Where There Is Nothing

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In Starsky’s search for meaning he exposes Hutch’s lack of self worth.

 

This episode is AU in that it occurs after meeting Madame Yram in the first season, then negates any further canon, as follows, creating a new timeline. Therefore, no Terry or Gillian occurs, and Vanessa is not dead.

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What is good? All that heightens the feeling of power in man, the will to power, power itself. What is bad? All that is born of weakness. What is happiness? The feeling that power is growing, that resistance is overcome.  –Friedrich Nietzsche, The Antichrist, section 2

“God is Dead; but given the way of men, there may still be caves for thousands of years in which his shadow will be shown. And we — we still have to vanquish his shadow, too.” —The Gay Science (Deutsch: Die fröhliche Wissenschaft), section 108

Hutch sat naked in the bathroom over the hole. Nursing a cup of cold coffee, he teetered it on the sink and picked up the philosophy book again. Not feeling his best, he hadn’t slept well the night before, and now he didn’t even want to leave this splendid seat. Ugh.

Ironic and prophetic all at once, wasn’t it, constipated with life and with indigestion at the same time. Such is his lot, it seemed. Here he was contemplating, indeed, ‘what is good?’ If power is good, then he was without very much of it. He felt feeble and brittle, and out of his own control. That all spelled weakness to him. He didn’t know how he was going to get himself interested in showering and shaving, never mind another stuffy day of reports and interviews. And people. Maybe he should just call in sick. No, weakness, that was bad, bad.

He knew there was more to it, but he had wrestled with that till dawn. One look at the calendar, and the face she made the day she left him came rushing back. He’ll never forget that smirk, those catty eyes, how she relished the power of impaling him with pain. She enjoyed leaving him, proclaiming him weak, useless. Called him nothing, not even a nothing, just ‘nothing.’ And at the year mark, the words rang in the cages of his mind like a wrecking ball. He wondered if time would wear out this memory, or if it was destined to clang in his noggin forever. How can he grow, if he had been made so small? The toilet seat felt cold.

If Nietzsche was right, then happiness was not going to come his way anytime soon. He admired the intellect, though, the depth of the meaning these great thinkers had. They took chances, and somehow, at least on paper, they won.

For this philosopher had been brazen enough to consider that even deity had lost its power, in the minds of most men. He felt it, too, his generation struggled with science and modernity muddling up the need and the comfort of magical miracles, and yet the guilt of not serving, and having a higher place to go for help still haunted people. And here he was just trying to get himself off a toilet seat and onto the rest of his day.

Shaking his head, he closed the book with a sigh and wished he understood at least a little of his own philosophy, how he could find his own power, his own purport. He drank down the last of the muddy brew. A hot refill would help. He wiped, got up and rinsed the coffee cup, and threw the waste water in the bowl. He listened to the swirl of the drain, and thought if he could flush Vanessa’s words down that simply, that would be one disaster vanquished. He had to try.

 

Forbidden generosity.— There is not enough love and goodness in the world for us to be permitted to give any of it away to imaginary things. from Nietzsche’s Human, all too Human, s.129, R.J. Hollingdale transl.

Hutch slumped onto the couch with his beer and the channel turned on to some old movie with the sound down low.

“You gonna watch that?” Starsky took to the floor to be closer to the bowls on the coffee table.

“Just thinking about the case. Not sure about all that background work we’ve done on the warehouse records, seems it only legitimizes the operation, there’s something not being said.” Hutch was fretting, not able to drop labor at the door. The O’Malley case was getting old already. They were both sick of the task force meetings that had to accompany every new lead or event. “I tell ya, Starsk, we sure are good at details.” Hutch munched on his carrot sticks and onion dip.

“Whadda you mean? At work? With those Fed boys on the case?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. That’s what Dobey thinks, anyway. That’s why we got stuck on this one, because we’re good at details. Stupid details. Little stuff that doesn’t matter, that everybody hopes will turn into the next big break.”

“I never got the feeling the Cap’n ever liked my reports, said I left out too many details. Should’a done a better job messing up, we wouldn’t be put on these task things.” Starsky grabbed a handful of chips from the bowl, playfully dropping one on Hutch on purpose.

Hutch grabbed the chip and gulped it. “I just get tired of it, that’s all. All the taking everything apart. Rather be on stakeout, smelling the area out. We work better that way.”

“You sound discouraged. You think we won’t get the O’Malley and Roberts ring?”

“I don’t know, Starsk. I guess it’s not just work–it’s just, like, what does anything ‘mean’, you know? This case, that case, sometimes I can’t even figure out where my socks go. Within a month, all I have is fifteen that don’t go together. I wake up sometimes, in the middle of the night, and I don’t know where I am, who I am, why I’m here.”

Starsky knew he was tired, they both were. He wanted Hutch to relax. “You’re here because my place had more chips and carrots this time, and you’re probably gonna steal another pair of my socks.”

“Moron.” Starsky passed him the bowl of chips, but Hutch grabbed at a piece of celery instead. Starsky smiled to himself. He got up, put another three chips on Hutch’s stomach as he passed by to go get another beer. When he returned, he saw the chips were being consumed. They’re only good when I put them on you, aren’t they? He walked towards his bedroom. “Hey, where ya going?” Hutch asked.

“On Detail, partner. To go get the blankets and pillows for the couch, Hutch, I can tell you’re parked for the night. And to go retrieve the friends of your fifteen socks that were in my clean laundry.”

~*~

Starsky let Hutch fall asleep on the couch, which happened quickly after he covered him up with a quilt. Full of carrots and my chips that you refuse to admit you ate, you’ll sleep like a baby. He picked up the snack remains and rinsed the dishes quietly. Poor thing seemed to be having a hard time of it these days, for the last few weeks. Maybe it was the case, and the six cops they had to contend with on Dobey’s task detail. Sometimes there was too much talking, like it was a jury looking for a constant debate. And Hutch allowed himself to be mired in argument, that made him sullen and frustrated. Starsky did what he could to cheer him up, even if he had to be silly. But sometimes, that just seemed to make Hutch more distant, almost as if he was, well, lonely. He didn’t even appear to notice Starsky was insisting he stay over more often to give them time alone to kibitz and complain, and get it off his chest.

At three in the morning, Starsky got up to use the bathroom, and to shut off the living room TV. He snuck over to the set, and snickered at the program, the same one that seems to play at the same time every night. He watched the elderly preacher as he tried to be sincere and ask those morbidly serious questions, “Who are you really? What is your life really about? What if you were responsible for the delivery of the world? What is your place in humanity? Do you feel like you’re making a difference, that you are someone?”

Turning off the set, Starsky let the words settle in his head. He always loved a challenge. He was avidly rote, and the ideas intrigued him. Good questions, he thought, what is my place? Who am I, what is my life about? Is that what Hutch was saying? Didn’t he say he didn’t know who he was, why he was here? He looked at his friend, and was pleased to see him peaceful, almost smiling. He loved to see his face like that. What was it, they call it, when you make an unexpected discovery, like a coincidence, that you’re both thinking the same thing at a similar moment? He smiled brightly and remembered. Serendipity. Hutch and me, we do it all the time.

