This story is unpublished.  Comments on this story can be sent to: flamingoslim@erols.com and will be forwarded to the author. 

The Power of Love
by
K Hanna Korossy

For Barb

Hutch looked better every time Starsky came, and that in itself was a reason for coming twice a day as he did. It would take a lot of seeing his partner like that, sitting up in bed and smiling at him as he came through the hospital room door, before Starsky would be able to bury the memory of his partner lying in that same bed, flushed and eaten away with fever, delirious, dying from the plague. To have him back was more than Starsky's over-stressed mind could take in sometimes.

But there Hutch was, still too skinny from prolonged illness and too weak yet to even sit up without all the pillows behind him to prop him up, but he was getting better. Thank God, he was getting better. It wasn't hard for Starsky to smile as he came in, not with a sight like that to greet him.

"Hey, if it isn't Lazarus! They let you sit up, or did you talk Judith into it?"

Hutch's voice was still reedy, the most obvious sign of his still-missing energy. "Talked 'em into it."

The brief answers were always food for a starving man. If it wouldn't have been so corny, Starsky would have closed his eyes just to soak in the voice he'd been so sure he wouldn't hear again. He was by the bed now, hovering next to it. "I think you've got Judith wrapped around your finger--I don't think she lets her other patients get away with this much."

But Hutch's smile had faded and he was studying Starsky with an intense gaze even sickness hadn't dulled. "What's wrong?" he finally asked.

Starsky worked very hard not to let his smile slip as he sat on the edge of Hutch's bed. "Whaddaya mean, what's wrong? Thought you'd be happy to see my good-lookin' face after having to look at all the beautiful nurses in this place." Okay, so Hutch's nurse was close to fifty and was beautiful in a motherly kind of way, but it was a long-standing game between them.

But Hutch just barely shook his head on the pillow. "Tell me."

Starsky gave up the act. He'd known Hutch would never have bought it normally, but he'd been hoping his still-recovering partner wouldn't be quite as sharp. A definite underestimation. His eyes slid away from the piercing sky blue ones that were studying him. "I guess it's better if ya hear it from me first, anyway..."

A slight tug on his sleeve drew his attention back. This time he met the eyes head-on.

"Hutch...Marco's dead."

The blue eyes blinked, stunned. Starsky winced. What had he been thinking, springing this on an invalid? Not that he could have kept it from Hutch, not without avoiding his friend for a few days until his own shock wore off. The whole Division was still reeling from the news.

Starsky cleared his throat, eyes back on the blanket as he idly flicked its edge between two fingers. This part never got easier. "He an' Donaldson were out on patrol and answered a call, possible 211. The guy started shootin' as soon as they got out of the car, and Marco got hit in the heart. He was, uh, dead before Donaldson even got to him..."

A pause, then Hutch's quiet voice. "Donaldson?"

Starsky shook his head. "He's torn up pretty bad. Dobey put him on leave." A fleeting glance up at Hutch. "Not that that's gonna help much."

Warm, thin fingers slid over the bedding to cover his own slightly trembling ones. "Bad timing, huh?" Hutch said softly.

Starsky's vision swam briefly but his voice was angry as he asked, "There supposed to be a good time to lose a partner?" He gave his own partner a defiant look.

The blond head rolled against the pillow again as he softly said, "No." But those damnable blue eyes were looking right through him, through his selfish relief that he wasn't the one mourning a lost partner and all the fears he hadn't been able to shake about how close it had been and the love that threatened to choke him every time he walked into the room and saw the living miracle that was his partner. Hutch saw through it all and those azure eyes only softened in empathy.

Starsky choked and buried his face against his partner's shoulder.

It was stupid. This was stupid. Hutch had been the one who'd almost died, he should have been the one who was struggling to deal with things. Instead, Starsky was dumping his own baggage onto the still-healing patient, and over what, the death of another cop? One he hadn't even known all that well? And blubbering all over Hutch's hospital gown on top of that... Embarrassed, he started to sit up.

A gentle hand settled against the back of his head. It had no strength to do anything but rest there, tangled in his hair, but the message was so clear.

Starsky slid a hand behind the limp shoulders and cried his heart out for what too easily could have been.

"It's okay. I'm all right." Hutch kept whispering next to his ear, until eventually he began to listen and the tears ran out.

Starsky finally slumped, breath still hiccupping. He was such a baby. And there was no one else on earth who would have not only accepted that and not held it against him, but even understood. To think that he'd almost lost that...

He finally drew back, rubbing abashedly at his wet face. Hutch's hand fell away and Starsky had to wonder how he'd found the energy to move it when he wasn't even able to feed himself yet. Not that it was such a mystery. Love could work wonders. Hutch's eyes, now thoroughly exhausted, still glowed with it.

Embarrassed a whole different way now, Starsky swiped uselessly at the wet patch on the shoulder of Hutch's gown. "You want me to get you some new jammies, or..."

The barest shake of the head, and Hutch's eyes were already closing. He still tired so fast. "'S okay," he murmured. "Jus'...stay."

Starsky found and squeezed a hand, and felt a feeble return grip, Hutch's mouth briefly quirking even as his eyes shut and his breathing slowed. Starsky pulled up a chair with his free hand to sit and stay for a while.

He shook his head. He was the one who was supposed to come in and cheer the patient up, breaking bad news gently to him and providing support. How did those tables turn so fast?

Then again, did it matter? A few days ago, it had been Starsky who'd stepped in to soothe his scared and disoriented partner after Hutch's unexpected awakening. Giving whatever was needed whenever--it went both ways. Hadn't that been a part of what he'd been so terrified of losing?

Watching someone sleep wouldn't have rated high on his list of favorite things to do a week before, but now it felt like a blessing. Breathing a deep sigh of peace, Starsky sank back in the chair to watch over his partner. And to thank God he still could.

Written in 2001