Shock Therapy Ain’t What It’s Cracked Up to Be

69

A missing scene from THE AVENGER.

 

Author’s Note: I had a really boring day at work. Really boring. Had to do something to while away the time.

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Hutch held his partner close. Feeling Starsky’s shaking body in his arms bothered him more than any scare he had nurtured his partner through in some time. He himself shivered as the thought ran through his head—that this time was too close, that this time he might have failed his partner. The thought that instead of the slightly rumpled mess he found under the bench he might have found something far worse. That thought was altogether too much to even think about.

“You okay, buddy?” Hutch asked gently. He moved his arms off of Starsky’s still shaking shoulders, placing his hands firmly on his partner’s arms, and looked at him straight on. Hutch now understood better where the shaking was coming from; it wasn’t just the fear of the ordeal he had just been through. Starsky’s eyes were glassy, his partner clearly not functioning at full capacity, Starsky’s body displaying what to Hutch was an uncomfortably familiar reaction.

“Hussch,” Starsky slurred, becoming more aware that he was safe now, in the arms of the person he trusted most in his life. He reached for his partner, and Hutch grabbed the searching hand, squeezing it tight to assure his charge that he need not worry about the monster now alternately seething and babbling at the far side of the room.

“It’s okay, buddy. She can’t get to you.” Hutch looked worriedly at his partner. “Hey, are you hurt?” Hutch began to feel around his partner’s face and head, holding Starsky’s left arm tight with one hand while beginning the examination with his other. He’d already noted that the white shirt did not show any traces of blood. He was grateful for that.

Starsky began to shake off the caring hands and said, “‘m fine, leave me alone,” his confusion causing him to try to stand up and get away from the soothing touch. His attempt to stand failed miserably as he teetered, first away from Hutch, and then fell hard into his partner’s chest, the blond reaching for him to prevent the impending fall.

Hutch sensed the reaction was due to whatever drug Monique had slipped him. Hutch eyed Monique and her sister huddled against the wall. He decided that it was safe to get up and move out of the area, the sirens of uniformed back up now clearly approaching. The listlessness in his partner’s now sagging body was of more concern to Hutch than the possibility of Monique fleeing the scene.

Hutch held his partner up as they walked past Starsky’s attacker, Hutch sheltering his partner from her view as they passed. Starsky was walking with a little more assurance as they approached the front door and were met by two uniformed officers.

“Sergeant Hutchinson, is Sergeant Starsky all right?” the first officer in the door asked, noticing that Starsky was not walking completely on his own.

“Bobby, the perp is out there. Go take care of her. Mark, can ya send one of the paramedics this way when they get here?” Hutch continued to walk his partner out of the small bungalow.

“Sure. Can I help?” Mark asked, following Hutch out the door.

“Grab me a first aid kit, then bring me a glass of water, will ya?”

“You bet, Sergeant.” Officer Mark Baker headed first to his squad, currently double-parked in front of both Starsky and Hutch’s cars, for the requested medical supplies, dropping them at Hutch’s side. Hutch was kneeled in front of Starsky, who was now sitting on the ground, propped up against a tree in Monique’s front yard.

“Thanks,” Hutch replied as he lifted Starsky’s chin up to examine his head and eyes.

“Don’t need any help,” Starsky said, more lucid than he had seemed since Hutch first charged in to the rescue.

“Let me look, okay?” Hutch softly asked, knowing that the tone alone would calm his partner and allow the gentle exploration to continue.

“Didn’t hurt me. Got some bumps,” Starsky said. “Gave me somethin’ in my tea.” Starsky was beginning to look a little sick to his stomach, and he barely had the strength to keep his head from sagging to his chest. Hutch took advantage of his partner’s current calm to feel for bumps, cuts and bruises.

Starsky reached up and grabbed Hutch’s hand, moving it to the spot where his head had hit the lamp as Hutch pulled him out from under the bench in the sunroom.

“Don’t wanna spend all night here, Blondie. ‘S gettin’ cold out,” Starsky commented as Hutch closely inspected the bump on his head. Starsky rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm up.

“Thanks. I thought she didn’t hurt you?” Hutch questioned, feeling the growing lump on his partner’s head. He also suspected that Starsky was feeling some effects of shock, his body’s attempt to fight the combined onslaught of the drug and the frightening ordeal making him feel colder than he should in the balmy air around him.

“Didn’t. Hit my head when you came barrelin’ in there to save the day. Hit my head on that lamp.”

“Oh. Sorry ’bout that, but this lump isn’t from hitting your head on a light.”

“It’s all right. Can we get outta here?”

“Here’s that water, Sergeant,” officer Mark Spencer said as he handed the glass to Hutch. “Paramedic’ll be over in a sec.”

