A/N I'd thought about writing the story behind part of my poem "The Beating of Two Hearts" as a short story and then I came across the SHFAFF Friday Fiction Prompt from September 2019 (I don't think this can be repaired) and it sparked this.

I Don't Think This Can be Repaired

He was very, very drunk. Maybe he'd stay that way. If it would help stop the pain returning, maybe drinking hard for the rest of his life was the only option left to him. Trouble was, even drunk, the self-inflicted heart-ache was still there: a deep constricting band surrounding his heart that was slowly tightening inch by inch until, one day, there would be no heart left. Nothing could stop that band from tightening and nothing could numb that pain, it seemed.

He staggered into the bedroom and flung himself onto his bed. Why? Why had he done it? Why had he slept with the girl his best friend had confided he had feelings for?

Had he finally just become a bad person? Was it because he didn't like Starsky anymore? Did he hate him? Or was it because he hated himself?

Maybe he'd just wanted Starsky to notice that he was self-destructing. Maybe he'd felt like punishing his friend because he hadn't seemed to notice his slide towards oblivion. Maybe it was because at some point he started to wonder if Starsky still cared enough to stop him from his headlong rush downhill.

When had they stopped talking to each other? He wasn't sure he could remember. It had just happened.

Hutch rolled over onto his back and his eyes fell upon Ollie. The white bear was sitting patiently on the chest of drawers, staring sadly at his owner.

"I don't think this can be repaired," Hutch whispered to the bear. Tears started rolling down his face but he hardly noticed. He went on unburdening himself to his silent companion. "Care for you both, she said. Don't let either of you change, she said. That was the job she gave me. Well, I've blown that job, haven't I?"

Caught up in his own miserable downward spiral, he'd forgotten the job Terri had entrusted to him. He'd forgotten to put Starsky first. He'd made Starsky change from that usually carefree soul he was to the hollowed out being, who'd looked at him with such hurt in his eyes. He'd managed to make Starsky hate him and lose that faith that normally filled his partner's eyes. He'd set him adrift on stormy seas with no-one to watch his back. He'd failed in every way imaginable.

He spoke to the bear again, "I've failed Terri, Ollie, completely failed. There's no fixing this. There's no sorry big enough to erase what I've done."

He felt the bear look at him with sympathy and couldn't stomach even that small absolution.

"You know what, Ollie? I don't deserve to have you anymore. You belong with Starsky. You're a little piece of Terri and he's going to need that back. He doesn't need a friend as rubbish as me. He needs you."

With tears still rolling unnoticed down his cheeks, Hutch crawled off the bed and reached out to pick up Ollie. He hugged him close and whispered, "Sorry," in his ear then weaved his way out of the bedroom. He collected his car keys and headed towards the front door. With each step down, his heart grew heavier and heavier. This would be it: the end. It was already over but this would be the last time he'd see Starsky at his home, he was sure of it.

As he unlocked the car door and climbed in behind the wheel, he was hit with a feeling of dread. What was he going to do without Starsky? There wasn't any point transferring someplace else: he didn't want to be a cop without his best friend.

As soon as he got back from dropping off Ollie, he would see about writing his letter of resignation and dropping it off at the station. Maybe he could do it while it was still night shift? Then he wouldn't have to face Dobey, or Minnie, or Mike, or any of the colleagues and friends he'd got to know over the years: all of them would be appalled at what he'd done. He couldn't face their disappointed and disapproving looks.

Never mind that the department would expect him to work out his notice: he had vacation time owing to him and he couldn't face seeing any of them…or seeing Starsky and knowing that the man now hated him.

Yeah, it was best he left. He had no idea what he was going to do but he just knew he couldn't go on being a cop.

He placed Ollie on the seat next to him and started the engine. He'd sobered up a little: at least enough to drive the short distance to Starsky's house. When he arrived outside, he parked and sat staring up at the front door. Should he just leave Ollie on the doorstep and leave Starsk to find him? He was sure Starsk wouldn't want to see him. There was no point in knocking…but if this was going to be it, Hutch at least wanted to say goodbye.

The tears, that had eased a little on the drive over, started flowing again. Hutch tried to rub them away but he couldn't stop them. He grabbed Ollie and opened the car door, struggling to get out of the car because his heart felt so heavy. Everything felt heavy: he was weighed down with a million regrets.

He reached the door. He bent to place Ollie on the step then hesitated, indecision wracking him. "I gotta say goodbye, Ollie," he whispered and raised a tentative hand to knock at the door. He heard feet coming towards the door and then pause. He waited.

The door opened slowly and Starsky's angry and disappointed face glared at him. Hutch pushed Ollie towards Starsky's hands, forcing the brunet to take him.

"Y-You should have him, Starsk. I-I don't deserve him anymore. I-I've let Terri down…I-I've let you down…I am s-so s-sorry."

Some of the anger began to leave Starsky's face but Hutch didn't even notice. He was just trying to get the words out that he wanted to say. He was almost sobbing now as he stammered out, "I-I know I-I'm the last person y-you want to s-see. I-I just w-wanted to s-say g-goodbye."

As he went to turn away, arms reached out to enfold him, squashing Ollie between the two of them, and Hutch heard a soft voice whisper, "You haven't failed, Babe, We're still good. Me and Thee always, Partner."

Hutch wanted to echo the "Me and Thee" but couldn't get another word out. He clung onto Starsky: accepting the second-chance lifeline that Starsky was extending. The tight band around his chest started to loosen and he was flooded with gratitude born from relief. If it took the rest of his days, he would make it up to his best friend and earn the place he was being offered: his old position back at his partner's side, always watching each other's backs…and hearts.