Officer Down

K Hanna Korossy

Written: 2001

Remote Control 19 (2002)

  The whole trip passed in silence.

  Detective Gabriel Bonhomme was doing the driving, as fast as he dared even Code 3. The wail of the siren was the only thing that penetrated the quiet of the car, and it reminded him of the banshees he’d read about as a kid. Harbingers of death. It was horribly appropriate.

  Occasional stolen glances at his passenger told him little, but Gabe already knew the man beside him was thinking along the same lines. Even a stranger would have picked up on the unnatural whiteness of his face, the stiffness of his carriage as if trying to keep something fragile from breaking, and breaths that were too fast for a person supposedly at rest. But only someone who’d known Dave Starsky as long as Gabe would have known that the younger detective ranted, paced, threw things, and generally exploded when he was upset. This stillness was frighteningly abnormal.

  Not that anything that day was normal.

  The hospital came into sight ahead, to Gabe’s mixed relief and fear, and he eschewed the front entrance to go around to the back, where the ambulances parked and unloaded. Speed and the shortest route were the most important things. For all Starsky’s apparent distraction, Gabe had no doubt he would plow through anything or anyone who tried to get in his way just then. He’d only conceded to let Bonhomme drive because Gabe’s car had been parked out front while the Torino was buried in the station garage, promising a delay Starsky couldn’t accept.

  Gabe just hoped they’d gotten there in time. From what he’d heard, it seemed likely they didn’t have long.

  An ambulance passed them on its way out and another was pulled up to the back of emergency receiving, a small cluster of people around the back as they unloaded the patient. Without Starsky moving an inch, Gabe could feel the shift in his friend’s attention, the detective’s intensity rising another degree. Gabe pulled up next to the ambulance and Starsky’s torpor suddenly vanished, Gabe’s door standing open a second later, the seat empty.

  “Dieu t’embrasse,” Bonhomme murmured to the empty air before reaching across the seat to pull the door shut and leaving to find a parking space. God be with you.

By the time he’d parked the car and made it inside to the waiting room they’d directed him to, Gabe found Starsky sitting on the edge of a molded plastic chair, looking no more comfortable than he had in Bonhomme’s car. Gabe carefully took the seat next to him, waiting a minute for any sort of acknowledgment of his arrival, but he didn’t get any. He finally opened his own mouth, venturing to speak for the first time since they’d left.

  “What’s the news?”

  Starsky’s answer was slow in coming, his attention clearly elsewhere, his voice distant. “They, uh, just took him up to...surgery. They said they’d let me know soon as....”

  That seemed to be all he was going to say. And his hard stare hadn’t budged from the doors at the end of the hall. Gabe glanced down that way himself, seeing nothing more than solid white walls and the double doors, and then at Starsky, wondering what the brunet was seeing. Doubting he really wanted to know.

  “You saw him,” Gabe realized quietly.

  A difficult nod, and he thought he saw Starsky swallow. “It’s...it’s bad,” he faltered.

  Gabe sighed heavily. He’d feared as much when he’d heard the news, but somehow had still hoped it would turn out to be nothing, after all. Silently, he did the one thing he could think to, resting a hand on Starsky’s shoulder. It didn’t seem like the younger man even felt it, his hardened muscles unyielding, eyes nailed to the doors.

  The doors that were separating him from his possibly dying partner.

  What a stupid way for a cop to go, Gabe mourned to himself. And heroic. From what the Haitian detective had heard from Captain Dobey and then on the radio before leaving his car, Hutch had merely been responding to a call on the way to work, going lights-and-siren but by the book. The child who’d unexpectedly run out in front of his car had given him little choice: hit and probably kill the kid, or swerve dangerously to avoid him. Gabe doubted there’d been any hesitation. Ken Hutchinson’s car had rolled twice, they said, landing on its roof and requiring nearly a half-hour to extract him.

