Blindfold: Missing Scene

By

Katherine Atkins

I stood at his door for a several minutes, my hand hanging in the air while I debated with myself. He probably knew I was there, but he didn't come to the door. I hadn't knocked, yet. I just walked up to the door, put my fist up, and stood there staring.

I had to get hold of myself. This wasn't going to be hard. We hadn't had a fight or nothin'. He didn’t ask for an explanation, or seem to expect one. We'd been riding together the last two days with no problem. So why did I think I needed to talk to him, to explain?

He came by to see me after we collared the Whiticombes. Okay, so I was a little mean. I dared him to try to function while he was blindfolded. Like I blindfolded myself after I shot Emily. I was really just trying to kid him, but I…I don't know…it just didn't work out like I thought. He was walking around showin' me how his "extra sensory perception" would work for him, and I kind of directed him to the front door and let him out. I heard a crash, but I didn't think he was hurt. I really thought he'd take off the blindfold and come back to pound on my door. We'd have a good laugh, and that would be that. But he didn't act like I thought he would. When I finally realized he wasn't comin' back and opened the door, the blindfold was on the doorknob and he was gone. And he hasn't said a word about it in the two days I've been back at work and we've been ridin' together again. In fact, he hadn't said much of anything.

Okay, so he'd been a little quiet. The patrol had been quiet. I even joked about the crooks goin' on vacation and not tellin' us. We decided they should notify the police, just like people tellin' the post office and the newspaper carrier when they won't be home. I even kidded him about creating a form they could fill out. He laughed, but I don't think his heart was in it.

And he didn't want to get somethin' to eat after our shift yesterday. Usually if we finish relatively on time, one of us cooks or we go to a real restaurant, some place where you can actually sit down and have your food brought to you. He likes that kind of place, and it's okay every once in a while. Trouble is, he usually wants to eat at one of those places that serves health food or specializes in salads. We trade off, or course. I choose the place about half the time, and sometimes when it's his turn he'll go for Mexican or Italian, which is okay with me. But this time I was all ready to put up with rabbit food. Except he said he couldn't go. He had "plans."

Usually he tells me what his "plans" are, but not this time. I asked him where I could contact him, if we got called in or somethin'. He said to call his place. That was it.

And today, he was even quieter than yesterday. And he had "plans" again.

So here I was, standin' at his front door, tryin' to decide whether to knock. I started to turn away, but the thought of another long quiet shift stopped me. I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath and knocked.

No answer.

Knock.

"Hutch, it's me. Open up."

He opened the door. He had a plant in one hand, and he motioned me in with his head and closed the door behind me with his other hand. "Hi" was all he said, before he started back into his greenhouse.

"Hi. Uh, whatcha doin?" I asked as I followed him to the table where he'd been working. As if I couldn't tell what he was doin'. He was repotting some of his green menagerie. I noticed he was movin' a little stiffly, but he hadn't complained.

"Not much." He glanced at me, then went back to the plant. "What brings you out?"

I sighed. We spent so much time together, we hardly ever questioned each other's comings and goings anymore. I felt just as much at home here as I did at my place. Usually. But not tonight. Tonight I felt like I needed to explain why I was here to visit my best friend and partner.

"I…uh, I thought you had plans." Okay, I was stallin'. But how could I fix it if I didn't know what it was that was causin' the problem? If there was a problem. I still wasn't sure, although the evidence was mounting up fast.

He shrugged. "I did. I planned to work on my plants. I've been neglecting them lately." He was

turned away from me, but I saw a fine tremor steal across the tops of his shoulders.

What was goin' on? Now I knew there was a problem, I just didn't know what it was. But I was goin' to find out. No matter what it took to get through that thick blond skull.

"Uh, Hutch, I need to talk to you." I guess I sounded needier than I meant to, because when he turned to me he had that "What do you need, Buddy?" expression on his face, that he gets when he thinks I need help. "Can we sit down?"

"Sure, Starsk? What's up?"

