Title: Voices Interrupted
Author: Paula Wilshe
Type: Slash
Summary: Hutch's reluctance to undergo a minor surgery is puzzling to Starsky, until he realizes there's more to Hutch's reticence than fear of going under the knife. After Hutch is finally persuaded to have the operation, their current case begins to infiltrate the hospital where he is a patient.
Notes: Episode 516 of the Starsky and Hutch Slash Virtual Season.
Format: Story
Series: Slash Virtual Season 5
Categories: Hutch Angst, Mystery, Committed Relationship, Hutch H/C
Rating: R
Size: 112K
Date Added: 2003-01-07

Voices Interrupted
by Paula Wilshe

David Starsky finger-combed his hair, flicked off the bathroom light, and made his way toward the kitchen of his partner's Venice apartment. Unnoticed, he stopped for a moment, a small smile playing at his lips as he watched Hutch push aside a mostly full cereal bowl, and furrow his brow as he concentrated on something in the newspaper, which was spread open on the table before him.

Approaching from the side, Starsky leaned over, kissing Hutch's cheek quickly.

"Morning," he offered, reaching for the mug that Hutch had already placed on the table for him.

"Morning," Hutch smiled, looking up from the article he'd been reading. "You hungry? I'll make you some eggs."

"Nah," Starsky rooted in the cupboard until he found an unopened box of Wheaties. "Cereal's fine." He nodded toward the package. "Breakfast of Champions," he pointed out.

"Yes you are," Hutch teased, his grin widening. "A champion." He began to fold up the newspaper, then reached for his juice glass, draining it in a few swallows.

Starsky poured cereal into his bowl. "How bad?"

"How bad what?"

"Your throat."

"What?" Hutch gave his most innocent look.

"You heard me. How bad does it hurt?" Starsky slid into his chair and splashed milk into his bowl. "A little? A lot?"

Hutch shook his head. "Doesn't hurt," he assured his partner, handing him a napkin.

"Bullshit. Your glands are swollen like little golf balls. I can see 'em from here." He reached out a finger and touched a spot under the blond's jaw, as Hutch jerked away.

"Quit it." Hutch touched the spot gingerly. "Isn't swollen. It's, um…it's granola. I'm saving it for later," he added with an embarrassed smile.

Starsky shook his head and laughed. "Goof," he answered fondly.

"You want the sports or the comics?" Hutch pushed the newspaper toward the center of the table.

"Neither." Starsky frowned. "I want you to see the doctor."

"Starsk, I already did see the doctor, the last time, you know that. He said it was an 'upper respiratory infection and tonsillitis,' which was his way of trying to make sure I didn't get pissed off and yell at him 'cause I'd spent forty bucks to hear him say, 'You've got a cold and a sore throat'."

"That's not what he said, Hutch," Starsky sighed, "and you know it, and you wouldn't have yelled anyway because your voice was so hoarse you could barely whisper. He said your glands and your tonsils were swollen, and--"

Hutch peered at him intently. "How did you know, anyhow?"

"This morning?" Starsky shrugged. "Dunno." He shoved a spoonful of cereal in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Your cheek feels warm, your voice sounds thick, and you were tossin' and turnin' all night. I'm a detective. I'm good with clues and stuff. How bad do you feel?"

"Starsky, I'm fine." Hutch tapped his finger on the newspaper's front-page headline as the telephone began to ring. "Read that. Another one in Beverly Hills," he said over his shoulder as he moved to answer the phone.

"Hello? Morning, Cap'n," Hutch said into the receiver. "No, I'm not sick; I just got up." He shot a look at Starsky and held up a warning finger, as he listened to Dobey. "You want us to go right there instead of coming to the office?" He put his hand over the mouthpiece and cleared his throat, then continued. "Give us forty-five minutes or so? Okay. We'll meet you there." He hung up the telephone and moved back to the kitchen table.

"Our presence is requested, huh?" Starsky asked wryly.

"Apparently." Hutch pulled the newspaper back over as he sat down. "It happened yesterday evening, but they're still gathering evidence at the scene and interviewing people, but it's finally occurring to everyone that three wealthy women committing suicide by OD is not the usual state of affairs in Beverly Hills."

"Maybe Jose Eber is going out of business," Starsky commented, reaching for his coffee. I know that would put me off."

Hutch's eyes scanned the article. "This one was a producer's wife." He looked up at Starsky. "Wasn't the first one a writer?"

Starsky nodded. "Yeah, she wrote a column in The Chronicle on 'Gracious Living' or something. What is gracious living, anyhow?"

"I, um," Hutch looked at him shyly and ducked his head. "I think it's remembering to say thanks and not get mad when your partner is nagging you but it's only because he cares about you, even though it's annoying as hell."

Starsky grinned and leaned forward, kissing him on the nose. "Is that what she wrote about?" he teased, taking Hutch's face in both his hands. He ran his thumbs along both cheeks and dropped a light kiss on Hutch's forehead. "You're warm."

Hutch shrugged his shoulders. "You're hot," he said, mouth quirking up in a smile. "That's why I'm warm."

"Nice try, Hutchinson," Starsky responded, as Hutch rested his head on the dark-haired man's strong shoulder. "I don't understand…"

"Drop it, Starsk," Hutch begged on a sigh. "Please?"

Starsky wrapped both arms around his partner and squeezed him lightly. "For now," he agreed, "but I got my eye on you."

Hutch nestled in for a moment. "Well, I hope so."

**********

Starsky jogged down the sweeping staircase of the lavish Beverly Hills home. He came to a stop in front of Hutch, who was flipping through pages in the small notebook he held.

"Anything?" Hutch asked him, looking up.

"Not really," Starsky answered with a shake of his head. "Either there was no struggle, or someone straightened things up afterward; kind of looks like she just took some pills and woke up dead. You saw the bottle of Percodan by the bed, right?"

"Mm hm," Hutch nodded. "And her nail beds were blue, but there were no signs of strangulation or anything like that…none of the--"

"Yeah, I know," Starsky agreed. He indicated the well appointed home with a sweep of his hand. "I don't quite know how to explain this, but…" he shrugged his shoulders. "…everything in this house is a grand gesture. It seems to me that if she was going to kill herself, well…"

"She'd have left some dramatic note, or done something else to make it meaningful, or expansive," Hutch finished. "That's exactly what I was thinking." He shook his head. "It just doesn't make any sense."

"There's nothing missing from the house, according to the husband."

"And his alibi is airtight; he was out of town and accounted for."

"Could she have done it because he was away and she was jealous, or angry? Could she have thought he was having an affair? Did he have one before? Was she having an affair and consumed herself with guilt? Did the maid quit?"

Hutch bit his lip. "I just…I don't know why, but I don't think so. It feels like…" He looked around the room and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what it feels like."

Starsky frowned at him. "You're starting to not make sense. It's scary."

"Yeah, but you just understood what I was trying to say," Hutch responded with a grin.

"I know," Starsky replied, glum. "That's what's scary."

"Okay." Hutch took a deep breath. "Let's go back to the station and look over these notes and whatever we can figure from the two other ladies. how about that?"

"That sounds like a plan I can live with," Starsky agreed, "as long as we stop for lunch first. What do you feel like eating? How about a pizza?"

"Truthfully? Nothing. I'm not that hungry."

"Feel that bad?"

"Nah," Hutch answered. "Little achy; it mostly just hurts when I swallow. It's not bad, really, not as bad as the last time."

"Yet," Starsky replied, pulling him toward the door. "How 'bout a milkshake? My treat."

"Well," Hutch considered, "that's too good to pass up. Let's go." He grinned and strode toward the door.

**********

At lunchtime the squadroom was nearly deserted. Hutch took a sip from his milkshake and looked longingly over at Starsky's double-decker sandwich. "How's the tuna?" he asked, clearly feeling deprived.

"Magnificent," Starsky pronounced, around a mouthful. "I love that deli; it reminds me of the one down on the corner when I was growing up. Their corned beef on rye is really good, too. maybe I'll get one of those tomorrow." He looked up at Hutch who was swallowing gingerly. "How's the shake?"

"Mmm," Hutch said, without enthusiasm. He took another sip, winced as cold liquid met raw throat, and set down the cup. "Excellent."

"I'll bet." Starsky shook his head. "You want to go over these again?" He indicated the reports taken by the crime lab team that morning.

"I guess. Wish the coroner's office would call." He yawned. "I could use a nap."

Starsky smiled at him. "Make you a deal," he offered.

"What kind of a deal?"

"You see the doc before we leave today, and I'll fuss over you real good when we get home."

"Fuss over me?" A flush began to creep upward from his neck, and he ducked his head down, the shy smile just barely discernable. "Fuss over me how?"

"Oh, you know," Starsky lowered his voice seductively. "Tea, soup, sympathy…."

"Oh, boy," Hutch said flatly, picking his head up.

"And if you're really, really good…." Starsky waggled his eyebrows. "I'll rub your chest and your throat with camphorated oil, and I'll make a flannel patch just like my Aunt Rosie used to do; the smell alone'll make you feel--"

"--like I'm gonna puke." Hutch held up his hands. "Please, Starsk, don't go to any trouble."

"It's no trouble," Starsky assured him, eyes twinkling.

"Oh, boy," Hutch repeated, letting his weary head sink into his hands.

At that precise moment the telephone rang, and Starsky snatched it up. "Starsky."

He listened for a few minutes, inserting a few "uh, huhs" for good measure, and finally thanked the caller and hung up the phone. "Got the preliminary tox report," he told his partner.

"Yeah?" Hutch rubbed his eyes and sat up straighter. "What'd they say?"

"Too early to be real specific, but they did find some traces of Percodan in the contents of her stomach."

"But?"

"Not nearly enough to kill her, and they were barely digested anyway, so she hadn't taken them long before she died."

"What else?"

"The blood chemistries won't be back for a few days, but so far everything checks out fairly normal for someone who recently underwent minor surgery. There are two puncture wounds in the right arm, both from needles, but I'm guessing that's where the IVs were started."

"Surgery?" Hutch blinked. "What surgery?"

Starsky reached across the table and tapped the blond on the nose. "Rhinoplasty," he said.

"How'd I miss that?" Hutch asked him. "Did you tell me that before?"

"No, the husband told me when you went out to the car to get your cough drops."

"Oh."

**********

Hutch gagged slightly, then made a face as Metro's resident physician withdrew the throat swab from his mouth. "Ick," he said, looking around the infirmary distastefully.

"Really doesn't look like strep to me," the doctor assured him, "but it's better not to take a chance. Starsky, put that down," he added, as Starsky picked up a fresh swab and twirled it between his fingers.

"We could use these in interrogation," Starsky offered, eyes twinkling.

"That," the doctor informed him, just barely hiding a smile, "is a highly sophisticated piece of medical equipment, a sensitive tool--"

"It's a q-tip," Starsky said flatly.

"Well, technically, yes, but we prefer 'Cell Procurement Device'."

"Oh, boy," Hutch sighed. "Can I go now?"

"Yeah, you can go," the doctor answered. "You've got a little fever there, but not much, swollen glands, some junk in your throat…."

"Junk in my throat?" Hutch's eyes widened. "You made it all the way through medical school so you could tell me I've got junk in my throat?" He shook his head. "Man."

"Now listen, you," the doc answered, cuffing him on the knee. "I'm giving you free medical advice here, because last time you blatantly bypassed me and went to your family doc--"

"That's because he didn't want you to know he was sick again, and you might've told Dobey," Starsky put in, then clamped his lips shut as his partner's glare darkened.

"--and all I heard about was how you spent forty dollars on an office visit so he could tell you that--"

Hutch held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. What's the bottom line here?"

"You have a sore throat."

Hutch knitted his brows. "And?"

"And, it's like I told you before. It's your tonsils, it's been your tonsils, and it's going to continue to be your tonsils 'til you let someone yank them out of there."

"No."

"Hutch--" Starsky began.

"No," the blond repeated firmly.

Picking up Hutch's chart, the doctor went on, "Then you can expect to continue to catch every bug that comes down the pike, because those things are so decrepit they're leaving you open to all kinds of infections."

Hutch slid off the examining table and picked up his jacket. "I'll take vitamins," he said.

"You already take vitamins," Starsky pointed out. "They're not working."

