"Look, give yourself a break. I'll be all right."

   He wouldn't even make eye contact and he was still trembling, but trying his damnedest not to. He was talking more coherently now, and more cautiously. In fact he was acting like he had said too much. Like he had made a conscious decision in the last half-hour to draw into himself and leave me at arm's length. Literally.

   "I mean it, Starsk. I'm okay. Just... really."

   I was reluctant to let go at first. But he needed space. He was asking for it and I had to give it to him. As much as everything in me screamed not to lose contact, even for a moment, I had to give control back to him. The control that had been taken by whatever scum was responsible for this.

   I somehow had this feeling he would shatter into a million pieces if I didn't keep him secure in my arms. But I had to let him know that as much as I wanted to protect him, I trusted him too. I slowly eased my grip on him, rubbing his shoulders a few last times as I slid off the bed. I kept one hand at the base of his neck, gently massaging, as I grabbed a pillow that had fallen to the floor. I placed it against the wall behind the bed and then took him by both arms to ease him into it. I kept my hands on his arms, even once he was settled, afraid to let go completely. He allowed the contact, but he wouldn't look me in the eyes. In fact he turned his head as if he were ashamed. That look cut me in two.

   I didn't think I could witness anything more devastating than my partner in that alley. That look on his face of utter desperation. Pleading with me to help him, to understand, to forgive. I couldn't even take it all in at the time. But one thing I knew for certain. Behind that look of panic was complete trust. When he saw me he could let go. He did let go. And for all the worry and fear that I had felt both when he was lost and in the moment when I found him, there was that sweet feeling of relief when he surrendered himself to my care. Now that he had caught his breath, he was pulling away. And worst of all, feeling ashamed. It was then that I wanted to shake him and yell some sense into that stubborn head of his. That goddamned Hutchinson guilt. Not that too on top of everything else. I was convinced it would finish him off and I would not let that happen.

   I released his arms and took a chance, gently cupping his face in my hands, turning it towards me. He didn't resist, but he closed his eyes.

   "Babe, it's okay."

   I meant it to come out as comforting but it sounded desperate in my own ears. Not what he needed now. I thought I saw something move across his features, but whatever it was was gone before I could identify it and his face became impassive. He spoke without opening his eyes and his hands clumsily came up to find mine and tried to pull them from his face.

   "Please, Starsk."

   His voice was strained, weary, and telling me in no uncertain terms to back off. Why was I fighting him on this? I wasn't going anywhere. He was safe. I shoulda been giving him another coffee cup to smash instead of questioning this simple request. Problem was I didn't trust him. I didn't trust him. With my life, yes. With what he needed, no.

   All I wanted to say was "I'm here. I'm here. You don't have to worry, Hutch. You don't even have to think. I'll do that now."

   My hands were still cupped around his face. He held onto them tighter. "Enough," he whispered and pulled my hands away with what little strength he had. He opened his eyes to the wall and then turned back to me. I felt I was gonna lose it right there; I mean really lose it. He looked so frightened, so lost, and yet so determined to take charge of the situation. He turned to the chair where Huggy had left the pot of coffee. He reached for it with a shaking hand, and tried to pour the remaining liquid into a cup.

   "Hey, Blintz, let me."

   "No, Starsk, it's okay. I can pour a damn cup of coffee."

   He was trying to muster impatience, but it sounded more like resignation. And he was shaking like a leaf. I left him to it. Problem was he was shaking so bad he got more in the saucer than in the cup. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand him shaking like that. It was tearing my heart out. Call me selfish. I wrested the thing out of his hand.

   "Damn, Hutch, it's cold now anyway. I'll have Hug brew another pot. Okay, babe?" I took the pot from his hands more roughly than I meant to and set it back on the chair.

   He shot me a look but didn't say a word. He sat back on the bed, taking the pillow and clutching it against his chest.

   "You feeling like you're gonna be sick again, babe?"

   He squeezed his eyes shut and I could tell he was focusing all his energy on keeping his breathing regular and his stomach under control. He finally gulped some air and said, "Don't worry, Starsk. I'm not gonna put you through another trip to the toilet." He shook his head slightly and said something under his breath. It sounded like "sorry," but I couldn't tell.

   "Hutch..." I wanted to tell him I didn't care if he threw up all night. But that sounded like a dumb thing to say. "I ain't got any plans tonight, you big lummox."

