A Long Goodbye

The first time he dreamed about Starsky, he cried. It was almost too much to bear when he realized reality no longer included his partner. The dreams came and went, but now they were coming night after night, even when he was awake. It was surely a sign of insanity…

Originally published in Dangerous Lives, Dangerous Visions 4 in 2006.

“You’ve got to stop, Hutch,” Starsky begged as he laid his hand on his partner’s cheek. “You’re killing yourself.”

“Don’t I wish?” Hutch snorted.

“I hate seeing you like this,” Starsky admitted.

“Then why do you keep coming back?” Hutch snapped, but as soon as he said it his face fell. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He laid his hand over Starsky’s as it caressed his cheek. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You’ve got to start living. This slow death is tearing you apart.”

“That’s the cruelest joke of all,” Hutch laughed. “Death won’t take me. No matter how many times I wish for it, I still wake up every day.”

His partner shook his head, pulling back from him. And with one blink it was over, just like always. The loud beeping of the alarm clock pulled Hutch out of his dreams and back to the cold reality. He slapped at the clock angrily, watching it fall to the floor. Probably broken, he thought, but what did he care? He hadn’t cared about anything in a very long time.

Hutch slowly rose from his bed and walked towards the bathroom. It was the same routine, day after day. Work was supposed to be something to take his mind off his loneliness, but he could never escape it. He was good at what he did, no doubt about that. When he joined the FBI in ’89 he worked harder than any other person there. He’d made a name for himself over the past fifteen years and his cases made headlines. He was a good agent, but a bitter old man.

People had tried, over the years, to get close to him, but they had all failed. His old ties had been broken when he left Bay City and he wasn’t looking to make any new ones. Over time, people had just stopped trying. He was alone, always alone, because he didn’t deserve to be happy. Besides, how could he be happy when he was only half a man?

* * *

His burger had gotten cold as he continued sorting through papers on his desk. Not that it tasted any better when it was hot, but at least he could pretend to be hungry as he swallowed the tasteless meat. His eating habits were just as deplorable as always; he settled for grabbing a mass-produced meal here and there as he worked straight through lunch. He couldn’t remember the last time he had made a meal at home. He only ate what came out of a take-out container or a microwaveable tray. He couldn’t be bothered with such domestic nonsense, couldn’t seem to care one way or the other where his food came from or if he ate anything at all. His place didn’t fare much better; the only time it was cleaned was when the maid came in and did it for him.

Hutch could hear somebody outside his office talking about the game from last night. The voice was enthusiastic, recounting the plays of the favored team as they finally captured a hard-won victory. When was the last time he had followed a game? It had been a few years. One more thing that reminded him too much of before.

And it wasn’t just things directly related to his past with Starsky, either. The forgotten games, the late-night talks, the physical embraces were absent, but other things would make him remember, too. When he’d see a sunset over the beach, or hear an old song on the radio, or even see a young child running after an escaping balloon, he’d be reminded. He often wondered what would have happened if his life had turned out differently. Starsky was always the one to bring up those pointless what-if questions, but over the years Hutch had gotten to be an expert at the game. He was sure that he’d be happier, no doubt about that. There was no logical way he could be worse off. And he wouldn’t be alone, of course. There’d be a purpose to living, a reason other than taking the next breath.

He had lived twice as long without Starsky as he had with him, but that decade was always where he focused. To hear one more a corny joke or feel the arms hug him close—what he wouldn’t give for that single moment of comfort.

Instead, he was stuck in a dreary city with nothing to ground him and the only comfort to be found was at the bottom of a bottle.

* * *

“When they do your autopsy, I bet your blood’s gonna be green, just like Dr. Spock.”

“Mr. Spock,” Hutch corrected him.

“Mister, doctor, same difference.”

He was about to say it made a big difference, but the conversation was pointless. Starsky logic made perfect sense to him, so why should he argue?

“And that doesn’t change the fact that you eat stuff that turns my stomach sometimes,” Starsky continued.

