Starsky turned away from the nurses' station shaking his head. Then, at the sight of the forlorn figure waiting for him in one of the plastic chairs, he screwed on a smile and put the jaunt back in his step.
"Looks like it's gonna be a while still," he said as he took the empty seat next to Hutch's. "They're still bringin' in people from the PCH pile-up, so we're at the bottom of the list."
"Swell," Hutch muttered with a faint grimace that might have been due to the news, or just from talking. The way his cheek was starting to swell, any movement of his face was bound to be painful.
"But, in the meantime, I brought you something," Starsky continued winningly, and held out his prize, coaxed out of a particularly sympathetic nurse.
The smile was more insinuated than actually present, but Starsky saw it nonetheless. "Thanks," Hutch said, taking the icepack with ginger motions. The cold made him flinch and suck in a breath, but as he slowly released the air, Starsky could see some of the lines of pain in his face ease.
"You sure you don't want anything for the pain? I could get ya some aspirin."
"The way my stomach feels, it wouldn't stay down," Hutch said wearily. His elbows were still on his knees, his long frame hunched over as if steeled against an onslaught.
Starsky winced in sympathy and settled his arm with unusual gentleness across Hutch's back.
"So, did you get Humphries?" Hutch's voice was muffled, directed at the floor.
"Tied him up with a nice ribbon – all his men, too."
"I'm sorry I missed it."
"You were a little distracted." Folded over a car, dazed and woozy, certainly seemed excuse enough.
Hutch shifted the icepack a little higher and gave a groan that could have been pain or pleasure. Starsky just shook his head again. "By the way…" he said conversationally.
"Yeah?"
"Your New York accent's lousy."
Hutch stirred, turning his head just enough to look up at Starsky slant-eyed. "Is that all you can think about at a time like this? My accent's lousy?"
"Well, I'm just sayin'…"
"Why don't you kick me a couple times while I'm down, too?"
"Nah, you look miserable enough already."
Hutch muttered something and went back to perusing the floor. Then he said, louder, "Fine, you're right. Next time, you can go undercover as the buyer."
"Count on it," Starsky said.
He didn't think he said it as seriously as he meant it, but Hutch must have caught something because he half-straightened, looking at Starsky full on now. "I've been beat up before, Starsk."
"I know that." He could probably count every time.
"It's no big deal."
Yeah, he'd definitely picked on something Starsky hadn't meant to reveal. "You're tellin' me!" he said with just enough harumph to his voice.
Hutch smiled then, if just barely, and patted Starsky's leg once before readjusting his icepack. It didn't seem to achieve its desired effect, though, and new lines of tension appeared.
Starsky peered at him. "What's the matter?"
"What do you think's the matter?" was the peevish answer.
Okay, fair enough. Starsky watched instead of asking this time, noting the creases around Hutch's eyes and the slight fuzziness to them that had faded but not disappeared yet since the warehouse. "Your eyes still givin' you trouble?" he finally asked.
"A little." The admission was grudging, but they didn't outright lie to each other, not when the question was sincere.
"Still seein' double?"
A minute shake of the head. "Room's just rocking a little. Reminds me of being on my dad's yacht."
Starsky thought for a moment, then scooped up from the floor the discarded ridiculously silver jacket Hutch had worn as part of his undercover role, and folded it into a messy pillow. He held it in place as he pulled his partner up by one arm to lean against Starsky's shoulder, the jacket providing some extra padding. Hutch didn't fight it – well, not too much – and while Starsky was willing to bet he had turned a little pink, some of the rigidity went out of his body and he did seem more comfortable there. Hutch didn't usually ask for a shoulder to lean on, but that was okay because Starsky could hear him even when he didn't.
A silent, comfortable minute went by before Starsky spoke again. "I didn't know your dad had a yacht."
"Still does. The Mona Lisa. He would take us out boating on weekends."
"Sounds like fun." Well, not really – Starsky wasn't keen on water – but since when had he and Hutch shared the same tastes? Besides, it was about being with family.
"It was. Chris and I would go swimming, and Mom and Dad would watch, or sit on deck and read."
"Huh." Sometimes he forgot how much money Hutch's parents had. They were good people, but Hutch's childhood bore little resemblance to Starsky's own. Funny how their very different worlds had converged. Starsky smiled at a thought of his own. "Only boat I'd been on before we went undercover on the cruise ship was the Staten Island Ferry."
Hutch shifted a little. "You're kidding. Well, next trip to Duluth, you and I have a date with the Mona Lisa."
"Terrific," Starsky said with wan enthusiasm.
The ice pack rustled and Hutch reached up to rub at his forehead.
"Eyes any better?"
"A little. It's worse when I start paying attention to it."
Well, that he could fix. Starsky cast around for a new subject and came up with a memory. "You know, I spent a lot of time at the hospital when I was a kid," he mused.
"Yeah?" Hutch sounded interested.
"You know, the usual scrapes and bumps you get when you're a kid. Worst was when I broke my arm climbing the big tree in the backyard."
"How old were you?"
Starsky sobered. "Twelve."
"Oh." Hutch would know what that meant: Starsky's dad had already died, and his mother had sent him out to LA to her sister's. No parents to hold and reassure him in the hospital waiting room that time, only his worried aunt. Starsky hadn't let her touch him then.
He plucked himself quickly out of melancholy. Not exactly what he'd intended when he'd raised the subject. "Hey, you know that the average person breaks two bones by the time they reach twenty?"
Hutch sputtered what sounded like a painful laugh. "Two, huh? I didn't, but I guess I'm making up for it now."
"Yeah, well, don't do it for my sake."
Another pair of gurneys rushed past bearing blood-streaked, moaning people. Starsky offered a silent prayer for them, and couldn't help being glad his partner was at the bottom of the triage list today.
Hutch stirred, shifting the icepack again.
"Ice melted yet?" Starsky turned as much as he could without getting blond hair in his eyes.
"Not yet."
"You need a blanket? I can ask a nurse–"
"Starsky, I'm fine."
"How 'bout some food? I think they got a vending machine down the hall."
He could feel Hutch recoil at the thought. "Are you trying to make me throw up? My stomach's just barely staying down as it is."
Starsky grinned. "Okay." He wouldn't even ask what had happened to the gum Hutch had been chewing. Starsky thought about launching another topic, then discarded the idea as Hutch slumped a little lower. "Why don't you doze off for a little bit?" he suggested instead. "Looks like we're not goin’ anywhere."
"My head hurts too much," was the grumbling response. But Hutch slid a little farther down, creeping toward a more comfortable position. Starsky took the opportunity to cinch his arm around his partner's shoulders, keeping him from puddling onto the floor and also warming him a little. Starsky made up his mind to snag the next nurse who walked by and ask her for a blanket, but for now this would do.
Just when he thought Hutch was dropping off, though, there was a groggy postscript.
"It must've been hard… being a kid in the hospital without your folks."
Starsky gave that thought, remembering the bereftness he'd felt even with his aunt sitting nearby, the pain that went a lot deeper than a broken bone. He could feel Hutch wrestling himself into a more restful position, poking Starsky in the ribs as he did, and thought of a time when they'd sat in that same waiting room, roles reversed.
Hutch was already asleep; Starsky could feel it in the relaxed weight of his body, but he responded softly anyway. "Yeah, it's a lot easier with someone."