   I caught the glimpse of a crooked smile which dissolved into more tremors. Without thinking I reached out for him but he stopped me. Sensing my movements although his eyes were still squeezed shut, he shot an arm out and it held me in my tracks. After what seemed like an interminable wait he turned to me. "M-maybe, some more coffee would be good."

   "Okay, buddy."

   I paused at the doorway. I don't know why. Trying to think of something to say, I guess. Something more substantial so he would know everything was really going to be okay.

   "Go on, Starsky. I'm fine."

   I know me and Hutch have this way of communicating with one another without saying anything. It's not something I really even think about; it's just how we work, how we operate. But I was thinking about it now. Here he was strung out, wired, sweating, sick, and still he seemed to sense my every movement. The thing was... he seemed to be making a point of telling me he knew my every movement.

   Well, of course, idiot. He wants some room to breathe. He's gonna be fine. Back off.

   I closed the door softly and headed down the steps. The crowd and the noise below was a bit unnerving. I caught Huggy's eye from behind the bar and he headed over.

   "Everything all right, Starsky?"

   "Yeah, fine, Hug. I just wanted to get some more coffee."

   "How's Blondie doing?

   "I think we're through the worst of it, Hug. He's starting to get down on himself. You know Hutch. Guess that's a good sign, huh?"

   "Could be."

   He gave me a funny look when he said it though.

   "Look, Starsk. I'll tell Diane to keep the java brewing. When it's done I'll run it up myself." He was about to head back to the bar and then he turned. He put his hand on my shoulder and drew me in, saying in a quiet voice, "You get a little spooked or you just need a break, let me know."

   I looked at him, wanting an explanation. Spooked? With Hutch?

   Huggy said nothing. He just squeezed my shoulder and glanced upstairs as if he believed I'd already been away from my post too long.

   I jogged back up the stairs and as I rounded the turn to the landing, Hutch was standing outside the door. It was weird. He was just standing there. In fact, he was still holding onto the doorknob.

   "Hey, buddy. Coffee'll be ready in a minute."

   He nodded, still seemingly rooted to his spot just outside the door. And acting... well, acting as if he'd just been caught.

   "So, how's about we go back inside." A little too cavalier. A little too much as if I were talking to a wounded animal and not my best friend.

   Neither of us said a word, but we were both thinking the same thing. Hutch had tipped his hand. And that infamous Hutchinson guilt had betrayed him. It had flashed across his face in an instant, but it had been enough. Hutch was closer to me than a brother. He was hurting, he was beating himself up, and now he had become something else... a flight risk.

   He stumbled slightly as he went back into the room. He walked over to the dresser and started fumbling with a few magazines Huggy had left. But his heightened sensitivity, call it paranoia, was as keen as ever. I closed the door and flipped the latch. Hutch heard it and turned towards the sound of the click. As the meaning of that slight movement registered, he appeared stricken. I too had tipped my hand.

   It was about that time that the pacing started.

   God knows Huggy's room was small enough and I couldn't figure out if I should just give him free reign or try to get him to settle down. Settle down. Like I didn't know what was going on inside of him.

   There was the sound of the knob being tried followed by a light knock. I unlocked the door and let Huggy in. "I see you're a quick study," he said in a low voice, not absent of humor. I gave him a sheepish look in return but I felt like kicking myself. Hard. I had let myself get sloppy because this was Hutch. I was so worried about giving him his dignity back, I was not keeping a vigilant eye over his safety. Any snitch strung out, I'd be watching like a hawk. Any junkie...

   Dammit. I looked over at Hutch and it was like he was reading my mind.

   "I hope you're intending to leave a big tip for the maid when you're through," said Huggy, chuckling as he substituted the new tray of coffee for the one on the chair. "I've always said these accommodations had a broken in feel to them. Seems that's truer than ever."

   I glanced around at the bed sheets and towels that littered the room. "Huggy, don't worry, I'll take care of it."

   "Shoot, Starsky, lighten up. You know I'm only jivin' you." He gave me that lopsided grin of his and headed towards the door. "You hang in there, Hutch," he said as he left. Hutch said nothing, watching as I locked the door for a second time. Then he snatched up a magazine, trying to look preoccupied. Nice try, Hutch. Aw, buddy.

   The withdrawal. It was taking hold of him now, with a vengeance, and with his full knowledge. And this time he wasn't looking for a way to beat it; he was looking for a way to outwit it.

   Face it, Starsk. He's looking for a way to outwit you.

