Waking the Dream

Starsky drags Hutch away to deal with their relationship problems.

It had taken awhile, and more than a little conniving, but it had been worth it.

The long, too lean body lay crumpled on the sofa in a deep relaxed slumber undisturbed by the utter quiet which, he knew, would have kept him restless and unsettled waiting for the sirens, horns and city noises that provided his late night lullaby.

Hutch’s body had that boneless, rag-doll sprawl that, at this moment, he envied. He was still unwinding, had been letting go with every mile as they left Bay City behind. It had been a tense few weeks as they got down to the wire and a stubborn, nasty case refused to give up the final piece of evidence. It had finally been sheer luck that freed Hutch in time to pack. He must remember to thank Lady Luck the next time he bumped into her.

He smiled gently at the sleeping man, and gave into the warmth and depth of feeling that overcame him. He reached out a hand to offer the touch of love to this special part of his life, softly stroking the unruly blond strands, whispering a light-fingered caress down the care-worn face coming to rest at the slightly parted lips, where he completed his ritual of the heart by placing a brief unfelt kiss on the pale brow.

Feeling somehow complete he sought out his own resting place and against the odds was soon as deeply wrapped in Morpheus’ arms, as was his companion.

When he woke from the depths of forgetfulness, he did so with the wide-awake energized brightness of being rested, complete and content.

For a moment he lay just experiencing this unique long absent feeling of being David Starsky. It brought a smile to know he hadn’t lost himself, particularly after this past year. He silently vowed not forget to find his real self more often and treat him well. This was too good, and it occurred to him that the reason it had resurfaced now was the man stretched out on the sofa in the other room.

Except, he wasn’t. Not on the sofa anyway. He found Hutch with a coffee in one hand and a pen in the other, studiously going over papers at the kitchen table.

He snatched the pen away with one hand and the coffee with the other. As he took a sip of the cold brew, he catalogued the surprised face that glared at him with just a hint of anger.

“Hey, get your own,” Hutch growled as he retrieved his cup and took a long gulp, barely restraining himself from spewing it all over his paperwork as the bitter, cold brew hit his tongue and then his stomach. His grimace was comical.

“How long you been up?” Starsky asked as he reclaimed Hutch’s cup, quickly rinsed and refilled it, returning it to its owner. He got an absent-minded nod as thanks.

“Couple of hours, I guess. Felt so good after that sleep thought I’d catch up on some reading and paperwork. Can I have my pen back too?”

Starsky recognized Hutch in a “shut-the-door-on-your-way-out” mood, which meant he faced at least another day before Hutch would let go enough that the reality of where he was, what he was doing here, and why would sink in.

The face before him wasn’t quite as pale, nor the worry lines quite as deeply etched after his restful night, but the tenseness in the posture and the lack of life in the eyes where Starsky’s gauge to Hutch’s state of mind.

And right now those eyes where straying to the papers before him, seeking answers to the questions his mind was busy churning out.

He returned the pen gallantly to Hutch with such an understanding, warm smile that Hutch was momentarily startled before he accepted the gift and returned to his task.

“O.K.” Starsky said, as he playfully ruffled Hutch’s hair, which once again caught Hutch off guard. “But I’m making breakfast and you’re going to eat it.”

After dragging Hutch out to the screened porch to eat, and then cleaning up the kitchen, he had left a totaling engrossed Hutch and gone for a walk.

He ended up dangling his legs off the dock in the dazzling clear, cool water. The serenity and simple eloquence of the setting quieted his mind and soothed him. He had to admit that he needed this as much as Hutch, maybe more. After only a few hours here, the urgency and unsettling insecurities of his decision where falling away and he reviewed what had been.

After Gunther, it had taken him a long time to accept that he would never be fit enough to be a street cop again. The anguish of that had driven him deep within himself, trying to shut out the horror of an empty future. He had wandered in his misery, cutting off his most important source of comfort and support. Eventually he had emerged, having made his painful decision, just dropping it into the conversation, so to speak.

Later when he had thought about it, he should have seen Hutch’s behaviour coming; in fact, he had to admit that he was as guilty as Hutch in his blind ignorance of what was happening. Their relationship had been under debilitating attack for almost a year before he had made his reality check and announced his decision to quit.