“Oh, look who’s talking Mr. Grease and Fries.” Hutch laughed. “Eating healthy happens to prolong your life.”

“What’s the point of living longer if you gotta hate eating?”

“Starsky, I happen to like what I eat.”

“You know what they say about health nuts,” Starsky countered.

“Clean body—”

“Does you no good when it’s hiding a dirty mind,” Starsky broke in, laughing.

“You complaining?”

“Not a chance.” Starsky smiled at Hutch as he came closer, leaning in for a soft kiss.

“If we don’t take care of ourselves now, what do you think we’ll be like when we’re old?” Hutch asked, putting his arms around his partner and drawing him closer.

“I’ll be just as handsome as ever,” Starsky joked. “And you’ll still be complaining about what I eat.”

“And we’ll be in our own home, me working out in the garden and you tinkering around in the garage,” Hutch said.

“That’d be really nice,” Starsky answered, tightening his arms around Hutch. “Our own home, growing old together.”

“We’re gonna do it, Starsk. I promise.”

“Hutch?” Starsky leaned in closer.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna go play Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk?” Starsky whispered.

Hutch couldn’t suppress the laugh. “You’ve got the worst pick-up lines in history.”

“I don’t need to do any picking, I’ve already got you,” Starsky said as he kissed Hutch’s cheek and nestled his face into his partner’s neck.

“That’s right, you’ve already got me.” Hutch breathed in Starsky’s scent, smiling as he listened to the rain beating against the window.

* * *

It was raining when he left the crime scene. Perfect reflection of how this day was going. Those hot shot locals thought they knew everything, so young and naïve. They wanted to save the world, starting with this case. He and Starsky had been like that once, but that was a lifetime ago. They’d soon learn that fighting dragons only ended up getting you burned.

Hutch threw the car into drive, pulling out onto the slick street. As far away from home as he had ventured, Seattle wasn’t where he thought he’d end up. Then again, anywhere was better than back there. He had left right after Gunther’s case was closed, after turning in his resignation to Dobey. It wasn’t like it was a surprise to anyone, much less the captain. Everything was in order, every paper filed to tie together the web of deceit for Gunther Enterprises. At that point it was just a matter of waiting it out, seeing if the shooting would be ruled self-defense or murder. It might have been better if he hadn’t shot the man and instead let him rot in prison to pay for his crime, but once Hutch walked through those doors, he knew that only one of them was going to come out alive.

Everyone bought Hutch’s story, but even if they didn’t believe the lie, they at least understood why it happened. He had nothing to live for once Starsky was gone. His mission was always to kill those who had killed his partner. With one gunshot, mission accomplished.

* * *

This wasn’t his apartment, it wasn’t anywhere he recognized, but that was his gun. Lying heavy in his hand, the metal gleamed as if it had just been polished. It was so inviting, so easy. He could be free, be happy again.

“You think that’s the answer?”

Hutch’s head shot up, looking into the eyes of his partner. It was just a dream, another visit in the middle of the night.

“That the hero’s way out?” Starsky pressed again.

“I haven’t been a hero for a long time,” Hutch admitted, looking back down at the gun.

“No, I guess you haven’t. But I didn’t think you’d turn coward on me.”

Hutch angrily looked back up. “You think that’s what I did? When would that be, Starsky? When I had to call your mother and tell her that her firstborn son wasn’t going to come visit anymore? Or when I stood beside your grave and promised myself that I wouldn’t start crying? Maybe I was a coward when I made sure to bring down everybody that put you there.”

“Oh, you did that alright. You blew away the one man who set it all in motion.”

“Can you blame me?!” His voice broke. “You know as well as I do that I couldn’t let it end any other way.”

“I’m not blaming you, Hutch. I’m just saying that after all that, why do this?”

“Because I’m tired of hurting.” Hutch sighed, casting his eyes down.

There was silence then and Hutch thought that maybe Starsky had left, but his voice came again.

“Do you still love me?”