He dared to pat Hutch ever so gently on the head as he walked by. Back in his bed, he laid on his back with his hands under his head, thinking of those questions. The fact that Hutch needed answers too made him curious. Is it a certain time in life, when knowing that stuff seems more important? Is it because they were bachelors and weren’t preoccupied with having wives and kids? Was it spending too much time working, and not having enough fun? Gee, this was just causing more questions to come up. He wished he had a way of knowing what ideas to handle first.

Some people answer questions like this for a living. Like a counselor, he thought. Or like a fortune teller. Suddenly, he remembered reading his horoscope one day, and finding out it was the same one as the fortune teller herself. Madame Yram. She made him a little nervous, but he had to admit, she was nice. In fact, he really liked her, she had

–something.

As he turned to cuddle up to a pillow, he thought about Madame Yram. Wonder if she’s still in town. He fell asleep thinking it would be a treat to look her up, and ask her what she thought about big life questions. He yawned. Maybe he could even find out something to help get Hutch out of his glum mood.

 

Mystical explanations.– Mystical explanations are considered deep. The truth is that they are not even superficial.  from Nietzsche’s The Gay Science, s.126, Walter Kaufmann transl.

In the afternoon, there was free time while they were returning from an interview across town. Starsky had been itchy all day about getting a chance to check out if Madame Yram was still in business. Finally, he saw his opportunity to head in that direction.

“Where you going now? Parker’s that way.”

“Yeah, I know. I was thinking I wanted to check something–someone out. Remember Mary Polanski?”

“Who?”

“Madame Yram, the fortune teller?”

“You’re kidding me, you’re not going over there, are you?”

“Yes, I’m going over there,” Starsky said enigmatically, “you’re not going to give me a hard time are you? I just want to talk to her.”

“Don’t ask me why.”

“You notice I didn’t ask.” Starsky held back a grin anyway. “But I bet it’s killing ya, isn’t it?”

“Hey, if you have to go get your love lines read or something, knock yourself out.”

“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll have your fortune told. It’ll probably confuse the whole sphere of the cosmos and fog up her ball.”

“Brother, I don’t know where you come up with this stuff.”

Starsky stopped the car, and smiled when he saw her sign was still up and said OPEN. “You’re welcome to come with me, Hutch.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just sit here and meditate,” he said sarcastically.

Starsky put his eyes up, and lowered the windows so Hutch could be comfortable. “Well, don’t break anything while I’m gone.” Hutch put his head back and closed his eyes.

~*~

Madame Yram was happy to see him walk in. She had remembered he was as cute as a button. “Come in, come in, Detective, to what do I owe this honor?”

“Oh, you remember me, I’m Detective Starsky, Dave Starsky. I, uh, was wondering if you were busy, with any, you know, customers.”

“I am free. Is this a visit about your work, or mine?” She eyed him over with affection.

“No, it’s, ah well, it’s a personal thing. I mean, a question, a pile of questions I thought you could help me with.”

“I see. Do you mean questions about your future? Are you in need of a reading?”

“No, not exactly that. More like, hey, can I call you Mary? It makes me more –comfortable.”

“Sure. From one city kid to the next, hi, I’m Mary.”

Starsky smiled and gave her his hand as he sat down. She took it right away, and caressed it a little.

“Mary, I’ve been trying to figure some stuff out. Important things like, life’s meaning, my goals. See my partner, you remember him, he reads a lot of lofty stuff, thick books about proverbs and enlightening, and me, I seem to have similar questions about, you know, where I’m heading, how I’m going to find my own purpose in life, maybe even settle down sometime, but I don’t have any way to go about it, not the book way. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

She smiled at him. “I’m flattered you think I can help you.”

“How much would it cost me, to ah, have a chance to talk to you about that?”

She took his hand. “Let me see, what the lines say.”

“You can read that? The cost of those answers?”

She laughed robustly. “Aren’t you cute. No, I want to take a look at your life line, just for a moment.” His palm was getting a little sweaty. The skills her grandmother had passed her didn’t go unappreciated. If correct, this man was strong, and would live a long life with a healthy heart. She twitched her eyebrows when she saw, however, a considerable break in the line in the future, which signified he would go through a life altering trauma. She looked at him as he sat nervous but patient. She observed his love line, and it showed that by that time, he would be served with a love match that would save his life when needed. She looked up at him and released his hand. It was best not to tell him these things now.

“Starsky, I’d be happy to talk to you about how to find your purpose, or suggest to you what you could read that would help. I have a token price for you, how about an evening out at some zesty bar and grill?”

“Ahh, a date.” Actually, he didn’t mind going out with her at all.

“No, not exactly,” she laughed warmly, “I don’t think my Harvey would appreciate that.”

Starsky was glad for her. “Is it serious?”

“It is, very serious, but after the wedding, I think I’ll keep the Polanski. I don’t think I could stand being called Mary Chinchery.” They both giggled at that.

Starsky was exhilarated he’d found someone he liked so much to talk to about this, that was so congenial. She felt like a sister in a way. They made plans to go out the next night as he tried to give her some money for the session, which of course, she wouldn’t hear of taking. He couldn’t help but give her a little peck on the cheek as he shook her hand and left the roomy old house.

 

Woman was God’s second mistake.  –Friedrich Nietzsche

“Come on, Ken, my turn, I love this song!” The brunette pulled on his arm and dragged him back on the pulsating dance floor as the high pitched clangs of “Ring My Bell” started the song. He tried to avoid a third dance in a row; being passed between the blond and the brunette like a prized pony was wearing him out. He wasn’t allowed to object, as he was bumped and grinded into a pulp in the crush of the crowd. He couldn’t make himself heard above the volume of the throttling speakers, set right above the floor to push the music into the ground. No one even noticed he couldn’t dance as well as the seasoned crowd, but he definitely felt self-conscious. With no break in the music, the DJ kept the room hopping from song to song like there was no such thing as fade to black.

“Isn’t this fun? Don’t you just love the beat?” one of them gushed to him as he was smushed between the two of them in the leather booth. They volleyed for position with him like a game of ping pong, not affected by the fact that Starsky was a no show. They were just going to primp and pose and push themselves all over his thighs and shoulders, and keep commenting on his blond hair, as they threaded their nails through it, talking about styles and conditioners and mousse. Mousse? “You remind me of my Ken Doll, oh how I loved to dress him up!” one said. “Ooh, yes, I used to pose mine to get all snuggly between Barbie and Midge, wouldn’t that be cozy, Ken?” They giggled like squirrels. He swore he was gonna get Starsky for this debacle.

Three hours into the date, his patience was wearing as thin, and fatigue was setting in. A few slow songs had been peppered between disco bopping sets, and the girls took advantage each their turn of pawing him, attempting to entice him for later. He rested his forehead on each ladies shoulder, each their dance, only in an attempt to rest his head and somehow calm his hollow soul. Little did they know how he ached to get out of this twinkle and glitter soundstage, and burrow his heart into its true destination, if only he knew where in the world that was.

 

Man and things.— Why does man not see things? He is himself standing in the way: he conceals things.  from Nietzsche’s Daybreak, s. 483, R.J. Hollingdale transl

The Vibrato Bar and Grill was a great choice for good, spicy food. Starsky and Mary hit it off right away when they compared their tastes for hot dishes, and peculiar condiments. The atmosphere was downscale, and quiet in the back, which is exactly what Starsky had wanted in order to talk.

