Where Two Stand

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Note:

Every author and artist has that one piece they have put a lot of effort into. For me “Where Two Stand” is that story and I have finally finished it after 15 years. The original version which has been posted online as a WIP since 2012 can be found on FF.net.

Imagine finding a set of Diaries or journals written by the Boys, one set from Starsky and one set belonging to Hutch. When you open them and read, you find their thoughts and feelings written out. As you continue to read, you discover it is about their recovery from Gunther’s Attack.

That is what I have done here.  Taken pages from these imaginary journals and created a series of vignettes that give us a glimpse in to their world during a very emotional and trying period.

To keep true to the originals imaginary journals, the spelling is not always correct, nor is the grammar or punctuation.  Because who really writes private words perfectly, words they do not expect to be read by the outside world.

Each Chapter alternates between Starsky and Hutch.  With this in mind I hope you enjoy.

Dedicated to E.L., I hope you have found the peace you sought my friend.

Thank you to Terri Beckett for helping me to finish this story.

Warning: The following Chapters: 19, 20, and 21 deal with the subject of suicide, though there are no character deaths, I thought it wise to give the warning.

 

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Chapter 1: The Hostage 

Starsky’s POV

It is the Fourth of July, and for most of the country, it means celebrating freedom and independence. It means hotdogs, backyard baseball, and fireworks. For me, it does not mean anything even close to what is considered normal. Instead, it reminds me of the freedom I lost and the independence ripped from me when a rain of hell poured out.

James Gunther might be rotting in some jail awaiting trial, but the devastation of his bullets still holds me captive. Holding me hostage in a world that has shrunk to this hospital and the one-room I have called home for an eternity, with daily visits to what I have dubbed the torture chamber.

I will throttle the next person who tells me, “no pain, no gain.” If that saying had any ounce of truth, then with the pain I feel, I should have already been out of here and back to who I was before the shooting.

But I’m not; a month and a half, just forty-eight days after the shooting, I’m still hostage to the effects, subject to its whims. It controls every aspect of my life. They call it a miracle. I call it a curse. I am a hostage, and there will be no ransom demand.

How can this living hell be a miracle?

A few minutes ago, I made the mistake of asking that question in front of Hutch.

I didn’t expect an answer. It was a question said in frustration. I opened my eyes at Hutch’s sharp intake of breath and saw my physical pain reflected in his eyes. Hutch heard the truth behind those words. That I would have been better off dead than where I was.

The silence in the solarium, where had he brought me was overwhelming. Without another word, he got up and left. I knew he wouldn’t go far; he never does. As I watched him leave, I cursed our unique connection.

Why do I curse it?

Because I knew just as I am a hostage to my body, Hutch is a hostage to his soul. His soul is the other half of mine, which connects us for that reason. So whatever I feel, he feels. He may not have had three bullets rip through his physical body, but they did rip through his soul. Each one felt as if they seared their mark on his body, leaving his soul torn and shredded.

In wishing I had died, I would have dragged my other half right into the afterlife. My death would not have released him from this prison. It would kill him. In my wanting to die, I would be responsible for his death. I cannot be responsible for Hutch’s death.

I feel tears welling up at the thought and attempt to wipe them away, but I can’t. This “miracle,” as they call it, keeps me from it. Instead, I look down at my hands lying useless and weak on my lap. I can almost see the imaginary chains that hold me captive.

How can this living hell be a miracle?

“Starsk?” Hutch saying my name as he knelt in front of me, covering my hands, was so quiet I wasn’t sure if it was said out loud or over the connection between us. Either way, I couldn’t look up. Couldn’t look into his eyes and see my pain.

He repeated my name and gently cupped my chin, lifting it, so I had to look at him. He wiped the shed tears from my face and then ran a hand through my hair before it came to rest on the back of my neck.

Unconditional love; that was the miracle.

I didn’t see my pain in his eyes; what I did see, my friend didn’t have to put into words. He saw my pain and even felt it; he knew he couldn’t take it away, couldn’t set me free from this prison. Only I could do that, but he would be there as I fought my way out.

Knowing that love was there didn’t take the pain and frustration away; I still felt like a prisoner to my own body. There will still be days when it will be too much to handle, but I will still be free on the inside. I am still Dave Starsky, maybe a little older and wiser, but still me. Most importantly, there is still a Me and Thee; Gunther and his bullets can’t take that away. He only has the power to hold us hostage if we let him.

And we, Hutch and I, were not going to let him win.

Chapter 2:Standing Together 

Hutch’s POV

“How can this living hell be a miracle?”

When I heard Starsky say those words, it hit me hard. It surprised me; it wasn’t so much the words but the underlying meaning. I could hear all the pain and frustration we had to endure since the shooting poured out in that one statement. He didn’t have to say it out loud, but I knew what he was saying; Starsky thought he was better off dead. That I would be better if…

I couldn’t even finish the thought because it wasn’t true. I had to get away, take a step back, get my bearings straight, find the pieces of our heart, and put it back together again.

So I left, but I didn’t go far; I never do. I had to laugh at that; I think 3,000 miles could separate us but not keep us apart. Even death couldn’t, because how can one live without a heart?

From where I sat, a short distance away, I could still see my partner. Of all the words I could think of to describe what he looked like, the only one that fit was oppressed.

I realized that even though Gunther sat rotting in prison somewhere, he and the effects of his actions still held power over Starsky, still held him captive.

What scared me the most was I could do nothing about it. Despite Starsky’s constant joke of me being a White Knight, I couldn’t set him free. Couldn’t take it all away with the wave of my hand, though I wish I could, as much as anyone standing in my shoes watching a loved one suffer would want to.

But all the wishing wasn’t going to change my status as a human being.  All I can do is be there in whatever capacity I need to be. Not hoping it was enough, but knowing beyond a doubt that it is enough and taking it a notch higher if I had to.

A quiet sob, I am sure only I could hear, sent me back to my partner as if I never left his side.  As I said, 3,000 miles can separate us but can’t keep us apart.

Wiping away his tears as I kneeled in front of him, showing without words my unconditional love for him, I was reminded of a verse I heard in church when I was a young boy. It was about what happens when two or more stand together and that nothing can defeat them.

The more was Dobey, Huggy, our friends, and all the doctors and nurses Starsky saw on a daily bases doing their best to keep him, and the both of us, among the living.

The Two, well, that is Starsky and me.

Me and Thee, we are still here, still standing together. Gunther, his bullets or a million Gunthers, for that matter, can’t take that away. He only has that power if we give it to him, and we, Starsky and I, are not going to let him have that power, will not let him win.

