Hutch to Starsky

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There were two major reasons why the episode “Starsky vs. Hutch” left me unsettled: Why did Hutch behave the way he did; and how did they get past it? This story explores both. It begins:

“Why?” said Starsky. The single word hung in the air. A plea. A challenge. More than a hint of desperation and hurt.

Hutch knew what he meant, was one hundred percent sure, but he still had to say the word. “Kira?”

---

“Why?” said Starsky. The single word hung in the air. A plea. A challenge. More than a hint of desperation and hurt.

Hutch knew what he meant, was one hundred percent sure, but he still had to say the word. “Kira?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Starsk, does it matter anymore?”

The only reply was a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Some things can’t be fixed,” Hutch said. He looked around the familiar room and found himself uncomfortable with the haunting memories it stirred up.

The weight of the pain they both felt was crushing each of them — the result of trusting your heart completely to another soul and having that trust broken. Ironically, both the betrayer and the one betrayed were suffering equally, if that sort of thing could be measured. Certainly, their trust had been bent a few times in the past, but this time the line of trust had thinned and then finally cracked under the strain. Neither voiced it, but they were both feeling the same kind of pain, a tightness in the chest that made it hard to breath and harder to function. Denial didn’t ease the discomfort. The world was wrong.

For Starsky, the wrongness started recently and suddenly, hitting its peak when he walked into Kira’s home and found Hutch coming out of the bedroom, tucking in his shirt. He’d known the world to be wrong before. His father’s death. Some of the events during his time in Vietnam. Helen’s death. Gillian’s death. Terry’s death. Jackson Walter’s death. Lionel Rigger’s death. But, with time, life had righted itself and the world began to spin correctly again. Not a patient man by nature, he was saved by his perseverance. He’d learned to hang in there during hard times, to lean on family and friends, particularly one friend. It was never easy, but he knew that life could be good again, even after tragedy. After all, life was mostly good. He had, until recently, an indefatigable hope for the future. He desperately wanted the wrongness to go away. He wasn’t sure it would this time, though.

For Hutch, the wrongness was always there. When he was a child, he sometimes felt he must have been born into the wrong family, perhaps switched at birth. He tried to care about the things that his parents thought were important. At one time, he’d almost convinced himself he did, and even married someone who believed nearly enough for both of them. That had ended badly when the truth bubbled to the surface bursting the fake reality he’d tried to sustain. Out of obligation, he would have kept trying, but Vanessa was not one to “settle.” When she left, it hurt more than anything had ever hurt him before. He was numb for some time after that, but time had mostly healed those wounds.

Shortly after he met Starsky, he realized that the world didn’t feel wrong anymore. He found a sense of purpose in his work and a kinship with his partner unlike any he’d ever experienced before. He learned, though it hadn’t come easily, to let others lean on him, but always struggled when it came to leaning on others. As his father told him, he believed a man should stand on his own two feet. Despite his father’s teachings, he found one particular friend that he could lean on in hard times, and the wrongness remained hidden for a while. It re-emerged though, sneaking back into his life bit by inevitable bit, as he thought it would. The heroin. Helen. Gillian. Abby. Terry. Jackson Walters. Pretending to have amnesia. Lionel. He couldn’t keep the demons at bay and the exhaustion of trying had finally broken him. It wasn’t unexpected. After all, life was mostly hard. He desperately wanted the wrongness to go away. He was sure it wouldn’t this time, though.

Before they ended up here, the day had started badly. After Starsky had walked in on Hutch at Kira’s place, Starsky had stormed out right after their fight, without a second glance at Kira. He was angry with and disappointed by Kira, but Hutch’s actions left him reeling.  He’d never felt so betrayed and what hurt the most was that the one person he could always turn to for comfort was the one who had betrayed him. His compass was spinning. He needed his job to feel even a bit normal, and though he’d have to face Hutch to do it, he was damned if he’d let Hutch take that from him, too.

Starsky and Hutch reported to the scene of yet another murder. One more of the Golden Lady Ballroom dancers had been slain, and a fuming Dobey met them at the scene. He noted that the partners had arrived separately, each in their own car, which was highly unusual for them. They were all frustrated that the only new clue was a small piece of plastic found near the body.

Dobey immediately sensed the increased tension between the partners. He’d seen it before with these two. They spent more time together than most married couples, and too much of even a good thing was too much at times. It had been going on for well over a week and he sensed that it had gone further this time. While concerned, his immediate priority was to get this case solved and prevent any more murders. Maybe if Starsky and Hutch focused on the work at hand the tension would ease.

Within minutes, it was clear to Dobey that the tension was only building. What the hell was wrong with them? Today of all days. Every year Dobey dreaded this date, and the childish behavior of his two best men was somehow rubbing salt in the wound. He’d had enough of it. As soon as this case was solved, he’d get them talking if it was the last thing he ever did. He’d need a little help, and the right place, and he knew just who to call. Privately, which was easier than he expected since the two men didn’t seem to want to be near each other, he pulled aside each man and told him that there was something confidential he wanted to talk to him about soon. He was vague, trying to sound desperate and somewhat embarrassed without providing any details. He explained it could wait until this case was over, but they’d better solve it soon. With a bit of foreshadowing set, now it was just a matter of timing.

At the dance hall, events unfolded quickly. One grenade later, they had their man and the case was solved. As had happened before, the man responsible turned out to be mentally unstable, and somehow solving the case felt hollow. Their victims had been murdered by yet another victim. It left a bad taste in their mouths. At least the murders would stop.

Back at the precinct, Dobey watched disapprovingly as the two sniped at each other while wrapping up the case. Paperwork never put either of them in a good mood, but this was ridiculous. Everyone in the precinct could sense the tension. People were steering clear, afraid to get caught in the crossfire. The snippets Dobey heard disheartened him. Over the years, he’d seen them at their best and at their worst, but their worst was usually when one of them was in trouble and the other was working frantically to fix things. Seeing them inflicting abuse on each other was just plain wrong. Watching their behavior firmed Dobey’s resolve to intervene. Tonight was definitely the night, before things got any worse. He made a quick call to his accomplice to confirm the details.

When their paperwork was completed, Starsky and Hutch wordlessly split company, each retreating to their home, neither with any interest in reaching out to Kira. Emotionally exhausted, their steps were in unison even though they were apart. Grab mail. Enter home. Drop mail on closest table without even looking at it. Hang up jacket. Put away gun. Open fridge and look at meager contents. Not hungry anyway. Reach for cold beer, withdraw empty hand from fridge instead. Draw a glass of water from the kitchen sink, stand at sink to drink it, and put empty glass in sink. Stare out window in a foul mood. Phones rings, a vague and awkward invitation from Kira to meet tomorrow night. Agreement. Hang up. Deep sigh. After a quick stop in the bathroom, fall into bed, on top of covers, fully clothed. Put arm over closed eyes. Remove arm from eyes and open eyes. Stare at ceiling. Some time passes. Phone rings again.

At Starsky’s place, he moaned loudly when the phone rang again. What now? Was Kira changing her mind again? He wanted to ignore it, but the ringing wouldn’t stop. “H’lo,” he said, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Starsky, uh . . . this is Captain Dobey. I’m sorry to bother you at home.”

That was strange. He’d never been bothered about calling him at home before. Was this about Hutch? He certainly wasn’t going to discuss that situation with Dobey. Maybe it was about the private matter Dobey had mentioned earlier. Automatically, he responded, “What is it, Cap’n?”

“Listen, Starsky, uh, this isn’t easy for me, uh . . . I need your help. I’ve gotten myself into a bit of trouble, and I think my family could be in danger.”

“How can I help?” Starsky asked, relieved it seemed to have nothing to do with Hutch.

“I need someone who can be discreet. I don’t want anyone else involved. Can you handle that?”

“Of course, but what is it?”

Dobey sighed heavily, even for Dobey. “This is hard to admit. You know that some years ago I had a bit of a gambling problem.”

“But you don’t gamble anymore.”

“As embarrassing as this is to admit, I slipped up, and I need some help to be sure Edith and the kids will be okay until I straighten this out. I don’t want to say any more over the phone. Can you meet me?”

“Sure. When and where?”