“Thanks, Mark.”

“Don’t need a paramedic,” Starsky said quietly. Hutch ignored the comment. Starsky shook his head, gingerly, in quiet annoyance.

“What’s going on here?” All three jumped at the familiar bellow. “Where’s Starsky and Hutchinson?”

“Over here, Cap’n,” Hutch answered quietly. “Mark, why don’t you go see how Bobby’s doing?”

“Yeah, good idea,” Mark Baker said as he quickly removed himself from Dobey’s sight. Starsky laughed.

“Hey, seemed the right thing to do,” Hutch said, please to hear his partner laugh. He handed the glass to Starsky, who pushed it away. Hutch, realizing that Starsky wouldn’t be able to hold it without shaking half of it on his lap, helped his partner to take a sip. “I don’t think Dobey’s forgiven him yet for last Thanksgiving,” Hutch said as he happily joined his partner in laughing at the memory.

“You’re a softy, ya know that?” Starsky asked, the laugh quickly dissipating as the reality of what almost happened washed over him. Hutch noticed the change in his partner’s demeanor and gave him a warm, enveloping hug.

Captain Dobey squinted toward the disembodied voice. “Hutchinson, is that you?”

“Yeah. We’re over here. Come toward the tree.” Hutch knew it would be hard to spot them, the dark evening along with the protection of the tree working together to hide their position on the front lawn.

Dobey walked over to his two detectives. “You okay, Starsky?” he asked, not bothering to make the effort to kneel down to Starsky’s level.

“He’s been drugged. And he has a bump on is head. He should go to the hospital.”

“No he shouldn’t. Will ya quit talkin’ like I’m not here?” Starsky asked, irritated with Hutch speaking for him.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Dobey asked.

Starsky’s exasperation was nearing its limit. Hutch noted the look, one he’d seen and reacted quickly to many times in their history. Before Starsky said something he’d regret, Hutch said, “Okay, you don’t need a hospital. But I’m staying with you tonight just in case.”

“Of course you are,” Starsky knowingly responded. Hutch took the comment as a good sign.

The paramedic showed up. Hutch walked to him and said, “Um, I think he’s okay. Thanks for coming over.”

“You’re sure? I could give him a quick look-see.”

Hutch looked to his partner and knew better than to even try. “Yeah, we’re sure. Thanks.”

“You want some help up, or can you manage on your own?” Hutch offered his hand, and his partner took it. Together, they managed to get Starsky on his feet without him either falling or throwing up.

“Starsky, you’re looking a little green. Hutchinson, take him home,” Dobey directed. “We’ll take care of everything here. Get some rest. Good job, men,” he continued, as he walked the two to Hutch’s car.

“My car,” Starsky started, beginning to turn toward the well-loved red car.

“I’ll have an officer drive it to your place,” Dobey said as he leaned down to the passenger side window. “You sure you’re okay, Starsky?”

“Yeah, I’m fine Cap’n,” Starsky replied, attempting, though not fully succeeding, in providing his boss with a reassuring smile.

“All right. Then I’ll see you in the office first thing tomorrow to finish up the paperwork on this case.” Dobey gave Hutch a wink as their eyes met over the top of the car, and then turned to Starsky for the expected reaction.

“Uh, Cap’n, I don’t know if I’ll be in first thing. It’s been a long week…”

“Starsky, shut up,” Hutch directed. Starsky, taking his current state into consideration, and sensing that his partner knew what was in his best interests at that moment, stopped talking.

Hutch drove the car toward Venice Place, the quiet both peaceful and strange all at once, though it seemed a bit too quiet to his immediate right. Hutch kept looking over to Starsky, noticing the closed eyes and pained look on his partner’s face.

“Starsky, you sure you don’t want to get checked out? You’re not looking so good, buddy.”

“Don’t feel too good. I think I just gotta sleep it off. Whatever she gave me is upsettin’ my stomach,” Starsky complained, as he leaned his head back into the headrest.

“Maybe you should eat a little something. When did you eat last?”

“No food, Hutch. I’m just barely not barfin’ as it is.” Starsky continued to sit back in the seat, sleep not coming to him.

“Okay. We’ll get you home and in bed.”

“‘Kay.”

Hutch knew his partner didn’t want to eat, but a little something in his stomach might help counteract the unpleasant reaction the drug was supplying; Hutch could tell that his partner was fighting the somersaults now going on in his stomach. Starsky’s undercover work earlier at the club would have forced him to drink, probably beer, and Hutch doubted that Starsky had managed a chance to eat anything but peanuts at the bar before meeting up with Monique.

Their schedule had been pretty rough that week.

