Enough for Now

After Hutch loses Gillian, he begins to see where his true love lies. And Starsky does too. They just need a little time.

Part 2 Always Enough Series

Written for the @twentyminutefic challenge. The prompt words were wound and record.

Hutch eased himself down onto the sofa, his temples throbbing and his eyes fatigued, the weight of the last month pressing upon him. He felt like a tightly wound spring, ready to unravel at the slightest noise.

He got up and stepped into the bathroom, not bothering to flick on the lights. He soaked a washcloth under the cold running tap, enjoying the soothing iciness against his skin. He returned to the couch, sinking back into the familiar cushions as he pressed the damp cloth against his pounding head.

He wasn’t sure where the headache came from—it hadn’t been a stressful night, just an innocent evening of bowling. It was no different than last week at the double feature, or the week before at Huggy’s for a round of pool. Each night was with Starsky and his latest girlfriend, what was her name again? Long brown hair and a big smile, a little ditzy, and thinks a strike in bowling is called a bingo.

Why in the world did Starsky think he needed babysitting every night he didn’t know.

Hutch tilted his head back into the back of the couch, the voice inside of him answering the question as clearly as if he spoke it aloud.

Because Starsky is Starsky. The person who held him so tightly that he thought he would burst the night Gillian was found dead. He squeezed Hutch so hard, bringing him back to reality, and allowing him to process all of his grief, confusion, and anger in a whirlwind of emotion in mere minutes.

Starsky, with his unwavering presence, was his lifeline in the storm of loss.

Hutch thought about that day, as he did every single day for the last month. Gillian. Dead. On the floor of her apartment. Lifeless. The room had echoed with haunting sounds of laughter, their shared secrets, their fantasies of red balloons that would never burst.

“She’s dead, Hutch. Grossman did it.”

Hutch’s mind reeled, refusing to accept the truth.

“Look around you, what do you think bought this place?”

Anger surged within Hutch, uncontrollable and at the same time, he knew, misdirected.

“Listen to me, buddy.” The voice was controlled, but soft.

The tears welled up and Hutch couldn’t hold them back.

“She was going to tell you. She worked for Grossman.”

The room blurred as Hutch’s mind raced.

“She loved you and was going to give it all up just for you. Probably why Grossman killed her.”

The accusation hung there, the anger building to an eruption.

Starsky took the blow, falling without flinching, unyielding, not retaliating. Getting up, speaking the words to calm Hutch, to help him face what was real.

“She was going to tell you…. She was going to give this up just for you.”

The words had hung in the air like a storm brewing.

“She was going to tell you…”

The words repeated in Hutch’s mind, like a record skipping in his head.

“She was going to give this up just for you.”

Over and over again.

Until, as the shock of disbelief faded, as the gaping void left behind by Gillian narrowed to a distant memory, the truth started to rise to the surface.

A knock at the door startled Hutch from his thoughts. He pulled the washcloth from his eyes and walked to the door.

Of course, it was him. Hutch knew he would come. Hutch wiped his eyes with the washcloth.

“Hutch, are you ok?” Starsky’s voice held a hint of concern. “You left the bowling alley early. I thought maybe you and that pretty girl were hitting it off, but then you left.”

Hutch hesitated; he passed the clumped-up washcloth from one hand to another, like a soggy baseball.

“I’m glad you’re here. I want to ask you something.” He motioned to Starsky to sit down.

Starsky’s eyes softened, understanding passing between him and Hutch like a secret handshake. Starsky sat on the sofa next to Hutch and nodded, ready for the question.

“What did you mean when you said Gillian was going to tell me? That she was going to give it all up just for me. How would you know that?” Hutch’s voice trembled.

Starsky’s eyes flickered, with either fear or resolve, maybe both.

“Because I saw her the day before she died.” Starsky paused and cleared his throat, as though needing time to find the words. “I told you about looking in the back at the massage parlor. What I didn’t tell you was that I went to her apartment, to give her money to leave town.”

Starsky flinched, blinking with unease. “She didn’t take the money, Hutch.”

Hutch’s heart raced, but he didn’t feel angry; that misplaced emotion was long gone; only confusion remained. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Starsky shook his head, “It was all I could think of. I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Hutch asked, his voice low.

Starsky didn’t hesitate, his answer clear and decisive.

“From heartbreak.”

Hutch felt his heart move into his throat. He reached out, his fingers grazing Starsky’s cheek. It felt warm, like the sun-kissed sand on the beach.

“I don’t know what to think anymore, but I know I can’t stop thinking. What if she didn’t die? Would I have stayed with her?”

Starsky glanced at his shoes. “You might have, but I know you, Hutch. You would have been more angry about the lie than the truth.”

“You’re right,” Hutch agreed. He knew it was true. “She lied to me, and I don’t think I ever could have forgiven that.”

Starsky swallowed, his lips thin and tight. “I lied to you too, about seeing Gillian. Are you able to forgive me?”

Hutch’s pulse quickened. “That’s different. She lied to protect herself. You lied to protect me.”

Starsky’s gaze bore into his. “So why did you leave tonight, if you’re not mad?”

“You and whatsername getting serious?” Hutch asked, holding his gaze.

“Who Nancy? No, Hutch, she and I aren’t serious. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

The silence stretched for a moment, like a drawbridge lowering, closing a gap between friendship and something more.

“I left because I realized something. I realized that I was letting you console me all month but for the wrong things.”

Hutch couldn’t take the words back. His breath caught, and he wondered if Starsky felt the same pull—the intense gravity that kept circling each other, never quite touching.

Starsky’s eyes grew large, then narrowed with heightened awareness, his face alive with desire.

Then it happened. Hutch inched closer until their lips touched, a collision of years, of missed chances, of secrets murmured through dreams in the darkness. It lasted a moment, Hutch’s headache long gone, replaced by a dizzy sensation and growing need.

“What if…?” Hutch whispered.

Starsky pressed a finger to his mouth and Hutch’s heart sank a little.

“What if…”Starsky continued…”We don’t say if, but when?”

Hutch wrapped his hand around Starsky’s fingers.

“The timing is ours to control, Starsky. If we’ve learned anything, it should be that life is for right now.”

Starsky closed his eyes as though he would otherwise lose his strength. “Then let’s take it slow, Hutch.” He opened his eyes, pleading. “Or I’m afraid we’ll both drown before we learn to tread water.” His voice trembled as the weight of their shared history hung in the air. “Just don’t stop smiling, whatever you do—please. I couldn’t take it if you did.”

And in that stolen moment, Hutch felt at ease. Starsky—the one who had held him when Gillian died, the one who had squeezed him back to life—who now held his heart—was worthy of whatever time was needed.

He couldn’t predict the future, but Hutch could taste hope.

It was not a matter of if, but when. That was enough for now.