Limbus

The challenge on the Me and Thee list one day was to make Hutch angst over a paper cut; thanks, Kaye, for inspiring it. This was my entry.

Hutchinson grabbed at the sheaf of papers on Callahan’s desk. She was already out of her chair when he bunched them into his fist and shoved it toward her. “Fuck your damn procedures!” The fist exploded into a fountain of crumpled pastel, momentarily hiding Callahan’s frozen face.

“Cool it, Hutch.”

“These papers are about human beings, Starsky! People! This this this moron–” his wide gesture nearly clipped Callahan’s desk lamp.

Starsky’s hand landed on his partner’s and pulled at it. “Come on, buddy, come on. Let’s go.”

But nothing was going to keep this Hutch from making his point. He jerked his hand free and turned to Callahan. Starsky stood aside, tightly coiled but projecting calm.

Hutch picked up the brass plate facing toward visitors at the edge of her desk and read from it. “Miss Callahan. Social Services.” His barely controlled voice hissed through his teeth like the taunt of a deadly snake. He dropped the plate in disgust. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

Lucille Callahan found her voice. “Sergeant, we do our best here. It’s never good enough, but it’s a damn sight better than anybody else ever did for most of ’em.” As if hoping to prove something, she reached for a letter on top of the metal tray to Hutch’s right. Just as her hand closed on it, he snatched at the letter.

“Ah!” she cried out sharply. “Oh, jeez. Paper cut. Ow!”

Hutch let the letter drift out of his hand as he reached, with sudden gentleness, for Callahan’s. She pulled it away, pulled her whole body away, eyes wide with fear.

“Come on, Hutch. We’re done here.”

Hutch swung around to face Starsky, revealing his own eyes wide with a fear almost mirroring Callahan’s.

Afraid of himself.