Close Enough to Touch

K Hanna Korossy

Written: 1998

Seasoned Timber 2 (2002)

  There were bad weeks, and then there were bad weeks.

  The former ones were a part of life, when coffee spilled on a new shirt and Dobey was yelling at everyone and they were stuck with babysitting duty for a prima donna witness.  The latter shouldn’t have happened to anyone: dealing with the aftereffects of an ordeal of kidnapping and torture and mindgames.  Not helped in the least bit by preparation for the trial of those responsible for the memories.  No, thought Hutch, watching his partner pace.  There was no excuse at all for a week like that.

  “Starsky, sit down, would you?  It’s just a hearing--we’ll give a deposition and leave again.  Nothing to it.”

  It didn’t matter how gentle the words, they still made the brunet jump, and he ran a hand nervously through his hair as he turned to listen to his partner.  “I know,” was all he said, but the words came out rushed, uneven, and he turned away again just as quickly to resume pacing. 

  Hutch sighed.  Starsky’s edginess would have been almost comical if it hadn’t had a very real cause.  It had originally taken him several days after the ordeal to begin to pull himself back together, plus several more weeks before he seemed fully back to his old self.  And then Hutch had watched most of  the progress crumble away as the week went on, dragging toward that day’s damnable hearing.  Perhaps he’d managed to rescue his partner from Simon Marcus’s hellhole in time, but freeing his mind was a whole other issue.  “Starsky--”

  “How much longer d’ya think it’s gonna be?”  Starsky was already at his side, pulling out Hutch’s pocketwatch, and the blond had an irrational desire to slap his hands away like a demanding child’s.  They’d have to get another watch soon for Starsky; his old one was gone God-knows-where along with the clothes Marcus’s followers had stripped off him. 

  Hutch jerked himself from the memory with a tangible shake, startling Starsky, who let go of his watch and backed off.  Hutch instantly softened with sympathy.  “Soon, Starsk.  The hearing starts at eleven, and that’s only--” he consulted his watch, “--two minutes away.  ‘Course, you know they probably won’t be on time. . .”

  On cue, the courtroom door opened, making Starsky jump again, and Dobey appeared in the doorway.  His eyes lighted on Starsky for a moment, then he stepped up to Hutch.  “They’re about to start,” he said quietly, meaningfully.

  Hutch nodded.  He turned toward his partner.  “You ready?”

  Starsky seemed to shrink against the far wall.  Ready was completely the wrong word, Hutch realized.  Waiting for an execution would have been less nerve-wracking, and Starsky’s only hurry was for getting it over with as soon as possible.

  “Starsky.”  Dobey was looking at the brunet, too, and Hutch could tell that he was just as troubled by what he saw.  “They won’t need you right away.  If you want to stay out here until it’s time--”

  “Uh-uh.”  Still those rushed, breathless words.  “I’m okay.” 

  Hutch shook his head mentally.  He’d never seen Starsky that rattled over anything before, certainly not with fear.  It crossed his mind yet again to wonder if Starsky had told him everything that had happened in those purgatorial twenty-four hours of his captivity, but even what Hutch knew was an appalling list of inhumanities.  His partner had every right to be jittery. 

  Dobey led the way in, Starsky finally pulling away from the wall to follow him, Hutch close behind.  He wrapped a hand unobtrusively around his partner’s nearest arm, feeling the light tremors that went through the other’s frame. 

  And then Starsky froze so suddenly, Hutch nearly ran into him, the muscles of his arm going utterly rigid. 

  Frowning, Hutch looked up, following his partner’s fixed line of sight.  There were only two defendants in the courtroom for this hearing, both looking at Starsky, the same cold, playful smile painted on their faces that Marcus had worn as Hutch pleaded for his partner’s life.  Except now the twin smirks came from Luke and Peter, Simon’s henchmen and Starsky’s chief tormentors.  Focused solely on their former-victim.

  The heartbeat pounding in the artery under Hutch’s fingers doubled.  Then Starsky abruptly jerked out of his grip, turning back toward him and the door.  Hutch only got a glimpse of his white face before he muttered, “I gotta get outta here,” and then he was gone. 

  Dobey looked back at them in time to see Starsky’s fleeing form.  Catching Hutch’s eye, he nodded toward the door.  Hutch didn’t need the permission.  “I’ll take care of it, Cap’n.”  And he flew out after his partner. 

