Absolution

98

Hutch is recovering, but can Starsky forgive himself for what happened to his partner?

 

Thanksgiving Treat! Missing Scene from Episode 517.

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SHSVS Thanksgiving Treat

Missing Scene from Episode 17

 

 

Starsky opened the window to let in the cool breeze. Late November’s sun was still bright, but the cool salt of the ocean breeze took the stale smell out of the apartment air. We were only going to be gone a week, he thought. As it was, only a few days more than that, added on while Hutch was in the hospital recuperating from a gunshot wound. Starsky walked leadenly over to another window to give it a jerk open, then to the door to the greenhouse to open it as well. It’ll probably get too cool in here for that to be open very long once the sun sets, but for now it’s nice. Maybe I’ll pull a blanket out and you’ll want to lay out there for a while when you wake up? Starsky glanced back into the sleeping alcove at the lump that was his lover under the covers. The ride home had tired Hutch, and, with no argument at all, he went straight to bed to lie down once they’d gotten home.

Starsky let his head fall, feeling the same oppressive wave of depression he’d been feeling for over a week. Hutch was hurt, sick, weak from blood loss, fighting an infection from a shotgun blast and the pain from one hell of a bruised kidney. And it was Starsky’s fault. He knew Hutch didn’t blame him, and an ex-con did jinx the shotgun so it was loaded with a faulty safety when Starsky had picked it up and started up the hill after Hutch. The fact remained that Starsky was carrying the gun, tripped, and it discharged, shooting the full load of both barrels in Hutch’s direction. He’d shot his partner…his lover…his best friend. Hutch could easily have died on that mountain.

“Some vacation,” Starsky grumbled, as he emptied the pill bottles out of the paper bag he’d been given at the hospital. With a glance at his watch and a perusal of the bottles, he pushed forward the ones Hutch would need when he awakened. Two different kinds of antibiotics, a pill for his kidney that turned his urine a weird color green and made the blood in it, as a result of the shotgun’s blast bruising, not burn so badly every time Hutch pee’d. Before that had taken effect, a trip to the bathroom was agony, and Starsky had hated hearing the moans and seeing Hutch’s pale and pinched face as he returned to the bed to lie down again. Yeah, those pills had definitely helped.

“I’m sorry,” Starsky whispered, definitely not wanting Hutch to hear him after the last explosion his apology had spawned. He had no doubt at all that Hutch meant it when he said it was okay…they were okay. He was just having a hell of a lot harder time being as forgiving of himself as his lover was. I should’ve checked the gun myself, I should’ve seen it was loaded…. He slammed his mind down on that line of thinking, already having gone over it again and again. I didn’t know it was loaded, and I expected the safety to hold since it had when I signed for the damn gun to begin with, he told himself angrily. With a dispirited sigh, he got a beer out of the refrigerator and went to plop heavily down on the couch to wait for Hutch to need something. Anything he could do to help that would, even for a little while, make this terrible feeling go away.

He heard some movement in the sleeping alcove and waited to hear if Hutch was really awake or just changing positions. The soft footfalls approaching gave him his answer, and he raised up to look over the back of the couch.

“You hungry?” Starsky asked the pale blond in the orange robe that seemed like neon in comparison to his skin shade, now that it was winter and he had no tan. Yeah, right. Almost bleeding to death last week didn’t help any, did it?

Hutch jumped slightly, startled. “Whoa, I thought you’d split while I was dozing. You scared the crap out of me. What are you laying out here for?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you. You seemed so wiped out when we got here….”

“Starsky, we’ve been sleeping together for a long time now. It doesn’t disturb me to have you there.” Hutch patted Starsky’s leg to move it and lowered himself gingerly down to sit on the end of the couch. “Want to call and order a pizza?” Hutch asked. “I know there isn’t anything in the kitchen to cook. I don’t even think I have anything in the freezer.”

“Yeah, I can do that. You sure that’s what sounds good to you?” Starsky asked, pulling back to sit up and give Hutch more room. “I can make a run to the store if you’d rather have something else?”

“I’m not all that hungry; pizza sounds as good as anything. Make it easy on yourself,” Hutch offered with a smile and a pat to Starsky’s thigh.

Oh, fuck. Don’t be so nice to me, Hutch. Hit me, yell at me…do anything but be nice. Starsky rested his elbows on his knees and let his head fall to his chest.

He felt a cool hand with long fingers run along his shoulder and squeeze at the base of his neck. He sighed as they firmly kneaded the tense muscles there. “You’re determined to beat yourself up about this thing, aren’t you?” Hutch asked softly. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Get better, then you can kick my ass like you said you would when it happened.” Starsky gave a hollow laugh.

Hutch leaned stiffly back against the couch, letting his hand drop away from Starsky’s neck. “Come here,” he called, holding his arms open.

Starsky turned to see the tender invitation and started to lean in to accept the comfort there, but the orange robe slid open a little further with the stretch of Hutch’s open arms. The movement exposed the bandages on Hutch’s right side, and Starsky froze.