"Starsk, you know what? Please don't be helpful, okay?" Hutch turned back to the doctor. "I guess what I don't understand is…why now? Why all of a sudden? Why not when I was a kid, like all the other kids who had 'em yanked before they turned twelve?"

The doctor patted him on the back. "I wish I had the answer to that, Hutch. I don't." He shrugged helplessly. "It's your turn."

"Yeah?" Hutch slipped into his jacket. "Well, I don't want to play."

Starsky shook his head as his partner strode out the door. "Sorry about that, doc," he offered apologetically. "Something's really buggin' him about this, but I don't know what it is."

The doctor nodded. "I don't envy you," he said with a sympathetic smile. "He's a stubborn guy. Thing is, this really isn't going to get any better, and the more infections he battles, the greater chance that one of them either won't respond to antibiotics, or will cause him some real medical problems down the line--heart damage, kidney dysfunction, all kinds of lovely stuff."

"I know," Starsky assured him. "I did some reading after the last time you told him this."

"Recurrent tonsillitis isn't a thing to fool with, especially because it's something we could so easily take care of."

"Well," Starsky moved toward the door. "I'll keep at him." He turned back with a grin and a dramatic sigh. "It's my lot in life."

"Good luck."

**********

The following afternoon, Hutch stretched back in the chair and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "It just doesn't make sense," he finally said. "I've read these over and over, and it just… doesn't make sense. Maybe it is all unrelated." He sat up and blinked across the table at Starsky. "Hey, I thought you were gonna fuss over me last night. I don't remember any fussing taking place. What happened?"

"Who walked in the door, fell face down on the bed and promptly fell asleep?" Starsky teased, looking up from his own sheaf of papers. "You're right, it's like there's nothing here that ties these ladies together. Different hairdressers, which kills my original theory," he grinned at Hutch, who smiled briefly. "Different circles of friends, different charity commitments, there's nothing." He dropped his voice. "I'll fuss over you tonight," he added. "you look like you're starting to feel worse."

Hutch cleared his throat a few times. "Some, yeah," he agreed, his voice hoarse. "I think it's at the 'settling in' stage." He rifled through the contents of the folder that lay in front of him. "There has to be a connection somewhere, something we're missing. I keep thinking…."

"Any luck, you two?" Captain Dobey meandered from his office and leaned his considerable bulk against Starsky's side of the desk.

"Nothin', Cap'n," Starsky told him. "'Course, trying to sift for clues in rooms that weren't secured as crime scenes is tough--who knows what evidence has been obliterated in the last two weeks?"

Hutch shook his head. "You're not kidding," he declared. "One guy's already got his mistress moved in, and everything we thought was interesting and might be something to go on ended up being hers and not the wife's."

"You sound terrible, Hutchinson." Dobey peered at him across the table.

"I'm fine, Captain," Hutch told him, lacking the energy to elaborate further.

"Fine, huh?" Dobey moved back toward his office. "There is a point where I can pull rank on you, declare you unfit for duty."

"Aw, Cap'n, come on," Hutch sighed. "It's not that--"

"There is a point," the captain repeated. "And you're on borrowed time, Hutchinson."

**********

"Here you go," Starsky announced cheerfully, as he handed over a steaming mug.

Hutch blinked up at him from the bathtub and shook the bubbles from his hand before reaching out to take it. "I almost fell asleep in here," he said sheepishly. "Feels so good."

"Couple more minutes, and you've got to get out," Starsky informed him. "The water's cooling off, and the last thing you need is to get chilled on top of this."

"Okay," Hutch agreed, taking a sip. "After dinner, I'm going to compare some of the case notes again, see if I can figure some connections somewhere."

"No, not tonight," Starsky said. "The bed's turned down, you're going to get into some nice warm sweats, have some dinner, and go to sleep. See if you can shake this thing."

Hutch started to protest, coughed, then sighed deeply, sinking back into the water again. "Starsk?"

Starsky was pulling Hutch's robe off the back of the door. "Mm hm?"

"I don't feel good."

"I know you don't," his partner answered affectionately. He laid a hand on Hutch's forehead. "Fever's up a bit."

Hutch leaned into the coolness of the touch and closed his eyes. "You think?"

"Mm hm. You ready to get out now?"

Hutch nodded and began to extricate himself from the tub, slowly, painfully, as if each movement required great strength and concentration. Starsky enfolded him in fluffy clean towels, chasing away the chill of the room with firm and loving hands.

Hutch shivered his way into the soft terrycloth bathrobe, as Starsky hung up towels and released the plug in the tub. "I f-f-feel like I've been worked over with a baseball b-b-bat," Hutch announced, closing his eyes as Starsky continued to soothe him dry.

"Hey, at least you're admitting it." Starsky gave him a squeeze. "I'll bet some aspirin will help the aches a little bit. You hungry at all?"

Hutch shrugged. "A little, but…it hurts to swallow."

"I've got vegetable soup simmering." Starsky wrapped warm arms around him. "And there's sherbet in the freezer. You need the calories." Starsky led his partner to the bed, fluffing pillows and tucking him in warmly. "You stay here and get cozy. I'll bring your dinner in."

"Thank you," Hutch said quietly, too exhausted to protest. "You know what?" He turned on his side and propped his head up on an elbow.

"What?"

"I think I like being fussed over once in a while. I wonder why I always argue when you want to do it?"

"Yeah?" Starsky asked, leaning down and dropping a line of kisses on his jaw.

Hutch lifted his chin as Starsky continued on down his throat, sighing in pleasure at the light sensation of Starsky's soft caresses. "Mmm…." Hutch placed a hand on the back of Starsky's curls, pulling him in even closer. "You just really love me, don't you?" he breathed.

Starsky chuckled against him, tickling him with warm breath. "I sure do," he declared. "In sickness and in health."

Hutch yawned deeply. "Sorry," he apologized.

"But you're a lot more fun when you're firing on all cylinders, I have to admit." Starsky stood straight, but patted Hutch on the shoulder to let him know that his statement was from concern more than annoyance. "I'll go get the soup. You think you can stay awake long enough for that?"

Hutch yawned again, blushing. "I'll give it a shot," he promised.

**********

Starsky sat up in bed, realizing as soon as he awakened that he was alone. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out Hutch's form, slumped dejectedly on the couch. Silently, he padded to the living room and sat down next to his partner, pulling the blond head toward him and meeting no resistance.

"How you doing, huh?" he asked softly, dropping a light kiss on Hutch's head. "Can't sleep?"

Hutch shook his head against Starsky's shoulder.

"Worrying about the case? Or not feeling good?"

Hutch shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Little bit of both," he allowed, his voice strained and raspy.

"Some tea help?" Starsky offered.

Hutch nudged a mug on the coffee table with his toe. "Apparently not," he said. "I tried that already."

"Mm." Hutch burrowed in against him, and Starsky gave his shoulder a squeeze. "What time is it, anyway?"

"About four-thirty, I think," Hutch told him. "Is there something I can do?" Starsky prodded gently. "You want to talk it out, maybe? I know there's something bugging you about all this, and it's more than your usual thing about not wanting to admit you're sick. What is it about this that's got you tied up in knots?"

Hutch sat up slowly. "It's just that--" He ran a hand through his hair.

"Just that what?"

"I'm not ready to…I don't want to…."

"Don't want to what? Are you afraid to have surgery? Afraid it might affect your singing voice or something?"

"No, no," Hutch said quickly. "It's not that."

"Then what?" Starsky reached over and stroked Hutch's warm cheek. "I can't help you if you don't let me in, babe," he said softly.

Hutch nodded and sighed. "I know. I…all the times we've been…I've…you've been…and this last time…."

"Been what?"

"In the…in the hospital, and I…it's like…." Hutch cleared his throat, although it didn't help very much. "I'm not--" He cleared his throat again. "I'm not scared," he explained, "that's not it. I'm just…." His voice broke slightly as a torrent of hoarse words tumbled free. "I'm not ready to be there again. I don't want to have to make chit-chat with nurses, I don't want to hear the PA system calling a code somewhere in the hospital--it's too soon. The smell of flowers makes me feel sick now, it makes me remember, f-f-feel like we're back there, and I'm not ready to…." He looked up at Starsky and, even in the dim light, the pooled tears in his eyes were visible and his voice hitched slightly. "I know it's really stupid, but I.…"

"Aw, Hutch," Starsky said sympathetically. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry. I should have picked up on it."

"Picked up on what?" Hutch asked him, the tears evident in his voice. "The fact that your partner can't cope with--"

"Hutch," Starsky placed his hands on either side of Hutch's face and pulled him closer, so their foreheads were touching. "You coped with everything," he said. "Everything. Better than I could have. Better than anyone could have. You did all the…took care of…there was no time for you to…." He searched for the right words. "There was no time for you to stop and take in everything that was happening around you, no time for you to let yourself know how you felt about all the things that were happening around you."

Hutch nodded and sniffled, wiping quickly at a teary eye.

"But you're gonna have to face it sometime," Starsky said quietly, "no matter how much you wish you didn't have to, because odds are, someday, for some reason, one of us is going to have to spend some time there for something."

"I know that," Hutch allowed. "I've thought about that. But just…not now, not yet. It hasn't even been a year."

Starsky leaned back against the sofa, pulling Hutch along with him. His fingers massaged the back of Hutch's neck lightly, and he smiled when he felt the blond sigh and relax against him. "Gonna have to face it sometime, and better over something little like this than…." His voice trailed off.

"Don't say it, Starsk," and he covered his mouth and coughed. He sat up for a moment to take a sip of lukewarm tea, then resumed his original position. "You're right, and I know in my head that you're right." He wrapped an arm around Starsky's waist and burrowed in closer. "Just not…not yet," he whispered.

"Okay," Starsky acquiesced, and he felt Hutch relax. "Okay." He pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and settled it over both of them. "We can wait 'til you're ready. At least I know what the problem is now. I can put up with the sexy voice a little longer if I have to." He smiled fondly. After several minutes, he leaned down and spoke into the blond's ear. "Any clue when you might be ready?" he asked.

Hutch didn't answer, and Starsky realized he had fallen asleep. Starsky briefly considered waking him, then thought better of it. He laid his cheek down on the top of Hutch's head and closed his own eyes, and both of them dozed until morning.

**********

The traffic was light on Sunset Boulevard as Starsky made his way toward the parked Torino from a modest coffee shop in West Hollywood.

"Drink this," Starsky said firmly, as he pushed a styrofoam cup through the open car window into Hutch's hand.

"What is it?" Hutch asked him, suspiciously sniffing at the liquid.

"It's tea with lemon and honey. And here," he added, reaching into his pocket. "Take these."

Hutch held out his hand obediently, waiting until Starsky opened the packet of aspirin and dumped two pills into his palm. He popped them in his mouth without argument, washing them down with a good gulp of warm tea. Massaging his neck lightly with his other hand, he sighed. "That tastes really good, Starsk, thanks."

"'Welcome," Starsky answered, then moved around to the driver's side of the Torino and hopped in. "Where to now?"

Hutch took another sip of tea and cleared his throat, although through the night his voice had taken on a rasp that he couldn't seem to shake. "I just keep thinking that we're missing something, some connection between all the women, their houses, something."

"Well," Starsky thought for a moment. "Why don't we go back to the station and look through their personal effects again? Maybe something will jump out that we didn't see before."Hutch nodded. "I know it's something we've already seen--the connection. It's just not…."

"Connecting," Starsky supplied with a grin. "Okay, back to the station."

**********

"…and one bottle of Darvon, two tablets to be taken every four hours for post surgical pain," Hutch said, tossing the container into the box that contained the personal effects of the former advice columnist. "Not a damn thing that looks similar to--"

"Hutch."

"What?" Hutch began closing the flaps of the box.

"Darvon."

"Yeah, so?"

"Post surgical pain. Wasn't there Percodan at the other place--?"

"Damn it, Starsk, you're right!" Hutch's eyes lit up. "I'll bet they're from the same pharmacy!"

Starsky pulled the other box back off the shelf and rummaged through its contents. "Here you go," he held up a small bottle. "This one's from Sav-On Drugs. What pharmacy's that one from?"

"Shit," Hutch replied. "Westwood."

