Quiet Time Home

Starsky comes home after a long hard day.

He momentarily leaned back against the closed door and felt his weariness settle over him like a cloak. After dispensing with jacket and the ever-present holster, he made his way to the living room and thankfully sank onto the sofa.

The house was quiet and peaceful around him, a comfortable relaxed feeling that welcomed him, surrounding him and worming its way past the barriers the long day had built up and making its way to his core.

Home.

He smiled gently at that all encompassing thought. He had not had this feeling in over twenty-five years, and he had been surprised at how quickly it had been resurrected.

Home equals family, equals love.

His childhood and youthful memories of home were warm and joyful and self-centred as childhood usually is. Those feelings had been violently ripped from him, and nothing had been the same ever again. Death took his home; fear his family; pain his love.

He sighed deeply as he realized his thoughts were turning slightly morbid, but accepted as always that the past was his measurement of the present and had no impact on the here and now.

Home – just saying the word created a warmth and depth of feeling that had never been his before. It almost made him giddy with disbelief. The simplicity of the reasons always made him stop and question himself. Could it really be that simple? Was he in danger of being betrayed by his own happiness? Fate had turned from him too many times over the years, leaving him in doubt and pain. He had always come back for more, hoping desperately for the reality that would make him whole and give him back what he had lost.

In the rarefied atmosphere of his home, he could chuckle at his blind other self who had stubbornly kept searching for what had actually been in front of him all along. There are none so blind…

His home was his sanctuary, his retreat from the harsh realities of the job and its dark side. Sometimes he escaped here, hurriedly locking the door behind him, only emerging when it had worked its magic and his partner walked with him.

Sometimes he was led back, body and soul too hurt and tormented to make it on his own. At those times, the words “let’s go home partner” where the only balm he required; and he healed in the strength of love and security that he and his partner had built in their home.

It was this foundation that allowed him the freedom to let go and drink in the elixir of “home” that was concocted of trust, faith, humour, honesty, understanding and love in equal parts.

They had created a haven that sheltered; that beckoned when all else failed. The two had taken a house and made it a home whose warmth infused every nook and cranny and crept into the heart of all who entered.

The tension of the day gradually eased as he rested: his face relaxed, the care smoothed away; his body seemed to sink into the sofa as his muscles softened and let go of the ramrod stiffness needed to keep him upright; his lips curved into a gentle smile as his mind released its hold on reality; his eyes, that had closed defensively, opened now of their own volition with ease and clarity.

And he beheld his partner, gazing at him in that knowing way that read his every look, move and thought. Silently he extended his hands and was drawn into an embrace that was strength and gentleness combined; that swept away his need for pretence; that filled his emptiness and longing with purpose.

He was cradled, soothed and rocked in the peace of his home and his love. And it came to him that he only had one because of the other, and knew that he was in no danger of losing his home when it followed wherever he went.

In this embrace he was sheltered from the outside world, and from himself. Every thought and feeling he had ever had that represented home was contained within this precious person that held him so knowingly.

The bards were wrong – you can go home again, if you know how to build the foundation.