A bouquet of roses and lots of thanks to Solo and SHaron for all their help scanning and proofing these classic stories of Constance Collins! This story originally appeared in the zine TLC.
Comments about this story can be sent to: VenicePlaceAngel@aol.com
Rx
by
Constance Collins
"He's out of danger," Judith said. "He'll be fine, but he needs lots of sleep. I want to keep him here in the hospital for a few days, just to be on the safe side." She put her hand on Starsky's arm. "He's not the only one who needs rest. When was the last time you slept?"
Starsky shrugged. "Dunno."
"That's what I thought."
Before she could say more, Starsky put his arm around her shoulders. "C'mon. I'll give you a lift to your hotel."
Judith gave him a speculative look. "All right. I need to leave some instructions for the nurse. I'll meet you out front."
Starsky was dead-tired when he finally got back to the hospital. "'Sleep,' she says. I could use some, but not at home." Sneaking past the on-duty nurse was easier than Starsky had anticipated. He quietly made his way to Hutch's new, private room.
Starsky stood for a moment looking at Hutch in the darkness, seeing him more in his mind, in his memory, than in the deep shadows of the room.
During the crisis, Starsky had spent his every free moment (there had been what -- two, three of those?) obsessively trying to feel what Hutch was feeling, not only panicked by the nearness of death, but cut off from the world, like a lightning bug in a jar. Certainly Starsky remembered the fear -- he'd been that close to death himself, when he'd been poisoned, but while Dr. Jennings' magic elixir went through his body shutting off the lights, he'd been able to keep working, and he'd had Hutch there to hold him, to comfort him, to physically keep him grounded. What had Hutch had? Starsky's voice over a telephone, his name scrawled on his window, no human contact whatsoever -- and then Hutch had put up his own walls, stronger than the glass surrounding him -- walls of detachment and gloom, nothing Starsky said or did could tear down those walls, not as long as the glass remained.
Well, the glass was gone now; Hutch wasn't going to die, nor would there be any permanent damage to his body. The doctors assured Starsky of that, and he believed them, but no one even mentioned what might have happened to his mind, his spirit. Of course, the doctors didn't know anything about the inside of Hutch's head, but Starsky did. And Starsky knew what he needed was Hutch and what Hutch needed was him. And now it was possible, if a little tricky.
Starsky walked over to the bed and peered down at Hutch, who was curled up in a fetal position. "Ah, babe, I'm glad you're gonna be okay. I wanna help you get well, too." He kicked off his sneakers and stripped down to his underwear. Then he crawled in bed next to Hutch, plastering himself against Hutch's back, wrapping his arms firmly around him and burying his face against Hutch's neck. "Love you, you know. Always have, always will." Starsky's voice was barely above a whisper.
" -- know that --" Hutch mumbled, snuggling back against him. "Nice t'hear. Wha're you doing here? Gonna get sick --"
"You're not sick anymore. Remember?"
"Oh. Wha' time's it?"
"Nearly nine-thirty. Now, you want to know what day?" He felt Hutch laugh, but there was no sound. "It's Friday. We were supposed to have dinner together, remember?"
"So'd you bring dinner?"
"No, you're still on a restricted diet. Judith says you need lots of sleep, so go to sleep."
It was an unnecessary order; the conversation had worn Hutch out.
The nurse who looked in on Hutch at ten forty-five wasn't surprised to find his partner in his bed; not happy about it, but not surprised. Dr. Kaufman had told her he'd probably be there, and not to disturb him. "If anyone asked, tell them he's my prescription for this patient," Dr. Kaufman had said when she'd protested that this was completely unorthodox, that it was against all hospital rules. Dr. Kaufman had then sighed impatiently, muttered something about backward hospital policies, then repeated, "Detective Starsky is my prescription for my patient. Detective Hutchinson needs all the human contact he can get at this point, and this particular human is exactly the one I'd prescribe. So leave them alone."
Shaking her head at the strange ways of doctors and patients, the nurse followed her orders and left them alone.