 

Chapter 3: Losing Reality 

Starsky’s POV

They say, after long incarcerations, prisoners lose touch with reality. They start to forget what the outside world is like. It fades into the background until the prison and the ten-by-ten room they share with two other guys become the only reality they know and the outside world…

Well, the outside world just becomes a dream, something people talk about but never really get to touch.

I call it losing reality, and it’s happening to me.

I’ve been held here so long that I can’t remember what freedom feels like. My only glimpse of the outside is my tiny window, and the daily walks Hutch and I take. I wouldn’t even know what day it was unless Hutch told me.

I couldn’t tell you what it feels like to walk for long periods without my partner’s strength holding me up. I can’t recall what it feels like to stand on the shore unaided, the sand between my toes, my eyes closed, the sun touching my skin, warming my body, and letting the sounds of the waves lull me to sleep.

It’s a dream I’ve had often. I am standing on the beach. A gentle breeze beckons to me like a siren’s call telling me to come away to let it all go. It sings to me, telling me I would be set free.

The song is so tempting that I stretch out my arms, lean my head back and close my eyes, willing myself to obey. Just as I am about to fade away, I am thrust back into the living hell I call reality.

I’ve told Hutch about my dream. I had to; we don’t keep things from each. Keeping things hidden from each other just causes more trouble than it is worth.

Kira comes to mind as a good example.

Our friendship is more important than secrets.

When we talk, I tell him I am afraid of losing reality. If something doesn’t change, I will be removed from everything I know. I’ve told him that it scares me how easily I am seduced by the sirens in my dream. How easily I was willing to follow their song. But what frightened me the most was how easily I could leave Hutch.

Nothing could frighten me more than losing Hutch.

I could face all the evil the streets throw at us and meet the demons of our past head-on without a second thought. But leaving Hutch behind, easily forget him.

I couldn’t do that… I … I couldn’t face this world or the next without Hutch. And the fact I could so easily walk away… That scares me.

Hutch says it isn’t real. It is just a dream. He wraps his arms around me as if to protect me from it, show me right now is real, and ground me in this reality. But he doesn’t understand that I’m slowly losing it.  He is the only thing keeping me grounded, but if I don’t get out of here soon, I will forget why I am here. Then it won’t matter how strong my White Knight is, as the siren’s call will be stronger.

 

Chapter 4: Dented Armor

Hutch’s POV

They tell me what Starsky is going through is normal. Such things happen to patients who spend extended periods in the hospital, especially after a traumatic event like a shooting.

Then you add the doctors slowly taking him off the more powerful painkillers and switching meds. Starsky was bound to become disorientated, but it is temporary.

At least that is what they say.

My heart wants me to scream at them and get mad and tell them it isn’t normal, but my mind knows it is true. I had seen it once while I was a med student before dropping out. A professor had taken us on a hospital tour. I don’t remember the details of the case; I just remember the patient as we passed her room.  I stopped and listened to what she said.  She warned us about the boogieman under her bed and some other wild things. We laughed about it afterward.

Now though…no one is laughing, especially me.

“It isn’t real; it just was a dream. You’re not going anywhere, I couldn’t follow Starsk, and you’re certainly not leaving me behind.”

That is what I keep telling my partner, trying to soothe what is plaguing him. I am not sure who I am trying to convince.  Myself or the man I consider closer than a brother. The one huddle beside me and holding me so tight I can hardly breathe.  I know it isn’t doing him any good; He is holding on to me as if his life or sanity depended.

Maybe it does.

Maybe our sanity and life depend on how hard we can hold onto each other.

Two are better than one when facing the world and all the hardships it wants to throw at us.  Me and Thee standing as a united front amid the storm. It has always been like that in the past, so why not now.

Is this any different?

I don’t know the answer. We have never faced something like what Gunther’s bullets did. In the past, even injured, we have been able to encourage and be there for each other. When Bellamy poisoned Starsky, he still found a way to save my life, despite the fact he was in pain and close to death. He sacrificed his life for mine.

But now…I don’t… I simply don’t know.

I close my eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to take over because of my doubts. I don’t know if I can be strong enough when the one I usually get my strength from is so weak and in so much pain.

How can I take from him when he has nothing to give, and how can I share something I don’t feel I have.

The certainty I once had is wavering like a poorly built house that a gentle breeze can easily topple over.

Starsk, I think your White Knight is not so white anymore. My armor is dented and ruined; it won’t protect me, so I know it can’t protect you…I know I can’t. I failed you before, and believe I will again.

As if reading my mind, Starsky’s grip tightens around my waist. I look down to see him looking up at me.

His eyes tell me he believes in me and trusts me that it doesn’t matter if I don’t have the strength because he would be willing to give me his, if not more, more than he has just so we could both make it.

I simply pull him closer and tell him I don’t need it because I already have all I need to help us through this.

His love.

 

Chapter 5: Something To Prove

Starsky’s POV

Hutch is late.

I haven’t seen him since I sent him home last night. Of all the days for my partner to be late, this should not be one of them. I’ve been waiting too long to miss this day.

Today I see justice served.

I know that sounds funny, but besides the day of my release from here, I have been looking forward to two days. And they both involve James Gunther.

One is his first day in court, and the second is the day he gets sentenced. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to be sitting in that courtroom, watching Gunther get what he deserves.

It almost makes all the hell I have been going through worth it.

And today, I got my wish. Today is Gunther’s first official day in court. I told Hutch I didn’t care what he had to do, but I wanted to be there. At first, he sided with the doctors saying it would be too stressful and bullshit like that.

I told them to hell with that. I’ve been doing Physical therapy and walking pretty well. Ok, so most of the time, I use a big blond crutch, but I am still walking. I don’t plan on walking to the courthouse or pacing the courtroom. I would be sitting. So what’s the difference if I am sitting here or there?

Besides, Hutch would be there, and he sure isn’t going to let anything happen to me. If I so much as sneezed, he would have me back to the hospital so fast it would be like I never left.

I had to finally pull my best “don’t you love me” routine and threaten to sneak out on my own before Blondie changed gears. I know it was wrong on many levels, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Finally, the doctors agreed but only for a few hours. That’s ok, that is all I need.

They don’t know how much I need this. I don’t think Hutch knows or understands how much I need to do this.

I want Gunther to walk into that courtroom and see Hutch and me together.  A united front against all that Gunther represented. I need to show Gunther that he didn’t win. All his efforts to destroy us had failed. We are still standing.

