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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-04
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2,645
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1/1
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9
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When Partners Fight

Summary:

Warnings: Post-Gunther, Angst, H/C, Suicide (OC), LTR (Pre-Slash)
Disclaimers: Not mine. Just borrowed.
Submitted through the one of the Starsky & Hutch groups; I forgot which.

Work Text:

When Partners Fight
by Jaye Daver

The two detectives were heading out to check out a lead on the whereabouts of a husband suspected of killing his wife, a betrayal of that sacred bond. These cases were incredibly trying because each man had lost a beloved, and the idea that a man could kill a woman he'd married was almost beyond their collective imagination. It was hard not to think of the betrayal the woman must have felt when she knew the man who had once professed to love her was about to kill her.

To keep their minds off the task for a few minutes, they were talking softly about inconsequential details having to do with the landscaping of their house, the house they had been sharing since Starsky's shooting and which they had decided to keep when he returned to the force. Even though they had always been in and out of each others' residences in the past, they had found a comfort in always having someone to come Home to, even if that someone was the same person they spent the day working with.

Unknowingly, they walked right into the middle of the end of another sacred bond, a vicious argument between police partners. Joseph Antonio and Herve Villon had never been particularly close, but they'd worked together as partners in Robbery for almost three years. However, Villon had recently married, and he suspected Antonio of having designs on his wife.

Since Villon didn't have any brothers, some of their fellow cops had expected Antonio to be his best man. They didn't understand that Villon hardly wanted Antonio at the ceremony. From the first time he introduced his partner to his bride-to-be, Villon had been jealous of the interactions between the two. He couldn't understand how Antonio could be so open with the woman on first meeting when he himself had been too tongue-tied on their first blind date to say more than a few words at a time. The jealousy didn't go away. Pamela was a beauty, after all, and Antonio was something of a ladies' man.

Antonio, for his part, was oblivious. He was happy for Villon and his bride. For his part, Antonio never expected to be named best man or even to be asked to serve as an usher. He knew his captain was aware of the failing nature of their partnership, which had never been more than lukewarm at best, and Antonio was trying to be congenial, to ride it out to the end. Further, he did have his own jealousy, although not about Pamela Villon; he wanted the kind of partnership he saw other cops share. He hoped that the captain would find a way to get him a new partner with whom he might become friends. He had even offered to transfer to another division with this hope in mind, although he was hoping to avoid Internal Affairs. He wanted to work somewhere he'd be liked.

Then, this morning of January 4, three months to the day after the wedding, Antonio made an unwitting mistake. Indeed, during the subsequent investigation he was completely unable to remember what it was he could have said that led to the results that followed. As the two unhappy men walked into the Metro garage, following--in a horrible, ironic twist of Fate--Metro's closest partners, Villon suddenly started screaming, almost incoherent in his rage, "Partner?! I don't want to be your partner. I never wanted to be your partner. To think I trusted you! I won't work with you. I'm putting in for a transfer! "

However, apparently deciding that splitting up was not enough, he suddenly snapped completely and drew his gun, a .38. Without coherent thought, he fired off two wild shots in the general direction of the man he hated. The first hit Antonio at point-blank range, shattering bone in his lower right arm, nearly taking the hand and wrist clean off. He lay gasping on the floor, looking up in shock at Villon, wondering if the other man would shoot at him again, really kill him, too stunned to even consider reaching for his own gun, if he even could somehow try with his left. Blood gushed from the wound, and he was just coherent enough to use his left hand as a tourniquet for the right.

The second bullet went across the garage and into an unintended victim. Villon suddenly seemed to realize what he'd done when he heard the agonized sounds of Hutch's disbelief. Villon looked down at Antonio and said, carefully, distinctly, "Tell Hutch I'm very, very sorry." Then, he put the hot muzzle of his gun into his own mouth and pulled the trigger for the third and final time in as many minutes.

When the shouting started, Starsky had been standing at the driver's side of the Torino, reaching for the handle. He turned to watch the two men, shaking his head sadly at Villon's dramatics, completely unable to understand men who wouldn't get along with their partners or even try. Trying to hide the distress he was sure was showing on his face, he turned away from the fighting men, missing the moment when Villon pulled his gun.

