Hemorrhage

K Hanna Korossy

Written: 1999

Venice Place Times 2 (2002)

  The world had fallen out from under his feet.  That was what it felt like, for he had no more foundation on which to regain his footing.  “He w-what?” was all he could stammer.

  The IA man, if anything, looked even more grim.  “I think you heard me, Detective Hutchinson.  Sergeant Starsky told us all about the Forest case and your...problem.  Are you denying it?”

  The hollow shock and pain of the words--and their meaning--sinking in were soon lost in resignation.  Everything had been taken away from him in those few short sentences, and that meant he had nothing left to lose.  “No.” 

  “Good.  Then maybe you can tell us what happened in your own words.” 

  And with a voice devoid of any inflection or feeling whatsoever, he did. 

  “That’s all for the time being, Detective.  As of now you’re on suspension pending the conclusion of our investigation.  I’ll need your badge and gun.”

  He watched with unreality the hand that was his but moved of its own volition as it pulled the badge from his back pocket and then the gun from its holster, placing them both gently on the table.  Then he pushed his chair back and got up on unfamiliarly steady legs.  The two IA officers looked at him dispassionately, and he couldn’t feel any anger or resentment toward them for it.  He didn’t blame them for judging him.  The truth had to come out sooner or later.

  He left the room without looking back, or forward.

  Very little could have penetrated the numbness that had settled on him, but the lone person waiting for him in the hall just outside was one of them.  Starsky jumped to his feet, his face anxious.

  “Hutch--”

  All the overwhelming feelings elicited by that one word and the sight of his partner cancelled each other out, just as they had in the room where he’d just miserably thrown away his career, his life.  Where his partner had thrown him away.  The words came out flatter than he could have ever wished them. 

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  Starsky’s face crumpled, so pained, a blind man would have seen it.  Hutch didn’t want to.  Darn it, he didn’t want to know. 

  He tried to walk past, the thought of escape the only thing that brought him any joy.  A hand grabbed his arm, holding him back.

  “Hutch, I have to tell you why--”

  Starsky wouldn’t take away from him this one last thing he had left, too.  He jerked himself away so hard, his arm ached.  “No.”  Still monotone, only louder this time.  How could you be mad at someone for not being what you wanted them to be?  And yet he felt...he was...

  He had to get out of there.  He turned away once more, nearly running now. 

  If Starsky called after him, he didn’t hear it. 

  The beach held no solace that day. 

  It had been the first place he’d gone, willing to lose himself in the enormity of the ocean and sky, to let the crashing of the waves pound some of the turmoil out of him, help him clear his thoughts.  Instead, it just seemed to scour nerves already exposed and raw. 

  He went home. 

  Sitting on the couch was little better.  He soon learned that time to think perhaps wasn’t such a thing to be wished for, after all.  But with masochistic patience, he sifted through all the feelings and thoughts, anyway.  And remembered. 

  There wasn’t all that much to remember.  His days of torture at the hands of Forest’s men were almost wiped clean, just an image or two of desperate pain and pleading and cruel laughter.  He didn’t know how much of the amnesia was the result of the heroin they’d given him and how much was his own need to forget and heal.  His escape was a little sharper, or at least the urge to flee that had driven him, he didn’t know where as long as it was away. 

  Straight into his partner’s arms, it turned out.  The memories changed after that.  He’d still never experienced anything as terrible, as mind- and body-raping as heroin withdrawal, but again, the mind forgot pain in order to stay sane.  Despite the vague horror that lingered with his memory of those days, the only thing he remembered clearly was the love.  Oh, God, so much love.  He’d gone about as low as any person could go, had cursed and threatened, was as filthy and disgusting as he’d ever been, and Starsky had only loved and cared for him through the whole ordeal. 

  Hutch closed his eyes.  Now it was those memories that brought particular pain. 

  It had taken some time for the physical repercussions to fade, and so much longer for the mental and spiritual ones.  Self-loathing, guilt, anger, shame, fear, all chased one after the other, magnified by his weakened physical condition and the lingering effects of the drug until he nearly couldn’t bear it.  It had been then that the subject of his future with the LAPD had first come up, or at least the first time he could remember.  And Starsky’s words, gentle as he’d been non-stop in everything during those days, had stuck in Hutchs mind as pledge that it was over and he could go on. 

No one’s gonna find out, Hutch, I promise.  Only the cap’n and Bernie know, and they’re not gonna tell, and Forest isn’t gonna talk.  It’ll stay between us, partner.

  Yeah, right. 

There was reason for anger, Starsky’s going back on that promise and the unquestioning trust Hutch had put in it.  He couldn’t understand the betrayal after everything Starsky had done.  Why now? he wondered fleetingly, but it didn’t really matter.  He knew he should have been used to it by now, the unreliability and disloyalty of a loved one, but he’d been unshakably sure Starsky was different.  His partner had never broken a promise to him before, and Hutch had a right to be mad.