Within an hour, Starsky listed what books he had read that made him think about his life. He talked about songs that touched him, and even relationships he’d had, some brought him wisdom, others frivolous and sad. She watched his animations, and noted how many times Hutch came up in his conversation, in a very positive, meaningful way. They were very close, and Starsky depended on, as well as, guided Hutch, more than he was aware. She felt their bond.

“So you see, maybe it is my time, to look into myself somehow. I just don’t know how to go any further.”

“Have you ever read Psychology Today? They have very good articles about many general psychological advances, it’s a growing field. The articles are short but they lead you to reference ideas if you like the topic. There’s one that I read that comes to mind about a method of finding your center.”

“That sounds interesting. What does it say?”

“In brief, there’s an exercise they suggest to get to your core feelings, your inner space. It takes time to do, like a whole afternoon, but it helps you break free of the daily events, and helps you find a place in yourself to discover what really matters to you. It’s not difficult, I know you said mediation techniques are hard for you, but I think this is worth a try.”

Starsky shared in her excitement, and they agreed she’s give him the article and help him sort out the results of his experiment afterwards. He was elated. They talked until past midnight about everything from the zodiac to sports cars. He didn’t remember when he’d had such a good time with a girl, she could keep up with him and teach him, too.

Once home, he laid in his bed and felt as if he’d really struck gold. Finally, he had a way to sort out life’s questions. He fell asleep with his mind twinkling a euphonious trill.

 

In a friend one should have ones best enemy. You should be closest to him with your heart when you resist him. –Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

It didn’t take long for the day to start out wrong. Starsky’s peppy strut down his steps and into the LTD just made Hutch crankier.

“Hey, good morning.”

“Maybe for you, Mr. Truant. Thanks for leaving me with Babble and Boobs last night.”

Starsky paled quickly. “Shit, I forgot about the blind double date. Was it that bad?”

Hutch revved the clunky engine and veered into traffic. “Yeah, a real blast. I was stuck with both of them all evening, thinking you might show up. They spent the whole night wearing me out at that goofy disco place, The Boogie Oogie Club, chattering and jiggling and making me dance my pants off. Yuck.”

Starsky started to giggle under his breath, trying to cool it under Hutch’s furious glare. “I’m sorry, Hutch, really, I forgot it was last night.”

“Yeah, so where were you?”

“I told you, I was going to take Madame Yram out for a soda and sandwich.”

Hutch grunted. “Well I hope you had more fun than I did.”

Starsky wanted to cheer him up. “Again, I apologize. Still, I seem to remember a time when having two pretty women all to yourself was a dream come true. No competition, and you get them both.”

Hutch shook his head. “It’s not about that anymore, Starsk. Dancing and doodah, and endless small talk. Just to get a piece. I’m just not into it anymore. I left them at the doorstep and they went home. I didn’t feel like having them all over me.”

“Jeez, I feel kind of guilty, I had a much better time than you did.”

“Maybe if you understood the meaning of the big picture, you’d get why I don’t want to date anymore. You know I was married once, I thought I had something, long term, for life. I liked coming home to a real person. I didn’t have to go through all this superficial conversation, the drinks, the pick up places. It feels very artificial. I’m just starting to hate the whole dating scene.”

“Yeah, so you’re going through the same things I am, so you know why I’m trying to learn something through Mary.”

“Mary now is it? Huh, this is more serious than I thought.”

“Oh come on, will you lay off? You suggesting that’s all I ever think about? Can’t I just like a girl for having some good ideas?”

“Since when has that been your goal?”

“Jesus, Hutch, are you just looking for a fight? I’m serious here. I really am trying to understand ‘things.’ Sorry I don’t have all that background in Neatchy and Cant and all those lofty college guys you’re always reading.”

“Nietzsche and Kant, Starsk, and they’re not college guys, they’re philosophers.”

“Well, bully for you, buddy, that I didn’t have some fancy parents that could send me to prep school.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to find ‘things’ out just like you are, it’s just that I’m stuck out here with my street smarts, and so that’s where I go looking, to people that have been in the streets, who’ve been around. I’ve found them pretty wise most of the time. And that’s why I like Mary.”

“Okay, okay, sorry I said it. I like her, too. She’s good people.”

“Look, let’s just take a break, okay? Maybe tonight you need to stay home and regroup with your greenery pals for awhile. Me, I got some stuff I want to do tomorrow.”

“Okay, Starsk, truce then. I guess after the meeting today, I’ll see you on Monday, for that second shift, remember? Unless you want to do something this weekend.”

“Oh, yeah, Dobey’s review with the research investigators. How can I forget? So we don’t hafta go in until two o’clock…well, let’s get through today first. We have enough people to listen to, let’s not be mad at each other. We usually get along so well.”

“You’re right, buddy.” He gave Starsky a smile, a real one. Starsky put his arm over the seat and gave Hutch a shoulder squeeze for good measure.

 

All credibility, all good conscience, all evidence of truth come only from the senses.  –Friedrich Nietzsche

Forming the question, Mary had said, was initially the hardest part. Regardless, Starsky had read the material he was given and was willing to make his attempt at finding his authenticity, his life force.

He learned that of the five senses of sight, sound, smell, touch and taste, that every person had a pair they preferred over others. It was how they experienced life. He thought about that, and concluded that his were taste and touch. He kept thinking about how food was more important to him then say, seeing a movie, or hearing a song. Then again, he was smitten that Mary had said that he used all five senses very veraciously. She thought he had a robust ‘taste’ for life that was unusual.

He thought about his partner, and surmised his sense pairing had to be sound and touch. He had told Mary about his beautiful singing, and how well he played the guitar, Starsky could watch him for hours as he touched the strings from gentle to gutsy. His buddy was amazing in many ways.

Thinking about Hutch, it occurred to him they shared ‘touch’ as their strongest sense. Maybe this was why they were so much alike, despite how different they were in many things like cars, or hobbies. It was clear this is how they truly communicated, at the deepest of levels.

Starsky was formulating a key, a method to making a journey into his own soul. He sat for hours, and began to separate himself from his daily, and life events, and found it was getting easier to think deeply. He quieted, as he shut off his senses, one by one, to focus on only one, and begin his exploration.

 

Just beyond experience!— Even great spirits have only their five fingers breadth of experience – just beyond it their thinking ceases and their endless empty space and stupidity begins.  From Nietzsche’s Daybreak, s. 564, R.J. Hollingdale transl

The phone rang and woke Hutch like a fire alarm. He grabbed it in high gear.

“Hello? Starsk?” Never forgetting the night Bellamy almost took his partner from him, he was always ready now. If it had been anyone else, they’d just have to understand that.

“It’s me, Hutch, but don’t panic.”

“What time is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m alright. Nothing to worry about.” Hutch wiped his face with his hands to get a grip on himself. Starsky continued, “I need you to come over. If you can.”

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” He was already hopping into a pair of pants.

“Take you time, I’ll be here. But I need you. It’s important.”

“Okay, I’m on my way, whatever you need.”

“And Hutch? When you get here, let me explain. I don’t want you to talk, okay?”

“Wha–”

“No more talking, please. You don’t have to rush, but just come.”

 

You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star.  –Friedrich Nietzsche

Hutch ran up the stairs in a hurry, practically hyperventilating. He found the door wide open, which made him slow down in hesitation. Too many times a door opened like this meant danger. He crept in with shivers on his skin. He shut it behind him.

