Starsky's heart thudded in his chest, his muscles shaking, exhausted by the brief but intense struggle he'd had with one of the cult members. The young girl, Gaile, clung to his black robe, her head in his lap, but he was too weak and too tired to offer her much comfort.
Then Hutch was there, kneeling in front of him. One hand wrapped around Starsky's arm, while the other slid gently around the back of his neck.
"Hutch..." Starsky closed his eyes and grabbed two fistfuls of Hutch's jacket, holding on with all the strength he could muster. His lungs felt tight, and breathing became a struggle. Whatever drug they'd given him had packed quite a wallop.
God, it had been *so* close... He flashed on the blade poised above him. Even as he'd struggled against his bonds and tried to reason with the young woman, he'd been preparing himself for death... for the pain of the knife slicing through his flesh.
A shudder rolled through him.
Hutch held him, pulling Starsky's head against his chest. "It's all over. It's all over."
Starsky let the words wash over him. It really was all over. He'd made it.
He felt Hutch's arm slide away from his neck, allowing him to pull back. He tried to lift his head, but he felt so weak. His breathing still came in hasty gulps as he struggled to draw in more oxygen than his lungs seemed capable of handling.
It had to stop. This was threatening to turn into much too soapy a scene. *Get a hold of yourself.*
After a moment, he got his breathing under enough control to form a coherent sentence. "What took you so long?"
Hutch chuckled, and Starsky finally managed to raise his head and look at his friend.
A small smile lifted Hutch's mouth, and his eyes shone with relief. "That's a nice-looking nightgown you got there."
Starsky tried to return the smile, but he'd used up the little strength he had, and his head fell forward again. Blackness skirted the edges of his vision. His stomach still churned with whatever drug they'd put in his water, and he was grateful he had nothing to throw up.
Hutch pulled back a fraction. "Ambulance is here."
Starsky managed a nod. He didn't particularly relish the thought of going to the hospital, but the pains all over his body told him he needed to be checked out. His stomach felt like it was turning itself inside out, and the skin on his right cheek felt tight and hot from where the torch has scorched him. His head pounded, and his wrists hurt from where the rope had dug into his flesh.
Still, all he wanted at the moment was his own warm, familiar bed. If
only he could just go to sleep and forget this whole thing ever happened....
~~~~~~~