Episode Related: Sweet Revenge
Categories: Hutch Angst, Starsky H/C, Committed Relationship
Rating: PG

Word Count: 1000 (written for Me&Thee 1000 Community)

DAWN--Oldfield

By Vedette Ciel

 "Come back to me," he whispered sweetly. "I’m waiting right here."

Beeps, ticks and whirs were the only sounds the room contained, rhythmically, life sustaining machines kept their consistent verve. This third day, the vigil continued, anticipating Starsky regaining consciousness, and returning to all who loved him.

Those that filled the corridor were many, from colleagues, to neighbors, to friends. Duty officers stayed longest, replacing each other. Local family members, like Al, Rosie and a cousin stayed awhile, talking together, more than paying real attention. Then there were the Dobeys, who took turns keeping tabs. Last was Huggy, always faithful, loyal, giving every minute he could. But then a plane touched down, and a force came.

Rachel had arrived the second day on a late flight, panicked and flustered. She’d had her times in the room, which she used pothering and babbling gusts of emotion. Nurses let it go on because it was uncontrollable. Hutch let it go on because he had no choice.

The doctors in charge already knew, however, who the primary was. Hutch had been at the bedside forever; by now, they innately determined they were treating two people. They also were aware what resonated from the conscious one was healing the other.

Hutch tended his lover’s wounded body with their eternal bond. The first days he couldn’t bear to touch, but since doctors told him how critical it was that Starsky awaken, Hutch gratefully coalesced every moment to connect… who would not understand, encourage any method that worked. For these rare days, public displays of affection would be welcomed. He took every liberty and made it ethereal medicine.

Rachel, however, seethed with venom.

Hutch entered the hallway, and she pounced. "I’m going to put a stop to this, this… touching, your gropes. It’s not natural."

"Rachel, you don’t know what you’re saying."

"I do know. There is a tsod, in our family. The old men talk. I heard. I will NOT have it."

"Rachel…"

"I will go to your Captain, and have you removed! You should be on the other side of the glass, not hovering, looking for excuses to… put your filth, sticky hands, pawing… Stay away from my son!" She pushed past him, roughly. Hutch was too stunned to react, knew better anyway. But what to do from beyond this? He walked to the closest stairway, to beg for air.

Crouching, his head in his hands, he listened to activity stories below, the doors pounded open, thundered closed. Shuffled steps grinded dirt and hurry floor to floor, agitating his fears. It was the flow of life, opening, shutting doors, entering the river, rolling with the tide. But struggling against a one way current would wear them both down.

He didn’t know how much time he had, to fix this. He knew Starsky required his presence, needed his words, touch, passing him strength. For now, it was all they had. Could he talk to someone? Should he go to Dobey on his own, try to right this with Starsky’s mother? Did he have any rights at all, to love the way he did, or was it true, that the world had a flow, a communal dance that they were just going against. Yet, all his being craved was communion with his male partner.

Wringing his hands, he suddenly had to go back, at least see Starsky. Like she said, through the glass. He walked back briskly, every step more urgent. By the time he reached the window, he was panting, in emotional pain. Separating, even minutes, because someone insisted, was unbearable. They would have to live their lives like this? If their chance at a life would even return? We haven’t suffered enough… The hell with this, he kept his pace, and stumped right into the room. Right to the bed, to his side, to his face, to his lips.

"No, I can’t. I can’t stay away from you. From us. You need this, to come back. I need this, to continue." He placed his fingers between Starsky’s, and gathered the curl from his forehead, stroking his brow. A surge of peace encased him, cocooned them, like a magnetic force radiating from their transposition.

He heard a muffled huff, sensed a possible movement of air. It was a gnat in the atmosphere, not worthy of a thought, not when he was encompassed in their intrinsic amalgam. A pause was followed by the tromping footsteps of an army of sandy shoes. The heavy man was being dragged by the sleeve, Rachel tugging rigorously, followed by an officer, and a tall, huggable skeleton. A gasp ensued, buzzards aflap, a tripped stomp and gobbled snort, and then, all froze.

Marauders would have made no impression either. Hutch lowered his mouth to an eyebrow, rubbing across it, matching the other, nuzzling the nose between them. "I hear you, you’re willing, I’m here, love. Come this side, to us."

"Rachel shrieked, "THIS must cease--"

But Dobey took lead, grabbing her sideways. "Mrs. Star--HUSH, woman!" She clammed, mouth open, muted.

Huggy’s echo, dolce, "Yeah, Shush…"

A tiny shiver rose forth, a twitch to eye, a quiver in the neck.

"Babe, come." Hutch stroked his thumb gently by the temple. He felt, knew.

The dry mouth exhaled slightly. "Hu-hct…"

"Starsk, here, right here."

Flickering, the eyes opened, fluttering, focusing. Two smiles emerged, mirrored.

Rachel attempted interruption, but Dobey held weighted. He nodded to Huggy to take to her side. They inched her slowly to the bed.

"Hutch." The blond lowered, as the brunette lifted slightly, a practiced ritual, foreheads merged.

"Kiss, H…tch. Kiss me… to life."

Hutch obliged, tenderly.

Starsky murmured, "Love you. Home."

"Yes, you’re mine. And you’re back home."

"W-where?"

"It’s okay, Starsk. Everything’s okay now. You’re awake, and everyone is here. For you."

"Every--?"

"Your Mom’s here."

"Ma? Love. Mom. Love Hutch, Mom."

An agonizing sob, "Oh my boy, love my zun!" Forward, she came to clutch the hand that clasped hers to theirs. Squeezing, she succumbed. And cried.