But all he ended up facing was an empty, dark apartment.

“In here.”

Or so it had seemed. He approached to a crawl, swallowed. “Where are the lights, huh?”

“No lights, Hutch.” Hutch stayed braced. “Please.”

It was so quiet. He was so used to the television or radio being on when Starsky was home. He stepped lightly into the living room, but couldn’t see where Starsky was, his eyes unadjusted to the black.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Please, I asked ya. Don’t talk, no more talk. Just nod, I can see you.”

“O-” Hutch started, but then nodded. Nodded again. Silence was in the air, but the voices in their heads were in their ears.

“All day it took me, Hutch, just to get to this–this quiet. This part of me that has no preconceived anything. No family, no people, no goals. No beliefs, no work, no purpose. And if anyone says anything, while I try to explain, it will be gone again, it will be full of details again. It will be over.”

Hutch leaned slowly but heavily on the sofa end. His partner must have moved some furniture around, the sofa chair was kitty corner, diagonal. Starsky’s voice bellowed, the chair had to be facing a wall.

“Trying to erase. Erase pasts, even erase names. I have no name. I have, am nothing. I simply am not.” He paused. “Ever do Transcendental Mediation? Don’t answer, I bet you have. Doesn’t work. Seems living in California, I could make it work. Ever read ‘Man’s Search for Meaning?’ Well, I felt like hell after that book. Didn’t learn squat from it. Ever hear Lennon’s ‘Imagine’? Scares the piss out of me.”

Hutch became aware he was starting to tremble. Largeness, acuteness was sending needles of immensity into his body, crawling into his fingers, pricking his spine. Why? Who is this he’s being? It wasn’t the person, the Starsky he knew.

“It’s killing ya, isn’t it, Hutchinson? You can’t stand not having something come out of your head. I can hear your mind racing around and the words are all bunching up into the walls of your mouth, crashing into your teeth. You wanna know why this and why that. Nod I’m right, nod as much as you want.”

Hutch started nodding like a sand piper, he couldn’t stop. Yes, yes, you’re an ass for pointing it out, partner, but yes.

“Well do me and yourself a favor and shut your head the hell up. Right now, like I asked.”

Hutch was about the land him one. He didn’t need a word to do that. But there was something to Starsky–this nothing person’s point. The room was full of it, surreal, fortuitous. He did nod, and went to sit plainly on the couch, willing, open.

“Okay. Now shut your mind down, really close it down. It’s 3AM, I waited to ask you to come when you were the most tired. To get your mind at the lowest.”

Softer his voice now. Hutch tapped into his ability to conform to that voice. That wasn’t hard. To stop thinking was.

“I’m gonna tell you now.”

Hutch began to get tingling through his shoulders. His back twitched. The room was filling up with blacker black. Everything was weighted.

Starsky got up, it sounded. He picked up the chair. He was turning it around. He sat again. Hutch was beginning to see his silhouette, his hair line, the lenses of his eyes.

“This is all I want. Listen carefully. I want you to come to me, when you’re ready and kneel in front of me. Come.”

Hutch held back a sigh, and actually swallowed it in fear. He came. He knelt. He was deathly afraid to think, to create a thought.

The black lifted, there was an aura quality to how close they were, Starsky leaning forward in the chair, gentle, gazing at Hutch. The heaviness lifted slightly.

“I’m sorry this is going to take so much explanation. Bear with me.” Starsky urged, “Take a deep breath for me.”

Hutch did so.

Starsky looked at Hutch’s earnest face. He seemed so slight kneeling there, not the tall, confident partner he portrayed on work time. Starsky shook out his thoughts, had to stay nothing. He lowered his voice an octave.

“At another time, when it’s right, we’re going to come back to this. To discuss it, to analyze it all you want. To explain what we felt. But not now. Tonight, just do it. Like its life or death. I asking for trust, only this time. Only from you. I’ll never ask again.”

Hutch’s lips parted. They could see each other as if there was a candle lit in the room. And this was an apocalypse. They were like the sun and the moon. Together, an eclipse.

Starsky was sitting on his hands. “Hutch.” He paused. “I won’t call you that again. You need to be nothing. No name. Put your hands behind your back. Clasp them together. Don’t use them.”

Hutch did as he asked as if he was in a trance. What was happening?

“Maybe something will occur, I don’t know anymore than you. But when it’s over, leave, go home. Don’t come back. This won’t come up again, until its time, some day. We’ll go back to who we were. Ready, now.”

Hutch gave his last nod, almost without moving. Then he heard the most delicate whispered voice.

“Close your eyes, put your right cheek up to mine. Don’t take it away, until it’s over. When we separate, go.”

With that, the dark man moved his body forward and he grazed the fair one, the skin on two planes met so delicately, the feathers of the hairs on their faces placed themselves one at a time side by side, as if meeting by name, every one. Folding into each other, tender warmth greeted the softest strength. They pillowed, kneaded into their cheeks, and as sudden as it began, some strange immensity took over.

All but the universe stirred, twisted, sank. Unparalleled, the kneeling man who thought he knew so much, no longer knew anything. Neither knew their age, time, place or reason in an instant. Electrons were passing between them, atoms were being introduced, their cellular structure was changing, scents and sounds were collecting, thoughts erupted in cotillions, sparks and shivers abided. They both pressed further, though gingerly, slightly higher, or left, right, swooning, losing use of their neck muscles, the dark man’s moles massaged the pallor of the blond’s velvet skin, their textures uniting.

They were attached as if two worlds had collided into one being, and melded. It defied perception. The dark sought the light, the fair sought the dusk. Without a name, a meaning, a purpose, the sensation of existence ignited ominously. The more they pressed into one space, they became the other, and ambiguous certainty formed. One shuddered as one took in a patchy breath, one fed, the other filled. All that was, came. And bliss became Them.

They stayed polarized in a timeless mass, that only lasted minutes, but had no measure. Eerie beauty created such atonement. Overwhelmed quickly were both. The kneeler throbbed, shook, helpless, the quavering of the immensity of feeling took over. He fought a battalion of desire to deepen, but he was already too full. The squatter trembled with beautiful anguish in conjunction, and succumbed to a rogue tear that stole away. Between them, the jaws began to tense, and muscles clenched together, gurgled whimpers were beginning to form. It was ending. Beauty beguiles, fallibility fools, omnipotence objects. And neither could be nothing long enough to hold on to such perfection, because it belonged to no particular one.

They parted, pulling out of the vacuum, taking back something about who they individually were, and nearly both fell dissevering, as the cold air cut them apart. Identities returned, slamming into the void they had shared and punctured any blessings left in place. The fair one felt frail, the dark one was wasted. Neither could look at each other.

Hutch fell to a crawl and used all four limbs to steady himself to stand. Shaking he turned away. He must go, he said to himself. Don’t dare a thought, just go.

Starsky stood and left his stoop for the first time in hours, weak at the knees. He turned the opposite way, fighting to keep his conditions of not engaging.

He heard the footsteps to the door, briskly leaving. Both were devastated, drained.

Hutch stampeded to the car, fell in and dropped all his defenses. He slammed his head into the wheel for the biggest cry he’d ever had. Starsky dropped to the floor, prone with his contorted face against the fabric of the rug, and wept himself sick.