  By that time, they’d figured out who he was and contacted Dobey, who’d immediately come out into the squadroom to tell Starsky. Thirty seconds later, Starsky and Gabe were already in the car, heading for the hospital.

  But the older man hoped he would never, ever see on someone else’s face the expression on Starsky’s that first moment he’d heard the news.

  “We were gonna go to Vegas this weekend,” Starsky said dully, out of the blue.

  Gabe blinked, not sure if this was progress or not. “Yeah? I didn’t know you two liked to gamble.”

  Something he said was amusing, bringing a faint smile to Starsky’s face. But it was like watching a corpse react, the sketchy expressions a mockery of the usually very alive detective.

  And Gabe didn’t even want to see what was in the dark blue eyes.

  “Hutch always complains about it, says he doesn’t but he does.” Another delayed answer, as if it’d had to sift through Starsky’s shock first. Gabe had almost forgotten what he’d asked but it didn’t seem to matter, Starsky’s attention completely elsewhere.

  Like down the hall.

  “He broke his arm.”

  Gabe frowned, not following. “Today?”

  A slight nod. “Left arm. Guess it’s lucky he’s the right-hander.”

  “Guess it is,” Gabe agreed. At least Starsky was talking; that had to be good, right? The problem with emotional shock was that everyone reacted differently and it was hard to tell when to really worry. Gabe was far more used to seeing Starsky bouncing off walls when something disturbed him. Hutch had a temper, too, one even fiercer for all his surface coolness, but he was the one more likely to withdraw and brood when upset. The only times Gabe had ever seen Starsky shrink into himself were when Hutch was seriously hurt and Starsky was truly scared. Maybe there had been other times, too, but Gabe doubted anyone other than Hutch would have been witness to them. 

  “He hates casts.” Starsky almost seemed to be talking to himself. “Acts like a baby—makes me do everything for him.”

  Gabe tried to remember the last time Hutch had broken something, and nothing clearly came to mind. Starsky probably remembered every detail. Glancing up as he thought about it, Gabe realized they weren’t alone anymore; two uniforms and a detective had silently slipped into the room at some point, sitting or leaning against the wall, also waiting. The detective—Eney, a colleague from the SUD—met his eyes, but no one asked for news. Gabe figured they knew how things were going already just from seeing Starsky.

  “I wonder what happened to the squash?”

  Hutch’s Ford? Okay, he really was starting not to like the absent tone and rambling topics. Gabe decided it was time to worry. “Starsky, forget about the car—I’m sure the guys’ll take care of it. Tell me about Hutch—did they say why they were taking him into surgery?”

  Starsky ran a hand through his curls, then wedged both hands in between his knees, giving him an oddly lost look. Gabe thought the image apt. “They said he...hit the car with his left side pretty hard. Broke his arm, bunch of ribs, collarbone...he’s bleedin’ inside. They took him up to fix it.”

Fix it, not try to fix it, Gabe noted. That was Starsky at his core, a realist with a unbelievably wide streak of optimism. It balanced Hutch’s pessimistic idealism well. What were the chances of two enigmas like that existing in the first place, let alone finding their match? A match that was perhaps about to be broken.

  Starsky was shaking his head. “It’s not fair. He just got shot a couple o' months ago, had botulism a few months before that...almost lost him both times.” Very dark blue eyes came up to look at Bonhomme. “Who’s God tryin’ to punish, him or me? How many times does he have to go through this before.…”

  Another unfinished thought. Gabe softened. “You know it doesn’t work like that, kid. You’ve heard the saying—what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Things happen for a reason. God doesn’t keep trying until He succeeds—He knows what he’s doing.”

  “What if it does kill you?” Starsky asked hoarsely, his gaze back on his hands, or maybe the floor. Or maybe somewhere else completely.

  “Starsky...no matter what happens, you’re gonna make it. That’s what faith is, trusting whatever happens.” Starsky would make it, his friends would see to that, but severely, probably even irrevocably, changed. One day he’d be re-partnered, if he stayed with the job, and maybe even get close to the new guy. But he’d never quite be the old Starsky again. You didn’t lose that big a piece of you and keep looking and functioning the same way.

