Where All Surrenders Come

645

Hutch is struggling to cope with his demons after his enforced addiction.

 

Written for the “Post It Party” on the Me&Thee List, for those of us who couldn’t go to ZCon in 2005.

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Hutch kicked the door shut behind him with one uncaring foot, and sagged limply against it, trying to steady his breathing. His right hand was on his gun as he pulled himself upright and checked out the interior of his small house. Only when he was certain that there was no one hiding did he relax, just a little. Slowly he began to strip, heading toward the shower, trying to calm down, to enjoy the fact that it was Friday night, that he had the next two days off. But work seemed to be the only thing that kept his mind focused, that could stop him brooding, and so how the hell was he going to get through the next two days without falling apart?

Carefully trying to keep his mind blank, he showered and decided to go straight to bed. He really needed to catch up on some sleep. It was too early for bed, but he wasn’t hungry and maybe if he tried real hard he could sleep the whole night away.

He couldn’t.

He saw pretty much the whole night through, sitting on his couch, gripping his hands tightly around his knees, willing his mind to stay blank. The phone beckoned him, but Starsky had already done so much, how could he call him, disturb his sleep again? One of them had to be in fully functioning mode when they were out on the streets, right? And it sure wasn’t gonna be him. So he fought the urge to call his partner, and just sat, rocking slightly, until the darkness began to lighten into gray and the shapes of his furnishings grew clear again around him.

Saturday morning. Numbly, Hutch staggered up off the couch. Still a whole two days to get through before he could lose himself in work again. Automatically, he made himself his morning shake, pouring the heavy liquid into a glass before he realized what he had done. His stomach lurched. No way in hell was he ever going to be able to keep that down.

He drank a glass of water instead. Then he went back to the couch. There didn’t seem to be anything better he could think of to do.

He sat and rocked.

The shadows were lengthening around him when he became aware of a hammering on his door. He flinched violently, almost falling off the couch, his body locked and numb. But the voice accompanying the knocking was familiar.

“Hutch? Hey, pal, open up!”

Stiffly, Hutch hauled himself the short distance to the door and unlocked it. Starsky brushed past him, arms full of beer and pizza carton.

“Thought you’d be hungry. There’s a great movie on later.”

Hutch opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Starsky shoved him gently in the direction of the bathroom. “Go shower, Hutch. You look like you could use it. Then you’re gonna eat something if I have to force it down your throat, okay?”

Obediently, Hutch went into the bathroom, took off his clothes and got under the shower. The hot water made his skin prickle, and the blood move faster through his veins. Oh god. That rush of blood, that warm, hollow sensation as the drug hit his system, the feeling that he could track the flow of the heroin, artery by artery, until it reached every part of him, touching every capillary, leaving nowhere inviolate.

He couldn’t escape the memories now. He couldn’t hide from the truth, either. It wasn’t the quick, warm rush of the drug he craved. Not though it was better than an orgasm, achieved with less effort.

No, it was the untethering of his mind that he yearned for. The freedom from worry, responsibility, caring. When the drug reached his brain, everything had stopped. He had stopped. Stopped being “Ken,” stopped being “Detective Sergeant Hutchinson.”

Stopped being “Hutch.”

And it was bliss. All those years of worrying, of caring. Of being the only son. Of carrying the weight of other people’s expectations. Gone. Nothing in his mind but weightlessness. Space. He had never realized before how cluttered his head was.

Now it was filling again. However hard he tried, the burden of being would not stay away. He had tried. God, he had tried. Work he could shove into a tidy little compartment and hide away. But every time Starsky looked at him with those lambent eyes, full of concern, he felt another space in his mind fill up. Every time Starsky spoke to him in that special voice he reserved only for Hutch, it was another line tying him back down. Tying him to life.

The weight was dragging him down. How could he take being bound down like this again, after experiencing the release of his burdens? How could he bear to start being “Hutch” again?

The noise of the shower was so loud in his head that he couldn’t hear himself whimper.

~oOo~

Starsky frowned. The shower was still running. Hutch must have been in there twenty minutes by now. He knocked on the bathroom door, and when there was no response, pushed it open. His heart contracted. Hutch was curled up under the shower, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, rocking, oblivious to everything. He was shivering.

Swearing, Starsky pushed up the sleeve of his shirt and reached under the flow to turn off the shower. The water was cold. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his partner, trying to urge him to his feet. Hutch simply buried his face deeper in his arms and rocked harder.

“Hutch. Talk to me. C’mon, babe. Let’s get you outta here and you can tell me what’s going on, okay?”

He urged Hutch to his feet, and managed to get him dry. The lean body under his hands was shaking with cold, and it was an effort to get him to move, but Starsky persevered, and finally Hutch was lying curled up in bed, still shivering. Starsky was pulling the covers up over him when Hutch mumbled something.

“What, babe?”

“I can’t do it, Starsk. I don’t know how to do it. I don’t think I can be me any more. It’s too much. It hurts too much.”

“What hurts? Tell me what hurts.”

“Being me. When they—shot me up, I stopped being me. It didn’t hurt any more. I want to be me again, Starsk, but I don’t think I can handle it. It’s too much.”

Starsky smoothed the bed covers around his partner’s body, enfolding him in warmth, one hand gently stroking the long back. “Listen, buddy. You never stopped being you. They hurt your body, but you were still there, underneath all the hurting, and you’re there now. I can see you. I can feel you. I know you’re there, Hutch. Even if you don’t know it, I do. And when it gets too much for you, I’m here. I won’t let it get too heavy for you to carry, babe. Just let it go. I’ll take whatever you need to give me, until you’re strong enough again to take it back.”

Hutch’s hand fought its way out from under the covers, and Starsky met it with his own.

“‘s too much, Starsk. You can’t hold me together this time.”

“You wanna bet? Might be too much for one person to handle, babe, but for both of us, no sweat. I’ll be right here until you don’t need me any more.”

Hutch’s hand relaxed as he finally gave in to his body’s need for sleep. He muttered one last sentence.

“That’s right, babe,” Starsky whispered as he got up to go eat his pizza. “Forever.”