Part 35

A month came and went and drifted into two – Starsky continued to grow in strength everyday. Each day he found he could walk a little further without tiring himself out, each intensive physio session was a little less painful than the last, and each doctor's appointment saw him gradually taken off his long list of medication one pill at a time – first the anti-biotics as his risk of infection was significantly reduced, then the anti-inflammatories, the pills to improve his lung and kidney function, along with the ones he'd been taking for his heart, finally followed by the sleeping pills until only the mild painkillers remained. To Starsky's dismay however the same could not be said for Hutch. At the very least he remained the same, barely keeping his head above water, and just about surviving from one day to the next – managing to keep up a pretence of normality for the few hours he continued to spend pushing papers at the precinct a few days a week – but back behind closed doors, and the relative security of Venice Place Starsky knew that although he continued to make significant improvements in some areas, in others he was getting worse.

He was certainly eating better, and as a result was a little stronger, and he didn't wake up quite so frequently in the middle of the night, plagued by fewer bad dreams – but Starsky knew that this was largely due to the effects of the medication he was on. Even so Starsky couldn't escape the feeling which had started to plague him that there was something more than the obvious trauma of the shooting going on with Hutch. He may have been eating better but Starsky had caught him on a couple of occasions looking pained, and he seemed to be favouring his right side – especially after meals.

He had become increasingly more withdrawn – finding it too difficult to keep reliving the events of that day over and over again, and so eventually he stopped opening up and talking about it all together. The truth was, as Hutch himself had said, that in everything else that had happened to them over the years he'd never before allowed himself to truly believe that Starsky would actually die. They'd both known the job was dangerous – that everyday they set foot out on the streets of Bay City they quite literally placed their lives in the hands of the fates. They'd seen enough of their colleagues killed over the years to realise that each and every day could be their last, but in order to function in their role as policemen – and just to enable themselves to get on with their day to day lives without being crippled by the reality of their own mortality – they'd had no choice but to force this thought to the back of their minds.

'Thee and me' was more than just another meaningless saying, it was a pact between two men whose genuine love for each other would see one take a bullet to protect his partner – they were two best friends who literally placed their lives in each other's hands every day. They left everything to their friendship, and nothing to chance – they would both die for each other without so much as a second thought for themselves, and this bond between them had enabled them both to cheat death so many times before. If one was missing, or sick in the hospital then they could always count on the other to find them or be there to make sure that everything would be alright. It was Hutch who had discovered the truth in time to save Starsky when he'd been injected with a poisonous compound by Vic Bellamy on the instruction of Professor Jennings, and Starsky who'd convinced Thomas Callendar to hand himself in when Hutch had been dying of the plague, but this time there had been nothing Hutch could have done to protect nor save Starsky.

In truth the curly haired brunette realised that there was only one person his partner trusted enough to pour his heart and soul out to, and that was him – but Hutch had spent so long trying to be the strong one so that Starsky didn't have to that his best friend suspected that he'd probably forgotten how to be anything else. His sense of responsibility was just that strong.

Starsky had frequently teased his partner about his daily fitness regime in the past, but he'd do anything to go back to those days now. He longed to have raisons and bran crackers and desiccated liver and seaweed shoved down his throat every morning, and to see his partner guzzling one of his many – quite frankly – revolting concoctions for breakfast – but early morning jogs seemed to be the furthest thing from Hutch's mind right now.

It was for this reason that Starsky was surprised when he awoke one morning to find the apartment empty. He called out his friend's name, but upon receiving no response threw the duvet back and stiffly manoeuvred his legs until they dangled over the edge of the bed. He may have been on the road to recovery, but he still felt the impact of Gunther's bullets on his body – especially first thing in the morning. He looked over at the clock and saw that it was already eleven o clock in the morning. He frowned – Hutch wouldn't normally let him sleep in this late. Starsky had never been a morning person – he was a night owl through and through – but Hutch was a creature of habit, and even if he'd let his six am running sessions slide since the shooting he was still normally up and around by eight. Starsky eased himself to his feet, allowing his body some time to adjust to being active again, and made his way into the open living area. Hutch's makeshift bed on the couch, where he had been sleeping since Starsky had been staying with him, had already been cleared away – the pile of pillows and sheets neatly stacked in the corner. Concerned Starsky went to the bathroom – the door was closed but there was no sound from within, and when he opened it slightly he saw that it too was empty – there was no sign of Hutch.