I also have to know Hutch’s efforts to bring Gunther to justice and nearly killing himself in the process was worth it. I have to see justice served.

Hutch says I am trying to prove something when I don’t have to. He is wrong though, I do have something to prove to myself, to everybody, especially James Gunther.

He doesn’t understand that for me to get any closure; I have to walk into that courtroom, look James Gunther in the eyes, and say, see, you fucking bastard, you didn’t win. I will live to see another day. And I will get my life back, the one you tried to rip from me. And it will be a cold day in hell before you see the light of day.

That will be the greatest revenge I could ever have, and it will be a sweet, sweet thing to see.

 

Chapter 6: Hiding

Hutch’s POV

I’m late.

I wish it were because I overslept, but I can’t say that because, in all honesty, I haven’t slept in the last 24 hours. I had planned on it last night, even promised Starsky I would get some sleep because today was a big day.

The day we get to show Gunther he can’t win.

But a call last night from Captain Dobey telling me to meet him at the prison swept all ideas of sleep or anything closely resembling it out the window.

I wish I could say I was hung over, but Dobey also took care of that by calling Huggy to babysit me after I left the prison where Gunther was being held. But he didn’t have to worry. After leaving the prison, I went home, and here I have been ever since, just sitting in the greenhouse among my plants, trying to figure out what to tell Starsky or even just find the courage to walk into his room.

I am not sure which it is.

Huggy says I am hiding out, running away from what I know I must do.  Do you know something? Huggy is absolutely right.

I am hiding out. In here, I can forget all the stuff out there.  I can pretend Starsk is only in the bathroom, and at any minute, he will walk back into the room to tell me some little trivia or fantastic fact.  Something that, in the past, I have always ignored, but this time I will make it a point to listen, make a point to remember.

Then I could also pretend we would finish the monopoly game we started the night of May 14th that we never finished. It is still sitting on my kitchen table, untouched, waiting for the players to return.

In here, I can pretend the shooting never took place, and then I wouldn’t have to tell him that Gunther is never going to see the inside of a courtroom. That we are never going to see Justice served. And you know why? It’s because Gunther has cheated the system once again by finding the business end of a .38.

Staying here, I wouldn’t have to explain how the man who put Starsky in the hospital somehow got a gun and took the coward’s way out by eating a bullet from that same gun. So neat, so easy, and way more than the fucking bastard deserved.

If I could, I would find a way to travel back in time to finish the job I hesitated to do when I arrested him. It would have been so easy to put a bullet right in the middle of his forehead and claim self-defense. The man did have a gun, after all.

Maybe I should have done it, but then I would be no better than Gunther. Then again, if I could travel back, I would somehow stop the events in the parking garage and, if nothing else, trade places with Starsky.

God, what I would give for some liquid courage right now.

It would help right about now, but Starsky deserves better than that. He doesn’t need me three sheets to the wind when I tell him the one thing he has been looking forward to has been ripped away, like everything else in his life.

Your right, Huggy, I am hiding out, and I can’t stay here forever. I can’t keep Starsky waiting. If I wait too long, he is liable to hear it from the news or a careless Doctor. I can’t let that happen. He has to hear it from me. It’s what he deserves after all he has been through.

I have to be the one to tell him and shatter a little bit more of his dreams.

 

Chapter 7: In the Waiting

Starsky’s POV

15 min…..

When Hutch was 15 minutes late, I was annoyed. Today was a big day, and I didn’t want to miss any of it because Blondie was late. I thought of everything I would tell him when he finally showed up. Then it hit me Hutch being late was like calling his car a thing of beauty. Neither happened very often, especially during court dates or visiting hours. Hutch never paid attention to rules about the visiting hours anyway.

Hutch was pretty good at his word. If Hutch said he would be at a certain spot at such and such time, then he was. That’s just how it is Hutch unless something kept him from getting to that appointment.

So where are you, pal? I hope you just overslept or something cause I really don’t want to think of the alternative

30 min….

When he was 30 minutes late, I was annoyed and started to worry. All these scenarios of why he was late kept creeping into my head. I tried to think of the positive ones more than the negative ones. Maybe the trashcan on wheels broke down. He overslept, or he was already here, just stopped to speak with my Doctor about details of going on this little field trip.
A call to my Doctor revealed no Hutch. I called his house, but the voice told me the line was down. There was no answer on his radio. Next, I called Huggy, but the employee, who answered the phone and I didn’t know well, hadn’t seen him since last night when huggy left The Pits like a bat out of hell.

The negative was starting to outweigh the positive.

The top of the negative list was that Gunther somehow got to my partner. Hutch was one of the key witnesses in the trial, so it was plausible. As time went on and there still was no Hutch, the top negative was becoming my biggest fear.

I tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about why Huggy would leave in the middle of heavy trade. Why Hutch was late and hadn’t called.

In fact, why hadn’t anybody called me?

Maybe that was a good sign. They would have come to the hospital or at least called if something happened. Right?

No news was good news. At least, that is what I hope.

35 min….

My nurse must see the tension and anxiety I felt because she threatened to give me a shot if I didn’t relax. I told her in some not-so-nice and pleasant words what to do with that shot and get the hell out of my room.

45 min….

When Hutch was 45 minutes late, I was no longer annoyed. Even panicked wasn’t correct and didn’t fit the apprehension and fear slowly gripping my heart. I had long forgotten the positive reasons for Hutch being late and dwelling only on the negatives.
Images of Hutch gunned down in front of his place. The scene of a supposed accidental overdose by a closet Junkie Cop played over in my head. This mixed with thoughts of Hutch’s body washed up on shore, his face gone in what was to look like a suicide “the distraught friend unable to cope with his friend being gunned down.”
I couldn’t take it anymore, and I finally tried to call Dobey, but when I was told Dobey was on his way to the hospital, my whole world started to crumble. All the images became real to me. If Dobey was coming here, without so much as a phone call, then it only meant one thing. Gunther had gotten to Hutch, and Hutch was dead.

55 min…

When Hutch was 55 minutes late, I was against my bed, holding onto the rails, legs shaking, ready to search for Hutch myself. When Dobey walked in 10 minutes later, followed closely by Huggy, the last bits of my world shattered, and the bottom fell out.

“Dave” That was Dobey. He never says my first name unless… unless… OH, God, Hutch!

“Catch Him”

“Get some help in here.”

“Where is the Doctor?”

As everything faded to black, I felt myself go from Dobey’s arms to another’s. I would recognize those arms anywhere.

