Outlive the Day and Come Safe Home

Tag for the ep Shootout.

Triple drabble written for the LJ me_and_thee_100 comm challenge: Shakespeare.

“So. Camille, huh?”

Hutch’s tone was light, but Starsky wasn’t fooled. His partner’s eyes were worried, even though the doctors had told them Starsky would make a full recovery. It didn’t help that he’d been in a lot of pain—every time he winced Hutch winced with him, clearly hurting just as much as he was. It was better than back at the restaurant when he couldn’t feel anything, Starsky supposed, given the alternative. Still, he was glad the painkillers were finally kicking in, for both their sakes.

“The play, dummy, not the girl,” Starsky replied drowsily.

“Yeah? You were, who, the boyfriend?”

“Yep, Armand.” Starsky gave him his best Robert Taylor face.

“Forget it, buddy. Don’t give up your day job,” Hutch said with a faint snort.

I won’t have to, thanks to you, Starsky thought.

Out loud, he said, “I think my favorite play was Henry V, though. ‘Specially the fighting part.” A thought occurred to him. “Hey, when is Saint Crispin’s Day?”

“What? I don’t know. Why?”

“‘Tomorrow is Saint Crispian,'” Starsky intoned solemnly, gesturing with his good arm. “‘He will strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say ‘These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.”” He caught hold of Hutch’s hand and squeezed. “Henry and his men, they fought the odds and won, just like us. ‘We two, we happy two, we band of brothers.'”

Hutch dropped his forehead down to their clasped hands for a moment. When he raised his head, most of the strain in his face was gone. “It’s ‘few,’ not ‘two,’ you goofball,” he said fondly.

“Two is a few, doncha think?” Starsky was drifting, but he managed to add, “‘Starsky and Hutch’—sounds like a great band name to me.”

Hutch’s laughter, warm and gentle, carried him off into sleep.