple broken bones Hutch had suffered, he should be grateful that he wouldn’t have to deal with a broken femur.

“Okay, we know what we can’t do. Let’s take it real slow and get you in the car.” Starsky helped Hutch down the last step and they slowly worked their way to the Torino. “Got a nice waddle going there, buddy. With that golden hair, you look like a great big baby chick.” Starsky knew he might have been pushing it a little, considering the flare-ups he’d experienced from his partner earlier. He looked Hutch in the eyes as they reached the passenger door.

“Starsk, I love ya a lot, and I know you’re trying to help, but do you think you could can it, just for a little while?”

“You bet.” Starsky helped ease Hutch into the passenger seat and they drove in silence to the emergency room.

* * * *

Later that evening, Hutch was sitting on the sofa, ankle propped up on a pillow, bags of ice soothing both injuries. X-rays had been taken of the foot, which showed no breaks, just a bad sprain. The doctor determined that the pain in Hutch’s thigh was from badly bruised muscles. The doctor said that Hutch should stay off his feet as much as possible for the next week. The injuries being on both sides would not allow either one to heal properly, as he would have the tendency to favor one injury over the other, putting an extra strain on the one that hurt less. In Hutch’s case, it was the thigh muscles causing the most pain. The doctor said that this was unfortunate, because the sprain was actually the worst of the two injuries as far as long-term effects were concerned.

“I guess maybe that explains why I keep re-spraining my ankle. It probably never had a chance to heal the first time around,” Starsky said as he sat down on the floor next to the couch, handing Hutch his glass of orange juice while he took a swig from his beer.

“Well, you sprained your ankle for the first time when you were in high school, right? I can imagine you not walking on it for a week to let it heal. Maybe a day or two, but no way would a teenaged David Starsky manage to sit still that long.” Starsky smiled at his partner, grinning widely, recognizing the truth in his partner’s description of him.

“Hey, when I was fifteen I had lots goin’ on, I didn’t have time for sitting around,” Starsky laughed.

“I’ll bet,” Hutch replied, enjoying the picture of a young Starsky working hard, just barely maintaining his grades and finding plenty of time to date several girls at the same time, do some surfing and lots of other sports, both in and out of school.

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Starsky asked, still in nurse mode since that morning’s excitement.

“Numb. I think I’ve iced enough for one day.”

“No doubt. Here, hand me those bags, we’ll start it up again in the morning.” Starsky headed to the kitchen to dump the remaining ice and water in the bags. He returned with the brace to put back on the ankle to keep it immobile.

“Starsk, you don’t need to hang around. I can manage to get around the apartment okay this weekend. I know you wanted to have fun this weekend, being the last big weekend of the summer.” Hutch remembered how excited his partner had been to begin this holiday weekend earlier in the day.

“Hutch, don’t be a dummy. I was excited about spending the weekend together. I don’t care what we do, so long as we do it together. Besides, if I stay here I can make sure you stay off your feet like a good patient.” He finished putting the brace on his partner’s ankle and gave Hutch an affection tousle of the blond locks on his way back to his seat on the floor.

“I know how to follow doctor’s instructions. I don’t need you to baby-sit me,” Hutch said in all seriousness.

“Right. So, how are you gonna water your plants if you don’t stand, or make your meals or do your laundry? Hm?” Starsky thought that he’d made his point, but he could see Hutch’s brain cranking behind those baby blues.

“Well, you’re right about the plants. But I wasn’t planning on doing any laundry this weekend and I could always order out for food. But you know, since you’re offering, I think having a maid and a cook for the weekend sounds just right.” Hutch grinned, satisfied with his clever retort.

“Hey, you could at least get my role right. It’s a manservant, please.” Starsky knew he’d gotten the last word this time when Hutch almost spit out his mouthful of juice.

“Okay, manservant it is. I shall call you Jeeves for the duration. So, Jeeves, what shall we do this weekend?” Hutch laughed, using the new moniker for his partner.

Okay, so maybe Starsky hadn’t gotten the last word. “You’re real tickled with yourself there, aren’t ya Blondie?”

“I really am, Jeeves,” Hutch giggled in reply.

“Oh, brother,” Starsky huffed lightheartedly. “Hey, I’m happy to stay in all weekend, drinking beer, eating pizza and playing Yahtzee.”

“Well, maybe I can join you on the beer tomorrow.” Hutch had been given a prescription for painkillers if he needed them. He had taken one earlier, which was why his beverage of choice for the evening was orange juice. “And there’s no way I can eat pizza for every meal, but I trust that you’ll keep me in healthy food this weekend, Jeeves. Why Yahtzee?” Hutch asked as Starsky rolled his eyes at the mention of his new nickname. Again. Starsky wondered how long Hutch would be able to keep up the use of it.

“Well, as you have been so kind and willing to note in the past, I stink at Monopoly, you can’t beat me for your life in chess, so it seems we might have equal opportunity to win with Yahtzee.”

“Starsk, you know that Yahtzee is all luck.” Hutch knew he was in for the Starsky dissertation on why Yahtzee was not all luck. But that was okay. He listened as Starsky began his explanation about how strategy played a huge part in the game. How you shouldn’t take a full house too early in the game, since statistically it was one of the easier rolls to make. Hutch actually agreed with his partner on these points, but he loved to watch Starsky discuss even something as simple and silly as a game with such passion. The same passion he invested in everything, from their work together to Starsky’s photography to his insane feelings for the tomato, to their intense and unbelievable friendship.

Yeah, Hutch was a pretty lucky guy. Sitting on his sofa, ankle propped up, his thigh still sore, and his best friend sitting across from him. It was amazing how the thought of spending the weekend with Starsky could take so much hurt away. He couldn’t remember when he’d looked forward to the rest of a weekend more.

By Jeeves, life is good.

The End