Work Text:
Written: 2005
First published in "Ouch! 19" (2007)
0:00
He didn't realize at first he'd been shot.
The blow hit him hard in the chest, unbalancing him, but Starsky had staggered on a few steps more before his mind caught up with his body. That had been a bullet, not a random bump from the chaos of bodies around him. He stared down in disbelief at the growing stain of red on his chest. I love this shirt.
And then his knees unlocked and he toppled gracelessly onto the road.
The asphalt was hot against his face. His cheek stung where he'd scratched it hitting the ground, and that and a few other scrapes on his knees and hands were all the pain he felt. This is ridiculous. But even as Starsky tried to push himself upright, his arms refused to do more than flop strengthlessly beside him.
What? I don't—
A bullet struck the ground near his face, sending a spatter of sun-softened tar onto his nose. Starsky flinched from the near hit. Around him, other loud reports nearly deafened him. The gunfight was continuing. I should help. They need me.
But still his arms wouldn't move. Or the rest of him, for that matter.
He just lay and listened helplessly, and felt the warm liquid spreading beneath him.
Sweating from the adrenalin and August heat, Starsky jumped to one side as soon as the bank door flew open, out of the way of the three masked men who were running out. Two marked cruisers were to his left, his Torino providing meager cover in front of him. But the bank robbers had even less, and the cops only had a few seconds to press that advantage.
Starsky darted up above the hood of his car, sent off a couple shots. The uniformed officers did likewise, and between the five of them, one of the masked men stumbled and fell. The other two separated and ran, one jumping behind a mailbox, the other making a break for a car on Starsky's left. That was the one he focused on.
Jump up, two shots, get down again. Bullets struck the Torino like metal hail. Another body job for Merl, Starsky sighed, and then pushed himself up to shoot again before throwing himself toward the nearest black-and-white. He just needed a different angle…
The uniforms were in their own shootout with the other bank robber, a choreographed chaos of bodies and bullets. Starsky skirted one uniform and folded himself behind the wheel-well of the cruiser, then, taking a breath, darted up to take aim again.
And saw the masked man do the same.
0:05
A mask fell to the ground a few feet from him as the sound of gunfire thinned, stopped. Yells took its place, a siren in the distance. Running footsteps seemed to shake the asphalt he lay on, and Starsky blinked as shiny black shoes appeared just inches from his face. His arm was grasped and before he could do more than register that, he was rolled onto his back.
Hutch?
The mouth of the blond-framed face above him rounded. "Oh, my God." The way it was said, it was a prayer, not a vulgarity. And then a yell for help, something about an officer down.
It wasn't Hutch. These eyes were brown.
"Hold on, Detective."
To what? His hands opened and closed on emptiness, palms still stinging. The asphalt was so soft, it was probably stuck in the scrapes. He should get that looked at.
Something pressed hard against his chest and Starsky grunted. It was uncomfortable, making it hard to breathe, but air still made it in so he didn't panic. It actually felt more comfortable than the grit of the hot blacktop against his face, and a breeze blew across his damp chest, pleasantly cooling. Rain, maybe? The forecaster hadn't said, but the sky seemed to be darkening.
More footsteps and anxious voices. "How is he?"
"Doesn't seem to be hurting."
"That's not good. The serious ones don't really hurt for about thirty minutes. Let's make sure he's around for that part, huh?"
"I'm trying."
Cops usually joked around about injury and death, their way of dealing. This sounded serious, whatever it was.
The sirens were getting louder. People were hurt – Starsky could hear a groan somewhere to his left. Wait… Hutch? Was that why this blond imposter was bending over him? He moved his lips, the effort taking far more will than usual, and heard a weak spurt of sound come out.
"Hutch?"
"Take it easy, Detective. Hutch isn't here, but we already called him. He's on his way."
That was right, Hutch wasn't there.
It always felt funny, being on the streets without Hutch there. Like the car was empty, or the silence thicker than usual. Even turning the radio on hadn't helped.
"All units in the vicinity of Mellon Bank, 323 Alameda, shots fired. All units respond Code Three."
