The Shootout – Part 2. By Kirsty Welsh and Brook

Disclaimer. We don't own them (although we wish we did) and unfortunately we don't make money from them (although that would be so nice).

The last echoes of the gunshots died away, and David Starsky flinched at the noise, sending a new wave of nausea through his guts. What had happened? Had Hutch fired or had Joey taken the blond cop out? Did the gun behave? Starsky knew his partner's aim was as good as his, but the gun was old, it was a weapon Hutch had never fired…..and the flaxen haired cop was stressed to the hilt. An hour of being threatened with death, and watching Starsky slowly bleed out was not conducive to Hutch being on his best game, but the blond was handling it admirably, as always.

Starsky sat on the floor of the small room, propped up against the old sofa, his left arm dangling uselessly. The stupid remark about Hutch's teeth swam around in his head. What the hell made him say that? Loss of blood, or just the brunet's crazy attempt at lightening what was surely a heavy moment? Whatever the reason, as soon as Starsky had said it, he regretted it. He wanted his last words to his partner to have more meaning than a comment about Hutch's dental state, but that was how they'd always been. Whatever either of them said with words, it was the look on their faces, or deep behind the eyes that held their true message, and Starsky knew deep down that Hutch had understood. 'See ya' translated in "partner speak" to 'For gods sake be careful out there, I couldn't handle a new partner, you mean too much to me'. It was soapy, but it was true, and both men knew it. The curly haired cop sighed shallowly and waited.

He was tired beyond belief and cold…and oddly hungry, but his overriding feeling was one of being completely useless to his partner. Hutch had had to go back out there into the restaurant and deal with the madman Joey and his gangster boss Max Durnat on his own whilst Starsky had done nothing more than get himself shot to ribbons. The wound on his head gave him a powerful headache and some double vision, but it was the icy numbness in his left shoulder and chest that worried Dave Starsky more. That, and the fact that he could no longer feel his left hand.

Idly he mused about their situation. A night out after a tough interview. Nothing sinister in that, huh?

'You hungry?'

'I could scramble us some eggs.'

'I need supper, not breakfast. What about Italian? I know this great little place…..'

And so it had started. Just two guys winding down after a day at the office, enjoying a late night supper…..and getting caught in the crossfire between Vic Monty and Max Durnat. Talk about the wrong time and the wrong place! Not that either of the two detectives had particularly liked Vic Monty, Durnat's target, but it wasn't good for business to have a prime gangland boss killed in the middle of his linguini with clams whilst Bay City's two finest cops enjoyed their vino de cassa a couple of tables away. The cops also didn't tale kindly to Theresa, the waitress being blackmailed into setting up the heist, but that was another story. At least the brunette waitress was helping Hutch as much as she could now. She'd held Starsky's hand whilst Hutch tried to reason with Joey and stop the young thug trying to put Starsky "out of his misery". She'd got the gun for Hutch and now it sounded like she'd thrown something that sounded like a metal tray right before the gun shots. Starsky hoped against hope that his partner had gotten off the first round.

Starsky sighed and shifted against the cushions Hutch had stuffed behind his head. That man was such a mother hen! The wound didn't even hurt now. The initial burning pain in his back and head had slowly receded until nothing remained of it at all other than an icy feeling across his chest and back. He felt cold and detached, but not uncomfortable. Maybe Hutch was wrong about the wound. Maybe his partner had exaggerated his injuries so that Durnat would leave him alone. Maybe after all this was over he and Hutch could sit down to their veal picada with Theresa…..maybe get her number…so long as Hutch had made it.

The curly haired cop berated himself. He made it. Hutch had to have made it because Starsky couldn't think of him any other way. The "boy next door" smile, the slight stammer when he was stressed, the endearing clumsiness when he was uncomfortable –they were all pure Hutch and a big part of Starsky's life. His partner had to live. Hutch had to….

There was a movement at the door and Starsky flinched before a tired, tight, familiar voice mumbled 'It's over partner' and Hutch dropped wearily to the floor next to Starsky, his hand on the brunet's left shoulder. Starsky forced his eyelids open and managed a weak smile at the blond. The emotion of the moment threatened to overtake him, relief flooding his system like a tidal wave. Starsky lifted his head, ignoring the world swimming around him and forced himself to say something.

'I'm hungry' he whispered.

Hutch took a fresh look at his buddy. Starsky's skin was pale, almost grey and there was a blue tinge around his lips and beneath his eyes. A pale sheen of sweat bloomed over Starsky's brow and cheeks and dampened his curls so that they sat flat against his forehead. But it was the look in the eyes that alerted Hutch to just how sick his partner was. The eyes are the window to the soul. That was especially true of the brunet. Starsky could hide most things from Hutch, but one look into the inky, indigo depths made the blond cop's stomach flip. There was a glassiness to those eyes now – a far away look even though Starsky had fixed Hutch with his gaze as though his life depended on it.

Taking Starsky's left hand in his, Hutch smoothed the curls back from the sweat soaked forehead.

'Now will ya have scrambled eggs?' he asked gently.

'Uh huh. With black pepper and Tabasco and….. god I feel sick.' Starsky's eyes started to close and his head fell forwards.

