Even This

The day had been a struggle. Pretending to everyone that he was doing all right was tiring. Pretending to everyone except Hutch that was. Of course, his partner knew the truth and could read the tiny signs of duress he displayed.

Every time, Starsky felt like he was going to lose it, there would be a touch on his shoulder, a word in his ear, a suggestion of a change of scene or just a candy bar appearing to divert his attention for a few brief seconds.

And it wasn't as if Hutch wasn't hurting too. It was just that he'd decided he had to put his own feelings on hold to get Starsky through this unimaginable loss. They'd made it to Friday. The weekend would both be a welcome relief for both of them but also an agony of loneliness and waiting.

Terry was gone. The case was closed. The funeral would be next week.

Starsky drew his breath in sharply - suddenly hit with the reality of his loss.

"Starsk."

The voice was barely above a whisper, so low only he could hear it and recognise the concern underlying that one word. He looked up, eyes no longer able to contain his feelings locking with Hutch's equally pained gaze.

"Let's get out of here," Hutch said quietly.

He stood, shoved the file he'd been working on into a drawer and put on his jacket. Starsky knew he should be doing something but he couldn't figure out what it was. Hutch came around to his side of the desk and pulled his jacket from behind his back. He pushed it into Starsky's lap.

"Hey, partner, let's go."

The voice was again softly modulated: for his ears only, but with enough strength to prompt him to move. He stood up, feeling slightly unsteady, and slipped his jacket on. He felt like he was a hundred years old and the smallest thing took a supreme effort to accomplish.

Matching his speed to Starsky's, Hutch walked out of the squad room and along the corridor. They met Dobey coming the other way. Any question as to where they were going before shift end was silenced by Hutch's look of explanation and a quick look at Starsky's dazed demeanour. Dobey nodded and passed on by.

When they reached Hutch's car, they climbed in silently. The silence remained undisturbed as each of them fought internally with their increasingly random thoughts and emotional turmoil. Arriving at Starsky's neither of them bothered to ask the question as to whether Hutch would be spending the evening with his friend. Their unspoken bond meant it was a given.

They hung up their jackets. Hutch went to get beers while Starsky flopped onto the couch.

"Pizza," Hutch suggested.

Starsky shrugged. Voicing an opinion would take too much effort. He wasn't sure he could eat anyway.

Hutch dug out the phone from under a pile of cushions and dialled their usual place. He ordered a large: one side with everything, one with mainly veggies.

"TV?" Hutch asked.

Again Starsky shrugged.

Hutch took that as an affirmative and switched it on, finding a Columbo for them to watch.

The pizza arrived and they ate quietly.

Hutch knew the storm was coming: he just wasn't quite sure when it would break.

Around 8pm, the phone rang and they both startled. Starsky frowned and then looked distraught.

"Oh...It'll be my mother...I can't, Hutch...I can't talk to her..."

Tears appeared in his eyes as Hutch nodded and patted his arm. Then Hutch took a deep breath, stood up and then picked up the phone.

"Hi Rachel. Yes, he's here. He's okay." Hutch was quick to reassure the worried woman on the other end. "He just can't talk right now."

Starsky could hear his mother asking questions. He listened to Hutch's responses.

"Thursday at midday...I can arrange flowers from you. No problem."

Hutch reached down to the coffee table and picked up a small notepad and started scribbling.

"White roses, purple freesias. Okay. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes, I got that down..." Hutch placed the notepad back on the table. "Yes, I'll tell him...He'll call you..."

Hutch glanced at Starsky, his eyes asking a question. Starsky mouthed the word 'Sunday' and held up three fingers.

"On Sunday at three," Hutch confirmed to Rachel.

He listened again as she spoke and ran a suddenly weary hand down one side of his face. He turned away from Starsky as he said, "Thank you. Yes, it's hard going some days. Yes...Yes, sh-she was lovely. I m-miss her."

Hutch's voice broke on the last word. He just managed to say a quick farewell before putting the phone down and covering his face. Starsky was already on his feet and in the next second had pulled Hutch into a tight hug.

Starsky was filled with a fierce gratitude for a best friend, who would do anything he asked of him, even if that was dealing with a phone call that Starsky couldn't face and all despite being just as sad as Starsky was. Starsky didn't know when he'd started crying himself: he felt like he was crying all the time although most of it had been internal this week.

Even at the funeral home, he'd managed to keep it together. He didn't know how. Probably wouldn't have if he hadn't had Hutch's strength to call on. He felt selfish all of a sudden. What kind of a friend only pulled strength towards himself and didn't offer it back. He choked on his own guilt and went to pull away. But somehow Hutch knew everything he was thinking and held on.

As they both ran out of tears (at least for the moment), they pulled apart.

At the same time, they said, "Thanks and sorry."

They both shook their heads at each other and then smiled watery smiles. Starsky yawned.

"I'm exhausted. Think I'll hit the sack. You gonna go home?"

Hutch shook his head.

"Good."

Starsky collected the spare bedding and placed it on the sofa.

"Night pal. Maybe we could go out early for a walk before there are too many people about...and then get the flowers ordered for Ma."

Hutch nodded.

"Sounds good. Sleep well, Starsk."

"You too."

This was more of a wish than an expectation. Neither of them was sleeping well and were unlikely to for a while. They shared a look of sadness but it was tinged with hope because they were able to believe that somehow they'd get through this. Even this. Together.