NS: David and His Jonathan-Part 6

For the next several days the panic that infused Starsky’s dreams began to map over into his waking world. An unreasonable fear of losing Hutch made him hover even closer to his partner, to the point he was getting on the blond’s nerves. If Hutch had to leave the room, the dark blue eyes would set upon the doorway until they lit on Hutch once more. At first Hutch referred to Starsky as his puppy, but by the end of the third day, with no deviation in his behavior, Starsky could tell he was getting on Hutch’s last nerve.

He promised himself he would curb the hovering behavior, but the next morning when he walked back into the squadroom after taking a quick trip to the men’s room, Starsky was initially alarmed upon not seeing his partner. His eyes tracked the room in time with his heartbeat and just as he was about to ask another officer Hutch’s whereabouts, Dobey stepped out to the squadroom and requested Starsky’s presence in his office.

“Where’s Hutch?” He inquired of his partner.

“Just get in here Starsky.” The captain motioned with a beefy hand that grasped a manila folder.

Upon entering, Starsky saw his partner sitting at one of the chairs opposite Dobey’s desk. He breathed an audible sigh of relief, and wasn’t surprised to see Hutch’s corresponding eye roll and deep frown at the sound.

Stepping behind his desk, Dobey tapped the folder on its dark wooden top. “Since you’ve got most of your current cases wrapped up or at the DA’s office, I’m handing this one over to you.”

Hutch made a grab for the file, “New case?”

“Jerome Clark, suspected armed robber. He’s got a history of muggings and B & E’s with escalating violence, graduated to armed robbery and now with a 245 thrown in. He’s a user.”

Hutch looked up from the file. “So it’s a simple locate and retrieve?”

“Nothing’s ever simple, Hutchinson. You should know that. Find him! Get this guy off the streets.”

Both men shrugged their shoulders. It was better than doing desk duty or finishing older reports. “Okay, Cap. Whatever you say.”

Dobey pointed his pencil at his curly-haired detective and then toward the door to the squadroom. “Damn right whatever I say, Starsky! Now get your butt out there and find this guy before he busts into another place and this time takes someone out.”

“Yessir, Captain, sir.” Starsky saluted, then turned to his seated partner. “Well, partner, what’d ya say? Let’s get the ball rolling.”

As they arrived at the police garage, Hutch slapped the file into Starsky’s hands. “You can familiarize yourself with this, I’ll drive.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Starsky waved his hands at his partner. “Just don’t do that to me again.”

Confused, Hutch asked “What?”

“Disappear without me knowing where you went.” He mumbled as he got into the LTD.

“Starsky, stop! Right here, right now.” Hutch turned to face him after turning the car over, before putting it in drive. “You’re getting all hung up. All you can think about is this fear, and that doesn’t bode well for the work we’ve got to do. You’re still having problems sleeping and you refuse to acknowledge it. Now, unless you can give me a good reason not to go back to Dobey and have him ground you until you get your head screwed back on, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and back off.”

“I’m sorry Hutch. I know it’s unreasonable, but I can’t help it.” He couldn’t deny what Hutch was saying, and since he knew Dobey’d bench him in a second if their Captain was aware that Starsky’s tank was running on empty, he sat and sulked in the corner of the passenger’s seat. He knew something was bothering him, but he’d be damned if he knew exactly what it was. And he refused to acknowledge aloud that it could be his dreams and sleep patterns that left him with a sense of foreboding. His sixth sense was telling him it had something to do with Hutch; but he didn’t want to acknowledge that the fear and anguish he felt each time he awoke next to Hutch might have something to do with either their relationship or with Hutch’s safety.

If he dwelled on it too much, he was afraid he might go crazy. He was already driving his partner nuts, and if he kept it up, he was sure to lose Hutch. Besides, analyzing stuff was Hutch’s forte. He prayed that Dr. Mitchell would be able to come up with something to figure out what was going on with him. She had prescribed some sleeping medication, but he was reluctant to take it. Of course, his partner didn’t know about the sleeping pills, and if he did, Hutch would insist on him taking it. But then he’d be too drugged up to show Hutch how much he loved him.