His first instinct was to call Captain Dobey at the precinct to find out whether Hutch had decided to go into work. It wasn't one of his regular days, but it was still possible that Hutch had decided to put some extra hours in that morning – although he doubted Dobey would allow it. Since returning to work the Captain had been keeping a very close eye on one of his two favourite detectives, making sure that he didn't overdo it, and had even sent him home early on more than one occasion when he'd noticed him not looking very well.

As he'd suspected however Dobey hadn't seen nor heard from Hutch at all that morning, but upon hearing that Starsky had awoken to find him missing from the apartment he too was concerned, and had offered to come over. Starsky had refused, not wanting to cause a fuss – and he knew that Hutch wouldn't appreciate it if he thought they'd got half of Bay City out looking for him when he'd just popped out for a carton of milk – but he'd promised to keep Dobey informed before hanging up the phone. A further search of the apartment revealed that Hutch's sneakers had gone from their usual spot by the front door, and that his running clothes were also missing from their hanger in the closet. This gave Starsky some hope that maybe his friend had decided to go for a run after all, and so he decided to try and relax and make himself some breakfast – telling himself that he couldn't send out a search party just because Hutch had decided to leave the flat for an hour without letting him know where he was going.

He scrambled himself some eggs and dropped some pancake batter into a pan on the hot stove. When it was cooked he added some honey to his pancakes – Hutch didn't have any syrup as he'd always said that honey was healthier – and he sat down to eat his food. When he'd finished his breakfast he washed up the utensils – leaving them on the draining board to dry. This all took him about forty five minutes. At the peak of his physical fitness Hutch could complete his usual one mile route in about ten minutes, but Starsky suspected that he'd probably slowed down a lot since then – and he may not have even been able to complete the full mile at all. When an hour had passed and there was still no sign of Hutch however Starsky really started to worry, and was just about to ring Dobey back and ask him to put out an APB on his partner when the phone rang. Starsky picked it up immediately – it was Huggy's voice he heard on the other end of the line.

"Hey Starsk, you looking for that blonde partner of yours?" The young man asked him and Starsky breathed a sigh of relief – hopeful that he might be able to finally tell him something about the whereabouts of Hutch. As much as he'd tried to convince himself that there was probably nothing to worry about he'd sensed in his heart that something wasn't right that morning, and his instincts weren't very often wrong when it came to matters concerning his partner.

"Yeah Hug, you know where he is?" He asked him, failing to keep the concern out of his voice.

"He's here…" Huggy informed him, pausing for second in a manner which suggested he'd been distracted by something momentarily, before continuing in a tone which conveyed a sadness in his own heart – and Starsky wondered why. The raw edge to the other man's voice was making him feel a little uneasy – and he fell to wondering why he hadn't thought to call Huggy after he'd placed the call to Captain Dobey. "Drinking me dry…" He told him. Starsky frowned.

"I'll be there in ten…" He said. He couldn't explain why at that moment but something instinctive was making his heart feel heavy. He didn't know what was going on with Hutch – but if he was drinking this early in the day then he knew that it couldn't be good. All he wanted was to be there for his friend, in the same way he had been in the past, but Hutch was still refusing to let him in – and Starsky was beginning to wonder whether it really was just down to the fact that he was trying to protect him. It seemed as though they were going round in circles – taking one step forward and three steps back and Starsky realised that Hutch was still, even now, holding himself responsible and refusing to accept what had happened. Of course he was angry, and struggling to deal with the toxic cocktail of emotions which were eating him up inside, but drink was a slippery slope and certainly wasn't going to solve anything – in fact it came with a trouble all of its own. There were no answers to be found in the bottom of a bottle. "Thanks Hug." He added.

"Yeah, don't mention it." Huggy sighed as Starsky put the phone down, and he dropped the handset back into the plunger – looking up at the blonde man slumped over a half measure of brandy at the bar, an empty bottle of beer at his elbow and another clasped within his palm.

It took Starsky slightly longer than he'd anticipated to get there but when he arrived at 'The Pits' about half an hour later it didn't take him long to notice Hutch propping up the bar. 'The Pits' was quite possibly one of the better low-end drinking establishments in the city, but it didn't matter how bright it was outside the place always seemed to be blanketed in darkness – due in part to its lack of windows letting in any natural light, and also because of the low level artificial lighting employed by Huggy. He'd always said that it helped to create a mellow ambience, but Starsky and Hutch had always suspected that it probably had more to do with him keeping his electricity bill down. There was hardly anybody around – the only other people present seemed to be the drunks and heavy drinkers who represented the clientele of most of the bars up and down the city at this time of day, and the beginnings of the lunchtime rush. As Starsky slowly took a step towards his friend's side he noticed a plate of untouched sandwiches on the counter next to him, and Huggy approached him from where he'd been feigning cleaning glasses behind the bar, looking concerned.