Hutch couldn’t stop the tears then. He looked into his partner’s face. “How can you ask me that?”

“Because I want to hear the truth. Do you still love me?”

“Of course I still love you!” he cried out. “I’ve never stopped, won’t ever! I hurt every day because I’m afraid that I’ll forget you!”

“This isn’t the way out, Hutch. If you loved me, you’d know that.”

“Why won’t you let me be with you?” he begged.

“One day you will be, but not today.”

* * *

Nobody knew why he had come to the agency, not really. They knew very little about him aside from what they read. He’d been hired on the merit of his public endeavors, the most acclaimed being the Gunther case. But he had done a lot of work after that, too. He’d worked in a local department for a while, building up a strong caseload. He worked with others when forced, but he was a solo act and he made sure the department knew it. When they offered the agency job to him, he took it quickly. They thought he was a solid cop who had taken his partner’s death and turned it into a strong show of force against corruption. They didn’t know the real reason he ran away from Bay City and his former life; no one around here knew that.

Hutch was sorry sometimes that he had lost touch with Huggy and Dobey. As much as it would hurt to see them, at least he wouldn’t have to pretend around them. They knew the pain he carried, how he had lost much more than just a partner. But he couldn’t go back there, no more than they could come here and make it better. Huggy had tried, once, to reach out to him after he left, but Hutch refused to listen. Bay City was a part of his past and he wasn’t going to look back no matter what. The man they knew was gone and a stranger wore his face.

* * *

It was the alcohol; it had to be. Either that or his eyes were playing tricks on him again. But there was no denying it. His partner was sitting across from him, just as real and young as he always was in his dreams. Hutch took another swallow of his drink, trying to banish away the image.

“Does it make you feel better?” Starsky asked, pushing him.

“Makes me feel something,” he countered.

“And tomorrow when you wake up with a hangover, it’s gonna hurt just as bad as every other time.”

“I’ve got nothing to be sober for,” Hutch replied, taking the last swallow of his drink.

“You’ve changed; cut yourself off from everyone. Look at what this is doing to you.”

“Well, right now this,” he said, holding up his empty glass, “is doing me a lot more good than the alternative.”

“It’s been twenty-five years, Hutch.”

“I know,” he sighed.

“You have to let me go. You’ve got to get on with your life.”

“What kind of life would you like me to get on with? I’m old, Starsky, worn out and beat down. I’ve got nothing to look forward to and I never did.”

“And it’s all my fault,” Starsky pointed out. “Every time you remember me, it’s like you’re grieving for the first time all over again.”

“When a memory’s all that’s left…” he trailed off, looking at the empty glass and wondering if he was steady enough to get a refill.

“Maybe if I stayed away…”

“No!” Hutch shouted, dropping his glass onto the carpet. “Don’t leave me again, please don’t leave me again.”

“You’re not living.”

“Why should I?” he asked, sinking back into the cushions of the couch.

“Because one of us should.”

* * *

The first time he dreamed about Starsky, he cried. It was almost too much to bear when he woke up and realized that his reality no longer included his partner. Over the years, the dreams came and went. But now they were coming in rapid succession, night after night, and sometimes even when he was awake. It was surely a sign of insanity, talking to someone that didn’t exist, but Starsky still remained with him even though he had sealed himself off from the world. It was getting worse now, having conversations and even arguments with the man as if he could effect a change. And maybe he could. Maybe he could still turn Hutch’s mood from happy to sad to angry just like he always had. That was Starsky; even death wasn’t about to change him.

Hutch had honestly tried to move on, but he couldn’t. When he left Bay City, he set out to distance himself from everything familiar. He took very little with him, only what he could fit in his suitcases. Hutch had gone back to Starsky’s place once, after the funeral, but that was all he could stand. The man permeated every room, through Hutch’s skin and into every pore of his being. It was too much, too overwhelming. There was nothing left of Starsky, but even so, his physical presence was everywhere.

