How to Remain on This Earth
By TLR
Plot: Following Terry's death.
Based on the episodes Starsky's Lady and Partners.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Prologue.
Memorial Hospital. Recovery room.
In his hospital bed, Starsky gazed into the air, as if he could see her there. He meant to jostle his partner's memory with people and events from the scrapbook of their life, pages of their friendship and their work together, but so far it hadn't helped. All it did was take him on his own trip down memory lane, some memories more painful than others.
Unbeknownst to Starsky, his partner Hutch, who was in his own hospital bed next to him, was faking amnesia following a high-speed pursuit that ended in a crash and landed them both here.
To make a point, Hutch, the more seriously injured of the two, was determined to show Starsky the danger he'd placed both of them in, by pretending he couldn't remember anything at all. Maybe that would teach him a lesson next time.
"Remember Terry?" Starsky asked.
Hutch didn't say yes or no. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so serious, or that Starsky's memories would call up so many emotions. Now he was feeling a bit guilty about the charade, but wasn't quite ready to confess yet either.
"No, you don't remember anything," Starsky said after looking over at him, then returned to gazing at the ceiling, images of her smile, her caring ways, her sense of humor, ghosts of her touch, her perfume, her kiss, her body, filtering through his mind. And sadder thoughts: Her last breath, the burial, the heartache. To Hutch he said, "I tell you the truth, when Terry died, I didn't think I had enough strength to remain on this earth. But you stuck with me."
Hutch closed his eyes, and remembered...
::
Chapter 1.
Hutch's point of view.
Night.
The inside of Starsky's house was almost dark, lit by a small lamp, but enough to illuminate the appalling scene before me: Our midnight Monopoly game from a week earlier now scattered on the kitchen floor where he'd never picked it up. Snack wrappers strewn, melted candles, empty beer bottles, his discarded clothing scattered throughout. And there he was, standing drunk in the middle of the floor, legs spread for balance and swaying, trying to stay upright.
He said he needed one more week, alone, to get to the other side of grief, to where he could feel like he could return to work and feel like himself again.
But this was far from that.
"Starsk..."
He had a fresh, unopened beer bottle in one hand, a bottle opener in the other, so uncoordinated he couldn't fit the opener onto the top of the cap and pry up. So drunk he didn't even see or hear me. Just focused on trying to get the bottle open.
Starsky had been drunk before, usually with me to celebrate the closing of a hard case, or a party out of hand. I was usually the one who went overboard, not him.
Seeing him this drunk drilled into my heart. He never needed to drown his sorrows or blot out a problem before. Not like this. He could always talk to me in hard times. We did that for each other. He so much as said so in our hospital room. But this time...
"Terry," he slurred as he waved the bottle around. He was looking toward me, but not really seeing me, not really connecting. "She... she's gone."
My voice was low and full of concern when I went to him and reached for the bottle.
"I know, Starsky. You're hurt. I can see that."
"No," he said moving the bottle out of my reach. "You don't get it, Hush."
"No," I said reaching around behind his back for the beer. "I do. Believe me. Give me that. Let's talk."
"Nope," he said faltering away, tipping sideways. "Not gonna. Gonna drink till she's... outa my head. Outa my heart. Soul if I got one."
He threatened to tilt into a table, so I caught his arm.
"Hey, you don't need... '
"I don't need YOU," he said pulling his arm away, "telling me how to get over her."
He struggled to stand, and returned to putting the bottle opener against the cap between his knees, then dropped the opener and continued to twist and turn the sharply ridged metal cap with his bare hand, so hard it began to bleed but he didn't feel it, or maybe he did and relished it.
"Here," I said reaching again. "Give it to me. You've had enough."
"Oh," he said looking at me with roaming eyes that had difficulty staying open. "I've had enou... enough all right. Look down there on that Mono... Monopoly board. I left you a letter too, same as Terry did, but my... mine is dif... different."
