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All Better

by Callisto

"You know, you're going to have to bite the bullet pretty soon, don't you?"

Hutch tried to keep the impatience out of his voice, but his partner's phobic fear of anything dental was sorely trying it. It had been a long day and all Hutch wanted to do was go home, not work out how to hog-tie his partner to a dentist's chair.

"Na nesh-uh-sher-ily" came the retort, the vehemence of it somewhat diluted by Starsky continuing to dab his back tooth as he said it.

"Starsk, you numb that with any more whisky and I'll arrest you."

Starsky sighed -- and promptly winced as a sudden blast of air from the open car window jangled whatever nerve remained in his damaged tooth. Winding up the window, he shot Hutch a look, and slumped down in his seat. Morosely pre-occupied, it took a few seconds for him to register the direction he was being driven.

"Hey, you're going the wrong way. Metro's that way, dummy."

"Who said anything about Metro?"

Hutch had the sense to keep his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"Aw, Hutch, you promised."

"Yeah, and I was promised an adult for a partner. But, hey, here we are."

It came out sharper than intended, but his last nerve was fraying. Starsky's appointment with a dentist had either been a lie or ignored. What should have been a quick solution for a minor complaint had probably turned, thanks to his partner's neglect, into something requiring treatment he now had a right to be afraid of.

Hutch opened his mouth... and closed it. It was probably not the time to point that out.

Glancing across, Hutch's lips couldn't help but curve, though, at the sight of the crestfallen huddle of dejection sitting next to him. A two year old couldn't tremble a bottom lip any better.

"It's gonna be okay, Hutch, really. See?" Starsky twisted slightly to lean forward, mouth wide open. Hutch's palm came up pretty fast.

"Much as I love you? I am not going anywhere near your teeth."

"But, Hutch, if you--"

"Show it to someone paid to look. I'm driving." The slap of Hutch's palm back on the steering wheel was, most certainly, the sound of that last nerve finally snapping.

Realizing that there was nothing he could do, but be driven in pain by a bad-tempered partner to a person who was going to cause him more pain, Starsky exhaled loudly, sat back and glowered out the window at the world around him. Life was just not fair.

"Willya come in with me?"

Starsky's rather tentative question broke the silence a few minutes later, just as Hutch turned to park.

There it was. That two-year old again.

But this was the child in his partner which undid Hutch. The one he had patience for. The one that let its fears and vulnerabilities out, with no adult guile or embarrassment. The one that always trusted Hutch to make it all better.

Hutch turned the motor off and looked across.

"Sure." This time the voice and the smile were encouraging.

"Well." A long pause. "Okay, then." Somewhat mollified, and reconciled ever so slightly to what lay in store, Starsky let his partner walk him in.

As he did so, whether Hutch curled his fingers around Starsky's arm in unspoken comfort, or simply to make sure he got there, neither man could say.

________________________________________

Hutch sighed and, not for the first time, glanced at the wall clock. Of the things he had planned for his off-duty time that day, reading a dog-eared 'Gardener's Weekly' in an over-heated dentist's office had, most definitely, not been on the list.

He shook his head. What the hell was he doing? A grown man waiting for another grown man. Thing was, Starsky knew just what buttons to press.

"You'll be here when I get out? I mean, you can wait, right?" Starsky's dread had resurfaced upon reaching reception, his fingers plucking nervously at Hutch's sleeve.

"Starsk, it's a check-up. Not prison." He held up his hand at the wounded look his partner shot him. "So, yes, will wait."

"Promise?"

Hutch smiled. "Kinda have to, buddy. Came in one car."

Hutch put the magazine down, willed himself not to look at the clock again and sighed, a flicker of worry starting to colour his boredom. Been a while, hadn't it? He got up, and at that moment the surgery door opened and the dentist emerged, pulling his mask down.

"Kenneth! Nice to see you again."

Gabriel Michaels came forward with his hand outstretched, genuine pleasure on his face. A distant cousin somewhere in the vast Hutchinson clan, his had been one of the few contact numbers Hutch had had in his pocket when he came out to California. A godsend it had proved to be too, when he had needed the occasional hot meal back then, and reliable dental treatment for a jittery partner now. Michaels was a large, affable man with a mild manner and eyes that definitely twinkled. A perfect dentist, in fact, for the treatment of both children and Starskys.

Hutch shook the outstretched hand, smiled in return and felt himself relax on behalf of his partner.

