Part 32

"Starsk, I need to talk to you." Hutch sighed, looking over at his partner one evening a few days later. He'd been unusually quiet and withdrawn all day, even by his current standards, and Starsky had sensed that there was something more bothering him than usual. His seeming withdrawal had concerned Starsky, especially as he'd initially seemed to be doing a lot better following little Rosie's visit a few days before. He'd been doing quite well over the past few days. Starsky had noticed that he still seemed weak, but he'd been gaining in strength, and eating a little better, and he knew – from recent conversations he'd shared with Captain Dobey – that it was on the cards for him to return to work a couple of days a week as soon as he felt up to it. For his own part Starsky didn't think that this was such a bad idea. As Hutch grew in strength physically he felt he needed something else to occupy his time, if only to stop him worrying about Starsky every waking moment, hovering over his best friend, unable to rest and relax, and stop himself from dwelling on what might have been. He'd been encouraged by Hutch's progress, and had voiced as much to Captain Dobey, feeling optimistic about the pair's future for the first time in weeks, and hopeful in his conviction that if Hutch could just bring himself to return to some light duties, his shattered confidence in the job could be repaired – but so far even Captain Dobey's suggestions that he pop in one afternoon to share a coffee with him in his office over lunch had been met with a grateful but negative response. Hutch had put the Captain off, delaying the invitation for as long as he could with the vague promise of "soon" – but soon somehow never came. Starsky quite understood Hutch's apparent reluctance to return to the scene of his shooting – the police parking lot was where most of his demons resided, and he wouldn't be able to avoid it if he went back there. Starsky was not yet fit enough to drive, and he knew that Dobey wouldn't have time to collect Hutch and bring him back during his lunchbreak. Even if he did, he would still have to face the scene of the crime sooner or later. It was a thought which had occurred to Starsky also – but he'd realised that the parking lot was just a place, a location, and had come to terms with the fact that the real demons resided within his own mind, a long time ago.

Starsky wanted nothing more than to get back to work, and return to the Bay City streets as soon as he was well enough to do so, but he had already made up his mind that he would not do so without Hutch – and Hutch's current state of mind was the biggest obstacle to them returning to the job they had both once loved so much, right now.

He'd made the decision to give his friend some space all day. Hutch had hardly spoken a word as the weight of whatever he'd been contemplating hung heavily over him. They'd sat on opposite sides of the room, eating the evening meal Starsky had prepared for them both, in relative silence. Hutch had picked at the dish of bland pasta and chicken reluctantly – exchanging snippets of conversation with his friend between small mouthfuls – but had finally finished with the food, not entirely cleaning his plate. Starsky had had to lavish his with piles of cheese and pastrami just to make it palatable.

"What is it buddy?" Starsky frowned, learning forward in his seat with some difficulty – he still couldn't move as freely as he'd once been able, as the scar tissue on his chest and abdomen pulled tight, and he sat back again with a flinch. Hutch looked concerned, his eyes subtly scanning Starsky for any sign of anything seriously wrong – but he found none, and a slightly lopsided grin from his friend seemed to reassure him that he was alright. His shoulders sagged wearily, and some of the physical tension left his body as he spoke.

"I think I owe you an apology." He said.

"Oh, not this again Hutch," Starsky sighed sadly. "I've told you, we've been through this, it wasn't your fault. You've got to stop blaming yourself for what happened to me, there wasn't anything you could have done."

"No, not about that Starsk, although I still don't think I really believe that what happened to you wasn't, at least in part, my fault," Hutch said. His eyes wandered up towards the ceiling, and he drew in a deep breath, blowing a deep sigh as he ran his palms over his face, holding his head in his hands before withdrawing them and leaning back in his seat slowly. Starsky observed how uncomfortable he looked as he continued, "but… truth is Starsk I think I've been depressed for a while, without even realising it – long before you got shot – that was just the breaking point." He revealed. "I know I've been an idiot – I haven't been working the way we work, and I know I've hurt you." He said, and Starsky immediately realised that he was talking about Kira. He wanted to tell him not to worry, that the woman was not worth bothering about – but now that Hutch finally seemed to be opening up and talking to him he didn't want to interrupt. "I don't know what happened to make me feel this silly need to compete with you. I guess I just felt a part of me slipping away and I had to try and prove to myself that I still had something… something worth holding onto… some worth left… but I had so many layers of sadness and anger, I didn't even know who I was anymore."