Hutch had turned away just as quickly. Thus, neither man realized that Villon had pulled his gun until the first two rapid shots rang out. It was Hutch's worst nightmare come into the light of day, of reality. The garage, the Torino, the gunshots, and...his gasping, bleeding partner. As the third shot echoed in the stillness of the garage, other officers converged as Hutch scrambled, one more time, from the passenger side of the car to fall on his knees and pull his partner, "Oh Jesus God, no, not again," into his arms. Tears streamed unheeded down his face, and he was keening, without any conscious knowledge that he was doing so, holding a hand against the wound, unknowingly, but instinctively, trying to stop the blood.

Starsky, dazed and in pain, connected the gunshot and the angry words, but in the most horrific way. His confusion led him to believe that the angry words had been directed at him. Raising one shaking, bloody hand, he reached toward Hutch, desperately to fix things, to make sure his partner wouldn't leave him. He had to make Hutch listen to him, forgive him. If only he could remember what he had done.

Hutch leaned down to listen to the softly pleading voice, "Hu-utch, don't go...please ...sorry... I'm sorry ... don' leave, Hutch ... I musta done some ... mad at me, but...please." He tried to catch his breath, agony and agitation in his voice as he begged, "Please...forgive me... I'll do any ... anything..." He whimpered. Then, "Hutch, it hurts."

At first Hutch couldn't understand what Starsky was saying because it was so unbelievable, and then his analytical mind put it together. Villon's final outburst. The injured man's pain and confusion. "Starsky," he said softly, urgently, into the curls next to one ear, "Listen to me. Of course I don't hate you. I'm right here with you. I'm right here, buddy. Starsk, babe, you know I don't hate you. You're my brother, my best friend, my partner."

Starsky seemed to rally for a moment, "Hutch, I think Villon ... shot me. Why did he?" Then he was back in his nightmare, "Hutch...don' wanna ... sell our house... Don' want ... ya to go..." A pair of tears made their slow way down his cheeks.

Hutch thought his own heart might break. "Ohgawd, Starsk. I know. Hang on. Help's coming. And, babe, listen to me. We aren't selling our house. Hold on. Just...hold on. You're going to hang on, and come home to our house." Tears were flowing unchecked down his cheeks as well.

He turned and yelled at the silent watchers surrounding them in stunned disbelief. "Did somebody call an ambulance? Where are the damn paramedics?"

Dobey arrived, looking almost as wild-eyed as the distraught blonde detective. "No. Not again," he thought. "This can't be happening again." Awkwardly, he knelt down next to Hutch and put a hand on the shivering shoulder to help steady him, listening as the younger man kept up a litany of mixed reassurances and pleas into his partner's ear as the darker man slid into unconsciousness.

Dobey watched the ambulance drive away. This was the end of the partnership as the two men had known it, even if they mercifully didn't comprehend that yet. Starsky, with Hutchinson's help, had worked so hard to come back after Gunther's hit. And he'd succeeded. The two men had returned to their old form with grace and courage. Dobey believed that Starsky would once again surviveâ€"anything else was unthinkable and so he steadfastly refused to think itâ€"but there would be no way that the Review Board would re-certify him yet again for street duty. He'd be offered permanent disability, maybe a desk job.

Suddenly Dobey remembered that there was another option, one that held out some hope for Hutchinson as well. He wouldn't fool himself into believing that Hutch would return to the streets when Starsky was permanently sidelined. It was the idea he'd had back when he'd first learned that Starsky would survive Gunther's murderous attack, but shelved, he admittedly gratefully, when it became apparent that the pair would make it back to the streets.

The man the Academy had teaching Marksmanship was a decent enough fellow, and an excellent shot, former SWAT team member in fact, but he was nearing retirement age. Starsky had consistently had the best scores on the force since his rookie days, better than the current instructor, in fact; he'd been trained as a sniper in the Army and had taken the skill seriously. He would be an asset, not only for his abilities with a gun, but for his enthusiasm. Yes, Starsky would make a good teacher, if he could accept the change and the challenge. It was better than a desk in Supply or some other damn place.