"Well, damn it all to hell." Starsky shook his head. "Why can't…" he peered at the vial in his hand, "Dr. Barrett call in his prescriptions to the same pharmacy as…as…who's the doc on yours?"

Hutch squinted at the bottle in his hand. "Dr. Barrett." A slow grin spread across his face. "I think we just found our connection, Starsk."

**********

"Dr. Barrett, please," Starsky requested, showing his badge to the nondescript looking, middle-aged nurse who had appeared at the window.

"I'm sorry," she said with a pleasant smile. "He's in with a patient at the moment. May I help you? Would you like to make an appointment?"

"No, ma'am," Starsky answered. "But he's a plastic surgeon. Aren't all his clients women?"

"Oh, no, not at all," she answered. "He has many, many male clients, particularly from the entertainment industry. For those with the financial freedom--" she patted self-consciously at her obviously colored hair, from which all touches of gray had been obliterated. "--it's a wonderful thing to be able to look your best."

"Mm," Hutch assented, clearly not convinced. He coughed slightly to clear his throat. "How soon do you think it will be before the doctor is free?"

"It shouldn't be too long, Detective," she replied. "But--are you ill? If so, I'm afraid I must ask you to come back another time. Many of our patients are post-surgical, and exposing them to unnecessary infections is--"

"I promise I won't breathe on anyone," Hutch cut in, a touch of irritation in his tone. He pointed to the waiting room. "We'll wait here."

Starsky sat down, stretched out his legs, and reached across Hutch to snag a magazine from the end table. Plopping it into his partner's lap, he said, "Here, read this, behave yourself, and don't breathe."

Hutch started to snap at him automatically, but stopped when he saw the crooked grin on Starsky's face. "I'll do my best."

"Good boy." Starsky patted him on the leg. He moved closer. "How you feelin', huh?"

Hutch nodded. "Okay," he answered honestly. "Tired." He rubbed at his eyes and smiled sheepishly. "Wanna go home."

Starsky squinted at his watch. "It's nearly four-thirty," he told his partner. "Let's make this our last stop."

"Sounds good to me," Hutch answered hoarsely."

It sounds better than you do," Starsky shot back. "Hutch, you…."

"Gentlemen, you may come in now."

The detectives looked up to see the nurse holding open the door to the inner-office suite. They rose and moved quickly across the room to her. Before she allowed them entrance, she blocked the door with her foot and said pleasantly, "I trust you'll keep this brief, detectives, Doctor has had a long day."

"We certainly wouldn't want to tire him out," Starsky answered dryly.

"Doctor Barrett is a man of great responsibility," the nurse told him, a protective edge to her voice. "He is a brilliant man, and needs to focus his attentions upon his patients, not…" she waved a dismissive hand. "…trivialities."

Starsky started to protest, but Hutch jabbed him in the ribs. "Yes, ma'am," the blond answered, his voice cracking halfway through the words.

"And you--" she poked a finger at Hutch. "you are to stay on the opposite side of the office. We cannot afford to take a chance with Doctor's health. This way," she added and began moving down the hallway.

"Come on, germ bag." Starsky grabbed Hutch's sleeve and dragged him along behind.

Although Hutch was muttering hoarsely behind him, the only phrase Starsky was able to make out was, "…treat me like some kind of a leper…."

The distinguished, immaculately dressed physician met them in the hallway. He was graying at the temples, hair neatly cropped and styled, and carried himself well, but his manner was open and friendly. "Ah, gentlemen," he said. "Thank you, Margaret," he waved her away. "Do come in, Officers, and please take a seat."

Hutch took up residence leaning against the far wall. "Is this far enough away?" he asked resigned.

"Beg pardon?"

"Your, uh, nurse there, Miss, uh, Margaret?" Starsky explained. "She suggested it would be better if Detective Hutchinson stay as far away from you as possible since he may be…" he winced as Hutch began to cough. "Um…contagious."

"Oh, nonsense." The doctor's eyes twinkled. "Have a seat, Detective. Miss Stanton is a bit on the protective side, always has been, worked for me for years." He smiled benignly. "You want to talk about exposure to germs, try hanging around the hospital cafeteria."

Hutch slid self-consciously into the seat offered, face flaming. "Thanks."

"So what can I do for you, gentlemen?"

"I'm sure you've heard about the three women who have died in Beverly Hills over the last few weeks," Starsky began, and noticed that the physician's face began to darken as if with pain.

"Yes," Barrett sighed. "A terrible tragedy." He looked up at the detectives. "All three of them were patients of mine, did you know that?"

Starsky and Hutch exchanged a glance. "Um, yes, we did," Hutch offered. "That's why we're here."

"It's been devastating for all of us on staff here," Barrett continued, his voice breaking slightly. "We are in the business of making people feel good about themselves, or at least that's what we're trying to do. we wonder…" His voice trailed off. "…if we're just deluding ourselves. Suicide is such a desperate, final, heartbreaking choice, and to think…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, these deaths have felt very personal to us. What is it I can do to help you?"

"We're beginning to wonder if they really are suicides," Starsky said bluntly. "And since all three were your patients, and all of them had recent surgery--"

Dr. Barrett nodded solemnly. "I see." He pulled a hand over his eyes and laughed shortly, without humor. "In a strange way, that would almost lessen the pain for me, if that were true. Because I'm beside myself wondering what I could have done to make things better for them, how I could have helped."

"I think…" Hutch paused as his voice gave out completely, his words nearly a squeak. He continued in a sort of hoarse whisper. "If we could possibly see your records? We might be able to find something--anything--to tie these women together. Because," he swallowed hard, coughed and shook his head, gesturing to his partner to continue.

"Because," Starsky began, without missing a beat, "right now, you're the only thing that does tie them together."

"Absolutely," Barrett murmured. "You can investigate me all you like; I'm quite sure I'll pass muster." He pointed to a set of file drawers by the door. "All of our current and recent surgical cases are housed there," he offered. "You'll need to sign a requisition and release form, of course, to maintain patient confidentiality, and you may certainly use our Xerox machine to copy anything you like, although the originals must remain here." He sighed. "I would request that anything you don't need be returned so that we may destroy duplicate records that might…compromise reputations of the patients."

"Of course," Starsky agreed.

An hour later, the partners headed out into the late afternoon sunshine, Starsky carrying a shopping bag with all of the copied records inside. "I say that we don't even look at these 'til tomorrow," he suggested.

Hutch nodded agreement, knowing that his voice was gone.

"We'll go home, I'm going to make you something hot for dinner, we'll both relax and take it easy." Starsky looked both ways and stepped into the street, heading for the Torino, which was parked across the way.

"Sta--!" Hutch tried to yell and made an awkward grab at his partner, as a nondescript Chevrolet rounded the corner at breakneck speed.

Not able to register the sound of Hutch's voice, Starsky had just barely noticed the grab at his arm and, trusting Hutch's instinct, had stepped back. The car whizzed by, missing him by inches. "Oh, man," Starsky breathed. "That was too goddamned close."

Hutch tugged at his arm, a horrified expression on his face. "Starsk, I'm sorry," he croaked brokenly.

"For what?" Starsky was baffled.

"You almost got hit, and--" Hutch doubled over in a wheezing cough. "I couldn't warn you, couldn't back you up…."

"Hutch, it's okay," Starsky assured him, resting a hand on his back. "I'm fine, no harm done."

"But what if--" Hutch coughed again, and his voice returned slightly. "What if it wasn't a car, what if it was someone with a gun or a knife and I couldn't…?"

"Hutch, will you relax?" Starsky said, beginning to grow alarmed at his partner's agitation. "It's over; I'm fine."

Hutch shook his head angrily and shrugged away from Starsky's hand. Stalking across the street, he climbed into the passenger seat of the red car, resting his forehead against the window. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed as if in pain.

"Hutch?" Starsky ventured quietly, once he was settled behind the wheel. "Talk to me." He smiled crookedly. "Whisper to me, croak to me, do anything that's gonna let me know what you're thinkin' right now. Sign language is fine."

Hutch looked at him, eyes filled with anguish. "It's time," he said simply. "I'll do it. I'll go. You're right, the docs are right. All I've been thinking about is my own…. I could get you killed not being able to warn you like that." He shook his head again. "I'm so sorry."

"Aw, babe," Starsky squeezed his shoulder. "I trust you with my life, you know. you'd find a way to warn me. But I think..." he nodded in approval. "…you're making the right decision."

Hutch exhaled deeply and nodded. "Yes," he said simply.

**********

"What do you mean the only available beds are in pediatrics?" Hutch demanded, the words squeaking from his strained throat. "I don't want to be in pediatrics."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hutchinson," responded the patient registration clerk, "it's the beginning of flu season, which brings on a lot of problems for our cardiac patients, so we can't afford to give up a telemetry bed we might need, especially to someone who's having minor elective surgery. All of the med/surg beds are full right now. I'm afraid pediatrics is your only choice. Unless you'd like to try for maternity."

"But--" Hutch sputtered. "I have a reservation."

She narrowed her eyes. "We are not an airline, Mr. Hutchinson. You have pre-admission paperwork, not a reservation."

"He'll take it," Starsky broke in. "It'll be all right," he said quietly to Hutch. "You might have more fun there."

The clerk excused herself for a moment and moved toward the copy machine.

"Fun?" Hutch's eyebrows shot up. "Are you crazy?"

"Um…sometimes." Starsky considered. "But not about this. Come on, Hutch, it'll be fine. It doesn't matter where you are, as long as you get this taken care of. Maybe things will be a little more relaxed on that floor anyway. Besides, you like kids."

"I hope I do; I live with one most of the time," Hutch said darkly.

"Yeah, and look at what a joy I can be," Starsky smiled brightly.

"Yeah, but…" Hutch's voice dropped off. "What if anyone from the precinct comes to visit?" He shuddered. "I can hear it now; I'll never live it down."

"Afraid of a little teasing?" Starsky cuffed him playfully. "Big baby."

"See? That's just what I mean."

"So, Mr. Hutchinson, what will it be?" the clerk asked, sitting back down at her desk. "Here's your insurance card, by the way."

Hutch reached out for the card and slid it back into his wallet. "If you're sure there's no other choice," he said.

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Fine. But I don't have to be happy about it." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Starsky moved forward to speak to the clerk. "I may be wrong, but I think that someone's going to spend some time in the 'pouting chair'."

"I think you may be correct about that," she stage-whispered back. "All right, Mr. Hutchinson." She grinned. "Here is all your pre-op paperwork. You need to go to the lab for a blood draw, then on to radiology for your chest x-ray, and then you may report to room 408."

"408?"

"Yes, 408. It'll be the third door on the left as you come off the elevator with the, um, lion and tiger decals on the door."

"Starsky." Hutch pointed a finger. "Don't even." He rose quickly and stalked from the registration area, as his grinning partner followed two steps behind.

**********

"Poked and prodded, sticking needles in my arm. Twice," Hutch grumped. "Had to take all my clothes off for a damned x-ray of my chest. nothin' wrong with my chest, it was freezing in there, probably catch pneumonia…."

"Are you through yet?" Starsky asked him.

"No," Hutch replied shortly. "Then they wanted a specimen, Starsky. A specimen."

"Okay."

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to piss on command?"

"At least you got a cool band-aid. What is that, Speed Racer?" Starsky pulled Hutch's arm toward him, even as Hutch jerked it away.

"Don't try and make this better, Starsky," Hutch fumed. "They had dinosaur ones, but the brat in front of me got the last one, and--"

Starsky laid his head down on the side of the bed, laughing. He rose up and looked at Hutch, burst into chortles once more, and reached out blindly to pat his partner as he tried in vain to control his fit of hysteria.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Listen to yourself." Starsky wiped his eyes and tried to maintain some semblance of composure. He moved closer and kissed Hutch on the cheek. "Try to look at the good side. At least you don't have a roommate stayin' up 'til all hours partying or whatever. Maybe when you're feelin' a little better we can, you know…."

Hutch sighed. "I guess…I guess I'm being a little childish about this, huh?" A shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Starsky shrugged. "You're in Rome," he said simply, with a pat to Hutch's hand. "Go with it."

