Impositions

K Hanna Korossy

Written: 2000

Of Dreams & Schemes 19 (2004)

for Barb

    It figured. He'd just settled down to read his new book, the cozy apartment providing the perfect warm setting as rain beat against the window and the November wind howled outside. So, naturally, that would be the moment the phone would choose to ring. With a half-stifled curse, Starsky tossed the book down and stretched behind him to grab the receiver, nearly losing his balance in the process.

    "Yeah?" he barked, unwelcoming. With any luck, it was some sales pitch he could hang up on and go back to his reading.

    There was a pause at the other end, only the sound of pouring rain audible through the connection. Wherever the caller was, he sounded a lot closer to the downpour than Starsky in his insulated little home was. Then came a hesitant voice.

    "Starsky?"

    Starsky frowned. His partner was supposed to be over a hundred miles away by now, going up north for some R&R. Hutch hadn't talked about it much, but Starsky knew the blond was looking forward to the break and some quiet fishing time. So why call? "Hutch? 'S everything okay?"

    Another hesitation. "Uh, well, no. Some turkey ran me off the road a coupla miles back and I can't get her out of the ditch."

    Starsky sat up in alarm. "You okay? Where are ya?" 'Her' would no doubt be Hutch's decrepit LTD, but he could care less about the squash at the moment.

    "I'm fine," Hutch said quickly, though the nasal tone of his voice was just beginning to register. "The car's seen better days, though. I think I'm stranded." The reluctance had crept back into his voice.

    "Tell me where y'are and I'll come getcha."

    "Uh...I'm about an hour outside the city, Starsk. Maybe you could just call the auto club--"

    "Tell me where y'are, Hutch," Starsky repeated patiently.

    He did then with obvious discomfort, the location general and only the number of the emergency phone to pinpoint where he was exactly. "But it's pouring cats and dogs, Starsky. You don't have to--"

    "I'll be there as soon as I can, just hang on." And before his partner could argue, Starsky dropped the receiver and grabbed for his jacket and keys. An emergency phone--that meant no shelter, after a several mile walk in the chilled rain. And Hutch didn't want to put him out. Starsky shook his head as he slammed the door behind him and dashed for the Torino. He'd show his partner put out...

    It shouldn't have surprised him, really, Starsky reflected as he drove, the windshield wipers struggling to keep up with the vicious torrents of water. Even after, what was it, two years of partnership?, Hutch still had trouble asking for help, let alone accepting it.

    On the job, the trust that had built between them was deeper than Starsky had ever experienced. Neither of them trusted easily, he knew that, and yet he placed his life in the blond midwesterner’s hands with complete confidence, and was certain of his partner's faith in him in return. It was part of what made them such good partners and cops.

    But that was on the job. In private, Hutch tended to keep more to himself. Not that he mistrusted Starsky; it had been to his partner he'd instinctively gone when he'd reached the end of his marriage and his rope only a year before, the lowest Starsky had ever seen his friend. But that was just it--it was instinct. When his need became so great that he was forced to share it, it was always Starsky he automatically turned to, but when he had time to think, to convince himself he could manage on his own...

    His partner just thought too much, Starsky shook his head. The eldest child, Hutch had learned the lesson of invulnerability and self-reliance too well, struggling on by himself even when he had friends and a partner to lean on and help him, like Starsky had so often leaned on him. Not so much scared at showing his weaknesses as just not knowing how to. Once Starsky had figured that one out, he'd been all the more determined to give his partner a few lessons in getting instead of just giving.

    Like now, Starsky grimaced at the deluge that pounded his car. Hutch had called him first, not the auto club, probably while standing there shivering, soaked to the bone and skinnier than a wet chicken, undoubtedly still shook up from having been run off the road. Partnership instincts were pretty strong. But then those stupid second thoughts kicked in. For a college kid, Hutch could be pretty dense sometimes. To think, he expected Starsky to call the auto club instead of coming himself.

Well, you can just can the stiff upper lip act, partner. I ain't goin' for it. Starsky was an older brother, too, as well as the partner of a clumsy, sensitive blond who needed looking after even if he didn't want to admit it. Starsky wouldn't force him to. But he would take care of his partner come hell or, well, high water.

    He'd called the station on the way, having them contact the phone company for more specific directions to the number Hutch had read off to him, and Starsky was getting close. He peered through the curtain of rain, trying to find one bedraggled blond in the midst of the flood.

    And there he was. Slowing, Starsky carefully pulled to the side of the wet road and next to the pathetic-looking figure who stood huddled against the cold rain. He leaned over the seat, opening the passenger door and giving it a shove. "You comin', or you want to wait for the next bus?" Starsky called out with a grin.