At the time, he had failed to see the subtle signs of how that decision had affected Hutch and how it had only enforced the worst-case scenario that Hutch had been fighting desperately to ignore.

He had finally begun to understand how the emotional consequences of Gunther’s attack, and his subsequent decision to resign, had affected Hutch and how he had dealt with it.

Hutch hadn’t dealt with it at all. He had put all his energies into helping Starsky heal and get back on the streets. He had sealed his own reactions and stress away in a deep pocket of his mind where he could pretend they had been dealt with. He had accepted Starsky’s announcement to quit with a mere shrug of shoulders that drooped just a little more as he had turned and left without a word.

During this time, Starsky had been fighting the demons of pain, rehab and finally the reality of his limitations. He had accepted Hutch being his shadow and strength as a given and had failed to see the light going out in those vivid sparkling eyes; the evasions that resulted in weight loss; the almost 24 hour attendance that drained his energies and deprived him of sleep; and, his last desperate attempt to hold on by closing himself off so he would not have to face the destruction of his world.

It had been a painful progression for him from bedridden patient to the level of recovery he had achieved, and even more painful to admit his limitations. He had had a myriad of professionals to lead him along the way and help him deal with each new obstacle.

Hutch had had no such support, not even from him. He belatedly realized that he had not shared, consulted or approached Hutch during his decision making process, which was totally contrary to their normal relationship of give-and-take.

In a way he had isolated himself from Hutch, not wanting to further burden him with his own fears. He had innocently hurt him with his striving for independence.

In their supposedly enlightened concern for each other, they had ended up doing more damage. Although it had been done with the best of intentions, out of love, they had been blind to the real emotion behind it.

Their relationship had always been more of a marriage than a friendship or partnership. They were each other’s strength; each other’s emotional sounding board and sponge, giving exactly what was needed and soaking up the offered love and support.

They complemented each other, giving without thought what was asked, pride never interfering. It was a symbiotic relationship which neither ever questioned. And now it was in serious jeopardy and Starsky figured he was now in a position to, not only fix it, but also to take it in the direction it had always been going.

He shook his head at his own stupidity, and Hutch’s display of phenomenal inner strength and devotion.

The catalyst that had finally opened his eyes had occurred about three weeks ago, a week after his announcement. He had dropped into Hutch’s office hoping to do lunch, but had been impatiently and rudely ignored as Hutch’s gaze never met his and he coldly informed him that he and “his partner” had work to do.

It must have been fate that literally dropped Stan Leary back into his life. Hutch’s rejection had stunned him, and in his haste to escape that cold dismissal he had bowled Stan over as he exited the building.

Stan and his family had lived down the street from his Aunt Rosie’s, and although Stan was two years older, they had become friends and kept in touch through family events and the occasional holiday gatherings.

After helping Stan to his feet, the two had gone off for a protracted lunch, during which Stan’s instincts didn’t take long to pull Starsky’s recent history out of him, and to eventually relate the day’s happenings.

In fact, Starsky barely stopped talking once he got started, and by the end of their three-hour lunch he had felt that a giant weight had been removed, and with it came the knowledge that this too had been a missing element of his and Hutch’s recent interaction, or lack thereof. It was one that formed an intricate part of how they coped with the stress in their lives.

Stan had offered the family cottage as a retreat to regroup, if he needed it. They had parted with Starsky promising to get in touch.

Over the next few days his new perception opened his eyes to the ways his and Hutch’s relationship had changed, and how he wanted to fix it.

He had then gone about quietly contacting the most important people in their livesa33;Dobey, Huggy, Edith, Minnie, his mother, and Hutch’s sister who had been a friend since their meeting several years earlier. As well, he had bumped into Sweet Alice one day and been grilled by her about Hutch’s recent behaviour. All had provided him with confirmation of what he now acknowledged as a very serious retreat on Hutch’s part that threatened not only his job but also his sanity.

It hadn’t taken much to enlist Dobey’s support in getting Hutch to take some unrequested leave, as he had long seen Hutch’s slow decline and had been seriously considering placing him on stress leave.

So here they were, and he had no real plan except to relax and get back his Hutch. For he had also come to accept that Hutch was his, and he was going to have him.

His stomach brought him out of his reverie as it announced the lunch hour. He slowly eased himself up and wondered back to the cottage.

