by Gretchen M. Cupp
Hutch waited for the weekly conference with the doctors. At least now it wasn't daily. No need for that. No more desperate races across town, no more urgent calls from Dobey. No; Starsky was holding his own, in spite of what Gunther's goons had tried, both outside and inside the hospital.
He straightened up as Dr. Page stepped out of the elevator with Dobey at his side. It hadn't escaped the detective's notice that their boss just "happened" to drop by every week at this time.
"So I can go home and tell Edith and the kids the latest," had been his excuse.
The blond knew that was true, but it wasn't the whole story. These past few weeks he had realized how much Huggy and Dobey mattered to him and his partner, and how much the two cops meant to those two disparate black men.
Motioning him toward the ICU lounge, Dr. Page waited until he had gotten a cup of coffee from the ever full pot in the corner to give his update.
"Captain, Detective, we are ready to take out the breathing tube. We'll monitor him carefully for 24 hours, but I think we will be able to move him to a regular room next week. I think that Detective Starsky is out of the woods."
Visions of Pine Lake and other disasterous trips in the great outdoors immediately came to Hutch's mind.
"Out of the...heh, heh...out of the...whoo...no more woods, you say, Doctor; you...mean he's going...Starsky is...that's...Captain! Did you hear what he said? He...hoo, hah, Starsk...."
"Sit down, Hutchinson," Dobey ordered, putting a hand on his shoulder to enforce his command.
"Are you all right, Detective?" Dr. Page asked, peering at him.
"Yeah...sure...." Hutch answered, sinking into a chair. He found moisture on his face and wiped it away. "Why do you ask?"
The Doctor just exchanged glances with Dobey. "I'll see you next week, Detective." Draining his cup, he walked out of the lounge.
"Ok, Hutchinson. You are going home now, and you are not to return here until ten o'clock tomorrow morning! Got that?"
"Sure, Cap."
"I mean it. You haven't been sleeping enough even since...." Dobey nodded toward Starsky's room. "I want you to get some rest this weekend and show up Monday, shaved, and looking like a detective instead of something the cat dragged in. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Cap. I'll see you bright and early Monday." He rose from his chair. "Thanks."
"Humph!" The Captain snorted, shaking his head, "got to tell you two to come in out of the rain," he muttered under his breath. "Come on," he commanded, putting a hand on Hutch's shoulder again to give him a little push. "Let's go."
Hutch stopped at a supermarket on his way home, knowing that there was little, if anything, in his refrigerator. He had eaten most meals in the hospital cafeteria or consumed whatever Dobey or Huggy had brought him. The store was crowded on a Friday night, but eventually he finished his shopping.
The first thing he did, once inside his apartment,
was to turn on the radio to the classical station. He could only get it
at night, and some times not even then. He quickly fixed a salad and searched
for a knife to cut some meat off of the barbecued chicken he'd gotten as
a concession to his hunger. Food actually smelled good for a change. Even
Edith's best efforts and Huggy's specials had scarcely tempted him before.
He realized with a start, that, except for the crazy night of smuggled
food and
sprinklers, he couldn't remember a meal he'd eaten since....
Hutch turned around quickly, eyes scowering his apartment. He thought he'd seen his partner, out of the corner of his eye. 'Wish fulfillment! You're losing it, Hutchinson. You do need sleep'.
He turned back to the cutting board where he continued to slice off more roasted chicken.
Again, he turned around to see Starsky on the other side of the couch. His friend was dressed strangely in a doublet and tights, but it was his partner, right down to the glowing eyes and wide smile. The dark haired man raised his left hand, which held a chicken leg, and nodded at him before dancing away.
The blond closed his eyes and leaned against the counter top. 'Stress...not enough sleep...not enough food...' he thought to himself. He shook his head to clear it just in time to hear the announcer say, "...and that was the Dances of Terpsichore in a performance by Neville Marriner and the Academy of St. Martin's-in-the Fields."
Opening his eyes, he put the meat on his plate, next to the salad, poured some water into a glass, and moved to the table to eat. He was alone in the apartment. That disappointed him, in a strange way. A vision of his friend happy, even if it was only imaginary, was better than his partner's current reality.
He gobbled down his meal and washed the dishes. When
he went to wrap up the chicken, he noticed that one leg was missing. He
hadn't eaten a leg tonight, had he? 'Starsky!?! Shaking his head, he turned
out the light and headed to bed. Whenever and wherever that dancing figure
existed, Hutch was glad to share his meal with him.