The Long Road Home

826

Hutch unravels, coils, springs, then finally is still.

---

Van

When Hutch was ten years old, he had nearly drowned at summer camp. He had swam out too far into the lake, and fatigue had taken over. Thus, he found himself being pulled beneath the water, and this was his first real introduction to the concept of limits. Certainly, he’d encountered a long list of things that he was incapable of doing, but the restraints seemed temporary, as Kenneth Hutchinson was young, full of life, and had a loving, safe home-everything a young boy needed in order to feel as if he could take on the world.

Hutch did not drown, of course. A lifeguard, a young man whose name Hutch never did learn, pulled him from the water. It would be years before Hutch could articulate what he felt afterwards-not the immediate afterwards, but hours, days later. It was not a sense of having been betrayed, because he had been old enough to know that the elements are not malevolent, but indifferent. He had only himself to blame for his near-drowning, he knew, but this was not what had discouraged him. Eventually, he came to realize that it was the very indifference of the world that caused him grief. It would be one thing to struggle against malevolent forces. Young Hutch had always been thrilled by stories of heroes, the clear line between good guys and bad guys. Even a defeat was not so much a defeat if one had fought bravely. It was the very indifference of so much of the world that
would begin to tear away at him.

**

There are so many things that you don’t know you love until you’re afraid you’ll lose them.

The screech of tires. The thump of a particular pair of sneaker-clad feet on the steps. The feel of a familiar hand. The smell of a certain piece of leather. How had he never realized that they were all akin to the first gulps of air after being pulled from the water? Somewhere between explaining how he had entered the apartment to find Van’s body and the madness that ensued, Hutch put all of these things he loved into a category, one that he thought of as the awareness of his own mortality.

Hutch was frightened.

Outwardly, he was numb. He’d pulled himself together enough to pull a sheet over Van and make the call to Starsky, but he was filled with fear now, not just fear of what was to come but fear of what might not come.

His fear didn’t dissipate when he heard the sirens, the screech of familiar tires, and the hurried footsteps on the stairs. Nor did it dissipate when he felt Starsky’s hand brush the back of his neck, but suddenly it felt smaller, more manageable. Starsky’s touch was like an anchor, less in the sense of rooting him beneath the depths, but more like a life preserver thrown from the shore.

Sometimes fear turns to dread. Hutch couldn’t pinpoint it until days later, after things had settled, but it was a question that haunted him: was he worth saving?

 

Laura

Hutch was frightened.

Outwardly, he was calm, all of his training keeping his features carefully schooled, all of his experience telling him exactly how to handle the situation. Inwardly, he was terrified.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered something he’d learned in a psychology class years ago. The name of the concept or theory or whatever it is escaped him, but the gist of it was that, when you’re frightened, you don’t become frightened until your mind clues in to your bodily reactions. In other words, you don’t get scared until you feel your heart racing. People usually thought it was vice versa, but the science said otherwise.

His heart rate was normal, but his stomach was churning. Hutch thought to himself that there must be another layer to the psychology, because he was afraid of his own fear. And that fear wasn’t for Laura or Hannah, but for Starsky. Irrational. Starsky was more than capable of handling himself in this type of situation.

But Starsky was also a man who would put the lives of nearly every person in this house ahead of his own. The thought of losing Starsky was wretched enough, but coupled with Hutch’s own doubt (because there it was again, the question of whether he was worth saving), it was unbearable.

 

Luke

Hutch was strong enough to hold Luke, or so he thought. But it hardly mattered anymore. With so many weak links, the chain was crumbling. He looked over at Starsky, and the thought settled into his chest like the icing over of a river. He wasn’t frightened anymore. Now it was a matter of dread, because the next time Starsky tried to pull him above water, Hutch was certain that he was going to drown both of them.

 

Kira

“Just tell me why Hutch. Tell me why you would go after my girl when you could have any woman you want?”

“I wanted her.” It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. A half-truth is a half-lie, as his grandfather used to remind him, but to tell the truth would have been to let go of the precarious hold on his sanity that he was maintaining.

Starsky gave him a long look. There was a perceptiveness, even though Starsky was half-drunk. He spoke slowly, as if the effort were great. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let her in. But you, Blondie, you know better than to stomp on something I gave you a long time ago.”

Hutch felt his stomach churn, both at the accusation he couldn’t deny, and with a sense of relief. If Starsky was calling him by a familiar nickname, then all wasn’t lost. “I’m sorry, Starsk.”

“I believe you,” Starsky made an attempt to rise from the couch, only to sway and fall back in an uncharacteristic lack of grace, either from tipsiness or exhaustion.