“Let’s meet at Huggy Bear’s.” Huggy had recently re-opened his original bar, Huggy Bear’s, when he ran into lease problems at The Pits. Thinking it was going to close, he found that his former location was available, and he signed a short term lease to get it back in business. As soon as the liquor license was approved for that location, the lease problems with The Pits were resolved. Captain Dobey, unsolicited, had intervened on his behalf, and Huggy suddenly found himself the proprietor of two locations. He was currently managing both bars, but Diane was pressuring him to sell the original location, Huggy Bear’s, to her. She was growing tired of waitressing and found she had a talent for management. While he only wished good things for Diane, he didn’t want to lose her at The Pits. In his heart of hearts, he knew he would sell to her. He was just putting it off until he could find someone who could fill her shoes at The Pits. “Can you come now?” Dobey asked.

Containing his own heavy sigh, Starsky answered simply, “On my way.”

“And park that striped tomato in back; I don’t want to advertise our meeting.”

“‘kay.” He dragged himself out of bed, grabbed his gun, wallet, shield, jacket and keys, and headed over to Huggy Bear’s. Dobey asking for help, involved in gambling again? What next?

Hutch received a call a few minutes after Starsky. The conversation ran the same at both ends, other than a request that they meet in about twenty minutes instead of immediately. There was also an odd request that he park out front because Huggy was having a problem getting the lock changed on the back door and the locksmith wouldn’t be able to fix it till morning.

Hutch argued briefly with Dobey, suggesting The Pits as a better place to meet. Hutch hadn’t been back to Huggy Bear’s since it re-opened; he was avoiding some ghosts that still lingered there. But Dobey was insistent, and Hutch was too weary to explain his reluctance or to argue any more. Besides, he was certain the meeting would be brief and Dobey was looking to keep the meet quiet. There were definitely fewer customers at Huggy Bear’s, as word hadn’t spread very far yet that the place had re-opened. Resignedly, Hutch collected his gun, wallet, shield, jacket and keys and headed for Huggy Bear’s.

When Hutch got to the bar, he parked out front, as requested. He spotted Dobey’s car in front, as well, and quickly entered. Not seeing Dobey at the bar, he approached Huggy, who was tending to the few customers that were there. It was a very light night at Huggy Bear’s, with just one couple at one of the tables, three men at the bar and one young man using the recently re-installed pinball machine. After serving four drinks to the group of men, Huggy moved toward the middle of the bar, and Hutch met him there. “Dobey’s upstairs,” Huggy said. “You can use the room up there for as long as you need to.” Something about Huggy bothered Hutch, but he couldn’t pin it down. He seemed somewhat uncomfortable, which was rare for him. He would have dwelled on it a bit longer, but didn’t want to keep Dobey waiting, and he had his own discomfort to deal, just climbing those stairs.

“Thanks, Hug.” Hutch turned to go up the stairs, but stopped momentarily when Huggy called out to him with an afterthought.

“Hey, Hutch. He won’t say it, but he’s hurtin’. I think you’re the only one that can fix this.”

Hutch looked at him strangely, “I’ll do my best.”

“I’m countin’ on that, my man,” Huggy said, then turned back to the bar to wipe down an area that already looked clean to Hutch.

Hutch trudged up the stairs, weary from the day, and wondering how Dobey could have gotten himself involved in gambling again. He’d seemingly beaten that demon years ago. Perhaps no one ever escapes their demons for good. Opening the door at the top of the stairs, he could see Dobey just past the entrance facing the far corner of the room, looking straight ahead, perhaps deep in thought. He was perspiring heavily. As he stepped into the room, the first thing he noticed was that Huggy had thoughtfully set a full pot of coffee in the room for them, along with a large bowl containing sugar packets. No creamer was in sight. The hair at the back of Hutch’s neck began to rise.

“Glad you’re here,” Dobey said.

“How can I help, Cap?” As Hutch approached Dobey, he saw movement from the corner of his eye, and whirled toward the unexpected motion, his hand reaching for his gun.

“Are you gonna shoot me now?” Starsky snarled, standing his ground.

Hutch turned back to Dobey. “Cap, I thought I was the only one that could help you,” he said, his anger rising. “Wh- What’s he doing here?” he stuttered.

Huggy appeared in the doorway just as Hutch realized he’d been set up. Starsky had figured it out as soon as he heard Hutch’s voice from the stairwell, and had been glaring silently at Dobey ever since, causing the man no small amount of discomfort. Figuring it out didn’t mean that he’d be staying.

Dobey addressed both of his boys, though he had to keep turning from one to the other because they were at opposite corners. His voice carried well enough that the turning wasn’t really necessary. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I won’t stand for it! Your antics are out of control, and you are going to stay in this room until you’ve got it straightened out.”

Hutch was speechless. Before he could bolt to the door, Starsky did. Keeping his distance, Hutch held back. “I’m outta here,” Starsky said, trying to push past a surprisingly unmovable Huggy. He began to make headway, when he felt thick arms grab him around the waist from behind. He found himself lifted off his feet and whirled around to be dumped unceremoniously back into the room. He was stunned that Dobey had the power to lift him like that.

Sweating even more heavily, Dobey said, “Don’t make me have to do that again, son.”

It was Starsky that was now speechless. Hutch took the opportunity to make his move. Taking long strides past Dobey and Starsky, he made his way out the door only to run into Huggy. “Runnin’ ain’t the answer,” he said to Hutch.

Ignoring the comment, he tried to duck around Huggy, but Huggy anticipated the move and blocked him. Hutch quickly ducked the other way, only to be anticipated and blocked again. Fed up, he swung at Huggy, but again his reflexes were slower than the leaner man, and his punch didn’t connect. Huggy’s, however, did, landing squarely on Hutch’s jaw. Hutch fell back a step, but it was Huggy who was grimacing in pain, cradling his right arm with his left hand, slowly flexing his right hand open and closed to try to relieve the pain. Shocked more than injured by Huggy’s punch, Hutch hesitated a second too long to make his way around the temporarily incapacitated Huggy. Just about to make a break for it, he felt his collar grabbed roughly from behind, a fistful of his hair grasped, as well. He was thrust back into the room, and struggled to stay on his feet as Dobey suddenly released his hold.

“You boys are going to stay in this room until you get this straightened out. Whatever the hell this is.” Dobey blocked the door as he bellowed at them.

“Cap’n, this is between me and Hutch and we’re done talkin’ about it.” Starsky said. “Now let us outta here.”

“Over my dead body!” Dobey said. The sweat was running down his face now, and he was gasping for air. “This is over when I say it’s over!”

More worried about Dobey than themselves, Starsky and Hutch both backed down, at least for the moment. The man was going to have a heart attack if he didn’t settle down. “Calm down, Cap,” Hutch said. Huggy cast a worried glance at both of the younger men, in turn.

Shrugging off their concern, Dobey turned and walked out the door. “I’m standing right here till this is over. I don’t care how long it takes.” The door slammed shut and there was a soft thud as Dobey leaned back into the door. Through the door, Starsky and Hutch heard Dobey continue, “Well, don’t just stand there gawking, Huggy, get me a chair so I don’t have to stand here all night.” They heard footsteps descending the stairs, followed by Dobey’s call of, “Any chance you could rustle up a sandwich while you’re down there?”

Alone together in the room, Starsky and Hutch initially ignored each other.

“Once Dobey eats, I’m sure he’ll settle down and we’ll be able to get out of here,” Hutch said, staring at the door rather than his partner.

Starsky just fumed and paced. Hutch was too tired to pace, and leaned against the nearest wall wearily. Enough time went by that Dobey got his chair and a sandwich and grumbled a “thanks” to Huggy, who paused before heading back down the stairs. Though he tried to be quiet, Starsky and Hutch still heard him ask, “Ya think we oughtta relieve them of their guns?” Dobey answered with a mumbled growl of sorts, dismissing the idea. Huggy reluctantly headed back down to the bar.

At least ten more minutes passed with Starsky’s pacing providing the only sound in the room. Suddenly he stopped and turned to face Hutch. They were again at opposite corners of the room. “Why?” said Starsky.