"I just wanted to check something with you, Kenneth, before we proceed -- no need to be alarmed." He added quickly, having seen Hutch start. "But I need to know how much David has eaten today," his eyes twinkled, "since we both know that David would say almost anything to get himself out of my chair."

Hutch exhaled, lips twitching. "Yes sir, that's my partner, the dental psycho. What'd he tell you?"

Michaels lowered his voice. "Two doughnuts and a cream cheese bagel for breakfast, followed by a double cheeseburger with fries about an hour ago."

Hutch, too, went for the conspiratorial tone. "Lying spectacularly, Gabe." He counted off on his fingers. "Tried to eat a cheeseburger, tried to eat a bagel, tried to..."

Michaels cut him off with a chuckle. "As I thought. Well, in that case, I guess we'll go ahead. Shouldn't be too long." He turned to re-open the surgery door. Hutch forestalled him with a hand on his arm.

"Wait, go ahead with what?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should explain. Well, it's a fairly simple procedure. There is a small flap of gum covering one of David's back wisdom teeth which is occasionally getting punctured and sometimes infected by the tooth above. Now, I've cleaned it out so all I have to do now is remove the gum flap, so that the problem doesn't recurr." He patted Hutch's arm. "Don't look so serious, Kenneth. A couple of stitches and he'll be fine -- a little woozy and sore for a few hours, but fine."

Hutch listened calmly, nodding a little. Michaels was right, a simple procedure. Still, he knew Starsky...

"Can I come in with you for a sec, Gabe? Before you start?"

Hutch had no intention of staying to watch the main event, but he had an idea that there was quite a worked up human being the other side of the door.

________________________________________

"You gonna be a soldier about this, buddy?"

Hutch's eyes shone with empathy and mischief in equal parts, as he took full advantage of Starsky's vulnerable position and leaned in.

To an outsider, Starsky seemed the model of composure, reclining as comfortably as a person could in a dentist's chair, eyes now intent on the man above him.

Starsky blinked solemnly. "Depends."

"On what, you lunatic?"

"On how many needles he's gonna stick me with and how nice you're gonna be."

Hutch had caught the nervous flinch at the sudden opening of the door when they'd entered the room, and even now was aware of Starsky's fingers curling, just a little too tightly around the edges of the chair.

Definitely a case of studied nonchalance.

Shaking his head in a gesture of exaggerated suffering, Hutch looked to his right where Michaels was busy preparing and sterilising.

"Gabe," he raised his voice, "how many needles for this child of mine?" Not needing to look down, he felt the glare which came his way and cheerfully ignored it.

"Two should be more than enough, David," smiled Michaels, as he masked up and rolled the sterilising tray over.

Hutch turned his head back. "Two it is then, Starsk." He let his hand rest on Starsky's shoulder. "As for me, well, we'll just see if we can't liquidise a burrito."

"You're all heart, Blintz."

Joking aside, Hutch was well aware of an extra twist to his partner's usual dental jitters. Since the infamous Bellamy, he had come to realise that Starsky now had an anxiety around needles in general, not just dentists in particular. A small thing, maybe, and barely noticeable to anyone else, but then Hutch hardly qualified as anyone.

About six months previously a close encounter with a rusty spike across his calf had taken Starsky into the emergency room for a clean up, four stitches and a tetanus. At first, Hutch had been mildly amused, then irritated by Starsky's nervous insistence that he stay in the room. Hutch had opened his mouth to let loose a rather ruthless put down -- and had caught a whiff of genuine fear in the air. So he had closed his mouth, let his partner babble and stayed where he was.

Hutch had more or less dismissed the incident until four months later when a routine blood test for Starsky had come up. Irony of ironies, the test was a periodic requirement by the Department for insurance purposes after Bellamy. Starsky's mood on the day had rapidly and inexplicably soured, his good natured grousing had turned snappish, and little more than Hutch's iron will had got him to eventually roll his sleeve up.

The root cause had remanined unspoken between them, but it explained why Hutch curled his fingers lightly around his partner's forearm and kept up a ridiculous, distracting patter as the dentist's needles went in -- some childhood adventure about an overweight pig on his grandfather's farm. A few minutes later, face suitably numbed and heart rate suitably lowered, Starsky's arm got a final squeeze, and with a "Don't go away now," Hutch slipped back outside.