One thing he did take with him when he escaped was the photographs. Starsky had stored them away in the bedroom closet. His partner was always taking pictures, cataloging their lives as if he knew that someday they were likely to forget. Hutch would take them out every now and then, but it always left him depressed. Everything about his former life left him depressed, so it was a familiar mood. The years had made him wonder what it was like to be truly happy. He felt it sometimes, when he was having a good dream with Starsky and laughing with him like old times, but the feeling quickly faded when the daylight broke through the window. He began to hate the daylight.

* * *

“Feels good,” Starsky said as he buried his toes into the sand. “Doesn’t it feel good, Hutch?”

“Wonderful.” Hutch smiled as he let the light bathe his face. He turned towards Starsky. “It’s quiet today.”

There was no one else out this early in the morning. Hutch wondered how he had managed to convince Starsky to get out of bed at this hour. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that he and Starsky were here together.

“I like it quiet,” Starsky responded, cupping his hand on Hutch’s cheek and drawing him in for a kiss. “There doesn’t need to be anyone else, but us.”

“There never did.”

Starsky sat back, turning his attention to the waves. “You know those shells that you can hear the ocean in?”

“Umm hmm?”

“People take them home so they can take a piece of the ocean with them.”

“To remember it,” Hutch put in.

“But when you get them back home, the sound’s never the same. It’s like the shells are sad or something, missing their homes and never really fitting into yours.”

“Maybe they are. Maybe we’re all waiting to rejoin the ocean someday, return home.”

“Yeah,” Starsky sighed.

Hutch gave Starsky’s hand a squeeze. “We’re supposed to be relaxing, remember?”

“I know. It’s gonna be okay.” Starsky took a deep breath, standing up. “I’m going for a swim.”

Starsky didn’t ask if Hutch wanted to join him. Hutch’s eyes followed him as he started wading slowly into the water at the shoreline and getting used to the temperature. Then Starsky threw his whole body into it, swimming with long strokes. He watched his partner swim harder, fighting the water as he went farther and farther out.

Hutch got to his feet and ran down to the shoreline. Starsky was getting too far out. Hutch could barely make out his body anymore.

“Starsky! Starsky come back!” Hutch shouted, but Starsky didn’t. He just continued swimming, trying to return home.

* * *

The warm spray of the shower did little to soothe his tired muscles. Age was not kind to him. He hated looking in the mirror now, being disappointed at the image that looked back at him. They were supposed to grow old together, but that plan died with Starsky. Starsky remained timeless and Hutch would never be. Handsome was a word that had ceased having association with the worn-out man in the mirror.

He felt the hands come to lie on his back, right over the spot where his shoulder ached. It was an old injury, one that Starsky had nursed him through. Whenever it had started hurting, Starsky would massage the pain away with hands so tender and so loving. The same hands that were there now, just barely touching him.

“Why do you keep coming back?”

The touch pressed firmer onto his skin, letting him know that someone else was there.

“You won’t let me die and I don’t know how to live,” Hutch continued.

Feather touches now. It was almost like Starsky was there, strong and whole. Maybe if he just turned around fast enough he could grab hold of him and never let him go. But he knew that there was no chance of that. He’d been grabbing at shadows for too long now.

“Stop, just stop,” he begged. “Take me or leave me, but I can’t live like this anymore.”

There was one strong press of the hand against his back, burning hot, as if it sought to answer him.

He could feel his chest aching, heart quickening, as his breath started coming in shorter gasps. He hurt, his whole body seizing against the pain as he fell against the cool tiles. Hutch sank to the floor of the shower, letting the water beat against his pale skin. He didn’t notice it, didn’t care that the water was quickly turning colder. He was lost to it, lost within himself. The pain sent shock waves through him, his brain not able to comprehend much past the immediate moment. He could only hope that he was dying, prayed that this was Starsky’s answer for him.

“Take me away,” he gasped. His breathing was becoming more ragged now, with only silence surrounding him. “Please, take me away.”