June 15th- Tendency To Jam Part 2 by mvernet

Click here to read Part 1.

Hutch lay face up on the ground, a bullet wound near his abdomen. One hand tried to stem the flow of blood bubbling through his fingers. The other still grasped his gun. He clung to it, unwilling to let go until he knew Starsky was safe. He focused on Starsky’s face hovering above him.

“Starsk… y’k? You… shot?”

“No. He didn’t get me. But you got Stevens. Hold on, Hutch.” Starsky frantically reached for a kitchen towel, then folded it and pressed it against Hutch’s heaving stomach..

Hutch cried out in pain.

“Sorry, Hutch. Have to stop the bleeding. You with me? Huh? Babe?”

Hutch coughed softly and dropped his Magnum. He reached out to Starsky with both hands and rolled into the safety of his arms. He breathed in his partner’s scent, pressing his head against the warmth of his chest.

Starsky held on tight, one hand still holding in Hutch’s lifeblood. As Starsky’s closeness eased the pain, Hutch felt darkness beaconing. He held on to Starsky more tightly. “Didn’t hear… you shoot? Sure you’re… ‘k?”

Two uniforms suddenly appeared at the door and Starsky barked orders, never letting go of his partner. ”Detective Starsky, Homicide… my partner… I…I got an officer down! Got me? Officer down! Radio for an ambulance. One of you grab a first aid kit and get back here on the double. And one of you inform Captain Dobey that Hutchinson’s been shot.”

The two cops scrambled to follow Starsky’s orders.

Starsky applied more pressure to Hutch’s wound eliciting a low moan.

“My gun jammed, Hutch. My fuckin’ gun jammed and I couldn’t save you.” Starsky’s shoulders hitched as he pulled Hutch closer.

“Y… you already… saved me. You saved… me.“ Hutch’s voice trailed off as he slumped in Starsky’s arms.

“Hutch? Hutch?” Starsky touched his partner’s cheek as Hutch lost consciousness. “No. No. Hutch don’t go. You can’t go. You hear me, ya dumb blond? No way you get to weasel out of tonight. Hutch? Huuuutch.”

Starsky moved his free hand and placed trembling fingers against Hutch’s neck to feel the faint beat of his heart. He listened expectantly for each breath as blood crept from Hutch’s mouth to his chin. He felt like the planet had stopped spinning. The only movement left in the world was that soft breath.

And it was all his fault.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his grief.

“The paramedics are here, Detective,” one of the uniforms said. “You have to let go of your partner.”

“My fault, Captain. My fault.”

Dobey sighed. He had been sitting next to Starsky in the waiting room at Memorial for thirty minutes. “I know you feel that way, son. But it was Stevens who got the drop on Hutch. You gave me your statement. You and Hutch did it all by the book. You couldn’t have known…”

“Captain! You don’t understand! My gun jammed! Hutch was waiting for me. He trusted me to be there. I had the shot. If my gun had fired, Hutch…” Starsky stood abruptly. He was covered in Hutch’s blood. “It’s my fault!”

Dobey rose more slowly. Dobey put a hand on Starsky’s shoulders and forced him to make eye contact.

“Starsky, we can’t predict a weapon’s failure. I know Hutch wouldn’t blame you for that failure. It’s Stevens’ bullet they’re taking out of Hutch, not yours.”

Starsky pursed his lips and nodded. “I… I know, Cap. Hutch wouldn’t want me to blame myself. My gun was clean and in good shape. Just last week, me and Hutch went to the range for practice rounds. He beat my score by two lousy points and I still owe him dinner.”

Starsky smiled sadly and Dobey patted his shoulder and urged Starsky to sit again. Starsky sat, leaned forward, and looked at his bloodstained hands.

Dobey cleared his throat. “This was just an accident. Could have happened to any cop…”

Starsky jumped up again and started to pace.

“No. I chose that gun. I chose it because my Pop had a S&W 39 when I was a kid. I heard about the 59’s potential problems and turned a deaf ear. It never occurred to me I was putting Hutch in danger. I put his life in danger every day. And why? For nostalgia? I got plenty of good memories of my Pop, I didn’t need one in my holster. Hutch’s safety is worth more than that. I shoulda been carrying the most dependable firearm ever made. Dependable, like Hutch.”

“Son, you have to let this go. Hutch is going to need you. I know how you two work, remember? He’ll worry about you and not himself. He won’t take care of himself, unless you’re safe, whole, and by his side.”

“He deserves a better partner than me, Captain. I failed him.”

Dobey sighed as Hutch’s surgeon suddenly entered the waiting room and approached them.

“I’m Doctor Caine, Detective Hutchinson’s surgeon. He’s in ICU, doing well.” The doctor was tall and angular with red hair and green eyes. Both men breathed easier as the doctor continued. “Are you Detective Starsky?”

“Detective Starsky, yeah. And this is Captain Dobey.”

The doctor nodded.

“Detective Hutchinson is out of surgery and is in recovery. His condition is guarded. The bullet entered from the front and lodged in the stomach lining. No other organs were involved. He suffered internal bleeding. The surgery went well. We were able to stop the bleeding and repair the damage.”