  So why did it only hurt? 

  It meant the end of his career, too, not only with the LAPD, but as a cop, as well.  In fact, it would make any kind of work he sought much harder to get.  It would be on his record for any future employer to see, and no one wanted to hire a former junkie. 

  Junkie...a doctor had assured him he wasn’t, that his body hadn’t become physically addicted to the heroin Forest had forced into him, but the idea had always lingered in his mind.  Only a filthy junkie...

  He’d have cried, but even tears seemed like undeserved self-pity.  Instead he just sat and hurt. 

  There was a knock on the door.

  He took a moment to react to it, the numbness slowing his reaction, but as he turned to look at the door, he made no move to get up and open it.  He knew who was there, and it was probably the last person on earth he had any desire to see. 

  “Hutch, open up.  I know you’re in there.” 

  “Shoulda been a detective,” Hutch murmured for his own ears alone, smiling humorlessly a little at their old joke. 

  “Hutch, I’m not leavin’ ‘til you let me in.  I’ll come in on my own if I have to--I got a key, remember?”

  That provoked some little panic in him.  He needed to be left alone.  Couldn’t Starsky give him that much?  Anger stirred in him finally at not even being allowed that much dignity. 

  “Hutch, please.” 

  Quieter that time, but what would have worked before wouldn’t now.  All the pain was changing into anger, growing, and he almost wished Starsky would come in so that he’d have an outlet for it. 

  Obediently, the key rattled in the lock, heedless of what it was opening the door to.  “You’re not givin’ me any choice here,” were the sober words accompanying it. 

  Any choice...that was a laugh.  Starsky was a good one to talk about choices.

  And then the door opened and Starsky was inside. 

  He didn’t look. 

  “Hutch...I didn’t have a chance t’tell you before they called ya in.  I wanted to but they wouldn’t let me.” 

  “Wouldn’t have made any difference.”  He almost didn’t recognize his own voice, it was so cracked with bitterness.  Anger hurt less, and now that it had started, he couldn’t seem to stop it. 

  “It woulda if I’d had a chance to explain.” 

  “Explain what, breaking a promise or ending my career?”  His head came up now, the sharp glance pinning Starsky against the door.  Hutch stood.  “Explain betraying trust?  I wouldn’t have wanted to hear it then and I don’t want to hear it now.  Get out!” 

  Starsky came closer, instead, his steps unusually tentative and still looking so...broken.  “Hutch, please, let me just--”

  Maybe it was the look that did it, or maybe he just hurt too much to convince himself he was furious.  Starsky was the one who blew up, as a rule.  Hutch just bled.  All over, endlessly, this time, and he didn’t want an audience.  “No.  I don’t...don’t want to talk.  It’s not your fault, you just told the truth.”  Another humorless laugh as he hung his head.  “Can’t get mad at you for tellin’ ‘em the truth.”  How long did it take to bleed to death, anyway?

  “Hutch--”  The word wavered.  “Don’t do this.  It’s not as bad as ya think.”  Soft, pleading words. 

  They cut with their kindness, and one more wound would be fatal, he just knew it.  Not that he was so anxious about self-preservation.  “No,” he tried one more time, but it only came out as an ineffective whisper. 

  He heard and felt Starsky close the distance to the couch, then circle around it to stand in front of him, close enough to touch but not touching.  “Hutch, sit down.”

  Starsky’s tone had firmed up, not to be disobeyed, but it was gentle too and Hutch cringed from it.  But he sat, curling up into his end of the sofa. 

  Starsky sat at the other end, still close but leaving breathing space between them.  “You remember Coney?” he asked softly. 

  Hutch frowned at him, momentarily distracted by confusion.  The IA detectives had been Gallagher and Mason, hadn’t they?

  “He was one of Forest’s men, Monk’s right hand guy.  He was the one who took you into the alley behind the bar, remember?”  Starsky had leaned closer and Hutch, unguarded with thought, got a good look at him for the first time since early that day.  Starsky’s mouth was pinched with strain, his eyes desperately intense.  He looked nearly as lost as Hutch felt, and the recognition was...upsetting. 

  “Anyway, recently they managed to tie him into a hit Forest had done, and he was lookin’ at some serious time added to what he was already doin’.  So he offered to deal.  He said he could give up a cop who was usin’.”

  Hutch flinched.

  Starsky reached halfway toward him, seemed to think better of it, and rested his hand on the back of the couch instead.  “I don’t know if he thought you never kicked it or if he just wanted t’get you in trouble, but anyway, IA found out.  They called me in to ask me about it, but they already knew before I got there.  I had t’tell them what really happened, Hutch.  If I didn’t, it woulda just looked worse for you.” 

  Hutch stared at him impassively, too many reactions going through his mind to sort out into coherent order. 

