Working on something else, this started growing in my
head...I apologize if
it's been done before, but some things just _insist_ on
being written...
***********************************************
In
A New York Minute
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The Torino skidded to a halt, hurling clouds of dust around
the truck that blocked its path and surrounding the red car until it was barely
visible. Inside, Hutch braced himself
against the dashboard, grateful that he'd been riding with Starsky long enough
to avoid whiplash or a forehead cracked against the windshield during maneuvers
like these.
Exasperated, his partner thumped the steering wheel of the
Torino. "We had him!" he spat
angrily, glaring at the truck that had cut them off from their pursuit. Fortunately, looks really couldn't kill, so
the driver survived to wave an apologetic hand out his window and pull the
truck out of the detectives' way.
"Well, at least we know he's still alive," Hutch
pointed out, with a sense of reasonableness he really did not feel. He glanced around at the alley, which now
seemed to be clear. "C'mon. Let's
cruise around and see if we can pick him up."
He knew it was a futile suggestion, but both of them needed
to do _something_.
Muttering under his breath, Starsky nevertheless turned the
key in the ignition. The big car roared
to life, and he threw it into reverse, preparing to back out of the small dip
in the road and point them in the direction Callendar had been heading.
At that moment, the radio beeped to life, followed quickly
by the voice of the dispatcher: "Zebra Three, Zebra Three...I have an
urgent message for Sgt. Starsky from Dr. Judith Kaufmann."
Starsky braked for a moment as both he and Hutch glanced
down at the radio in surprise, then up at each other. The dark-haired detective shrugged, depressing the clutch and
shifting the Torino into first.
"You take it," he instructed. "I'm busy."
Hutch lifted the microphone. "Control, this is Hutch. Starsky's a little occupied right
now...can't you give me the message?"
"Negative, Zebra Three," the voice came back. "She asked specifically for Starsky."
Lifting an eyebrow, Hutch glanced over at Starsky, who
shrugged again. "Somethin' I should know?" Hutch said teasingly.
"Got me," Starsky responded, turning the Torino
out of the alley. He pulled over to the
side of the road and took the mike.
"Control, this is Starsky. Go ahead."
"Dr. Kaufmann asks that you contact her immediately.
Land line."
Yet another look passed between the two detectives; this was
getting weirder by the minute.
"She couldn't tell you that?" Starsky said in bemusement, then
pushed the button again. "Can't
you patch me through, Control? We're in pursuit of suspect..."
"Negative," the dispatcher repeated, growing a
little bit testy. "Land line - -
Dr. Kaufman made that very clear."
"Aw, c'mon, Mildred..." Starsky began to wheedle;
familiar with his tactics, the radio voice immediately cut him off.
"Can't tell you any more than that, Zebra Three,"
she said crisply. "I'm just the
messenger. Control out."
"What the hell - -?" came from the passenger seat
as Hutch frowned down at the radio.
"My sentiments," Starsky agreed. He glanced up, saw a pay phone a block away,
and turned off the Torino's engine again.
"Be right back."
"I'm comin' with you," Hutch pronounced, yanking
at the handle on his side of the car and shoving the door open.
"Aw, c'mon, Blondie," Starsky said with an
exaggerated wink and wiggle of his eyebrows.
"Can't a guy get a little privacy?"
"You both shoulda thought of that before she sent her
message over the air," Hutch pointed out, joining his partner as they both
rounded the car and headed for the phone booth.
Starsky dropped a dime in the slot, then punched in the
number of the City Hospital. Grinning
at his impatient and perplexed partner, he leaned against the back of the booth
and asked the operator for Judith.
Seconds later her professional but decidedly weary voice came onto the
line.
"Starsky, Judith," he said, his tone amused. "Didn't I tell you not to call me at
work? Now Hutch suspects somethin'..."
"I'm sorry for all the mystery, Dave," Judith said
tightly, and her tone and the use of his first name instantly chased the smile
from Starsky's face. "But I've
been talking to Meredith, and I need your help."
"Whatever, you got it," Starsky assured her. "What is it?"
Outside the booth, squinting in the bright sunlight, Hutch
was watching his partner intently.
"Is Hutch there?"
Starsky's gaze darted up to his partner and immediately away
before Hutch could catch his eye and pop those eyebrows up in a query he wasn't
ready to answer. Casually, he responded, "Yeah."
"Is there some way you can...get rid of him for a few
minutes?"
Starsky was beginning to have a bad feeling about this. His eyes flicked back up at Hutch and this
time held. "Hey, partner...how
about a cup of coffee?"
"What?" Hutch's face registered utter
amazement. "Starsky...have you _completely_
lost your mind?"
