Hutch had actually slept through his hangover.
When he awoke the next morning and found his head not throbbing and his stomach not rolling, he had sent up a meaningful prayer of thanks. But then, another thought struck him- a worse thought, like maybe the joke was on him and something much worse was about to happen. Maybe his head would fall completely off, or his stomach would actually launch itself out of his body. Hutch lay in the bed, flat on his back, and tried to keep very still.
He stared at the little white bumps on the ceiling (what were those things, anyway?) and let his senses paint a picture around him. Sunlight filled the bedroom and his hungry plants reached up towards it hungrily. Pigeons fluttered and clucked on the gutter above his window, and occasionally a single, downy feather would drift down to the sidewalk. The air smelled stale and dusty and sour, and when he turned his head into the pillow, something slimy and cold smeared his cheek.
Hutch jerked awake, sitting upright faster then should have been humanly possible, and blinked away the fogginess from his eyes.
A puddle of vomit laughed at him from where it lay sprawled over his pillowcase.
Hutch's lips curled up in disgust.
So maybe he had drank a little excessively last night, he thought as he stumbled into the bathroom. He bent over the sink, catching himself as his skull nearly collided with the mirror, and turned on the cold water. He splashed his face and rinsed his mouth, then abandoned the futile effort and turned on the shower. After bracing himself against the counter, Hutch peeled off his clothes and kicked them into a pile in the corner.
Steam began thickening the air as miniscule water droplets swirled about. The mirror clouded over and dampness clung to his bare skin. He had one foot in the tub when he realized the bandage was still on his arm. Without a second though, Hutch ripped the tape from his skin and moved all the way into the stream of water.
Hutch couldn't remember the last time a shower had felt so good. He could actually feel the sweat and grime rinsing from his body. He simply stood there, relaxing against the shower wall as tinted water swirled the drain before disappearing.
If only getting rid of memories were that easy.
By the time the water shut off, Hutch had scrubbed himself raw. The slice on his arm was reddened and throbbing, and blood slowly welled up and beaded on his skin.
The pain felt good.
He hadn't cried- after all, he wasn't the one who lost somebody. He hadn't been trapped in that school bus as it crumpled and killed two motorists before coming to a violent stop in the dry ground. No, he had nothing to cry about.
Hutch grabbed the towel and tied it around his waist. With one hand he swiped at the mirror, then stared at himself in the small area of wet glass.
He looked… tired. Worn. Haggard. Like someone that had seen too much.
He looked the same way he felt.
Hutch rubbed at his reddened eyes then grabbed the toothbrush. Starsky would be here soon. In fact, Hutch was a little surprised that the brunet wasn't here already, helping himself to the refrigerator and complaining about the skim milk. So Hutch moved about the apartment, kicking dirty clothes out of sight, changing the bed sheets, and returning the near-empty bottle of whiskey to it's proper place. He scrubbed at his teeth as he walked, his hand moving back and forth, back and forth, until his mouth was so full of toothpaste suds that he had to spit.
He watched the foam swirl down the drain then tossed the brush back in the cup where it landed with a clank. There. So far, so good.
Hutch was just pulling a T-shirt over his head when a familiar knock sounded on his door.
"Hey, Hutch? You awake yet?"
Hutch moved to the door and noticed that the sun seemed to be shining just a little bit brighter now. He pulled open the door, revealing Starsky standing in the doorframe, and a small smile bends his face. "Aren't you a little late?"
"You didn't call me," Starsky says and he pushed past Hutch and into the kitchen.
Hutch's smile fell away. "I forgot."
Starsky opened the refrigerator and pulled out the quart of milk. His head was down, but Hutch could still see Starsky's eyes darting around the apartment. "You forgot?"
Hutch shrugged. "I got busy."
"Doing what?"
Hutch sighed and grew stiffer. "It doesn't matter. Look, I'm sorry I didn't call you. You didn't call me either," he added as an afterthought.
Now Starsky shrugged. "It's no big deal. Don't get defensive. It's not like we're dating or anything." He replaced the milk and mumbled, "It's just that when you say you'll call…"
Hutch clenched his jaw, then brought one hand up to rub his face. "Are you ready?" he asked tiredly, glancing towards the door. "There's got to be a ton of paperwork waiting for us…."