Papers still littered the table, but no Hutch, whom he found zonked out on the still unmade bed Starsky had used the previous night. He looked comfortable, and in repose, had that “little boy” look that stirred Starsky’s heart. He smiled softly to himself and went to prepare lunch.

He felt, rather than heard Hutch’s approach and turned from tending the soup to prop himself against the counter and blatantly eyeball his partner. What he saw worried him briefly, but he knew he could bring back the colour and energy to that body. What was inside was the greater worry.

Hutch was momentarily dumb-founded by Starsky’s direct appraisal. Beneath the scrutiny that assessed his physical well-being faster than any piece of high-powered medical equipment, he saw the worry and pain of his best friend’s caring, but also a spark of something that should be familiar and that stirred something in him that was just beyond his understanding.

He started shuffling the papers into a table clearing pile.

“Hey, where’ve you been?”

“Just out relaxing on the dock. You get any work done?”

“Quite a bit actually. May be caught up by the time we get back. Need help with lunch?”

“Sure. You get the table ready and I’ll do the grilled cheese.”

They worked comfortably preparing lunch and ate in the friendly silence of old.

Starsky was relaxed and at ease, radiating a security that puzzled Hutch, but he too was soon enjoying the calmness that was seeping into his being. Starsky anticipated his every need, quietly offering crackers for the soup, napkins and finally coffee as they settled back after the meal.

Hutch accepted the coffee and for the first time really looked at his companion, who returned his gaze openly. He was almost envious of the new maturity and quietness of Starsky’s demeanour. He knew himself to be lost in a world turned upside down and didn’t know how or why. Actually he did know why. He had lost Starsky, and that angered him.

That anger suddenly surfaced and turned his gaze cold in an attempt to dismiss looking at the reasons. Starsky’s knowing response did nothing to put out the fire consuming him.

His rational mind retreated under the volcanic pressure.

“You bastard. What the hell is going on?” he thundered, his anger finally allowing his mind to vent the frustration that had held him in its grip for far too long.

Starsky had shut him out at a time when he needed him the most. He had made a mockery of the love and care he had desperately used to hold back the fear of losing Starsky. He had made a decision all on his own with no concern for how that decision would affect Hutch. He didn’t need Hutch anymore and had turned his back on everything that held Hutch together. The bastard.

The boiling cauldron that was Hutch’s inner world of insecurity, despair, loss and failure finally erupted in uncontrollable fury.

The coffee cup bounced twice before it came to rest in pieces on the floor. His chair slid across the floor with the force of his rising, and the table threatened to follow as he forcefully swept its contents onto the floor.

He turned in rage, forcing Starsky to his feet with the strength of the grip on his arms. His face was reddened in the spots that weren’t white with violent reaction as he bellowed every crude, hurting remark that his months of turmoil and fear had collected.

Finally the only remark left was “Why Starsky, why?” as he curled up on himself after collapsing on the floor, quaking with feeble weakness and shame, tears streaming unnoticed down his face.

The intense suddenness of Hutch’s eruption had momentarily created a fear in Starsky. The cold emptiness in those eyes that still managed to burn with a deep fire, offered no sign of the intelligent, caring person he knew. Pure raging emotion controlled Hutch now and Starsky shut out the cruel invectives that Hutch released and concentrated on remaining docile to remove any threat, and to protect himself from injury.

The grip Hutch had on him was painful and certain recently healed areas were beginning to ache before Hutch, just as suddenly, froze in shock, his eyes wide in awareness, and then collapsed onto the floor. Starsky was barely able to follow him down.

Ever so slowly Hutch’s anguish began to subside and Starsky was able to settle them both more comfortably, right where they were. He positioned himself in an upright posture, back against the kitchen cupboards, and hauled Hutch into his embrace, his hands gently sifting through the blond locks, urgently communicating his presence and caring through touch.

Hutch’s catharsis had drained him and he lay completely limp in Starsky’s arms, his slow even breathing finally indicating that his body and mind had given in to the traumatic aftermath of his collapse and retreated into sleep.

It wasn’t a long rest. Barely an hour later Hutch showed signs of reviving and groggily fought his way to consciousness. Confusion was his first waking thought as he took in his surroundings, then fear as the strangeness hit him and he jerkily attempted to defend himself.