  Starsky didn’t answer, whether shutting him out or thinking about their conversation, Gabe didn’t know. All he was sure of anymore was that he would be there for the duration for his friends, both the living and the dying.

  By the time the doctor came several hours later, the waiting room was full of cops and Dobey was sitting on Starsky’s other side, waiting in the heavy silence just as Gabe was. They all straightened at the sight of the man in green scrubs, Starsky half-rising before the doctor motioned him down again. Starsky sat, staring whitely at the man.

  The doctor stood in front of him, probably already knowing Starsky was the man to speak to where Hutch was concerned. His face was tired, his manner reluctant, and Gabe could already see the bad news in his expression and gentle manner, even as Bonhomme doubted Starsky was picking up such finer details.

  “We just finished up surgery on Detective Hutchinson—he’s in Recovery now and shortly he’ll be moved to the ICU.” A slight pause. “We were able to find the sources of bleeding and stop them for now, but it doesn’t look good, I’m sorry. There was considerable damage, several organs injured, and it’s unlikely his body will be able to handle that much trauma. It’s just too extensive. I’m very sorry, Detective, but it looks like it’s just a matter of time.”

  Gabe’s breath caught. Starsky didn’t seem to be breathing at all. Dobey had closed his eyes.

  Starsky was the first to speak, but his voice was steady but somehow off. “Then I wanna see him.”

  Hollow, Gabe realized. Starsky’s voice was empty, lifeless. Already something was dying inside him as surely as that injured body up in the ICU.

  The doctor nodded almost without hesitation. “Of course,” was all he said. Apparently he knew about partners, or someone had told him about Starsky and Hutch. Or maybe just looking at Starsky was enough. “I’ll send someone down to get you as soon as Detective Hutchinson is settled. If he has any family, they should be notified, too.”

  Gabe watched Starsky swallow, knowing he’d forgotten all about his partner’s family, but it was one more weight added to his load.

  How much could one man take?
  The doctor’s mouth tightened sympathetically, and then he disappeared down the hall. Gabe leaned forward. “We already called Duluth PD,” he said quietly. “They sent somebody out to talk to Hutch’s folks.” 

  Starsky’s eyes winced shut briefly. “I should call ‘em, too. They’ll need to...talk to somebody,” Starsky mumbled, his gaze vague. “I just...just need a minute.” And he lurched to his feet before Gabe could react, hurrying unsteadily to the men’s room a little way down the hall.

  The group in the room stirred uneasily, whispers beginning to rise and fall. Bonhomme traded a long glance with Captain Dobey over Starsky’s empty chair, then waiting another minute to give Starsky a little privacy, rose and followed his friend.

  He found Starsky leaning haggardly over a sink, rinsing out his mouth and avoiding looking in the mirror. Gabe silently flushed the evidence of a turned stomach and collected a few paper towels, holding them out. Starsky took them without a word, without a glance, blotting his mouth with them before automatically stuffing them into the trashcan by the sink. And then he just stood there beside the wastebasket, motionless.

  Gabe was about to step forward to ask if he was okay when Starsky exploded. Grabbing the rubber trashcan with both hands, he yanked it up and then flung it with all his might against the opposite wall.

  The receptacle bounced off, landing hard on the ground and rolling almost back to where Starsky stood, its contents tumbling out. Unsated, Starsky reared back and kicked it into the wall again, and Gabe was grateful the container was made out of rubber, for all that force aimed at something more solid would surely have broken a few toes. The trashcan took a wiser course this time, tumbling under the sink where it stopped, leaving the restroom floor layered with trash and used paper towels.