They would never be the same again ever. They both knew it.

 

When one has much to put into them, a day has a hundred pockets. –Friedrich Nietzsche

Starsky woke with a cramp in his neck that would probably last for days. Luckily, with a later shift, he’d had time to brace himself to see his partner again, and to get ready for work. He had to clear his mind and get back to normal.

He had taken all of Sunday to reflect on what had happened between them. Though he knew he had to keep steadfast that it not change anything between them, he would find it hard to do. He had to work on that, to compartmentalize. As a soldier, he had been trained for that. He owed Hutch that much, he had come and partaken, simply because he asked. In the middle of the night. And he had kept his part of the bargain and didn’t call to discuss it. He could find a way, too.

Hutch on the other hand had a terrible weekend. Unable to sleep unless exhausted, he dragged himself between day and night in short and fitful naps. He had to get a hold of himself. He felt something profound happened , but there were no words, no organization of thought. He had to meet Starsky halfway, but he struggled, tortured and tired. It was his life that troubled him, one moment there were too many people on his mind, current and past, the rest of the time, he was alone in his misery, with a turbulent soul.

On Monday, the two o’clock gathering began. The task meeting took an hour, and then teams were divided to make the undercover operation plans. Hutch was separated from Starsky, and asked to work with the research team because of his college background. Starsky worked with the uniformed officers. Everyone was told to get a quick dinner and return for a briefing. Both Starsky and Hutch couldn’t wait to get out of the building.

Away from the others, Starsky found a Chinese restaurant a few blocks away. After ordering, it didn’t take long to see Hutch was crabby and disheartened. He barked at Starsky twice already.

“Are you still mulling over some big concept? Don’t you ever take a moment off ? You’ve had such a puss lately.” Starsky wanted to get that fuddle off his face.

Hutch looked out the window, already disgusted how listening to the Feds delineate every report to death had gone. Talk about big concepts, what was that night all about, buddy? He was still perturbed Starsky was holding up so well. “Yeah, well, ‘the whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts.’ Bertrand Russell.”

“Sounds stuffy to me.”

“That sounds like high school, Starsky. Calling things snobby, highbrow.”

“I didn’t say that. I just think there’s wisdom in a lot of things. ‘The beginning of wisdom is to desire it.’ ”

“And where is that from?” Hutch was pissy.

“Fortune cookie, Thaiphoon Lagoon. 2nd and Main.”

Hutch couldn’t believe it. “Jesus. How profound.”

“Maybe he was, but now who’s a snob?”

Hutch hissed. “Okay, maybe once in a while, you can find some–guidance–by sheer luck. But it’s just not enough for me.”

“And how about this one? ‘The greatest danger could be your stupidity.’ I got that fortune last week at Wok and Roll.”

Hutch sighed exasperatively. ‘One swallow does not make a summer,’ Starsk. Aesop – 620—560 BC.”

“Yeah? Well how about ‘People who live in glass houses should wear a robe.’ Bajooka Joe 1970. 19 of 50.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, how does that represent enlightenment?”

“Hutch, you’re just too critical. You have to take life as it comes, not always look for huge moments. There’s a lot of wisdom in the simple stuff.”

Hutch was having a hard time chewing and swallowing simple white rice. His stomach didn’t care if it was nourished. He gave his partner a once over watching him shovel in more Moo Goo Gai Pan covered in hot mustard. Starsky’s relish for life, and brazen abandon awed and irritated him, how does he do it? “Well, I’d rather study great books and define the primary from the derivatives.”

“I think your want your derivatives to exclude those that didn’t get to write everything down. Or read it. Don’t throw the soap out with the bath water….”

“That’s not how it goes, Starsk.”

“Yes, it is. ‘Don’t throw the soap out with the bath water.’ Bajooka Joe series 1950. 18 of 50.” Starsky smirked to himself.

Hopeless. Hutch slapped his forehead hard. It was going to be another long day.

~*~

Back at the task force meeting, the summary of last week’s efforts was being presented in monotone voices and monochrome spreadsheets. Starsky watched his partner taking copious notes attempting to exuberate his intellectual persona. Starsky was enjoying watching Hutch chew on his pencil much more than keeping up with what the subject matter was, since it didn’t apply to what they were contributing anyway.

Starsky had saved his fortune cookie. Fiddling with it in his pocket, when he clenched his fist out of boredom, he accidentally crushed it. It made a discernable sound. Hutch made a face at him and shook his head. Starsky inspected for crumbs and shrugged his shoulders.

“Starsky, pay attention!” Dobey griped. Fed Agent Beckett droned on to everyone’s dismay, while all officers worked so hard to look interested. After fifteen minutes, Dobey gave them their assignments. Lucky for the Zebra Three unit, they could go on patrol with the last few hours, then return to the station, they really weren’t needed for the rest of the day.

As Starsky was making his way to the car, he munched on the crunchy pieces and eagerly read the fortune. Instantly, he giggled at his luck:

 

Make two grins grow where there was only a grouch before.

He slipped it with a smile into his partner’s pocket as he waltzed by. Grabbing it, Hutch got in the car and read it. He frowned immediately.

“Hmm, that’s strange. It didn’t work.”

“Very funny, pal.” Hutch threw the paper into the back seat.

“What are you blaming me for, Hutch? I told you. It’s serendipity. After all, that’s how…”

“Don’t say it.”

The cookie crumbles, Hutch. He drove off into traffic.

 

He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.  –Friedrich Nietzsche

Dobey went back to Parker to catch up with the rest of his detectives and their caseloads. He kept Miller and Collins out to organize night patrols, and sent Starsky and Hutch out at random, in case back up was needed. The Torino headed for the garment district, to check if any more information was available from their sources. Past their shift, on the way by several large millworks, Hutch spotted the perps on foot.

“I can’t believe this, there they are! They must be coming back to meet their connection sooner than we thought.”

“That’s only one of them, Hutch, O’Malley, and some sidekick.” Starsky stopped the car to let Hutch out on the next side alley. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”

“Let’s not call it in until we’re sure, Starsk, we don’t need the whole crew down here if Roberts isn’t with him.” He opened the door and took off.

Around the back of the large mill, Starsky waited by the narrow road between buildings but hadn’t drawn his gun. He knew he had plenty of time if they ran this way. After a minute, he headed down the alleyway to the right, where they must have turned down where Hutch was covering.

He heard a shot, then Hutch’s magnum in response. Running faster, he caught up with Hutch bent over a pile of palettes. Apparently, they both got away clean.

Hutch was panting. “They were too fast for me. I wasn’t sure if they’d turn back towards you, I didn’t want to fire in your direction if you were running up this way. They didn’t see me though, not my face.”

“It’s okay, Hutch. They won’t get far with a whole task force out there. It’s just a matter of time, but I suspect they were just slumming around at this end,” Starsky answered, “come on, let’s get back to the car and radio it in anyway.” But Hutch had used all the energy and effort he had, for him, the day was over.

“What’s the use of calling it in? We don’t need to pick them up, we need to catch them in the act.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, it’s the end of the day. Let’s just get back.” Starsky went to pull on Hutch’s coat but he jerked back.

“Wait. Wait. I can’t.”

“Can’t what, Hutch, are you okay?” Starsky wondered if he was injured.