There was something wrong and his scrambled brain refused to acknowledge or deal with it. He calmed only when he realized that Starsky’s voice and strong arms where assuring him and gentling his confusion. He trusted that voice and meekly followed when it encouraged him to get up and led him into the bedroom where he was efficiently stripped and settled under warm blankets with Starsky’s equally warm body wrapped around him. He snuggled in and faded.

Twelve hours later Starsky entered the bedroom with a hot cup of sweet tea and a glass of orange juice. He had spent all that time guarding Hutch, holding him close and murmuring quiet words of love when he stirred. Now Hutch was waking and he knew he had the hardest part of the ordeal ahead of him. He hadn’t expected Hutch’s spectacular collapse, but knew what it meant, and was prepared.

Two shameful blue eyes closely watched his approach. At least he had the courage to face what was coming and that cheered Starsky. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a hard sell after all.

Hutch accepted the orange juice and drank it greedily, then warmed his hands around the teacup, grimacing only slightly at its sweetness. He too knew what was needed and obediently took his medicine.

“I’m sorry.”

The quiet words seemed to take every effort on Hutch’s part to get out, but he spoke them while looking directly into Starsky’s eyes.

Starsky slowly seated himself at Hutch’s side. He had noted the lassitude that spoke of the weakness that still gripped Hutch, and the hand he had gently picked up was cool to his touch, as was the brow that he swept the wayward hair back from.

“I understand Hutch. I do. We’ll talk later after you’ve rested. Let’s get you up, showered and changed. O.K.?”

At Starsky’s touch, Hutch had seemed to melt back into the bed, his eyes closed in welcome relief at the non-judgmental and caring feelings his friend shared. He wanted to escape into that warmth and never come out. He wanted to latch onto that love and hold it too him until he could accept what he had and be thankful for it. But he couldn’t even raise his own hand in acknowledgment and trust.

He once again allowed himself to follow Starsky willingly. Hadn’t he always done that, knowing that he was safe?

After getting Hutch into the shower, having to climb in with him and actually wash him, Starsky had quickly dried him off, dressed him warmly in PJs, and settled him back in the newly made bed. Then he had crawled in with him, drawing him into his arms, offering the body warmth and contact that Hutch needed right now.

Hutch settled against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Starsky revelled in it. With Hutch’s easy acceptance of his closeness, he knew that the foundation of their friendship was solid and that opening the doors to the hidden truths would free them to be what they were meant to be.

His strong, slow caress of Hutch’s back; his deeply felt feelings spoken in soft, assured words lulled them both, returning the confidence and faith that let them drift off into welcome sleep.

When Hutch awoke, it was to a different world. He felt free and happy for the first time in forever. His mind was crystal clear and a new peace enveloped him in giddy joy. He attempted to stretch his body in renewed energy, but was obstructed by something pinning him down. He looked down to find Starsky wrapped around him like Crazy Glue.

Instead of being confused, scared or downright fearful, he gave the body around him a gigantic gleeful squeeze that should have had Starsky up and raging, but instead only caused that body to shift a little, almost as if it was an expected welcome action.

Hutch chuckled in delight. With another more restrained hug, he extricated himself from the octopus that was Starsky. He looked down on his personal saviour.

He was one lucky bastard and he gloried in Starsky’s remembered words, all his previous insecurities and doubts swept away as if they had never existed. His new reality allowed him to acknowledge what had happened and why and place them where they belonged; in the closet of discovery and growth. Man, he shouldn’t be this happy! Where had he heard that before?

Acknowledging his priorities, he visited the bathroom then set about replenishing his body’s need for fuel. By the time the feast was ready, he heard faint stirrings from the bedroom. He quickly poured a coffee.

Starsky woke slowly, the grogginess of a much-needed deep sleep taking its time bringing him to full consciousness. When the fogged cleared, he looked into bright, sparkling blue eyes that danced with happiness and simply glowed. There was no other word for it, Hutch simply glowed, and he couldn’t help but return the smile that fought the sun for sheer power.

He accepted the offered coffee, sipping at it as a whole conversation took place in silence. A conversation of forgiveness, understanding, exchanged secrets and shared visions.

“I love you,” danced out of Hutch’s mouth and skittered over every inch of Starsky’s being.

A crooked finger drew Hutch near, and Starsky’s lips barely touching his sealed a vow stronger than anything the universe had to offer.

“Steak and eggs?” Hutch replied.