Starsky held very still and Hutch could feel eyes upon him as he stared at the carpet.
"Hey."
Finally, Hutch looked up. "Starsky, don't. Let's just get to work, okay?"
Starsky glanced at the guitar sitting propped up in the corner, then turned those concerned blue eyes on Hutch once more. "At least tell me if you're okay."
"Yeah," he replied, then searched Starsky's eyes. "Are you?"
"I will be," Starsky nodded, and Hutch wanted to kick himself for being so selfish.
He looked at Starsky for what seemed like a long time as worries and emotions swirled about in his mind. One good look into those familiar blue eyes told Hutch that his partner was suffering also as there, deep down and buried by concern, Hutch could see the pain in Starsky's eyes. And why shouldn't Starsky be hurting? Starsky had been there, had seen what Hutch had seen… they had both played a major role in cleaning up the horrific wreckage. Starsky had to hold hysterical parents away from their injured children for Christ's sake- of course he would be traumatized. Starsky needed him, and Hutch hadn't been there.
That would change right now.
"What do you say we sneak out early and head over to Huggy's?" Hutch asked, looking hopefully at Starsky.
Starsky cocked his head slightly, as if trying to determine whether or not Hutch was being sincere.
"Uh, sure. That sounds good."
Hutch smiled, and this time, Starsky returned one of his own.
o0O0o
Hutch had barely turned from the coffee pot when Starsky snatched the warm mug from his hands.
"Didn't I get you your own mug for your birthday?"
"The one that says 'I'm out of my mind but feel free to leave a message'? Yeah, partner, you did get me a mug of my own."
Hutch grinned. "Hey, if the shoe fits…"
Starsky furrowed his brows into the mug as he took a long drink. Done, he handed Hutch back the half-empty mug of black coffee. "Guess it's time to get in there and get to work, huh?"
Hutch looked down the hall towards the squad room and didn't bother trying to hide his reluctance. "Yeah. Guess so."
Starsky hefted an arm up and around Hutch's shoulders. "Maybe we can find some answers. Bring some peace to those parents."
Hutch nodded, hating how his throat was already tightening. After a moment, Starsky dropped his hand and together they entered the squad room and took their seats. Sure enough, a large, ominous manila file lay casually over both their desks. They glanced to each other then Starsky reached out to pick it up.
"Starsky! Hutchinson! My office!"
Starsky withdrew his hand and Hutch noticed the flash of relief in his blue eyes. They raised to their feet as one and turned, leaving the file untouched.
They passed over the Dobey-threshold and Starsky pulled the door shut with his foot, silencing the busy sounds from the squad room. The captain glared at Starsky but didn't comment.
"Sit down," he said instead, as he sat down himself.
That was what Hutch liked most about the black man- he was a man of little words. Harold Dobey got straight to the point, used blunt words, honest words, and you always knew where you stood with the man. Hutch admired that.
Dobey's stern glare melted into a frown of concern. "I know what you boys went through yesterday, and I'm sorry. It was very difficult for everyone involved." He paused and Hutch realized that it could have been Rosie on that bus. That image stirred new emotions in Hutch as Dobey asked, "Are you okay?"
Neither partner looked at each other. Hutch nodded his head as Starsky mumbled in the affirmative.
Dobey looked between them with a scowl, much like a bear deciding which trout to swipe from the river.
"Hutch, you can leave now. I set the report on your desk. Why don't you go take a look at it?"
Hutch blinked. Why was he the one being excused? He didn't want to go, he wanted to stay. Stay and hear what they would talk about. Who they would talk about.
He stood up. "You know where to find me," he said to Starsky.
Starsky raised a hand as his head ducked, and Hutch left the office without another glance at Dobey.
He pulled the door shut behind him so that it banged in the doorframe. Ignoring the looks from the other officers, Hutch moved to his desk and sat down heavily. The day had barely started and already he was wound tighter than a spring. He set his elbows on the desk and dropped his head into his hands, using his fingers to massage his temples. Perhaps he hadn't slept completely through his hangover.
With his head still bowed, Hutch looked at the file. It was labeled without emotion, simply reading 'School Bus Crash', and followed with yesterday's date. With a deep breath, he reached out and grabbed it, then slid it over the desk so that he was looking down upon it.
