Rain

by

Lin P

   The interior of Hutch's apartment at Venice Place was unusually dark for midday, his unlit living room thrown in dull, muted shadows. Except for the low sounds of the rain falling outside, it was quiet and hushed. Hutch entered the room and spotted Starsky standing at the window, gazing out it. He walked over, unnoticed, to stand beside him.

   They watched the downpour, the rain tapping angrily down onto the street then running in streams towards the sewers. The sky was a steel gray, heavy and low, and tree branches sagged then waved in erratic gusts of wind.

   "Some weather, huh?" Hutch finally said. His voice dissolved Starsky's reverie and he greeted the blond man with a soft smile. "It's not nice." He looked out again and let out a heavy sigh. "Where does it all come from?"

   Silently Hutch shook his head. He leaned forward and blew onto the windowpane then put his index finger on the small fog he'd created and traced a circle.

   "What's that?" Starsky asked.

   "Dunno." Hutch shrugged indifferently. "A circle."

   Starsky blew on the glass himself. He drew a heart on the condensation then ran an arrow through it, feathers and all.

   Hutch grinned at it. "DaVinci and Cupid." He reached up and traced an 'S' above the arrow. Starsky's hand followed, drawing an 'H' below it. They exchanged warm smiles then looked out the window again and watched, lost in their own thoughts, the rain fall.

   After a moment Hutch put both hands to his face and rubbed his forehead then his tired eyes. The summer cold he'd been battling for a few days was evident in his weary face and voice.

   Starsky put a hand at the nape of his neck and gently squeezed it. "Why don't you go lay down for a while?"

   Hutch's arms dropped back to his sides. "Nah, I'm all right."

   "There's nothin' doing here, may as well catch up on your sleep."

   Hutch eyed him for a moment. "You know, you should have been a nurse."

   Starsky's face registered surprise and his hand too fell away. "A nurse?"

   "Yeah." Hutch was sincere. "You would have been a great one."

   "A nurse?" Starsky's brow was still knitted. "Aren't I a great cop?"

   Hutch laughed a little as he turned towards him and cupped a hand on the side of his face. "Da best." He gave Starsky a weightless slap on his cheek, his hand slid away and he headed for the couch. Starsky watched his heavy movements as he sat down, cleared his throat, then again, harder, fighting back the itch of a threatening cough.

   "Take any cough syrup?"

   Hutch shook his head. "All out." He leaned back against the deep cushions. "'sides, if I take any more of that stuff my mind's going to float away with my bladder."

   Starsky started away from the window. "It'll take me ten minutes to run to the store and get you some."

   Hutch raised a halting hand. "No, don't bother," he said firmly. "I'm through with the stuff." He sniffed and rubbed his forehead again.

   "Hutch, why doncha just take a nap? You're getting a headache again."

   They both turned at the suddenly louder sound of the rain, pelting against the window now as if demanding entrance. The room seemed darker yet.

   "Nasty." Starsky commented.

   "Nice." Hutch said and Starsky glanced back at him.

   "Nice?"

   Hutch patted the seat to the left of him. "C'mere." Starsky obeyed and settled down beside him.

   "I like days like this." Hutch said as he lowered his head onto Starsky's shoulder. "Close, cozy."

   "Dark, dreary." Starsky returned as he draped an arm around him.

   "Quiet, drowsy."

   "Creepy, damp."

   "You sometimes wonder, Starsk," Hutch asked, "how the two of us ever got together?"

   They both chuckled softly. Starsky's fingers touched on Hutch's right temple and he worked them in slow, gentle circles. "How's your headache?"

   "It's like the rain." Hutch answered lowly. "It's just outside but it wants in."

   "We'll fix that." Starsky bent his head to kiss the blond hair. His fingers, continuing their circular motion, travelled lightly, leisurely, over Hutch's forehead, to his left temple then back again.

   "Mmm...good." Hutch murmured.

   "Florence... at your service." Starsky kept up the relaxing massage and Hutch squirmed his head in closer, eyes closed, enjoying it until his body suddenly stiffened. "Ahh....ahhh...."

