The Second Hand Unwinds

Hutch will fight to the death to keep Starsky alive.

Written for 20 minute challenge using ripped and torn.

“Seemed to be a good idea at the time…” Starsky said on an exhale, looking up at Hutch, eyes hooded and dark. He slid down the wall as if his legs lost strength, his body failing.

NO! Hutch wanted to shout. Not this way, not now. It was too soon, twenty-four hours hadn’t passed yet. Sure his heart had been ripped from his chest, Hutch clutched Starsky’s lax body to his, feeling the slow but valiant beat of his partner’s heart against his own breastbone.

Starsky was alive—now what? C’mon, he was a trained cop, experienced in dealing in crisis mode.

Torn between caring for Starsky and securing the crime scene, Hutch heard a small sound. More than one, to be exact. First the soft pater of feet on the steps leading to the roof, and then the God-awful screech of Sue Bellamy.

“That cop shot my Vic!” she screamed from below.

A boy peered around the door, recoiling at the sight of Starsky’s limp body. “He dead?”

“No, but—” Hutch’s brain switched on, the protocol belatedly falling into place. No need to tell a child that Bellamy was bleeding out on the roof. “Do you know how to call the police? An ambulance?”

“Sure—” the child stared down the dark stairs, listening to Sue scream again. “She does that a lot,” he said, unnaturally calm and sensible. “My ma already called the cops, anyways. Cause we heard shots.”

“My buddy needs to go to the hospital.” Hutch hoisted Starsky into his arms. It was not the first time he’d ever carried him, and he was determined it would not be the last. Not if he died trying to find an antidote for this fucking poison. “Can you—”

In the distance, a police siren wailed in the night, then a second coming from another direction, the cavalry arriving to contain the situation. Relieved that he was no longer in charge, Hutch stood, staggering a little under Starsky’s solid weight and followed the child down the stairs to the floor below. One step at a time, juggling his precious burden, afraid to let go.

What if Starsky’s heart stopped beating? What would he do?

Hutch knew, without batting an eye, he would pull Starsky into his lap and fit his mouth on his partner’s, to breathe for him.

It wasn’t time to let go. Starsky didn’t leave him, and he would never leave Starsky.

Ever.

Time passed too quickly and far too slowly, an internal clock ticking loudly in Hutch’s ears as he lowered his partner to the landing. They’d made it this far. This wasn’t the end.

Cops swarmed around him and he pointed silently to the roof. He wasn’t giving a statement. He wasn’t letting go of the person he loved most in this world.

Not yet. Not ever.

The ambulance crew arrived. It was one thirty in the morning.

“He’s not dead,” the little boy said helpfully. “Neither of them.”

FIN