  “Hutch,” Starsky’s voice slid right past the confusion and defenses like it always did.  “I told them the truth.  What happened then wasn’t your fault.  You were the victim.  But the cap’n and I agreed that maybe IA wouldn’t see it that way so we wouldn’t tell ‘em.  You think I coulda done that to you?”  It was a sympathetic rhetorical question, reminding him of a similar scene only a few months before, in Gillian’s apartment...  He cringed, but Starsky went on without missing a beat.  “I would never have told them, but I needed to set the record straight.  I’m not sure if it worked but I tried, buddy.  And I wanted t’tell you about it, but they wouldn’t let me see you before they called ya in.  I’m sorry it happened that way, Hutch, I really am.” 

  “S’okay,” he whispered, eyes bright.  A little of the mess inside was untangling at the gentle words and the realization that maybe he’d not lost everything after all. 

  “No, it’s not.”  The dark curls shook vehemently.  “I think they were tryin’ to get to ya by makin’ you think I had sold you out.  That wasn’t fair.  I’d never have done that to you.” 

  “I’m sorry,” he said, still hushed.  “I thought--”

  This time the fingers did slide over to him, rubbing at his arm a little, more for the sake of touch than anything.  “I know what you thought.  Don’t be sorry--I don’t blame you.  They made you think it.  Hutch,” Starsky’s hand had reached his shoulder, gripping hard.  “You’re my partner, and my best friend.  I’d lie for you if I had to, but this time we were right.  I’d never have ratted on ya.” 

  That right there meant more to him than the job, and the knowledge set something solid under his feet again.  The worst of the ache eased, leaving room for something he identified with surprise.  Hope.  He swallowed and took a deep breath.  “I knew...sooner or later the truth would come out.”

  Solemn blue eyes met his.  “Truth about what, Hutch?  Truth that Forest hurt you like that, or truth that you were on H for a while?”

  This time Hutch couldn’t meet his gaze.  “Both.” 

  The distance from his shoulder to his face wasn’t far, and Starsky was lifting his chin before he knew it.  “Not your fault, partner,” he said softly.  “And if IA doesn’t see it that way, I’m gonna leave, too.”

  His mouth worked a soundless protest but Starsky forestalled it with a gentle pat to his cheek.  They always talked best with touch.

  “Not your fault,” Starsky repeated.  “If they can’t see that, I don’t want any part of  ‘em.” 

  Now Hutch was speechless because the lump in his throat was far too big to let anything coherent come out. 

  It wasn’t needed.  The hand on his cheek slipped around to the back of his neck and pulled him close.  He slumped against Starsky, and was positively enfolded, much as he had been in that cramped little room above Huggy’s.  Only, now he knew healing was just around the corner.  And maybe he hadn’t been that severely hurt, either. 

  “It’s gonna be okay, Hutch, you’ll see,” Starsky’s quiet words stirred his hair.  “If IA doesn’t do it right, we’ll figure somethin’ out.  Maybe we’ll go rob those banks in Bolivia, ‘kay?”

  That made him snort with laughter into Starsky’s jacket, feeling far lighter than he had any right to feel with all his prospects hanging over his head.  But for the moment, he had all the assurances for the future that he needed. 

  “...and there’s your badge...and your gun.”  Captain Dobey was all smiles as he handed each item to Hutch.  “You’re back on full duty as of today.” 

  Hutch lifted dazed eyes from the items he held in his hand.  “But...IA?”  He’d guessed when the captain had shown up on his doorstep early in the morning that the investigators had reached a decision, but somehow he hadn’t been prepared for it to be this one. 

  The captain grew sober, though happiness lit his eyes.  “They agreed with Starsky--you had been the victim, and since you’ve ‘clearly demonstrated an ability to maintain a drug-free lifestyle,’ they didn’t see a reason to punish you for it.  Your record’s been cleared, case closed.”

  It was all a little overwhelming and he had to sink down into the nearest chair to try to process it all.  But on the heels of that came another thought.  “I have to call Starsk,” Hutch muttered, already fumbling for the phone. 

  His partner’s joy was as real as his own, loud and clear even across the telephone and followed by a promise to be over in five minutes.  That meant breaking nearly every traffic law, but Hutch couldn’t care less at the moment.  He wanted to share the victory, and with the person who’d most made it possible.  Speaking of which, he looked up seriously at his boss. 

  “Thanks, Cap’n.  This...I know you went to bat for me and I appreciate it.” 

  Dobey actually blushed a little, a phenomenon Hutch knew he’d have to tell his partner about.  “You were the victim in all this, Hutch; even IA had to see that.  Besides, I was told it was Starsky’s providing witnesses, facts, and a strong statement that really made the case.  It’s your partner you should be thanking.” 

  Hutch just nodded, seeing his boss out the door in the next minute.  He fully intended to thank his partner.  It was amazing; he thought he’d lost it all, and really it was just a lesson in recognizing what he still had. 

  With a thankful spirit and a humble heart, Hutch set about finishing getting ready before his partner got there to pick him up for work.