Starsky frowned at the radio. Alameda was just a few streets away, the bank two-three blocks down. By all rights, he should be responding to the call. But he wasn't out there on patrol or to answer calls. He was just supposed to go talk to several witnesses of a shooting by the docks, interviews only. Zebra Three was only half there.
But shots fired… that meant people getting hurt, kids, grannies, didn't matter if they got caught in the crossfire. He couldn't ignore that.
Starsky shook his head and reached for the mike, responding. This was why he was a cop, not to play it safe. Then he put the light and siren on and took off for the bank.
Alone.
0:10
The unfamiliar blond wasn't alone anymore, joined by a second face who was someone Starsky knew but couldn't place. He thought about it while they spread something over him. Something warm. Terrific. Like it wasn't warm enough already. Except, it felt kinda good. His hands and feet were starting to get chilly.
His legs were lifted next, startling him, then propped on something high. It was an uncomfortable position, and between that and the weight on his chest, Starsky squirmed.
"Hold still, Detective. The paramedics'll be here soon."
Great. Maybe they could do something about his discomfort. There was something underneath his shoulder, too, jabbing him.
"His color's a little better."
"It's not gonna last long; he's bleeding pretty bad."
"Chest wounds usually aren't pretty. You know, he got shot on duty just a few months ago, too."
Shot. I've been shot. His hands hurt. Where was Hutch?
"You're kidding. How unlucky can a guy get?"
"Shoulder, I think. He and his partner stopped a hit at a restaurant."
Partner. They were talking about Hutch. Starsky's mouth shaped the name again, but he couldn't seem to draw in enough air to expel it past his vocal chords.
"Don't try to talk, sir."
"I think he's calling for his partner." A hand on his shoulder. "He's on his way, Sarge."
Why? Oh, they'd called him, he forgot. Hutch would know what he needed, would get the barbells off his chest. Hutch always knew. Why wasn't he there?
"You two got the bleeding under control?"
"Best we can do for now. It's serious, Mac."
Serious. Starsky's heart sank. Yeah, it was serious.
"I'm serious, Starsky. We shouldn't be working together if we can't even agree about something like this." Hutch's expression was strained.
Starsky wanted to give him the answer he was looking for, badly, but he couldn't. "I'm sorry. I can’t."
Disbelief. No, worse, disappointment on his partner's face. "Yeah, well, when you come to your senses, call me." A few seconds later, Hutch was disappearing into the building without looking back.
The interviews were still waiting. Starsky stared at the door Hutch had gone through for a moment, then with terse motions, put the car in gear and left.
Hutch would come around. He had to.
0:15
"I think he's coming around again."
"Detective, can you hear me?"
New faces. Different uniforms. Starsky blinked at them, trying to place the patches on their shirts.
"We're going to get you fixed up and to the hospital, okay?"
There was a sharp bite of cold in the crook of his arm, then an even sharper sting. Starsky winced. He was… cold. It's so cold. The sun had gone. And… something else was wrong. His face and hands stung.
"Detective? David? Can you tell me if you're allergic to anything?"
Allergic. Hutch was allergic to pollen. Hutch could talk for him because Starsky couldn't seem to manage anything but a soundless whisper.
"That's okay, David, just hang in there for me, okay? Don't go to sleep yet – I'll tell you when you can do that."
"Don't do this, Starsky. Call them and tell them you've changed your mind." Hutch's tone had changed, from anger to entreaty.
Starsky flinched. "Don't ask me that."
There was a pause, a lot going on behind those blue eyes. But Starsky didn't look. "If you don't call them, so help me, Starsky, I'm going to ask Dobey for reassignment." The quietly resolute tone said it all.
"I can't," he answered helplessly.
"I'm serious. We shouldn't be working together if we can't even agree about something like this." It didn't make it easier to hear. It was a warning and Starsky knew it.
But it didn't change his answer. "I'm sorry. I can't."
0:20
"I can't stop the bleeding. We have to transport him now."