In the past, they were protection when I was scared. Comfort when I was hurt. But that couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be Hutch holding me? Gunther got to Hutch. Hutch was dead. Wasn’t he? Oh, please don’t let these arms holding me be my imagination. And if it is just a dream, then let me stay because I can’t face reality without Hutch.

 

Chapter 8: Don’t Count the Sunrises

Hutch’s POV

‘ve lost count of how many sunrises I have watched from a hospital rooftop or windows…five…10…I don’t know anymore. It doesn’t really matter because one sunrise watched from any place in the hospital is far too many in my book, especially after the shooting.

Watching this sunrise, I can tell that it will be one of those days that makes the Chamber of Commerce real proud. Postcard perfect, a hooky kind of day as my partner would call it, and on any typical day, Starsky would be begging me to run off to the beach instead of going to work. But he’s not, and things haven’t been normal in a very long time.

Yesterday could be counted as a bad day. I used to keep track of those too – the good days and the bad days – I mean. But I stopped counting when there seemed to be more bad than good.

After I relieved Dobey of Starsky, we tried to get my partner back to bed. Starsky wouldn’t budge; he held on so tight to me that I knew there was no way he was going to let go without it hurting him in some way.

I knew because I had experienced it before. When it was just the two of us, and there was no one around to see the crack in the wall of strength my partner put up for the rest of the world to see. Those moments were usually reserved for late at night when the pain was too much for one person to carry and the nightmares took two to fight off. There was a desperation to how Starsky clung to me and me to him. Something he rarely showed to the outside world. Not that we cared anymore about what people thought. We knew the truth, and those within our inner circle knew the truth.

When he still wouldn’t let go, the Doctors were getting nervous about Starsky sitting on the cold floor like he was. I told the Doctors to let me try my way to get him to relax his grip before they tried theirs, a needle.

I’m here, not going anywhere, it’s ok, and a few other phrases became my mantra. Finally, the truth of my words sank in, and Starsky relaxed enough to get him back into bed. Though it was evident by his slightly lessened grip, I would be joining him there.

Later in those lucid times between medicated bliss and sleep came the mixing of words. Those words, where in one sentence he was reaming me out for being late. For making him worry and for me refusing to tell him why I was late.

I simply couldn’t tell him, not yet anyway.

Then, in the next sentence, he forgives me and says he trusts me when I tell him everything is ok, and I promise to tell him everything when he wakes up.

Why and how does he do that? How can he put so much trust in me? How one minute he is mad then the next forgive without a second thought?

I don’t deserve it; I don’t deserve him, especially when my failures put him here. My failure to watch his back and protect him from the bullets, my failure at the courage to face him and tell him about Gunther.

If I knew it would do him any good, I would walk away and step out of his life because I feel I do him more harm than good.

As those voices convince me to do that, Starsky’s voice tells them to stop messing with his partner, so they back off. They never go very far; they’re always around in the background. Always waiting for an opportunity to come out and make accusations, reminding me of my failures. An opportunity like today…well, yesterday because tomorrow is here.

Tomorrow becomes today with the raising of the sun. I know he is awake, waiting. I can feel his eyes watching me, studying me. Eyes that would be full of worry and concern, but mostly love.

I don’t want to turn around.

Dobey and Huggy say I am overthinking again; Starsky would agree. Either way, I still can’t turn around and look at something I don’t deserve. I still do turn around. It is mainly because it is what he deserves, and waiting will hurt him more.

So I turn and tell him everything…of Gunther taking his own life. Of the guard who we discovered was on his payroll and of Gunther’s last note to the world that simply said

“I win”

 

Chapter 9: Wasted Time 

Starsky’s POV

What are you doing, Starsk? Why are you keeping secrets? We made a promise to not keep secrets anymore. No more holding out on what is important. Did you forget that promise? Or was it just empty words, partner? Don’t you know you can’t hide from me?

The whole world, Dobey, Huggy, and even the Doctors say, “See, look at how far you have come and the progress you are making.”

You’ve got them fooled real good, don’t you, babe? You have them believing that everything is ok. When in fact, it isn’t.

You’re not ok, Starsk. I can feel it here, inside of me, where it matters most, in that closely held room of my heart. It’s that room where, a long time ago, you found a key to unlock the door, then you barged right in and set up residency.

I wouldn’t be your friend, and all the years of friendship we shared would mean nothing if I overlooked what was going on inside of you.

I can’t ignore that you’re giving up on the idea of getting back to who you were before the shooting.

I know you’re wondering if it’s all worth it. Thinking about the next Gunther or Forrest and worried about what if. I can hear the unspoken questions you ask yourself late at night when you think my heart doesn’t hear.

My soul can see the fear rooted deep within yours. That fear you’re hiding from me because you feel the need to protect me from it.

But I can still see it, partner. I can still see it because it is my fear as well. So please stop trying to protect me from your fears.

Just talk to me; I’m right here waiting.

Don’t you think I am scared of “the what if”?

Don’t you think I fear the next time we are caught in a rainstorm of bullets?

Don’t you think I know that we cheated death too many times, that maybe we used up all our miracles?

I do know Starsk. I am worried, and I am scared.

I get it.  Man, there are times that fear is so intense I freeze up and can’t move or think. Whenever it happens, I remember seeing you lying there helpless and broken, like a toy thrown away by its ungrateful owner.

When that fear grabs hold of my heart, it is so tight that I believe it will squeeze the very life out of me, and I start questioning what good am I?  What if I can’t watch your back because I am scared of “the what if”?

Whenever I ask what if, my mind answers, stating that I am good for nothing, and the fear grips me harder. I’m a coward, and I can’t be responsible for your injuries or your death because of my mistakes and fears.

I let you down before; how can you trust me not to do that again when I can’t even trust myself?

I am scared I will fail you as I did in the garage. While I hid behind the car, you stood your ground and tried to pull your gun.

Dammit, Starsk, why didn’t you get down? What the hell do you think you were doing?

I know the answer to that question, but I don’t understand it. Why Starsky? Why would you do that? I don’t deserve that kind of loyalty.

Listen to me, Starsk: I know you are trying and doing everything for me. Stop it. You can’t do that. You can’t try because I or anybody else wants you to.

Yes, I want you to get better, but you must try because you want to Starsk. You need to do this for yourself, not for Dobey, Huggy, the doctors, or the half dozen other people waiting for you to get better.

And least of all, you can’t do this for me like I deserve it somehow.

Especially when the truth of it is, I don’t deserve it. If anything, the one person who deserves it is not me but you.