"Ah, Mr. Hutchinson," came a melodic voice from the doorway. "Looks like you're one of the lucky patients on whom I'll be inflicting my nursing skills this evening." A petite nurse with dark hair swept up in a ponytail entered the room, holding a tray on which resided several covered dishes. "Dinner is served," she announced, setting down the tray with a flourish. "My name's Kate."

"Ken Hutchinson," Hutch offered, extending his hand. He tilted his head toward Starsky. "And my partner, David Starsky."

"Partner, ooh, that's right. we heard you were detectives," Kate said, shaking his hand firmly. "That's pretty exciting for us. Usually the highest rank we get on this floor is third grade, maybe honor roll if we're lucky."

"That'd be him," Hutch grinned and indicated Starsky.

A dimpled smile lit up her face. "You have no idea, how exciting it is for us to have the chance to use words with more than two syllables for a couple of days." She pulled an electronic thermometer from her scrub jacket. "Before you eat, I need to take your temperature, okay?"

"Sure," Hutch agreed genially, pointedly ignoring Starsky's raised eyebrow.

Kate popped the probe into Hutch's mouth. "See if you can give that a hug with your tongue," she instructed lightly, then flushed. "Oops. Not used to doing my shtick with adults, sorry."

"Who said you were taking care of an adult?" Starsky chided her. He poked Hutch in the arm. "I'm gonna use that one at home, I think." He chuckled when Hutch glared at him.

Kate grinned back at him. "Difficult patient, huh?"

Starsky nodded. "Very."

The thermometer beeped then, and Kate glanced at the digital readout. Ninety-nine point two," she announced, slipping the instrument back into her lab coat. "That's not too bad. Much higher and they wouldn't actually do the surgery, they'd wait 'til the infection had cleared up, give you some IV antibiotics for a day or two. How do you feel?"

"How do I feel? Really, really stupid," Hutch answered honestly.

"Don't," she reassured him. "It's no big deal, honest. Anyhow, I've got a few other patients to see, so I'm going to leave you to your dinner and pop back in on you later." She pulled the lid off the large platter in the center of the tray. "You need to eat up, because this is it 'til after surgery. Nothing to eat after six this evening, and no water after midnight."

Hutch nodded. "Okay. And thanks."

He slumped back in the bed as soon as she'd left the room, prompting Starsky to tease him. "Hey, how come I get Grumpy Hutch and she doesn't?"

"Because she has needles," Hutch informed him. "I may be grumpy, but I'm not stupid."

"That's reasonable." Starsky pulled the bedside table away slightly and offered Hutch an arm, helping him sit a little straighter. He tucked the pillow behind Hutch's back, not missing the sigh of relief as it eased aching muscles. "Ready?" he asked, pushing the tray back across the bed. "Hey, look at this, a goodie bag!"

Hutch sighed deeply. "Oh, Starsk, this is…humiliating."

"Don't make assumptions, let's see what's in here first. Do you want the honors?" He held the bag out to Hutch.

"No, please, by all means, you go ahead," Hutch picked up a container of milk and took a swig. "I suppose it's too much to hope for a cup of coffee, huh?"

"It'll stunt your growth," Starsky answered, distracted, as he pored over the contents of the bag. "Oh, Hutch, this is so cool! Deck of cards, a slate and chalk--that must be for after the surgery when you can't talk, huh? And--oh, wow, David Goes to the Hospital!" He triumphantly held up a coloring book. "And crayons, too!"

Hutch buried his face in both hands, and still Starsky could see the blush that had risen beneath them. "This is awful for you, isn't it?"

Hutch nodded, not uncovering his face.

"It wouldn't be for me."

"I know," Hutch's voice was muffled through tight fingers.

"You gotta relax and enjoy it."

The fingers parted to reveal an accusatory eye.

Starsky tugged at Hutch's wrist, and Hutch allowed his hands to be pulled down. "It's not so bad, Hutch, honest it's not. I know it's kinda…undignified."

"Yes."

"And kinda embarrassing."

"Yes."

"But it's only for a couple'a days. Think how great it'll be to have this over with. You won't be getting sick all the time like you have been; you can eat real food instead of stuff that's easy on your throat. You'll be out of here day after tomorrow, and home, and I'll spoil you rotten--now that you know you like it--you can have all your meals and...whatever else you want, in bed." He waggled an eyebrow.

"Whatever I want?" Hutch quirked an eyebrow.

"Whatever you want," Starsky assured him.

"You know what I'd like more than anything in the world right now?"

"What's that?" Starsky asked, unbridled affection warming his eyes.

Hutch sighed. "Just to be home with you, cuddled up against you, listening to the way you breathe when you're sound asleep. It's the one time…" He gestured with a hand. "…The one time I feel safe, like nothing can touch us, like we'll be okay forever."

Starsky traced a finger down the furrow of Hutch's brow, then gentled it with a kiss. "You worry so much," he said. "I wish I could take some of that off you. You have more frets than that guitar of yours sometimes."

"I do," Hutch admitted. "I know."

"Sometimes you've just gotta relax, drift a little bit. Don't always be trying to swim upstream. Sometimes I think…" He kissed Hutch lightly. "You hurt yourself before anyone else has a chance to. And you gotta stop it because you're wearing me out." He yawned theatrically.

Hutch laughed at that. "I'll do my best; I really will," he agreed. "And tonight, while you're languishing in front of the television, watching all the movies I don't let you watch while I'm home, I'll go through all those folders." he indicated the bag that sat in one of the chairs by the bed. "…and see if I can figure out something that will help us solve this case."

"You could just rest, you know," Starsky pointed out.

"It'll help me relax. Anyway, what's for dinner?" Hutch leaned over the tray with a horrified expression. "Oh, my God. Pancakes? For dinner?"

"Not just any pancakes, Detective Hutchinson. Look closer."

"Jesus Christ. It's Mickey Mouse."

"I like the blueberry nose." Starsky nodded in approval.

Hutch made a face and poked at the blueberry with his finger. "It's…it's running."

"No it's not; that's just the butter." He slapped a fork into Hutch's hand, exasperated. "Eat it."

**********

Starsky rolled over in his lonely bed and made a grab for the ringing telephone. "Yeah," he said into the receiver.

"Starsky? Jeff Collins from the R&I."

"Hey, Jeff." Starsky sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What's up?"

"Not a lot," the man admitted, "but Dobey thought you'd want to know anyway."

Starsky blinked himself to full alertness. "Absolutely."

"Well, the ME's office still isn't done running the tox screens on the three women, but they're keeping us posted," Jeff said. "They're finding traces of a medication called Norcuron in all three of them."

"Norcuron," Starsky repeated. "What is that?"

"It's…hard to explain," Jeff answered. "It's a paralytic drug; it's used both in the field and in the OR, like…" He struggled for an explanation that would be easy to understand. "If a paramedic or an anesthetist is having trouble intubating someone, they might inject this drug intravenously. What it does is, it paralyzes the patient--totally and completely."

"Including the breathing mechanisms?" Starsky asked, interested.

"Yes. When the drug is used, it's imperative that the patient be intubated quickly and placed on a ventilator, or bagged, since they're not able to breathe for themselves, but they're still mostly awake at that point and know what's happening to them."

"Wow," Starsky breathed. "I wonder…."

"Hard to say," Jeff answered. "truthfully, I think it's used more in the field or in an ER than in the OR, unless you're talking about emergency surgery where the oxygen level has gone down and the surgeon can't wait. Of course, once in a while, you get a surgeon in a hurry for whatever reason, and it does make the preliminaries go quicker, so it's a possibility. Dobey said you and Hutch have the recent medical records of all the victims?"

"Yeah," Starsky agreed. "well, Hutch does."

"You might want to go through them, look at the surgeons' notes and the progress notes of the anesthetists that are on the surgical records, see if the drug was used in the OR. If it wasn't--and it's pretty clear at this point that all three women died from oxygen deprivation--that could mean…."

"Man, that's great, Jeff, thank you," Starsky said, wide awake. "Now you said Norcuron. With that c-u-r in the middle, that have anything to do with curare? That's what they always used to use in all the spy novels I read when I was a kid."

"Yes, it's a derivative, same principle, and fairly hard to trace, you know. usually just looks like a massive MI, or possibly in this case, an OD of pain medication. But everything we're getting indicates that the levels of Percodan or Darvon in all the victims were not enough to kill them."

"Wow." Starsky looked at his bedside clock. "It's five now. I'll head over to the hospital and look through the stuff Hutch has. I kind of wanted to catch him before he's taken over for surgery anyway, and he's scheduled for eight."

"Good luck," Jeff responded. "Keep me posted, and tell your partner to hang in there."

**********

"G'mornin'," Hutch said cheerfully, a sappy grin washing across his face. "'S dark…you're early…."

"Oh, terrific," Starsky muttered under his breath. "Had your pre-op medications already, did you, babe?" He gently slid his fingers through Hutch's hair.

Hutch nodded. "Got a shot. Kinda hurss…." He started to turn over in order to show Starsky the site of injection.

"I'll bet," Starsky bent for a quick kiss and pushed him back down. "How loopy are you, anyhow?"

"'M not loopy, kinda sleepy, thass all…."

"Okay," Starsky continued to stroke through the blond hair. He ran a thumb across Hutch's cheek. "Can you look at me, Hutch, try to concentrate on what I'm saying?"

Hutch struggled up on one elbow, although his eyes were not quite focused. "I'm here, whassa matter?"

"Did you have a chance to go through any of the records last night--the medical records of the dead women?"

Hutch nodded. "Yeah, uh hm, was lookin' through them a lot." Although his words were slurry, his eyes were clear enough to tell Starsky that he was mostly following the conversation. "They're over there--" he pointed to the chair, then frowned. "They were over there," he amended. "Where are they? I'm not finished with them yet."

"I don't know, buddy, but I'll find 'em. That's not a big deal." Starsky sat down on the edge of the bed. "Got a call from Jeff in R&I this morning."

Hutch licked at dry lips and squinted up at Starsky. "Something in the tox reports?"

"Yeah, kind of. All three of the women had a trace of a drug called Norcuron in their systems. Does that sound familiar to you? Do you remember reading about that? Norcuron?"

"Nnnn…" Hutch shook his head. "Not in what I read. What izzit, some kind of pain pill or something?"

"No, it's a paralytic drug, injected intravenously, paralyzes everything including the ability to breathe, so it's--"

"Like curare," Hutch broke in, struggling to focus.

"Exactly."

He flopped back against the pillow. "Wow."

"Exactly."

Hutch pushed back the covers of the hospital bed and tried to sit up. "Less go see Dr. Barrett," he said. "Where are my pants?"

"Your pants are at home, and you're not going anyplace," Starsky said. "You're gonna go ahead and have your tonsils out, and I'm going to do a little investigating while you're doing that."

"No, I don' want you to go alone. you might need back-up, and I…." Hutch turned away and coughed harshly.

"Yeah, you'd be a great back-up today, wouldn't you?" Starsky rubbed Hutch's back until the coughs subsided. "Sick as a dog and drugged to the hilt. Just when I need you to cover me, you'll have a coughing jag or something."

"I'm so sorry, Starsk," Hutch whispered. "I should've done this before, and I didn't and now I'm letting you down, and I--"

"Will you please?" Starsky soothed. "I'm not in any danger here. I'm gonna go see Dr. Barrett at his office, and before I do that I'm gonna tell Dobey where I'm going. You need to get this taken care of, Blondie, and you need to do it now. If you leave," he said, squeezing Hutch's shoulder, "I'm never gonna be able to get you back here; you'll just keep putting it off and putting it off until something really bad happens." He smiled down at Hutch, although his eyes were stinging with tears. "You know how you felt about not wanting to be here, all those memories being dredged up, how afraid it made you?"

Hutch nodded.

"Well that's the way the thought of something happening to you makes me feel. I can't face that. By doing this--goin' through with the surgery and doing it today--you're not letting me down. You're doing something for me. Okay?"

"Okay," Hutch said, his voice strained. "Okay."

"Okay."

Hutch nodded and smiled slightly. "Okay."

Both detectives looked up as the door popped open.

"Ah, Mr. Hutchinson," said Kate as she moved into the room, followed by two orderlies pushing a stretcher. "You lucky devil, I'm working day shift today."

Starsky grinned and hopped off the bed. "You here to spirit my partner away?" he asked.