"How's he doing?" Starsky asked him in a low voice, counting the empty beer bottles and glasses surrounding his partner and hoping that they didn't all belong to Hutch –who was swigging beer absentmindedly from a bottle in his hand. His shoulders were sagging and his head hanging low over his drink – he looked so lost, Starsky observed. Huggy followed his line of vision and when he looked at Hutch he too saw the same husk of a man as Starsky. He shrugged.

"Hard to tell." He explained looking at the forlorn figure of their friend. "He hasn't really said much. Just turned up here about an hour ago, shivering with cold and looking as though he'd been walking the streets half the night. He wasn't even wearing a jacket." He pointed out and Starsky frowned – it hadn't been as cold as it might have been the evening before, but it had still been too chilly to be without a jacket, and Starsky hated to think of how long Hutch might have been wandering the streets alone. He patted Huggy gently on the arm as he proceeded towards his partner and the young man returned to his place behind the bar.

"That won't help you know…" He told him as he neared his side, and as Hutch turned to look at him he was relieved to see that his eyes were clear – bearing no indication of the trademark alcohol induced glaze. However much he'd had to drink at least he wasn't drunk, Starsky thought to himself as he took up the bar stool beside him – but he knew that Huggy would not have served Hutch if he'd turned up intoxicated.

"Just a little false courage Starsk!" Hutch replied quietly, before turning away again and looking down at the beer in his hands – it appeared as though he was deliberately trying to avoid eye contact – contemplating taking another swig before deciding against it. He'd evidently been nursing the drink for a while – the neck of the bottle was still wet with the condensation created by the refrigerated liquid reacting to the warm air, but the body was smeared with his fingerprints and the label was beginning to peel slightly at the damp edges.

"What for?" Starsky pressed him gently.

"I don't think I can do this anymore Starsk…" He shook his head sadly.

"What do you mean?" Starsky frowned.

"This! THIS!" Hutch suddenly exclaimed bitterly, throwing his arms out and gesticulating wildly. "I don't think I can watch anymore people I love get taken away because of what I… what we are!" He faltered.

"Hey, where's all this coming from Hutch?" Starsky asked him, leaning forwards and reaching out a hand, which came to rest lightly on his friend's arm. He wanted to give it a gentle squeeze to let him know that he was there for him, that he was on his side, he was not the enemy – but Hutch was clearly doing battle with some inner gremlin, and an uncharacteristic anger was swelling in his heart. Starsky suspected that it was this anger which was the only thing keeping the fear from suffocating him, but he read the signals like an expert in his field and kept his voice low and any physical contact gentle. He knew that Hutch could feel the weight of his touch through the sleeve of his t-shirt when he felt some of the tension leave his body and his grip on the beer bottle he was holding started to relax.

"Gillian, Abigail… Terry." Hutch added – subdued. He looked up towards the ceiling – heavenward – and Starsky noticed that there was a haunted look in his eyes, which he quickly rubbed away. "You two might have been married by now, with kids, but she died just because she happened to fall in love with a cop!" He growled.

Hearing Terry's name was like a punch to the gut, and Starsky recoiled slightly as though he'd been physically hit – but he didn't release his hold of Hutch's arm. They still sometimes spoke about Terry, she'd been the only woman Starsky had ever loved, and he knew that Hutch had loved her too, but to hear her name mentioned in this context and to be reminded of what might have been made him feel as though someone had just ripped his heart out.

"Hey, don't you think I don't know that!" He said, and his voice had a bite to it which he hadn't intended for. He could feel the tears stinging his eyes and he blinked to try and supress them and prevent them from falling. He knew that Hutch would never be so cruel as to insinuate that what had happened to Terry was in any way his fault – even in a fit of temper – and he took a deep breath to calm the sadness which swelled within his heart. He still missed her everyday and there were some days when the pain felt just as raw as the day she'd died – although they weren't as frequent as they had once been. "Don't you think I don't still blame myself…" He faltered.

