Agoraphobia

By TLR

Plot: After Sweet Revenge.

:::::::::::::::

The sun glinted off the ocean, waves gently crashing on the shore, their white froth lining the sand. The beachside house Hutch had rented was a paradise: No stairs, spacious interior, and a view that could heal any soul. But to Starsky, it felt like a prison. More confining than the wheelchair he once used, which now sat parked in a corner, waiting for the next person to use it.

"Time for some fresh air, partner," Hutch said coming from the kitchen with an orange in his hand, optimism in his voice.

Starsky stood at the living room folding sheets of the hospital bed he wouldn't be using anymore, starting today. It was to be picked up by Bay City Medical Supply, along with the wheelchair. He still had a cane, but thought he would hold on to it for a souvenir of sorts, proof of where he'd been and how far he'd come. Now he would use the comfortable bed in the guestroom of the beach house. But, for how long? How long would they live here? It was beautiful. Hutch had dipped into his savings to rent this for his recovery. Now Starsky wanted to get out. Needed to get out. He didn't want to be any kind of burden at all, but...

Starsky's usually vibrant blue eyes clouded. "I don't want to," he muttered, eyes shifting to the large sliding patio doors, where the vast openness awaited.

"Hey, come on. Fresh air will do you good."

Hutch was not naive. He realized some of Starsky's reluctance was from the shooting. But he also felt that if Starsky didn't take the leap back into the real world now, perhaps he never would. Perhaps he would be scarred for life, and in worse ways than physical.

"You don't get it, Hutch."

He did, but he wanted Starsky to keep talking. Which he did.

"Outside...it's like it could happen again. I feel exposed. I know better. The odds are against it. Yet..."

"Yet..."

A flashback took Hutch back to the harrowing scene that sometimes slashed at his heart like a razor-only so much his mind would allow or could tolerate. Other times full force: Starsky gunned down in the police parking garage, Hutch's own bullets firing back but without results. The sudden paralysis of his soul at the sight of his partner riddled with bloody bullet wounds. The silent stillness of Starsky's body as he held it against his chest, close to his heart, willing him to live, begging God for a trade, whispering promises and apologies that sounded false even to his own ears. Starsky's stillness and lack of movement seemed to last forever, lying as if dead in his arms.

The memory was a jarring reminder of the vulnerability they both faced.

"We need to get you out of this house," Hutch gently implored as he walked over and took Starsky's arm. "Let's go. Just for a little while. And if you don't like it-"

Starsky jerked his arm away and growled, "Not now."

"Suit yourself," Hutch said as he hid his trembling hand by gripping the orange tighter. "I'm going out. Don't forget the bed and chair will be picked up today."

As Hutch walked toward the door to leave, Starsky turned. "Yeah, hey, I'm sorr-"

But Hutch was out the door.

::

Later that night.

Hutch returned with a new houseplant.

"Just for you, Starsk. Areca palm. They give off a lot of oxygen, which is good if you're going to be a recluse."

Snide remarks were rolling off Hutch's tongue, and Starsky's, with more frequency now. Something was building toward a head that seemed like a train slowly pulling away from the station. Something was leaving. It felt almost the same as when Kira was in the picture. Almost like a...separation. Of conjoined twins. Of a cloth tearing in half. Physical and emotional. It felt soiled. It felt bad. It felt dark.

Looking around, Hutch saw that the wheelchair and hospital bed were gone. Starsky sat in the semi-darkness of the TV light, eyes on the evening news, a half-bottle of tequila in his hand.

"Hm," Hutch said. "Celebrating your progress without me, huh?"

Starsky pushed himself out of the chair and walked his tipsy way over to him, banging the bottle down on the kitchen counter, voice slurry. "What took you so long?"

"Took me so long? I didn't know I was on a schedule. First it's you don't want to go out. Now it's you don't want me to go out? I'm confused."

"Don't be."

Hutch released a sigh, head down. Time to roll it back. Time to get real. "I'm worried about you, partner."

Starsky turned away, stumbling over his own feet, but Hutch caught him and set him up right again, keeping steadying hands on his arms. "I get scared sometimes, too, Starsk. For you. Me. But you survived. Not to be stuck inside, afraid to go out. But to be out there again. Living. Both of us. You can do it. I know you can. Any man that can come back like you did..."

Starsky said something in reply, but was mumbling so low Hutch didn't understand it. When Starsky began to sink lower, Hutch scooped him up and carried him to the guestroom, putting him into the bed and covering him with a sheet.

"See you in the morning, Gordo."