"Sure am," she replied. "We got the word, they're ready for you in pre-op. You'll have a nice breakfast of IV fluids and another shot to make you fuzzier than you already are, and before you know it, you'll be waking up back here in your own bed and you can have all the ice cream you want."

"Too much sugar," Hutch made a face.

"Man." Kate shook her head. "That always works on all my other patients."

"Can I have his ice cream?" Starsky asked. "If he doesn't want it?"

"No," answered Hutch, climbing onto the gurney. "She said I could have it."

"You said you didn't want it."

"I might change my mind." Hutch grinned and reached for Starsky's hand to squeeze. He lay down, turning his head toward his partner, as the orderly covered him up. He smiled and mouthed, "See ya," waving a finger as the orderlies pushed the stretcher from the room.

Once the door closed, Starsky flipped on all the lights and began a systematic search for the bag of records they'd copied at the surgeon's office. Checking everywhere, including the small bathroom, closet area, and under the bed, he was puzzled that they seemed to have disappeared. The door opened once more and he looked up expecting to see Kate, but was surprised to see Dr. Barrett's nurse, Margaret, poke her head into the room.

"Uh, good morning," he offered.

"Ah, Detective," she smiled. "Has your partner gone to surgery already?"

"Yeah, they took him up about ten minutes ago."

"Oh, what a shame. I'd told him I would come back to wish him well and see him off." She shrugged. "Oh, well, perhaps I can see him afterward."

"You were here before?" Starsky asked, puzzled. "When?"

"Oh, about an hour ago," she told him.

"How did you even know he was here?"

"Dr. Barrett spoke with your Captain Dobey yesterday, I believe. But even if he hadn't, news travels fast in this place--internal grapevine, you know."

"Oh. I was wondering about the records, the ones we copied," Starsky began.

"Oh, yes," Margaret nodded. "I collected those early this morning. Doctor's orders," she tilted her head as if that were vastly amusing.

"Oh. Well, we kinda weren't done with them yet," Starsky told her. "Could I have 'em back?"

"Oh, goodness, I'm sorry," she replied. "They've already been incinerated. Detective Hutchinson said he was through with them."

"He did?" Starsky asked curiously, wondering if she'd spoken with Hutch before or after the pre-op meds had been administered, as Hutch hadn't mentioned the visitor.

"Yes. But you're welcome to come back to the office and have another look at the originals, if you like."

"I'll do that, thanks," he said, "but probably not 'til this afternoon, after Hutch is out of recovery and back down here and all." He blinked up at her. "Hey, um, do you know if Dr. Barrett routinely uses a drug called Norcuron during surgery? Before the patients are intubated?"

Margaret frowned. "My, I don't know," she said. "You'd have to ask him about that, or check the surgical records. My participation in the practice is mostly limited to the office and to the home care follow-up visits we provide. Why?"

"Just curious," he smiled charmingly. "It's a drug I'd never heard of before 'til someone was telling me about it yesterday."

"Ah." She moved toward the door. "I hope your partner has luck with his surgery," she offered. "And I must go, Doctor likes to have the coffee fresh and the office neat when he comes in."

"Wow, you do all that stuff, too, in addition to your nursing tasks?"

Her expression grew wistful. "I would do anything for Dr. Barrett," she said softly. "He is a wonderful man…wonderful. Good day, Detective."

**********

"David? David?"

"What!" Starsky sat straight up, roused from a deep doze on the couch in the lounge of the Pediatric Ward. He rubbed his eyes and yawned deeply. "Sorry, I must've fallen asleep." He squinted at Kate, the nurse who'd tried to gently awaken him. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself," she said, smiling. "I hated to wake you; you were so sound asleep. Ken is back in his room."

Starsky struggled to sit, drowsiness making him clumsy and awkward. "Good. Okay." He rubbed his hands over his face. "How is he?"

"He's okay," she said gently. "He's having kind of a rough time."

"Rough how? What happened?" he asked, growing alarmed.

"Nothing happened." she patted his shoulder. "This kind of surgery is tough on an adult sometimes. He came through with flying colors, but he's exhausted and he was a little feverish going in. you know, no matter how you try to play up the ice cream angle, the aftermath of the surgery hurts like hell. Your throat feels like you're swallowing razorblades." She shrugged. "Also, the, um, the anesthesia is making him a little sick, and that's not helping things any."

"What should I do? Can I go in?"

"Yes, absolutely," she answered. "I think you're the best medicine in the world for him right now. he feels miserable and a little coddling is exactly the right thing."

"Sure, I can do that. coddling." Starsky smiled. "I'm good at coddling."

"I figured." She reached down a hand to help him up. "How about if I bring you some coffee from the nurses' station so you can stay awake while you're coddling?"

"That--" Starsky squeezed her hand."--would be a lifesaver."

**********

"Hey, you," Starsky whispered into Hutch's ear, as the door of 408 closed behind Kate. "I hear you're givin' the nurses a bad time here."

Hutch opened his eyes, although they were glazed with pain and fever and medication. He tried to smile in recognition, but the gesture didn't get beyond a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth.

"How you doin', huh?" Starsky leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "You look miserable."

Hutch blinked his eyes once slowly in agreement. He closed them again as Starsky stroked his forehead lightly.

"You poor thing, I'm so sorry you feel like this." He looked up at the IV, which was slowly dripping fluid into Hutch's arm. "Still got your IV, I see, huh?"

"…threw up…" Hutch half-mouthed, half whispered.

"Yeah, Kate told me, and they're keepin' that in so you don't get dehydrated and pruny, right?"

Hutch breathed out slightly in the approximation of a laugh, then he suddenly gulped and reached toward the emesis basin on the bedside table.

Starsky grabbed the pan with one hand and pulled on Hutch's shoulder with the other. "On your side, Hutch, I've got you." and between them, they managed to roll the blond over just as the dry heaves began.

Tears squirted out of Hutch's eyes from the pain, and he made a harsh gagging sound, even though he'd eaten or drunk nothing that could possibly come up, the spasms kept coming. Finally he closed his eyes, face bathed in tears and sweat, and took deep heaving breaths, trying to recover.

"Okay, okay, that's okay." Starsky gentled him back against the pillows and patted his eyes and forehead dry with tissues from the box on the nightstand. "God, that just sucks," he offered.

The door was pushed partway open, and Kate's eyes darkened in sympathy. "Again?" she asked. "Poor thing." She moved to the bedside. "David, there's a washcloth in the bathroom. why don't you wring that out with some cool water." As Starsky moved toward the sink, she leaned down over Hutch. "Honey, I'm so sorry, I'm going to call your doc and see if he'll let me put a little Compazine in the IV for you. That'll make you feel better.

Hutch nodded weakly. "Thanks," he mouthed without sound and tried to focus on the room.

"You close your eyes and let David cool you off." She looked up at Starsky who had reclaimed his position on the other side of the bed. "Do that," she instructed, "and I'm going to go call the doc. He can have a couple of ice chips if he wants." She indicated a pitcher on the nightstand. "Just a couple, though."

"Sure," Starsky said, moving the cloth gently over his partner's face. "That feel good?"

Hutch nodded very slightly.

"You want an ice chip?"

Hutch shook his head.

"Can I do anything at all to make it better?" Starsky asked, feeling helpless.

Hutch lifted his hand for Starsky to hold, and Starsky gripped it firmly. Hutch closed his eyes again and tried to smile.

"That's it, huh?" Starsky asked, and Hutch nodded again.

"Here we go." Kate breezed through the door, holding a syringe and a small vial of medication. "This stuff is great. It will help the nausea a lot and will make him drowsy, and sleep is about the only thing that's going to make this any better." She leaned down over Hutch once more. "Sweetie, I'm going to inject this right into the IV tubing so I don't have to stick you again, and besides, it'll work faster that way." She drew up the medication into the syringe and injected it quickly. "Give that about five minutes," she said, "and I think you'll start to feel better." Glancing at Starsky, she added, "If you need me, bang on the call button.

"Starsky spent the next ten minutes stroking Hutch's forehead, running his fingers through the fine blond strands, and murmuring every encouraging endearment he could think of, until finally Hutch's eyes began to droop and the tension in his body started to relax. "That's it," he said, keeping his voice low and even, "close your eyes, everything's okay, I'll stay right here.

"Shortly after Hutch dropped off to sleep, the door opened again and Dr. Barrett's nurse started to enter the room. Holding up a hand, then putting a finger to his lips, Starsky indicated that he would follow her into the hallway.

"Were you looking for me?" he asked.

"No, well, yes. I was just going to look in on your partner. we had such a lovely chat this morning, the two of us, but if he's sleeping…."

"He's not feeling too well," Starsky told her, wondering why her concern was annoying him. "The anesthesia's making him nauseous, and he's having a lot of pain."

"Of course he is, poor dear," she agreed. "When he wakes up, please tell him I was asking after him. And I suppose I'll see you both if you come in to copy more records?"

"Yes, ma'am," Starsky replied, deciding that his irritation was borne out of tiredness more than anything. "I'll tell him. I probably won't be by today, maybe in the morning, depending on how he is. And thanks for stopping by." He watched her walk down the hall, then, frowning, silently re-entered his partner's room. Hutch was sleeping quietly, curled up on his side, and Starsky's expression softened as he considered the familiar and beloved countenance, pain lines relaxed, Hutch looked peacefully asleep.

Starsky sank gratefully into the chair next to the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him. He yawned, then reached over and snatched the pillow from the empty bed in the double room. Pushing it behind his neck, he moved it around until he was comfortable, then, resting an arm on Hutch's bed, closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.

**********

"St…"

The whispered syllable was enough to rouse Starsky, even though he'd fallen deeply asleep in the chair.

"Hey," he sat up quickly and reached out for Hutch. "What is it, what do you need?"

Hutch's half-lidded eyes gazed at him, brows knit in what was clearly an "I'm sorry I woke you" expression.

"It's okay, Hutch, what's the matter?" Starsky ran a quick hand over his eyes, effectively banishing all traces of sleep. He smiled at the blond.

"Drink?" Hutch whispered.

"You thirsty?"

Hutch nodded slightly.

"Um, okay, I guess that's okay." Starsky made this executive decision since there was a styrofoam cup with a straw that Kate had placed there earlier. "Still feelin' sick to your stomach?"

Hutch shook his head.

"Good," Starsky told him, reaching for the cup. "I guess the anesthesia's wearing off, huh?" He held the cup over, straw bent at a right angle, and Hutch took a few small, tentative sips. From his expression, Starsky knew that swallowing the liquid was painful.

Hutch held out both hands, palms up, raising first one, then the other.

"Six of one, half dozen of the other?" Starsky interpreted.

Hutch smiled.

"Hurts to drink, but you're really thirsty."

Hutch sighed and nodded, then reached down and picked up Starsky's wrist, squinting at the wristwatch and frowning as if it were difficult to focus.

"It's about seven-thirty," Starsky told him. "You've had a long day, haven't you, partner?" He yawned and pulled at his curls. "Me, too."

Hutch tilted his head toward the door purposefully.

"Oh yeah? " Starsky asked. "You're tired of me already?" At Hutch's smile he continued, knowing that the banter made both of them feel more normal, which he was sure was helpful to his partner in light of his trepidation about returning to the hospital setting. "Man, I sit here all day like a dutiful partner, bringin' you drinks, holdin' your hand, and what do you do? tell me to go, toss me aside like…like…like they probably did with your decrepit tonsils. That's gratitude for you," he huffed. Hutch reached out and squeezed his hand, and Starsky moved in close. "I love you, too," he responded, giving Hutch a peck on the lips. "I don't mind staying. this is a pretty nice room."

Hutch shook his head. "You're exhausted," he whispered. "I don't…need a babysitter. Go on home…get rest…."

"Are you sure?" Starsky asked him seriously. "Because I totally don't mind staying."

"I know," Hutch breathed. "Go. It's fine." One corner of his mouth tugged upward. "Big boy now."

"Terrific, just when I was getting used to you the other way." Starsky stood up and stretched hard. "I'll be back in the morning, then," he assured Hutch. "Okay?"

Hutch nodded and closed his eyes as Starsky stroked his forehead.