"That's not what I mean Starsky!" Hutch was quick to explain, turning to look at him and observing the pain in the curly haired brunette's eyes – despite his current mood it hurt him to see that he'd caused his partner pain, and he realised how what he'd just said may have been misinterpreted. "I'm not saying it was your fault…" He continued. "I'm not saying that any of this is anybody's fault. Terry made her choice because she loved you, but it happens because of who we are." He paused for a moment and Starsky felt the muscles in his arm begin to ripple and tense beneath his hand – he realised that Hutch's anger was building inside of him again. "It happens because of what we do! We make some pretty dangerous enemies out there on the streets, and people end up getting hurt… but we are the ones with the price on our heads!" He took another swig of his beer, before slamming the bottle back down on the bar and looking around him.

"You know, I really used to love this town Starsk." He said. "I loved the job. I really used to feel that we were making a difference, you know… I used to think that so long as we helped one person, put one rapist away, got justice for just one murder victim, helped make the streets just that little bit safer for decent, law abiding people, then everything else would be worth it, they could do what they liked to me!"

"Well, isn't that what we're both fighting for Hutch?" Starsky asked him, sitting back on his barstool and looking Hutch directly in the eyes. Hutch looked like he wanted to avert his gaze again but this time he didn't look away. Starsky studied his face, trying to see beyond the superficial surface which his partner wanted people to see, and to connect with his soul – but the blue eyes he looked into were empty, and all he observed there was pain.

"Yes… but it feels different now somehow." Hutch confessed. "It's becoming a warzone out there, and we're on the losing team!" He explained and Starsky absentmindedly picked up a discarded coaster from the bar and started spinning it between his thumb and first finger. "I mean, what are we really doing Starsk – what's the point of being one of the good guys when all this world does is chew us up and spit us out? We used to be the ones people looked to for protection… but how can we protect anyone when we need protecting ourselves? And who's there for us?" Hutch snarled bitterly. "I just don't think I can do it anymore Starsk. I've tried so hard to picture myself back out on those streets again these past few weeks, just the two of us working the way we used to, but every time I do I can see you lying there in the police parking lot – dying Starsk… you were dying…. and there was nothing I could do to stop you from leaving me. Your body was so broken, and all I kept thinking was that it was what we did that put you there!"

And there it was – they'd finally reached the heart of the issue.

"We've been in tight spots before though Hutch, and we've always weathered the storm together… we're still here." Starsky said, as he placed the coaster back down on the bar again. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his curls. Hutch sighed.

"By the grace of God only Starsk." He muttered. "I really thought I was going to lose you, and this time it wasn't like all the other times. It wasn't like the time Vic Bellemy pumped you full of poison, or Vic Humphries had me run off the road into that canyon, or even when you were trying to track down Callander when I got the plague – there were things we could do then to make a difference – but this time there was nothing, nothing I could do to save you." His voice started to shake with the memory of it, and his voice trailed off and he had to take a moment to compose himself – swallowing hard to try and dispel the lump in his throat. He took another swig of his beer, although Starsky suspected that he was merely using the drink in his hands as a distraction to give him time to compose himself, as the liquid hardly even wet his lips. "I don't think I could go through that again Starsk… I don't think I could carry on if anything were to happen to you… I just can't face the thought of losing you again. I love you too much."

"Then what do you suggest?" Starsky asked him.

"I don't know Starsk!" Hutch rested his head in his hands, and Starsky suspected that tiredness coupled with the meagre amounts of alcohol in his bloodstream were probably beginning to get to him. He'd suddenly gone very pale. "I've been pacing the streets for hours trying to figure out what to do." He explained. "I feel so lost… I look in the mirror and I don't recognise the man starring back at me anymore. I need to find myself again, but I can't do that here, not when I'm confronted with memories of Gunther every single day…"

"I don't understand…" Starsky shook his head – confused.

"I'm going to go away for a while Starsk…" Hutch sighed sadly.

…and then it struck Starsky what his partner had been getting at and the reason for his distress. Hutch had stayed just long enough to see him through the worst of his recovery, but help had come too late for him. By the time any of them had noticed the serious effect that the shooting had had on Hutch the trauma of that day had already taken its toll… and Hutch couldn't stay.

"Hutch… you can't…" Starsky choked.

"I'm sorry Starsky… I have to…" Hutch told him – and this time he did raise his head to look Starsky directly in the eyes. He'd finally smashed the barriers down – the wall which had taken him weeks to build – and to Starsky's horror he was finally able to see what it was Hutch saw of himself when he looked in the mirror. It was unsettling how quickly he'd been able to strip the mask away – the blue orbs still glistened, but the life behind them had gone.