  The rush down the courtroom corridor brought a sickening sense of déja vu, and Hutch swallowed down the memory as he focused on his goal.  Same object of his search, different ending, he swore it.  He would not lose Starsky again. 

  One significant difference from the nightmare of before was that this time there were plenty of guards all over the place, and hurried questioning led to one of them pointing out the door his partner had gone through.  Stairs, leading up to the roof or down to the basement.  Hutch didn’t even have to think about it.  Taking them three at a time, he climbed up. 

  The door burst open so easily at his shove, it nearly rebounded and hit him in the face.  He steadied himself and the door, then scanned the roof in one sweeping glance.  It wasn’t hard to find Starsky, the lone figure pacing frantically by the edge of the roof, his arms wrapped around himself as if to keep himself in one piece. 

  Hutch relaxed a little, shutting the door behind him before he walked across the roof and stopped only a few feet away from the pacer. 

  “Starsky?”

  Starsky hunched over even more, shivering with a chill Hutch doubted was just from the stiff breeze on top of the building.  He stepped closer, partly blocking his partner’s path. 

  “Starsk?”

  That just made Starsky turn and pace the other way, but he shook his head as he did.  “I can’t do this.”

  Hutch stuck his hands in his pockets, contemplating the landscape beyond the roof.  “Do what?” he asked quietly.

  “Go in there.  See them again.”  He was shivering harder now.  Hutch was tempted to offer his own jacket, except he knew it would do no good, not for what was really wrong. 

  Hutch thought a moment, then waited until Starsky was facing him again before gesturing to the ground beside the roof ledge.  “Can you sit down for a minute?”

  Starsky started and stared at him briefly.  His restlessness fought and argued with the calm in Hutch’s eyes, but finally he seemed to give himself up to his partner’s wishes.  With visible effort, he unfolded himself long enough to drop down onto the rooftop surface. 

  Hutch smiled inside at the small victory and made himself comfortable next to his partner, shoulder-to-shoulder.  “What’s going on?” he asked softly.

  Another hard tremor, and Hutch put an arm around the shaking shoulders before he realized it, trying to provide some warmth.  Finally, in a voice nearly as weary as when the assault had been fresh, Starsky murmured, “Seein’ ‘em. . . it’s like it’s happening all over again.  I remember. . .”

  “What?”

  “Everything.   The chantin’ and Peter with that torch ‘n the poisoned water and always the stuff about Marcus’s dreams. . .”  He swallowed, made a face.  “Think I’m gonna be sick, Hutch.”

  “Head down, buddy.”  Hutch reacted at once, pushing the dark curls between Starsky’s drawn-close knees.  “Just think about being up here, out in the fresh air, just you and me.  Nothing else, huh?”  His hand began drawing slow, distracting circles on Starsky’s back.  “Breathe slow and deep, Starsk.”  The brunet was in danger of hyperventilating, gulping air in as his fingers clenched convulsively at nothing. 

  Trouble breathing, racing pulse, nausea, restlessness: Hutch cataloged the symptoms.  He was no expert, but it sure seemed like a full-blown panic attack to him.  Which meant the only way to deal with the outside symptoms was to deal with the inside ones. 

  Starsky’s breathing was growing calmer, his back no longer heaving under Hutch’s continued massage, and the blond finally leaned over.  “Feeling better?”

  A small nod.  Satisfied, Hutch pulled up enough to let Starsky straighten to lean back against the ledge and Hutch’s still-encircling arm, staring blankly up at the sky. 

  Hutch rubbed the shoulder under his hand, still trying to chafe away the shivers that continued to rack his partner.  He waited a beat.  “But after all that, I got there, followed by the cavalry, and everything turned out okay,” he reminded gently. 

  That actually elicited a small smile.  “Hey, you were the cavalry,” Starsky muttered, his eyes still on the clouds above. 

  Hutch grinned too.  “Okay, so the white knight arrived.  Then what?”

  Starsky finally tilted his head to one side to look at the blond.  “We went t’the hospital, and then you took me home.” 

  “And it got better, right?” Hutch asked softly.

  “Yeah.”  This time the smile was pure fondness.  “You make a pretty good nurse when you want to.”

