A Crooked Smile

“I am smiling next to you…”
–Queensryche, “Silent Lucidity”

Hutch pushed the squad room door open with his left hip, taking a huge bite out of a homemade pumpkin square. The dark smudges under his eyes were evidence of another rough night of tossing and turning. He finally had managed to fall asleep around 5:30, only to be rudely awakened by the damned alarm at 7:00. His decision to try to grab another half-hour of sleep hadn’t left him any time for a proper breakfast, so he was grateful that Minnie had been in one of her “baking moods” last night and had the plateful of gooey treats to offer in the corridor this morning. He raised the square to his mouth for a second sinful taste, but stopped mid-air as he thought about the calories and lack of nutritional value. He really needed to get back in shape, and this pumpkin square was not going to be of any help. Ahh, to hell with it. He took another bite. He hadn’t been able to enjoy much of anything lately. Allowing himself to indulge in one lousy fattening treat wasn’t going to kill him.

A smidge of cream cheese frosting plopped onto the lid of the white Styrofoam coffee cup he held in his other hand, the morning newspaper tucked securely between his upper arm and side as he sauntered across the room to his desk. He licked greedily at the dollop of frosting, taking a tiny sip at the same time, and released a satisfied sigh at the taste of the sugary frosting mixing with the creamy coffee. It was downright wicked that something could taste that good. Downright wicked indeed.

He stood in front of his desk, studying the messy stack of files and overdue paperwork that had accumulated over the last few weeks. Sighing heavily, he grunted, “Another day, another half-dollar,” and plopped down wearily in his chair. He smoothed the paper out in front of him and began scanning the headlines, biting off another hunk of cake and silently wishing he were anywhere but here. An unexpected, though instantly recognizable, form standing by the filing cabinets to his left suddenly flashed in his peripheral vision.

Starsky?

Hutch shifted his eyes in the direction of his partner, who stood back-to him, seemingly oblivious of his presence. The dark head of curls leaned to the side as Starsky propped his left elbow leisurely on top of the filing cabinet, licking the remainder of what Hutch supposed was cream cheese frosting from his fingers, and resting his chin in his palm while he thumbed through the contents of an open folder with his right hand. Hutch took instant comfort in the presence of the man who’d become such a constant in his life, a wistful smile tugging at his lips as he sat back, watching the fully engrossed manner in which Starsky studied whatever he was looking at.

He suddenly found himself thinking about how Starsky used to study when they were at the academy, sprawling himself on his belly across his bed and chewing on the end of his pencil as he gave his full attention to his assignments. The papers and books carefully arranged in front of him were a sharp contrast to his casual demeanor. Hutch remembered how he would marvel at how his roommate, who was quickly becoming the best friend he’d ever had, had been able to manage to pull off his consistently high marks with such shoddy study habits. He himself needed the structure of a desk and a firm chair to keep him focused, to keep his work neat. But, as he soon learned, there was nothing at all surprising about anything David Starsky was ever able to accomplish. The man was simply remarkable, a walking contradiction in more ways than one.

Hutch snapped back to the present and cleared his throat, wondering if he could gain his partner’s attention. Starsky slowly lifted his head and turned to face Hutch, his trademark crooked smile lighting his face instantly. The sight of that warm, inviting smile caught Hutch off guard, his heart, which had taken up permanent residence on his sleeve as of late, catching in his throat. That smile–a tiny fraction of a long, long list of simple things that made Starsky, Starsky–was a loaded weapon, and it was the best feeling in the world when it was aimed in your direction, especially first thing in the morning after the night had been so long.

Violet blue eyes locked with paler blue ones in a silent greeting. Hutch had to blink back a sudden tear that the familiar contact brought forth. Dammit, he needed to keep it together. He didn’t want Starsk to see him like this, not now. Starsky, always in tune with his partner’s feelings, raised a dark eyebrow in question of the display of emotion, but then his eyes immediately softened, the still present smile turning soothing, understanding.

“Morning, partner,” a feather soft whisper brushed against Hutch’s ear.