Holding to one of his arms, I reached down with the other to retrieve a scrap of paper he'd set under the racecar game piece:
Hutch, I can't go on. Hurts too much. I'm sorry. I love you.
Suddenly I was super hot, then freezing cold. Skin crawling with fear and helpless love, I pocketed the note and tried to pull him into a hug, but he wrenched away and stumbled sideways, falling to his knees, more from pain than alcohol, I knew. "You can't fix it, Hush," he said with a lowered head.
I crouched with him.
"Tell yourself to live again, Starsk. You're slipping away since she... you can't bring her back, and you can't live in yesterday. It's gone. She's gone, and it isn't your fault. I know you're in pain, but you have to find a way to return. I need you. Others need you. Don't give up. Please."
That's when I heard his sob break loose, the beer bottle and opener hit the floor, and he grabbed me so hard I thought we'd both fall over.
But I gathered him in and held him close.
Starsk had had some dark days but was never on the ledge like this. I knew that his grief, and his feelings of guilt for her murder, were crushing him. I didn't know if I could be the friend he talked about in the hospital. When he said I'd been there for him through some pretty rough stuff, it felt like he was talking about someone else, another Hutch, another friend, a phony. Who was that man he put on a pedestal? I never felt I was the good friend he deserved in times of trouble.
"It'll be all right, Starsk. I know it doesn't feel like it right now. But... " I rose, lifting him with me. "You're a survivor. She would want you to go on. I want you to go on. I'm right here with you in that dark place. We're in it together, and I won't let go of you, not for a minute. We'll both walk toward daylight, one step at a time, okay?"
His arms still clutched at me. I moved him away from the big clutter of the kitchen and into the lesser clutter of the living room, where I sat down on the sofa, wrapping his hand in my handkerchief and letting him cling and cry.
"Sshh," I assured him. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
He put so much faith in me. I only hoped I was enough.
The note Terry had left for me came to mind: To you I entrust Ollie and Dave. Please love them both, and don't let either of them change.
I'm doing my best, Terry. I'm trying.
When he was asleep, I eased him onto the couch, took his sneakers off, and covered him.
Then I found some paper and a pen and wrote him a note of my own:
Starsk,
You're broken. The worst I've ever seen you. The life you wanted with her can never be. My words may not be the answer. They may not even be enough. But I hope they are. Because you mean the world to me, and if you take yourself out of my world, I think I just might die too, inside. Don't do that to me. This world is crazy sometimes, but I know you have it in you to get back to the Starsk I know. Leave the shadows behind. You have the rest of your life, and I want to be part of it, so please don't take that away from me. I don't know who has the answers for you, or when you'll get them, or what will carry you through, but know I'm always here for you.
After I wrote the note, I left it on the coffee table where he'd find it, then took my pillow and blankets from the coat closet and made a pallet on the floor near him. Before turning in, I took his gun from the coffee table and put it with mine under the edge of my pallet between me and the wall.
::
Chapter 2.
Starsky's point of view.
Morning.
A hellacious headache woke me up. My mouth was dry, I felt weighed down by anvils all over my body. I didn't know what day it was, or what time, but the light coming through the window said daylight.
I pushed myself to a sitting position and held my head, thinking there weren't enough aspirins in the world to ease my throbbing head.
My memory was fuzzy until I looked over and saw Hutch sleeping on the floor. Looking around, the previous night... previous week really... came drifting back to me little by little. I was on a weeklong bender, self-imposed exile, not caring that I had a one-way ticket on that long black train to the next life. Anywhere was better than the hell of pain I was in. Part of me hoped I could drink myself into a blackout and never wake up. Then I'd be with Terry. But then I'd be leaving Hutch behind and...
His handwriting on a note caught my attention, and I read it, surprised I still had tears left in me. Or any kind of love.
It was true. When I hurt, he hurt. When he hurt, I did. We were like the same person that way. It's like I had his physical heart inside my body, and he had mine inside of his.