“C’mon Buddy,” Hutch held out a hand for support and carefully pulled Starsky toward him. Eventually he managed to get an arm around Starsky and steer him toward the alcove.

“Where are we going?” Starsky asked with genuine confusion.

“To bed,” Hutch replied simply.

Starsky didn’t protest, much to Hutch’s relief, and when he had seemed to be asleep, Hutch retreated to the greenhouse, to let the half-lie fall away. It was dark, but in the shadows he could see the spider crawling on the bench next to him. Of course he recognized it, just as surely as he recognized Kira for what she was. It doesn’t take much to recognize one’s self in a mirror.

 

Gunther

Somehow it was possible for time to slow down to a crawl, even as the action around him was set into motion. Somehow it was possible to give in to a sense of inevitability, even as he was fighting like hell.

Somehow it was possible to lay down and give up, even as he was begging a God he didn’t believe in.

**

His footsteps were too loud, even overtaken as they were by the beeping and the suction-like sound of oxygen, the scrape of the chair as he pulled it close to the bed.

Hutch reached for Starsky, wanting to feel the familiar warmth of his skin, regretting the months he’d spent keeping Starsky at arm’s length. He stopped. The machines, the bandages, the lack of movement, was all too much. Starsky was dying, and this last touch would intrude upon other memories in Hutch’s mind, layer over them.

**

His footsteps were just loud enough, anchoring him. Hutch felt no fear of the bullets ripping into the body he held in front of him, no care for the man he used as a shield. He was unsure, for just a moment if the shield had worked; bullets tearing into his body, a knife piercing his skin, were inconsequential compared to the sight of Starsky dying in front of him.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

The man facing him had no fear. The look in his eyes was dread, and the knowledge that mortality was no obstacle for the man he’d been sent to kill. Dead men are impossible to kill, impossible to frighten.

Something inside of him was trying to light a flame. He couldn’t let it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

**

Starsky, getting to his feet mostly steadily, just stared at the gleaming metal in front of him. Tentatively he reached out a hand to brush the tips of his fingers against the Torino’s door. He turned his head to stare incredulously at Hutch next to him.

“You got her fixed.”

Hutch didn’t even try to hide his smile. “I had to.”

Starsky didn’t say another word until they had both slid into the leather seats. As Hutch reached for the ignition, Starsky laid a hand on his forearm. “You hate this car.”

“Starsky, I love this car.”

“Since when?”

Hutch glanced at him. “Since Simon Marcus.”

Starsky raised an eyebrow, then a smile spread slowly across his face. “Well aren’t you a white knight.” His tone was teasing, but gentle. “I seem to remember this car rescuing you a couple of times before that.”

Hutch felt his chest constrict. “That wasn’t exactly the car.”

“It wasn’t exactly the car rescuing me from Marcus’ goons either.”

Hutch couldn’t tell him that he loved the car for its very indifference, for the way it didn’t care if it was rescuing someone who deserved to be rescued. Hutch looked away, letting his gaze settle on his face in the side mirror. Soon, he would tell Starsky about looking in the mirror the day Starsky had been shot, and feeling the knowledge like a slap, the knowledge that losing Starsky to death would only be the finishing touches, because he’d been pushing him, further and further away, until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be loved by someone so good. Soon, but not today.

**

“Where are we going, anyway?” Starsky looked relaxed, some of it probably due to painkillers, but his eyes were clear, bright.

“I moved to a different place. No stairs. Remember?”

“Oh yeah. Still near the beach?”

“Yeah, pretty close.”

“Let’s go to the beach later. Before the sun sets. I’ll take a nap beforehand, I promise.” Starsky’s tone was teasing, light.

“Whatever you want, Buddy.”

“You’d promise me just about anything right now.”

It wasn’t a question. Hutch took a look in the rearview mirror, and Starsky’s eyes in the reflection met his. They were gentle, but shrewd. Hutch bit his lower lip and turned his eyes to the street in front of him.

Starsky rested a hand on his thigh. “Promise me you’ll talk. It doesn’t have to be today, or tomorrow, but promise me.”

“I promise.”

**

The artist in him took note of the way the setting sun cast a glow over his partner and made him look like a phoenix rising. With his bare feet digging into the sand and the dark circles under his eyes, he shouldn’t look so beautiful or so strong, but his eyes belied any weakness.

Starsky didn’t even look surprised as he glanced up at Hutch stripping off his t-shirt and jeans.

This time the water cradled him, as Hutch let it take him without fear, let it wash everything-betrayal, regret-away, his anchor on the shore keeping him from being pulled away.