Hutch closed his eyes briefly, merely nodding in response. He let the comforting presence of the man before him envelop him, amazed at how an effortless smile could so effectively ease the rough start of yet another hopeless day.

“Hutchinson!”

The deep bellow from across the office killed the poignancy of the moment and startled Hutch’s attention away from Starsky’s mesmerizing smile.

“Got a minute?” Dobey asked, beckoning Hutch into his office.

“Yeah, Cap,” Hutch nodded, sensing there was trouble afoot. He turned back to face Starsky, prepared for the mutual rolling of their eyes that always preceded a good chewing out from their captain, but in the split second he had taken to look in Dobey’s direction, Starsky had disappeared. His stomach dropping, Hutch frowned at the empty spot where his partner had stood just mere seconds before. He turned a bewildered glance to the nearby swinging doors, searching for evidence of Starsky’s hasty retreat, but the doors remained still.

Accepting that Starsky’s presence was, for the moment at least, gone, Hutch swallowed hard and slowly stood, trudging with hunched shoulders into the captain’s office alone.

“Sit,” Dobey pointed to a chair, not looking up from the file in front of him.

Hutch sat, letting out a long breath.

“How’re things on the McNeely case coming?” Dobey glanced up.

“Not bad, Cap,” Hutch shrugged. “Should have it wrapped up today actually.”

“Good.” Dobey smiled. “Good work.”

“That it, Cap?”

“Umm, yeah,” Dobey nodded hesitantly. “Well, that and…”

The captain folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward, his eyes brimming with concern. He took in the haggard appearance of this defeated detective, remembering a once fresh-faced, polished and fit young rookie who was certain he could rid the world of its every evil not so very long ago.

“How are you doing, Hutch?”

Caught off guard yet again, Hutch pursed his lips together, fighting the threatening sting of tears. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his misty eyes meeting with his captain’s.

“I miss him, Cap.”

The pain in Hutch’s eyes as he croaked out the simple, heart-wrenching words forced a lump to lodge in Dobey’s throat that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to swallow.

“I know, son. I miss him, too,” he finally managed.

“Yeah,” Hutch nodded and looked away. But do you miss him so much the weight of it almost brings you to your knees? Do you miss him so much, you imagine seeing him on the street or at the grocery store or here? Do you miss him that much, Cap? Do you? He wanted to scream the words at Dobey, but he didn’t. Instead he found some imaginary fuzz to pick at on his pants, knowing the enormity of his lonesomeness for his partner could never be matched by anyone.

“It hasn’t been that long, Hutch. These things take time. You’ve got to hang on.” Dobey realized the triteness of the words even as he spoke them.

“Yeah,” Hutch repeated, looking up from his lap, not knowing what else to say. He was sick to death of being told it would take time. Time was all he had these days, and it was of little consolation.

“If you need anything…”

“I’ll come to you,” Hutch sighed and stood, forcing a tight, polite smile. “I’ll have the McNeely file on your desk before I go home tonight.”

“Good,” Dobey returned the smile.

Hutch studied his captain’s grin, wishing desperately for the comfort he knew it was meant to provide. Deciding it was of no use–nothing was of any use anymore–he turned and exited the office, feeling the heavy stare of the dark eyes on his back every step of the way. He made his way back to his desk and tossed the half-eaten pumpkin square and now cold coffee into the trash, telling himself he’d eat later but knowing he probably wouldn’t. The nausea that had become a pretty consistent part of his life was back, replacing any hope that this might actually turn out to be a good day.

Hutch sighed heavily and forced himself down in his chair, staring intently at the corner in which he’d just seen Starsky. He wished desperately for another glimpse of his best friend, but he simply wasn’t there. He never really had been, Hutch knew. He was just an image his broken heart had forced him to conjure. He shook his head and flipped open the McNeely case file, deciding he’d just have to get on with the day. What choice did he have? The smile that he never realized he looked so forward to had been removed from his life, but he knew it would be back when he needed it. Starsky had somehow always known when to magically appear in Hutch’s view, and that obviously hadn’t changed. Even now when all that was left were memories of the little things that weren’t so little after all… like a tender, crooked smile.

End