The Things We Lost in the Fire: Part One

"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real, too. They live inside us, and, sometimes they win."

-Stephen King

"I met a woman, she had a mouth like yours. She knew your life. She knew your devils and your deeds. And she said, "Go to him, stay with him if you can, but be prepared to bleed.'"

-Joni Mitchell

The hospital hallway was white and sparsely filled.

A few scattered nurses moved room to room, completing rounds before returning to their station at the end of the corridor. Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, Hutch paid them little mind, his eyes focused on the closed door across the hall. Starsky was in that room, as was Dobey, two nurses, and a doctor. An on-call psychologist was sure to follow as soon as his partner came enough out of his terror-stricken state to really talk about what happened.

How the hell were they ever going to talk about what happened?

Hutch wasn't allowed in the room; his partner didn't want him there. Starsky cried in fear when he saw Hutch, screamed in terror when he touched him, and shrieked in panic when he tried to hold him.

Sucking in a shaky breath Hutch turned his gaze to the floor, desperately trying to ignore the blood marking his hands. Though his clothes were clean, his hands were bloody. His fingertips were stained with red dried freckles—something he's certain now that no one else can see. He washed his hands four times since arriving at the hospital—infinite times since first discovering the stains—yet, somehow, they just won't come clean.

He doesn't know how long he sat there before Dobey finally emerged from Starsky's room. Taking a deep breath, the large man lingered in place, his hand rubbing exhaustedly at his face as the other still gripped the doorknob.

"How is he?" Hutch asked, though he was certain he didn't want to know.

Kept in darkness, Starsky had been put through hell. Beaten, tortured in ways Hutch didn't want to think about. And when he had finally found him, his naked body covered in blood. No, not covered, immersed—dripping with dark oozing liquid, the quantity of which couldn't have all belonged to him. Closing his eyes against the vivid memory, Hutch bit back a groan. But he failed to suppress the guilt settling in his chest or the haunting memory sound of Starsky's tortured screams as they echoed in his head.

"Don't!" Starsky sobbed, his eyes wide with terror as he pressed himself against the wall. "Don't touch me. P-please, Hutch, I can't stand anymore. I can't do it anymore!"

Watching Hutch warily, Dobey sat heavily next to him, pursing his lips and staring at his open palms. Hutch knew his superior didn't have any comforting news, and it's too late to justify behavior with kindness and platitudes. None of this should have been allowed to happen.

"Starsky," Dobey sighed eventually. "Will be alright." The words are forced, his strength feigned, it was as though he was struggling to convince himself of the truth of what he just said.

"Yeah."

"You should go home and get some rest before this all starts falling apart."

Sleep. Hutch snorted. He should be so lucky. What was he supposed to do? Return to the home he shared with Starsky, shower, and crawl into their bed as if nothing had happened? Pretend as if the last month of their lives hadn't been a horrible mess, as if the last week hadn't been something out of a nightmare?

"No, I want to be here," he said.

"Okay."

"John Blaine took my gun," Hutch murmured, rubbing his fingers on the invisible blood staining his hands. "Will there be an investigation?"

"Should there be?"

Shrugging, Hutch shook his head; he pretended not to notice how Dobey wouldn't look him in the eye. His rubbing quickly turned to scratching, neatly trimmed nails run up and down the top of his left hand, leaving angry pink lines behind.

Watching the action warily, Dobey didn't stop Hutch until he drew blood. "A man died today," he whispered, his voice low, his hand holding his officer's wrist tight. "People are going to want to know why."

Eyes brimming with furious tears, Hutch pulled his wrist from Dobey's grasp, looking away from his angry superior as he tried to calm the grief overwhelming him—the horrible devastation associated with the knowledge that Starsky doesn't want him by his side and the glint of condemnation flickering in Dobey's eyes.

"He wasn't a man," Hutch said finally, voice thick with anger. "Simon Marcus was a monster and I'm glad he's dead."

"Shhh!"

Dobey eyes darted to the pair of uniform officers who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere to guard the door to Starsky's room. One was staring blankly at the floor while the other appeared entranced by the dim screen of his smartphone. They appeared unaffected, unaware of the sensitivity of Hutch's hateful declaration.

"You can't say things like that," Dobey continued, "not after what you did. It is in your best interest to keep your mouth quiet."

"I only did what I had to," Hutch said obstinately. Kicking his foot against his chair he pointed an angry finger in his Captain's face. "If only you would have listened to me, then we would have found him sooner and none of this would have—!"

"If you would have done your job correctly," Dobey interjected, pushing Hutch's finger away, "then none of this—" Face falling, he silenced himself before finishing the cruel statement.

But it didn't matter that the accusation had been left unsaid. It wasn't anything Hutch didn't know; they were the same words he had heard hours before.

"This is your fault, Hutchinson," Simon Marcus had said cheerfully. "And Starsky will never forgive you for what he endured at the hands of Fate because of you. He trusted you and you made him bleed."

"This is my fault," Hutch whispered, smoothing his hands over his face as tears began filling his eyes. Biting his bottom lip, he pressed his forehead to his palms, trying desperately to hold on to what little control he had left. It didn't work, and a soft shaky sob escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

"Go home," Dobey urged grimly. "Get some sleep, and clear your head." He placed a comforting hand on Hutch's back. "There is nothing you can do about this now."

Though he knew Dobey was right—that he should leave and take solace in the quiet while he could—Hutch's guilt was stronger than the kindness behind the gruff suggestion. Outside Starsky's hospital room, he would wait, until either his battered partner finally request to see him or for IA to collect him for questioning. And sitting next to Captain Dobey, Hutch wondered which he was dreading most.