Three Months Prior
Unfocused eyes staring up at the ceiling, Starsky found himself wondering how much time as passed since he moved from his spot. All strength had left his body, and strange numbness had replaced the intense pain he had felt previously.
The end was near but Starsky felt strangely calm, and at peace with the situation. He had been unable to protect the girl and the punishment of death seemed oddly fitting. He failed to do his job correctly and now he would accept the consequences.
The house was quiet. Starsky hadn't seen the man for quite some time, and he wondered if he had finally outlived his usefulness for the creep. Maybe he was being left alone to die. After all, Starsky was a thirtysomething, dark haired male, not exactly the guy's preferred choice for one of his abductees.
Maybe the creep was still deciding on whether or not he wanted to kill him in the same special manner he reserved for the girls he took. Either way it didn't matter, Starsky would soon be dead, regardless of if the man chose to take his life by his hand or not.
Still… it was strange, the things Starsky's mind fixated on, now that he knew with certainty that he would die.
The way his mother used to hold him in her arms when he was a small child.
How strong his father's arms had looked as he held on to shaky handlebars the day he had taught Starsky to ride a bicycle.
The way Nicky and he had argued. God, they just never could get along. Starsky felt a pang of regret, knowing they wouldn't get a chance to try now.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Starsky registered footsteps from the floor above. And then gunshots that sounded miles away, but his mind returned to his memories. The things he wanted most to remember.
The loudness of Captain Dobey's voice when he was really pissed him off.
The funny squeaky laugh Hutch made when he thought something was really funny.
And the smell of brand new leather seats the day he had drove the Torino off his uncle's car lot. He hoped Hutch would decide to keep her when he was gone. God knew his partner needed a new ride. Hopefully it wouldn't be too painful for the man to drive, maybe he could just focus on the good times they had. And there were so many good times to remember.
Starsky's eyes felt dry, and darkness was dancing behind his eyelids. There were footsteps barreling down the basement stairs, but Starsky paid them little mind. Nothingness was creeping closer and closer and he felt an odd floating sensation.
Just before he lost consciousness, he thought he heard a familiar voice and someone grasp his face.
"Starsky!"
XX
Present Day
Starsky jumped at the abrupt knocking, and he looked at his front door wondering if he'd imagined the sound. But after a moment another knock reached his ears. It was firmer and followed by a familiar voice.
"Starsky?"
Hutch.
"Starsky open the door."
The tone was demanding and Starsky closed his eyes. His stomach filled with a feeling that was somewhere between relief and dread. Hutch's presence was always a comforting one, but Starsky was fairly certain he'd pushed his friend a little too far today, especially after showing up to the station that afternoon then leaving just as suddenly. And he had been so mean to the other man.
Taking a few breaths to gather himself, Starsky moved to the door, but he wasn't quick enough. He heard a mumbled swear followed by the jingling of keys, and the door opened the moment he reached it.
"Have you just been standing there the whole time?" Hutch asked in exasperation.
Flinching at the statement, Starsky didn't answer. Instead, he took in his partner. Hutch's shoulders were slightly slumped and he looked exhausted, but there was a glint of irritation in his eyes and Starsky could tell he was trying not to lose his temper.
"Well?" Hutch prompted his frustration seeping into his voice.
"Sorry," Starsky offered. He pointed to the box in his partner's hand. "You brought pizza?"
"Yeah, and it's hot," Hutch answered masking his frustration with a small smile. He walked over and rested the box on the coffee table.
"You haven't eaten have you?" Hutch asked wiping his greasy hands on his brown cords.
"Uh, no," Starsky admitted as he sat on the couch. Flipping the box open to see a pepperoni pizza, Starsky struggled to remember when he had eaten last, but Hutch must have had the same thought.
"Have you eaten anything besides coffee today, buddy?"
Standing in the kitchen, Hutch took a beer from the fridge, then pulled a plate from the cupboard. Grabbing some napkins from the counter, he walked back to the living room.
"Um, yeah," Starsky lied.
Hutch sunk in the couch beside him and looked at him doubtfully. He knew Starsky was lying, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he handed Starsky plate and loaded it up with a couple of pieces, before leaning back and cracking his beer.
"Don't I get a beer?" Starsky asked. He looked to the full plate and then to the beer in Hutch's hand. Despite skipping meals, the pizza didn't look appetizing. The beer on the other hand…
"Nope," Hutch shook his head, and gave him an odd look. "You can't mix alcohol and sleeping pills… I told you that yesterday."