   "Uh oh...this won't help."

   Hutch sat up a little. "Ahhh......choo!" Hutch grabbed a tissue out of the box on the table, blew his nose then wiped it. Just as he was tossing the tissue to the floor another sneeze, violent and without warning, tore through him. "Achoo!!" He fumbled for more Kleenex. "Sonofabitch."

   Behind him, Starsky winced a little. "You okay?"

   Hutch was about to answer when he felt Starsky startle a little. He twisted around to see his partner dabbing a drop of water off the tip of his nose. They looked at each other in confusion when another drop landed on Starsky's cheek. Slowly, simultaneously, both heads tilted upwards.

   "Oh shit." Starsky whispered.

   "Sonofabitch." Hutch muttered.

   They each squinted through the dusky light.

   "See anything?" Hutch asked.

   "Nope."

   As they peered at the ceiling, looking for the source of water a clear, cool droplet descended swiftly to land sharply in one of Starsky's eyes. He grunted at the strange sensation then made an elongated face, straining his eyes wide.

   Hutch stood up. "Don't move." He strode towards the kitchen.

   "Whadya mean don't move?" Starsky was rubbing his eye. "I'm gettin' rained on."

   "I'll get something to catch it." Hutch said over his shoulder. He returned quickly with a large plastic red bowl and tossed it onto the cushions then moved to one of the couch as Starsky rose and went to the other. They shifted the piece of furniture back two feet, closer to the kitchen. Starsky picked up the bowl and inspected the ceiling. "Turn on the light," he instructed.

   Hutch bent over, switched on the table-lamp and the room was illuminated in bright light.

   There was just a small, round stain on the drywall and, as they watched, a drop formed at its center, grew, lost its tenacious grip and fell to the floor. Starsky placed the bowl where it had landed.

   "Gotcha." He grinned and looked up but, at the sight of Hutch, his grin faded. The blond man was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, forehead deeply creased. Starsky stood and turned off the lamp, immersing the room into semi-darkness again. He stepped in front of Hutch and tried to look into his face.

   "Bad?"

   Hutch's attempt at a smile only accentuated his discomfort, his features remaining tight. "I'll live." He turned away from Starsky's probing look and headed for the washroom. "But a few aspirin won't hurt."

   A moment later he emerged to find the living room empty, the only noise that of the rain beating against the window, then the faint plop! of a drop falling into the bowl.

   "Starsk?"

   Just then Starsky came out of the bedroom. He flashed a smile at Hutch as he crossed over to the kitchen. "Go on to bed," he said to Hutch, who hadn't moved. "I turned it down for you."

   One eyebrow lifted. "You 'turned it down'?"

   "Yes, I 'turned it down'." Starsky mimicked his droll voice. He reached into a high cupboard, paused and waved a shoo'ing hand at Hutch. "Go. I'll be right there."

   Too tired, too achy to argue, Hutch turned around and headed for the darkened doorway of the bedroom. Starsky watched him go then pulled the bottle of brandy off of the shelf. He was pouring a small amount into a pot when he heard Hutch loudly sneeze. He grimaced as he turned the stovetop element on low. "Gotta hurt."

   Less than ten minutes later he entered the bedroom to find Hutch under the generous covers, half sitting up, the many pillows behind his head. Starsky had earlier closed the window and pulled the blinds but they were both open again and a fresh, moist breeze swept in through them. The sounds of the steady downpour on the concrete patio just under the window filled the room.

   "Aren't you cold?" Starsky asked as he set a Kleenex box, cough drops and bottle of aspirin down on the bedside table.

   "Uh uh." Hutch answered drowsily then studied the assortment. "What you doing?"

   Starsky's smile was a little crooked. "Playing nurse, I guess."

   Hutch chuckled and watched as the dark-haired man left the room again only to return with a large white mug. "Here, a hot toddy. If that doesn't make you la-la nothin' will."

   Hutch pulled himself up on the bed a little higher and took the mug. "Thanks." He took a sip then settled his head back against the pillows just as Starsky was leaving again. "Where you going?"