The child in his partner drove him crazy. The things that child frequently demanded of Hutch irritated him beyond all reason at times. But any and all fall out from Bellamy would always be accommodated and, if within his powers, soothed. It was the very least he could live with.

________________________________________

Michaels was true to his word, and less than half an hour later Hutch was on his feet to catch, almost literally, one slightly unsteady Starsky as he came into the waiting room.

"You okay?" he asked, grabbing hold as his partner suddenly swayed. "Watch yourself!"

"M't'riffic, Hutch." He beamed into his partner's face. Or tried to. His face was padded and numb so what came off was more sneer than smile. "How're you?"

Hutch raised a quizzical eyebrow towards Michaels who, far from looking concerned, seemed positively amused by Starsky's demeanour.

"That's what comes of novocaine and whisky fumes, I'm afraid." He winked at Hutch, who still had his partner by an elbow. "Your fun will start when it wears off."

"Can't wait," muttered Hutch.

"Wha'?" Starsky's head snapped back at the sound.

"Just thanking the nice dentist, Starsk."

"Yeah," chimed in a blissful Starsky, turning towards Michaels. "Thanks doc, you're t'riffic -- don't know why Hutch was so nervous 'bout comin' here." He grinned, more lopsidedly than ever, "big baby."

This was too much.

"Starsk."

"Hmm?" His head swivelled back again.

"I wouldn't smile so much if I were you. It's scary. Besides," he added, as he started to forcibly propel his partner towards the door, "you're drooling."

________________________________________

"’S your fault."

Hutch took his eyes off the traffic and risked a glance to his right. Starsky's descent into silence in the car had perhaps been expected. Talking around a bunch of cotton wool stuffed into a numbed cheek was not the easiest thing to do. However, Starsky's hand had gone up to his left cheek in the last five minutes and stayed there.

And now this.

All rather worrying signs to Hutch's mind that not only was the novocaine wearing off, but that Starsky's sulkiness was set to return with avengance.

Still, no reason not to have some fun.

"What's that you say? Wanna speak up there, buddy?"

Turning slightly and sighing heavily, Starsky swallowed and ground it out again.

"’S your fault!"

"Oh yeah? And how do you figure that?"

A morose pause followed.

"Dunno yet, but it is."

There it was. Implacable Starsky logic. Hutch shook his head and fixed his gaze back on the traffic. It had been a long day indeed.

________________________________________

Epilogue

Hutch was ready to either storm out the door, or see his partner's brains run down the walls. Everything he had done since their return to Starsky's apartment had either earned him a monosyllabic grunt, approximating gratitude he supposed, or a melodramatic sigh of complaint. The milkshake he had made up had been too cold, the soup too hot and the TV too boring -- though how the last one was down to Hutch was anybody's guess.

He had left his partner gargling rather noisily at the bathroom sink and had removed himself from the firing range to the bedroom, where he had worked out some of his frustrations by stripping the bed. He also laid out a towel on the pillow -- the dentist had warned the gum might bleed a little -- and rooted around until he found a clean pair of Starsky's sweats. There. His duties were well and truly done.

Loathe to hover, but eager to see his partner settled so that he could finally go, Hutch waited for him outside the bathroom door and silently handed over the sweats. Starsky at least had the grace to look a little shame-faced as he took them and headed back towards the bedroom.

"Been a pain today."

Hutch blinked, startled. Ten minutes had passed without a word and he had just got up to take his leave, assuming Starsky had drifted off.

"I know, but the meds will kick in soon."

Starsky squinted a bleary eye open. Hutch had misunderstood. He licked his lips and concentrated.

"Been a pain today, a pain," he paused, "as in the ass."

He squinted the other eye open in surprise when there was no response. "Well?"

"What? There was no question there."

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then a chuckle snuck out of Starsky at Hutch's soft but indignant retort. As Hutch joined him, the last of the day's tension between them dissolved.

"Aw Hutch, why d'ja do it?"

His eyes were closing again, his voice fading and he realised that he hadn't quite co-ordinated the end of his thought, so he opened a heavy eye and vaguely gestured down at himself. At the clean sheets he was lying in, at the fresh sweats he was dressed in, and at the warm body perched next to him, which hadn't left him to his own mean-spirited devices. "This," he breathed.

Whatever. Hutch understood what he meant. And in the answer lay everything unexplainable between the two.

"Because you're my pain in the ass. Now go to sleep."

The End

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