"Hutch, why didn't you tell me how you were feeling?" Starsky asked him – shocked by this admission by his friend, but in hindsight it perhaps wasn't quite so unexpected and he wondered how he hadn't noticed it before. It would certainly explain a lot – his partner's change in behaviour in the months leading up to the shooting. His mood swings and loss of interest in his normal activities, had given Starsky cause for concern on a number of occasions as he'd noticed him stray from his regular routine – but never had he considered that he might actually be depressed. He was sure he would have noticed if things had been that bad. He should have noticed, it was his job to have noticed it, part of the 'me and thee' silent contract between them. But then realising how good Hutch must have been at hiding it didn't make him feel any better – any less guilty. He thought about their game of hide and seek – those carefree days seemed like a lifetime ago now – when Hutch had contracted botulism, and the fates had raised the stakes. What had started out as a bit of harmless competition between the two of them for two weeks of the other's salary had turned into a fight for Hutch's life, and the search of Starsky's career as he'd struggled to find his partner in time. He'd proven himself remarkably good at the art of deception, but the warning signs had still been there – Starsky had noticed them all, even if he hadn't recognised them for what they really were at the time – and he started to feel the inevitable surge of guilt.

"I don't know Starsk…" Hutch shook his head. "I couldn't… I mean it's not even as if I had reason to feel the way I did is it?" He shrugged, looking over at Starsky, and it was then that the curly haired brunette observed the tears in his partners eyes. "I guess I just woke up one day and it was there. I didn't understand it. I didn't want it! I just felt so tired Starsk… so tired my very bones ached. At first I thought I was just having a bad day, but that one bad day turned into many bad days. I tried to convince myself that it was just a phase, I told myself that if I could just work through it eventually I could snap myself out of it, but it didn't work! I felt frustrated with myself… and I could see you getting on with things, moving forward with your life, and I felt angry with you!"

"Ah Hutch, you don't have to explain." Starsky said, as he got gingerly to his feet and began to make his way over to his distressed friend. The fact that he could now do that now unaided was in itself a massive improvement, as it only seemed like a few weeks ago that he'd needed Hutch's help to move from the bed to the sofa and back again. He sat himself down next to Hutch on the sofa and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his head hanging solemnly as he continued to listen to the man's admission.

"But I do Starsk, don't you see, I do?" Hutch exclaimed, clenching and unclenching his fists, and Starsky's other hand came to rest gently over his partner's. He noted how cold the man's fingers were. "Its been eating me up inside! If I hadn't been so wrapped up in myself, if I'd been paying more attention, then maybe I might have noticed something. I've replayed that afternoon over and over in my mind every day since. We walked right past that police car for crying out loud! How could we not have noticed something was wrong?"

"Because Hutch, we didn't know!" Starsky insisted, turning to look him in the eyes – his own now wet with tears for his partner's silent suffering – as his hand tightened slightly on Hutch's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We weren't looking out for the signs because we didn't know we had to, and we can't spend the rest of our lives dwelling on what happened, or what might have been! You've got to stop blaming yourself!"

"I've tried so hard not to let you know." Hutch explained, and Starsky thought he detected a faint note of apology in his tone as he said this, as though finally revealing how he'd been feeling to him was something he needed to be sorry for. "You've worked so hard to get this far! I know how much you hated the hospital, and I saw you struggle every single day that you were in there. I wanted to make it possible for you to get out of there as soon as the doctors would allow it. I've tried so hard to make things right. I really wanted to be strong for you Starsk, but the honest truth is that I don't feel very strong. I feel like I've let you down."

"You haven't let me down Hutch," Starsky told him, "and that's one hell of a burden to place at your own feet buddy."

"I really wanted to talk to you Starsk, but it didn't seem fair when you were already dealing with so much. I mean, what right do I have to feel the way I feel? You were the one who got shot! You were the one who could have died! Every time I tried the thought of what happened – the memory of seeing you lying there – it just made me feel sick. There was so much blood Starsk, and there was nothing I could do! Nothing at all I could do to help you!"

"Hutch…" Starsky's voice was a comforting whisper now. But now that Hutch had started to talk he seemed unable to stop – all of the hurt and confusion of the past few months now coming flooding out of him, his words flowing like water from a dam which had finally burst.