“Kira?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Starsk, does it matter anymore?” Hutch paused, then added, “Some things can’t be fixed.” His shoulders slumped, his hair fell in his eyes, and he looked far older than he ever had.

“Maybe not, but I still deserve an answer.” When Hutch refused to answer, staring at the floor instead, Starsky took a few steps toward Hutch then stopped, “Hutch, why?” he pleaded.

With great effort Hutch lifted his head to face Starsky. He saw not just the hurt there, but the sadness one usually only saw in small children when something cherished was broken, a beloved teddy bear, a favorite toy. It was fitting, though, since something once cherished had been broken. How did it all go so wrong? He couldn’t make sense of it himself, how could he explain it to Starsky. “I dunno,” he answered dully.

Starsky wanted to punch him, and if Hutch had been argumentative or even pissy, he would have, but this sad, resigned figure only drew pity and frustration from his partner. “Why?!” he persisted, stepping closer to Hutch, now within striking distance.

He returned his gaze to the floor, ashamed, but trying to answer. He deserved that, at least. Why couldn’t he even give that?

Anger and demanding hadn’t worked, so he returned to pleading. Reaching out to Hutch with the intent of lifting his chin gently so he wouldn’t be able to avoid Starsky’s eyes, he was startled when Hutch flinched at the sight of Starsky’s hand approaching his face. Hutch involuntarily stepped back. Surprised, then not, all things considered, Starsky matched his step and reached again for Hutch’s face. He didn’t flinch this time, as Starsky gently put his hand under his chin and tipped his head up to look right at him. “Why?” he said softly.

God, this was killing him. Why wouldn’t he stop looking at him? The truth bubbled up, as it always did. “I wanted to hurt you,” he said, roughly pushing Starsky’s hand away and turning his face away from his unrelenting glare.

“Again, no shit, Sherlock, but why? What did I do?”

“Nothing . . . everything . . . I-I c-can’t figure it out myself. How can I explain it to you?” Hutch was backed nearly to the wall, and took an unsteady step backwards until he made contact with the wall. He leaned into it and hung his head.

Starsky turned away, frustrated, and repeated his pacing. He checked his pockets for candy and came up empty. He wouldn’t have been able to eat it anyway.

Hutch muttered, more to himself than Starsky, “I can’t do this.” He turned and shuffled to the door. He leaned in close and spoke to the closed door. “Cap? It’s all straightened out, you can let us out now. Really.” He did his best to be convincing.

They both heard the chair scraping and thought briefly that they could end this. When the door opened a crack, he was surprised to see both Dobey and Huggy peering in. In unison, they took one look at Hutch, then at Starsky, then at each other, and with clearly mutual agreement, Dobey silently reached for the door knob and pulled the door shut so fiercely that it rattled the thin walls. In the deafening silence that followed, they heard the chair being slid back into place and heard the chair creak as Dobey sat back down.

“Take the bed, you can rest your back,” Starsky suggested after they both realized they weren’t getting out of this room anytime soon. He could see from Hutch’s awkward posture that he was having another bout of back pain.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Hutch snarked back.

Starsky raised his eyebrows and said, “Fine,” before plopping onto the bed and stretching out, claiming it as his.

Hutch rubbed his back absently and settled himself in the one padded chair in the room, taking the time to turn it away from the bed a bit before sitting down. He slid forward in the chair and stretched his legs out straight in front of him, in an effort to almost lie in the chair. The chair did not accommodate his lanky form well, and he tried to adjust his position to get some level of comfort. As the pain in his back flared, he momentarily regretted refusing Starsky’s offer. Somehow, though, the pain felt right. Earned.

Though both closed their eyes for a moment, neither could sleep. Anger, depression and fear gripped both of them, robbing them of any chance to truly rest. They realized Dobey was right. They needed to settle this somehow, come to some sort of understanding. After all they had been through together, Dobey couldn’t understand how it could have come to this. Of course, they didn’t understand it either. Especially Starsky.

Finally breaking the silence, Hutch offered. “I’ll take care of this with Dobey. I’ll just tell him we can’t work it out right now.”

“And?”

Hutch hesitated. For once, he didn’t know what Starsky wanted. “And what?”

“And, what, we go to work tomorrow and team up? Get in the car, and get to work?”

“Uh, no, uh,” Hutch stammered. He knew where it was headed. He knew it was inevitable. He wanted not to care, he was just so tired. Though he had been subconsciously steering their relationship to this point for some time, his heart raced and suddenly he wished he could undo the recent past. His eyes met with Starsky’s and while his mind knew what was coming next, his heart screamed Please don’t say it. If it wasn’t said, maybe they could still find a way to turn this around.

Usually they were so in each other’s heads that Starsky would have been able to read his thought, or at least his intention, just from the look that Hutch was giving him, but the connection wasn’t there this time. Starsky’s eyes were cold and though Hutch was looking directly into them, somehow they weren’t truly looking back. Hutch felt like he was looking into a copy of Starsky, an “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” version of him, one that he had somehow had a part in creating.

Despite what was in Hutch’s heart and the deep look he both intended and didn’t, the Starsky clone wouldn’t be stopped. With little to no emotion, the words spilled out. “We agree, new partners then?”

As expected as it was, and as much as he’d done to get to this point, the coldness of the statement caused Hutch’s heart to freeze for a moment. He gazed at the floor, unable to look at Starsky, and forced himself to start breathing again. He wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come. Something inside had just shut down and the only thing he could feel at the moment was deep seated, utterly complete resignation. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled. After a brief pause, he added a noncommittal, “I guess,” but immediately regretted it.

“I guess? I guess?!” Starsky’s temper flared again, instantly switching from cold to hot.  “I mean, how’m I supposed to work with someone I can’t trust, huh? Someone I don’t even know anymore!”

Though Starsky had turned away, Hutch was sure he saw a tear fall from his face. Hutch was helpless to stop it. He felt helpless about a lot of things lately. “You’re right, Starsk. I’ll tell him.”  He walked to the door, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knocked softly. The chair slid, the door opened a crack, and Dobey looked at him suspiciously. Hutch tried his best to explain their decision, leaving Kira out of it, blaming irreconcilable differences, the exact reason listed on the divorce papers Van had served to him. Starsky approached so he could see Dobey, but kept a few feet away from Hutch. The tension between them was palpable.

When Hutch stopped talking, Dobey was silent for a moment. “No,” he finally said flatly. “This is my precinct and I’m the one who decides who’s partnering with whom!” Seeing their shocked expressions, he softened. The next words obviously came hard to him and his eyes filled with unreleased tears. “When you have a partner that means something to you, you don’t just throw that away. You don’t give up, ever. Even if . . . ,” he choked on the words he intended to say and didn’t finish the thought aloud. He regrouped and continued, “You just don’t give up on them.” Huggy suddenly appeared halfway up the stairs, his attention drawn by all the yelling. He looked on silently as Dobey continued.

A bit of his usual bluster returned as he added, “No matter how hard it is!” His voice softened again and he looked deeply at each of them, in turn. Shaking his finger at them for emphasis, in near-Hutchinson style, he said, “You boys don’t know what you’ve got and you don’t give it the respect it deserves.”

Starsky asked, “Cap’n, what do you want from us?”

Looking at Starsky, he couldn’t help but see the same expression he’d seen in his own son’s face, when he’d gone astray and needed to be reprimanded. Looking more like a father than a captain, he sternly answered, “You know what I want, now get to it. And no excuses. None of this ‘irreconcilable differences’ crap!” This time he closed the door firmly, but gently. Before the door closed, Starsky and Hutch both caught a glimpse of Huggy shaking his head sadly before he turned and walked back down the stairs. Apparently, this whole situation was hard on all of them. Until now, neither Starsky nor Hutch had considered the impact their rift would have on those around them.

For a while, they remained silent, properly chastised by their captain. They each knew quite well how close Dobey had been to his own partner, Elmo Jackson, who’d been killed on the job. Though he spent years after the murder frustrated by the lack of enough evidence to make an arrest, Dobey had never given up on the case. Starsky and Hutch, in fact, had helped to bring the man responsible for his death to justice, bringing some closure to the matter. Dobey had stayed in touch with his partner’s widow, checking on the family periodically and personally giving her the news when they had finally arrested Stryker. Neither Starsky nor Hutch knew, however, that today was the anniversary of Jackson’s murder, and neither knew how hard this day was every year for Dobey. It was not the day to piss him off.