  Gabe didn’t budge, only watched as Starsky stood and heaved in air, his fists curled and his body coiled as if ready for another attack. That was the reaction Bonhomme had been expecting all along, the side of Starsky he usually saw in crises, although it wasn’t reassuring to finally witness it. And he knew from experience it wasn’t a good idea for anyone except for Hutch to try to interfere. The blond could defuse his partner with a few quiet words, but now.… Gabe watched as Starsky’s shoulders slumped. The outburst had already died, anger not the answer to what was eating away at the brunet.

  “You ready to go see him?” Gabe asked after another silent minute ticked by.

  Starsky turned heavily, giving him a grief-filled glance before stumbling out the door.

  Gabe surveyed the trashed bathroom, then stared for a long minute at his own drawn face looking back at him from the mirror. Then he walked out of the room to follow Starsky.

  The doctor had been true to his word, a nurse arriving shortly to take Starsky upstairs with her. Gabe trailed protectively behind, Starsky either unnoticing or uncaring about his presence.

  The ICU was lined with open cubicles laid out like spokes of a wheel, each containing a single bed whose foot pointed into the middle of the room, the nurses’ station. Gabe stopped there and leaned against the station counter, watching from that discreet distance as Starsky found his partner.

  Even from a distance, Hutch didn’t look good. Gabe could see little of the man himself, just a tuft of that bright blond hair, some of the purple-bruised and swollen face below it, and a lot of bandages. It was what was around the patient that gave the more vivid picture of his condition. An assortment of machinery crowded his cubicle, including what Gabe recognized to be a ventilator and a heart monitor. Two IV’s were near the head of the bed, and several other tubes stretched between the bed and different contraptions, different fluids visibly running through them. It seemed there was little the injured man’s body was able to do on its own.

  But Starsky’s gaze had been riveted to his partner’s face as soon as he’d seen Hutch. He approached timidly now, afraid of what he’d find, Gabe guessed, and sank slowly into the one chair next to the bed. Then he just sat and looked.

  Gabe wasn’t at the right angle to see his face, but the older man could starkly imagine the shock of seeing proof of what had only been imagined until then. This was the point when family members often broke down, when reality dashed even their faintest hopes.

  Starsky wasn’t breaking, though. After some time, his head lifted and he studied all the machines surrounding the bed, seeming to examine each one individually as if taking stock. And then back to the bed, following the length of his partner’s body, noting all the visible damage.

  He was being a cop, Gabe realized, cataloguing the situation, calculating the odds, the possibilities. No matter how good the briefing, a good cop liked to measure up the situation for himself.

  Starsky’s gaze returned to his partner’s discolored face, and then with a tenderness Gabe had never seen in his friend before, he reached out and lightly stroked the blond hair.

  Gabe’s chest hurt.

  Starsky had moved down to Hutch’s hand and gently slipped his fingers under the white, limp ones. With familiar intimacy, they found their fit, Starsky’s thumb moving over the knuckles in a soft motion Bonhomme doubted he was even aware of. And then Starsky began to talk softly to his partner in a voice too low for Gabe to make out, pitched only for the ears of a man who couldn’t hear him.

  Starsky’s tears finally started then, and, beginning to feel like an interloper, Gabe left, returning downstairs to the waiting room. Starsky didn’t need him there, hadn’t even been aware of him, and didn’t need looking after. All the damage had already been done, now it was just time to wait for the end.

  And to say good-bye.

  “He’s gonna die, Gabe.”

  It had been hard enough to pry Starsky out of the ICU, even for what Gabe promised would only be a fifteen-minute break. But as darkness fell and the doctor said the end of their wait would come sometime that night, Starsky had to have a break, to refill on something other than adrenaline. Gabe had a feeling Starsky was still back in that cubicle, however, not in the empty breakroom with Bonhomme. His body was hunched in a chair next to the older detective, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee as if that were the only warmth he felt. But his mind was clearly not on their conversation no matter how his friend tried to distract him. And now Gabe had no answer for that whispered statement.