    Hutch needed no second invitation. He slid inside immediately, gratefully pulling shut the door behind him.

    Bedraggled was an understatement. Starsky frowned as he took in the plastered blond cap of hair, the dripping clothing, the shivering frame, and his partner's white cheeks. Without a word, he shoved his own door open, dashing around to the trunk of the car before hurrying back. Even in that brief minute, the cold drove down into his bones, his coat halfway to being soaked through. And Hutch had been out in that for who-knew-how-long. Starsky slid back into the car and slammed the door behind him, immediately unfolding both blankets he'd retrieved from the back and tucking one around his wet partner's legs.

    "Take your coat off," he ordered.

    Hutch stared at him warily, one hand unconsciously curling in the warm fabric that covered his lap. He seemed ready to ask why but capitulated instead, slowly and uncoordinatedly pulling off his heavy jacket.

    Starsky took it and immediately tossed it into the back, conscious of the slap of the wet material against the leather seat. It had to be saturated, more harmful than helpful now as a covering. The shirt underneath was also soaked and dripping, but it would have to do for the moment. Without asking, Starsky reached over and wrapped the second blanket around his partner's shoulders, drawing it together in the front and then raising Hutch's hand to hold it closed. The slim fingers felt icy to his warm skin, but they obediently clutched the blanket.

    Starsky eyed the result of his labors. It wasn't enough and he mentally kicked himself for not bringing more blankets and towels, maybe even a thermos of something warm to drink. But he'd been in a hurry to get there and at least it was better than nothing.

    "How ya doin'?" he asked sympathetically, lightly rubbing the stiff hand that was still tangled in the lap blanket.

    "Great," Hutch muttered, obviously fighting to keep his teeth from chattering. "You got here fast."

    Starsky shrugged and turned to face front, flicking the heat on high before turning the Torino back toward the city. "Didn't have anything better to do."

    He could sense Hutch's raised eyebrow without even looking. "N-no Saturday evening movie marathons on TV?" The cold betrayed him a little, the stutter much like the one he got when nervous. Starsky found himself smiling.

    "Nope. 'Sides, I got this partner who doesn't know when to stay inside where it's warm and dry."

    "Sorry to make you come out in this." Hutch sighed. "G-guess the fishing trip's off."

    "We'll get another few days off soon. Maybe I'll even join ya." Hutch didn't sound much up for a trip now, anyway, if the stubborn detective would have cared to admit it. The spreading warmth in the car had started a blush in his cheeks, but otherwise his face was still too white.

    "Sounds nice," Hutch said softly. Then more strongly, "If I ever get my c-car out of the ditch."

    Starsky couldn't resist an opening like that. "Why dontcha leave it there, get yourself a real car?" he said, grinning with mischief.

    Hutch, uncharacteristically, didn't answer, just hunched more deeply into the blanket.

    Starsky's grin faded. "What about the guy that ran you off the road, did ya see him?" he asked more kindly.

    Hutch shut his eyes and shook his head. "Rain was too heavy."

    "Well, don't worry about it, we'll get it taken care of Monday," Starsky soothed. "It's not goin' anywhere 'til then, anyway."

    A single unhappy nod.

    Starsky glanced over at him. "Hey, ya look beat. Why dontcha sleep for a little bit 'til we get home?" he coaxed.

    "I'm all right," Hutch insisted again, but only halfheartedly, the lingering shivers and his drooping eyes revealing the lie for what it was. He leaned against the window and a minute later was already dozing.

    "Dummy," Starsky muttered fondly and turned his attention to getting them back home.

    It took several shakes before Hutch stirred awake, another sign of how worn down he was, and Starsky watched thoughtfully as the blue eyes glanced around with confusion.

    "We're here, Hutch."

    The blond just grunted, working on sitting up and making sense of the mess of blankets.

    The rain had tapered down to a shower along the way, but Starsky still sprinted as he got out on his side and around to the other to open the door. Hutch crawled out to join him, both blankets reluctantly abandoned in the warm car. Starsky just pressed his lips together and reached inside for one of them, pulling it again around his partner’s shoulders, to Hutch's annoyance. But he didn't take it off.

    It was only at the door of his cottage, as Starsky gave up watching his partner fumbling for keys and opened it with his own, that Hutch seemed to realize the brunet was coming in with him.

    "I'll be okay now. Thanks." His voice had grown thicker with congestion.

    "Uh-huh," Starsky agreed vaguely, ushering Hutch in. "You have soup in the house?"

    "Soup?" Hutch frowned at him, clearly confounded. "What kind of soup?"