"Yeah, I'm ready. One, two…"
He was suddenly lifted, the motion making him dizzy. His stomach turned, and Starsky coughed. Feel sick. Hutch…
That's right. Not here.
"What about his car?"
"I can drive it to the hospital. His partner can take it from there."
Hutch hated his car.
"Have you got that second IV going?"
"Almost…"
The sky changed to a metal ceiling. Starsky blinked slowly, staring at the rivets that stitched the steel skin together above him. Cold as his own skin, and the weight on his chest had only grown. Shot… he was shot, and his hands weren't smarting as badly anymore. It was all wrong.
He was dying.
Starsky coughed again, tasted blood in his mouth. Hutch. He didn't know if his lips even moved this time – he felt numb.
But if he was dying, he wanted Hutch there.
They'd just gotten into the Torino, on their way to do some witness interviews, when Starsky finally took the plunge. "I went t' see Colby's lawyer yesterday."
Hutch turned to look at him in puzzlement. "Don't tell me they're calling you as a witness? Do they seriously think you're going to have anything good to say about John after what he did?"
What their old friend from the Academy had done included becoming a professional hit man, then using them and their friendship to find his next mark, nearly killing them when they tried to stop him. All of which Starsky had considered carefully before doing what he had. "No. I offered to testify for him."
Hutch stared at him, speechless. And then his face hardened. "As what?"
"Character witness," Starsky said quietly.
"Character witness? Starsky, Colby doesn't have character – he's a cold-blooded murderer."
"He wasn't back at the Academy. I was as close to him then as I was to you."
Hutch flushed. "John isn't me," he said tightly. "In fact, maybe you've forgotten, but our 'old friend' knocked me out so he could get away."
Starsky hadn't; his blood still ran a little cold at the thought of that first sight of his partner lying on the parking lot pavement, dead for all he knew. It was also one of the reasons it had taken him a while to screw up his courage to have this conversation. "I know he's not you," he said placatingly, "but that doesn't mean I don't care what happens to him. Colby's going away for a long time, there's no changing that, and he deserves it. But I just think somebody should tell the court he wasn't always like that."
"And that has to be you."
"Who else?"
Hutch was looking bewildered again, as if someone had just pulled the rug out from under him and he couldn't figure out what had happened. "Starsky… he tried to kill you. He tried to kill me. He beat Huggy to a bloody pulp – doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Hutch…" He didn't have the words to explain. Hutch had been betrayed a lot in his life, by friends who used to him, a wife who'd walked out on him, even a previous partner who'd gone and died on him. He'd grown wary, not easily forgiving once someone let him down. What Starsky was doing probably made no sense to him at all…at best. At worst, it might seem a betrayal by his partner, too. And that was what had really worried Starsky.
Hutch was already shutting him out even as Starsky watched. "Fine. You're going to testify for Colby. Anything else you want to tell me, partner?"
"Hutch, this isn't personal."
Hutch's fingers were white on the doorframe. "Can it, Starsky. He used us, both of us, and then he knocked me over when I got in the way. Don't tell me this isn't personal."
Anger started to override his sympathy. "This isn't about pickin' Colby over you, Hutch, it's just something I haveta do. I'm not askin' for your approval, I just thought you should know."
"Don't do this, Starsky. Call them and tell them you've changed your mind."
It was a plea, not a command. Starsky wilted inside at it. "Don't ask me that," he said softly.
Hutch's jaw stiffened, but his eyes were painful to look at. This was self-protective anger now, rarely used against him, and Starsky hated it. "If you don't call them, so help me, Starsky, I'm going to ask Dobey for reassignment," he said quietly.
Starsky tiredly shook his head. "I can't."
"I'm serious, Starsky. We shouldn't be working together if we can't even agree about something like this."
His heart twisted, and he gave his partner a look that was as agonized as it was determined. "I'm sorry. I can't."
Hutch looked incredulous, slowly shaking his head. "Yeah, well, when you come to your senses, call me." And turning away as if he couldn't bear to look at his partner, Hutch yanked the car door open, got out, and strode into Parker.