“No, I’m not.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that.” Hutch shook his head, angry, confused.

Starsky felt that coldness again, that tension between them ragged and raw. “What, is this about the cookie thing? Are you upset with me about the other night?” Starsky played dumb hoping Hutch would open up.

Hutch gave him a deep, wounded stare, but Starsky didn’t appear to get it. Maybe he didn’t want to. Dejected, he shook his head, and waved him away with his right hand as he walked away. “Just don’t, okay? Just leave me alone.” More softly, he added, “Me, ha, that’s a laugh. Whoever I am.”

“Whu–Hutch? Wait!” But it was too late.

Starsky incredulously watched Hutch walk away, back into the alley, past the unused doors of the dilapidated warehouse. He went about a hundred feet, still within Starsky’s sight. Hutch found a doorway that was unlocked, and he pushed it in, and saw it was pitch black.

Blackness. He went in like he was drawn to the space. Loud noise opened up with the door, pounding, a chatter of snapping and grating of rubber and wood, huge sewing machines above and around the unlit area. This is what he needed, his soul was screaming to stop, stop. All he had for days was ache and pain. He walked in, and crawled the wall, and stood with his back against the brick. He closed his eyes even though he didn’t have to. The room echoed the choral sounds of the knitting machines in adjacent rooms above, the ticking and clanking was rhythmic, considerably sonorous, but not deafening. His heart was beating rapidly, he pulled his gun out of the holster as a reaction to that feeling. He fondled the barrel affectionately; he had a habit of doing that.

But within a minute, he knew, the door had opened slightly again, and his partner followed him in. When the door closed, they were both in the thick of the dark.

There was no sense making Starsky look for him. “I’m over here,” he offered.

Starsky followed the voice using the homing of his heart. He was anxious. They met hands first, when Starsky stiffened the minute he felt the gun.

He said very firmly, “Put it away, Hutch, or I don’t care what I have to do, I’ll take it from you.” Hutch hung his head and complied, putting it in the holster. Starsky throat caught, he said so softly, “Damn, you’re scaring me.” He grabbed him by the shoulders and felt the wall behind him. Hutch slumped dejectedly.

“No. Don’t want that.”

“Hutch…”

“Not scare.” Hutch hit the wall with his head.

Starsky steadied him, “Hey…”

“I want…humph” Starsky immediately put his hand on his waist. Hutch sobbed, “take me back there, take me back, please!”

Starsky tipped his own head to ask what, but instead, Hutch grappled his face and put him cheek to cheek as they had been that night. Immediately, Starsky reciprocated and put his hands in Hutch’s hair. He was caught in a strained wrestle, not sure what Hutch was doing.

A whimpered gasp came out of Hutch so needy that Starsky reacted by pushing himself against him with urgency. Hutch strangled his curly hair, his arms hooded into his shoulders, clinging, so they couldn’t separate. Soothing undulations began in every part of their bodies, rocking, swaying and pressing of their chests, and thighs and torsos, until they nestled their legs apart, one outward, one inward to both. Their cheeks pressed and rolled as they had that night, but with the hint of their lips breathing ragged breaths into each other ears. Their craving for tactile contact mirrored the clacking of the machines, creating a musical beat to their desire to engulf and conquer.

In the black, all Hutch could sense and smell was this dark brunette, this stalwart beauty that claimed his life force days ago and left him dry. Just like Vanessa. He whimpered, “Oh Starsk, I am, like you said, nothing, nothing…” He was near tears.

Despite all his athletics, Starsky couldn’t wiggle free. Damn, this man was strong. “No Hutch, that’s not what I meant, I didn’t want to do this to you!”

“Starsky, no, you didn’t. I’m, I’m nothing without you!”

Starsky was scared for him. “Shh. It’s okay, I’m here, don’t worry.”

“Fill me up, Starsk, make me real, I’m gonna die in here.” He was so starved to be petted, touched.

Starsky keened, “No, don’t ever, don’t say that!”

Without hesitation, Hutch pulled back his cheek and met the unexpecting lips that had no choice but to be overtaken by heart-shaped pucker and tongue. Hutch pushed without mercy, cradling Starsky’s head to arch and take to the river of his need, soaking him with juicy, heated licks and nips. He was insatiable, and he didn’t care with what. Starsky was surrounded by noise and cold, heat and fondling, overwhelmed by kissing as he’s never been dealt. Hutch grabbed his mouth with his fisted grip and forced it open, stealing his tongue, strangling it, sucking and pulling it into his hungry jaw. Starsky could not break free, falling into a bottomless, a weightlessness, like the rush of an elevator’s fall, his legs held him, but he leaned heavily against the blond’s body.

“Dear God, Hutch!” Starsky gulped, not knowing what was happening. Hutch’s arms dropped and squeezed his lush ass cheeks and groped them with voracity. Starsky couldn’t possibly detach, and with no open breath, he was losing the ability to try. Hutch sucked in enough air to cudgel Starsky’s mouth again, after saying, “Starsk, God, oh, can’t stop it, I have to have this, we have to, need to rub you, touch, ’til we-we’re both gonna come…” Starsky was too shocked and lost to fight it. Hutch grabbed for Starsky’s loins right through the material and pushed it against his own. They rubbed the front of their jeans so assiduously to the strapping of the machines, that within a minute, no will they had would cut short what nature controlled, and in the pounding, slapping, thumping, battering, their screams of delectation barely added to the force of the pummel and lash. They exploded in their clothes in a sweat that drenched them to the neck, and crumbled them, dragging down the wall until they deteriorated to a near collapse.

A few minutes of clapping, stomping, clapping of the machines that never stopped regulated their pulses again. Starsky lifted himself to his knees never taking his hands off his partner, just steadying him, from holding him at the waist to adjusting his shoulders. He touched his warm face and wiped his blond hair from his forehead, imploring, “We need to get us home.”

Hutch dropped his head forward and nestled into Starsky’s breastbone. “Forgive me,” he said.

Starsky answered quickly. “There’s nothing to forgive–”

“Nothing! Nothing without you! I can’t be–”

“Hutch, let me help you up. You’re in a panic. Let me get you home.” Starsky’s anguish for his partner put him in caretaker mode, like any emergency they’ve faced before, but this time it wasn’t a physical injury. All he knew is that he had to get Hutch back into the light.

Starsky raised up his partner and half carried him to the car with him under his arm. Hutch acted very much like he was weak from blood loss, not opening his eyes or saying a word. He decided it was best to take him to his own place. He sped off.

Arriving, Hutch dragged himself into the apartment dejected and numb. Leaving him on the couch, he ordered him, “Stay right there.” Hutch kept his eyes clamped, hanging on to the darkness in his eyelids. He needed Starsky to take over.

Starsky drew a bath for him, checking the temperature while he waited for the proper height of water. He went back to his sitting partner, and walked him into the bathroom, dropping his clothes for him and steadying him to climb in. He hoped the warmth of the water would do what it needed to revive his spirit some.

Hutch looked up at his partner, sad, scared, and emotionally hungry. As Starsky turned for a washcloth to give him, Hutch grabbed his wrist. Starsky stopped, cloth in hand. They stared at each other. Hutch took his other hand and led Starsky to immerse his arm and cloth into the water, then brought them both wet to touch his chest. “Bathe me,” Hutch pleaded, “touch me.”