  “We’ve gone to the limit so many times, guess you start feeling unstoppable after a while. Like Captain Marvel...” Starsky’s eyes were unfocused as they stared at the doorway across from him. He gave a vague shrug, his face softening into an almost smile. “I was never good at odds—that was Hutch’s thing—but I’m pretty sure we beat ‘em more than our fair share.”

  Fair—the word was coming up a lot. “Hey, a lot of people don’t even beat ‘em once,” Gabe said softly. “Or they don’t find someone worth beating ‘em with.”

  Starsky’s mouth twitched, his hands trembling slightly around the mug despite its heat. “Nothing good lasts forever, huh?” The dark curls shook even though his distant gaze never wavered. “I wouldn’t trade it all for anything, not even after...this.” He swallowed heavily, eyes briefly shutting. He’d been doing that a lot, too, Gabe had noticed, trying to keep in check emotions that had to be overwhelming. Seeing him swallow his grief just made Gabe’s stronger.

  “You two have something pretty special. Everyone in the division’s seen it,” he replied.

  “I never met anybody else like him. I never will.”

  The aching finality of that hit Gabe square in the face. “Hutch’s one-of-a-kind, all right,” he agreed quietly, then asked in a lighter tone, “He as good at everything as he seems?”

  Starsky snorted into his coffee. “Hutch? He’s got a lousy sense of humor—you know that.” A pause. “And he can’t tell a muffler from a spark plug. He’s got two left feet. He never watched cartoons when he was a kid and doesn’t know who Gene Autry is. He thinks way too much. And his taste in food and cars stinks.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Gabe said with a slight smile. As Starsky warmed to his subject—probably the only subject he could have warmed to just then—it was the most animated Bonhomme had seen him since they’d first heard the news. The present tense bothered him a little; denial still lingered. But then, Hutch wasn’t gone yet. In some ways, with a partner like his, Gabe doubted he ever completely would be.

  Starsky was staring at him intently, and shook his head once as if taking the teasing seriously. “No—it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, not even all my screw-ups. I never met someone as smart, as-as caring, as brave, as good a cop as Hutch, but even that didn’t mean anything. I didn’t get it for a long time, either, but all that’s important is that no matter what I do, he’s always there, he always listens, an’ he always cares. Always. Y’know?” He peered closely at Gabe, almost desperate to make the point.

  “I know,” Gabe answered solemnly. Not from experience; his marriage was the only such relationship he’d ever been in, but even Lydia couldn’t listen to him talk about the job. Gabe was getting a far better glimpse of Starsky’s loss than he would ever have wanted.

  “You wanna hear something funny?”

  The change of tone, from intense to distracted, caught Gabe’s attention. And from Starsky’s expression, the older detective doubted he’d be laughing.

  Starsky continued as if he’d received an answer. “I don’t even know how to be me without him. I don’t know anymore what’s me and what’s him.” Starsky looked at Gabe again, only peripherally seeing him now. The anguish was too commingled with the love in his eyes to distinguish between the two, but the blue was drowning in them. “How ‘m I gonna tell?” he asked helplessly.

  Gabe was seriously out of his element, but Starsky had refused the offer of a visit from either the hospital’s or his own rabbi, or Berrimen, the department psychologist. Starsky had made the difficult call to the Hutchinsons before joining Gabe in the breakroom, but Hutch’s family wouldn’t be there until mid-next day, either. Dobey had hung around until he finally needed to go spend some time with his own family, promising to be back before morning, and Huggy Bear, the detective pair’s unusual informant/friend had also come and gone, Starsky oblivious to his visit. Gabe had been screening all the other well-wishers from the department, but to his knowledge, neither Starsky nor Hutchinson had any particularly close friends among them. He supposed all of Starsky’s friends would be getting plenty of practice in this in the weeks and months to come, but for now he was the only one left to listen.

  And try to find for Starsky some wisdom and comfort to balance unfathomable grief.

