“Sweet Revenge” Drabbles

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Four drabbles (100, 200 or 300 words) based on the episode “Sweet Revenge.”

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“Bullet”

Starsky’d been shot before. Couple times, couple places. He could point out the scars, tell the stories… all funny stories if you told ‘em good, if booze was flowing, if the mood was right…

Looking up into Hutch’s face now, at the calm strength masking complete terror, Starsky thought… what words to use? Can’t tell a funny story if you can’t breathe, if blood is flowing, if the mood is wrong, wrong…

He worked, really hard, and managed, “Hutch, I…” for starters.

Hutch’s eyes flooded. “Tell me later,” he whispered. His hands were shaking.

Starsky felt so sad for him.

 

“Starsky’s Mom”

Hutch got a kick out of Starsky’s mom. She was like a TV character, a broadly-drawn caricature of the outspoken, nagging, loving Jewish mother, expert at dishing out both guilt and goulash. He’d only met her once, but they’d talked by phone a lot.

She liked talking, liked giving advice: when David gets stubborn, do this… if he gives you any lip, do that…

When she walked into Starsky’s hospital room, she said nothing. She went to the chair where Hutch dozed, knelt down, and took him in her arms.

She said everything without words. Hutch loved her for that.

 

“Get Well Soon”

“’Dearest Dave, Thinking of you, Kathy.’ With X’s and O’s. Kathy, huh? Who’s Kathy? Someone I should meet?” Nick waited for a response, though he knew he wouldn’t get one. His brother was sleeping, silent as a dead man. Nick shivered and opened another card.

“Aw, a poem. ‘Here’s a wish that very soon you’ll be good as new and back in bloom!’ With a daisy on it. Christ, that’s awful. Signed ‘The Colsons.’ The Colsons have shitty taste in cards, David. Back in bloom. Jesus.”

Nick was bored. Friday night, and here he was, keeping an unconscious guy company. It was especially hard to look at David tonight, too. His color was wrong, hair was wrong, he seemed paralyzed, and his bandages looked…mean, somehow. Hard, tight, and mean.

“Know what I wish, Davey? I wish you and me were hittin’ the town tonight. Lookin’ sharp, with a couple foxes… a little drinking and dancing, huh? Whaddaya think? Sound good?”

David had nothing to say. Nick sighed and opened an envelope, a big one. Inside was a hand-drawn picture of a uniformed cop, with an enormous blue hat. His upraised hand was stopping brightly colored cars, allowing a group of kids – and, possibly, a duck – to cross the street.

“Dear Sergeant Starsky,” read Nick. “Please get well. We saw you on the news. Policemen are heroes. Sincerely, Mrs. Clark’s second graders, Wilson Elementary.”

“Heroes, huh?” Nick’s eyes flooded, and the colors swam. “You a hero, Davey? Don’t look like a hero to me. You look like a fuckin’ corpse.” Impulsively, he leaned in, grabbed his brother’s hand, and squeezed it, hard. “Wake up, David. Wake up. Wake up.”

“Ow,” breathed David.

Nick’s heart leapt. “Hey! You awake?”

“Yeah. Whattsa matter? Dummy.”

Nick started crying. “I missed you.”

David squeezed back.

 

“Snow”

He remembered the flag waving in the darkness, hearing the national anthem. Thinking, “Huh, it’s midnight…” Then the unbroken hiss of static, comforting one moment, sad the next.

Could have been seconds later, could have been hours, but there was Hutch, bending over him, his face lit by the blizzard on the TV screen.

“I’m awake,” murmured Starsky.

“Sure you are,” smiled Hutch.

Starsky felt a hand on his cheek, leaned into it, and closed his eyes.

“Off the couch, buddy. You need a real bed.” Hutch’s voice was so soft. Starsky wanted to cover himself with it, like a blanket.

“Say more,” he whispered.

“Up we go.” Hutch was moving him, lifting him, guiding him. Starsky allowed it, frowning when it hurt. “Sorry I’m late, Starsk. I wish you’d turned in. You shouldn’t wait up for me.”

“Nah. Jus’ washin’ a movie.” He held his breath as he stood, hissing when the pain became real. Hutch held him close, not too tight, not too loose. Starsky laid down his head.

“What movie?” asked Hutch quietly.

Starsky didn’t know, he couldn’t remember. Didn’t matter now, anyway. He rested on Hutch’s shoulder, opened his eyes a little and watched the snow.