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"You shoulda seen him, Cap'n. He was everywhere."
"I know. You told me."
"Oh." Starsky rubbed his nose. "Did I tell you how he carried me all the way across the — "
"Yes, Starsky, you told me." Three times already. Captain Dobey folded his paper and put it aside. From the sound of it, the shot Starsky had just been given was going to take a few minutes to kick in.
"An' he got me offa the floor when I fell."
"So you said."
"That stuff sure makes my nose itch — ow!"
"Use the other arm. You're supposed to keep this one still." Dobey moved closer to the bed and carefully nudged the sling back into place.
Starsky tried to lift his head for a better look. "Why? Did I get shot in the arm, too?"
"Be still. You've got stitches near your shoulder blade and the doctors don't want you to move around too much. Can I get you anything?"
"Nah, I'm fine. Hey, did I tell you how he got the bad guys with this itty bitty girl gun?" Starsky held up his fingers, inches apart, trying to find the proper distance to represent the smallness of the gun in question.
Dobey pushed Starsky's hand back down to his abdomen, patting it gently before turning and going to the window. "Yes," he said tiredly. "You've told me all of this three or four times already. Why don't you close your eyes and rest for a while?" The captain peeked through the window blinds, eyes scanning the parking lot for the Torino or Hutchinson's rattletrap.
"Where is he, anyway? You'd think he coulda hung around to see if I lived." Starsky rubbed his nose again.
"He's at the station, getting things settled." Not for the first time, Dobey wished his patient would get settled. Starsky had slept soundly for the first three hours after surgery, but he'd been restless ever since waking a few hours earlier. "Do you need something?"
"No, I'm fine. You sure he's at the station? I bet he went home." Yawning widely, Starsky wriggled around, trying to find a more comfortable position. "He's prob'ly asleep by now."
"I don't think so, Starsky. He wanted to get as much of his paperwork out of the way as possible so he can stay with you tomorrow when the doctor releases you."
"I bet he went out for some eggs. Did I tell you he didn't even want to go to that stupid rest'rant? He wanted to go back to his place for scrambled eggs."
"But I guess you wanted Italian food." Dobey smiled. He hadn't heard that before, but it didn't surprise him. Food arguments were common, and he'd noticed that Starsky won more often than he lost.
"Yeah." Starsky's eyes were losing their focus, eyelids fluttering. "Almost got us both killed 'cause I was a big chicken." He snorted out a laugh. "Get it? Too chicken to go to Hutch's for eggs." He laughed again, the sound oddly mournful to Dobey's ears.
The captain didn't respond. Starsky's eyes slid shut and stayed that way. Holding himself perfectly still, Dobey sent up a silent prayer that Starsky had at last drifted off to sleep.
A squeaky cart rolled along the hallway outside the room, and Dobey glared at the closed door, swearing vengeance on the person responsible if Starsky woke up. As the sound faded into the distance, he cut his eyes back over to the bed. His patient was apparently still asleep.
Dobey exhaled in relief, and Starsky's eyes popped open again.
"Huh?" Starsky blinked blearily and tried to sit up.
"Stay put. You're not ready to be getting up yet. What do you need?"
"Uh, I don't know. Nothing, I guess." Starsky lay back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, eyes blinking furiously against sleep. "Did I ever tell you…no, of course I didn't. I couldn't tell you any more than I could tell him." He shifted restlessly in the bed, free hand fidgeting with the sheet at his waist. "That'd ruin everything, wouldn't it? Lose our jobs, fam'lies prob'ly — "
"Starsky," Dobey interrupted sharply. He knew Starsky wouldn't be saying these things if not for the medication. He also knew that if Starsky kept talking, he was going to say something that Dobey didn't want to hear, something none of them could afford for him to hear.
"Hmm?" Starsky's eyes slowly tracked over to him and then around the room. "Where was I?"
"That's all right." Dobey put his hand over Starsky's and held it still. "We'll pick it up later, after you've had some sleep."
After a few more minutes of chatter from Starsky, an assurance that he was F-I-N-D fine when Dobey asked if there was anything he needed, and another admonishment from the captain to close his eyes and rest, Starsky's eyes finally drooped shut. Captain Dobey held his breath a minute longer, but all was quiet.