::

They sat at the breakfast bar the next morning eating a bowl of frosted shredded wheat with coffee. The doorbell rang, and Hutch went to answer.

"Who could be here this early?" Starsky asked as he turned on his barstool and looked toward the door.

Hutch opened the door for a burly man in a wheelchair, Army jacket, and short ponytail.

"Gabe," Hutch said making room for the man to wheel inside.

Starsky eyed the man suspiciously, "Who's this?"

"He's a war veteran and therapist. Thought you two might like to meet."

Hutch pretended not to catch the glare Starsky sent his way.

Gabe extended a hand to Starsky. "Heard what happened to you. I've been there."

Starsky turned completely around on his stool with his back to the man and resumed eating his cereal.

Gabe chuckled, "After coming back from Vietnam, paralyzed waist down, I couldn't go out. Thought every shadow was an enemy sniper."

Starsky spoke without turning; still eating. "And now everything's just peachy keen, right?"

"Well, yeah. Right."

"Uh..." Hutch said looking at his watch. "Think I'll run down for a newspaper. Either of you need anything?"

When neither Starsky nor Gabe answered, Hutch went on out.

A few seconds later Gabe said, "Huggy introduced me to your partner. Those two go way back. You think I'm here just for you? What do you think this is doing to Ken?"

Starsky slowly turned around on his stool again and gave Gabe a long, direct look. "You know nothing about me and Hutch."

"My best friend died in my arms in a jungle. I couldn't save him. The least you could do is have some respect for the man that calls you his other half. For this so-called bond you reportedly have."

"Save your pep talk and your guilt trip, and shut your mouth."

They held a look for a long time, then Gabe turned to roll toward the sliding doors, but before he went out, he took a business-size envelope out and tossed it on the floor toward him.

"Hutch contacted me a month ago, Starsky. He anticipated this."

With that, Gabe went out and wheeled himself to his van, where he opened the driver's side door and worked himself into the seat under the steering wheel.

Inside, Starsky picked the envelope up and read the note inside, from Hutch to Gabe:

To Gabe: Huggy says you're the best at what you do, and that's what my partner David Starsky needs. Huggy told me he talked to you about all of this, but I feel now it's my turn. It needs to come from me. I came this close to losing him forever. I'm carrying a lot of guilt about what I could have done, should have done differently to protect him that day, prevent it from happening. Dumb, huh? We can't change the past. He's come a long way, but I sense that he'll need help I can't give him. Please do what you can to help restore him to me. He means the world. I feel like we've been given a second chance at life. I don't know what I'd do without him.

Envelope and note clutched in his hand, Starsky made his jerky way to the door and slid it open, but that's as far as he got. He would go no further. Panting, near hyperventilation, he saw Gabe backing out in his van, and pointed at him.

"Hey!"

Gabe stopped and looked his way.

Starsky motioned for him to come back inside.

::

The next day, Hutch unnecessarily busied himself with household chores in the already clean home while Gabe and Starsky talked. Hutch wanted to give them space, but remain close enough for Starsky, should he need him. They'd spent so many years doing that with each other, it was second nature.

Gabe and Starsky began with baby steps, talking about their experiences while playing Monopoly, cards, checkers, or chess, just getting to know each other. Hutch didn't question Starsky about their talks, thinking it best to let Starsky bring things up on his own, if he felt like it. If he didn't, well, Hutch supposed a man was entitled to a few private thoughts that were uniquely his own. They certainly had shared a lifetime of them in the several years they'd known each other. Hutch tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, quietly going in and out of the kitchen, or outside to water plants or tinker with the car. But as was always the case with the two of them, they were always aware of each other's presence, moods, and actions. Always aware, always protective, except for-

Hutch found himself gripping the kitchen counter again when a wave of guilt swept through his body like a raging forest fire, his heart thudding hard, palms perspiring.

(Slow, easy breaths, the department shrink had said)

Indescribable emotional pain, a sledgehammer beating his body. Which he would endure gladly if he could just have his partner back whole again.

What saved him from succumbing to the emotional onslaught was the sight of Starsky, with Gabe's guidance and supervision, opening the front door and standing there to feel some fresh air.

A sob of relief and joy caught in Hutch's throat, and he quickly walked down the hall to hide in the bathroom.

"Hey, Hutch!" Starsky called to him a few seconds later. "Come here! Breakthrough!"

Hutch laughed a little at the sarcasm, then wiped his eyes and hurried to the door, where Starsky slung an arm around his neck.