After another two days of restless nights and waking dreams, Starsky finally was able to convince Hutch to let him drive. He was tired of dealing with the LTD and its cranky ways. Sometimes it was so simple to pull the wool over Hutch’s head. All Starsky had to do was come in contact with cold water every morning, as well as several cups of the strong coffee that only the local 7-11 would sell.

They had nothing more strenuous planned than cruising the streets they normally patrolled, watching for recent parolees and on-the lam criminals. Starsky convinced both himself and his partner that it would be a quiet day, with little required in the way of action. So far the whereabouts of one Jerome Clark, age 23, was still undiscovered, but the two detectives had their best snitches out digging for information, and anticipated a sighting soon.

Much sooner than they could have predicted, Millie announced one over the police radio that afternoon.

“Zebra Three, acknowledge 211 in progress with a possible 245 at 315 Front, cross street 3rd. Possible sighting of suspect Jeremy Clark at location. Code 2.”

“Zebra Three responding.” Hutch replaced the mike while Starsky went into pursuit mode.

Driving full out, reckless from the lack of sleep, Starsky was a man on a mission to snare their suspect. Hutch pulled the leather belt around his waist and clicked the lock shut as he slapped on the silent Mars light. Arriving at Ernie’s Spirits and Victuals liquor shop, they parked one block west and made their way to the crime scene on foot.

“Fancy name for a corner store, eh, Starsk?” Hutch tried to infuse some levity into his partner’s demeanor. He wasn’t stupid enough to let his partner go into a scene with a hype on a downside, when Starsky wasn’t running on all cylinders.

Through the window they could see Jerome Clark, unmasked, holding a clerk and the store owner at bay; waving a gun between the two, his arm and hand shaking and his temperament jumpy. Clark jumped in front of the owner and pistol-whipped him upside the head. The older man went straight down, a large bruise and lump already raised on the side of his head before he even hit the linoleum floor.

Waving his Beretta, Starsky motioned his partner behind the yellow brick building. “Back, Hutch. He’s going out the back.” Both men jumped in said direction simultaneously, Hutch’s longer and more powerful legs getting him to the scene first.

Behind the store was a small asphalt court surrounded by two four-story buildings on the Front Street side, a two-story building, and a rundown multilevel apartment building opposite the alleyway. A wooden ledge jutted out from the shorter building, partially blocking the only other way out of the back court. It was beside the entryway that Starsky and Hutch had come through. Someone had set several large metal garbage bins in the small space the ledge, and that was what Clark was attempting to climb around to escape the detective now bearing down on him.

“Hold it! Police!” Hutch shouted at the fleeing figure. “Starsk, cover me!” He called back to his partner, not realizing that Starsky wasn’t just behind him.

Starsky came around the corner and ran smack dab into the metal fire escape of 315 Front, which was placed right at the edge of the back of the building; the collision stunned him and forced him down on his buttocks, his gun clattering out of reach.

Hutch fired a warning shot into the air, startling Clark, who looked behind him briefly then continued to climb on top of one of the metal garbage bins. Seeing no other way, Hutch took aim and fired, hitting the suspect in the right hand and knocking his gun away. Clark collapsed in pain on the top of the bin, and Hutch holstered his gun. He pulled the man to the ground, face down, with this bleeding right hand beneath him. Leaning over, Hutch placed his right knee on the man’s back to hold him still while he held Jerome’s right hand behind him at waist level, and reached behind for the handcuffs he kept in his waistband.

Looking over his shoulder at his prone partner, Hutch called out, “Starsk, you okay?”

Shaking the swirling birds away, Starsky leaned up on his hands to see Hutch had captured their suspect and was now cuffing him. “Yeah. I’m fine. Somebody put a damn fire escape in my way.”

Not able to watch their suspect while his head was turned to make sure Starsky was okay, Hutch didn’t notice Clark reach with his left hand and fingers into his back waistband and pull out a knife. He awkwardly twisted his wrist and plunged the weapon into the left thigh of the cop holding him down. A stream of blood spurted out of Hutch’s thigh as Clark’s knife plunged into Hutch’s thigh. Shock and sudden blood loss caused him to collapse onto Clark’s back, trapping the perpetrator.