 

Chapter 10: I Fear The Same Things

Hutch’s POV

What are you doing Starsk? Why? We made a promise to not keep secrets anymore. No more holding out on what is important. Did you forget that promise buddy? Or was it just empty words partner? Don’t you know you can’t hide from me?

The whole world, Dobey, Huggy even the Doctors say “See look at how far you have come, and the progress you are making. How much back to normal you are”

Well you’ve got them fooled real good don’t you babe? You have them believing that everything is ok when in fact it isn’t.

You’re not ok, I can feel it here…inside where it matters most. In that closely held room of my heart where a long time ago you found a key to unlock the door, then you barged right in and set up residency.

I wouldn’t be your friend and all the years of friendship we shared would mean nothing if I overlooked what I feel is going on inside of you.

I can’t ignore that you’re giving up on the idea of getting back to who you were before the shooting.

I know you’re wondering if it is worth it. Thinking about the next Gunther or Forrest and worried about what if. I can hear the unspoken questions you ask yourself late at night when you think my heart doesn’t hear.

My soul can see the fear that is rooted deep within your soul. That fear you’re keeping from me, hiding because you feel the need to protect me from it.

But I can still see it partner. I can still see it because it is my fear as well. So please stop trying to protect me from your fears.

Just talk to me, I’m right here waiting.

Don’t you think I am scared of “the what if”?

Don’t you think I fear the next time we are caught in a rainstorm of bullets?

Don’t you think I know that we cheated death one too many times, that maybe we used up all our miracles.

I do know Starsk, I am worried and I am scared.

There are times that fear is so strong I freeze up and I can’t move or think. And the only thing I see is you lying there helpless and broken like some hapless toy thrown away by its ungrateful owner when they no longer wanted you.

When that fear grabs hold of my heart it is so tight that I believe it will squeeze the very life out of me and I start questioning what good am I if I can’t watch your back because I am scared of “the what if”?

Every time I ask my mind answers back telling I am good for nothing and the fear grips harder because I can’t handle being the one responsible for you injuries or worse your death.

I let you down before, how can you trust me not to do that again when I can’t even trust myself?

I am scared I will fail you like I did in the garage. While I hid behind the car you stood your ground and tried to pull your gun.

Dammit Starsk, why didn’t you get down, what the hell do you think you were doing?

I know the answer to that question, but I don’t understand it. Why Starsky? Why would you do that after the way I treated you in the past year? I don’t deserve that kind of loyalty.

Listen to me Starsk:  I know you are trying and the effort you are making to succeed is just for me. But you can’t do that. You can’t try because I or anybody else wants you to. As far as getting back on the street I can care less about that right now.

Yes, I want you to get better, but you have to try because you want to Starsk. You need to do this for yourself, not for Dobey, Huggy, the doctors or the half dozen other people waiting out there for you to get better.

And least of all you can’t do this for me like I deserve it somehow. Especially when the truth of it is I don’t deserve it. If anything the one person who deserves something done for them is not me my friend but you.

 

Chapter 11: “I”, Does Not Exist

Starsky’s POV

I know, Pal. I know the fear that stops your heart every time you step out of this room and catches your breath every time you look at me and wonder about our future. It’s the same fear that gives strength to the tight grip you have every time you take my hand. The same fear sends shivers down your spine every time you touch me or see the scares I try to hide.

Hutch, just because you don’t have the physical wounds to show how much you’re hurting doesn’t mean you’re not. I know because it is my fear too. I know your pain too. It isn’t a physical one like mine.

Seeing your hurt is tearing me apart. It’s tearing me apart because I’m the reason. Gunther’s bullets may have put us here, but I’m the reason you don’t smile anymore. You put on a good show, but you can’t fool me. You can’t fool someone who is as a part of you as the very air you breathe.

I know you were hurt too. I see it with each new day in this dark world we have called reality for far too long.

It’s in the tears I hear you shed at night when you think I am sleeping. The lines etched into your face tell me of the long sleepless nights of worry and guilt. They have aged you far beyond your years. It’s in your once strong hands that tremble because they are unsure and don’t want to cause any more pain or that I might disappear or, worse…die.

Don’t do this to yourself, Hutch. You deserve more than you know. You deserve all the happiness this world has to offer in this crummy world. What you don’t deserve is being saddled with a partner that can no longer watch your back, much less take care of you.

I’m screwed up, Hutch. Mentally and physically screwed up.

I am scared that it will never get better than this.

I’m scared to tell you because I don’t want to add anything to your shoulders.

I want to tell you, but you already carry the weight of the world. What right do I have to add to it? You already do too much. There are days I want to tell you to get out,  leave, and get on with your life because mine is over.

But I am too damn selfish to do it. Too greedy to set you free from a life burdened with a useless partner.

I’m selfish because I am scared to be alone. I’m selfish because I still need you. You’re the only thing keeping me sane, the only anchor in this storm that is battering and slowly destroying our world.

Maybe you’re right, and I have to decide to get better for me. My recovery is not because of anyone, but I can’t accept that, Hutch. There is a whole lot more at stake than me.

Don’t you know Hutch that “I” no longer exist?

“I” does not exist in our world. It hasn’t for a very long time. That fine line between speaking in the singular – me, myself, and I – and the plural faded so long ago, so much so that I can’t tell where I end and you began.

If I set out doing this just for me and fail, then we, me and thee, are lost.

If I set out to do this on my own, I have already failed because I can’t make it on my own.

 

Chapter 12: If we have to be screwed up, we are at least screwed together.

Hutch’s POV

Man, aren’t we one screwed-up pair of human beings. I am beginning to think that we are so screwed up that we have passed outside the boundaries where professional help would benefit us.

In reality, though, we may have already been past that help, way before Gunther came along and messed our lives up further.

But if we have to be screwed up, we are at least screwed together. At least we are alive and can continue to screw up each other’s lives until we grow old and die happy or kill each other. Whichever comes first, I don’t care because the alternative is much worse – being screwed up and alone.

Been there, done that, and I don’t want to do that again.

If we are beyond help, we need to slow the process. We can start by putting the guilt where it belongs on Gunther’s shoulders. We must put it there and leave it, washing our hands of it. It is too big for you and me to carry together, much less alone. If we don’t do that, Starsk, it will crush us in the end. The guilt and blame will do what Gunther, Kira, and all the others have tried and failed.

I am not willing to find out if that could happen, and I know you feel the same way. Your actions no more put us here than mine. Gunther alone is responsible; his choices put us here.