'Stay with me buddy. Starsk, stay with me. No sleepin' on the job huh?'

'Tired…'

'I know. I know you are, but I need you to stay awake till the medics get here.'

'You do?' Starsky mumbled wearily.

'Yeah, just keep talkin' to me partner.'

Hutch looked up as Theresa stood by the doorway looking at the two men. 'Where's the damned ambulance?' he hissed.

'They said they were on their way. Is he ok?'

Hutch stood stiffly. 'He's lost a lot of blood. He's cold, he can't feel anything on his left side and he's goin' into shock. How d'ya think he's doin'?' the cop asked bitterly.

Theresa looked at the floor. 'I'm so sorry. It was never meant to be like this. They forced me. They ….'

'Yeah, I know. They blackmailed you. Maybe next time you won't be so hung up on revenge huh? Coz this is what happens.'

The woman looked up. 'You don't understand' she started.

Hutch's patience finally snapped. 'Listen lady, I understand plenty. So does my partner. He's paid the price for your fuckin' squabbles and now he's d d dyin'.' Hutch was stopped in his tracks by a muffled thud behind him and whirled around to see that Starsky had given up the unequal fight with gravity and his body had toppled sideways so that he lay, semi-unconscious on the floor. Ignoring the woman, Hutch sank to his knees, lifting Starsky's head until he could settle it in his lap.

'Starsk? Starsky, open your eyes buddy. C'mon, I need to see those beautiful blues. STARSK!' Hutch's voice cracked with the strain. How could he have come this far just to have his partner taken away from him at the last moment?

Starsky heard his buddy's voice as if from a great distance away. He seemed to be underwater, his vision blurred, his hearing faulty and it was tough to breathe as the icy cold spread through his chest. He heard Hutch's voice and decided the blond seemed pissed…..and maybe just a little bit scared and with a titanic effort, Starsky forced his eyes open.

'M'here' he whispered.

'Yeah, you are. Stay with me buddy. Don't go to sleep. Not for a while yet huh? Wait till the medics get here.'

'Tired.' The voice was little more than a murmur.

'I know. I know you are, but you wouldn't want to leave your old buddy on his own would ya? See, Theresa's here. She wants you to stay awake too.'

'S'cold.' Starsky's body shook uncontrollably and his face creased in pain. A flash of lightening lit up the room, illuminating the brunet's face and making his pale skin seem white and translucent.

Hutch looked up at the girl. 'Get some more cloths…..coats…..anythin' huh? Anythin' to keep him warm. Please?'

The look of blind panic in the face that had remained so calm throughout the ordeal sent Theresa scurrying away to find more covers. Outside Hutch could hear the voices of the other clients of the restaurant. The woman who had screamed so loud when she came into the place was now sobbing uncontrollably and there were other male voices in the background. And yet no-one had come into the back room to see how he and Starsky were faring.

Hutch turned his attention back to his partner. In the quiet of the room, Starsky's shivering was slowing. The brunet's eyes were closed, dark circles highlighting an otherwise colourless face. Starsky let out one, long sigh and his body relaxed totally.

Hutch flinched. 'You still with me Starsk?' he asked softly but urgently. There was no answer and with his heart thumping in his throat Hutch reached out and put a trembling hand on Starsky's carotid artery feeling for any signs of life in his buddy's neck. For an eternity his questing fingers felt nothing beneath the cold, clammy skin, and then…. The beat was there but slow and stuttering and Hutch's hand came back covered with blood. The mass of cloths that he'd pushed against Starsky's back were soaked in scarlet fluid and the blood still steadily seeped onto the ground. The blond cop might have dropped out of medical school but he knew enough to realise that Starsky's life now hung by a thread. The body of a healthy male holds between 8 and 10 pints of blood. It seemed that most of it was spilled onto the floor of Theresa Defusto's back room and Hutch felt sick. Just how much could a man lose before he reached the point of no return? Had Starsky got there yet? They'd been together as a duo for maybe four years and had trained at the Academy together first. Starsky made Detective before Hutch, who took a short course in forensics, thinking he could meld cop and doctor but the blond soon realised he needed more action and less books. He joined Dobey's team eight months after Starsky and within days the two were partnered together. From then, as they say, Hutch never looked back. They were the perfect team. They watched each other's backs, they slept at each other's house…..hell, they'd even shared each other's girlfriends. They were more than partners and Hutch couldn't quite differentiate where work finished and friendship began. What had started off as a liking for Starsky had grown into (dare he say it?) love for the roguish New Yorker and if that was sappy, then so be it. The question remained, could Hutch ever live without Starsky. The answer was a firm no.

Hutch rested his hand gently on Starsky's shoulder. 'Don't leave me partner. Ya got your linguini and clams to finish yet. Maybe some ice cream afterwards. Maybe a little Theresa after that huh? Ya can't miss out on the chicks. Wake up for me Starsk. Open your eyes and talk to me huh? We got too much to do for ya to be sleepin' on the job. We should give up this crazy game. We should maybe …. I got it! We can be a double act! Abbot and Costello, Laurel and Hardy and Starsky and Hutch. Sounds great huh? No more bloody flakes; no more guns and bullets; no more madmen wantin' revenge. Just me and you enjoyin' life. Make 'em laugh. Ya hear me Starsk?'