“Let me call for something to eat…you’ve got medicine to take pretty soon.” Starsky pushed up off the couch and walked to the kitchen to use the phone. Before he could dial the entire number, there was a loud knock on the door. Hutch turned to see Starsky on the phone and started to struggle to his feet to get the door himself. Starsky abruptly hung up and waved Hutch back where he was.

He looked through the peep hole, then stepped back and opened the door, more than a little surprised when in flooded Arturo Flores, his wife and daughter, all of their arms loaded. In the time it took for them to walk all the way into the apartment to the kitchen table, the whole place was filled with the warm aroma of food. The unmistakable smell of cooked turkey filled the room.

“We got your Thanksgibbing,” Alicia announced proudly, setting down her basket on the coffee table and jumping on the couch to give Hutch a hug.

“Easy, baby-girl. Uncle Hutch has an owwie, remember I told you?” Flores cautioned.

“I remember,” the child answered solemnly, drastically slowing her approach.

Hutch reached to let her crawl in his lap, keeping his tender right side out of harm’s way. “Uncle Hutch feels a lot better just seeing you,” Hutch said, smiling back at the beaming face looking up at him. “What did you bring?”

“Rolls,” Alicia answered. “Mommy made them just now. They’re still hot, so you have to be really careful,” she continued seriously.

Starsky stood open-mouthed at the activity that had turned the previously quiet apartment into grand central station. Arturo laid down a heavy-looking roasting pan and took the top off with a flourish to reveal the huge turkey, browned to perfection. Starsky looked at him still dumbfounded.

“Let’s keep it covered so it stays hot. I’ve got another load in the car; give me a hand, huh?” Flores asked, checking to see that Alicia wasn’t preparing to body-slam her father’s friend, before tugging at Starsky’s arm to pull him out the door. His wife, Carolyn, remained in the kitchen and continued pulling one dish after another out of the boxes they had brought in.

Starsky followed down the stairs to the street helping retrieve several more bags from the open trunk of Arturo’s car. “All I could think of on the way over here was, ‘please don’t let me get in a wreck or there will be mashed potatoes and peas all over the freeway’.” Arturo laughed as he passed one more bag to Starsky before hefting his own and shutting the trunk lid.

“I can’t believe you did this, I…” Starsky stammered, for once truly speechless.

“Hey, no sweat. Hutch and the department were really good to us when we lost the baby. This is the least we could do to reciprocate. Everyone at the station chipped in and helped with the cooking, and we volunteered to bring it all over. I figured you guys might not be up to a crowd just yet.” Arturo turned to start slowly up the stairs. “How’s Hutch doing?” he asked

“He’s sore as hell. I guess he’s as good as can be expected. The fever seems to be staying down, and there isn’t as much draining when I change the dressings. I guess the infection is under control.”

Arturo stopped at the front door making no move to open it. “How are you?” he asked, pinning Starsky with his “don’t bullshit me” look.

Starsky swallowed hard, then ducked his head and opened the door without answering. From behind him he heard Arturo’s soft reply, “That’s what I thought.”

Everything was quickly set out on the table, and Carolyn called Hutch and Alicia to sit down. “This is a special thanksgiving dinner,” Arturo started, holding up a water glass in a toasting gesture. “From all the men and women at the station, and from us. Thanksgiving is a time to stop and think about what you have to be thankful for, when all the craziness of life makes us too busy to remember day to day.” Flores reached his other hand across the corner of the small table to give his wife’s hand a squeeze and sent a wink to his small daughter, where she sat sharing the piano bench with Starsky. “We’re thankful for good friends and brother cops who have made us feel very welcomed into this precinct’s family. It’s been a tough year, but we’ve had good friends to help us get though it. We want to be able to give some of that support back. So eat up–the food and good wishes from your friends who are thankful that you’re both okay.”

Everyone gently touched water glasses and drank, then the feeding frenzy began with plates and bowls passed in every direction.

They all ate enough to appear acutely uncomfortable, and Carolyn shooed everyone out while she cleared the table and put the leftovers away. Hutch sat on the couch, tuning the guitar that Arturo handed him, before beginning to play softly. Starsky sat on the floor, with Alicia crawling into his lap to listen, too. Carolyn soon joined them as Hutch and Arturo began singing “La Bamba,” their voices and perfect accents more than doing justice to the song.

“Does Alicia speak Spanish, too?” Starsky asked Carolyn over the now sleeping child he held.

“No,” Carolyn answered with a quick laugh. “My husband is making his own stand against the typical stereotype. Oh, she’ll be bilingual, but he’s teaching her Japanese. He says it’s the industry language of the future. Who knows, maybe he’s right,” she answered with a shrug. “It certainly isn’t worth fighting over.”

“Picking your battles, huh?” Starsky asked with a soft laugh, remembering the rumors circulating around the station that Arturo had requested another partner.