"You get rid of that fever for me, you hear?" Starsky bent to kiss him. "I'll call the nurses' station in the morning, so if there's anything you want me to bring, write it down, or whisper it to one of them, and I'll bring it. I'll make a list."

"Just bring you," Hutch whispered, drawing an arm around Starsky and hugging him hard.

"I can probably remember that without a list," Starsky told him. "Okay, feel better and good night. I'll see you in the morning." He turned at the door and winked at Hutch's tired wave and, as the door was closing behind him, watched Hutch nestle down under the covers and close his eyes. He stopped at the nurses' station on the way out.

"You're still here?" he asked Kate.

"Almost done," she said. "ten more minutes. How's he doing?"

"He got a little sleep," Starsky reported, "and woke up and wanted a drink, so I gave him a few sips of water."

"Excellent," Kate said. "Great sign. I'll bet he'll be coming around much more tomorrow." She closed the chart she'd been writing on. "It's a tough operation on an adult, you know?"

"I can sure see that," Starsky agreed. "He's miserable."

Kate nodded. "It's hard to explain, but it's…kids pretty much let you know how they're feeling. when they come out of the OR after a tonsillectomy, they're feeling awful, and they tell you, and you can try to help out. With adults, they've got that stoic thing going." she glanced at Starsky. "and I suspect that Ken is pretty good at that."

"He sure is."

"So not only is it difficult to assess the pain they're having, it's tough to do it without taking away their dignity, or insulting their intelligence because, really, most grown-ups feel pretty dumb having their tonsils out."

Starsky grinned at her. "You're pretty terrific with the observations," he said. "Did you take a lot of psych courses in nursing school?"

"Some," she admitted, "but most of the way I approach my patients has to do with having done it before, having seen them in situations they can't control. You learn the patterns after a while, and what you can and can't get away with when you're dealing with them."

"I think Hutch might disagree with me on this," Starsky began, "because to him, somehow being on this floor was kind of like the final indignity. but I think he lucked out, absolutely."

"Well, thank you," she smiled. "We did, too. you guys are fun. He'll feel better tomorrow, some, I'm sure. He'll still be in pain and feel sick, but getting a little distance from the OR is going to help." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Of course, by tomorrow afternoon…"

"What?"

"He'll be entering the grouchy and petulant stage."

Starsky leaned over the counter. "How on earth would I tell the difference?" he asked with a grin, then waved and moved down the hallway to the elevator.

**********

"Holy shit, Hutch, did you forget to send me a party invitation?" Starsky asked incredulously, as he pushed through the door of Hutch's hospital room the next morning. "I've only been gone fifteen hours. What the hell happened in here?" His eyes scanned the room in which each available surface was covered with flowers, balloons, and gifts. One chair contained a pile of Fisher Price toys, puzzles, and arts and crafts sets. "Ah," Starsky said, pointing. "Word got around the station that your room is in pediatrics, huh?"

Hutch nodded darkly.

Starsky looked through the pile of toys appraisingly. "They really went all out, didn't they?" He grinned. "'Least you know they were thinking about you."

"Rather they didn't," Hutch whispered.

"It's not so bad," Starsky soothed. "We can give all this stuff to the nurses if you want, for the real pediatric patients. I'm sure they're always lookin' for stuff to keep them occupied.

Hutch held up a small stuffed giraffe with a bandage wrapped around its throat. "From Huggy," he said, unable to restrain a grin. "Keeping this one."

"Absolutely. How you feeling this morning?"

"Like I'm swallowing ground glass," Hutch told him hoarsely. "But better than I did."

Starsky felt his forehead. "Fever's down some," he said, "that's probably why."

Hutch nodded.

"You get any sleep?"

"Little bit," Hutch waved his hand back and forth. "Nurses kept coming in, and there was some kid…crying a lot down the hall."

"Maybe you can catch a nap this morning," Starsky offered, straightening the blankets on the bed. "I'm going to have to go in to work, at least for a little while. Hate to have to leave you again."

Hutch shrugged. "'S okay," he whispered. "Lots to do here…finger painting in the day room at eleven." He smiled.

"Sounds like you got a full schedule ahead, Blintz," Starsky commented with a smile.

Hutch raised his eyebrows in agreement, then tugged on Starsky's sleeve. "When you…" he started to whisper, then had to stop and swallow carefully a few times. He held a hand to his throat as if to brace the discomfort, and tried to continue. "…bring back pajamas?" He made a face and plucked at the hospital gown he wore.

"Well, I don't know," Starsky teased. "I think that getup not only looks stunning, but…" he slid a hand under the covers and grabbed Hutch's hip. "…it certainly allows easier access."

"…ward is G-rated, Starss," Hutch grated out, batting his hand away.

"You're not," Starsky reminded him and winked lasciviously. "I do have one question, seriously. Everyone else on this floor has, like, really cool hospital gowns, you know, with cowboys and teddy bears and stuff like that. How come you got the boring one?" He pointed at the gray-blue polka dots.

Hutch glared at him.

"Oh, I see, not even gonna dignify that with a response, huh?" Starsky's eyes twinkled. "Hey, remember, I don't have to bring your pajamas back. You better be nice to me."

Hutch looked at him, at once contrite, calculating and nervous. He widened his eyes and looked pleadingly at his dark-haired partner, and pushed his chin out slightly to heighten the effect.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, turn off the puppy dog eyes," Starsky kissed his forehead. "Unfair advantage, you know I can't resist that. Fine, pajamas it is."

Hutch nodded, a self-satisfied smile smoothing his features. "And a milkshake."

"Manipulator," Starsky growled.

"Good morning," came Kate's voice from the doorway. "I see you're still here."

"So are you," Starsky pointed out. "Do you ever go home?"

"Once in a while," she told him. "We had a couple nurses out sick this week so we've all been covering. But I work today and tomorrow, and then I've got three blissful days off in a row," she told him. "And I can't wait." She gave Hutch's arm a squeeze. "Except that I'll have to leave you guys. Although…" she pulled the electronic thermometer from her lab coat. "I suspect they'll probably let you go tomorrow, anyhow, if you keep doing as well as you are now."

Hutch opened his mouth without protest, and lifted his arm so Kate could wrap the blood pressure cuff around it. "You look a little better," she told him. "Throat hurt real bad?"

Hutch shrugged.

"It hurts real bad," Starsky told her. "And he has a headache."

Hutch furrowed his brow questioningly.

"Because I know," Starsky told him smugly. "You always know with me, too."

The blond tilted his head in acquiescence. "Hurts a lot," he admitted, when Kate withdrew the thermometer probe.

"You're still running a little temp," she said, "but better than it was. Really, this is not the place to get a lot of rest and feel better. It's always too noisy, and there's too much activity. You'll do a lot better when you get home and you're in your own bed."

"Definitely," Hutch croaked out, then casting an eye toward Starsky, added, "but my nurse won't be as cute."

Starsky laughed good-naturedly. "You got a point there, Hutch," he allowed. "Well, as much as I'd like to hang around here with you for the rest of the morning, some of us have to go to work and earn a living." He patted Hutch on the shoulder. "I've got to go see Dr. Barrett anyway," he declared.

"Which one?" Kate asked. "One of the ones who are on staff here?"

"There's more than one?"

"Yeah, two. The orthopedic guy and the plastic surgeon."

"The second one," Hutch added. "You know him?"

"Mm hm," she answered, writing down his vital signs on a piece of paper. "Really nice guy, we all like him a lot. I mean…" she tucked the paper in the pocket of her lab coat. "We don't see him too much on this floor, once in a while, like if there's a kid in an accident, or with a dog bite or something. But really cool guy, very generous, does excellent work. If it weren't for that nurse--"

"Nurse?" Starsky asked.

"Yeah, his right-hand man, Marge. Margaret. She's a bit of a joke around the hospital."

"In what way?" Starsky sat on the edge of the bed.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Oh, well, you know, she's kind of an old maid type, we all think she's been in love with Dr. Barrett for years and years, follows him around like a puppy most of the time; she does everything for him."

"Doesn't that bother his wife?"

"He doesn't have one," she told them. "His wife died about five years ago, committed suicide, actually. She'd had surgery--some kind of minor surgery--and wasn't bouncing back as quickly as she thought she should be. They found her in her bed with an empty bottle of painkillers beside her. No note, no nothing. It was awfully sad, we felt terrible for him."

"Wow," Starsky breathed, flicking his eyes at Hutch, then back to Kate.

"Marge was right there for him, though," Kate continued. "Helped him out with all the funeral arrangements and all that stuff. he said later he didn't know what he'd have done without her. But we all think she's in love with him, and he just doesn't get it; he doesn't look at her that way, I suppose."

Starsky glanced down at Hutch. "I heard she came to visit you," he said.

Hutch frowned, trying to remember. "She did?"

"She said she did, before the surgery. And the records were gone, remember?"

"Uh…" Hutch blinked. "Yeah, I guess she did; I thought it was a dream. Really weird…said she had to take the…" he began to cough, and Starsky and Kate hauled him upright. "…records back for the…" he coughed again.

"She told me that you two had a wonderful, heartwarming talk," Starsky informed him, patting his back gently.

"What?" Hutch looked up at him in surprise then shook his head. "Uh, uh; she's…really weird. Talking about weird stuff, like…" he coughed again.

"That really hurts you, doesn't it, sweetie?" Kate asked. "I think it's time for your pain meds anyhow, and let's do it in the IV again." She took the syringe and medicine vial from her pocket, checked the bottle, checked the dosage, and injected the medication into the IV port. "This way you can get a little sleep while David's at work, and be all bright and cheerful when he comes back with your milkshake."

Hutch sank back down against the bed gratefully and closed his eyes with a sigh. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "Feel like shit."

"I'm sure you do," she agreed, moving toward the door. "I'll be back in a little bit to check on you."

"Hutch," Starsky leaned over him as soon as the door had closed. "That nurse, that Marge? What did she say when she was here? What did she do?"

Hutch cracked open one eye. "What?"

"That nurse," Starsky repeated, a bit more urgency in his tone.

"Um…" Hutch licked his lips. "I don't know, she…" He yawned. "Talkin' about the charts…and stuff…."

"What stuff, Hutch?"

Hutch scrubbed at his face. "Pain stuff makes my nose itch."

"Hutch, look at me and try to concentrate," Starsky said sharply.

"What?" Hutch managed to sound irritated, despite the fact that he barely had a voice.

"Okay," Starsky forced himself to smile and speak softly. "It's okay, partner." He ran a hand across Hutch's forehead. "You get a little sleep, and I'm gonna go to work. When I come back, you'll be a little more awake and we can talk, all right?"

"Yeah," Hutch smiled slightly. "Thanks, Starsk," he sighed, and turned over on his side.

**********

"Norcuron?" asked Dr. Barrett. "No, I don't use it in the OR, why?"

"Because all the women who died had traces of that drug found in their systems," Starsky told him, narrowing his eyes. "Now my partner started going through your surgical notes, but he's--"

"Coffee, gentlemen?" asked Margaret Stanton lightly. She held up a pot. "It's fresh."

"None for me, thank you, Margaret," Dr. Barrett gave her a small smile.

"Detective?"

"No," Starsky answered sharply.

"How is your partner doing?" she asked smoothly. "What a lovely man he is. We had the most wonderful talk yesterday morning."

"So you said," Starsky answered. "Although Hutch didn't mention it."

"I think he was nervous about his operation," the woman offered. "We talked about anesthesia and surgical risks, things like that. Our chat seemed to make him feel better, he's just so nice."

"Yes," Starsky agreed. "Now, Dr. Barrett, getting back to these women…."

"I'm surprised he doesn't have a girlfriend," Miss Stanton broke in. "Handsome fellow like that."

"Yes, well." Starsky shrugged his shoulders.

The telephone on the physician's desk rang, and the doctor picked it up quickly. "Barrett." His eyes widened and he spoke apologetically into the receiver. "Oh, blast, I completely forgot. Yes. No, I'll be there in a few moments. Please offer my apologies. Thanks, Tom." He replaced the receiver and looked across the desk at Starsky. "Detective, I am so sorry. is there any way we might continue this conversation later today?"

"I guess so," Starsky said reluctantly. "You got an emergency?"