   "To leave you in peace."

   "Starsky."

   Starsky turned around in the doorway. "Huh?"

   Hutch took a long breath then smiled fondly at him. "Stay. I'm not sleepy, not yet."

   His face brightening, Starsky came back into the room and sat down on the far side of the bed. "What'd you want to do?" He winked and clucked at him.

   Hutch grimaced. "We can talk." He reached for a tissue and noisily blew his nose.

   Starsky leaned across the bed and pushed a lock of blond hair away from Hutch's forehead. "What do you want to talk about?"

   Hutch shrugged and his eyes wandered away as he thought about it. "Don't know."

   "Well think."

   "You think of something."

   They both fell into a silence.

   "Aren't we an exciting couple?" Hutch finally said, wryly.

   "How's about I read to you?" Starsky offered.

   "Sure."

   Starsky stood up. "Be right back."

   In moments he returned, pushing over the medicines and mostly empty mug on the sidetable to make room for a candle-holder holding a long taper. As Hutch watched he struck a match and lit it. A warm glow materialized, flickered low then grew again, and the area around the bed was cast in a soft, shimmering hue. Starsky put the few books he had under his arm down on the bed and Hutch balanced them as he watched his partner shed his jeans and shirt. Clad only in his boxer shorts, Starsky lifted the covers. "Move over. Gotta have the light." Hutch picked up the books and shifted over enough to let him in and they settled down on the mass of pillows behind them. Each let out their own long, satisfied breath, Hutch's ending in a little cough. He cleared his throat and asked for a lozenge.

   Starsky peeled the wrapper off one, handed it to him and watched him pop it into his mouth. "How ya doing?" he asked with little smile.

   "Good." Hutch answered then handed the books over to Starsky. "Here. You pick one."

   Starsky studied the covers for a moment, saved one and carefully deposited the rest on the carpet. "This one," he showed Hutch. "I've seen your nose in this one a hundred times. Wanna go for a hundred and one?"

   Hutch recognized the book. "You've read this one, haven't you? In school?"

   Starsky looked at the title dubiously. "Nope. Can't say as I have."

   Hutch moved the lozenge around his mouth and watched as Starsky flitted through the pages. "It's about a German soldier in World War One," he offered then bobbed his chin at it. "Go to page one-seventy-five."

   "Gees, you know it down to the page number?" Starsky fanned the pages until he was at the back of the book. " Puzzled, he looked at Hutch. "It's the end of it."

   "Just read it, it's the best part," Hutch said as he wriggled over until their bodies were pressed warmly against each other. Automatically Starsky raised an arm and Hutch nestled his head down onto his chest. Starsky's fingertips played gently up and down Hutch's arm as he began to read.

   "'But perhaps all this that I think is mere melancholy and dismay, which will fly away as the dust, when I stand once again beneath the poplars and listen to the rustling of their leaves. It cannot be that it has gone, the yearning that made our blood unquiet, the unknown, the perplexing, the oncoming things, the thousand faces of the future, the melodies from dreams and from books, the whispers and divinations of women, it cannot be that this has vanished in bombardment, in despair, in brothels.

   I stand up. I am very quiet. Let the months and years come, they can bring me nothing more. I am so alone, and so without hope that I can confront them without fear. The life that has borne me through these years is still in my hands and my eyes. Whether I have subdued it, I know not. But so long as it is there it will seek its own way out, heedless of the will that is within me.'"

   Starsky's voice trailed off, into silence, though his eyes never left the page. Hutch waited until he began again, his voice low.

   "'He fell in October, nineteen-eighteen, on a day that was so quiet and still on the whole front, that the army report confined itself to the single sentence: All quiet on the Western Front. He had fallen forward and lay on the earth as though sleeping. Turning him over one saw that he could not have suffered long; his face had an expression of calm as though almost glad the end had come.'" *

   The book slowly lowered onto Starsky's lap as the dark head turned towards the open window. His hand had stopped stroking Hutch's arm. The busy pattering of the rain was all that was heard for a few minutes until Hutch's hand climbed up to Starsky's cheek and stroked it.