  “Why do you have to tell?” he finally, gently asked. “Man, you know you two’ll meet again. And until then, keeping the best of him alive in you sounds like a real good way not to lose him.”

  “He’s got a chunk of me inside him, too,” Starsky murmured, his eyes once more on the wall.

  That was the part Gabe knew would be lost for good. He just looked at Starsky with dismay.

  A few silent moments and Starsky finally moved, setting his mug ever-so-gently down on the table before he stood. “I’ve gotta get back to him.”

  Gabe frowned up at him. “Look, man, you’re beat. Why don’t you lie down for a while first? I’ll sit with him.”

  The smile was more pain-filled resignation than mirth. “I’ll have time to sleep after.” He turned and walked out of the room.

  Uh-huh, Gabe thought skeptically as he stared after his friend. As if either of them expected life to pick up and go on as normal once Hutch was truly gone. He was relieved to see some measure of acceptance in Starsky, but this was only the beginning. The worst would come when the shock wore off.

  Gabe gathered Starsky’s empty mug and took it to the sink to wash it out and replace it with the same carefulness Starsky had used. He knew the feeling. It was either that or slam it as hard as he could into the wall.

   Nights, for those who didn’t have the luxury to sleep through them, could be so very long.

  Those who had chosen to stay until there was word sat in loose huddles in the waiting room that had been set aside for them. One glance around the overflowing room and it was not hard to tell Hutch had been respected and cared about. Dobey had returned, sitting listlessly in one chair, a cold cup of coffee ignored at his elbow. Next to him was slumped Huggy Bear, making up the odd couple of Starsky and Hutch’s two closest friends. All of the SUD who weren’t on duty were there, even the married men who had families waiting at home, and several uniforms from the Ninth. When the Hutchinson family arrived late that afternoon, the group would close ranks around them, doing everything they could to support the family of one of their own. But for now...they waited.

  Only one face was absent from the crowd. Gabe slipped upstairs every half-hour or so to check on him, and always found Starsky in the same place, rooted by his partner’s bedside, Hutch’s lifeless fingers clasped in his hand, sometimes talking, sometimes simply sitting. For a pair that did just about everything together, Gabe guessed it was a given they’d face this last passage together, too. He just hoped Starsky remembered he wasn’t going as well, then mentally shook his head. Yeah, right, like Starsky would forget he was the one left behind.

  It was dawn when the news came, but it wasn’t the news they were expecting.

  The doctor’s appearance in the door made every whisper fall silent, every tired back straighten. And then the man smiled. “I have some good news. Extremely good news, in fact. Detective Hutchinson’s vitals have started strengthening. We waited a little while to be sure, but it is possible he’s passed the crisis point.”

  Gabe stared at him almost in incomprehension. Was that possible? After working so hard to accept that Hutch was going to die? The pair’s incredible luck was holding out, Gabe marveled, then struck that thought just as quickly. No, not luck—a gift. From a very compassionate Giver. And he, for one, was already offering his thanks.

  The room was frozen in shock for a half-second, but cops recovered their equanimity quickly and in a moment the laughs and cheers were deafening. Gabe even allowed himself a cautious grin, still watching the doctor and waiting for the inevitable “but.”

  “Now I’m not saying he’s a hundred percent in the clear,” the doctor held up a hand, “but it sure looks a lot better than it did yesterday. If he continues to improve like this, we’ll be upgrading his condition to ‘fair’ by tomorrow morning.”

  Considering Hutch had been critical since his arrival, that was good news indeed. Gabe could hardly take it in. He could only imagine how Starsky—

  “Have you told Starsky yet, Doctor?” Dobey asked, and Gabe’s attention sharpened to catch the answer.

  The doctor’s smile slipped a little. “Detective Starsky was the first one I talked to, but I’m not sure he can believe it yet. And perhaps that’s for the best until we know for sure.”

