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Hutch watched his partner's careful movements onto the sofa, and for the thousandth time that day felt his jaw clench.
"Hey."
Starsky blinked up at him. Not that Hutch had anything to follow the 'hey' with. Their eyes met and Hutch's gaze wavered. He swallowed.
"You uh, need something?" He asked softly. Try as he might, he couldn't talk in any other tone.
Starsky looked away and the question hung there, heavy and unanswerable. Muted sounds of life outside seeped in.
"Need Bela Legusi."
Hutch went down on his toes in front of his partner to catch the quiet words.
"Yeah? How come?"
Starsky exhaled a little shakily and smiled. "Vampire, dummy. Could give me forever."
Hutch would later swear something physically cracked inside him at that point. He stood abruptly. "Yeah, well, no one wants you forever, Gordo."
****
As Starsky sat there, listening to his aching body settle itself on the sofa, a surprising sense of calm stole over him for the first time in that insane day. He could feel the juice of Cheryl's injection untwisting his guts a notch, unlocking his chest, and even soothing his bruised nerves. Chemical or natural, he didn't care. There was something he had to take care of. Now. Before this tiny advantage was eaten away.
He glanced up at the rigid form standing before him. He felt his partner's self-control once more taking hold. He could almost see the armor Hutch had been doggedly strapping himself into all day.
Enough.
"Hutch."
No response. Just the sound of the straps tightening their grip. Reaching out with an arm that felt like lead, Starsky took hold of a pinch of cloth, just above Hutch's knee and tugged. It worked. Hutch glanced his way. Starsky patted the sofa next to him.
"Can't keep looking up, Blondie."
Neither spoke as Hutch hesitated and nodded. He sat himself cautiously down, eyes ahead and his posture tight enough to make Starsky wince.
"Hutch..."
"Don't."
"Gotta." Starsky paused and mentally braced himself. "Can't deny the wish of the dyin'"
Even though Starsky had expected it, the sudden blaze in Hutch's eyes as he snapped his head round caught him off-guard.
"Jesus Christ, Starsky! Do you know how hard this is? Do you have any fucking idea?" He jabbed a finger into his partner's shoulder. He shot to his feet again and turned.
"You wanna see me in pieces on the floor?" He spat it out "You wanna see that, buddy? Well, then, you carry on talking about death and dying!" Hutch paused, clearly shaken. "I mean..."
He seemed to run out of steam and anger mid-sentence, and Starsky was relieved to see him sit heavily back down on the sofa.
"I mean... Christ, Starsk." Running a hand over his face, the words came out in little more than a whisper.
Turning a little toward his partner, Starsky bit down as his body made the inevitable protest. Nevertheless, he dropped his right arm from the back of the sofa onto Hutch. Curling his hand ever so slightly around his partner's right shoulder, he again tugged him, curious to see what would happen.
Amazing what a little righteous anger will get you, mused Starsky. The Hutch of a minute ago would have felt like immovable concrete. This Hutch? The one that had battled to exhaustion to keep him upright? This one began a slow but steady topple onto Starsky's shoulder.
Thanking a God somewhere, Starsky took hold.
"Starsk, c'mon." It was muffled, and slightly self conscious.
"Shut up. ‘S just us." He smiled, unseen by the blond head now under his chin. "Soap's allowed if I say so."
No answer. Just a small hitch as Hutch let his right arm drift across his partner's waist.
God, he was uncomfortable. God, he wished he could be this uncomfortable forever.
But there were things to get done.
"Hutch, you gotta take care of Ma." He tightened his fingers as much as his body let when he felt his partner still against him. He swallowed. "And I know I ain't askin' a fair thing, but you gotta promise me you're not gonna do anything dumb. Like quit being a cop." He took Hutch a little closer, determined to get it out before pain, emotions, or his partner cut him off. He felt an answering grip from Hutch on his left side, and knew it was still his call.
"You let Dobey get you someone else, and you trust him, you hear me?" This was not exactly where Starsky had intended to go, but now it suddenly seemed of the utmost importance. The urgency of it lent his voice a sudden strength.
"You let someone in, okay?" He whispered fiercely into the blond hair. "Gotta know the best friend I got in the world..." he felt Hutch squeeze into him and bit his lip, as the pain flared, "...is gonna survive," he finished. And then, just because it seemed the most natural thing to do next, Starsky dropped a kiss onto Hutch’s head and turned to briefly rest his cheek.
"If you don't, I swear I'm gonna haunt you. Sit at the end of your bed and blow raspberries when you're entertainin'." Starsky felt the vibrations of a muffled snort as Hutch eased away. Starsky let him. He had said what needed to be said.
A second or two passed in silence as Hutch studied the hands in his lap. Finally he looked up, eyes bright, but composed.
"Wadell. You need to let me find Wadell."
This time as their eyes locked neither man wavered. Starsky knew Hutch had heard him, just as he knew Hutch was now strapping the armor back on. He also knew his guts were going to scream the second he lifted them off the sofa. Didn't matter. He had to find a reserve of strength to get Hutch through to the end.
He let his partner's eyes and hands draw him to his feet and steady him until he felt he could move. Reaching forward, he smiled and patted Hutch’s stomach as he took a step past him.
"Wadell it is, then."
He had found it from somewhere. For Hutch.
*******