   When I'd first brought Hutch to Huggy's he'd started asking for it. First for help, then for medicine. At the time I didn't know if he was asking for junk or just relief. I don't think he knew himself, but he must have known I'd do anything in my power to end his pain. He'd begged me to end it, without reservation or regret. But he was damn near babbling about all kinds of things in the beginning and I sort of figured -- hoped -- he wouldn't remember those first few hours.

   He'd remember these.

   I had a feelin' the next few were going to be torturously slow. This time there would be no doubt he'd remember exactly what he was asking for and how often, because I wasn't letting him near that door. And when he'd figured out that he couldn't sneak past me -- or go through me -- he'd have to swallow his pride. He'd have to choke on it.

   "How ‘bout a cup of coffee?"

   More muttering under his breath. Could have sworn it was "Stuff it". What he actually said was "Later".

********

   An hour had passed. He was watching me. Watching me and looking for an opportunity. Out of the corner of his eye. Like a caged animal. He was getting impatient, every movement nervous, erratic. The pacing began again and with those long legs of his, Hutch seemed to be covering the room in two steps. He'd flick his eyes in my direction and avert them just as quickly as I turned. It seemed like the room was shrinking; Hutch must have felt as if it were swallowing him whole. I could sense the frustration rising in him, the anger. He tried to hide it at first. But as the minutes dragged on he started letting the pretense slip. That desperation was still there and now something else. A hunger. A need that I was denying him. With every passing minute he was seeing that denial less as a saving grace and more as a punishment.

   No, that's what I was feeling.

   At first his eyes had pleaded with me. Like in the alley. They had pleaded for me to take away the pain and the fear and the wanting. His eyes were beyond pleading now. And the hunger which replaced it had a menacing edge. I wanted to cry for him, but I just remained calm, calm and unforgiving in my own right. I'd have given him anything to take away the pain, the hurt, and the guilt he'd be beating himself up for for God knows how long. But I would not give him what he wanted then, what he craved. And right now he hated me for it. He hated me and the one thing I could do was feed that hatred by showing him I wasn't going to budge. He could beg and he could plead and he could unleash every ugliness he could think of. I wanted him to admit it. I wanted him to scream it out at the top of his lungs. You can because I'm gonna keep you safe, buddy.

   Well, if you're going to tip your hand, you might as well put all the cards on the table.

   He was eyeing the door and me and calculating the distance between them.

   "Hate to tell you this, buddy. But in your condition I could probably take ya."

   His eyes were glittering, like he couldn't decide whether to deny it or take up my challenge.

   That's it boy, let it out. I've got you, babe.

   When he finally spoke, his voice was low and mean. "You think this is a fucking joke?"

   "No joke, buddy. I'm just letting you know where you stand."

   "Where I — where I stand? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

   "I think you know."

   That was the wrong thing to say. He just stared at me, his body sagging slightly, as if all the anger were leaving it. No, that wasn't it either. He was just turning it in on himself.

   Dammit, Hutch.

   He dropped his head. I went over and tousled his hair just briefly, then as nonchalantly as possible went about picking up some of the stuff around the room. I heard him rustling with something on the dresser. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him ripping off the wrapper of a candy bar and dropping it on the floor. I almost laughed to myself. Any other time I would have given him shit about littering.

   Whatever humor I might have seen in the situation evaporated when I looked at him and the way he was eating that thing. I don't know exactly how to describe it. It was like he had this ravenous appetite that he didn't want anyone to see. That he didn't want me to see. Between wolfish bites, he was practically swallowing the thing whole. I knew where it'd be heading soon too.

   "Hutch, who did this to you?"

   You know, if I could have said that another way, I would have.

   "I don't know."

   "Think, buddy."

   "I just told you I DON'T KNOW!"

   "Listen —"

   "No, you listen. You've got me cooped up in this hell hole —"

   "Hey, what's Huggy gonna say when he hears you talking like that?" I smiled at him.

   But Hutch was in no mood for jokes now. Good, keep the anger focused on me, boy.

   "I mean it, Starsky. Just leave me alone. I'm not some two-bit scum you've got to interrogate."

   He started taking the room in two strides again. "And quit watching me all the time. You want me, you got me." More pacing. "Can't you open a window or something, Starsk? Or do I have to suffocate in this place too? Would that make you happy?"

   I was thankful the only windows in the room were some cheap ornamental stained glass ones. And the one in the bathroom was far too small.