    "Chicken's best." He closed the door behind them and gave Hutch a little push toward the bathroom. "Get out of the wet stuff. I'll get ya some dry clothes and then we'll figure out how t'get ya warmed up inside."

    "Starsky, I'll be fine now," Hutch said reasonably. "There's no reason for you to stay."

    Starsky stopped, turning to look at him until the blond flushed and broke the gaze. "Hey," Starsky finally said, "there's nothin' wrong with helpin' out a friend, is there?"

    "I don't need any help," Hutch muttered, then sneezed.

    Starsky still hadn't moved. "So callin' me to come pick you up is fair game but making ya some soup 'cause you're sick isn't?" he asked. His voice had gone quiet and serious; this was important somehow and he needed Hutch to see that.

    Hutch shook his head hopelessly. "Starsky..."

    "Get out of the wet clothes, buddy," Starsky gently interrupted. "Then we'll talk about it."

    He watched until the blond trudged into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, then blew out a deep breath and went to find some dry clothes. He set them on the counter beside the sink in the bathroom, then, smiling at the long sigh that came from the other side of the shower curtain, headed for the kitchen.

    By the time Hutch emerged, dried off except for the wet tufts of blond hair, the soup was already simmering. Starsky eyed his partner measuringly as he dished out two bowls, noting the red nose and cheeks and the watery blue eyes that spoke of at least a cold settling in. "Here," he said, ladling some of the steaming soup into the nearest bowl. "Sit 'n eat. Just like Ma used to make, if she'd have made canned soup."

    Hutch slid reluctantly into the chair. "What if I'm not hungry?" His voice, already hoarse, cracked on the last word and he blushed.

    Starsky always got a kick out of how easy it was to embarrass his tough partner, but this time he pretended not to notice. Hutch was definitely sick, however, and it was stupid to try to deny it. But knowing his partner... "Eat it anyway. It'll warm ya up." The shivers were pretty much gone now, but Hutch still seemed slumped against the cold even though the knit sweater and flannel shirt underneath were the warmest Starsky could find.

    Hutch grimaced but obeyed, and the soup disappeared quickly enough in between yawns and sneezes. Starsky nodded in approval.

    "Good. Now where do you wanna be, couch or bed?"

    There was an almost shamed rebellion in the azure eyes. "Bed," Hutch said dispiritedly. Giving in because he hadn't the strength to argue, not because he agreed.

    Starsky winced; this wasn't the way he wanted to win his point, not by Hutch losing. Why couldn't the blond see that being taken care of wasn't a sign of weakness or defeat?

    Starsky leaned across the table, his hand covering the slightly too-warm pair resting on the table, not allowing them to pull back, and stared steadily at the blond until Hutch met his gaze. "Listen to me, partner," he said intently. "I'm gonna say this as many times as you need to hear it. I'm here for ya anytime you need me, got it? I want to be. And you're there when I need ya. You always have been. So it doesn't matter if it's you lookin' after me or me lookin' after you, 'cause the point is that we help each other. On the street or off. And if you figure that only works one way, with you takin' care of me, forget it. I don't want charity, pal."

    Strong and blunt, like his overthinking partner needed sometimes. Hutch blinked at him, speechless for once.

    Starsky softened. "You're my best friend, Hutch. I care about ya. That's what it's about, not who's stronger or who owes who, okay?"   

  He watched the adam's apple bob in the long neck, the trapped look fading out of worn blue eyes, replaced by a shy warmth. Hutch was still embarrassed, but heck, he wouldn't have been the blintz if he wasn't. "Okay," he rasped in a particularly rough-throated voice that made them both flinch.

    Starsky cracked a grin. "So how 'bout some tea? That's what I drink when I'm sick, with honey 'n lemon. Might make your throat feel better."

    "Orange juice. Vitamin C," Hutch countered.

    "Fine. Go curl up in bed and I'll bring ya a glass."

    Hutch was already rising, but he stopped mid-motion. "Starsk...it's not that I didn't--"

    "I know," Starsky nodded solemnly. "I just wanted you to know it went both ways."

    Hutch hesitated, nodded. Not a hundred percent convinced, Starsky saw, but definite progress. Hutch gave him a soft smile, then shuffled off to the bedroom, moving like an old man.

    Starsky watched him go, an affectionate smile on his face. Yeah, a few days of coddling would definitely do Hutch good. Maybe even soak it into that thick head of his that it was actually kinda nice to get help sometimes. Especially from someone around whom you could trust enough to let yourself take it.

    Starsky was whistling under his breath as he turned back to the refrigerator on a quest for orange juice.