A few minutes later, the chair outside the door slid, and the door opened about a foot. Huggy slipped two plates containing sandwiches and chips through the door onto the floor, in the same way one might slip a bowl of food into a tiger’s cage. “Fortifications, gentlemen. And I use that term loosely.” After a slight pause, two already opened bottles of beer were placed near the plates, but no additional comments were made. The door was closed, and the chair slid back.

Both men looked at the sandwiches, then almost tapped heads as they each ignored the food and grabbed a beer instead. Starsky initially headed back toward the bed, then abruptly changed direction and plunked in the chair Hutch had been using. Hutch reluctantly took a spot on the bed, kicking his shoes off as he sat down.

Starsky echoed the move, kicking off his own shoes and they each took a sip of their beer, Starsky somewhat reluctantly, Hutch less so.

Hutch shivered. He was tired, hadn’t eaten in hours, and it was a chilly night for southern California. He reached absently for the blanket and pulled it up a bit only to immediately discard it when it reminded him of another time he’d been in this room with Starsky, shivering under a blanket. It was one of the most difficult nights of his life, another betrayal, only that time it was Jeannie he’d betrayed. Starsky had stuck loyally behind him then, excusing the betrayal on the heroin. Hutch shuddered at the memory and at the thought passing through his mind briefly that he would rather be back there, that night of all nights, than here. This hurt so much more. If he’d seen this coming back then, he wouldn’t have had the will to survive that night. Was it just three years ago? It seemed like a lifetime. Perhaps it would have been for the best if he had given up that night. He chugged more of his beer, nearly emptying it.

He realized Starsky was looking at him, his expression strangely unreadable. When Hutch met his gaze, his eyes lingered for a brief moment before looking away. “You’re tired, Hutch, just pull up the blanket and get some sleep, huh? Sooner or later Dobey is gonna have to let us out of here. Even if he don’t like it.”

Hutch stood suddenly, throwing his beer bottle across the room with full force, denting the wall and shattering upon impact, spewing glass and the small amount of remaining beer on the wall and floor. Hutch exploded, as well, and it was now his turn to pace. “For God’s sake, Starsky, what does it take? Stop being nice to me. Stop trying to figure this out. There’s no mystery to solve here. I’m a fucking asshole, just leave it at that.”

Shrugging, but not riled up by the outburst, Starsky answered, “Well, that much is certain, but I always knew that. I never held that against you. Listen, Hutchinson, you can bitch and moan all you want, and you never have to talk to me again after tonight, but you’re not leaving this room until you tell me why the hell you were so bent on hurting me! I always knew that you could. Hell, we’ve done more than a few things over the years to hurt each other. But this was different, and I just need to know why. So we’re back to it again. Why?!”

“I don’t know why!” He paused, then said, “I know it wasn’t really Kira.”

Outside the room Dobey and Huggy were having a little conference. Huggy was concerned with the loud crash and thought that perhaps it was time to intervene. Dobey looked at him as though he were mad. “Now? When they’re just starting to make some progress? No way.” After a pause, he added, “Uh, any chance I could get another sandwich?” When he saw Huggy’s shocked expression, he said, “What? I missed Edith’s dinner tonight.” When Huggy’s expression didn’t change, Dobey said, “It was pot roast.” Huggy’s face was still frozen in disbelief. “My favorite,” said Dobey.

At that, Huggy said, “Oh, your favorite,” as though that made all the difference. He headed down to the kitchen to whip up a few sandwiches and grab a few more beers.

“I know that, too,” Starsky answered. “It was all you. Kira was just the tool you used. But, why?”

Still pacing, which Starsky took as a good sign, Hutch insisted, “I keep telling you, I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I don’t know!” Perhaps if he kept moving, it would finally come to him. Starsky thought he knew what had driven Hutch to his behavior, but he also knew that Hutch had to get there. Had to see it and had to admit it. They were both so tired, but maybe that would help.

They both stopped talking, catching their breath. Starsky went over to the broken beer bottle and, grabbing the small garbage basket from the bathroom, started to pick up the pieces carefully and deposit them in the garbage. Hutch, still pacing, finally noticed what he was doing and said, “I’ll get that.”

Hutch started brushing the pieces up from the floor with his hands using a larger piece of broken glass as a shovel. Working too fast, within seconds he had jammed a piece into his index finger. Immediately pulling it out, it bled more than expected.

Automatically, Starsky headed to the bathroom to get some tissue or a bandage of some sort.

“I’ve got it,” Hutch said, roughly pushing past him and grabbing a wad of toilet paper to try to stem the bleeding. As he pushed on the wound, he realized he had not removed all the glass, as he felt a sliver sink deeper from the pressure. “Dammit,” he said.

It took great effort for Starsky to hold his ground in the other room and to not help Hutch. It was his job to tend to Hutch’s bleeding and it wasn’t an impulse he could just turn off. He stopped himself from offering help, and stopped himself from just walking right into the bathroom at least five times during the few minutes Hutch was in there. He did go briefly to the door where Dobey sat vigil and made a request. A moment later, a dust pan and whisk broom were silently passed through to him.

Hutch emerged with a wad of toilet paper on his finger and a Band-Aid struggling to hold it there. It was already half soaked with blood.

Starsky looked at it, and stopped himself from asking Hutch if it was going to need stitches, even though he thought it might.

Hutch returned to the broken glass and continued to scoop it up, this time using an empty toilet paper roll to scoop up the bits of glass.  Starsky reached down and silently started scooping up some of the further bits of glass using the broom and dust pan.

“Starsky, stop, I’ve got it.” Hutch said.

Starsky ignored him and, moving closer to Hutch, scooped some more, bumping Hutch’s right hip slightly in the process. Hutch tensed but said nothing. Starsky went around to the other side of Hutch and scooped some more bits of glass, again bumping Hutch briefly, this time the left shoulder. Brushing a few bits of glass from the wall down to the floor, he again made contact with Hutch, his elbow brushing down the back of his head as he lowered his hand. It was too much for the already bristling Hutch.

Standing and turning on him, Hutch hauled back and hit him low in the chest, punching hard with his uninjured right hand. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he yelled. Finally, thought Starsky. Unfortunately, Hutch had caught him in just the right spot to knock the wind out of him. As Starsky struggled to catch his breath, his face getting redder by the second, Hutch realized he wasn’t getting any air and panicked. Starsky started to sink and Hutch automatically reached to steady him, not sure of what he could do to help him start breathing. After a few seconds, Starsky suddenly gasped and, clutching his chest, managed to take a deep breath. Answering Hutch’s rhetorical question, Starsky sputtered out, “Nothing . . . everything . . . ” echoing Hutch’s words from earlier. “Maybe . . . we could . . . talk about . . . me . . . later.”

Hutch released Starsky when he realized his breathing had returned to normal, then stepped back, leaning into the wall not far from the dent. He was horrified and Starsky could see that he was well past his emotional limit. “I just . . . keep . . . hurting you.” His face contorted in anguish and the tears, finally, started to flow. He slid down the wall, put his arms around his knees, and buried his head in his arms. Starsky sat next to him, brushing some bits of broken glass away carefully before sitting. He didn’t hesitate before putting an arm around Hutch’s shoulders and pulling him close. He was both relieved and worried that Hutch didn’t pull away from the contact. Was he giving up, with no strength to protest, or was he truly allowing himself to take comfort in Starsky’s touch?

“Aw, Hutch, let it out,” Starsky soothed.

Unable to contain the tumult of emotions, his tears turned to sobs and his whole body shook. “I’m sorry, Starsk, I’m so sorry,” Hutch said, between sobs. He was wracked with guilt, and was finally releasing some of his anguish.

“Shhh. Apology accepted. Let it go.” After a few minutes, the sobs let up, but the tears continued to flow silently. “Hey, it’s okay,” Starsky said. “It’s really okay. Shhhh.” He removed his hand from Hutch’s shoulder and began rubbing his back, trying to calm him. Hutch again leaned into him, and Starsky put his arm back on his shoulder, pulling him close. “S’okay, babe.”