"I guess not talking just became easier than trying to put what happened into words, because there will never be any words to even begin to describe what Gunther did!" Hutch spat. He was starting to get angry now, and Starsky wanted so desperately to say something to calm him. "I replay what happened over and over in my mind every day! I can't sleep – I close my eyes and I see you lying there Starsk, so still in a pool of your own blood! I try to reach you, but I can't because there is somebody holding me back – and then you die Starsk! You die every night in my dreams, and every night I awake sweating and sick, struggling to separate those dreams from reality and wondering if it will ever stop! Will it ever go away!

"Sometimes it hits me in the middle of the day. I want to scream. It's like something just builds inside of me, and it catches me off guard. I don't want to cry – I don't want to give in to it because I don't know whether if I start I will ever be able to stop myself, but I don't want to put a front on anymore either. It's exhausting.

"I just want to know how much longer will we be picking up the broken pieces Gunther left behind – of ourselves, of our lives? You nearly died Starsk, and I'm finding it so much harder to move past than I ever have before. Oh, we've had our scrapes – we've both come close several times – but things seemed so much worse this time – so much more final. This time I really thought I'd lost you – I didn't think you could ever come back from where those bullets had sent you and I'm scared Starsk! I don't know how to move past this!"

Starsky looked back at him sympathetically. Seeing the hurt in his partner's eyes made him feel angry, not angry at Hutch but angry at Gunther, and himself. He realised that he hadn't always been fair to Hutch, especially in the early days of his recovery. The initial euphoria of his return to consciousness had worn off quite quickly when the reality of his situation had hit him. He'd been blissfully unaware of the real damage inflicted by the bullets for the first few days, the medication wrapping him in a protective shroud, but the pain had been almost too hard for him to bare once they'd started to try and ween him off the painkillers. Hutch, seeing his partners distress, had begged the doctors to give him something to ease his discomfort, but they'd explained that the morphine could not be used long term to treat his pain. Instead they had started him on a combination of milder painkillers, which whilst they hadn't completely taken his pain away, had taken the edge off it, and he'd learnt to adjust to the constant ache in his chest and stomach. He'd been so focused on himself in these early days – so tired and worn down – that he'd hardly had anything left of himself at the end of each day to spare Hutch a second thought.

Hutch hadn't minded. He'd just stretched himself further, spread himself thinner, driven himself harder, and given Starsky even more of himself. It was becoming increasingly evident that he'd done everything he could to make sure that Starsky had had everything he needed to aid him in his recovery, even when – as it now transpired – he hadn't had anymore of himself to give.

"Hutch, you need to rest!" He sighed.

"Starsky, I'm the one supposed to be taking care of you!" Hutch exclaimed.

"Not tonight you're not." He told him. "You're exhausted Hutch, you've been working yourself flat out taking care of me since I was discharged from the hospital. You need to rest! Tonight you're going to sleep in your own bed!"

"Starsk…" He tried to protest.

"Come on Hutch, it's just for one night." He insisted. "I'm well enough now that I think I can manage one night on the couch. I've managed it before, and you need to get a good night's sleep."

Hutch looked at him sceptically, but seeing the steely, determined glint in Starsky's eyes he realised that he wasn't going to back down. Starsky was engaging his stubborn side, and Hutch knew from experience that there wasn't much point in arguing – he'd seen that look in his partner's eyes before. This was the side of his friend which had driven him in his tireless search for Callendar when Hutch had been dying of the plague, hadn't allowed him to slow down or give up hope in his pursuit for his partner after Hutch had been forced off the road and down a cliff by Roy Slater on the orders of Vic Bellemy, leaving him pinned underneath his car at the bottom of the steep slope, and had enabled his partner to find him – having combed the Bay City streets high and low – after he'd contracted botulism, despite Hutch employing the use of a variety of different disguises in order to evade discovery by his best friend.

Under normal circumstances Hutch was quite capable of dishing out a fair share of his own not unable stubborn streak – likewise it was this which had kept him going during the first few days following Starsky's shooting, and his search for the truth, despite the risk to his own life. But any will to fight seemed to have evaded him and he knew that Starsky would inevitably win – he just didn't have the energy to go through the motions of arguing with his friend tonight. He was too tired – not just tired in body, but tired in mind and soul. He could hardly string two words of thought together, but even so he felt the familiar sense of guilt swell within his heart – he knew that Starsky's body hadn't yet fully healed, his scars were still tender where the fresh scar tissue had knotted together the mangled flesh left behind by Gunther's bullets as they'd ripped through his body. Hutch had bore witness to Starsky's physical struggle the morning after the last time he had spent the night on the couch – and he knew that he needed a bed, where he could stretch out his injured body properly.