Starsky stared after him a minute, dismayed, angry, shaking. Was he wrong in this? There was no question Colby wasn't worth losing his partner over, but how about his principles? He still felt testifying for Colby was right, Starsky had just hoped his partner could accept that. If Hutch couldn't…
No, he was doing the right thing, Starsky was sure of it. Hutch would see that eventually.
Setting his jaw, Starsky turned the motor over and peeled away from the curb. The interviews still had to be conducted, and it seemed like he was just going to have to do them by himself. He needed some quiet time to think, anyway.
Hutch did, too. He was a fair man. More than that, he was Starsky's best friend.
He'd come around.
0:25
"Come around to the other side – help me move him."
They'd cut his clothes off in the ambulance, and Starsky shivered under the single sheet as he started moving again, out into the heat, then into an even colder place with white walls and ceilings.
Something was starting to happen. His chest was throbbing now, the uncomfortable sensation bordering on pain, like a sleeping limb coming back to life. Probably from the pressure that was still squeezing his chest.
He'd been shot in the chest. His sluggish mind was waking up, too, and with it the frightening realization he was seriously injured. Dying. Frightened. Alone.
With a groan, Starsky shut his eyes and turned his head away from the blur of white scenery passing him by. His tongue didn't feel so thick anymore, but he knew now not to ask for what he couldn't have.
"Starsk?"
His eyes sprang open. Couldn't be…
Hutch appeared in the sea of faces around him, the only clear one, and Starsky knew exactly which touch was his partner's, his shoulder grasped tightly, then his hand.
"Din't think… you'd show," he whispered.
Hutch's face was a blanched white, which alone told Starsky how bad off he looked. His partner seemed short of breath, like he'd run to get there, but his expression twisted now in a peculiar grimace Starsky couldn't quite interpret, tender and fierce at once. Hutch shook his head. "I still don't agree with you."
"I know," Starsky whispered, heart starting to sink again.
Hutch pressed his hand. "Shut up, Starsky," he said gently.
Starsky smiled at that, or at least he thought he did. The throbbing was getting sharper, making him flinch and gasp involuntarily sometimes.
But he felt so much better now.
He felt good, and it showed in his jaunt as he walked through the squadroom doors.
"'Morning," Hutch greeted him cheerfully as Starsky took his seat at the desk across from his partner's.
"Yeah, I guess it is," Starsky said with a grin. He had some news to share he didn't think Hutch would want to hear, but first there was the very good news he was nearly bursting with.
Hutch's eyebrows rose. "So… the doctor gave you a good report?"
Starsky flexed his shoulder. "Good as new."
"That's great." Hutch grinned back with as much relief as joy. "Hey, we should go celebrate this afternoon."
"After the witness interviews, huh? I'll buy ya lunch."
A look of mock worry. "Did the doctor examine your head, too?"
Starsky made a face at him before shrugging. "You deserve it." He never would have survived that night at Giovanni's if not for Hutch and he knew it.
Hutch stopped, exchanged a long look with him. Then gave him a hint of a smile. "Okay," he said simply. He understood.
0:30
"Okay, his BP's stabilized."
It felt like someone was cutting into him. Starsky arched against the pain and cried out.
"Easy, easy." His partner's chant was soft compared to the bustle around him, but Starsky focused on it. "Don't be scared, it's gonna be all right." He needed the distraction because the agony in his chest was growing every minute and already verged on the unbearable. "It'll be over soon."
God, I hope so. Another slice through his chest and Starsky gave an agonized groan.
"Got the X-rays – it's lodged just inside the ribs… here."
"Lot of blood for that. Probably nicked an artery."
"Surgery's ready for him. Detective—"
"Starsk, I have to go now." Hutch talking again, sounding fainter now. "I'll be here when you wake up."
He couldn't nod, couldn't speak, focused too hard on not screaming. But he crushed Hutch's hand.
"I'll see you again soon, buddy, okay?"
His last glimpse was of blond and blue, and then even that faded into painful darkness.