  Hutch made a wry face.  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

  Starsky was already going on.  “It did get better--’til the hearing came up.”  He made a face.  “Can’t believe I ran out of there.  They’ll think they won.” 

  Hutch’s fingers tightened in sympathy.  There was silence for a minute, then, “You want to know what my side of this is?”

  Starsky turned completely to look at him this time, curiosity momentarily overcoming his agitation.  “What?”

  “I spent nearly twenty-four hours looking for you, not even sure you were still alive.  I went to Marcus a couple of times, begged him to tell me where you were. . . “ he tapered off for a moment.  “All he gave me were those stupid riddles.  It drove me crazy, knowing he knew where you were, that he could save you but he wouldn’t help me, not unless I solved those impossible, stupid games.”  Hutch’s voice grew rough with feeling, staring at Starsky as if to share the feelings through the conduit of his gaze alone.  “And then I got there, and you were alive, and I was so grateful to have you back safe.  Even when it hurt to see you hurting like that, and it was so frustrating not to be able to help, I was still so relieved. . . It feels like there isn’t anything we couldn’t handle after that.” 

  Starsky studied him back, no expected flush of embarrassment at the airing of usually unspoken feelings.  Hutch almost saw himself mirrored in the dark blue eyes, and what he saw was. . .

  The eyes gentled.  “Not anything, huh?”

  “Not together.” 

  Starsky nodded thoughtfully, then went back to studying the sky. 

  There was no easy cure for panic attacks, only treatment.  Warmth, calming, removal from the trigger, and, most of all, company.  Not being alone sometimes made all the difference.  They sat for a long time in shared silence as Hutch felt his partner gradually relax, the shakes dying away, his breath and heartbeat slowing, quieting.  Peace returned. 

  Starsky finally spoke.  “You think I should go back?”  The question was asked almost idly.

  “If you’re ready.  I’m going to be right there next to you the whole time, you know that.”

  “I know.” 

  Another perusal of the sky, then Starsky sighed.  “Think I’ve finally got my act together.” 

  “Hey, I’d say you were doing pretty good by my book.”

  Starsky smiled at him, patting the hand on his shoulder once.  “Yeah, you would.”  He rose in one motion, still a little stiffly but without the earlier frozen dread.  Hutch marvelled at the change, then considered the way Starsky had looked at him before.  Hutch hadn’t meant to say as much as he had about what he’d felt, but then again, maybe that shift of focus was just what Starsky had needed.  What it revealed of Hutch’s feelings would have been nothing his partner hadn’t known, but thinking about the blond had always distracted Starsky to the point of forgetting about his own fears and needs.  And just this once, Hutch was happy to take advantage of that. 

  Starsky extended a hand, pulling him to his feet, his hand lingering on Hutch’s back as if the contact gave him courage, as they headed back toward the door. 

  “Does this mean you’re not mad about what Merl did t’your car anymore?” he asked hopefully, halfway down the stairs. 

  It was an effort to scowl instead of give in to the laugh that suddenly welled up in him.  After his initial horror, Hutch had to admit, if only to himself, the fur-lined LTD was pretty funny.  But out loud, he growled, “Not for a minute.”  Apparently unconvincingly, as he looked back to see Starsky’s grin. 

  In the corridor outside the courtroom, he could feel his partner’s steps begin to lag again.  Hutch stopped and turned.

  “Only if you’re ready, Starsk.” 

  Starsky shook his head.  “‘M not gonna let ‘em win, Hutch.”  He made a face suddenly, half turning away.  “I shouldn’t let them get to me like this.” 

  “Reaction’s normal, pal,” Hutch settled a hand on his shoulder.  “Your head’s trying to protect you, reminding you those guys are bad news and to stay clear of ‘em.”  He offered a wry grin.  “And me, I keep remembering what they did to you, and all I want to do is get my hands on ‘em.” 

  Starsky’s eyes widened.  Then, with a silent laugh, he turned back toward the courtroom doors. 

  “Just keep your eyes on me,” Hutch whispered behind him.  “And don’t forget, when this is over, you and me are the ones who’re gonna get out of here and find some pizza and beer and relax.  Them, they’re going back to that little concrete box for the rest of their miserable lives.”

  Starsky snorted at that, but nodded again.  Straightening his shoulders defiantly, he reached out and opened the door. 

  And Hutch followed, as always, within touching distance.