The dark blue eyes met his.
"Do me a favor, buddy," Starsky said, and his voice had a
final, quiet tone that said he would not be argued with. "Don't ask questions. Just do it."
With a snort of disgust, Hutch threw up his hands, then
wheeled and started down the sidewalk.
Spotting a small diner across the street, he veered off and loped through the traffic, the speed of
his stride communicating just how annoyed he was.
"All right, he's gone," Starsky told Judith,
watching the tall figure disappear into the tiny storefront. "Now, you wanna tell me why all the cloak
and dagger shit?"
Though he had a feeling he knew.
"I don't know any easy way to tell you this,
Dave," Judith said, her words growing thin and strained with exhaustion
and emotion. "Since we don't know the
precise incubation period of the virus, we've been going back periodically and
checking the samples we took at the beginning.
Meredith just told me that one of those samples has come up
positive." She paused,
then continued, her voice trembling. "It's Hutch, Dave...Hutch is infected. He's
got the virus."
All the air was immediately sucked out of the phone booth.
Starsky was profoundly grateful that Judith had insisted he
send Hutch away. For just that brief
moment, he could let himself experience the full impact of her news. He sagged against the booth wall, knees
boneless, throat working, hand clutching the receiver. Images flashed through his mind, of Jake's collapse,
of the tortured breathing and obvious pain of the pickpocket
they'd collared at the airport, of the swift and certain
death of every individual who'd caught this thing so far.
‘The virus literally destroyed him from the inside.'
"David..." came Judith's voice, as if from the end
of a long tunnel. "Starsky? Are
you still there?"
"Yeah," Starsky breathed into the phone. "Yeah, I'm here."
"He's got to come in, right away," she said
urgently. "And you need to be tested
again, just to be sure."
"Yeah," Starsky repeated.
The rush of pain and fear fled, leaving utter numbness in
its wake.
"I'll take the hundred and forty, myself...'"
"You live forever, philosopher...'"
‘Awww...HUTCH.'
"David? David?"
Again, Judith's voice plucked at him from the other end of the phone,
reminding him that he couldn't falter now...that, now, in fact, the situation
was intensely, intimately, inescapably...personal.
"Yeah...yeah, Judith, we're on our way," he
managed to say, swallowing the lump that felt like a baseball in his throat.
"Dave...do you want me to..."
Her voice faltered, and Starsky remembered the exchanges
that had already passed between his partner and the intelligent, shyly pretty
physician. There had never been
anything that would be obvious to the casual observer, just the occasional
touch that lingered a little longer than usual when Hutch helped her into the
car or guided her through a door, a particular flavor of both their smiles, and
a certain tone in Hutch's voice...
There was a rap on the side of the booth. Startled, Starsky glanced up to find the
blond detective standing before him, a cup of coffee in hand, eyebrows raised,
irritation written all over his face.
Raising a finger, Starsky turned his back to his partner.
Hutch's eyebrows hit new heights at this virtually
unprecedented move.
"No," Starsky said quietly into the receiver. "I'll take care of it."
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned back to the booth opening, hanging up the phone along the way. Hutch shoved the cup of coffee at him, and rocked back on his heels, hands planted on his hips.
"So?" he prodded.
"Wanna tell me what _that_ was about?"
"Hutch..." Starsky looked down at the cup of coffee,
recognizing dimly that he had absolutely no desire for it, and set it on the
shelf beside the telephone.
Hutch followed the move, took a closer look at his friend's
expression...and his anger instantly melted away. Taking a step forward, he laid a hand on Starsky's arm. "Starsk? You okay?"
Starsky didn't respond; he didn't yet trust his voice.
"Something's happened," Hutch guessed, eyes
traveling over his partner's face, and he didn't need Starsky's confirming nod
to know he was right. "What?"
he urged gently.
Starsky found his voice at last, at least for the moment.
"Judith said they rechecked the blood samples they've been holding, just
to see if anyone who was exposed before turned up with this thing."
"And someone did," Hutch surmised instantly.
Starsky nodded.
Hutch waited.
When nothing was forthcoming, he prompted, again ever so
gently, "Who?"
Again, Starsky was silent.
His traitorous voice deserted him as he searched for some way to say the
words, to tell his partner, the person he was closer to than anyone on the
planet, that he'd just been handed a death sentence.
He couldn't. His mind had shut down. Words failed.
Hutch watched him struggling for composure.
He saw the eyes blinking rapidly.
The throat working.
The hands clenching and unclenching at his partner's sides.
And Starsky didn't need to say anything more.
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Hutchrules3
9/17/00