Don’t Make Me Choose

Hutch has a confession to make.

Originally appeared in the SHareCon 2016 zine.

The cool air hit him as he heard the elevator doors close. His shirt was still damp in places from the meltdown of Starsky’s car and Hutch’s temper earlier in the day. Fumbling in his pocket for the keys, the breeze came through again and it made him shiver.

Striding purposely among the cars in the lot brought him eventually to his beat-up Ford. He stood in front of the hood, staring. He shook his head as if to shake loose the memory of being trapped under another car just like it. Struggling to put the memory back where he kept it, Hutch slid in behind the wheel grinding his teeth in anticipation of the 405 this time of day. As he made the stop and go trip he let his mind wander.

“Don’t make me choose!” floated through his mind, along with the mental picture of the wrecked car. “It’s easy to think of all the things you want to do or say when you think you’re going to die,” Hutch mumbled.

“God, it was hot under that car those days in the canyon… maybe not as hot as today, but it felt like a runaway sauna,” Hutch sighed. “Maybe it just seemed that way. No shade… no water… no partner.” His stomach rumbled and he patted down his jacket and shirt pockets in case he could find some Tums. No luck. He felt off-kilter, unsettled… like he usually did when he and Starsky really fought. Don’t make me choose… it echoed once more along with a clear recollection of the look on Starsky’s face when he said it.

So what did you do about it? The damned voice in his head again.

“I admitted it was a dumb stunt on my part to go to a meet alone and not tell anyone.” No, not anyone…you didn’t tell your partner! “I admitted that… I told him I was sorry.”

What else were you going to tell him? “I made a promise…”

Promised what? The voice in his head pushed for an answer. “Promised… I’d tell him if by some miracle I was found alive.”

Well you were found alive, and you didn’t tell him. The full weight of the guilt from that admission closed around him. What are you waiting for, Hutchinson? The next time you’re in a jam, or Starsky is? What if there isn’t time next time?

Hutch slid his car in close to the curb and, feeling bone-weary, he moved toward the stairs. Halfway up he could hear his phone ringing through the closed door. He ran the last few steps to snatch up the receiver.

“Hello…”

“What’s… what’s the matter? You’re out of breath,” Starsky asked.

“I ran to catch the phone, moron!”

“Oh, yeah. Okay, I just wanted to tell you my car won’t be ready tomorrow like I thought, so you’ll have to drive.”

“If you ask me you should use the time to look for a new car.”

“I told you this morning… don’t make me choose.” Starsky’s voice sounded hurt.

Hutch drew in a breath…”Why don’t I come over now? I’ll bring some beers. Then we’ll be that much ahead of things in the morning.”

“Yeah…” Starsky’s voice perked up. “Yeah, that’s a great idea!”

“Okay… see you in a few,” Hutch said, then carefully replaced the receiver. With more energy than when he’d entered his apartment, he walked to his fridge and snagged the almost full six-pack there and set it on the table. He detoured to the clean laundry basket next to his bed for a pair of boxers. “Anything else I can borrow,” he said.

“I’ll tell you what I promised… I just don’t know if you’ll like the choices.”