He'd woken in darkness, in his bed, heart pounding from a nightmare that was already fading. Starsky heaved a few breaths until his insides finally started to settle, then lay back down, glancing at the clock. It was 3:36 – hours still until he had to get up and go to that doctor's appointment, which was probably what had caused the nightmare. He'd almost forgotten the puckered skin on his shoulder and the faint scar on his forehead from the shootout two months before, until the doctor's office had called the day before to remind him of the follow-up appointment.
Deep breath. He'd survived the hard part. He was back on duty, had qualified with his weapon with his left hand again, was already juggling a dozen cases with Hutch. Life went on.
And best of all, whatever came next, he would have someone by his side to go through it with him.
He drifted back to sleep soon after.
4:45
He woke, aching… someplace. It felt far away, like the rest of his body.
"Starsky?"
Was Hutch there or here? It was confusing. Starsky pondered the problem.
"Can you hear me? You're doing fine. The bullet didn't go deep."
Bullet? Right, he was shot. It seemed far back, too.
"There was some b-bleeding, but they got you patched up."
A lot of bleeding, from the sound of it. Probably not a good thing, but he couldn't seem to care.
"Hey. I've been thinking about Colby."
John Colby. The name stirred unease in him. Starsky probed it reluctantly, trying to remember.
"If you… If you feel that strongly about testifying for him, I… well, okay, I don't understand, but I can respect it. I can't blame you for being loyal to your friends."
His friend – Colby? Who was the one sitting there waiting for him to wake up, after all?
"You should've talked to me first, though. I deserve that, Starsk."
Yeah, he did. Deserved a lot. It was starting to come back: the argument, the shooting. Hutch waiting for him at the hospital. Starsky felt a stir of love for this man who'd rushed to his side when he was hurt, even when furious with Starsky, and now sat there apologizing to him. And Colby – didn't Hutch know what a very distant runner-up John was? Had been, even at the Academy? Starsky had always wondered if Colby hadn't gone into the service in part because he felt already that he was the third wheel.
"But we'll talk about this later, okay? You just worry about getting better now."
He tried to wet his lips, but his tongue was dry, too. It made for a weak and raspy word, but at least it sounded legible. "Sorry."
A disbelieving pause. He wished he could see Hutch's face, but opening his eyes would have just been asking for too much. Besides, the tremulous hand that touched his cheek told him everything. "Just rest now, Starsk." Very, very gentle.
He fell asleep smiling, content that all was well and he wouldn't be alone when he woke.
Colby was sitting alone in the room when Starsky opened the door and stepped inside. He sat down across from his old friend, wove his fingers together on the tabletop in front of him, and gave John a grave look.
"I just got through talkin' with your lawyer. He says if it's okay with you, it might help if I testify on your behalf."
Colby frowned and sat back in his chair, appraising Starsky coolly. "And why would you do that?"
He shrugged with one shoulder. "We were friends once. Call it paying a debt."
"Does Hutch feel the same way?" A small smile played around John's mouth.
"No," Starsky said flatly. "I'm only speakin' for myself, take it or leave it."
A moment of silence as they stared at each other. Colby finally nodded. "Sure, why not?"
Starsky nodded back, stood and started to leave.
"Starsky."
He stopped, turned.
"No hard feelings, right? I mean, we were good once. Too bad Hutch can't remember what friendship is about."
Starsky's eyes narrowed, hands balling into fists. He had to fight his rage for a moment, and it was with considerable self-control and lethal quiet that he finally spoke. "Hutch is a better friend and a better man than a creep like you is ever gonna know, Colby. I'm lucky to call him my friend. So were you, but you blew it, John. And you know what?" He took a step closer, feeling no pleasure as Colby shrank minutely from him. "I feel sorry for you for that."
And he walked out.
Starsky sat for a moment in his car in the jail parking lot, calming himself. He would still do what he promised for Colby, and he wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to Hutch the next day. But Starsky was very clear who his friends were. The one who mattered most to him, the one Colby would never understand, was even now waiting for him at his place with dinner.
It wouldn't be easy the next day, but they'd make it through together.
Starsky started the car and went back to his waiting partner.