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Gil paused at the door and smiled faintly at the sight that met his eyes. Hutch was still propped up on pillows, muttering and moving restlessly. Still white and frail and feverish, still not awake, but out of the oxygen tent and breathing, it seemed to Gil, with a little less rattle and wheeze. Earlier that day, there has started to be a little cautious optimism about him, hedged about with ifs. If his kidneys recovered. If his temperature didn’t soar again. If he didn’t develop pneumonia. If - the big one, this - he had escaped brain damage from the uncontrollable fever that had burned through his body for three hideous days and nights. If all those things, then.....Beside him, a dark haired, denim clad figure was sprawled in a hospital chair, flopped forward so his head rested on the bed, profoundly asleep, Hutch’s IV-free hand folded protectively in his.
Silently, Gil approached the bed.
“Hey, cowboy- time you started to think about waking up, huh?”
He reached out a hand to the sick man, but before he could touch him, his wrist was caught in a bone crushing grip, and he was flung across the room as if his 165lbs was completely inconsequential. He staggered, managed to keep his feet, and held out his hands placatingly to the whirlwind that seemed bent on following through.
“Jesus, Starsky-it’s me! Lay off!”
Starsky shook his head, coming back to reality.
“I’m sorry-I don’t know what I was doing- are you OK?”
Gil rubbed his wrist.
“I think so - not used to that sort of thing in my profession! What were you playing at?”
“I don’t know. I’m wired. I must have thought you were going to do something bad to him.....”
“Yeah. It’s called hyper-vigilance. You need to be careful. Maybe try not to beat up on the people he needs? Save it for the bad guys?”
Starsky lifted his hands- then let them fall in a helpless gesture.
“I’m sorry”
“Forget about it” Although Gil knew he wouldn’t, and whatever happened, there would be a person to put back together when this was over.
“0K for me to check him out?”
“I’m not going to slug you!”
“Good to hear. You want to sit back down there it’ll be fine. I’ll work round you. Pretty sure that’s what he wants”
Starsky was back in the chair, Hutch’s hand in his before the sentence was finished.
Gil moved quietly round, doing what needed to be done with IVs and catheter and medication, taking blood, checking vitals, filling out the chart at the end of the bed.
“How is he?”
“Still doing ........OK. Temperature’s down a tad - going in the right direction but still too high. His chest sounds a little better. I’d be happier if he woke up some”
“Why doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know. He’s taking a real battering - his body might just have had enough for the time being”
“You know- if I’d spent 7 years of my life and the annual budget of a small South American country on med school, I wouldn’t be happy with ‘l don’t know’”
Gil bit back an angry response - he was very tired and even his patience had its limits - and busied himself with tidying up. Once everything was put neatly away, he felt he could trust himself to speak.
“You don’t learn to say ‘I don’t know’ at med school. You learn that when you leave, and realize that sometimes you don’t. However much you wish you did”
“Christ, Gil, I’m being a jerk. It’s just...I thought we’d know one way or the other by now. He’s still so hot, and I can feel he’s in pain even though he’s out of it. I can feel him terrified and lost and in pain and I don’t know how to help him”
As they spoke, Hutch’s restless movement intensified. He coughed and moaned and coughed, then cried out as particularly sharp pain hit.
‘Starsky-of course you know how to help him- who better? He needs what we can give him- the antibodies and all the other medications- but they won’t count for shit if he doesn’t want to get well. He’s in so much pain and he’s utterly exhausted - it would be easy for him to give up, but if you tell him he can do it, he’ll believe you. Just...do your thing”
For a split second, Starsky hesitated, his uncertain eyes moving between Gil and his partner. Then, suddenly he knew what to do. He got up, toed off his shoes, lifted Hutch and , pushing the pile of pillows aside, slid into the bed behind him, settling him against his chest, mindful of the needles and tubes, talking gently all the while.
“It’s OK, it’s OK. Judith’s made the medicine for you just like I said she would. You’ve had some already - I know you still feel like shit, but you’ll start to feel better real soon. Shh,shh - I’m right here. Right here. Not going anywhere. You need to try and come back from wherever you are. Not right now, but when you’re ready. That’s it, there’s my hand. I’m not going to let go of you- I’ve never let you fall and I’m not starting now. It’ll be all right, I promise. There’s Gil and Judith and me- all with nothing to do but look after you until you’re ready to look after yourself again. Gil - can you put some pillows behind me? I might need to be able to walk again one day. And can you move that flask of ice and the washcloth where I can reach them?”
Gil obliged, wondering how this new arrangement was going to be received by the hospital authorities, and preparing himself to go into bat if necessary. It could have been his imagination, but he was sure that Hutch’s strained, tense face relaxed a little as the strong arms went round him and pulled him close. Starsky’s dark head went down to rest lightly on his partner’s blond one, and the stream of gentle, comforting words went on. Suddenly lonely, Gil gathered up his kit, realizing that the charmed circle of two had closed. The last thing he heard as he left the room was a weary sigh, and Starsky’s voice, infinitely gentle and loving.
“That’s right. Lean on me, babe- we’ll do this thing together”