"Well, sort of, not really," the doctor answered. "Conference with the family of a patient; we're concerned about her. I did some surgical repair work on some burn scarring--elderly lady, but not managing well at home these days. We're trying to come up with some options for her--assisted living, that sort of thing. I don't think she's safe, and she's a sweetheart, so we want to do all we can to make things better for her."

"I see," Starsky answered. "What time is good?"

"Doctor is finished with appointments at four-thirty this afternoon," Margaret answered.

"Okay," Starsky rose. "I'll go down to the station and do some paperwork, then I'll stop and see Hutch, and then I'll come back if that's okay."

"That's absolutely fine, Detective," the doctor extended his hand. "I told you before, and I meant it. Whatever I can do to help, even if it's just to bring some closure for the families of my patients, I'm certainly willing to do."

**********

Starsky grinned at the sight of his partner, propped up in bed, crayons scattered all over the bedside table. Hutch's head was bent in concentration, as he worked diligently, and carefully tucked under his left arm, with Hutch's IV tubing draped behind her, was a little girl, dark hair curling and spilling over her shoulders.

Hutch looked up and smiled as Starsky entered the room, then nudged the little girl with his thumb. "Here he is," he whispered.

"I see you made a friend," Starsky offered, patting his partner's arm. "My name's David," he extended his hand, which the little girl shook solemnly.

"I'm Holly," she told him. "I'm Hutch's friend."

"So I see."

"We met finger painting," Hutch whispered, holding up a blue hand.

"Well, that's cool," Starsky answered. "Hutch is real good at finger painting," he told the little girl. "You went to finger painting?" he asked Hutch.

"I was recruited," the blond whispered. "She was rounding up the stragglers."

"Kate told me to go to all the rooms and get the kids who weren't coming," Holly said. "So I got Hutch."

"Reluctantly." Kate poked her head in the door. "But it turns out he's a finger painting champion." She produced a large piece of drawing paper from behind her back. "I think he made this for you, David."

Hutch flushed as Starsky squealed, "It's my car! Oh, cool, Hutch!"

"I told you he'd like it." Holly tapped Hutch's arm.

Hutch held up his other hand--covered with red paint--for Starsky to see. "Candy Apple Red," he grinned.

"It's terrific," Starsky enthused. "Great job on the stripe."

"I helped with the stripe," Holly told him, smiling shyly.

"You know, kiddo…." Kate held out a hand. "You've got to go back to your room for now. The doctor's coming to check your ears, and your mom called; she's on the way in."

"Do I have to?" the little girl asked. "I want to stay with Hutch."

"You can come back," he assured her in his gentlest whisper. "Starsk--David's supposed to bring me a milkshake later. I'll share."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up.

"'Long as it's okay with your mom," Starsky told her, helping her off the bed without disturbing the IV tubing. "I'll bring you one of your own. What flavor do you like?"

"Chocolate?"

"It's a deal," he agreed, patting her on the head. "Cool kid," he said, once the partners were alone.

"She is, yeah," Hutch nodded. "She's the one I heard crying last night."

"Oh, man, why?"

"She had tubes put in her ears," Hutch explained. He cocked his head to one side. "We exchanged upper respiratory horror stories this morning."

"Why was she crying?" Starsky asked, leaning over to peck Hutch on the lips. "And hi, by the way."

"Hi, yourself," Hutch pulled him down for a hug. "She misses her mom. They've got a new baby at home, and the dad's in the service, so she can't be here all the time. Her mom's real nice; it's hard on her, too, so I was trying to help out with the homesick thing." He swallowed gingerly. "Hurts when I try to talk."

"Then don't," Starsky admonished. "You don't have any voice, anyhow. you sound like an obscene phone caller." He thought for a moment. "You've got a telephone, you know. You can always call me if you get bored." He raised an eyebrow invitingly.

"Thanks," Hutch whispered, making a face. "I keep thinking it would be better if I could clear my throat, but I can't." He rubbed at his neck. "Stitches or something. Junk in there."

"Shhh, then." Starsky stroked Hutch's jaw with his thumb. "You want me to go get your milkshake now?"

Hutch shrugged his shoulders.

"I have to go back to see Dr. Barrett again this afternoon," Starsky explained. "He had an appointment or something, so I thought I'd go back to the station and coordinate all our notes, and then go over there."

Hutch looked at him pointedly.

"And then I'll swing by your place and grab some pajamas," Starsky promised. "I didn't forget. You want the milkshake then?"

"Think so, yeah," the blond whispered.

"Did you have any lunch?"

"Broth." He made a face. "But I can't eat anything that I can't drink, and since that hurts too, I…" His voice trailed off.

"Well, as long's that IV's dripping, I guess you're getting fluids and some calories," Starsky reasoned, "so that's okay." He ran a hand through his curls. "This kind of surgery would kill me," he said. "I'm starved."

Hutch motioned toward the door. "Go get lunch," he urged. "I'm fine. See Barrett. Bring back pajamas."

"Okay," Starsky sighed. "Gotta tell you, all this backing and forthing is wearing me out. Once you're home and feeling better, you're gonna have to fuss over me for a change."

Hutch blinked slowly. "I can do that," he whispered. "I miss doing that."

"Good, I'll remind you then," Starsky declared with a grin. He lowered his voice. "I gotta tell you, Hutch, it's awful lonely at home without you there." He slid a hand under the covers and squeezed Hutch's thigh.

"Yeah?" the blond answered hopefully.

"Mm hm. I got no one to argue with but me. It's boring."

Hutch smiled and lay back on the pillow. "It must be different for you, though," he offered, closing his eyes.

"What?"

"Winning an argument." His expression was benevolent.

"Aw, man." Starsky shook his head. "I'm goin' to work. If I want to be insulted, I'll go talk to Dobey."

Hutch reached out, found Starsky's hand and squeezed it.

**********

Starsky bent forward in his chair. "I want to thank you for all your help, Dr. Barrett."

The physician sighed and rubbed his brow. "I only wish that I could tell you something more helpful," he said, "something that might really point you in the right direction." He looked up at Starsky. "These were three dear, wonderful women. They should be alive and having their hair done, or arranging a charity auction, not…" His voicebroke. "I wish Margaret were here, but she's doing some follow-up work at the hospital this afternoon, she might be able to give you something, anything more than I'm coming up with. I feel such devastation over this, I can't even begin to put it into words."

"I know." Starsky's expression was sympathetic. "I know." He paused. "Dr. Barrett, I have to ask you a few questions that might be uncomfortable for you, might be something you don't really want to talk about. But I assure you, I wouldn't do it if it wasn't necessary."

"What about?" Dr. Barrett asked, puzzled. "This whole thing is uncomfortable. What could be worse?"

"I…um." Starsky looked him straight in the eyes. "I need to ask some questions about your wife."

"My wife?"

**********

"Starsky here," he said into the telephone, reaching for a can of soda to wash down the sandwich he'd been wolfing down.

"Starsky? Jeff."

"Hi, Jeff. what have you got?"

"Maybe nothing, maybe something," the man answered. "Pulled the file on Anna Barrett--autopsy information, police reports, all of it."

Starsky picked up his sandwich. "Okay, what'd you find?" he asked, pushing the sandwich together and preparing to take a bite.

"Well, it's…" The sound of shuffling papers crackled through the telephone line. "It's just remarkably similar to the autopsy reports of these three women," he said. "There's the same bits of partially digested painkillers, and there were traces of Norcuron in the--"

"What did you say?" Starsky put the sandwich down. "Norcuron?"

"Yeah, and she'd had a cholecystectomy, not plastic surgery."

"Curly-what?"

"Gall bladder. Not emergency surgery at all. it had been scheduled, she wasn't in acute distress at the time, no reason to be injecting…" His voice lowered. "She'd even had a day nurse at home; I mean, she could afford it."

"Day nurse," Starsky repeated.

"Yeah, someone who worked for her husband; she was doing private duty according to this. she's the one who found Mrs. Barrett and gave the original statement."

"Jeff, what was her name?" Starsky's voice became urgent.

"Anna. Anna Barrett."

"No, not her--the nurse."

"Um…Margaret…hard to read the writing here…Stanton? Stinton? Something like that."

"Oh, my God," Starsky pushed the plate aside, stood quickly, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "Thank you very much, Jeff. I've got to get to the hospital."

**********

Starsky rounded the corner skidding, as he nearly collided with the little girl who'd been visiting his partner earlier. He crouched down beside her and tried to make his voice sound relaxed in order not to frighten her. "Holly, hi," he said with a smile, although he suspected it looked more like a grimace. "I'm lookin' for Hutch, and he's not in his room. You have any idea where he is?"

She nodded her head shyly. "Some nurse came and got him," she said. "She was giving him some medicine in that needle thing in his arm and she said she had to take him downstairs for some tests."

"Tests?" Starsky asked. He ran a hand through his hair. "Medicine?"

"Yeah," she said. "'Cause I came to visit him. we were gonna play cards, but the nurse said he had to have a test."

"Did Hutch say anything to you?" he asked, touching her shoulder.

"He was sleeping," Holly replied. "And that nurse said I should be quiet and not wake him up, and he'd think it was funny waking up someplace different than when he went to sleep." She furrowed her brow. "I don't think that would be funny, I think that would be scary."

"I think you're right," Starsky said. "Did you see where they went?"

"Down that hall there, and in one of those doors." She pointed toward the opposite wing of the floor. "I'm not sure which one."

"Okay, sweetheart, and now I need your help. I'm gonna go get Hutch, and I want you to take this to the nurse at the desk." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Ask one of the nurses to call this number and tell them that Starsky needs back-up. Do you think you can do that while I go find him?"

She nodded. "Yes, I can do that." She turned and raced down the hallway toward the nurses' station, as Starsky took off in the opposite direction.

He moved silently and methodically down the hallway, stopping at all the doors to listen, opening each a crack and peering inside. His heart was thudding, and he fought the basic impulse that urged him to throw the doors open and confront whomever was on the other side. Gun drawn but hidden under his jacket, he continued until reaching the fourth door. he heard snatches of conversation through the crack.

"Such a shame," Margaret's voice filtered through the slight opening in the door. "Don't you think it's a shame, Detective Hutchinson?"

Hutch's reply was muffled and sleepy.

"I absolutely agree," she said. "Had your partner simply left things alone, not continued prying, we might have avoided this unpleasantness altogether. Goodness me, neither one of you understands what I've been through at all, do you?"

Starsky opened the door a tiny bit more. He could see that Margaret's back was to the door, and that she wasn't aware of his presence. Hutch was lying on the bed, dopey, practically asleep, but breathing normally. Margaret held a syringe in one hand and a vial of medication in the other.

"I don't really want to do this," she told Hutch, "because this will probably be it for me. no doubt your partner will have this mystery solved in no time." She sighed. "But I can't let this go. Someone has to pay. I could have been happy. I could have married him, you know, had you two not snooped around asking impossible questions. Dr. Barrett called me just now and began questioning me about his wife. His wife!"

Hutch mumbled something that ended in a question. Buying time, Starsky knew, and he bit his lip at the helplessness and vulnerability of his partner's position.

"Yes, you're right. it does work quickly." Margaret held up the syringe. "But by the time you're found, I'll at least have time to organize my thoughts, write some long overdue letters, and make a few decisions." She leaned down over Hutch's nearly still form. "I won't go to prison, you know, the humiliation…truly, I'd rather not live than that. I'm sure you understand."

"But…wh-why…?" Hutch's voice was ragged, tinged with pain and pain medication, and sounded only half lucid.

"Why? Oh, Detective Hutchinson," she chuckled. "You are quite naïve for a young man, aren't you? For love, of course. All for love." She began to draw the medication from the vial into the syringe. "And now, I believe, we are finished with our little chat. If you close your eyes, the end will come quickly, I promise, and I will stay with you until it's done."

"Sta…" Hutch struggled slightly, although it was clear that limbs and body and brain were unable to move in coherent, coordinated motion. "Starss…"

Margaret took the IV tubing in her fingers, feeling for the port.

Starsky aimed his gun, opened the door and entered, in what seemed like one fleeting motion. "Hold it, Miss Stanton," he ordered calmly. "Hutch, you okay?"

"Mm…Starss…"

"Oh, I'm afraid you're really too late," Margaret answered, tapping the syringe as she fingered the IV port and prepared to push the needle inside. "If you rush me, my reflex action will simply push this plunger, which I'm planning to do anyway. So you see, what you do is inconsequential."