“How? How is it okay?” Hutch asked, still leaning in to Starsky, unwilling or unable to break contact, but unable to meet his partner’s eyes.

“It just is.”

“Why?”

“Why? That’s what I’ve been asking all night.”

“And I still can’t answer you.”

“I think you can, you just don’t know it yet. But it’s still okay.”

“How can it be okay, Starsk?”

“You really don’t know?”

Hutch finally looked up at him, face beet red and wet with tears, hair matted, and shook his head. “No. After what I’ve done, how could it ever be okay again?” Light blue eyes held deep blue eyes, desperate for an answer.

“Because it’s me and thee, dummy.”

“I don’t understand.” Hutch shook his head slowly, truly confused.

Starsky released Hutch and pulled away slightly. Both took a deep breath and pressed their backs against the wall, resting their forearms on their knees, subconsciously mirroring each other. Starsky turned to face Hutch, who met his gaze. Starsky was unflinching, and he would have bored right into his brain if he knew how. “You don’t understand because you make everything so damned complicated. You analyze everything to death when sometimes things are just simple. Starsky and Hutch. Me and thee. Partners. Even Starchy and Hupp. Don’t matter. We’re family, and nothing can change that.” He could see that Hutch was listening and wanted to believe, but wasn’t quite buying it. “Ya know, for a college boy, you’re pretty dumb. Can’t see the forest for the trees.”

“Starsk, I betrayed you. I hurt you. I . . . ” he turned his head in shame, unable to finish while looking directly at him. “I not only hurt you, I felt good about hurting you. How sick is that?” His self loathing was evident and hurt Starsky in a different way, almost more than the betrayal.

They were still next to each other on the floor, leaning into the wall, each looking straight ahead. The intensity of the conversation had overwhelming them both. “Hutch, I can forgive all that. It doesn’t matter.” He paused, then continued, turning to face Hutch with a lopsided, almost relaxed, smile. “Course, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna just accept you treating me like crap, we still need to straighten that out. But that’s not gonna change until you tell me why. I need to know why, but more importantly, you need to know why.”

Frustrated, Hutch answered, “I keep telling you, I . . . ”

“Shush. Stop talking. Breathe slowly, in and out. Do that meditation thing you tried to show me.”

“But . . .”

“Just shut up for once and breathe . . . just breathe.”

Hutch stopped arguing with him and did as he was told. He couldn’t stop fidgeting though, rocking slightly, tapping his foot, rubbing his hands together, rubbing his forehead, and then staring for a moment at the badly bandaged finger.

“Pace if you must,” offered Starsky.

Continuing obedience, he stood unsteadily and then reached a hand down to Starsky to help him up. As Starsky settled into the padded chair, Hutch paced. During his pacing, Hutch noticed that two fresh beers had appeared at the door, near the untouched sandwiches. He grabbed one and offered it to Starsky. He took it disinterestedly, took a sip, and set it on the floor next to him. Hutch reached for the other open beer and chugged half of it in the first taste.

Starsky let him think for a while and pace, but he quickly could see that Hutch’s frustration level was only rising. He’d have to get in his way “accidentally” again. Crossing the room to set his beer on a table behind where Hutch was pacing, he timed his approach so that Hutch would have to stop short to avoid running into him. A second later, seemingly returning to the chair, he did it again, timing it tighter. This time they collided, Hutch grabbing at Starsky to try to catch his balance, which worked, though he stepped on Starsky’s foot in the process. Starsky winced, but made no sound to indicate how painful it was. Of course, he’d landed on the foot with the tricky ankle. Despite the pain, he forced the foot back to the floor silently. He’d learned over the years that his partner alternated between fluid grace and outright klutziness. Of course, this time, he’d set him up for the collision.

As soon as he was no longer in danger of falling, he started to release Starsky. Instead of allowing the separation, Starsky put a hand on each of Hutch’s upper arms and stared again into his eyes. “Why?” he said softly, but with an intensity Hutch couldn’t ignore.

Hutch, long past his breaking point, roughly shoved Starsky away from him, “God, Starsky, back off! Just leave me alone. Just leave!” Something about the shove and the gesture Starsky gave him in return reminded him of the moment in Kira’s front hall. At Kira’s, Starsky had punched Hutch and Hutch had charged at Starsky, trying to fend him off, but wanting to pull him back. Wanting to somehow apologize or explain the unexplainable. Push and pull, yin and yang, want and don’t want, have and can’t have, trust and don’t trust. It was a painfully awkward dance they found themselves in.

“Why do you want me to leave?!”

“I don’t know!” Hutch insisted. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . . ” The words wouldn’t come. Kira was a means to an end but, for the life of him, Hutch didn’t understand his own actions. When he’d betrayed Starsky by sleeping with Kira, he felt as though he was watching events unfold from a distance, as though he were watching some alternate reality version of himself. He could never do that to Starsky. Yet he did. He wanted to hurt him and did. He’d enjoyed it even though he’d also immediately regretted it with a shame as deep as any his father had been able to inspire in him. Always falling short of expectations.

“Why?” Starsky insisted again. He had already moved uncomfortably close to Hutch, and now he leaned in even closer. “Huh?” He was pushing almost every button he could.

Hutch took a step back and began talking without thinking, exactly as Starsky had been hoping he would. Hutch’s thoughts finally tumbled out. “Because I want to you leave. I want you to hate me. I just want you out of my life. I can’t take it anymore! I hate . . . this . . . I hate . . . us!” He seemed surprised by his own words.

He’d wanted to hear it, needed to hear it, needed Hutch to say it, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. In his heart of hearts, he hoped Hutch had some other explanation, some other reason for betraying him, something that would make sense. Starsky had played it over and over in his mind, and had been unable to come up with any explanation that wasn’t painful. The only reason he could be so intentionally cruel would be to push Starsky away. Hutch’s words hung in the thick air, and it was Starsky’s turn to be overwhelmed. Now that the words he’d expected were out, he headed to the door, hell bent on getting out. He wasn’t the first to reach it though. This time it was Hutch blocking the door. Though Dobey was on the other side of the door, he wouldn’t have been able to stop a determined Starsky from leaving. This was the same door Starsky had blocked repeatedly when Hutch had been going through cold turkey heroin withdrawal. The role reversal escaped neither, though it was still Starsky, despite his hurt, trying to rescue Hutch.

“I didn’t mean . . . I mean that’s not . . . What I meant, uh . . .” Hutch stammered. “I’m so sorry, Starsk. Don’t go,” he begged.

“Go, don’t go. Which is it, buddy?” the words were spoken with a deep seated anger.

“I wanna stop hurting you.”

“Then stop,” Starsky said, pointedly.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it is. You just can’t see it. You’re looking in the wrong direction. You can’t stop hurting me until you decide to stop punishing yourself. The line between us Hutch, sometimes it’s blurred, what’s you, what’s me . . .” he trailed off, hoping Hutch understood him.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, but I can’t stop myself. This anger comes out of me, and it’s aimed at you.”

“Thing is, I can take the direct assault. What I can’t take is how much you’re hurting my best pal. You’re not just hurting him, you’re killing him.”

“It’d be a mercy killing.” He thought again of the night they spent in this room, breaking him free of the hold heroin had on him. After the first night, he’d said, “There’s such a thing as a mercy killing.” It had been said lightly, in jest. Huggy and the two partners had smiled at the comment, as they’d realized that the very worst of it had been over at that point. It was said with dark humor and relief. His comment now was dark and sincere, utterly humor-free.

“You’re killing him. And I can’t stop you,” Starsky said. He knew the only way it would stop is if Hutch chose to stop his relentless self-punishment.

Wearily, no longer blocking Starsky from leaving, Hutch looked around for his beer, not sure where he’d set it. No longer needing to flee, Starsky retrieved his own beer from near the chair he’d been sitting in, and handed it to Hutch, who again drank most of the contents in one tip of the bottle. He ran his uninjured hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. He didn’t know which way to turn, and was feeling a bit unsteady. Certainly the beer, on an empty stomach, wasn’t helping, but sheer exhaustion was the main reason for his lack of balance.