We sat down, me on one end of the sofa him on the other. That's when I started realizin' what had been wrong these past few days. Usually Hutch sticks close, especially if he thinks I'm hurtin'. Except to grab me to get me out of Emily's apartment before we busted the Whiticombes and to tap me on the shoulder when he came over to my place and I couldn't hear him over the vacuum cleaner, Hutch hadn't touched me.

Hutch is a toucher, even more than I am. He uses touch to say things he can't always say in words. We both do; it's just the way we communicate sometimes. Hutch can turn it into an art form. He's done it many times, when I was hurtin' or sick or grievin'. He just has this way of tellin' me that he's there for me, just by puttin' his hand on my shoulder.

But he wasn't doin' it now. He sat at the other end of the couch, his arms folded in front of him, as far away as as he could get, protecting himself from somethin'. Me maybe?

Hutch is smart. It's real hard to fool him. And it's real hard to be subtle with him, 'cause he sees right through ya. Well, through me anyway. So I've found that the direct approach works best with him. "Hutch, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, but his arms tightened around his chest, and he bowed his head. "Nothin'."

"Don't give me that." It came out harsher than I wanted it to, and his head jerked up. I saw a flash on anger in his eyes. Just a flash, then they turned icy calm. I almost shivered. "I know there's somethin' wrong, I just want to know what it is." There, I sounded calmer.

"Just leave it alone, Starsk." He unfolded himself and stood up. "It's over," I heard him say in a low voice as he passed me, headin' for the greenhouse again.

I grabbed his wrist as he went by me. He stopped, trying to get his wrist away from my grip, but I held on, and he just stood there, glarin' at me.

I looked into those blue eyes, rememberin a lot of stuff, all of a sudden. Hutch holdin' me when I was poisoned, a soothing voice whisperin' "I'm here. I'm right here." Hutch finding me after Simon Marcos kidnapped me, holding me and tellin' me it was all over. Hutch carryin' me into the back room of that Italian restaurant, takin' care of me, holdin' me, savin' my life and the lives of the other people who got caught there. Hutch, in spite of being drugged almost out of his mind, backin' me up at Cabrillo State Mental Hospital, throwing a cart in Dr. Matwick's way when he was trying to shoot me. And only a couple of days ago in the parking garage, me walking over to face the Whiticombes with his "I've got you covered" echoing in my ears.

"What's over, Hutch?" I asked softly. For a minute I was almost afraid of the answer.

He shrugged. "Emily. The shooting. Emily will be fine, and the Whiticombes are in jail. It's over." He shrugged again, this time pulling harder at his wrist. But I still wouldn't let go.

"What about us?"

"What about us?" he repeated. "What are you talking about?"

I sighed. His skull was thicker than even I knew. "I told you already, Blintz. There's somethin' wrong, and I want to know what it is."

Then he sighed. He sat down on the couch next to me, and I let go of his wrist. He scooted away a few more inches, but he didn't move to the other end of the sofa. I hoped that mean we were makin' progress. He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. "It'll be okay."

"What'll be okay?" I asked. I didn't dare touch him. He was behind a wall I couldn't climb.

He looked at me then, finally meetin' my eyes. "Everything. Us. It'll all work out. It may take a few days, but it'll be fine." He looked down. "You don't have to worry. Okay?"

I was startin' to get mad. "Will you please just tell me what it is? How will I know it's okay, when I don't even know what's wrong? How can it work out when I don't know what it is that has to be worked out? Come on, Blintz. Talk to me."

He leaned back, his head resting on the edge of the sofa, his arms across his chest. I noticed then how tired he looked. He'd been workin' the Whiticombe case by himself while I brooded over shootin' Emily. Working on the case and worryin' about me.

He'd tried to talk to me about it. I wouldn't let him. "I'm takin' some time off," I'd told him when he came to check on me.

And he'd said, "I noticed!" I'll just bet he did. I just left the paperwork on his desk and walked out of the precinct. While I was broodin' and then helpin' Emily, he followed through on the case, without backup. Dobey was not happy about Hutch workin' alone, and boy did he tell me about it when I got back to work!

