I wish to express deep gratitude to my beta-readers extraordinaire, Yula and Val. They not only gave me invaluable advice, they gave me the courage to share this work with you. Any faults it may still contain are due to my own bone-headedness! "g"
This story, which takes place some time after the episode "Sweet Revenge," contains some adult language.
Comments about this story can be sent to: portia1@mindspring.com.

Sunshine Came Back

By

Portia

   The night had been pretty bad; he'd known it would be. It wasn't really the pain that kept him awake -- the familiar aches had lessened over time, and sleep could have easily muffled them. But sleep wouldn't come. Maybe I've forgotten how to sleep, he thought sardonically. It was easier to think that way, than to acknowledge how dependent he'd grown on the pills, the pills he decided to cut back on with the guarded agreement of his doctor. He hadn't consulted the overly solicitous Hutch on the matter.

   He'd dozed a little during the night, but mostly he'd tossed and turned, fumbled with his pillow, kicked off his blankets, gathered them back up again, and wound and unwound his sheet. He'd pressed his forehead into the pillow, and then flung it away to lie flat on his back. He'd forced himself not to look at the clock to see how much of the night had been lost, and how much still remained. But nothing worked, and so finally out of frustration and boredom he glanced at the illuminated numbers. 4am -- hours before he normally would awake, an ungodly hour to voluntarily get out of bed.

   What the hell, he thought, this is a bitch. Lying there with his discomfort growing, his exhaustion unalleviated, the nameless unrest relentless, he knew he couldn't bear to stay another minute in that trouble-tossed bed. Quickly, and as quietly as possible, he scooted to the edge, stuffed on his slippers, and creakily straightened up. Yanking a flannel shirt on over his t-shirt, he haphazardly buttoned it as he silently entered the living room.

   First he curled up on the couch, flipping channels on the muted TV, but even he didn't have the patience to watch the crap that was on at that hour of the morning. He did doze off for a short while…but that didn't last long. Next he found himself standing for several minutes in front of the open refrigerator. His appetite had become iffy at the best of times, and he found nothing that appealed to him. A slight smirk quirked his lips when he realized how long he had nevertheless been standing there -- damn 'fridge is more interestin' than what they got on TV.

   Sitting at the kitchen table, the light turned low, he realized his mind was too fuzzy and his mood too irritable to work on the crossword puzzle Hutch had more than half completed the night before. When he found himself sitting on the floor, his back against the end of the couch as he tried to find something interesting in a gardening magazine, his frustration almost over-boiled. He felt a moment's urge to fling the magazine angrily across the room. Nah, he restrained himself, gone this long without waking up Hutch….

   He pulled his knees up closer to his chest and leaned his forehead wearily against them. I'm never gonna get any sleep, he thought. Maybe I oughta just go ahead and take a couple a pills…well, at least one -- I'm not trying to go cold turkey. Weary eyes rose to find the time on the kitchen clock, and his gaze landed on Hutch's guitar resting against the far wall. It had been leaning there for over a week, awaiting the replacement of a broken string.

   I could do that, he thought. Hutch's sure done a helluva enough for me. He completed his glance at the clock -- 5:40. Still a little too damn early to wake up Hutch. Exhausted restlessness nevertheless drove him to his feet, and to muzzy inspiration. Out on the deck…if I'm quiet enough. Hutch won't hear me all the way back in his room. Gotta find the strings 'n stuff, and my jacket -- 'll be chilly, and Hutch'd kill me if…the thought trailed off as he examined his socked and slippered feet. Good enough, he figured, and shrugged quietly into his jacket and eased out of the door.

   He sat on the top step at the far end of the deck, the farthest point from Hutch's room, and luckily right under the kitchen window. The light shining through from the bulb he'd left burning over the table should be sufficient for him to do his work. He hadn't felt like drawing the attention of any early rising neighbors by turning on the deck light. It took him a few moments to replace the string; he was out of practice, and maybe he could have used a little more light. He then set about tuning the string, and then re-tuned some of the others. 'Course Hutch'll probably say I got some of 'em wrong, but that G doesn't sound right to me, and I know this one's wrong….

   From tuning, his fingers strayed to aimlessly picking out random bits of melody and old practice chords, as his mind also aimlessly wandered. The chilled, clammy darkness of the pre-dawn hour seemed to press against him and to seep into his center. His eyes felt dry from tiredness, and sitting on the cold, hard step was causing a slight pain to travel up his back on the left side. He thought about the coming day…nothing to look forward to but doing a few loads of laundry, and taking the Torino in to get her oil changed -- he wasn't quite up yet to crawling around under her to do it himself. Something else to thank you for, James Marshall Gunther…you fucker. His spirits were spiraling rapidly downward.

   Yeah…thank you for the therapy sessions, Jimmy, and all those weeks a peeing in a bottle. And thanks for the pretty scars and the scrawny arms -- girls can't wait to get a look at me now. And thanks for those dark circles that were under Hutch's eyes for so long, and for how, even now, he has to force himself to give me a little space, and still gets a little freaked if I don't call him once or twice a day. Oh, and thank you so much, Mr. JM Gunther, for keeping me outta work all this time, and making me wonder if I can ever go back to anything being like it was….