   "Or are you afraid I'd climb out the damn thing," he said cruelly.

   Reading my mind again.

   "SAY SOMETHING!"

   I wasn't quick enough to answer. As I was picking up some towels, I noticed a few pieces of broken china from the earlier airborne coffee cup. I was thinking of Hutch's feet as I reached for them. He lunged for the stuff in my hand, managing to grab hold of the towels. "Careful, Hutch, you're gonna cut yourself!" I said tearing his hands away.

   "Why can't you just leave that shit alone! WHY WON'T YOU LISTEN TO ME!"

   I dropped everything and grabbed him by both arms. "I am listening, Hutch. I hear ya, babe."

   "Let go of me! LET GO OF ME!"

   He didn't have the strength to free himself from my grip, so I released him. He stared at me vacantly for a minute and then mumbled "I'm gonna be sick" and stumbled off to the bathroom. He managed to slam the door behind him and I resisted the urge to follow, settling for crouching on the other side of the door. He was retching miserably and somehow finding the energy to curse me between bouts. And I gotta hand it to my partner; he was getting pretty colorful about it too. I'd tell him I was here, that I wasn't going anywhere. He'd think of a new name to call me. "Hey, I ought to be writing this shit down," I joked at one point.

   Then silence.

   "Hutch... Talk to me, buddy."

   No more retching, no more insults. Just a quiet sobbing.

   I opened the door. He was still on his knees. He turned away from me, fumbling with a towel. I knelt beside him, but made no move to turn him towards me; I simply massaged his shoulders. For a few minutes there were no words spoken.

   He began shakily. "Starsk..."

   "Yeah, buddy?"

   "I n-need..."

   "What do you need, buddy?"

   He turned towards me then, slowly, warily. "Just the edge, Starsky, that's all," he whispered. For a man who wouldn't meet my gaze for the past few hours, he was certainly boring his eyes into me now. He continued to search my face, grabbing handfuls of my jacket. He appeared momentarily more surprised at the action than I was. He looked down at his hands as if they were separate from him. "J-just to take the edge off," he said a little louder. When his eyes met mine again they were full of — what else can I call it — hope. Hope that I'd see the logic of his plan and relent just a little.

   "No, Hutch. You're halfway there. I ain't lettin' you off the hook now."

   "Come on, Starsky." He was trying to keep his voice in check, but his hands still had my jacket in a death grip. He pulled me forward, his hot breath on my face. "Just a little, that's all I'm talking about. That's all I want." His eyes were begging me now, drawing on every part of our friendship, calling in every debt.

   "No."

   His face grimaced in pain and in anger. And he pushed me back with all his might. The fact that the motion only served to knock him off balance fueled the fire. He swatted away my offered hand and scrambled to his feet. Too quickly. He barely made it out of the bathroom before stumbling into the dresser. I caught him just before he fell.

   "Where you going, buddy?"

   He was still swaying on his feet. "Air. I need some air," he was mumbling.

   "Hutch, you're gonna sit down before you fall down." I maneuvered him to a chair by the window. He sank into it wearily. That last episode in the bathroom had sapped all his energy. His head dropped to his chest for a few seconds before snapping up suddenly. He looked confused for a moment and then he looked at me, as if he remembered. And before he remembered to be pissed at me, he looked relieved. I may have been a pain in the ass to him at the moment, but at least I was a familiar pain in the ass. I sat in the other chair, an old card table between us.

   I spied the cardboard box as I moved some newspapers aside and discovering its contents were relatively intact, I began setting up the game.

   Hutch glanced at the checkers with disgust. "You gotta be kidding."

   "I never kid when it comes to games of skill."

   He let out a long sigh as I continued to put the pieces in order. He just sat there at first, then began to play the game reluctantly, moving his men just for the sake of moving them. Trading more insults with his eyes. He looked like he was about to fall out of the chair. He kept nodding off and then coming to in a panic. I just kept playing like everything was normal. Waiting for him to take his turn, making sure I was the first thing he saw each time his head snapped up. Then I began to notice a change. Hutch was having trouble staying in his chair, all right. But he didn't look like he was gonna slide out of it; he looked like he was about to spring.

   Even a preoccupied Hutch wouldn't have made that move; this one was wound tight. I glanced at him once more before taking a chance on jumping three of his men. I shoulda known better. Maybe I did. I was ready.

THE END