"I'll shoot you," Starsky assured her, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, I would expect you to," Margaret looked over her shoulder at him. "It's quite all right. I can't go on anyway, not now, the humiliation…." Her voice quavered. "But I won't go alone. Your partner must pay because…" She gave a harsh laugh. "You've ruined everything, and you simply must be punished."

"You're crazy," Starsky said.

"Perhaps," she agreed.

Hutch flicked his gaze over to his partner, and, although his face was lined with strain and hurt, the eyes were remarkably clear for one as medicated as he clearly was. He nodded once, quickly, and lurched to the side, bracing himself as he took a deep breath and began purposely coughing as hard as he could.

Startled, Margaret hesitated and lost her grip on the IV tubing. In that split second, Starsky burst through the door, barreling into her with everything he had. He brought her down, knocking the needle out of her hand. It skittered away across the bare floor. Whipping a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, he roughly yanked her hands behind her back, locking the cuffs with a satisfying click.

"Please," she begged raggedly. "Don't do this. Kill me. Give me the syringe, I'll inject myself. I can't go on like this…please."

"Not on your life," Starsky growled. "Hutch, I've got her," he said, looking up. "You can stop coughing now."

"I'm…can't…." Hutch wheezed, hand on his neck as if to hold the pain in check.

"There they are!" came a tiny voice from the doorway, as several uniformed policemen preceded Holly into the room.

One of the officers picked her up saying, "You need to stay with the nurse…" as he moved back into the hallway, and two other officers pulled Margaret up off the floor.

Margaret continued to rant and beg for the syringe, as the policemen escorted her out of the room.

In an instant Starsky was at Hutch's side, helping him upright. Hutch leaned against his shoulder, still coughing, and shivering from the effort and the pain he was experiencing as the spasms tore against his sutured throat. "Okay," Starsky soothed, "it's okay." He rubbed his free hand against Hutch's back, and Hutch clung to him tightly.

Within a minute, two nurses moved through the door to help.

"Boy, am I glad to see you," Starsky greeted them with a shaky grin. "He's coughing so hard, he can't--"

"Let's get him back to his room," one nurse said, "and we'll get a breathing treatment from respiratory. That'll help, and he'll be more comfortable."

Between the three, Hutch was soon settled again in 408. Shortly he was set up with a steamy nebulizer, which Starsky held for him. The smell of menthol permeated the room as Hutch struggled to breathe more evenly. After several minutes, the wheezes died down considerably, and Hutch pushed his partner's hand away.

"Okay now…" he whispered.

Starsky looked up at the nurse who had taken up residence on the other side of the bed. She leaned over, listening to his chest with her stethoscope, his wrist held lightly in her free hand.

"Sounds better," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Strangled," Hutch told her, but the word was recognizable and his breathing had returned to normal.

Relieved, Starsky smiled. "Complain, complain, complain," he said. "I did all the work while you were just layin' there. Think I bruised my knee."

Too exhausted to answer, Hutch closed his eyes slowly, then opened them, in acknowledgment of Starsky's rant. The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. "Always were…glory seeker," he finally whispered.

**********

"Shhh!" Starsky slithered his way through the door, carrying a large, covered silver dish.

Hutch hitched himself up in bed. "Look what the cat dragged in--what's all this?" he asked hoarsely. "What took you so long? Why are you wearing my jacket?"

Starsky fingered Hutch's baseball jacket with a smile. "Nostalgia," he said. He balanced the dish carefully, a huge grin on his face as he nudged Hutch with his knee. "Slide over," he directed. "Hey, you think it's easy breakin' into a hospital at ten o'clock at night?"

"Did you have any trouble?"

"Nah," Starsky said. "Some orderly, took one look at me, said something about remembering this jacket and something about a two-week hangover, then he let me through the locked door."

Hutch looked past him. "You don't have Huggy and Dobey with you, right?"

"Not this time, partner. this one's just for us." His smile lit up the room.

"So what'd you bring?" Hutch shifted himself up eagerly. "I'm starving. I really think I could eat some solid food, but everything they serve here is so awful…."

"I sure remember that," Starsky agreed. "How you feeling, anyhow?"

"Good…better…great. My throat still hurts some, but other than that, I'm ready to get out of here. How are you?" he asked as Starsky yawned massively.

"Well, fine," Starsky answered. "Tired. It's been a busy couple of days while you were lounging around in here, you know. and since you got yourself involved in the case anyhow instead of takin' it easy like you were supposed to, and bought yourself two extra days in the hospital…."

"Hey," Hutch protested. "That wasn't my fault. She kidnapped me, remember?"

"Yeah, you stick to that story," Starsky smiled. He yawned again and shook his head. "Sorry," he apologized. "I'm really sleepy all of a sudden."

"Well, wake up," Hutch said. "I had to make all kinds of deals to get the nurses to promise to leave me alone for two hours. I told them I had to meditate in order to heal my inner spirit and physical being."

"They bought that?"

"I'm not sure; probably the five-pound box of chocolate didn't hurt."

"Good thinking, partner," Starsky praised him. He rubbed his eyes.

"So what'd you bring me?" Hutch asked, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Besides you for dessert, I mean." He turned and nipped at an ear lobe.

"Well, I couldn't have my buddy eating hospital food for another day," Starsky began, paraphrasing a line from another evening, another time--another life. "How long do you think it takes…?"

"Starsk…"

"Yeah, Hutch?" Starsky pulled the covers up over both of them.

Hutch sniffed at the dish. "You didn't make stuffed veal, did you? I can't eat stuffed veal. I mean, my throat feels better, but it's…they won't let me have…"

"How long do you think it takes," Starsky continued, "to make a banana milkshake?"

Hutch's face lit up in a dopey grin. "Banana? Real banana?"

Starsky lifted the lid with a flourish. "Real banana. And chocolate. And strawberry. And kiwi-mango." He indicated several large cups. "Thought I'd give you a choice," he offered smugly.

"Aw, Starsk!" Hutch exclaimed. "This is great." He looked down at the cups then back at Starsky. "Kiwi-mango?"

Starsky shrugged. "It's the one that looks kind of muddy," he said, peering down at the cups. "But it doesn't taste bad."

"I'll bet you taste even better." Hutch raised an eyebrow and started to move in on his partner. He pulled back abruptly as the door began to open. "Hey!"

"Hutch?" came the tiny voice from the doorway.

"Holly?"

The little girl padded into the room, curls askew, clad in her bathrobe and slippers. "I had a bad dream. Can I stay with you?"

"I, uh, w-w-well, I mean." Hutch cleared his throat. "What kind of dream?"

"I don't remember," answered the little girl, climbing up on the foot of the bed. "But I woke up scared."

"Oh," Starsky said, barely restraining laughter. "I hate that. Happens to me, too."

Hutch looked at Starsky, then at his watch, then back at Holly. "I-I-I mean, it's not that I don't want you to stay in here, it's just that…" He glared at Starsky pointedly. "You could help me out here, you know."

"Um," Starsky sat up straighter on the bed. "You know, Holly, I think that the one thing you want more than anything is to get out of here and go home, am I right?"

She crawled up between Starsky and Hutch, cuddling against them and nodded her head silently. She looked up at Hutch. "Please can I stay here?"

Starsky wrapped an arm around her and gave her a hug. "The thing is," he explained, "Hutch is a really cool guy and everything, and he's really good at protecting people and all, but," he winked down at her, "he snores somethin' awful, especially when he's got a sore throat, like now."

"My daddy snores," she said. "It's okay."

"Oh."

"Starsk--I mean David's right," Hutch interrupted. "what he was trying to say, I mean. The best way to get out of this place, and that's what we all want, right? The best thing to do is to get better and better every day, and the only way to do that is to get really, really good sleep." He looked over Holly's head and mouthed at his partner, "That's lame."

Holly nodded. "That's what my mom said."

"Well, your mom…your mom, gosh." Hutch fumbled for the words. "Your mom is one smart lady, don't you think so? I think so."

"I think so, too," Starsky put in helpfully.

"Yeah, she's really smart," Holly agreed.

"Well then," Hutch cleared his throat again. "I think it's really an excellent idea for you to go back to your own room." He slid his legs from the bed and held out a hand. "'Cause you'll sleep so much better in there, with all your own stuff. And, you know, David's gonna stay for a while, probably, and he watches television kinda loud."

"But I could watch TV, too," she said. "And I wouldn't be alone if I was with you guys."

"Well, now, that's true," Hutch agreed, his expression one of whirling thought. "What?" he asked Starsky, who was looking at him pointedly.

Starsky flicked his eyes over to the bedside table and back to Hutch.

Hutch raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement and appreciation. He reached down and picked up the stuffed giraffe that Huggy had brought to the hospital a few days before. "Hey, Holly," he picked her up, and smiled as she nestled into his shoulder. "How'd you like to take this guy back to your room with you? He's pretty good company."

"I would like that," she said softly, against his shoulder. "Could I take him home and everything?"

"Everything," Hutch assured her, hefting her up a little higher. "As long as I can come visit him. And maybe you, too, if you wouldn't mind." He smiled over her shoulder at his partner, whose sleepy grin flashed back at him.

"I'd like that," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck for a hug.

"Hey," Starsky said, "I didn't forget, you know. I brought you a chocolate milkshake."

"You did? Really?"

Hutch tipped her down slightly so she could look at the cups in the serving dish.

She pointed to one. "That looks like mud. That's not mine, right?"

"Nope." Hutch laughed. "That's supposed to be kiwi-mango, but…" he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think it looks like mud, too." He indicated Starsky with a nod of his head. "I think we'll let him drink that one."

Starsky reached for the chocolate milkshake. "This one's yours, hon," he said, holding it out to her.

"Thanks!" She took a sip. "It's good!"

"Let's take it back to your room," Hutch suggested. "And while you're drinking it and holding your giraffe, I'll read you a story. Well, maybe half a story. my voice is gonna give out. Deal?"

"Deal!" she agreed. She waved over Hutch's shoulder at Starsky. "'Night," she smiled.

"'Night, sweetheart," he replied. "I'll just watch TV 'til you get back," he told Hutch. "I'll be all ready to…talk and stuff when you get back."

"You do that," Hutch said looking at him pointedly. He looked at his watch. "We've got…an hour and thirty-two minutes to…talk."

"Sounds like a plan."

**********

"Okay now, sweetie?" Hutch asked the sleepy child.

"Mm hm," she murmured drowsily. "Thanks for the milkshake and the giraffe."

"You're welcome," he answered, as he bent down to kiss her cheek. "You warm enough?" He hitched the covers a little higher.

"Mm hm," she nodded.

"Okay then." He smiled gently. "I'll come in and see you tomorrow morning before you go home, how about that?"

"'nother hug?" she requested, and Hutch complied. "'night, Hutch."

Hutch beamed as he moved back toward his own room, and anticipation was clearly stated in his expression, his eyes, his gait, and his smile.

He closed the door of his room carefully behind him, loosening the front of his robe as he did so, then ran a hand through his hair and turned slowly toward his partner who was still in residence on half of the hospital bed. "Okay, partner," he announced. "I'm all yours. No more interruptions."

He began to move nearer to the bed, and, as his eyes adjusted from the bright light of the hallway to the dim of the room, he froze. "Starsk?" he whispered. "Starsky?"

A soft snore from the depths of the pillow confirmed his suspicions. Starsky had fallen sound asleep. He moved in for a closer look and stood there for a few minutes, watching tenderly. He took a grateful, perfunctory sip of the banana milkshake, knowing the love that had gone into its making. He set the serving dish on the nightstand and turned back to his partner.

"Aw, Starsk," Hutch said softly, his hoarse voice huskier with emotion. "You're exhausted, aren't you?" He soothed the rumpled curls and kissed Starsky's cheek gently.

"You did it, you know," he continued. "You saved the day, just like you always do. You held everything together." Hutch's eyes were bright with emotion. "You hold me together."

With a sigh of utter content, he settled back in next to Starsky and closed his eyes. "Love you," he whispered, as he drifted off to sleep.

Send feedback to Paula Wilshe

This page has been viewed

times since 2003-01-07.

Surprise Me!