   Lost in these bitter thoughts, his fingers now picking out nothing much more than discord on the strings, he scowled as the horizon began to glow with the faintest of pinks and watery yellow. Yeah, here comes the sun, he thought morosely -- proving I can't make it through a night without pills. JMG sure made sure I can't do hardly anything without some assistance.

   No, Mr. Sun, I'm sure not ready to see you yet, ushering in a bright, pretty day that doesn't match my state a mind. Why don't you just go away?

   A half-remembered phrase that seemed to meet his mood came to mind, and with it an old melody. Slowly he began to strum the music, and, still conscious of the sleeping Hutch, dispiritedly began to sing the words.*

   Sunshine go away today,
   I don't feel much like dancin'
   Some man's come, he's tryin' to run my life
   Don't know what he's askin'….

   Despite the lack of welcome, and the unhappiness of one David Michael Starsky, the sun continued to rise above the multi-hued roofs obscuring the eastern horizon. From weak, pale pastels, it quickly filled the sky with deep blue and it's own warm gold. With soft rays, the sunlight reached down to touch the huddled figure. As it did so, Starsky felt his attitude begin to thaw in the warmth and in the beauty filling the morning. He also began to remember more of the words of the song, and began to realize what the songwriter was trying to say.

   How much does it cost?
   I'll buy it!
   The time is all we've lost
   I'll try it!
   He can't even run his own life,
   I'll be damned if he'll run mine--

   Sunshine...

   His playing became more energetic, his singing more enthusiastic. He closed his eyes and tilted back his head, welcoming the warm touch of the sun and the coming of another California day. It was his day, dammit…his life -- and he was the one to decide where it was going. It wasn't gonna be too long before he was sleeping, and waking, and working, and dancing, dammit. Dancing like his fingers where dancing across those strings….

~~~~~~~~~~

   Music? 's the radio on?

   Hutch lay on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow, and the bedding tangled around his waist. He raised his head and blinked blearily at the alarm clock -- 6:08.

   Too damn tired for it to be that late, he thought, scrubbing the dust from his eyes. But he'd stayed up the night before with Starsky, who'd gone to bed a lot later than usual. He sat up with difficulty, clumsily trying to untangle the blankets that encased him from the waist down. As he freed himself, he listened to the melancholy stop and start of a melody that seemed to be coming from the back deck. He recognized the rather reedy quality of what had once been a sometimes too powerful voice, and anxiously wondered what had driven Starsky to sing with such pathos out in the cold, early morning.

   Quickly he flung on some clothes and a pair of boots (the first shoes handy), and hurried to peer worriedly through the back door window. But something had changed during the time it had taken him to dress and move across the apartment. The melody being wrung from his old guitar was no longer sad and uncertain, but was now being played with vigor and playful, dynamic flourishes. The voice was not appreciably stronger, but the tone was confident, hopeful, maybe even challenging. Hutch carefully opened the door, but did not step outside, wanting to better hear what was being sung and not wanting to distract the singer.

   He tells me I'd better get in line
   Can't hear what he's sayin'
   When I grow up, I'm gonna make it mine
   These ain't dues I been payin'

   How much does it cost?
   I'll buy it!
   The time is all we've lost
   I'll try it!
   He can't even run his own life,
   I'll be damned if he'll run mine--

   Sunshine...

   Head flung back to greet the sun, the singer drew out the last word and gave an extra flourish to his playing. A grin nearly splitting his face, Hutch proudly watched his best friend bang out the tune and belt out the song to the best of his ability. Laughing silently, he drank in the sight of the head bobbing to the music, the arms and shoulders moving easily to the energetic strumming. Starsky, you aren't ever going to grow up, but you're right about paying dues. And you've got what it takes to make it happen. You tell, him, buddy. Old Jimmy's gonna be crying in his little cell while you show us all -- dancing in the sunshine. And I'll be there cheering you on.

   Unable to hold back any longer, Hutch moved across the deck to sit beside Starsky at the top of the stairs. Starsky grinned wider at the arrival of his partner, and tried to sing louder as Hutch joined him on the last verse.

   Sunshine come on back another day
   I promise you I'll be singin'
   This old world, she's gonna turn around
   brand new bells'll be ringin'

   Suuuunshine!

THE END

   *Sunshine (by Jonathan Edwards 1971)

   Sunshine go away today,
   I don't feel much like dancin'
   Some man's come, he's tryin' to run my life
   Don't know what he's askin'

   He tells me I'd better get in line
   Can't hear what he's sayin'
   When I grow up, I'm gonna make it mine
   These ain't dues I been payin'

   How much does it cost?
   I'll buy it!
   The time is all we've lost
   I'll try it!
   He can't even run his own life,
   I'll be damned if he'll run mine--

   Sunshine...

   Sunshine go away today,
   I don't feel much like dancin'
   Some man's come, he's tryin' to run my life
   Don't know what he's askin'

   Working starts to make me wonder where
   fruits of what I do are going
   He says in love and war all is fair
   He's got cards he ain't showin'

   How much does it cost?
   I'll buy it!
   The time is all we've lost
   I'll try it!
   He can't even run his own life,
   I'll be damned if he'll run mine--

   Sunshine...

   Sunshine come on back another day
   I promise you I'll be singin'
   This old world, she's gonna turn around
   brand new bells'll be ringin'