"When?" He asked him.

"This afternoon."

Starsky just blinked at him blankly. He couldn't stop the tears from glistening in his own eyes. He didn't know what to say.

"You've said so yourself that you're doing much better now Starsk." Hutch said, registering the shock on his partner's face, but there were fresh tears in his eyes as he said it. "You don't need me to take care of you anymore, and I trust Dobey and Huggy to keep an eye on you… to keep you out of trouble." He added with a forced half-smile on his face, looking up at Huggy and noticing how sad he too looked. Starsky tried to work through his own pain, to see past his first instinct – which was to do everything he could to get Hutch to stay, where he could keep him close and keep him safe. His heart sank. Every fibre of his being was screaming out to him that this was wrong – that Hutch leaving would be a huge mistake. He needed his friends now more than ever – but he could also see that in his current frame of mind he would not be receptive to being brought around to another point of view. He'd made his mind up on the subject, and this was what he believed he needed.

"OK buddy, you do what you have to do." Starsky nodded.

Hutch looked at him, confusion but also gratitude painted on his face. Evidently he'd been expecting his partner to put up more of a fight. Starsky could tell by his body language that he'd prepared himself for such an eventuality, but Starsky also knew that there was nothing he could say which would make any difference – and so he let Hutch go. He was setting him free.

"I love you that much!" Starsky explained, and had to clear his throat as the lump which had settled there threatened to stifle his words. "But just remember Hutch, I'll always be here, whenever you need me, I'm here for you." He told him.

The breath in Hutch's chest hitched and this time he didn't even attempt to conceal or supress the tears which rolled freely down his cheeks – Starsky could tell that this was just as hard for his partner as it was for him. Hutch squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Another breath and the air yet again caught in his chest, sending his lungs into another spasm. Starsky pulled him into his arms and felt Hutch respond by wrapping his own arms around him too. He let the man just hang there, Hutch's head on Starsky's shoulder, whilst he took his weight and let him sob freely – in the same way he had done on the evening of Gillian's death. The tears were trickling from his own eyes too, running down his cheeks and soaking into Hutch's shoulder. Starsky was aware that some of the people in the restaurant had turned to look at them but he didn't care – until they were lucky enough to find someone who meant as much to them as Hutch meant to him, and vice versa, they were in no position to judge. He looked across and saw that Huggy had turned away, busing himself behind the bar with his back to them, but Starsky could tell by his posture and body language that this was probably to hide the fact that he was shedding a few tears too. Finally Hutch pulled away, but he kept a grip on the lapels of his jacket for support – even now he still clung to Starsky as though he were his lifeline.

"Just promise me one thing Hutch…" Starsky asked him – wet eyes looking into wet.

"Anything." Hutch nodded.

"Come back to me." He said. "I know you've got things on your mind that you need to work through, and I know you're hurting right now but please don't forget about me…"

"Never could buddy… 'me and thee' remember…" Hutch shook his head and forced a smile past his tears.

"Yeah…" Starsky returned the gesture.

"I'm going to throw a few things together…" Hutch told him, wiping the tears away from his face with the palm of his hand, whilst Starsky did the same. "See you back at Venice Place?" He asked him.

"Yeah, I'll see you there." Starsky nodded, and watched Hutch walk away.

When he'd gone Huggy turned to Starsky.

"You're not really going to let him go are you Starsk? Just like that?" He asked him.

"I have to Hug." Starsky explained sadly – hoping that he could make the man understand. "I can't make him stay, and Hutch is right I may be getting better, but I'm not strong enough yet for a road trip. Besides, I saw it in his eyes, he really needs this."

"But he's sick!" Huggy exclaimed.

"I know that Hug but what else am I supposed to do?" Starsky demanded – watching as Huggy's face fell. "What happens if we keep him here and he doesn't get any better? What happens if he grows to resent us? What if he quits the force? We let him go now and maybe, just maybe, the real Hutch will find his way back to us!" He told him. The two men's eyes met across the bar and Starsky could tell by the look on Huggy's face that he understood – but he didn't want to lose Hutch either. Starsky sighed, and when he continued he spoke a little more gently. "I think I know Hutch a little better than he knows himself right now," he explained, "and sometimes it takes us putting a little distance between ourselves and what we're running away from to realise that what we needed was under our nose all the time."