  The men around them continued to celebrate, but Gabe grew serious, as he saw the captain and Huggy likewise do. None of them could enjoy the news until Starsky could enjoy it with them. Until then, they still had two friends to worry about.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Gabe said, and watched the man nod and leave. This time when he stood, Huggy joined him and they both headed in tandem for the stairs.

  Gabe had never quite understood his friends’ relationship with this shady barkeep informant of theirs, although Huggy had supposedly helped in Starsky’s last-minute rescue from Simon Marcus’ cultists, and then there were the more vague rumors of his involvement with Hutch’s recovery after Forest had kidnapped and worked over the blond. At first glance, he hardly seemed the kind anyone would stake their life on, but Gabe had already sat more than one vigil with him for one of the two detectives, and knew there was more to Huggy Bear than met the eye. It didn’t even occur to Bonhomme to question the man’s right to be there.

  Down the hall from the staircase, into the ICU, and they both slowed to a stop. As far as Gabe could tell, Starsky hadn’t moved or changed expression since Bonhomme had last been up there, still drawn and white as he sat with his partner. Not surprising, considering that Hutch also looked as broken as before.

  “Livin’ for two.”

  Gabe turned, startled at Huggy’s voice from beside him, and looked at the wiry informant. For all their mutual friends, they’d hardly exchanged a word before. “What?”

  “When Hutch got shot a few months back, Starsky stopped by later that day. Didn’t want a drink or food, looked kinda lost, y’know? Like one of ‘em always looks without the other.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Took me a while to coax the whole story out of ‘im, but he finally said the doctors thought it looked good, he just wouldn’t be sure until he saw Hutch for himself.”

  Gabe’s mouth stretched a little. “Sounds like the Starsky I know.”

  Huggy pulled his eyes away from the ICU cubicle and looked at Gabe. “He said until then, he was livin’ for two. I thought he was upset and talkin’ crazy—I didn’t get it until today.”

  “Hmm.” Gabe followed his line of vision to Starsky’s bowed back. “Or dying for two.”

  “He’s gonna make it, brother,” Huggy said solemnly. “He has to.”

  They lapsed into the silence of their thoughts.

  When it happened, Gabe almost missed the first sign something had changed. Starsky stirred in his seat, and the Haitian detective straightened as he saw his friend lean forward, closer to the bed. Gabe took an involuntary step forward, trailed by a more uncertain Huggy.

  He’d never have seen it if he hadn’t been looking for it. Hutch’s eyes were—just barely—cracked open.

  Starsky hovered over him, talking in soothingly urgent tones. A few long moments more and Hutch’s eyes drifted over to his partner. And the bruised face relaxed into the merest hint of a smile.

  Gabe wasn’t close enough to hear what Starsky was saying, but he could see part of the grin that was stretched across his face as his body shook, on an emotional high. Starsky freed a hand from his hold of Hutch’s fingers and once more gave the mussed blond hair a gentle stroke.

  Strength depleted, Hutch’s eyes finally shut again. No doubt drugged beyond any pain at that point, he’d gotten—and given—all reassurance needed.

  Starsky stayed there a minute longer, still staring at Hutch as if he were trying to absorb his partner’s features anew. And then all the hasty bracings built in the last twenty-four hours broke from the sudden relief and that one last, unexpected turn. The dark head dropped onto his arm, folded on the edge of the bed, and Starsky’s shoulders convulsed with release.

  Gabe hovered, uncertain if he should intrude.

  Hutch answered the question for him. A nudge in his side from Huggy and Gabe saw it, too. Hutch’s eyes were still shut, the man unconscious by all appearances. But his thumb was slowly rubbing up and down along the back of the hand that was clenching his own. It seemed to be all he could manage, but as Starsky held on tighter and poured out his grief and relief, Bonhomme had the idea it was enough.

  Gabe took an easy breath for the first in a very long time.

  Huggy was grinning at him with satisfaction and Gabe readily found himself grinning back. They turned as one to head back to the others with the good news.

  Sometimes things were far more than fair, after all.