At first Starsky didn’t see Clark’s motion or the blood spurting down Hutch’s, but he did notice his partner collapsing headfirst onto the dusty asphalt and equally grungy perp. “Hutch? You okay? You need my help?” In response, all Starsky heard was a loud groan from Hutch and a grunt from Clark. “I’m coming babe.”

His own pain and wooziness forgotten, Starksy hopped up and rushed over to his partner. He rolled the larger man off Clark, and immediately noticed the continuous stream of blood gushing out of Hutch’s leg in time with each pulsing beat of his heart.

Starsky’s own heart jumped in panic as he finished cuffing the bleeding and injured hand of Jerome Clark. Not wanting to remove the knife from Hutch’s leg and possibly cause more injury, he yanked off his outer shirt and wrapped it carefully around the knife to keep it stable. He didn’t want to, but Starsky left his partner lying where he was, dragging Clark clear of his prone partner to go call for two ambulances and a black and white.

Running back to Hutch, he noted his partner had passed out, probably from a combination of blood loss and pain. Seeing him lying on his side, knife sticking through his leg, a large swath of blood covering his jeans and staining the asphalt beneath him, Starsky’s ears began ringing. The sound blocked out the moans of pain from their cuffed suspect, and he fell to his knees at Hutch’s head.

Starsky gathered the upper body of his beloved into his arms and wept. ”Jonathan…Jonathan…” he chanted, his heart hardening against his enemy at each breath of his lover’s name.

“Silence!” He yelled at the groaning prisoner. “My prince is injured and thou wilst pay for the wrong you have done unto him.” He rocked Hutch in his arms, the strength and warmth of his body assuring Starsky that his partner was still with him. “Above all. I love thee above all.”

At the unnatural tone and words of Starsky’s voice, Clark fell silent and waited for a more lucid person to arrive and help him.

The black and white arrived first and one of the officers took care of cordoning off the store and gathering information while giving some first-aid to the store owner.

Behind the store, the ambulance attendants found one injured man cuffed and laying on his stomach with an obvious gunshot wound through the hand, and a second, more seriously injured officer wrapped in his partner’s arms with a knife wound to the leg. One of the paramedics immediately took possession of the cuffed man and began treating his wound, while the other called into the base hospital to begin treatment for the bleeding, injured detective.

Hutch awoke from his unconscious state to find Starsky rocking him, chanting “Jonathan, Jonathan,” in a whispered tone; the ghostly voice reciting over and over. He was worried about his partner’s frame of mind, and tried to tell the attendants through the oxygen mask to take care of Starsky, before everything swam and he closed his eyes against the storm. He needn’t be concerned, as the paramedics were also exchanging glances of worry over the state of the non-injured officer.


~*~


Waking up early the next morning after surgery to repair his artery and the muscles in his left thigh, Hutch was not surprised to find his partner sitting in the chair next to his hospital bed.

Starsky was sitting bent over with his hands in his face. It appeared to Hutch that he hadn’t slept all night.

“Starsk?” His voice was a raspy whisper.

The curled head came up and bleary, red rimmed eyes looked at him. “Hutch? You’re awake?”

In response, Hutch poked his tongue out to wet his dry lips. “Thirsty. Can I have...”

Breaking off Hutch’s sentence, Starsky eagerly guessed Hutch’s need. “You can have some ice chips. Hold on. I’ll be right back.” Showing more energy than he actually had, Starsky jumped out of the chair, pushing it backwards and making a scraping noise on the floor tiles.

While he was gone, Hutch thought about his partner’s appearance, which hadn’t gone unnoticed. Dark circles around the eyes, rumpled clothing, tangled hair, and a gray palor were all Hutch needed to know Starsky’s frame of mind.

A nurse came in just ahead of Starsky returning and took Hutch’s vitals and gave him a shot of painkiller without asking the patient if he needed it. She explained that he was to be on pain medication for at least the next 24 hours whether he wanted it or not, for healing purposes.

