It had been a very long day. A very long day indeed. Hutch had turned down Starsky's suggestion of any or all of drinks, dinner and a ball game, pleading a need to run errands and do housekeeping, but really because he wanted to go home and lick his wounds and think what he was going to do about Diana. He had managed to brazen out her appearance at the office - taking the inevitable teasing with as much fake good humor as he could muster, conscious of Starsky's knowing eyes on him, not taken in for a second. She had unerringly hit him in all his weak points - they could have known each other forever, rather than just over a week. It was as if years of careful Hutch-building had been torn down in moments and all his vulnerabilities had been laid out for all to see.
He ran up the stairs to his apartment, eager to sink into his carefully created haven. A space for all the creative, gentle thing that soothed his soul. His plants, his music, his books. The equipment for his new found enthusiasm for painting. Maybe he would paint something tonight. It was Wednesday, so Fifi would have been in and everything would be clean and orderly. Perhaps, he thought with a mix of hope and guilt, she might even have left some food for him.
He reached for his key, opened the door and stepped into a nightmare. His cop instincts to the fore, his gun was in his hand before he had actively taken in the true extent of the chaos, and he barely noticed the crunching under his feet as he searched the apartment. But once he was sure he was alone, the true swawfulness began to sink in. Everything, it seemed was broken. Everything. He couldn't imagine the depth of manic rage that had destroyed pictures, records, plants, plates. Had slashed cushions and pillows. And had, oh God - snapped the neck of his guitar. He picked up the instrument tenderly, for a split second wondering if it could be mended, before reality cut in and he let it fall again. Picked up a shattered picture - dropped it again. Picked up a plant- gently tamped it back into its pot and put it on the table. Then felt the world rock under his feet and sat hastily down on the devastated sofa. He didn't know what to do. He supposed this was the point when people rang the police...
Somehow, without really knowing how he had got there, he was on Starsky's doorstep. Starsky would know what to do. And he did. He asked a few essential questions to make sure his partner's shock was psychological, not physical, then settled Hutch in a chair with a mug of the hot tea kept in the cupboard just for him and went to get a sweater, because he knew that Hutch was always cold when he was upset. His world started to take shape again.
And then. And then.
Starsky went back to his model ship, and listened as Hutch told him about the trail of destruction.
"That's shit. Crash here tonight and I'll come over with you in the morning and we'll clean up"
"Is that all you've got to say?"
"What else is there to say? You want her arrested for breaking and entering? She's clearly nuts. But she's done her worst now, I'll sure. You know how to pick 'em, Hutchinson!"
"Starsky, she came to work!"
"Yeah, that was a bummer. And I know it really upset you - particularly with everyone watching like that. But you handled it amazingly. You did a great job of pretending you weren't fazed- and everyone will have forgotten about it by the weekend. And nobody thinks any of it was true. And if anyone did, there are enough ..er...witnesses...in the building to put them right"
"It's not funny!"
"Your apartment isn't, of course not. But her stamping her foot and pounding on your manly chest with her tiny fists and shouting about you not being able to get it up like something out of Days of Our Lives - you have to admit- that's a bit funny. Can you hold this for me while I glue?"
He wanted very much to tell Starsky how unsettled and, yes, scared he was. How the scene at the office had left him feeling as if he'd lost a layer of skin, and how the sheer destructive malice had shaken him to his core. He had, if he was honest, expected his partner to understand all that without being told. But he supposed that the idea of a 6ft 2 street cop being intimidated by a 7 stone porcelain and sugar candy doll was funny. If you didn't know the cop or the doll concerned. And Starsky knew both.
Hutch concentrated very hard on holding the delicate piece of rigging while the glue dried.