Starsky, recognising his partner's hesitation leaned in closer, eyebrows raised, as his hand tightened on Hutch's shoulder reassuringly. He didn't say anything – he knew there was nothing he could say to make the man feel any better after what he had revealed that evening – but he also knew that words weren't needed.

"Come on Hutch…" He whispered gently in his ear, and Hutch's head bobbed in a slight nod, as he smiled meekly. He did feel exhausted, and whilst unburdening himself had lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders which he hadn't even been aware that he'd been carrying, the emotional turmoil had left him feeling even more drained. Reluctantly he relented, and Starsky smiled.

"Things will seem better in the morning." He told him as he gave Hutch a gentle nudge up from the couch as his friend stood with some difficulty, but somehow Starsky doubted his own words. Whilst he hoped that the pair of them would be able to move forward from this, now that Hutch had finally admitted how he'd really been feeling, he realised that there was no quick fix. Hutch wasn't just going to wake up tomorrow and feel miraculously restored – but he might feel a little less alone in his struggle now.

Sadly Starsky had to acknowledge that they'd both taken their eye off the ball when it came to each other and their friendship in recent months, and it had taken a hit being taken out on the two of them and him nearly dying to make them both realise what was most important to them – each other. Everything which had seemed so important to them at the time – Kira, winning a silly game of hide and seek – seemed ridiculous now, but Kira especially had caused a rift between the two of them which at the time might have proven to be a permanent one. Nothing and nobody else before her had ever come close to destroying a friendship more valuable to both of them than all the riches and money in the world – but, without even realising it, they'd allowed one manipulative and greedy woman to drive an animus wedge between them, and both had lost their way for a while. That time it had taken nearly being blown up, and the thought of the other being almost badly injured or killed, for them to find their way back to each other.

When Hutch had fallen for Marianne whilst working a case Starsky hadn't gone after him following their heated exchange on the matter, he hadn't even attempted to reason with him despite knowing that Hutch's life may have been in danger. He hadn't gone looking for him later, and when Hutch had been viciously beaten by Joe Finch that evening it was in his girlfriend's arms he'd sought protection and comfort, not Starsky's – and when Hutch had been shot – the bullet missing his heart by just a few inches – Starsky hadn't put up much of a resistance to being assigned a new partner whilst he was in the hospital recovering. This was not the way the two of them rolled.

Unnoticed, Starsky frowned as Hutch swayed slightly. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet, and the curly haired brunette didn't think it had anything to do with the small amount of beer in his system. The bottle, he noticed, remained mostly untouched on the coffee table. He reached out instinctively to help steady him, concerned that he may have been about to faint again, but after a few seconds Hutch seemed to regain some equilibrium and his balance improved slightly.

"Oh I'm sorry Starsk." He sighed wearily. "I am tired."

"Off to bed Hutch." Starsky told him firmly. There was a small smile on his face as he said it, but deep down Starsky was worried. Something about the blonde still didn't seem quite right.

"'Night buddy." Hutch said, as he made his way sluggishly towards his bedroom, leaving Starsky to contemplate what had been said that evening.

"Night Hutch." Starsky yawned himself as he watched his friend go, relieved when he disappeared through the doorway to his bedroom. He suspected that it wouldn't take Hutch long to fall asleep. He looked bone-weary.

Starsky then got slowly to his own feet, feeling his legs stiff and sore as he gently stretched himself, before collecting up the dirty plates and discarded beer bottles from that evening's meal. Quietly he carried them into the kitchen and placed them down on the countertop, before returning to the lounge to settle in for the night. He arranged the pile of blankets and pillows which Hutch had been using to bed down on each evening, and as he stretched out on the couch, feeling as his own aching body sank down into the soft cushions, he listened for a moment for any sound of Hutch in the bedroom.

Sure enough he heard the faint sound of light breathing, suggesting that he had already fallen asleep.

Despite his progress of the past few days, Hutch seemed somehow more done in and fragile tonight than he had done in a while, and all Starsky could do was hope that all he needed was a good night's sleep and that he would feel better in the morning.