He fingered the edge of the folder. Already, memories were popping into his mind faster than he could shut them out. The sounds seemed to float up to him from the file and he heard screams and cries and crunching glass and tears.
Hutch's unwavering stare began to loose focus and he blinked the burn from his wet eyes. This was ridiculous. It was only a pile of paper. He could do this. He could open the file, read the report, and put together a plan of action.
His index finger slid down the length of cardboard and when it reached the bottom, he flipped open the file.
A menagerie of typed reports, handwritten notes, and photographs filled his vision.
Elementary school bus.
52 children.
23 of them hospitalized.
3 fatalities.
The bus driver and two innocent motorists were dead on arrival. The bus driver was cited with failing to stop at an intersection, for reasons yet unknown.
Unknown?
Hutch felt himself growing even tenser. How can the reason for such a horrible wreck be unknown!
His hands tightened into fists at his temples and his knuckles turned white before he exploded from the hard wooden chair. He had to get away from these photos, this file, this squad room-
Hutch grabbed his jacket and left.
o0O0o
"Tell me."
"Cap'n…"
"Starsky, I sent Hutch outta here so that I could get a straight answer. Now tell me really, how are you?"
Starsky sank down even further in the cushioned chair. Maybe if he slipped to the floor, he would fall right through it and spare himself the look he was currently getting from Dobey. "I'm fine."
Dobey snorted. "Like hell you're fine. No one who was at that crash yesterday is fine. Myself included." He leaned back in his chair and it creaked with its burden. "Do I need to send the two of you down for a psych evaluation?"
"No."
"I will."
"No," Starsky repeated, this time whining a little. "Of course it's hard, is that what you want to hear? I saw so many hurt kids yesterday, and dealt with so many upset parents… " His eyes locked on Dobey's. "It's a little depressing, sure. Okay, it's a lot depressing, but Hutch and I have each other and we're gonna do the best we can on this case."
Dobey held Starsky's gaze a moment longer before nodding. "See that you do, Starsky."
o0O0o
He needed a drink.
Hutch moved down the sidewalk, away from the police station and away from the disturbing images in that file. His body thirsted for alcohol- or more specifically, the release it brought.
He couldn't go to The Pits. Huggy was a friend, and a good one, and would try to make Hutch open the bag of haunts he was carrying around inside of him. Hutch wasn't ready to face those demons yet.
So Hutch walked, aiming for the closest bar. If it wasn't open, he would sit on the front step and wait.
A deep rumble sounded next to him, and without tearing his gaze from the sidewalk below his feet, Hutch said, "You joining me?"
The Torino rolled down the street, its large engine unhappy at having to move so slowly. Starsky had the windows rolled down and he leaned over, looking at Hutch through the passenger window. "Where you going?"
Hutch shrugged. "Away."
Starsky glanced at the road then back at his partner. "You wanna get in the car instead?"
Hutch walked a few more steps then stopped, facing the Torino with his hands in his pockets. He leaned down a little to look at Starsky. "Where you going?"
"The morgue. It's not to far from 'away', I hear. I can drop you off."
Hutch looked into his partner's smile and couldn't help but return it. "It's getting too hot out here anyway," he said, pulling open the Torino's heavy door. He slid onto the seat, which was hot from the sun, but immediately felt the cool blast from the air conditioner. Hutch shivered as the sweat froze upon his skin.
Starsky pulled into traffic and jabbed a finger at the light jacket Hutch had tossed on the floorboard. "Why do you bother with that? It's never gonna be cool enough to wear it. The temperature is never gonna drop below 'hell'."
Hutch looked at the jacket also. Why did he carry it? For something to keep his hands busy? In hopes that the temperature would drop? Because he just plain liked it?
"You don't know. Maybe one day it'll rain."
"Rain?" Starsky asked sarcastically. "What's that?"
"You know, water falling from the sky…" Hutch played along, thankful that Starsky's presence was lifting his spirits. Keeping his mind off the problems at hand. "It's kinda like a cold shower."
Starsky grinned, then smiled- a serious, meaningful smile that Hutch recognized. It meant, 'This, right here, is what I love the most about us. Let's never stop being like this, okay?'
Hutch relaxed against the leather bench seat, and smiled back.