We all have choices, sure, we can’t control the choices others make, but we have control over how they affect us and how we react to them. We can let it destroy us, or we can destroy it.

The reality is all the “what if’s” can’t change it. So there is no reason to waste our energy on what might have been.

Ha! Who am I kidding? That is so much easier “said” than done. But it sounds nice, doesn’t it?

Either way, I know we would rather be screwed up together than screwed up and alone.

 

Chapter 13: A Gift For Hutch

Starsky’s POV

Finally, after an eternity in purgatory, I am leaving this little prison of mine. What makes it extra special is today is my partner’s birthday. Well, his birthday was a few weeks ago, but I was sick and missed it. He said he didn’t care that I had already given him the best present. I ignored him and said we would celebrate it today, or at least that is what he thinks. He doesn’t know I am getting out of here. Huggy and the Dobeys know; they are also here for the big reveal.

Hutch was left out of the loop.

I didn’t tell him because I wanted it to be a surprise. There is something else I haven’t told him either. I will walk out of here on my own two feet, no one helping, no stinking crutch to lean on, not even the blonde kind. Not that I resented my blonde partner’s help, it’s just that is what I want to give him this for his birthday, something that gives him a little hope in this dark world, shines a light, and says, hey, there is some hope left for the future…our future.

It’s all I have to offer. I wish there was more I could give, especially after all Hutch has done, but I have nothing else to give except this.

I wish I could tell him everything will return to normal when I step out those doors. That I will be able to get behind the wheel of my beloved car, my best friend is sitting next to me like always, and we will hit the streets like any other day. Or tell him we can go home for some beer and watch a movie or a play round of monopoly to relax after a rough shift.

The cold, hard truth is that it will be a long time before that happens, if it ever does.

I don’t have a home to go to we decided to let my place go. Hutch found a “Nice Place,” He says. You should have seen the “discussion” over that one. A lot of hurt feelings and harsher words were said that day.

I can be one stubborn SOB when I want to be. It wasn’t Hutch’s fault. He just chose the wrong day to spring that little bit of information on me. It had been one of my lowest days, where self-pity and revulsion over the scares ruled the day. Eventually, I saw reason. It only took Hutch, Dobey, Huggy, and my doctors to help see the light.

The Torino is sitting at Merle’s up on blocks. As much as I loved that car, I can’t give them the ok to fix her up. Hutch says he would help pay for it.

For my blonde partner, seeing the Torino fixed is a sign that life is headed in the right direction.

For me, until I know for sure that everything is going to be ok, I am leaving her there. If I find out my options to be a cop are still open, I will fix her up. But if it’s not an option, it’s better to leave her there, closing the door on what I can never have again.

Hutch doesn’t understand my reasoning; funny how he was Torino’s biggest opponent, and now he is the biggest advocate for seeing her fixed. I should be glad he still believes it will be ok because there are still days it is hard for me to believe.

I want to believe it will be, but it’s hard to believe when there are days my body hurts so much I can’t move, much less breathe, without feeling like I am being torn apart from the inside out.

I am glad today is not one of those days. I want it to be perfect, as perfect as it can be under the circumstances.

It’s funny. I have been waiting so long for this day, and now that it is here, I don’t know if I can do it. I am scared of what is out there and worried about Hutch.

I worry about him once we get home. A whole team is watching out for me here in the hospital, not only Hutch. At home, there will be no safety net to catch him when he runs himself into the ground, and he would do it without a second thought if I let that happen.

I will not let him do that; I can’t stand by and let that happen. Part of this gift is to show I can contribute to my care. We’re a team, and I would be a lousy partner if I didn’t hold up my end of the partnership.

So here I sit, waiting for my partner to step off that elevator. When he does, he will see me sitting here all dressed, ready to g, like I was sitting on some park bench instead of sitting in this small alcove by the window at the end of the hall. I am going to stand and walk the few dozen steps. Hopefully, we can forget the reality and pretend just for a little while we never heard of James Gunther. Believe that everything is how it was before those bullets changed our lives.

Chapter 14: 20 steps

Hutch’s POV

Twenty steps, that’s how far it is from the end of the hall where my friend Dave Starsky sat waiting for me, to the elevator where I stood. The sun would come through at certain times in the afternoon, and the alcove would be a perfect spot to warm weary bodies and brighten darkened souls.

It was our spot.

Since Starsky started Physical therapy, it was a daily ritual to walk from his room near the elevator to our spot. That’s how I knew it was 20 steps; I had counted them over and over again while I helped my friend walk. I felt every muscle pull, every hitch in his breath that came with every step he took. No matter how much it hurt, the energy it took, the energy he didn’t have to give, he never gave up.

It sounds like such a small number, a nothing accomplishment. Who would have thought twenty steps would become so important. Twenty steps is a round trip to the fridge from the couch. It’s a midnight run to the bathroom or the space between the backdoor of the precinct to Starsky’s car.

It’s nothing, something I would never have thought of in the past. But to someone like my partner, who, after just five steps, doubles over in pain, and that’s on a good day, it was something. To someone who was told he might never walk unassisted again because a bullet came too close to his spine, it meant the whole world.

When I stepped off the elevator, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to see my partner sitting in that spot. The spot I usually had to help him to. Not only that but he was completely dressed, crummy jeans and all.

My dead stop in the middle of the hallway was all the time he needed to slowly get up from his seat and take an unsteady step toward me. After two more shaky steps, I came out of shock and took a step toward my friend, but a hard grip on my arm kept me in my place. A glance to my right told me it was Dobey. Next to him was Huggy and the rest of the Dobey clan.

It didn’t take long to put two and two together, and everything and everyone in that hallway faded to the background. It was just Starsky, me, and our little piece of miracle mile.

His steps were shaky and extremely slow; by the tenth and twelfth steps, I could see what a struggle it was for him even to accomplish that. My heart rejoiced and was full of pride for him, yet it ached too. I wanted nothing more than to go over and take him in my arms and tell him that was enough.

But I didn’t move. I knew this was for Starsky just as much as it was for me. It was a milestone in Starsky’s long recovery that we only dreamed about, and now that we were here, I couldn’t take that from him.

By the fifteenth step, sweat-drenched every inch of him. The pain was etched on his face but not in his eyes. No, his eyes were filled with such love, joy, and determination that I was sure nothing would stop him, not even the world ending. And my heart swelled a little more. And I am sure the smile on his face reflected the one on mine.

His strength gave out on the twentieth step, and his legs could no longer hold him up. It didn’t matter because I was there to catch him, like always.