Hutch pulled the car up in front of Venice Place. He didn’t have to wake his partner Starsky was quickly out of the car and headed to the side of the building to empty his stomach. Hutch jumped from the car to join his sick partner.

“Ick, yuck. Sorry,” Starsky said as Hutch approached.

“Hey, I appreciate you waiting until we stopped, babe.” Hutch smiled at the pale face looking back at him. “Let’s go inside.”

“Ugh. Beer, peanuts and chamomile tea. Yuck,” Starsky said as they headed up the sidewalk.

Starsky and Hutch entered the apartment and Starsky headed into the bathroom, shutting the door quickly. Sounds of dry heaves made their way through the door. Hutch stood outside, fighting the urge to go in and comfort his ailing partner. But Starsky had made it clear that he wasn’t in the mood for that kind of pampering. Hutch headed for the kitchen for some other way to help his best friend.

As he finished with preparing the early morning meal, ever mindful of his partner’s sensitive tummy, Hutch heard the bathroom door open and looked over to see the sad, sick shadow of his partner sit down on the couch. Starsky had removed his jacket and holster and wrapped himself in the warmth of one of Hutch’s afghans. Hutch left the food on the stovetop and walked over and sat next to his friend.

“Feeling any better?” Hutch asked, massaging Starsky’s stiff neck.

“Feels good to be here instead o’ in there,” he replied, pointing behind him at the bathroom.

“I’m sure it does. I made you some scrambled eggs. I think it’ll settle your stomach enough that you can get to sleep.”

“Better get a bucket, ’cause I think if I eat I may not make it back to the toilet in time,” Starsky smiled as he replied, although the smile didn’t really shine the way it did when he wasn’t feeling like crap, Hutch thought.

“Have I ever steered ya wrong?” Hutch asked, rising from the seat next to his partner and heading to fetch the food in the kitchen. The look on Starsky’s face was all the answer he needed. Hutch smiled, giving Starsky’s shoulder a warm squeeze. Starsky started to get up himself but Hutch stopped him. “Stay. I’ll bring it in.”

“Thanks,” came the dejected, tired reply. Starsky had been working hard the last few days and nights to crack this case. Hutch thought he heard something other than tiredness in his partner’s voice, though.

“What’s wrong?” Hutch asked as he handed Starsky his plate. The dish included a small amount of eggs, lightly salted and a piece of toast, lightly buttered.

“Nothin’. Looks good, Blintz.” Starsky took a taste of the eggs, happy that his stomach didn’t immediately revolt, and tried another.

“I can tell something’s bothering you, Starsk. Tell me.” The earnest, caring intensity in Hutch’s eyes always made it hard for Starsky to deny engaging in conversation with him, even if Starsky really, really did not want to talk about it. He knew Hutch knew that, too.

“Aren’t you a little disturbed that it turned out that Monique killed those guys? I mean, she was a little needy, but she seemed nice enough.”

“Yeah. But the world is full of messed up people, Starsk. Nothin’ you can do about that.”

“Isn’t there? I spent lots of time with her. I was nice to her, and I thought she liked me. That wasn’t enough?” Starsky finished his eggs, though he hadn’t touched the toast, Hutch noted. He also noticed the sleep-heavy lids that would soon be down for the count.

“Not when someone’s as sick as Monique is. She needs help, Starsk. Maybe before she got sick she was as nice as she seemed, but she needed more help than you could give her. She’s obviously needed therapy or some sort of treatment for a long time. You know that, don’t you?” Hutch saw that the easy conversation was doing its job in making his partner sleepy. The distance from the disturbing events earlier wasn’t hurting, either, the adrenaline rush finally slowing in Starsky’s body.

“I guess. I’ll tell ya this: shock therapy ain’t what it’s cracked up to be,” Starsky stated, yawning all the way through. That reply was as telling as any reaction Starsky had provided of just how frightening his night had been. Hutch hoped this incident wouldn’t cause his partner too many nightmares.

Starsky was falling asleep sitting up. Hutch smiled at the picture, taking the plate from his partner’s hand as Starsky started softly snoring on the couch. He placed the plate on the coffee table, and then eased Starsky’s head down onto the pillow at the head of the couch, lifting his legs onto the end. He removed Starsky’s shoes and placed them on the floor, and then grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and covered his partner in its warmth. One last affectionate tousle of the brunet curls and Hutch was satisfied that Starsky would rest comfortably for at least a few hours.

It had been a long week. Hutch was happy that this one ended as it did, in spite of the ordeal his partner had been through. Despite his own fright for that matter. Better that than the previous outcomes in this case, Hutch thought. He didn’t think he could express how grateful he was for that.

Hutch looked on as Starsky slept. He closed his eyes in silent thanks.

The End