Work Text:
Love Hurts, Love Heals
by TLR
Plot: Hutch is hurt, and Starsky falls in love again, but only time will tell how long it will last.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Prologue.
Apartment building.
The gunshot sounded too loud and too close in the narrow space.
Starsky didn’t hear Hutch cry out so much as feel the absence of him beside him, that in-step rhythm they always kept without thinking. One second Hutch was there, covering the left, breath steady, voice low. The next, he was gone from Starsky’s peripheral vision with a sharp metallic echo.
“Hutch!”
The suspect bolted down the hallway, shoes slapping vinyl, but Starsky didn’t chase. He spun instead, heart slamming, eyes finding Hutch crumpled against the wall just inside the apartment doorway.
Blood was already spreading through midway of Hutch’s tan jacket at his side, dark and fast.
Starsky was on his knees in two strides, hands shaking as he gripped Hutch under the arms.
“Hutch. Oh my God.”
Pain breaking through the calm and discipline he usually kept close, Hutch breathed in a squeaky voice, “Shot, Starsk.” His fearful eyes came up to meet his partner's.
Starsky pressed his hand hard against the wound, felt the heat and wet soak through immediately. “I know, buddy, I know. I'm callin' for help. I got you. Don’t move and don’t try to be brave.”
“Cuh... can't.”
Starsky swallowed hard and leaned closer, his forehead touching the blond's. “Hang in. I'll be right back.”
Hutch didn't respond as Starsky ran for the Torino's radio and grabbed up the mic. “Zebra Three here! Hutch is down! We need an ambulance!”
Static cracked back. A dispatcher’s voice answered, calm and efficient.
Starsky dropped the radio and ran back to keep pressure steady on the wound, but fear crept in around the edges. He peeled Hutch’s jacket open just enough to see the wound--right side, lower ribs. Not arterial spray. That was good. That was a good sign.
“You’re bleeding some,” Starsky said trying to control his panic. “But you’re still here. That means you listen to me.”
Hutch’s fingers curled weakly in Starsky’s sleeve. “You... shaking? Worried?”
Starsky forced a breath. “No.”
Hutch's smile was loopy. “Liar.”
Starsky huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t broken tearfully halfway through. “Save your strength, Blondie. We're gonna need it.”
Boots thundered down the hall--uniforms and backup--but Starsky barely registered them. A uniformed officer tried to pull him back to look at Hutch's wound himself, and Starsky snapped, “Back off!”
Hutch's grip loosened as he passed out.
“Ambulance is here,” the uniform said.
But Starsky couldn't let go of his partner, until they physically made him.
::
Starsky paced outside the emergency room, hand clutched in his hair. Hutch had been shot before, and injury was always a possibility on the job, but it was never easy. Each wound brought them closer to a decision: Do we stay or do we go?
A doctor soon came out to talk to him.
“Detective Starsky, I'm Dr. Bennett. Your partner lost a fair amount of blood, but the bullet missed all the important stuff. He's going to make it. You can see him soon.”
::
Later.
Hutch was just coming to, when Starsky walked into the room and over to the hospital bed.
“Hey bright eyes.”
Hutch blinked drowsily at him. “Don’t bright eyes me.”
Starsky reached down and gripped his hand. “What do you want me to say, we need to find another line of work?”
“No. Not yet. I think we still have some life left in our battery.”
“What if our nine lives run out?”
“Don’t even go there, Gordo. Just bring me a good book and a pretty candy striper to read it to me.”
“What, you don't like my reading anymore?”
“I know we're short a couple guys with the flu going around. I think I can manage without your scintillating company for a few days.”
Starsky eyed him with a sidelong glance. “Oh I don't know about that. I'm pretty irreplaceable. At least that's what you say in your sleep.”
“Starsky, I do not talk in my sleep, now get out of here and leave me in peace.”
Starsky gave Hutch's hand a goodbye pat. “Okay. But I'll be back.”
“I'll be counting the minutes.”
::
Part One.
The Space Hutch Left Behind.