There were shouts of joy and tears of happiness all around, but we ignored them. I sat on the floor where I had stood a moment before, pulling Starsky close till he was curled up on my lap, and I wrapped my arms around him, resting my chin on the top of his head.

I knew he couldn’t sit like that for long, but we didn’t care. We never wanted this moment to end. After a few seconds that felt like hours, I felt him shift some, and I looked down, my eyes meeting his indigo ones and the unconditional love there. We never needed words before to speak of that love, and we didn’t need them now. I nodded to acknowledge his unspoken words and pulled him close again, letting my heart do the talking.

Yeah, buddy, we made it, you and I, Me and Thee, we won

 

Chapter 15: No matter how hard we beat against it.

Starsky’s POV

Hutch was right. The home he found was the perfect place – right on the beach and near Venice Place that I insisted Hutch keep. Mostly, so he has a place to escape to when things get rough. Not that Hutch ever does. When he goes, it is because I have forced him to, telling him I need solitude, to be alone with my thoughts.

It works most days, but all the solitude allows the negative thoughts to come in, letting them eat away at all the hope of getting better.

There are so many times, like right now, when I am sitting here on the warm sand watching the waves going in and out, whispering for me to float away, and I think how easy it would be just to lay back and let it take me away.

It has been over a month since I took those 20 steps for Hutch, and if someone asked me if it was worth it, I would have told them it was worth the price.

It had been so long since I saw Hutch genuinely smile. I think the last time was before Gunther’s bullets stole whatever happiness he had left, if he had any, at that point in his life.

To see the hope and joy in Hutch’s eyes, watching his whole face light up, was worth it.

We rode a high together, but as with any high, there was a crash. Those steps set me back two weeks, maybe more, and cost me another ten days in that prison.

And then I just traded one prison for another.

Instead of the round-the-clock care the hospital provided, which I grew sick of, I have Hutch. Who, in his striving to take care of me, has become more of a caregiver than I want him to be and less of a friend that I need him to be.

I can walk more than 20 steps at a time now, maybe even 100, but it isn’t enough. I thought I would be able to do more; I want to be doing more.

He says it will take time, and someday we will look back and wonder how we ever made it. The only thing is I don’t want it eventually. I want now. I am tired of the rollercoaster, both the emotional and physical one I find myself on.

I am tired of one day being able to do most everything and then the next barely able to hold a glass without dropping it, much less get out of bed.

Dam it… I am so tired of pretending to be strong, trying my best, and giving it my all. Don’t they know I have given everything this body will provide? Why can’t Hutch understand that this is all there is. Is it not getting any better?

I know you are tired of it too, Hutch. I know you are tired of me taking my frustrations out on you. I can see it and feel it.

In those first few weeks of being home, your eyes were bright with hope and belief it was getting better. That I was making progress, now they are faded, much like my belief that I will get better than this.

Even the words of encouragement and care I thrived on seem hollow and empty. It shows you no longer believe them any more than I do. And we just haven’t faced the truth that it will never get better than this.

The goals we have set, which seemed too high to reach, have come and gone, and I haven’t accomplished any of them the way I thought we would.

We’ve hit this wall, and it seems all we do from sun up to sun down is beat and throw ourselves against it, and it never fails.

No matter how hard we beat against it, the only cracks or weaknesses I see are the ones in our determination to make it fall. Hutch, what will we do if this is all there is?

 

Chapter 16:A mask of hope that falsely kept me going

Hutch’s POV

They tried to warn me about what it would be like once I got my partner home. But, when you are living off the high of those first twenty steps like I was, you don’t want to hear things like depression, stress, anxiety, and things of that sort.

Why should I want to?

We already dealt with that stuff during the months of recovery at the hospital. Outside the hospital, the harsh reality of my partner’s injuries sets in, and it will be something that we never had to face before. We dealt with the surface-level stuff in the hospital, and things were easily handled because of the controlled environment.

The fact it would just be Starsk and me, I ignored. There would be no string of doctors and nurses at the beck and call, nothing to fall back on when days got tough and the nights even worse. I just smiled and nodded because why should I be told something I already knew.

Starsky and me, that wasn’t a new concept for us. There has always been an “Us,” a “Me and Thee.” Us against the rest of the world when it seemed to be against us. We have been through tuff times before and come out on top. Especially when everyone else said we would fail. When everyone else said, the other half wasn’t worth the pain.

We proved them wrong every single time and would this time. I mean, Starsky took twenty steps. Sure it delayed his release by a few days and set him back. He still took them when all the doctors said he would never walk again. He took those twenty steps; tomorrow would be another twenty, and the week after that, 100.

But it didn’t happen that way.

That little miracle I was riding the coattails of didn’t happen again for a long time. I didn’t care, though. To me, every day that I saw my partner breathing was a miracle enough for me.

All that other stuff came second or later.

That positive outlook, the euphoric high, kept me flying for a good while. Still, it also kept me blind to another perspective I wasn’t willing to acknowledge.

It was an easy way to cover up and hide those things I wasn’t willing to accept. One is that my partner’s view on life was not as optimistic as I tried to make it.

You see, while I got up every day and put on a mask of hope that falsely kept me going. Starsky got up every morning, reminded of what he no longer was and how drastically his life had changed. Then he would put on that same mask I did.

So each day went like everything was golden when it wasn’t.

Somewhere in the days after being released from the hospital, things changed. We didn’t talk anymore, and even when we did, it was mostly Starsk getting irritated at me and being pissed at the world.

As for me, I just nodded and took it. Turn about is fair play, and I deserved every word, every jibe, and insult. Starsky was returning everything I did to him in the year leading up to Gunther.

Huggy saw it happening once and tried to stop it.

I told him it didn’t bother me, that I let it go in one ear and out the other. It was a lie. I didn’t let it roll off my back. Instead, I absorbed it all. I held it closed up inside where it sat and simmered, eating away at what was left of me.

Eventually, as Starsky healed physically, I found every excuse to be out of the house.

“Dobey needs me for this or that.”

“Huggy called…”

It didn’t matter if it was the truth or a lie. That was the worst part, “the lying.” It got worse as I became more of a caregiver than the friend he needed. Making sure he got to the right appointment or took the right medication but never cared if it happened.

I was just cold, hollow, and tired, just a shadow of myself.

It was heartbreaking to be living under the same roof with a total stranger that you knew better than you know yourself.

It should have been so simple to fix.

I mean, all we had to do was reach out. Like we always did in the past. But we didn’t. We just kept going on like that. I buried myself in work and the occasional liquid courage. Starsky spent most of his days sitting on the deck, watching the ocean like he was waiting for it to sweep him away.