Slowly Hutch lost his hold on reality. All that meant anything to him was right here on his lap. The past hour faded into insignificance until he was focussed solely on the body laid across his legs. Around him, he was hardly aware of the door opening and the uniformed cops coming in. Parkinson and Rayton peeped around the doorway.

'Hutch? How's Starsk?' Parkinson asked quietly.

Hutch stared fixedly at his partner and Rayton came to hunker down beside the two detectives.

'Hutch? Ken? The ambulance is here. Let 'em do their work huh?'

Again there was no response and Parkinson stood to one side to allow the medics to come in. He shook his head at the lead medic. With Hutch in such a state and Starsky still and pale on the floor, the cop could only think the worst. The medic nodded and walked over to the two men.

'Detective?' he said softly.

'His name's Hutchinson but we all call him Hutch. His partner is Starsky. David Starsky. We got a call to say there had been a shootout here. Looks like Starsky took a bullet' Parkinson explained. 'Is he….'

The medic looked up. 'Don't know yet. Go and see to the crowd outside huh? We'll do what we need to.'

Parkinson nodded. 'Be careful huh? They're….we all like 'em Doc.'

The doctor nodded absently, his practiced eye already assessing the situation. Whilst the dark haired man was well out of it, the blond one was still and silent. Shock was taking over and Hutch was allowing it. The past hour had been the toughest in his life and the stress of keeping the clients of the restaurant safe as well as worrying about his partner had finally got to the blond. He was a strong man, both physically and mentally, but having gone through the heist and having watched helplessly as Starsky slowly bled to death had taken their toll and as the paramedic knelt by the side of the two men, Hutch seemed lost in a world of his own, rocking slowly backwards and forwards whilst his hand clamped tightly around Starsky's. He continued to whisper to Starsky, soft and low but his eyes were glassy and his skin pale grey and clammy. Even when the medics spoke to him and tried to get to their other patient, Hutch remained focussed only on Starsky, frozen in place.

The doctor looked up at his own partner. 'One guy bleeding out. This one's in shock. Gimme a shot of sedative then we can get to work.' The second medic hurried to his task and medic one turned back to Hutch, gently laying his hands over Hutch's.

'Sir? Detective?...'

'Hutch. His name is Hutch' Theresa said, from the doorway.

'Ok. Hutch? Can you hear me? My name is John. I'm a doctor and I need to get to your pal here. Will you let me?'

Hutch stayed where he was, as though he hadn't heard. John tried again but got no response.

'Hutch, I'm gonna give you something to help you relax buddy. You need to rest. Is that ok? It'll make you feel better.'

'Starsk?' Hutch whispered.

'We're gonna take good care of him. We'll make sure he's ok. Will you let me give you this? Just a little scratch coming up.'

Hutch made no move as John gently rolled up his sleeve, swabbed a square on his upper arm and gently sunk the needle in. It was a mark of just how bad Hutch was that he allowed the injection – his experiences with needles and drugs had not been the best. But the powerful drug did its work and within a minute Hutch's rigid body relaxed, his hand loosened its death grip on Starsky's and the big blond cop sagged back against John's side. Carefully, the two medics extricated Hutch from Starsky's side, loaded the blond onto one stretcher and Starsky onto a second and made their way out to the waiting ambulance. With sirens blaring and lights flashing, they made a swift getaway and headed immediately for County General. As the ambulance passed the alleyway a few yards away from the restaurant, the man sitting in the back of the dark coloured Caddy leaned forwards and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

'Follow them. I want to find out who those two cops are.'

'Sure thing Mr Monty. Ya gonna waste 'em?'

The man in the back snorted. 'Waste them? Why would I do that? They saved my life back there. But I need some facts and somehow I don't think Theresa is going to be very forthcoming. I'm between a rock and a hard place Tommy. I would have just had Theresa wasted but now….. She'll have told those two cops everything, or if she hasn't already, it'll come out soon enough. But it isn't important now. She's a bit player in all of this. They got Durnat and probably that cretin Joey too. We need to find out whether either of them survived, because if Max Durnat lives, he's going to be mighty pissed at me.

'You want me to lean on 'em Mr Monty?' Tommy's eyes reflected in the rear view mirror showing excitement.

Victor Monty sighed heavily. 'Why does everything come down to violence with you Tommy? Sometimes I don't know why I keep you around. No, we don't lean on them. Quite the contrary. We bide our time and then we…..we look after them for a while.'

Tommy nodded but his face was blank. Mr Monty always did the unexpected and Tommy could never follow his boss' logic, but things usually worked out anyhow. He looked back through the mirror again.

'Great! Where did you say we were going?'

Monty leaned forwards and cuffed Tommy over the back of the head. 'Follow the ambulance dummy, or do I have to do that myself too?'

Tommy settled down to drive. 'Ambulance, right. I knew that. Why?'

'Tommy, shudup and drive huh? You're making my head ache.'