"The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost." - G. K. Chesterton
Turquoise
His first partner had turquoise eyes, eyes as deep as Lake Superior, eyes that he'd sworn could penetrate his mind, anticipating every move, every thought before it occurred.
They'd been partners for three days before he ever saw their color, and then only because he made eye contact for the first time. Even then he'd been hard pressed to name their color. Blue was his first thought, but it seemed too ordinary, too commonplace for the fathomless pool of emotion lingering behind his eyes. He'd settled on turquoise, finally, a unique, ancient color hewn from stone as old as time. A color that suited his partner.
His first partner's eyes never ignored him after that. They were always watching, scanning ahead to protect him, locking with his to keep him strong. From the time he'd been dying from a poison running through his veins to the day he'd been lying on a restaurant floor, numbness spreading through his left arm, those turquoise eyes had been his anchor, a rock in the middle of a tempest. He felt safe looking at those eyes. Odd, but Hutch was the first person he'd ever met that he didn't care if he could read his mind, the first person he ever felt safe to spill his thoughts and emotions over onto. No, not the first person. The only one.
His first partner died almost a year ago. Oh, not that kind of death. There was no bullet, no knife, no funeral. He simply started to fade like leaves turning from summer to fall, fall to winter. And one day he was gone and his second partner was there, same body, same mind, same voice. But the eyes were different. They rarely looked at him anymore, and when they did they were silent. No warmth, no feelings. Even when he got angry they didn't flash with fire, scorching whatever criminal was in their way. It was as if the life had been stripped away and laid bare. He didn't mention it but it hurt that his second partner's eyes were the same shade of turquoise that his first partner had.
His second partner was a harder man, a man more prone to bursts of anger, a man who rarely smiled and even then it never reached his eyes. His hair was longer, and he grew a mustache that reminded Starsky of a mask, blocking him off from the world. There were times when he'd reach out and Hutch wouldn't reach back, times without responses to his questions, times when he saw sadness burned into the turquoise where laughter used to be.
It's after the shooting and he's lying in the hospital bed, still frail but healing. It's the first day that the doctors have finally come in smiling. It's the day he learns he's beaten the odds, he's strong enough that they know he's going to live, going to walk out of here someday and go back to his life, to the world out there. It's the day that Hutch comes bursting in, sheets of paper waving over his head, shouting at him through the glass window. It's the day that the turquoise starts to glow with life, that the emotions return, fill up those empty eyes like water pouring back into a sea.
Later he'll realize it's the day that his second partner starts to slide off like an old skin and another man steps into his place.
It's the day that his first partner comes back to life.