Written by PJ
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Chapter 1
Terrie's funeral.
Hutch was there with me when they buried her, his quiet hand on my shoulder, his love as ever-present as a guardian angel.
I never had to worry with him around.
Even though some things hurt like hell--losing Terrie--I could take it when he was there.
"Want to come with me?" he asked as he guided me to his car.
Like I had a choice. Like I cared where I was going or what I was doing.
He had picked me up for the service. I was in no state to drive.
No state to answer him either. But it didn't matter. He put me into the passenger seat.
So I sat in my black mourning suit while he drove, all numb and dumb from grief. I can't tell you what the weather was like--sunny or cloudy--what temperature it was--how many people were at the funeral--what they said to me--what her parents even looked like--but I can tell you that Hutch took care of everything. Phone calls. Thank you cards. Covered dishes. Flowers.
While I melted facedown into my bed in a puddle of tears.
He took my shoes off and set them on a chair. Took my phone off the hook. Locked my door. Loosened my tie. Put a cold, wet cloth on my forehead. Put a pillow under my head.
And then knelt by my bed and kept his hand on my shoulder while I cried so hard I thought my guts would fall out of my stomach.
He didn't say anything. Nothing at all.
Sometimes just bein' there speaks louder than words.
He moved closer to me, like he wanted to be inside my body, and I don't mean sex.
He could've taken advantage of my feeble condition, like 'Terrie's gone and now I have you all to myself'. But he's not like that. Too much integrity for that. He's no cheap bum. Fine-spun gold. Ivory.
He just wanted to be near me. To help me. Friend to friend.
So he just crawled up in the bed with me and curled against my back, pulling me so close to his body I felt his heartbeat thudding against me.
"I'm here, buddy."
Protecting.
With his whole body.
How do you protect against that crushing beast called death?
How do you?
His breath, hot and tearful by my ear, moved to my sideburn as he gave me a loving kiss, pressing his love into my skin--his sorrow, his grief--wanting to draw my pain into his lips like poison and take it from me, for me, gently.
"God, Hutch."
It's all I could say. It hurt so bad.
We went to sleep like that, with me wrapped inside his arms like a cocoon.
Once or twice I had a flash of a nightmare about Terrie, but Hutch would
pull me closer till it passed.
Thunder boomed and lightning cracked, and the wind gusted like it was
going to blow the house down, but Hutch held me close till that storm passed
too.
When I woke up the next morning, his left arm was still slung around me. Although it was limber and heavy, even in sleep he was like, guarding me.
We were a good pair. Both of us in our funeral clothes. He left his on because I had mine on.
Impulse, I picked up the sleeping arm draped around me and kissed it.
I didn't know how I'd make it through this without him.
I wanted to do something in return, for him, to show my appreciation. Even though I didn't need to. Wasn't necessary. Me and Hutch didn't owe each other anything. We didn't keep score, like 'You owe me' or 'I did so and so for you last week' anything. But sometimes you just love somebody so much you want to show it.
So I fixed him breakfast in bed the next morning. Not much. Coffee and an omelet. But he acted like he was eating the finest meal the Waldorf could ever make. Not that he was that hungry. He wasn't. He just did it to take my gratitude.
I wasn't hungry, so me and my fried brain just sat in a chair next to the bed and watched him eat.
I didn't know what time it was, what day it was, or if I could even spell my name, but I knew Hutch wouldn't leave me alone that day. He'd lead me here, steer me there, talk for me, do things for me so I wouldn't have to.
He didn't let me out of his sight.
Except for once when I fell asleep on the couch and
had the craziest dream. Prudholm. Terrie. Hutch. All reaching for me,
all in different ways. Prudholm to kill me. Terrie to love me. Hutch to
help me.
And then their hands all turned bloody and gory, their faces turned like monsters, and they were clawing for me.
I jerked awake and landed on the floor, looking around, trying to figure out where I was and what had happened.
"Hutch?"
He didn't answer me back, didn't come in from another room to check on me, so I jumped to my feet, stumbled across the floor, and tried to shake my fuzzy mind awake.
Hutch was gone.
I threw the front door open.
Prudholm?
What if he somehow . . .
"Hutch!"
But no.
He couldn't.
Could he?
"HUTCH!"
I tore down the stairs, looking around, looking for his car, looking for blood, parts of the dream making my mind sticky like glue. That crazy limbo feeling like you don't know what's real and what's a dream, like it becomes the same thing.
Prudholm had invaded my dream as surely as any boogeyman could have.
Prudholm could have put a hit out on Hutch. Easy. One word. One phone call.
He killed Terrie easy enough, didn't he?
As much as I wanted to think Hutch was invincible, untouchable, I knew that he was only human, and could bleed and die just like Terrie had.
And what if . . .
Oh hell, I didn't even want to think about it . . .
What if something happened to him, and he died without me acknowledging, honestly, to the world, to him, and hell, maybe even to me, how much I loved him?
Pat him on the back in public?
Sure.
Hug him on the street?
I could.
Friggin' dip him in the captain's office?
I had.
But as brothers. Best friends. Partners.
What if he died before I could make my true love known?
Oh God, Hutch. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I failed you. I am such a fucking punk when it comes to you. Why can't I have your honesty and your courage?
"Starsk!"
His voice.
I spun around, saw him far away down the street.
He was carrying a small bag of groceries.
He'd been to the liquor store around the corner for beer.
I ran to him like a fool, and he set the beer down before I slammed into him and nearly knocked him down.
"Oh fuck! Hutch! I thought--"
He caught me and pushed me back to look into my face.
"Starsk, what's the matter? You're shaking like a leaf."
I gripped his arms. The ones that had held me through so many storms. That were always strong as tree limbs. Could make all the monsters go away.
And I pushed him back. Not hard. Just a little. Enough to make me sick to my stomach. He didn't even notice. Too crazy in love with me to care.
He was the most important thing in my life. Was I coward enough to let us grow old without me ever expressing the truth about us?
Why couldn't I do it? What was I so afraid of? Wasn't our love strong enough for this? I couldn't even talk to him about it.
(Well, you dirty rat, maybe it's because you know he makes a whole lot of sense when he opens his mouth, and you don't want to hear, or feel, the truth, and if anybody in this world can get through to you, it's him)
"Nothin'," I told him, and swallowed. "Had a terrible dream, that's all. Thought somethin' happened to you. But you're okay."
He grinned at me and ruffled my hair, then put his arm around me and pulled me against his side, giving me the bag of groceries. "You ran out in your bare feet just to see if I was okay?"
"Yeah. Silly, huh?"
"No," he said shaking his head. "Not silly at all."
I think my dream shook him too. He looked a lot more worried than he sounded.
"Hey, you know what, Starsk?"
"What, Hutch?"
"I think we're due for a good Monopoly game tonight, huh? In honor of Terrie? We'll get good and plastered."
I slung my arm around his neck and we walked back to my place.
"Yeah, buddy. That sounds terrific."
Best friends. Love him till the end. I'd take his place in front of a firing squad.
I have to find the guts to say that his love to me is more than that.
Some day, Hutch.
Some day I will.
The End