Maybe he was just waiting for it to happen, to sweep him away like I was hoping the occasional shot of courage would also take my pain away.

 

Chapter 17: There are necessary evils in this life.

Starsky’s POV

We all make compromises to make the insanity a little less insane, to cause the pain that comes with life a little easier to handle.

There are necessary evils in this life.

Hutch and I did it all the time on the street. How much money have we given a snitch for information on a crime knowing that snitch was going to buy drugs. Did the end justify the means when I let Calender go to save Hutch’s life?

There isn’t a difference between then and now.   What difference is there in me taking a little extra of my medication when Hutch isn’t looking? Especially when all I want to do is delay the arrival of the morning by an hour or two when the pain of simply waking up is too much.

The end justifies the means, right?

I don’t feel guilty when I can convince Hutch he miscounted the night before because he was tired. I also don’t feel guilty that I was able to convince the pharmacy to refill a bottle that didn’t need refilling. Nor did I feel guilty that I could hide the bottle when I needed something extra.

Like all those times, we paid a snitch; the necessary evils help us win.

I’m not lying to Hutch about taking the extras because he doesn’t know, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. If they are helping me to get better, then what harm is it.

They are a necessary evil, a way to sleep, be awake, walk, and lie down. To stand in front of all my friends, stand next to Hutch six months after Gunther on Thanksgiving Day, and tell them I am thankful to be alive when all I want to do is die.

They are a necessary evil to cover the guilt after I looked straight into Hutch’s eyes and told him the grin I had plastered to my face and the high I felt was because it was Christmas day.

They are a necessary evil, so I can convince him, as the clock chimes in 1980, how excited I am for the New Year. To cover the fear of never regaining what I lost.

The fear that I will never become the person I once was. The fear that the Starsky everyone knew – Partner, Cop, friend – died between the rain of bullets and Hutch’s tears as he pleaded for me to live. The problem is not one person, only me, has figured out that this body is nothing more than an empty and broken shell.

And if somewhere in this shadow between life and death I can find the real Dave Starsky, then cheers for all necessary evils, especially when they justify the end, even if the end is death.

 

Chapter 18: The Stranger I Know

Hutch’s POV

T

They say the only reason we believe lies is that we are scared of the truth. They are right, you know. Because who wants to see the truth when a lie is so much easier to accept, especially when the lie tells you there is nothing wrong and the world is as it should be.

I gladly play along with the charade with drink held high and my bit of make-believe mixed in. I believe every plastered smile, every false euphoria, passes itself off as a fulfilling existence.

Every distraction you created kept my eyes from the truth, like some magician performing an act. I accept it with my own set of false hope and amber-induced smiles. I go along with the false humor and platitudes in front of our friends as they sit around toasting the future.

I can innocently ask how we got to this place and pretend I don’t understand.

It would all be a lie, just as make-believe and false realities are cold mistresses in the light of truth. Their amber-colored drinks offer false hope that dulls reality’s pain.

Nothing is the same and never will be again.

The innocence and naiveté we carried those first few days home from the hospital are long past us, even though we are holding on to them in vain.

Just look what we have become.

We are strangers living under the same roof. I can’t even say we are mere shadows of what we once were because at least shadows have some reference to their origins.

We have lost ourselves, Starsk.

I look in the mirror and see a stranger staring back at me. I look across the dinner table and see a stranger. We are so far gone and cannot find our way home. Me with my glass of liquid courage and you with your “necessary evils.”

Yes, I know about your “necessary evils.” We may be able to fool ourselves, but we cannot deceive each other. We have too much history together, and yet we still try.

The anniversary of that day is only five months away, and I fear what we will be by then. I like to think we have not gone so far that there is no hope for a return. If that is at least true, and there is a chance, then this lie has to end.

We cannot go on like these two strangers under one roof. It’s destroying us. I fear what it will take to make it all end, to get us back on track. We need help before that happens, and I fear what will happen if I do not reach out for that help.

 

Chapter 19: There was a Storm Coming

Starsky’s POV

I don’t remember much from that day, and even what I remember feels more like it happened to someone else. Like some observer detached and separated from it.

I remember…

Opening my eyes and staring up, watching the mid-afternoon sun and shadows play a game of chase across the ceiling as a light breeze moved the curtains to the slow beat of the waves outside. By their sound, I knew there was a storm coming.

I remember…

Trying to force my body and mind back to sleep while simultaneously wondering why I was awake when the medication I took an hour ago should have knocked me out for another 3.

I remember…

Knowing there were people in the other room. There were voices, two or three to be exact.   I couldn’t hear what was being said. All I knew was something was not right.

I remember…

I was surprised at standing in the hallway, not knowing how I got there, but not surprised by the gun’s weight in my hand—the one I hadn’t picked up since the parking garage nine months ago. I don’t know where it came from or how it got there. It just was.

From my vantage point in the hallway, I could put a name to the voices I heard, but they could not see me.   Dobey was there, and Huggy too.   Hutch was there, I couldn’t see him, but I could hear his words, which stung worse than any bullet.

Failure

Pain

Everything lost

Those were not the words but the emotions behind them, and I was the one who put them there, and only I could take them away.

I remember…

I was no longer in the hall but standing outside on the outcropping of rocks not far from the house.   The rocks stretched out into the water, where the waves crashed, making them slick and dangerous to climb on. Hutch hated when I came out here, and sometimes I did it to piss him off.

Not today, though.

I don’t remember how I got there, but I remember why. I felt in control there. I felt in control among the noise and chaos of the waves crashing against the rocks. Here in the eye of the storm, it was calm. The world was in turmoil, but not for me.

I remember…

The energy pulsated through me as the storm broke.

Standing there, watching from the outside as my hand released the safety.

The feeling of the slide as I pulled it back and freedom dropped into the chamber.

Still, I watched as that other me tilted his head back, letting the waves and storm wash over him before slowly raising the gun.

Then Hutch was there…

He pleaded for my other self to stop and not do what he planned. It wasn’t worth it. All the while, the other pleaded why he had to do this and for Hutch to let him go.

I let Hutch’s words sink in, and I hesitated.

Then Hutch was there…

Standing next to me, hand on my wrist gently pulling. I was myself again, no longer on the outside, and I believed everything Hutch whispered in my ear.

I turned into his embrace.

A rock shifted, and with a bang

The whole world tilted.

Chapter 20: And The Whole World Tilted

Hutch’s POV