::
By next morning, Bay City had reassigned desks, rerouted cases, and quietly leaned on every detective who wasn't out with the flu. Two more were out sick, which left the squad room understaffed and overworked. With Hutch hurt too and Dobey irritated in that pressure cooker way that said he had to do something, he made some calls.
Jessica Hale arrived just after noon.
Starsky appraised her before she reached Dobey’s office--early thirties, steady stride, hair flaxen, eyes that took in everything without giving anything away.
“San Diego,” Dobey said, waving Starsky in. “Temporary transfer. Detective Hale, this is Detective Starsky.”
“Jessica,” she said, extending her hand. “Or Jessie, or Jess. Any is fine.”
Starsky shook her hand, which was firm but tender, no hesitation.
“You’re helping out,” he said. “Good.”
Jess nodded. “I heard about your partner. I’m not here to replace anybody.”
Starsky was grateful to feel his heart de-escalating. “Good.”
Dobey looked between them. “You two ride together. Don’t make me regret it.”
They didn’t.
Jess was competent without being flashy, asked questions without stepping on toes, and didn’t try to fill the silence Hutch left behind. She worked beside Starsky, not against the empty space, and that mattered more than either of them said.
At Memorial, Hutch lay propped up with tubes and tape and irritation written all over his face.
Starsky knew he'd rather be out there working alongside him.
“Who’s the new blonde?” Hutch asked, nodding toward the doorway where Jessica stood talking to a nurse.
Starsky smiled. “You jealous?”
“Maybe,” Hutch said faintly. “She any good?”
“So far so good. She's a stickler for paperwork.”
Hutch smiled with a thumbs up. “Keeper.”
She came in then, stopped short when she saw Hutch.
“Detective Hutchinson,” she said. “I’m Jessica Hale.”
Hutch studied her for a moment. “You keeping him out of trouble?”
She glanced at Starsky. “I’m trying.”
Hutch closed his eyes and smiled. “Good luck with that.”
Starsky felt something change. Not guilt or betrayal, just the strange awareness that life kept moving even when you wanted it to slow down. He had to admit he was attracted to her, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
::
Part Two.
Careful Distance.
::
Starsky took her to dinner two weeks later.
Not a date, exactly. Food after a long shift, which was neutral ground, as they both loved to eat. They talked shop, then movies, then nothing, which he wasn't averse to.
When she touched his hand reaching for the check, Starsky pulled back.
She noticed but didn’t comment, although a question rose in her eyes.
It became a rhythm with the two of them.
They went out, they laughed. They kissed once, brief and restrained, and afterward Starsky sat in his car gripping the steering wheel, breathing through memories he hadn’t invited: Helen’s voice on the phone, distant and apologetic. Terry’s empty apartment.
Love didn’t leave quietly. It was torn from him, both times.
(Jess, Jess. Why now?)
She never pushed, and that was the problem.
So many nights he wanted to invite her over, have intimate drinks and talks, and take her to his bed, but he stopped his feelings short.
“David,” she said one night as he walked her to the front door of her apartment. “I know there's something here, between us, I just... or am I wrong?”
The only answer was a deep look into her eyes and his hand softly caressing her long hair.
She noted the lines he wouldn’t cross, and respected them, until a call came from San Diego PD. She brought it up as they sat in the park watching a family feed some birds across the way.
“They want me back, David, with a possible promotion in the near future. I need to take the Lieutenant's exam. It's my shot at advancement. I want to take it, but... I love you, David. There. I said it.”
She waited as if for a response, an expression of hope on her normally stoic features.
He took her hand. “Jess, um... I think you should take it. You earned it.”
“I leave Friday,” she added.
She waited some more, for something more, but he didn’t say anything else.
She swallowed, tucking blonde hair behind her ear and looking toward the family feeding the birds. “I thought you might... I don’t know. Say something. Share your feelings or...”
Starsky looked down at his folded hands. “What would you like me to say? Nah, forget it. Dumb question.”
“It isn't dumb. And I'd like you to say that you’ll miss me. That our time together meant something.”