   "I have a cousin back home." Starsky said quietly. "Marty. He's older than me. When we were growin' up he was wild, full of life and nothin' but trouble. Drove his folks nuts." He paused for a moment. "He was smart as a whip, you could tell he was, but all he wanted to do was have a good time... party....get into crap games, some scrapes too. We all thought he was 'it', I guess you could say we, at least I, kind of hero-worshipped him. Tough, smart...a 'man of action' compared to all us little nerds. He was fun, exciting to be around, ya know?"

   Hutch didn't reply, only listened.

   "He got drafted in nineteen sixty-nine. He did two tours of duty." Starsky took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. "He owns his own garage now in Brooklyn. Does good, fixing cars and bikes. He's never married, in fact I don't remember him even having a girlfriend after he got back and he had lots of them before." His hand slid up Hutch's shoulder to squeeze it. "He came back different. He came back...gone. We all saw he wasn't the same. Figured he'd come around eventually, be the ol' Party Marty again."

   "And he's not." Hutch put in after Starsky fell silent again.

   Starsky shook his head slowly. "You look at his face now, in pictures they send me from family do's, he's just starin', sometimes at the camera, sometimes at nothin'. A long time ago when you looked into those eyes you saw all kinds of mischief...playfulness. He was always lookin' ahead, for fun and or trouble. Now those eyes...they're empty...and you miss him so much."

   Starsky gazed into the dim shadows. "I knew the war hurt him, inside," he said wistfully. "I just never could figure out why he couldn't leave it behind at some point or other. Maybe I understand now, after reading this, how it took from him. How it stole something from him, that one go 'round, and there ain't nothin' that can get it back."

   They were both silent for a moment until Starsky turned his head on the pillow and whispered into the blond hair. "Sorry."

   Hutch's head stirred. "For what?"

   "Laying that on you. Bein' such a drag."

   Hutch pushed himself up on one elbow and studied Starsky's face. "You're never a drag."

   They looked at each other for a few seconds until a tiny spark returned to Starsky's eyes. "Well, I just depressed myself. Some nurse I am."

   Hutch grinned a little then settled himself comfortably back onto his chest. He felt Starsky's hand land on his forehead and closed his eyes as the fingers massaged his warm, over-tender skin. "I never knew about your cousin. I'm sorry, Starsk."

   He felt a tiny shrug under him. "So am I." Then lips kissed the top of his head. "How you feelin'?"

   "I've been better, I've been worse." Hutch mumbled.

   "Think you can sleep?" Starsky asked softly and he received a feathery squeeze across his ribs.

   "Mmm..."

   Carefully Starsky reached for the candleholder, picked it up and blew out the small flame. The room was dusky again, gray and blue shades where the soft glow had just been. He looked over to the window and watched the curtains as they were buffeted up then fell softly; listened to the rain, so close by, as it streamed down. In the distance thunder rumbled and rolled.

   Starsky looked down at Hutch then lowered his head until his chin was resting lightly on his crown.

   "Hutch?" he whispered but there was no response.

   "You know," he continued, even more quietly, "when it gets like this, so dark and dull...and everything seems to crawl away and disappear...I get so lonely. The first time I saw Marty when he came back it was on a day like today. We were sittin' in a room at his ma's house. He barely said three words to me, just sat." Starsky stopped, his eyes narrowing as he remembered. "The rain was fallin' like it is now and it was like night. And whenever it's like this I always remember, it always come back to me, how it was....to see Marty like that." He rubbed his cheek into Hutch's soft hair. "He became the rain, the dark that was never gonna lift."

   He grew still and, after a long moment, closed his eyes. Outside the window the rain continued; large drops, thousands upon endless thousands of them, streaming down to beat the ground. Inside, a single small drop fell gently, soundlessly, onto the blond hair, trailed down an inch then disappeared.

THE END

* Quotations from All Quiet On The Western Front, by Erich Remarque