It brought Starsky to his knees, he had no choice. It was his fault, this, fissure happened. He had no idea what. Taking the soap, he lathered it, keeping his eyes on the cloth. What could he say or do but to grant this one small petition.

He met this fate with grace. But for this, would he have known the beauty of this blond body, the smoothness of his form, his limbs long and lustful, his rosy nipples, his supple neck? He lathered the towel several times to draw streaks of white foam across Hutch’s arms, stomach, knees, and moved him to swab and soak his strong, hairless back. Hutch had the makings of a movie star, it was often noted his features were breathtaking even to men. Starsky became aware what honor it was to be allowed this simple intimacy. What had occurred between them in the factory was a gift. Slowing down to pamper his partner this way, he realized how breathtaking he was. He was falling into a slow seduction he didn’t even know was happening. He let the cloth go, fall into the water, and instead soaped his palms to massage his neck, collar bone, sternum, and followed the path lower, to the water’s edge, then deeper, to the floating bloom of his loins. The sensation of this alone made him heady, he never thought in his life he would want or need the feel of this. He swallowed a slight gasp before he could be heard aloud.

For this, Hutch was calmed, eyes closed, tranquil, with gentle tear streaks on his cheeks. He willed himself to feel each graze, wishing it was real. Starsky realized he himself had loosened up, and it had ameliorated his apprehension. How wonderful to have the privilege to care for his, his other, his–he didn’t know, but his, his own. He looked at Hutch’s quieted face and closed eyes. Something had broken, oh Hutch. He stroked his cheek with the back of his hand. Hutch stirred. “Come now. Bed.” He left him a towel to dry, and went into the next room, returning with a shirt and underwear. Hutch dried himself, holding the rough cloth to his face longer than needed. He got dressed.

Starsky was preparing his room, when Hutch entered. “In here, Hutch, I want you to rest. I have to take a shower.” He led him to the open sheets, and covered him, tenderly stroking his hairline. Hutch was shy, but grateful, and made no argument. He hoped they could talk, but he wouldn’t know what to say yet. His partner left the room before there was time for words. Hutch lay quiet, wondering, woeful of his whole life. But the blankets and the tuck in had worked its magic, and he was drawn down. Soon he fell asleep in Starsky’s safeness, in his beautiful bed.

Starsky set the water’s temperature and stood in the shower. He felt the sticky contents of his groin and stomach. Never had such an explosion of his own passion scared him like this, the power, the unexpected rush. The reason. He had been overtaken, almost romantically raped, by his –male–partner. His best friend. He had no say in it, yet his scream was extreme, his outpouring of semen enormous. Hutch needed him so much. How could this be? Sorrowfully, he cleaned himself, before he could review the evidence more academically. He was worried about the both of them. He dried and returned to the bedroom to check on Hutch.

He didn’t know what he would say, and found his partner steady and fast asleep. Poor Hutch, he needs this now. Relieved, Starsky closed the door and set himself up to stay on the couch.

He had only one other thing on his mind. He took the phone and dialed.

“Mary. It’s me, Starsky.”

“I know it’s you. I always know.” Her voice smiled at him like an old friend would. He so needed that now.

“Mary, something happened. I’m scared, I can’t hide that from you. This exploration of mine, it’s become –something else.” He sighed deeply.

“You’ve got him involved, don’t you?”

“How–how did you–Yeah, I did. I have. I shouldn’t have. Listen, can we meet? I need your help to figure this out. To figure me out.”

“Sure. I have eleven o’clock tomorrow free. Working hours, though.”

“Hey, I’ll pay ya.” Starsky wished it sooner, he was worried about tomorrow morning.

“Of course not. We’re past that, aren’t we? But you’ll have to meet me at work. Madame Yram is popular,” she joked.

“Okay, I’ll be there. And –thanks.” He put the receiver down with a smile, feeling lucky, gratified, that he knew such a great girl. He hoped she was great enough to lead him out of this messy maze of feelings and fear.

 

A thinker sees his own actions as experiments and questions–as attempts to find out something. Success and failure are for him answers above all.  –Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science, section 41

When Starsky woke, he realized he would have to face his partner’s concerns. He got up, rubbed his eyes and scratched his head as he walked to the bathroom. Within seconds, he figured out he was alone. Hutch must have snuck out and went back to his place. He shook his head and went to the shower, a little worried but admittedly relieved. At least there was a small reprieve, for now.

Starsky arrived at Mary’s early. He was very surprised to see Hutch’s rattletrap in front of the door. This is where he disappeared to? He couldn’t imagine the meaning, and rushed into the door and foyer without thinking, with his normal impetuousness. Then with a jolt, he stopped when he heard him talking. He backed against the wall hoping he hadn’t been spotted.

“You have to open up, to explain it.”

“How do I explain ‘it’?”

“You say your first thought. A word. As quick as you can.”

“I know, but, I don’t know you.”

“That’s why it works. Try me.”

“Okay, my first thought.” He paused. Be quick. “Starsky. Starsk, to me, he’s Starsk.”

“Because he’s familiar.”

“Because he’s my whole life.” Hutch gulped. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Is that what he is? Is there a reason he is?”

He sighed. “I-I don’t know. Because he’s there. Because he’s always there. No, that’s, that’s not right. Because I want him there, I chase after him to be there.” He paused. “Because he’s real. He’s… happy.”

“He makes you feel.”

“He makes me important, real. He makes me proud, he makes me– happy.” He read back his words in his mind. “My meaning, it’s changing as I say it, isn’t it?”

“He’s happy. He’s real. He makes you feel real and happy. Keep going.”

“Yes. He does. Because he’s, huh, perfect.”

“Perfection and reality. These are good things. Then tell me why, or what you feel is wrong then.”

Hutch wiped his brow, lowered his head and pulled the back of his hair. “It’s just, that night, it all came to a head, he’s always so confident, so brave. He pulled it out of me, and it nearly ripped me in half. Then yesterday, I took something I should have asked for, I wasn’t very fair about it. Now I’m lost, he knows it. He knows, and now I’m ripped open and …dying.”

“You’re afraid you’re alone in your confusion.”

“I don’t feel worthy of anyone. I’m just a void.”

“What feels like a dark place in yourself is the vessel for someone else’s light. Happiness wants a place to go, it relishes an empty canvas.”

“That’s all I bring? An empty canvas? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Fairness is not complement, it is competition.”

Hutch was perplexed. She was indeed psychic, wise. But it made him feel smaller, because he still couldn’t understand. “I don’t know, I just want to be someone’s fullness, someone’s happiness, not just a black hole.

Mary was well aware of Starsky’s presence, and by now, was certain he knew she knew he was there. With her natural gifts, she was determined to find their common ground.

“Give me your hand.”

Hutch complied reluctantly. She studied his life line, love line, and stroked his palm. He hung his head. He didn’t want to turn this into a reading. Herein, she easily saw their connection, they were so identical. She shuddered for a moment, knowing it was their bond that would save Starsky. Someday. But this she could not impart.

She lifted her other hand sideways. “Look to me.” He did. “We are more than just one dimensional. We have holes, not just one, dark places, empty canvases. See the space between my fingers as I widen them. See that as these vessels.” He looked up at her hand, watching it. He would fall into her trance.

Starsky held up his own hand. He followed her instructions too.