The doctor paused, then said to Starsky, “According to the paramedics, you were holding Detective Hutchinson upright when they arrived on the scene. By doing that, you helped him maintain his blood pressure. Otherwise, it might have dropped too low, risking his life. You bought him enough time before the paramedics could arrive. That was quick thinking, Detective Starsky, and helped save your partner’s life.”

Dobey felt a huge rush of relief as the doctor’s words made Starsky suddenly sway in place.

Starsky’s reaction caught the doctor’s attention and he seemed to finally notice Starsky’s appearance. He looked him over, asking, “Detective, are you injured?”

“No. I… No, this is all Hutch’s blood. I’m fine.”

“Just breathe evenly and try to relax. Your partner is doing well. Though he’ll have a rough recovery. We’ll have to manage his pain, and he’ll be on a liquid diet for a while, and even after, eating and stress may pose a problem. Until the stomach completely heals, it will be similar to having an ulcer. And, of course, we’ll have to watch for infection.”

Starsky nodded and managed half a smile. “Thanks, Doc. Thanks for takin’ such good care of my partner.”

“You are welcome.”

Three weeks later, the morning breeze was hot and dry on Starsky’s face. Heat waves shimmered on the steps that led to Metro as he made his way to Dobey’s office. He had to go over some paperwork before picking up Hutch from the hospital. Every gut-wrenching day of the last three weeks that Hutch had spent fighting infections, barely able to move, and unable to eat solid food had weighed heavily on Starsky. Starsky went directly to the big man’s office and knocked on the open door. “Hey, Cap. Hot in here, huh?”

Dobey wiped his face with a large bandana, nodded his hello, and beckoned Starsky to sit. He adjusted his electric fan to oscillate on high. Then made a grab for his papers that started to blow away. In a show of annoyance, he tucked them under his out bin. “So, Hutch goes home today. How’s he really doing, Starsky?”

Starsky slumped in his chair and wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “I’m worried, Cap. Doc Caine says he’s gonna be fine, but he’s lost a lot of weight, and he’s still weak as a baby. As a matter of fact, they tried to get him to eat baby food and Hutch gave the nurses an anatomy lesson about where they could shove it. And getting him to drink liquid meals is like pushin’ a donkey up a ladder. That’s why I put in for some personal leave. He needs my help even if he won’t admit it.”

Dobey smirked. “At least he sounds like himself. I was expecting you to ask for leave, Starsky. That’s not a problem. I know I’ll get both of you back sooner if you look after that stubborn partner of yours. Edith and Huggy have been putting their heads together on some recipes to tempt him. Edith’s chicken and dumplings could cure a rainy day.”

“Aw, that’s nice of them. Hutch will love that. I’ll give her a call when I get him all tucked in at my place. He’ll be at mine for a while ‘cause his place doesn’t have air conditioning. Jungle boy says it’s bad for his plants.”

Starsky looked out the window for a moment, smiling sadly. Then he turned his attention back to his Captain. “Why’d ya wanna see me, Cap?”

Dobey leaned back in his chair and let the fan sweep across his face. “Connie Hastings was acquitted on all counts. She had a smart lawyer who got Hutch’s statement thrown out.”

“What? Without that we had nothin’!”

“I know, but you read Hutch’s statement. He was vague and unsure of himself. He had huge lapses in memory.”

“It was too soon! Hutch was feverish and in terrible pain! If I had been there…”

“I know, Starsky. I know. But even if this had gone to trial, a jury would have been very sympathetic towards the wife. Greg Hastings was a monster. A monster with a long record of assaults.”

“But Hutch and me know the truth. Connie was the one who got Stevens to murder her husband. The truth is what’s important.”

“I agree, Starsky. But Hutch admitted the trauma affected his memory. He still can’t remember everything. There is nothing we can do.”

Starsky sighed. Hutch did have some memory loss. His memories of the shooting were as full of holes as swiss cheese. He remembered being shot and Starsky holding him, but not Starsky’s gun jamming. He remembered Stevens’ confession, but not the exact words. He remembered enjoying a hot dog at lunchtime, but not what he and Starsky had talked about. And most important to Starsky, the memory of his Sunday wish seemed to have vanished like a puff of smoke. Starsky shifted in his chair. The pain from that revelation was still raw.

Dobey reached for a file kept safe from the fan’s velocity. “One other thing, Starsky. I got the report back on your Smith & Wesson. It was definitely mechanical failure. The sear spring on the trigger assembly broke in two. It’s a known manufacturing fault. Ballistics and I.A. cleared you. They have confiscated your gun and also asked you to voluntarily hand in your backup Smith & Wesson. They’ve officially declared the S&W 59 unsafe for police work.”

Starsky shivered in the summer heat. He gripped the arms of his chair until his fingers felt stiff. “Sure, they can have both of them and good riddance. Sear spring. Known fault, huh? Known if you care enough to check out the specs. If you’re responsible enough to think about your partner’s safety instead of…”

“Starsky! We’ve been over this. This was not your fault! Hutch certainly doesn’t blame you. Like his doctor said, you helped save his life. Let it go! That’s an order.”