Retrieving his paper from the floor, Dobey settled into the uncomfortable bedside chair and considered Starsky's drug-induced ramblings. He had to admit they weren't a complete shock. He had sometimes wondered about this almost unnatural closeness between Starsky and Hutchinson, but then he'd remember Elmo and how close the two of them had been without there being anything more than friendship between them. Dobey sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe he'd misunderstood what Starsky had said, or maybe Starsky had muddled the way he was saying it. No use borrowing trouble, as Edith often warned him.
"Hutsch…."
Dobey opened his eyes, thinking Starsky was talking in his sleep, but Hutchinson was actually there, showing every minute of the past twenty-four hours in his face, but looking like he was trying really hard not to. He was still wearing the clothes he'd worn the day before, evidently choosing to come straight to the hospital from the station.
"Hey, buddy." Hutchinson's voice was hoarse, as fatigued as the rest of him appeared to be. "You planning to sleep the day away?"
Starsky rubbed his eyes. "I thought maybe you went to Bolivia without me."
"What would I do in Bolivia without you?" Hutch placed a covered container on the table by the door and moved to the side of the bed. "This guy giving you much trouble, Captain?"
"How could I be any trouble? All I been doin' is sleepin'."
Dobey grunted. "He's slept a total of two minutes in the past two hours."
"What's wrong, partner? Aren't you comfortable?"
To Dobey's surprise, Starsky offered up a litany of complaints. His pillow was all wrong, the light through the blinds was bothering his eyes, a cool cloth might make his headache go away — all things he could have easily taken care of if only Starsky had mentioned them any of the times Dobey had asked. He sat dumbfounded while Hutchinson quickly and efficiently resolved them all.
"What about some water? Are you thirsty?" Hutch picked up the pitcher on the bedside table and looked inside it. Dobey knew it was empty, because he hadn't had it filled when Starsky said he didn't want anything to drink.
"Well, my throat is kinda dry."
"That's because you haven't shut up for two hours," Dobey muttered under his breath.
"Captain, do you mind?"
Dobey peeked over the top of the paper. Hutch held out the pitcher hopefully. Dobey would have told him what he could do with it, had he not first noticed the faint tremble in Hutchinson's hands — likely the combined effects of too much stress and an overload of caffeine — and the bluish circles under his tired eyes.
Sighing and putting his paper aside, Dobey stood up and took the pitcher. He'd get Starsky his water, but then he'd make sure Hutchinson had something to eat before he had two patients instead of one. Except, he realized as he trudged down the hallway, he didn't even have one patient anymore, if he ever did. That was the way these two operated. When one got hurt, both hid themselves away until the healing was complete. It didn't matter whether the injury was physical or emotional, no one else got in until they were whole again.
There was no one at the nurses' station, so the captain wandered around until he found a kitchen area. Someone had brought in doughnuts. Dobey appropriated one and munched while he filled the pitcher with ice and water. He was going to have to see to his own breakfast soon. His stomach rumbled in agreement.
Back at the door to Starsky's room, Dobey paused to check his shirtfront and mustache for stray doughnut crumbs, then quietly entered the room. The first thing he noticed was that the chair he'd been sitting in had been moved closer to the side of the bed and Hutchinson's lanky frame was slumped in it, feet raised and resting on the bed. The second thing he noticed was that both Starsky and Hutchinson were sound asleep, their soft snores barely audible across the room.
Dobey tiptoed to the side table and carefully placed the pitcher on it. It would keep. He grabbed his jacket from the foot of the bed and turned to leave the room. Just as he reached the door, the foam container Hutchinson had brought in caught his eye. Curious, Dobey lifted the lid. A single serving of linguini with some sort of white sauce waited for Starsky to awaken. Smiling, Dobey pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled on top of the container the directions to the kitchen area he'd found.
"Hey, Captain Dobey." Starsky's soft voice caught the captain's ear as he was leaving the room. "Did I tell you thanks?"
Dobey nodded once, and then tilted his head toward Hutch. "Just remember to tell him ."
Starsky's eyes had already closed again. Captain Dobey left them sleeping, taking with him a final image of Starsky's hand resting atop Hutch's ankle.
THE END