Seeing him sway slightly, Starsky approached him and steered him over to the edge of the bed, setting him down. Hutch, lost in a fog, allowed Starsky’s maneuvering. Once seated, he looked up at Starsky and couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to the bed. He’d never been this lost. Even when he’d lost Gillian, he hadn’t completely lost himself. Starsky had been his anchor then. Now, by pushing Starsky away, he’d finally been able to lose himself, earning exactly what he’d wanted. He wanted out, and at some point had realized subconsciously that he couldn’t do it unless he got rid of Starsky. He’d worked hard at it, bit by bit, and with one grand move with Kira, perhaps he’d finally done it. There was no going back from this. He hung his head, its weight unbearable, and rested his face in his hands. He feared he was getting exactly what he’d worked so hard for.

Starsky kneeled in front of him and while he couldn’t get Hutch to look at him, he wasn’t done. “Hutch, Dobey was almost right when he said you didn’t respect what we had, but it’s worse than that. You don’t respect yourself. You don’t see your value. You could never be so cruel to me if you hadn’t already done worse to yourself. You beat yourself up, all the time. You’re never good enough for you.”

Hutch moved his hands to his knees and turned to look at him. “Starsky, I’ve given up so much for the job. You’ve given up so much. I’m not even sure who I am any more. Think of all the sacrifices we’ve made. My God, Terry . . . everything else . . . everyone else. And it’s all been for nothing. We’ve accomplished nothing.”

“How can you say that? We’ve done a lot of good.” Starsky stood and began pacing again.

“We thought we did. I think you’re just blissfully unaware of the big picture. We’re nothing but pawns, accomplishing nothing.”

Hutch’s comments stopped him in his tracks. “God, Hutch. You can be such an arrogant bastard. Maybe we have been pawns, at times, but that doesn’t mean we never accomplished anything. You talk about the big picture, but you don’t see all the little pictures — all the little things that matter.”

“Like what?”

“All the cases we’ve solved. All the criminals that are behind bars because of us. Ya want names? Henderson, Stryker, Danner, Amboy, Marcus, Solkin, Matwick. Ya want me to go on?” Not pausing for a response, he continued, “And what about all the people we’ve helped along the way? How do you not see it? Sure, sometimes the politics get in the way. Sometimes it don’t end the way we want it to end, but sometimes we get it right and we help people.” Seeing lack of comprehension in his partner’s eyes, he knew he wasn’t getting through. How could he make it clear to Hutch? “It’s like the starfish on the beach.”

“The starfish?” Dear God, where was he going with this? He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Ya know, the starfish dying on the beach?”

Hutch shook his head and raised his eyebrows indicating his confusion.

Realizing Hutch was not familiar with the tale, he launched into it. “Okay, so, two guys are walking on the beach. There’s hundreds, no, thousands of starfish washed up on shore, and they’re all going to die, because the tide’s already gone out and they have no way to get back to the water. So the one guy reaches down and starts throwing starfish back into the water, one at a time, as they walk. The other guy says, ‘What’re you doin’? There are thousands of starfish on this beach. You can’t possibly make a difference.’ The other guy tosses another starfish back into the ocean, and says, ‘It made a difference for that one.'”

Hutch looked at him blankly and blinked.

“Hutch, don’t ya get it? Sometimes you can’t save ’em all, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying. Sometimes all you can do is save a few. Isn’t that enough?”

“But the rest still die.”

“But that’s out of your control. You can only do what you can do. You can’t accept the burden for everything and everyone. You can’t save everyone. Buddy, you put the burden of the world on your shoulders.”

“Not the whole world.”

“No? Well, all of southern California then. That’s too big of a burden for one man or even two men. It’s too much to ask.”

Hutch downed the rest of his beer, but said nothing.

“Hutch, I know you don’t really see it right now, but you’ve done a lot of good over the years, even though you haven’t lived up to the impossible standards you’ve set for yourself. You don’t see your own worth. I think you might need help to see that. But until you get help, or see it for yourself, can’t you just trust me and believe what I’m tellin’ ya? Stop pushing me away, ’cause that’ll never work.”

Hutch smiled, ever so slightly, and set his empty bottle on the floor. He fell back on the bed, covering his eyes with one arm. “You’re relentless, Starsk.”

Starsky stood, looking down at his partner. “One of my many charms.”

“You’re right, Starsk. I do need help. I hear you, but I just can’t believe you.”

“I know. But you can just give up, like you’ve been trying . . . badly, I might add . . . to do, or you can do something about it.”

Hutch sat back up, and motioned for Starsky to sit next to him on the bed, which he did. “So help me, where do I go from here?”

“Well, let’s put things in order. Let’s finish this thing with Kira.”

Hutch confessed, “She called me tonight, just before Dobey did. She wants to meet me here, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” asked Starsky, shaking his head. He explained that he had received the same invitation, for the same time. They shook their heads at each other. That Kira was certainly a piece of work.

“Hutch, this thing with Kira, it’s mostly us, but I feel like she’s,” Starsky paused, not sure what words to use.

“Playing with us,” Hutch finished. Starsky raised his eyebrows, then nodded.

“If you agree, I have an idea. One last stand, me and thee. Why don’t I explain it to you as I re-bandage that finger? If that thing heals badly, you’ll never be able to point it at people again.”

Hutch looked at the finger and disintegrating bandage as though he’d never seen it. He allowed himself to be led to the bathroom, where Starsky outlined his plan for dealing with Kira and proceeded to wash the wound. Hutch chuckled at, and then agreed to, Starsky’s plan.

“Starsk, I think there’s still a sliver of glass in there.”

Starsky held Hutch’s finger up to the light, turning it back and forth until he caught a glimpse of reflection on the glass splinter. Grabbing tweezers from the medicine cabinet, he deftly removed the sliver and re-bandaged the finger. “Better?”

“Getting there. Hey, Starsk?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I have some glass slivers in my ass from sitting on that broken glass.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?”

“No.” Hutch turned and presented his jean covered back end to Starsky. “See anything?”

“Uh, no, but I’m guessing anything that’s hurting you worked its way in through the jeans.”

“Do you want to . . . ?” Hutch asked.

“No, I do not. One thing I learned about glass splinters over the years is that they will work their way out by themselves given enough time. I think that’s the best approach to take here.” He paused for a moment, re-bandaging Hutch’s finger, thinking it probably didn’t need stitches, after all. “So, we have a plan for Kira, your finger’s better, your butt can wait. We need to talk to Dobey and Huggy and then we can each go home and get some rest.”

“And what do we tell Dobey?”

“We tell him that we’ve worked it out and we can work together again. The fighting is over. Hey, I know we both have a ways to go, but I’d still like to be your partner, if you’ll have me.”

“I don’t want any other partner, Starsk, but I don’t think I can do this much longer.”

“How about you give it a little time, get your head together, and then decide whether or not you want to leave the force.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“If I leave, what about you?”

“I’ll make my own decision.”

Hutch sighed. He was holding back again.

“What is it with you, huh? You can tell me anything. You know that. So why is it so hard for you? What is it?” Starsky asked.

Could he really tell him everything? Before he could talk himself out of the confession, he spit it out, knowing he would never be able to unsay it. “The ocean. When we threw in our badges.”

“Yeah?”

Be a man, Hutchinson. Tell him. It’s too late to stop now. Tread softly, but be honest. “I . . . I d-didn’t want you to throw your badge in, too.” He saw the puzzled and again hurt expression on his partner’s face, but since tonight was a night for whys, he took a deep breath and continued. “It-it’s not that I didn’t appreciate the gesture. You’ve always got my back. But, you, leaving the force because of me? I didn’t want that burden on me, too. That I dragged you away from something you loved. I didn’t want to be like Van, asking you to choose between me and the job.”

Vanessa. Dead now, but still causing Hutch pain and doubt. “Hutch, you never asked me to choose. I made that decision on my own.”

“But you’re so damn loyal. For months I’d wanted to walk away, but knew you’d follow me if I left. I didn’t want to do that to you.”