“It did.”
“Did. Past tense. But not enough, obviously.”
Starsky met her eyes then, and she saw a hurt there that she didn't understand.
She stood, gathered her purse. “Take care of yourself, David. And Hutch.”
“I will.”
She walked across the park, and he didn’t stop her.
::
Part Three.
Hutch Sees the Truth.
::
Hutch came home the next day.
Starsky helped him up the stairs of Venice Place, hovering more than necessary, and had Chinese food delivered.
Hutch noticed everything, though he wanted Starsky to be the one to bring it up. Jess hadn't accompanied Starsky to the hospital the last few times, and Huggy shared a rumor that she was leaving Bay City to return to her San Diego police department.
Starsky insisted on staying at Hutch's until he was cleared by the department physician, and Hutch didn't object, sensing that Starsky needed him but just wasn't able to voice it yet.
“Just don't forget to feed Philip,” Hutch said.
“I won't.”
“You could bring him over here, y'know. Your plant could mingle with my new plant Juliet. You never know. Love blooms.”
Even Hutch's lighthearted banter didn't seem to work on lifting Starsky's mood.
That night, he found Starsky sitting on the sofa, lights off, a wallet-size picture in his hands.
Jess, laughing and unaware. Hutch was almost sure Starsky had taken the photo himself.
“She's leaving?” Hutch asked gently.
Starsky stood up and turned his back toward him, as if hiding emotion.
Hutch walked up behind him. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Starsky's only answer was a vague shrug of his shoulders, which were beginning to fold in on themselves. His breathing broke.
That was all Hutch needed. Hutch turned him around and held him tightly, until the sobs came... quiet and restrained, but devastating.
“Oh, buddy,” Hutch murmured. “I know what this is. I'm sorry.”
Starsky's voice was husky and hoarse. “I... I can’t lose another lady.”
“I know. But you didn't lose her to death. You lost her to fear.”
Starsky shook his head. “No more, Hutch. I don't know if I can take it.”
Hutch leaned back, hands firm on Starsky’s shoulders. “Starsk, none of us are promised a tomorrow. But we have to go for it. It's all we have. Would you love Helen and Terry all over again, knowing you would lose them? Yes, I know you would. Now go get Jessie, and bring her back. Marry her, and have babies with her. You owe that to yourself... and to me, because I want to be an uncle to your kids.”
Starsky let out a broken laugh. “You’ve lost it, Hutchinson.”
“Absolutely,” Hutch said with a teary grin. “Now go.”
::
Part Four.
The Run.
::
Jess stood at the gate, ticket in hand.
San Diego. A new life, a chance forward.
She told herself it was the right choice, that sometimes even promising relationships fizzled out. That's life.
Then she heard a voice far behind her but getting closer.
“Jess! Jessie!”
Starsky barreled through the terminal, jacket open, curls blowing, eyes bright with hope and doubt.
She turned just as he caught her up in his arms, breathless and trembling.
“Stay,” he panted as he he cupped her cheeks. “Stay with me. I love you. Please marry me.”
She stared at him, stunned.
“What?” she asked faintly.
“I know. I’m sorry. I was scared.”
She touched his face, tears spilling. “So was I.”
He took her hand. “I owe you an explanation. A long one. Come on, let's go have some dinner and talk.”
She missed the flight, but neither of them cared.
::
Part Five.
Uncle Hutch.
::
Starsky stood in front of the mirror, trying to get his tie straight.
Hutch stepped in, straightened it with careful fingers.
“You clean up pretty good, dirtball.”
Starsky smiled. “You cried yet?”
“Twice. But don’t tell anyone.”
Starsky swallowed. “Thanks. For not letting me screw this up.”
Hutch clapped his shoulder. “That’s what partners are for.”
Starsky paused. “You really want to be an uncle?”
Hutch grinned. “I already am. You just need to deliver.”
Starsky laughed, steady now, whole in a way he hadn’t been for a long time.
On the other side of that door, love waited... uncertain, imperfect, but possible again.
This time, he walked toward it instead of away.
The End