So here we were. I just sat and watched Hutch for a few minutes. His eyes were closed and I could see that he was more than tired, he was pale and a little drawn looking. I realized he probably hadn't had much sleep in the past few days. Worryin' about me. Trying to solve the case. As always, tryin' to take care of me in one way or another.

"Are you okay, now, Partner?" he asked, softly. "Really okay?"

And then I knew what was wrong. Suddenly I had it figured out. It all fit.

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

He didn't open his eyes. "For what?"

"For shuttin' you out." He flinched a little, but he still didn't open his eyes. He wouldn't look at me. I hate that.

I leaned toward him, and dared to put my hand on his arm. He didn't pull away, but he didn't act like he wanted me touchin' him either. "I couldn't let you in, Hutch. You know why?" I asked.

"You didn't need me," he said quietly, finally opening his eyes. "You didn't want me around." I couldn't tell which of the two thoughts hurt him more, but he was hurt. No doubt about it.

"Oh but I did. I really needed you, Partner. But I couldn't let you in." I sat up and looked into his eyes. He was watching me, wondering what I'd say. "Hutch, you are the best friend a guy could ever have. You always know what to say, what to do to make me feel better. I remember how hard you tried at the hospital, while we were waitin' to hear about Emily. And at the station, when I wouldn't listen to your 'corny' speech."

He just sat there starin'. I almost grinned, but I could see the pain in his eyes.

"That's why I couldn't be around you."

He frowned. Boy, did he look confused. That furrowed place between his eyebrows got even deeper. "Huh?"

"You make me feel better, Pal. No matter how down I am, I feel better when you're around. After I shot Emily, at the hospital, you did your darnedest to help me, to support me, to make me feel better. I knew you'd keep on doin' it. That's just the way you are. You wouldn't quit."

"Yeah?" I could almost hear him thinkin', "What's wrong with that?"

"Don't you see? I didn't want to feel better. I wanted…I needed to feel bad. I did somethin' terrible, and I wanted to be punished. I knew you wouldn't punish me, and you wouldn't let me punish myself. So I turned away. I couldn't let you help me. I thought I didn't deserve help."

I bowed my head. I still wasn't okay with all of it, but at least Emily could see. I didn't know how I'd 've handled it if she kept on bein' blind. I hadn't blinded her permanently, thank heaven. And some of the things Hutch had said were finally beginnin' to sink in. Bad things happen. I was responsible, but I couldn't let it take over my life. I couldn't let it keep me from doin' my job.

I just wondered if I'd messed up even more by backing away from Hutch; had I done any permanent damage to my friendship with him? If I had, I didn't know how I'd handle that, either. I wanted some punishment, not the total annihilation of losing my partner. I held my breath, waiting to see what he'd say.

He sighed again, and looked at the ceiling. "Starsky, you're making my head hurt."

Now I was confused. "What? Why?" I don't know what I expected him to say, but it sure wasn't that.

He rolled his head back and forth on the back of the sofa. "What you're saying is so convoluted it almost makes sense. When you start to make sense, it makes my head hurt," he explained, as he finally looked at me.

But he was smiling. I still had my hand on his arm, and he put his free hand on top of mine. We looked at each other for a long time. Hutch was letting his touch tell me all the things he couldn't find words to say. We were communicating again, in that silent way that makes everyone around us crazy. I sighed, this time in relief. Everything was okay.

"I'll get some aspirin for that headache," I said, glad to have something to do. By the time I got back with the aspirin and a glass of water, he'd fallen asleep. I thought about stretchin' him out on the sofa, but he was already stiff and I didn't want to risk him hurtin' his back.

I couldn't keep from smilin', while I woke him up, made him take the aspirin and guided him to the bed. He was asleep again before his head hit the pillow. I took off his shoes and covered him with a blanket. I told the plants goodnight and turned out the lights.

"See ya tomorrow, Blondie," I whispered.

He wasn't as asleep as I thought he was. He smiled and muttered, "Be on time, okay, Gordo?"

"You got it, Blintz," I promised. I locked his door behind me as I left, makin' sure he'd be safe.

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