There was a lot of truth in what Hutch said, but Starsky didn’t like the implication that he couldn’t make decisions for himself. “First of all, when I threw in my badge it wasn’t entirely because of you. At that point, I was just done with it. Second . . . Hutch, you may be the best partner I’ve ever had, but you’re not the only partner I’ve ever had. I could keep doing this without you, ya know.” As he said the words aloud, he left off how the thought ended in his head. But I wouldn’t want to. He already knew that if Hutch left the force again, he would, too. He had the ability to work with other partners, and had on rare occasion, when Hutch had been recovering from various injuries over the years, but he knew his heart would no longer be in it. He glanced at Hutch, hoping that this time his thoughts were not transparent to him, but could see the answer in his face as clearly as if he’d said it aloud.

I know, buddy. I wouldn’t want to do this without you, either.

But sometimes things needed to be said, to be put out on the table, even if they weren’t 100% heartfelt. The offer had to be made, and would need to be backed up if it came to that. Starsky continued the verbal part of their conversation. “And that would be my decision, not yours. Again, you’re taking on a burden that’s not yours to carry. You just need to make the decision that’s right for you, and I’ll decide what’s right for me.”

“Fair enough,” Hutch finally acquiesced. Could it be that simple? As close as they were, it wasn’t his job to make decisions for Starsky or to second guess him.

“Besides,” Starsky continued, “When we rejoined the force . . .”  He suddenly trailed off, his mind going faster than his words. He’d lost his original train of thought when a new thought entered his head. Why did Hutch rejoin the force? If he really wanted out . . . His eyes widened with sudden realization. “Oh my God,” Starsky exclaimed, “You didn’t want to come back. You only came back . . . because of me.” He looked at Hutch accusingly, hoping for, but not expecting, a denial.

Hutch lowered his head, but not before Starsky saw confirmation in his eyes.

Oh, buddy. “Why the hell didn’t you just tell me?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I could see how much you wanted to come back and somehow you just didn’t seem to see how much I didn’t want to.”

“I saw it, but thought it was one of your passing moods. Ya know, sometimes you just need to bitch a little, vent your emotions. I thought that, deep down, you were still committed to the job.” He paused. “We know each other so well, I thought I knew . . . God, Hutch, I shoulda asked.”

“If you had, I would have answered exactly how you expected me to. I never want to let you down.”

“But at what cost? You have to think of yourself. Just be honest with me.”

“Starsk, I’m just so used to covering you, I couldn’t imagine someone else having that job. That was important to me. You wanted to go back, I wanted to be there for you.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully, “Hell, who am I kidding? I thought maybe it would be like it used to be, that I’d get over my ‘mood’ as you put it. There was a part of me that didn’t want to walk away from the job.”

After a short pause, Starsky said, “Well, ain’t this a fine kettle of fish.” After a longer pause, Starsky asked, “Hutch, tell me somethin’.”

“What?”

“All those years ago, when you joined the Academy, were you just trying to piss off your Dad and Van or did you honestly want to be a cop?” He thought he knew the answer, but lately he’d had a lot of surprises from his partner.

“I went into police work because I honestly felt drawn to it. God knows my life would have been easier if I’d just stuck to law school or medical school and followed the path my father had laid out for me, but it was a . . . a calling almost . . . that I just couldn’t ignore. Then, when I became a cop, I just fell in love with the job. I was young and naïve, and thought I was making a difference. Then we partnered up and, well, it was fun . . . damn fun.” He smiled at the memory of their early years together. After a thoughtful pause, he continued soberly, “But it hasn’t been fun for a long time.”

“No, it hasn’t.” He wasn’t sure when it had changed, but it had changed for Starsky, as well. The cost seemed to outweigh the benefit more often than not. He had rejoined the force because he wasn’t yet ready to give up the fight and thought Hutch felt the same way. “So, maybe you need to get out, before the job takes too much from you.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Can you do something for me?”

“‘Course.”

“Can you just give it some time?”

“How will time change anything?”

“The whole thing with Lionel . . . I don’t know about you, but I’m still . . . I dunno . . . grieving? Struggling? Sometimes sorting stuff out in your head takes time, ya know?”

“I do,” Hutch said. Starsky seemed to be waiting for his input. “So,” Hutch continued, “I’m okay with that. Give it some time. I can do that.”

Starsky nodded. “But you tell me what you’re thinkin’. Ya don’t keep it locked up in that blond head of yours, twistin’ around and makin’ you crazy. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“And you do what you need to do, and I’ll back your decision, and I’ll do what I need to do.”

“And I’ll back your decision.”

“So, now that we’ve got that sorted out, let’s talk to Dobey and Huggy so we can get out of here.”

Hutch eyed the two sandwiches, still near the door. “Let’s eat while we talk.” He poured two cups of coffee, adding three sugars to the one for Starsky, while Starsky picked up the two plates and set them next to the cups.

As they approached the door together, they could hear asynchronous snoring. One was a deep, bellowing snore and the other was a higher pitched, nasally snore. They exchanged glances before Hutch reached for the door, opening it slowly. The chair Dobey had been sitting in earlier was pushed to the side. Dobey and Huggy were sitting on the floor next to each other, their backs pressed up against the door for support. Their heads were touching as they both snored, sound asleep.

Starsky smiled at the sight. “Now that’s adorable,” he whispered.

Hutch’s initial impulse had been to pull the door suddenly, which would have caused them to drop. He was glad he had ignored the urge to do so, and smiled down at them. Good friends, these two. He reached down and tapped them both gently. “Hey guys? We’re ready to leave.” They didn’t stir.

Starsky leaned in closer to them. “Hey, Hug? Cap’n?” Waking groggily and realizing they were leaning on each as they dozed, they pulled away awkwardly. Sitting up straight, they both turned to get a look at the partners. Huggy reached up to wipe some drool from the corner of his mouth.

“We’re not sleeping, we’re just resting.” Dobey insisted.

“Cap’n, you were snoring,” Starsky said. “Hug, you were, too.”

“The Bear don’t snore,” Huggy said, frowning. Huggy blinked a few times, stood up, and then reached his hand down to help Captain Dobey up. Stiff from sitting on the floor, he grudgingly appreciated the assistance.

“We’ve worked things out, so you can let us go now,” Hutch offered, stepping back into the room.

As they stepped into the room, Starsky and Hutch were keenly aware that Dobey and Huggy were suspiciously examining them. It was obvious they were trying to determine if the partners had truly worked things out or if they were just lying about it to get out of the room. Both sensed that the tension between them had broken.

“You two simpatico again?” Huggy asked, noting that their body language seemed to be in sync again, as the two stood comfortably side by side.

“Laverne and Shirley,” said Starsky.

“Two peas in a pod,” said Hutch, leaning gently into Starsky, and putting an arm around his shoulder.

Huggy looked them over top to bottom and saw no pretense. “Good enough for me, amigos. Captain?”

“You gentlemen fit for duty?” Dobey asked.

“Once we get a little sleep,” said Starsky.

“And take care of some unfinished business,” said Hutch.

“Then you’re free to go. And don’t ever put us through this again. You’re grown men, for God’s sake. You shouldn’t be acting like children.”

“Yes, Cap,” said Hutch, as Starsky simultaneously said, “Yes, Cap’n.”

After thanking Huggy, they asked him for a few minutes alone with their Captain. Drinking their coffee and devouring their sandwiches as they spoke, with Dobey’s eyes darting from Starsky to Hutch and from sandwich to sandwich, they assured him their issues were resolved. Dobey could see the tension between them had faded. He knew they weren’t healed yet, but could see they’d made progress. He was tired and visions of Edith’s pot roast were going through his head, and he just wanted to get home. Assured that they were ready to return to duty for their next shift, after accepting their somewhat embarrassed thanks for his intervention, Dobey headed out, eager to get at least a few hours sleep in his own bed and perhaps snag a snippet of Edith’s pot roast before she heard him come in.