“Hutch let the nurse do her job.” Starsky admonished while pushing spoonfuls of ice through the pale lips. “You lost a lot of blood and need to rest. Can’t have you setting back on me.”

Hutch was bewildered and looked down, noticing an IV of blood and one of saline meant to replace the lost fluids in his body. Swallowing the melted ice, he asked Starsky what had happened.

“Clark didn’t take too kindly to your shooting him in the hand. He stabbed you in the leg with a knife. Unfortunately he hit a major artery and you bled like a stuck pig.”

“Oh.” Hutch shut his eyes and drifted along with the pain medication. “You okay?”

He felt Starsky’s hand soothe the hair back from his forehead. “Shh…I’m fine. You just rest. Dobey took me off the roster for a couple of days, so I’m gonna be here when you need me.” He continued to pet and stroke the soft, fine hair as Hutch fell asleep. As he faded off with a soft sigh he sensed his lover leaning down and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad your safe, baby. Love you.”

Hutch didn’t wake again until just before dinner. By then the blood IV had been removed, Hutch having regained the volume he had lost. Starsky was still by his side, but now was asleep in the chair next to the bed. Hutch moved his hand onto the messy curls and patted them, remembering Starsky’s promise to stay with him. His partner needed his sleep, so Hutch tried not to wake him each time he shifted his body, but it was hard not to make grunts of pain each time he moved his injured thigh.

A short time later an orderly brought his dinner, and the jostling of the tray table woke Starsky. Lifting his head and rubbing his eyes, he groaned away the stiffness in his back.

“Ugh, oh man. Hutch? You awake again?” Seeing the dinner on his table, Starsky went to the foot of the bed, raised it, and moved the tray into a better position for his partner to reach. “What we got here?” He lifted the cover and grimaced. “Ewww…Liver and onions and broccoli. Right up your alley.”

After eating most of his dinner, including the vanilla pudding since he was really hungry, Hutch pushed away the tray table and leaned backward onto the raised bed. “Starsky, what happened?” Repeating his earlier question.

Worried that Hutch didn’t remember him explaining it from that morning, Starsky retold the story of how Hutch had gotten injured.

Shaking his head back and forth Hutch re-asked the question. “No, what happened with you?” He wasn’t sure he believed Starsky’s bullshit about Dobey taking one curly-headed detective off the roster to care for him. A day, yes, but Dobey wasn’t the over-protective type. He needed as many good men on the job as he could get.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You did it again, buddy. At the scene you called out ‘Jonathan.’ Only this time you were calling me that. I wasn’t so out of it that I didn’t hear what was going on around me.” Even in a hospital bed, Hutch’s forefinger made an impression.

Starsky put his head down. “I really don’t know Hutch. All I remember is seeing you on the ground, bleeding, with a knife in your leg. Next thing I remember, I’m in a squad car on the way to the hospital.”

“Does Dobey know?”

“I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. He couldn’t lie to Hutch. “The paramedics told Dobey I kept chanting something and wouldn’t respond to them, so Dobey put me on leave until I get my shit together.” He looked up and tried to smile. “Look at the bright side. I’ll be able to be at your beck and call while you’re laid up.”

They’d have time to discuss that later; there was no way Hutch was going to be mother-henned by his partner, nor was he going to be cooped up. Right now Starsky was more important. “Don’t try to cover Starsk. This is getting serious now. It’s affecting our job.”

“I know. I’m going to tell Doc Mitchell everything. I’m worried, too. If I had forgotten to finish cuffing Clark, he could’ve gotten away or hurt you worse.” For Starsky to admit he was worried about himself was saying a lot.

“I want to go with you to your next visit.”

“It’s tomorrow Hutch. I don’t think you’ll be outta here for a few days yet.”

“Shit, are you sure I can’t get out tomorrow?” Hutch hated to admit he was anything but fine, and staying in the hospital was not one of his favorite pastimes.

“If you really want to go with me–” the darker man started.

“I think I need to. Your dreams are now affecting us both personally and professionally.” Hutch broke in.

“I can call Mitchell tomorrow and cancel. Reschedule for the following week when you can get around better, and tell her it’s important that you come with me.”