The Fear

Starsky is feeling ‘The Fear’ as he watches Hutch struggling to breathe.

Takes place between end of the episode and the tag of The Plague.

Starsky couldn’t remember the last time he had slept for more than hour at a time. It had been before that moment that had changed everything; before that moment when his partner had found a death sentence hanging over his head. That moment pre The Fear.

Once the vaccine had been administered, the painful pathway to recovery had begun. It was true Hutch was breathing on his own now, but still with some difficulty. Starsky hated the rattling sound his friend made. It only added to The Fear.

Every hour or thereabouts, Hutch needed help to sit up and cough up the fluid that was still filling his lungs. Nurses, with too many patients to care for, rushed in and out. Starsky held Hutch’s hand as he spluttered and struggled for breath. He wiped his friend’s forehead, clearing away the beads of sweat caused by this small effort.

After a four hours and five procedures, Starsky stopped the nurse as she left and said, “I can help him. I’ve seen how you make him sit and cough. I can do it. Every hour, just like you’ve been doing.”

The nurse was torn between duty and practicality. She’d seen how attentive Starsky had been, could see the request to be useful in his eyes.

“Just the next two times then,” she said gratefully. “One of the doctors will be in then to see how he’s doing…whether he’s improving quickly enough.”

Starsky squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”

He sat and watched Hutch toss and turn…and breathe. The Fear receded a fraction. He dozed a little between brow-wiping, hair-smoothing and hand squeezing but didn’t dare sleep properly. At the first caught breath, he was on his feet, gently pulling his partner upright to lean against him while he made fierce circular massaging motions across Hutch’s back to make the fluid move.

“I…can’t,” Hutch whimpered, worn out by the whole process.

“You can….’Cos you have to,” Starsky said in a firm voice that didn’t match the softness in his eyes or the pain on his face.

Hutch coughed – a wretched sound that tore at Starsky’s taut nerves. But he coughed and coughed again and spat into the bowl Starsky had ready.

“Okay, Bronco. You did good. You can lie down now,” he said when Hutch had finished heaving.

Half-closed eyes watched him as he went to dispose of the mess.

A tear rolled down Hutch’s face as he closed his eyes tight shut, not in sleep but in anguish. Starsky came back and felt his heart twisting.

“Hey…hey Hutch… don’t…please don’t…You’re getting better…You’re going to be okay.”

Hutch attempted to shake his head.

“Nurse……not nurse,” he whispered between breaths.

Starsky understood all the silent words that were in the spaces. He placed his hand on Hutch’s hair and swallowed down emotions that threatened to engulf him. He waited until Hutch’s eyes opened and sought for him.

“Hutch…there are too many patients and not enough nurses. Some poor devils ain’t got nobody but a nurse to care for them. You’ve got me.” Starsky’s voice broke as he repeated, “You’ve got me. I gotta do this. I gotta see you thr…”

Starsky looked up, trying to hide his tears from Hutch. He felt Hutch’s head move as he attempted to sit up. Starsky wiped his eyes and got back to what needed doing.

“You need to cough again?” he asked as he supported Hutch.

Mutely, Hutch wrapped his arms around Starsky’s middle and hung on. Starsky allowed himself to take comfort from the hug for a minute or two and felt The Fear recede a little more. Soon, he guided Hutch back down to rest.

“Thanks…Now get some rest so I can get some rest, okay?”

Hutch nodded and was instantly asleep. Starsky collapsed onto the hospital chair, the weight of days of anxiety making his limbs unresponsive. He leaned forward until his head touched the bed. He knew if Hutch stirred, he would wake as he had been doing all the long night. It was okay to sleep just for a while.

The sound that woke him was a doctor checking Hutch’s vital signs. She smiled at Starsky as he rubbed his eyes. Anxious eyes looked at Hutch and checked the time. Ninety minutes since Hutch had coughed up. His friend was pale against the pillow, but more alert and Starsky thought his breathing sounded easier. He watched as the doctor took out her stethoscope and listened to Hutch’s chest. When she wanted to listen from behind, Starsky supported his friend and could tell he was slightly stronger. Slightly, minutely, fractionally. Everything was measured on the miniscule scale of improvements.

“How’s he sounding, Doc?”

The doctor smiled, looking hopeful. “Much clearer. You’re keeping pace with another of my patients now. The gaps between needing to clear your lungs should lengthen. Two or three more times and I hope that will be the end of it.”

The doctor patted Hutch’s hand and smiled at Starsky. He stared after her as she left the room and felt something inside shift. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry so he did both – as The Fear dissolved in his heart and dissipated in tears. Hutch held out his hand and Starsky took it in his. Hutch’s breathing steadied and quietened. Tranquillity wrapped around them and it was all they needed.