Starsky and Hutch had covered much ground tonight, but both were emotionally exhausted and simply talked out. While Starsky was still wound up and fidgeting with energy, Hutch was clearly at his physical limit, barely able to stand. Thanking Huggy again on their way out, Starsky offered Hutch a ride home, which he gratefully accepted. During the drive to his home, Hutch squirmed a bit in his seat. He had not been kidding Starsky about the glass splinters. It was the only thing keeping him from lapsing into a deep sleep during the short ride.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Hutch arrived at The Pits, shortly after Starsky, Huggy immediately noticed the matching outfits — jeans, black turtlenecks, black leather jackets. They’d patched things up last night, at least mostly, but this was weird. What were they up to? Did they backslide? Why weren’t they talking to each other? Huggy stopped trying to figure it out and acted as intermediary for the two men. For some reason, he got the impression that this is how they were when they were undercover.

Huggy watched the performance continue as Kira entered the room. He also watched with relief as the two men ultimately exited together, leaving an abandoned Kira in their wake. Huggy couldn’t help but wonder if they would they have gone through with it if Kira had agreed. Well, they’d never know.

He hoped they’d be okay now. They had been through so much lately. Huggy had, too. Lionel’s death had eaten away at all of them. Huggy was still grieving his death and was doing whatever he could to help Lionel’s family. The guilt of bringing him to Starsky and Hutch, thinking they could help, still filled him with remorse. He’d had lots of evidence over the years that life wasn’t fair and that even your best friends let you down. Forgiveness came when he realized that while Starsky and Hutch hadn’t been able to save his friend, they had tried their hardest in an impossible situation. He still didn’t agree with their decision to “use” Lionel, but he came to terms with it. The system had let them all down. He hadn’t forgiven himself yet. He just hoped they could all get a break for a while to regroup. Maybe life could be simple and calm for a bit. Hutch had mentioned that they were going to be painting the squad room next week. Hopefully their case load would be light and maybe, for once, they could have an easy week.

After they walked out of The Pits, they headed over to Hutch’s place. Hutch tended his plants while awaiting Starsky’s arrival a few minutes later, pizza in hand. They popped open a few beers and ate quietly, seated on Hutch’s couch.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Hutch tried to explain something that had been going though his mind. “Starsk, you already know most of the reasons I want to leave the force, but there’s one I didn’t tell you about.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“It’s hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

He furrowed his brow before continuing. “Do you know the story of Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane?”

“Not well versed, but I’ve heard of it. Why?”

“Jesus has this huge task ahead of him. He knows he’s going to be crucified. Knows it’s inevitable. He goes to the garden to pray for strength. He asks God if there’s some way he could get out of it. He’ll go through with it, you know, if he has to, but he still asks if there’s a way out. His friends, there to support him, keep falling asleep. They can’t stay awake for him even though it’s his hour of need. He’s desperate for support, but gets none.”

“His friends really suck, huh?”

Hutch laughed at the wording. “Yeah, yeah they do.” He paused and Starsky knew he had more to say but was struggling with it. He silently waited him out, which was no small feat for Starsky. After absently nibbling a bit of pizza, Hutch finally continued. “I know how terrible I was to you.”

“Stop already, we’ve been over that already. I ain’t no angel either, I haven’t always done the right thing, ya’ know.”

“Like when?”

“Like tryin’ to buy off Gillian.” Starsky paused for a moment. Though they’d cleared the air on the move long ago, it still bothered Starsky that he hadn’t handled the situation differently. It came up for him during his more somber “What if” games that he only played by himself when in an unusually dark mood. “Like runnin’ to help you when I should have stuck by Lionel. A rookie woulda known better.” The guilt of that day still tore at him.

Hutch still felt a great deal of guilt for Lionel’s death. He’d re-played the actions leading up to that day and was tortured by the fact that he might have survived if they had done things differently. He couldn’t, however, leave Starsky feeling so bad about his actions at that moment. “Speaking as the guy who was lying in the street, blown there by a car bomb, I can understand your actions.”

“I shoulda found a way to take care of you and protect Lionel.”

“Well, if you find a way to be in two places at one time, let me in on that trick, will ya? Anyway, despite being such an ass to you, repeatedly, you stuck by me. Even when I pushed my hardest, you hung in there.”

“You’ve done the same for me, and I’m sure you will again. What’s your point?”

“Lately it feels like we have this unavoidable fate coming . . . like the whole thing with Lionel was a, I dunno, a bad omen. I’m . . . I’m not saying this right. I just . . .” He faltered and paused for a moment, sighing and trying to order his thoughts. “I don’t why, I just feel like something bad is on the horizon and we can’t escape it. I have the feeling there’s some threat we should be more aware of. We’re missing something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, like we poked the wrong bee’s nest.”

“We’ve done that before. Not much we can do about it if we did. So, what are ya sayin’?”

“This bad feeling, this . . . responsibility . . . whatever it is. Like Jesus in the garden, I just don’t want the burden. Sometimes it’s just too heavy. Even with you carrying half the load, it’s just too much. A part of me wants to stay, figure this out.” He shook his head worriedly. “A part of me thinks we should get out now, before it’s too late.”

Starsky took in Hutch’s words and didn’t know why, but he understood them. He sometimes felt they were heading toward something bad and maybe they wouldn’t be as lucky as they had been so far. Maybe it was just getting older and realizing just how dangerous life as a cop could be. Maybe it was his sixth sense, honed through so many years of police work with Hutch by his side. He didn’t discount the weight of Hutch’s words, but felt the need to lighten the mood a little. “Well, at least I’m not gonna fall asleep on you.”

Hutch rewarded the gesture with a soft smile and gentle nod. “I know, buddy.” Something still nagged at Hutch. Something that needed to be said. “I just . . . I promise you this, Starsk, I’ll never . . . ”

“Hutch, stop. You don’t have to promise. I know.”

I know. Maybe it was as simple as that. Sure, they’d had to struggle through some difficult truths to clear the air, but what they’d really needed was a reminder of the “me and thee” that they had been taking for granted. A newfound respect for the relationship they’d built, along with a bit of nurturing, and they both felt the world was back on its axis again, even if they couldn’t control their destiny.

Hutch was slowly learning that while he might not be able to save the world, he might be able to make a small dent in one corner of it, and maybe, just maybe, that was enough. The jury was still out on whether or not it was worth the personal sacrifice, but he was taking some time to sort it all out in his head. He’d already decided that at some point, he would leave the force, but he wasn’t sure if it would be weeks or years from now.

They sat together for a moment in thoughtful silence, each contemplating what had been said and what hadn’t needed to be said. Hutch excused himself and after a few minutes Starsky heard a startled yelp from the bathroom. Frowning, he asked, “Everything okay in there?” as he took a large bite of his pizza.

Hutch emerged, blushing slightly. “It’s nothing, just some of those glass slivers are still working their way out.”

Starsky found this immensely funny and laughed so hard he started to choke. Hutch was wondering if he’d have to intervene, but Starsky, seeing Hutch’s suddenly concerned expression, held up his hand in a “wait” gesture and finally coughed hard enough to dislodge the bit of pizza that was stuck. He began breathing, and then laughing, again.

“Glad you think it’s funny,” Hutch said in a miffed, though not really, tone.

Starsky turned thoughtful again. “Hutch, I get what you said. I feel, I dunno, on alert? But I also feel like somehow it’s all gonna be okay. That weird?”

Hutch smiled, “No, not at all. Just wish I felt that way, too.” Starsky smiled back and they both felt the connection they’d had for years, now renewed; the connection that made life, with all its twist and turns, bearable.

They had talked about a lot in the last 24 hours and both were exhausted but relieved that the world felt mostly right again. They both realized that it would take time for things to truly get back to normal, whatever that was. It might never be the same, but they both honestly believed it could still be good again, and could even be good in new ways. As Dobey had pointed out, they weren’t young men anymore. They’d been to hell and back more than once and, even when it had been somewhat self-inflicted, come out of it stronger than before. Maturity, along with a hearty push from a couple of dear friends, had taught them that their partnership was even stronger than they once thought it was. It had survived even betrayal.

They weren’t sure what the next few weeks would bring, but in all fairness, that was always the case. Life as a cop was never predictable. In their line of work, especially with their level of commitment, they never knew what dangers they would face each day. But reunited, once again “me and thee,” be it on or off the force, they felt that together they could continue to face whatever challenges life threw at them. After all, no one gets through this life without at least a few scars, but some of us are lucky enough to have a trusted partner to help us through the journey.