Hutch could take the Lieutenant's exam, but Dobey doubted that he would. With a few courses, maybe a Master's Degree, Hutch could teach Criminal Psychology. They needed a new teacher because the woman currently holding the job wanted to move on. Maybe she could be persuaded to stay on for the year Hutch would need to get up to speed. Hutch, too, would be a good teacher; he was good with young people. The two men would still be working together if they both caught on as instructors at the Academy. Dobey wasn't going to fool himself about this fact; he'd lost his two best detectives, but that didn't mean they had to let the worst partnership Metro had ever had break up the best. Nor did it mean that the PD could afford to lose all their skill and experience.

He took one final look around the garage to make sure that the scene was under control, and then he got in his own car and drove, once more, to Memorial Hospital. He'd call Edith from there. Perhaps he'd call and talk to his friends at the Academy as well, sounding them out, so that he'd have something firm to offer when he spoke to his detectives...well, damn it, they were still his detectives, if only for a little longer.

When Dobey arrived at the hospital, he found Hutch already sitting in a familiar pose of sorrow in the surgical waiting area. What he didn't know was how much of the younger man's distress was caused by his partner's delirious pleading.

What if Starsky were to die thinking that Hutch hated him? Hutch vowed that he'd find someway to make sure that Starsky never doubted him again, never doubted he was loved, under any circumstances. If only he wasn't too distressed to think straight. Oh God, if only Starsky was going to make it. How could anybody, *any body*, take so much punishment and live?

"Talk to the Bear."

"Huggy? Dobey. There was another shooting in the garage."

An in-drawn breath was audible over the line. "Not...not Curly?"

"Yes, Starsky was hit. He's in surgery. I think Hutch needs you."

"Memorial?"

"Memorial."

"I'm there." The line went dead.

Dobey returned to Hutch and sat next to him, silently offering the comfort of his presence.

Time dragged on. He barely acknowledged Huggy's arrival, listening with half an ear to Dobey's soft-voiced explanations. The two men sat on either side of the blonde detective as he waited, dejected.

Finally, after what seemed eternity to the waiting men, the surgeon approached. "Are you here for David Starsky?"

Dobey saw that Hutch was unable to speak. "Yes, I'm his Captain, and this is his partner and another friend. His partner has a Power of Attorney for medical decisions."

The doctor nodded at Hutch. "Here's what happened. The bullet hit the right hypochondral region. We had to remove his right kidney and his gall bladder. People can live with only one kidney, and, well, he had gallstones, so maybe he'd have had to have that out eventually anyway. We had to remove a small section of his intestine, but, again, that shouldn't cause too many long term problems, even with the previous injury he sustained. Damage to the liver was also minor and easily repaired. He has three broken ribs, but they didn't puncture the lungs like they had the last time he was here.

Yes, I remember this man from his previous stay with us. I expect him to recover fully, but he can't take another major trauma. I'm sorry, but while I'm sure he's going to recover, he'll never be approved medically to go back on the streets. He's being taken up to the ICU. The nurse will let you know what room." The surgeon started to leave. "Oh, one more thing I remember from this patient's previous stay here. I've made a note in his chart," he looked kindly at stricken blonde detective, "you'll have access, visiting hours or not."

Hutch nodded his thanks, but his mind was whirling, to be presented so quickly with that assessment by the first doctor. He mentally added Starsky's newest injuries to the running tally in his head. He wondered if his partner had any organs in his torso that hadn't been hit by bullets.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the half-closed door. Gentle noises from the machinery sounded in the room. There was much less of it than there had been with Gunther, but any machines were too many. At least there was no breathing tube; Starsky particularly hated those. An I.V. delivered some fluids into Starsky's right arm, so Hutch took his place in the slightly padded visitor's chair on Starsky's left.

Reaching over, he took the limp hand in his own. He would stay until Starsky woke, and the two would have a chance to confirm that all was well with Me and Thee.

end