“Yes.” Carolyn laughed a little self-consciously. “We’ve been married for years. I thought I had this cop-wife thing down pat, you know?” she leaned in a little closer to Starsky, lowering her voice. She ran her fingers softly over a stray lock of Alicia’s hair before continuing. “In Phoenix he worked alone. It wasn’t as big a town. They all did for the most part. That’s just the way it was. Small department, no one really paired off. Here…it’s like he has two wives…” she sighed. “It’s been hard to get used to. I thought at first it was harder because he was partnered with another woman, but now I don’t know if that would matter. I don’t think so. It’s just hard to know there’s someone else in his life that is so important to him…someone that he depends on so much.” Carolyn looked up, her doubt showing clearly on her face.

“I can understand that. You’re right; it wouldn’t matter who he was partnered with. When he and Hutch were together…” Starsky could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. “I hated it. I wanted to hate Arturo, but he was too damn nice.” They shared a short laugh. “Just remember who he comes home to at night. Believe me, I’ve known Lizzie for almost as long as I’ve known Hutch. She’s a good cop and a good partner. Nobody holds the sanctity of marriage with higher esteem than she does.” Starsky let her hold his eyes, “I promise you, if you could be a fly on the wall at work, you’d know there isn’t anything to worry about.”

Carolyn’s face softened and she mouthed an almost silent “thank you.”

The phone rang, and Starsky eased his legs out from under Alicia and went to the kitchen counter to answer it, pulling it as far into the kitchen as he could to hear.

“Starsky,” he said, putting his finger in his other ear to help block out the music.

He recognized the voice of Captain Dobey. “Hey, Captain! Hutch and I really appreciate the food everyone sent. We just finished eating; it was great. There’s so much left over, we won’t have to worry about cooking until Hutch is feeling a lot better.” Starsky paused, waiting to hear the reason for the call.

The music faded, unable to compete with the roaring in his ears. He felt his stomach roll and twist, and he leaned heavily on the counter top. He was trembling all over, as if the temperature in the room was sub-zero. He swallowed hard several times, but couldn’t make his throat loosen up enough to make a sound. He heard Dobey repeat himself, asking yet again, “Starsky did you hear me?” but Starsky was unable to answer with words, finally making a croaked, “uh-huh,” just before the line went dead.

Starsky stood there, still holding the phone, only half-aware that his hand held the receiver so tightly the pain was radiating all the way up his arm. He pressed the earpiece into his forehead, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

He felt a tentative hand reach for the phone and tug it free of his white-knuckled grasp, and he looked briefly up to see Arturo watching him from the sink side of the counter. He felt a warm hand slide along his back from the right, feeling the warmth of the body he knew as well as his own lean closer. “Starsk, what it is? Who was that?” Hutch asked softly.

Swallowing again to try to speak past the lump in his throat he was sure would suffocate him, Starsky looked slowly from one man to the other. “I…didn’t…do it,” he grated out the words.

“Didn’t do what?” Arturo pressed.

“It wasn’t…my gun.” Starsky closed his eyes tightly, tears he hadn’t shed since the shooting, unstoppable now, flooded past his lashes.

“Starsky–” Hutch tried to turn Starsky’s rigid body toward him.

“That was Dobey. He called to give me the forensics report on the blast pattern, and the ballistic report on the few pellets they retrieved during surgery. They didn’t match my gun…” Starsky’s voice broke with a sob, and he let Hutch turn him completely–only then risking a look into his lover’s face. “It wasn’t my gun…” he whispered, lips trembling as the tears fell. “I…didn’t…do…it….”

Hutch slowly pulled Starsky into his arms, as Starsky reached to grasp handfuls of Hutch’s robe, hanging on for dear life. The quiet apartment filled now with the sounds of muffled sobs. Hutch held him much tighter than he would’ve imagined possible without causing the blond pain. He was vaguely aware of another strong squeeze to his shoulder, then that hand slipped away.

He never heard the Flores family leave. It was only some minutes later, when his sobs died away, that he raised his head to see that he and Hutch were alone.

Starsky gradually loosened his death grip on Hutch’s robe and leaned back to sniff self-consciously. He tried to turn away, but Hutch caught his face between his hands and rubbed away the tears with his thumbs. “You gonna be okay?” Hutch asked.

Starsky sniffed loudly and gave a short laugh. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the one convalescing here,” Starsky answered, giving Hutch’s robe a telling tug.

“Maybe not physically, but nobody knows better than me, it isn’t only the one bleeding that hurts.”

Starsky’s eyes filled again quickly. “I love you so damned much. You’re the only thing I want to be thankful for. That you’re here, alive, and I didn’t almost kill ya.”

“I love you, too. This was a great Thanksgiving,” Hutch whispered, kissing the freshly falling tears away. “Now let’s go do what everybody full of turkey on Thanksgiving does–turn on the TV and take a nap.”

Starsky grinned and nodded, detouring to the kitchen to pull a paper napkin off the counter and blow his nose loudly. He then settled next to his lover on the couch to do just that.

 

 

 

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