"Step one, huh?" Starsky smiled.

"Yeah," Hutch said smiling back. "Step one."

::

Starsky's next step was, as strange or simple as it may sound, opening a window and sitting next to it. But try as he might, Gabe couldn't coax him all the way outside, across the threshold. He wouldn't step one foot out the door.

Hutch even set two empty chairs on the patio, letting Starsky know he was rooting for him, even though it was never said aloud, nor needed to be.

::

Starsky tried to find a good radio station in the kitchen while waiting for Gabe to arrive. Hutch was out running on the beach, something he did on a more regular basis now that the physical healing was behind them. It was therapeutic for him. Starsky thought back to the last conversation he'd had with Captain Dobey. One question pecked at him like a pesky bird: "Are you coming back to work?"

"I don't know," Starsky had answered as truthfully as he could. "I'll get back to you on that."

"Starsky-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now."

Starsky had calmly hung up. Hutch had never broached the subject. He-

-The sound of Hutch's voice interrupted his reverie. From far away, he could hear it through the open window.

"Hutch?" he asked as he shot from the barstool and slid open the glass door. His eyes searched in the direction of Hutch's voice. Then, a cry of fright and pain. Hutch's. Enough to raise the hair on Starsky's arms and quicken every cell of his body.

He knew that sound. Danger. Hutch was hurt.

Starsky grabbed a pistol from beneath the sofa cushion and ran to the door, but froze, arms spread wide and hands clutching the doorjamb, panic seizing his throat, a strange Biblical version of Samson pressing against the pillars.

Then what sounded like vicious growling and snarling from a deep-throated animal.

He looked again, saw a flash of Hutch's hair far down the beach, and something, a big dog from the looks of it, attacking him.

"HUTCH!"

It's just the beach, just the beach, Hutch is hurt, he needs you, go, go, go.

Starsky grabbed his gun from under the sofa cushion and bolted out the door, speeding down the sand toward his partner, who was on his back trying to fend off a dog attack, but the large tan Mastiff had the upper hand. Hutch's thigh was bleeding from a bad bite, and so was his shoulder. Now he offered the dog his forearm and rolled over to cover up from additional bites. As big as Hutch was, he looked small beneath the huge animal.

Starsky fired into the air, and the starving, maltreated giant that had clearly escaped a cruel owner and was now insane with rage, suddenly retreated and ran away, its chain dragging behind.

Hutch lay on his side, pale, bleeding, and still. Starsky took his own shirt off and ripped it in half, tying one half around the wound in Hutch's thigh, the other half around his forearm. A soft moan escaped Hutch's throat, and no movement came from him. Starsky wondered crazily if his partner would ever get up again. He looked so still and alone. It was the first time in his life he thought he'd let Hutch down somehow, should have been there for him but wasn't, should have stayed tuned in with him. Crazily, it made him think of how they felt when Kira happened.

"It's gonna be okay, Hutch," he whispered as he leaned over him and stroked his hair, voice trembling. "Stay with me."

A few beachgoers approached them, one offering his big towel to cover Hutch.

"I'll call an ambulance," one said, and Starsky nodded his thanks.

It was a moment of simple clarity: Hutch needed him. He needed Hutch. They needed each other. It was time to get closer together instead of getting farther apart.

::

The ambulance arrived quickly, with Starsky accompanying Hutch to the hospital, waiting and watching as the doctors cleaned and stitched his wounds.

"We'll keep him overnight for observation," one of the doctors told him.

When Hutch woke up the next morning, he found Starsky next to his bed.

"You okay?" Hutch whispered groggily.

Starsky blinked back tears. "I should be asking you that question."

Later when Captain Dobey, Huggy, and Gabe arrived, Starsky looked at Dobey. "We talked."

"And?"

"We're comin' back to work when Hutch gets better."

::

And he did get better. Both of them did. Walks on the beach. Drives to the country. Starsky helped Hutch the way Hutch had helped him. The last and perhaps the most important visit was to the police parking garage, to finally put the place to rest in their minds.

::

Dawn.

A beautiful sunrise of peach, plum, and gold.

The police parking garage.

They stood side by side, remembering, absorbing.

"This is where we rewrite our story," Hutch said.

Starsky nodded.

They would not let the shooting define them or end them.

They left the garage, bound not by tragedy, but by a partnership whose bond had been tested and had emerged stronger. The garage, once a symbol of their darkest hour, now stood as proof of their resilience and their undying friendship.

The past had been acknowledged, and the future beckoned, which they would face the only way they knew how: Together.

The End