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Suddenly, the room was full of gowned, purposeful people. Gil stepped back out of the way, aware that there was no role for the “old fashioned country doctor” in this phase of the battle. He watched as more IVs were set up, monitoring machines connected and the specialists exchanged low voiced comments over Hutch’s inert body. He had done his bit for now - time for others to take over. He pushed open the door to the vestibule, wearily stripped off mask, gown and gloves, and stepped out into the corridor, thinking of a shower and breakfast and even a couple of hours sleep, when a wild eyed whirlwind crashed into him out of nowhere, babbling incoherently.
“Jesus, what’s going on? Is he dead? Did they make it? Why are all those people in there? Why aren’t you in there? Callendar came in ages ago-what’s going on? Tell me! I need to see him!”
Gil pushed the distraught man into a side room, and shut the door.
“Starsky, calm down! No, he’s not dead. I’ll tell you all about it, but you need to calm down”
Gil tried to reach for Starsky’s wrist but was shaken off angrily as the other man paced, resisting any attempt to hold or calm him. Gil was not even sure Starsky could hear him, he was so caught up in emotion and exhaustion. He reached out again, then pulled back, very aware that he was in imminent danger of an adrenaline fueled punch on the jaw. He hesitated, unsure what to do.
All at once, Gil remembered a time about a year ago when a group of them had been out for dinner. It had been a happy evening, with lots of laughter and flirting, Starsky holding court as usual, just on the right side of too loud, Hutch as relaxed as he ever was, which wasn’t very, one black velour clad arm round the shoulders of the current blonde lady, half an indulgent eye on his partner. Suddenly, the two of them stiffened - and a split second later the buzz at the bar changed, male voices raised, and a woman’s sharp, alarmed “No!” Fascinated, Gil saw the pair exchange a glance, and at Starsky’s infinitesimal nod, Hutch slid out of the booth with a murmur of apology, strolled towards the bar, where a group of men had been hassling the young server-and the hassle had just tipped over into aggression. The room was noisy and crowded, but quite clearly Gil heard a voice he didn’t recognize. “Enough”. Amazed, the group of men turned to see who had spoken, saw Hutch leaning, golden haired and languid, on the bar and moved towards him, sensing a new victim. He raised a finger. “Time to go”
And they went. Extraordinarily, they went, melting out of the door like guilty children. Hutch turned to talk to the server. Starsky relaxed - Gil hadn’t realized he had tensed - and switched back into conversation with the women as if nothing had happened. Minutes later, Hutch was back in the booth, reaching for his glass.
“How did that happen?”
“How did what happen?”
“You know. Those goons. Why didn’t they flatten you?”
“Don’t know what you mean”
Starsky looked up “He’s talking about street voice, partner”
“Oh” Hutch couldn’t have sounded less interested. “Anyone apart from Starsky ready for dessert?”
The memory vivid in his mind, he took hold of Starsky’s arm and pulled him round to face him. In the best facsimile of “street voice” he could summon up he said “David. Stop. Now”
Astonishingly, it worked. Starsky stopped in mid sentence, caught his breath with a half sob, and fell silent.
“Good. I’ll tell you everything I know, but first, sit down, drink this water and breathe. You look a little shocky to me. That’s not surprising - I reckon you haven’t slept or eaten for 3 days, you’re running on caffeine and adrenaline- but if you’re not careful you’ll make yourself ill. And a lot of fucking use you’ll be to anyone if that happens. OK?”
Obediently Starsky sat, and took the glass Gil held out to him.
“Now will you let me feel your pulse, or are you going to try and slug me again?”
Suddenly, Starsky let his head fall back against the wall, as if someone had cut his strings.
“Gil, just tell me what’s going on. Please”
Gil took his wrist, feeling the racing heartbeat, hearing the short panicky breathing, looked at the anguished face and nodded.
“Keep drinking that water while I try. They’ve isolated the antibodies, and given him the first dose. Now they’re monitoring him incredibly carefully to see what happens. They’re as sure as they can be that the antibodies are a cure...” Gil held up his hand as Starsky’s face began to lighten “.....but they don’t know how he’ll respond. Starsky, he’s very sick- his organs are starting to fail”
“So I was too late. All that, and I was too late” There was a world of pain behind the words.
“We don’t know that. And you weren’t too late for everyone else.....”
“Yeah. Maybe someday I’ll care about everyone else. Maybe. When can I see him?”
“Not yet. No room for anyone but the experts for the time being. We both need showers and food. Come on - come to my room. I’ve got some clothes there that’ll almost fit you. Then we’ll come back up here and I’ll find out what’s going on”
Starsky’s hands and feet started their nervous movement again. ‘No- I have to stay- he’ll need me......”
“He won’t need you in the next hour, I promise. And, frankly, they won’t let you in smelling like that. Shower, breakfast, maybe let me give you something to help you calm down. Then we’ll come back”
Starsky opened his mouth to protest - then accepted the inevitable.
“OK. But no drugs. I’ll be fine. Gil....”
“Yes?”
“Has it been really bad? For him?”
Gil met the deep blue eyes unflinchingly.
“Yes. It’s been fucking awful. And he’s got a ways to go yet. That’s why you need to look after yourself. I’ve been an OK stand in, but now he needs the real thing”