“Yes, Sir.” Starsky stood and planted himself in front of Dobey’s desk. It had been three weeks of hell for him. Because of the unusual circumstance of his gun’s failure, he had been desk bound, on suspension pending the investigation. That gave him plenty of time to worry and watch Hutch, the man he loved, suffer because his gun had jammed.

No matter what anyone said, he carried the blame squarely on his own shoulders. His nightmares were full of the impotent click of his weapon’s trigger and Hutch’s painful grunt.

Dobey sighed. “Starsky, go take care of Hutch. I’m sure he’s impatient to get home.” Dobey reached for a stack of gun catalogs and handed them to Starsky. “Here take these. While you’re on leave decide on a new sidearm. You’ll have to be requalified.”

“Sure, Cap. Thanks. I’ll see ya soon.”

Hutch sat on the edge of his hospital bed, rubbing his forehead with one hand, while the other hand was spread protectively across the wound on his stomach.

“Hutch,” Dr. Caine said, “the intermittent headaches you are experiencing may be from the pressure you are putting on yourself to remember the events of the shooting.”

Hutch sighed and squinted. He dropped his hand and picked absently at his jeans. “Do you think I’ll ever remember?”

The doctor hugged his clipboard. “Hard to say. But from what I’ve seen of you and your partner, you handle the stress of your job remarkably well. There’s no reason to believe the memory loss is permanent.”

“Yeah. Just an average day for me and my partner, Doc. We usually take our stress to our friend Huggy’s bar and get rid of it with a burger and a beer.”

“I just want you to know that there is help for you if you need it.”

“I’ll have to be cleared by the department psychologist before I return to the streets, Doc. I can talk to him if I need to.”

Dr. Caine nodded. “I’m actually more concerned about your weight, Hutch.”

Hutch sighed and rolled his eyes. It seemed like all anyone wanted to talk to him about was eating. He had no appetite at all. “I’m not going to gain weight on that vanilla crap the nurses try to force on me.”

The doctor sighed. “Hutch, I’m a trauma surgeon. I know what healing from a stomach wound entails. You are still in pain, especially when you try to eat. That’s why it’s important to take the medication I have prescribed for you, especially the liquid diet.

“As far as food goes, you have choices. Soups and creamy casseroles. You can’t have a spicy meatball and pepperoni pizza yet, but you can certainly enjoy that meal your partner owes you, even in a restaurant with a little caution …”

Hutch interrupted with a raised hand. “I get it. Maybe when I get home my appetite will improve. No offense but everything here taste like glue. Actually glue would be tastier.”

Dr. Caine smiled. He placed a hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “I don’t want to see you being dragged back here by that partner of yours because he thinks you’re wasting away. I’ve dealt with his protective behavior long enough, don’t you think?”

Hutch chuckled and glanced towards the door. “Speak of the Starsky, Doc.”

“Hey, Doc!” Starsky announced as he entered the room. “‘Mornin’, partner. I see you’re all ready to blow this crumby joint.”

Dr. Caine placed Hutch’s finished paperwork and aftercare instructions on the bed. “Hutch, your prescriptions are ready and waiting at the hospital pharmacy.” He turned to Starsky and offered his hand. “He’s all yours, Detective Starsky. Take good care of him.”

Starsky shifted a shopping bag to his other hand and took the doctor’s in his own. “I sure will, Doc. Thanks for everything.”

Hutch echoed Starsky’s thanks and Dr. Caine wished them well with a quick salute as he left.

Hutch kicked his bare feet out a little. Starsky didn’t miss the grimace of pain Hutch had at the slight movement. “Shoes, Starsky! I can’t get out of here without my shoes.”

“Not to worry, my barefoot boy. I got ya covered.” Starsky pulled a pair of sandals out of the shopping bag. “Those weird, funky earth shoes of yours are at the cobbler’s bein’ cleaned, polished, and re-laced. I picked you up some flip-flops.” He didn’t mention that Hutch’s shoes were covered with bloodstains. Starsky couldn’t stand to look at them.

Hutch took one of the flip-flops and examined it skeptically. He ran a finger up and down the black, v-shaped, velvet strap and looked closely at the seagrass sole. “Huh. Smells good. These hand sewn?”

Starsky smirked. Huggy had a box full at his bar and was selling them for two bucks a pair. He doubted they were high quality merchandise. “Sure! Handsewn by beautiful maidens on a deserted tropical island, just for you.”

Hutch snorted out a laugh. “I think you mean desert island, gordo.”

Starsky smiled. Hutch correcting him and calling him names was a sure sign he was getting better. He knelt down in front of Hutch and grabbed his dangling foot. He helped to slip the sandal on as Hutch wiggled his toes with a slight hitch in his breath. Starsky repeated the procedure on the other foot. “There you go, Cinderella. Perfect fit.”

“Cinderella, huh. Well you sure ain’t my fairy godmoth… ow!” Hutch brought a hand to his brow as pain pulsed in his head.

Starsky froze, still kneeling in front of Hutch. He gently rubbed the foot in his hand. “Hutch? You okay?”

Click here to read Part 3.