But Starsky wondered for a second if Hutch really told him that the day before. Surely somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered him doing so, but for some strange reason the knowledge wasn't coming as readily to him in that moment.
"Aren't you going to eat any?" Starsky asked nodding at the pizza.
"Nope. I ate at the station." Hutch took another drink then rested the can on his kneecap holding it with one hand as the other rubbed absently at the open collar of his shirt.
"Oh."
Starsky held back a sigh. He wasn't hungry, and the smell of the pizza was making him feel a little sick, or maybe it was just the after effects of his afternoon meltdown making him feel queasy.
He looked at Hutch who was looking at the T.V. His partner had yet to comment on his rude words, and Starsky wondered if he would.
Starsky hadn't meant a word he'd said, not really. He was frustrated and grappling for some sort of control over a world that seemed so upside-down. And if Dobey wasn't going to take any more of his anger and bull-shit it then there really was only one person left to let loose on: Hutch.
But right then, sitting on the couch, poor Hutch looked as worn out as Starsky felt. Starsky watched as his partner slouched down into the cushions and took another sip of beer.
Feeling the need to make some sort of amends, Starsky opened his mouth to apologize, but no words came out. He couldn't think of anything to say. Starsky suddenly recognized couldn't make things right with his partner any more than he was capable of making things right with himself.
"Starsky," Hutch blurted softly. "I—I'm sorry."
"What?" Starsky's stomach lurched and his shocked face turned to his partner. Well, this was a surprise. He expected Hutch to let loose on him not apologize.
"Jesus, Hutch…" he continued in a shocked whisper. "I'm the one walking 'round here like a crazy person. Flip floppin' from one second to the next. What the hell do you have to be sorry for?"
Still staring at the T.V., Hutch didn't answer. He took another drink before biting his bottom lip. His blue eyes reflected a deep sadness, and it was then Starsky realized he wasn't the only one struggling with what happened.
"Hutch?" Starsky prompted, his own problems momentarily forgotten. He reached his hand out to rest it on his partner's leg. "What's going on?"
"This whole thing is my fault," Hutch admitted, his voice straining. He paused clearing his throat and rubbing at his face with one hand. "It's all my fault," shaking his head bitterly he whispered, "all over a fuckin' coin toss."
Starsky closed his eyes, another realization dawning on him at his partner's words.
Shit. He had been too caught up in his own hurt and grief and had completely lost track of his what his partner must have been feeling.
"Hey," Starsky gripped the leg harder. "It's okay, Blintz… Really it is. It was a stupid coin toss. I could have picked heads and this could have just as easily been you—"
"But it wasn't!" Hutch exclaimed. He looked to his partner with tear filled eyes. "It was you. A—and I couldn't find you."
"Ya found me in the end," Starsky offered with a small smile.
"Yeah," Hutch scoffed. "Just in time…Barely."
"You saved me."
"No. No I didn't," Hutch denied firmly. His tears found their way down his cheeks and he swiped at them angrily. "I couldn't save you when that monster had you," he whispered thickly, "and even now—now that you're home and you're safe—even now, I can't seem to save you."
Struggling his own tears and a proper response to Hutch's omission, Starsky looked down at the floor. This was it. He had to say something. Hutch needed him to say something. Hutch needed him to talk about what happened, even if he didn't feel ready.
The epiphany was troublesome, yet freeing at the same time. He wasn't alone in this. Hutch was here with him, sitting beside him. And Starsky knew confiding his own guilt for the situation was the only way to set Hutch free of his responsibility, but somehow he still couldn't find the words.
How do you put that kind of pain into words?
"She was only 11 years-old, Hutch." The soft tearful words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "And I promised her I would save her," he sobbed as his hand left his partner's leg and rubbed through his thick curls.
Mouth agape, Hutch looked at his partner. He wanted to say something to alleviate the other man's hurt, but he didn't. Too afraid that any words would ruin the moment and return Starsky his quiet brooding.
"Never mind what he did to me…The things he did to her," Starsky continued with the shudder, his handsome features pained. "I just wish I could forget it."
Blue eyes soft with understanding, Hutch's hand found his partner's shoulder and squeezed gently.
"Tell me," he requested softly.
And that time, Starsky actually did.