“Now look at the fingers. These are the gifts. Starsky told me you cook. You make music. You read and discuss very well. You are loyal and trustworthy. This is the happiness, the light you bring.” She took his hand and coupled it into her hand, braiding the spaces in one with fingers of the other. Hutch soaked in the meaning, then pulled his hand away, embarrassed, laughing almost sarcastically.

“You mean all this is is I’m a little teapot, watch me spout? Open the door and see all the people? It can’t be that simple!” He shook his head and hissed.

Starsky put his hand to his face, he wanted to slap him. Couldn’t he feel Mary’s wisdom?

She was undaunted. “If it was, why does that bother you? It is natural and uncomplicated when it is the right fit. Then it dovetails. When it is real. Then it is perfect.” He stared at her, mouth open. He was afraid she’d say it. She did. “You said Starsky was real. Starsky was…”

“Perfect.” He hung his head.

Starsky pinched his lips to hold in a gasp. Oh Hutch.

“Well, all I know is I’m not perfect. Without him to fix it, I’ll just bleed to death from here. Inside, yeah, I’m mostly empty. If he leaves me, if he doesn’t understand, I’m already nothing, I’ll die anyway. Why not just get it over with, I might as well put a gun to its best use.”

“NO!!” Starsky rushed out from the shadows and lurched at his partner. “No, if you ever say that again, I swear, Hutch, don’t you dare ever put me through that again!” He grabbed him for all he was worth and dropped him to the floor, pounding him, slapping him. Hutch crawled backwards, recoiling, shocked. “I don’t want to see in my head what those words mean, do you understand?”

Starsky hit Hutch’s knee, then stopped, slapping himself, for causing this hurt to Hutch. He lunged at Hutch again, to gather his shoulders with his hands, to shake him a little. “We always had to give, to everyone else, we always had to be something for everyone else, good cops, a good spouse, helping everybody but ourselves, going without, giving in, but never, never did we ever give up! And you aren’t going to do that, you’re not going to give up, ever, no matter what happens, as long as there is something, something in each other, because where there’s nothing, we felt it, there was some great thing, it was you inside me, and me inside you, long before we ever thought or knew we’d want the physical experience of that, we had it anyway. We just didn’t know what it was!”

Hutch stared at him, in disbelief, the words hurting him with their truth, he sputtered, tears falling down his face.

Starsky grabbed him, shoved him back and grabbed his own holster. “If you ever, ever, think you have the right to use a gun on yourself, then use mine,” he pulled on the Beretta, he flipped off the safety, and he roughly shoved it into Hutch’s hand with his two hands, “you use mine and you kill yourself, go ahead, kill the you that’s in me!”

Hutch flipped the safety fast and threw the gun away like it was a hot iron. He rushed forward and pummeled into Starsky’s chest, burying his face and forehead, wailing, “Starsk, no! No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean it, so sorry…”

Starsky embraced him whole, engulfing his entire meaning into his partner. There was no other place on this earth. He gulped down a phlegm of tears, “Oh, Hutch–love.”

Hutch looked up, scared, hopeful.

Starsky wiped at his tear marks. “Babe, darling, okay, okay. It’s okay.” Hutch sunk himself onto Starsky’s chest.

Mary picked up the gun, and slowly walked over to the table to place it there. She watched Starsky as he held the crumbling blond in his arms, gently rocking him. She walked back towards them, with Starsky meeting her eyes. She gave him a knowing nod. She bent over and placed her hand on his shoulder, and on Hutch’s hair, but Hutch didn’t react at all. “You’ve found you are the same being. As I said, where there is nothing, there is.” She disengaged and stood, walking to the end of the room, and leaned into the curtained arch. “Take all the time you need, your secret is safe with Madame Yram.” She left them, with a last peek of Starsky stroking the blond locks, and Hutch looking up, meeting himself in his partner’s eyes.

 

Epilogue

Remedium amoris.— The cure for love is still in most cases that ancient radical medicine: love in return.  from Nietzsche’s Daybreak, s. 415, R.J. Hollingdale transl

“When I do this, we will never part again.”

“I know that. We will just be parts of each other when we are physically apart, but we will always be just one.”

“The thing is I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want you to feel pain. That worries me.”

“I want the pain, I want to be ripped apart, and to bleed a little, to really become one person.”

“I don’t know, that just seems too cruel.”

“Our pain, our life, our blood. I want it all the same, all fused together.”

“If it’s the formula to happiness, to pleasure beyond what we’ve ever known before, I’m all for it, Hutch.”

“Starsk, let me beg. I want your power, your signature, your possession of me. Please.”

Starsky could never, will never, be free of the way his life partner says please. It made him throb and pounce, rabid for inclusion. They had talked, read, prepared, but now it was time. His cock was his arrow, and plunge it he did, fiercely, because it’s what was yearned. It pierced Hutch in, into the cave of his soul, stroking in and drawing back, greedily, prerogatively. Within minutes of rapture, the rapid rush of thunder overcame them concurrently, profusion sprayed its injection, and jettisoned pleasure from the other, in cries of delight. All supernal subsistence from Starsky’s personage propelled into his lover’s cavern. It took him to a height he had never been, and opened up the Pandora of his spirit, to a blaze of gold and blue. He choked a scream as his last drops spurted out of him, drawn.

“Stay there, just for a minute, keep me full.” They held each other tighter.

“Hutch,” he sighed, “Mmm. Hutch. It’s so good, like the meaning of my life.” There was no such thing as nothing anymore.

They both trembled. Could they have found it, could they have it, so simple and exotic, could it last, unfathomed?

The moment was too short, the body depleted. Near passing out, he sunk with all his weight onto his side. Hutch turned to him.

Starsky had to know. “Are you okay? Did it hurt?”

“It was beautiful, fulfilling. Like nothing I ever knew in any way.”

“I loved filling you. Now look at you, so laden with light.” Hutch smiled brightly, and wiped the sweat of Starsky’s brow with his knuckles. “I can’t even tell you, I can’t…” Starsky revealed.

“Yes, you can.” Hutch returned, as he lay his cheek close to his. They stroked their faces closely, this was their language now when there was none.

Starsky confided, “I hope you get to feel it, like I did, when you take me. As soon as we can, so soon.”

“Starsk, when you experience it, you won’t believe what it does inside. It’s like it touches something so electric, I think I changed dimension– I flew.”

Starsky grinned his white teeth, and chuckled low. “Yeah, some male sweet spot, I guess, but with you, I bet even that is intensified.”

Hutch kissed his ear gently. “Okay, you’re shaking now. You’re spent. Sleep, dream with me. I’ll have my turn to make you mine, and give you my person, my joy when you wake.”

Starsky pulled him close. “We are. Some great something.”

They cuddled into their facial dance a few more strokes and foundered, abundant and whole, harmonious, in suspended consciousness.

End

—————————

Imagine there’s no heaven, It’s easy if you try
No hell below us, Above us only sky
Imagine all the people, Living for today…

Imagine there’s no countries, It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for, And no religion too
Imagine all the people, Living life in peace…

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us

And the world will be as one.
–John Lennon Imagine, 1971

“Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”   –Viktor Frankl 1946 book Man’s Search for Meaning

Bajooka Joe Comics are a collector’s item and their research can be found online.

Fortune cookie sayings are authentic and can be found online.