For him to question who it was that could bring me back...
Didn't he know?
Why didn't he know?
"Hutch," I said as I crawled over to him and patted his head, his note in my hand. "Hey. Wake up."
His eyes opened sleepily and looked around, then settled on me and rubbed his eyes. "Oh. Hey."
I showed him the note.
"Hutch, it's you. You'll carry me through. You're bringing me back. You're right. Terry would want me to live. She said I can't stop living because she did. And yeah, you do need me, you big lug. You couldn't last a week on the street without me and you know it."
He smiled a little, and pulled my small note from his jeans pocket, showing it to me.
I looked at it, barely remember writing it.
"Yeah," I said in a fading voice. "In a way I meant it, and in a way I didn't. It's not that I want to die exactly, I just... "
He sat up and leaned his back against the wall. We were talking again. He nodded. "It's just you don't want to live in pain anymore. I get it. I lost Gillian. Vanessa. I've been there. You survived Helen. Terry seems harder... "
I sat down near him. "Yeah. Way harder. I dream about her. I feel responsible. Like I could've done something differently... "
"All the what-ifs."
"Yeah."
We sat together and talked for a long time, sharing our losses, feeling close. A couple hours passed before we knew it. Then I looked around at the mess I'd made of my place and said, "Did I do all this?"
"Yep," he said climbing to his feet and putting his hand down to me. "I'll help you clean it up."
I smiled and gripped his hand. He pulled me up and we steadied each other. Then he said, "But first, what are we going to do with our notes?"
We both looked down at them. He added, "We don't need them anymore, do we?"
"No," I said taking them and tearing them into pieces, then dropping them in the wastepaper basket. "Not anymore."
As we cleaned, I could feel a new beginning, taking Hutch and the good memories of Terry with me into the future.
Pulling stuff from under the couch, I found a small framed picture of me and Terry together, one I must've hidden under there while smashed, so I wouldn't feel the hurt every time I looked at it. Out of sight, out of mind. But that only works for a little while. Now, I set it on my bookshelf between one of my model cars and a couple of trivia books.
"Looks good there, Starsk," Hutch remarked as he swept the floor.
"Letting go of the pain doesn't mean I'm letting go of her."
"Wise words, buddy."
We kept cleaning. The act itself was cathartic, a way to cleanse the dark feelings from my heart, clear out some of the dregs. I didn't want to give up anymore. Not with Hutch sticking by me. I cringed at what I'd been thinking, my gun on the coffee table at the ready. But now I saw that Hutch had stashed it away from me. He'd give it back to me when he thought it was time. Shame now flushed my face, and I fought it down. I was still here. I hadn't obliterated our friendship, or hurt Hutch in the worst possible way.
"Hey," Hutch said opening the curtain to let in the sun, "we're almost finished. I'll blend up a good hangover cure for you at my place."
"What, buzzard beak and caterpillar juice?"
Hutch smiled and winked. "How did you know?"
I began to feel better. Truth was, I just got lost for a little while, but now I was coming back. We were always worth fighting for.
When a knock came to the door, I went to answer it.
It was Christina, Hutch's current girlfriend and part of Terry's life toward the end, holding a bundle of lively, colorful flowers and wearing a smile that was only a little forced, the concealer under her puffy eyes doing nothing to hide the fact that she'd been crying recently.
"Hi, Dave. Here. These are for you. I saw Ken's car parked outside. Is he awake?"
"Right here," he said as he joined me at the door, took her hand, and led her inside. "Well," he said giving her a kiss. "Don't you just brighten up a man's day."
He was right. Christine was a breath of fresh air after our long night and heavy morning.
I took the flowers to the kitchen to find a vase, but went for a big crystal water pitcher instead.
"You're just in time," I said to her over my shoulder. "Hutch is gonna make breakfast for us at his place."
She smiled, as if reassured that we were going to be okay too.
the end