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"S-Starsk." The voice was a little stronger now. Still shivery, but the tremors were definitely starting to subside.
Starsky glanced down at the human bundle he had once again tried to settle onto his lap. He was hoping that the relative silence of the last five minutes meant that Hutch's body had exhausted itself to the point of sleep. Obviously not.
"Still here, pal. Still here." Starsky's voice vibrated down into Hutch, as he again began a gentle rubbing. His arms and shoulders ached from the effort, but it had acted as a balm on them both. It had secured his partner, kept him from his restless prowling, and it had simply given Starsky something to do. The soothing motions of his hands had kept his rage and helplessness at bay.
"L-let me go, huh?"
Starsky stilled immediately, unsure of what he was being asked.
As if sensing his confusion, Hutch tried to turn a little in his hold and attempted a smile. "Skin hurts," he whispered.
Starsky's jaw unclenched. That was the first attempt at something genuine he'd seen. He held Hutch's gaze a moemnt longer, trying to confirm it really was his Hutch resurfacing.
"Okay," he replied slowly, feeling his eyes crinkle in return. "How about gettin' us some sleep, Blondie?" He smoothed a dirty blond strand off a now thankfully cool forehead.
He hesitated. "You look worse than one a'Huggy's specials."
"C-cooked or raw?"
It was lame, but something unlocked at the welcome feel of the familiar amidst the nightmare. As Hutch sank back, he winced at the various points of body contact and Starsky, remembering what he had said, gently set about the task of disentangling himself.
Starsky worked quietly and steadily around his partner. He eased him back against the wall with a minimum of fuss and contact, making sure his head and neck were supported. At Hutch's whispered request, he also removed the covering sheet and blanket.
Rising to click the light off, a warm, dry hand shot out to curl around his wrist, anchoring him to the suddenly clear eyes it belonged to.
"Don't go far, huh?" No panic this time. The tone was soft and meant to convey something else.
Starsky understood. He smiled and leaned in.
"No chance. Was just killin' time 'fore you got back anyway."
The sound of his partner's breathing as it began to even out followed Starsky around the room, as he clicked the light out and padded over to the window. He stood there a second or two, staring out at the non-descript alley where less than a full day ago, he had staggered up the back stairs with a huddle of starved misery.
He turned his gaze back to the direction of the bed. Hutch was asleep now. His Hutch. Not the one that had wheedled, cajoled and spat at its jailer, but the one who had felt it necessary to reassure his best friend that it was okay to let him go.
The sudden knowledge of that took the power from his legs, and slid Starsky down the wall onto his haunches. He remained there, head bowed, and the adrenalin that had kept his guard up for so long finally released him. In a while he would get up, drag Huggy's ugly armchair to the bed and keep vigil. But for now he was content to brace himself there, eyes burning in the dark, daring anything -- chemical or otherwise -- to threaten what was his to stand over.
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