The usual disclaimer. Don't own the rights to these guys, wish I did. No infrigment intended, just written for entertainment and a love for the show and their friendship...Reviews appreciated
For the Thousandth Time I Wonder Why
For the thousandth time I wonder why I ever deserved my partner despite my own self sabotaging attempts to tear us apart.
I really hate that part of myself, that ugly part that always lashes out and hurts the one person I care about the most, and for what? For what possible gain? What possible reason? There is none.
My sigh is long and deep, filled with disgust, self-loathing.
Maybe some of it comes from the job and all the crap we see everyday. Despite my best attempts not to let it get it me, I know it's starting to take a toll, tarnishing my once idealistic views about being a cop, of helping people and bringing justice to those who need it the most.
But part of it is just me though, still caught up in my own damn insecurities I can't ever seem to let go of, along with that spiteful Hutchinson pride, a real winning trait inherited from my father.
I rake my hand through my hair; rub my tired alcohol hazed eyes. I don't know how long I've been sitting here. I should go home, but the thought of moving my ass off this bench is too much effort.
I ignore Huggy's sideways glance in my direction as he passes by again.
Instead I just sit and drink and think. Or as my partner says, over-analyze.
He also says I bottle things up too much. He's right, but I can't help it. It's like a damn self-defense mechanism, another Hutchinson family trait I learned early in life...how to stuff down all those ugly parts of myself I don't want anyone else to see, the parts I don't want to deal with or be accountable for.
The problem is, this doesn't work well with a certain curly headed brunet partner that has the ability to see right through me.
But the ugly is still there, festering away, growing until eventually there's no room left and it has to re-surface and burst like some infected pus filled wound that has to lash out. And lash at it does, like today.
I knew I was in a bad mood the minute I woke up and everything about my overly energetic partner was getting on my nerves so it wasn't long before it starting coming out.
I stare down at my third beer, or is it my fourth? I don't know. My mind has stopped counting as guilt consumes me. My own harsh retorts and snide remarks directed at my partner's boyish enthusiasm for life replay over and over in my head and I flinch, the words regretted the instant they had been spewed out yet unable to stop their continued cruel onslaught in the heat of the moment.
My shoulders sag. You're a real piece of work, Hutchinson, you know that! I berate myself.
God, Starsky, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I wanted to tell him, but my pride got in the way and I know its way too little and way too late, the damage already done. In my mind I can still see the hurt in his blue eyes when he finally stormed off, eyes that have only ever offered unconditional love, friendship and loyalty to me.
I shudder.
Sometimes it scares the shit out of me to know that he has given me such a gift because I know I don't deserve it and I treat him like crap. Deep down I'm really afraid, afraid all that ugly in me will be too much and one day I'll do something really stupid, maybe like today, that will sever our friendship forever and I don't think I can survive that.
Despite the alcohol induced stupor I'm in, I can't stop thinking about our argument, about him and suddenly he's there, sliding into the booth next to me.
I can't look up at him, can only stare into my half empty glass of beer. Our elbows touch. Still I don't look up.
A long silence passes, its weight a dark tangled barrier between us.
"Starsk…" I try to say but can't seem to get the words passed the concrete lump lodged in my throat.
A hand reaches out, takes the glass out of my hand, finishes the beer for me then sets it back between my lax fingers.
I know he's staring at me, reading me like nobody else but Starsky can and I hate myself even more, only wanting to crawl into some dark hole and hide from him, but I know I can't.
My shoulders slump even lower.
I hear him sigh deeply. It's a sound filled with a mixture of impatience and sadness.
"Thinking too much again, aren't ya?"
I don't answer, can't.
"Let it go, Hutch. I already have," he says simply.
I look up at him then. And there it is again, in that deep fathom of indigo blue…forgiveness.
It doesn't help, only fills me up with more guilt. I try to get those two words passed my lips again, but they come out slurred "'M..s'ory."
"You don't have to say it, Blintz. It's forgotten. Water under the bridge," he says just like that, simple, honest, straightforward, just like my partner.
My eyes drop back down still feeling lower than low. I don't know why he puts up with me. "I'm an ass," I finally say.
"I won't disagree."
"You deserve a b-better par'ner," I stutter.
"Sorry, Blondie, but I happen to like the one I've got, even if he's a tight ass prick sometimes."
My head snaps up, indignant until I catch that boyish sideways grin on his mug, the same one that can annoy the hell out of me but also has the power to draw me back again from the dark abyss I tend to wallow in. Back to him; to our friendship. Despite my misery, I can't help but smile slightly back.
I feel a nudge of a shoulder against mine.
He waits patiently.
Eventually I nudge him back.
And just like that, I know I've got my best friend back without words being said. But some day I swear I'm going to tell him, tell him just how damn much he means to me, how much I need him to keep me sane. But for now I simply accept what he offers freely without strings and for the thousandth and one time, I ask myself why I ever deserved to find such a friend, such a partner as I've found in him.
The end