Listen to the Silence

Post Sweet Revenge and Hutch’s nightmares still haven’t stopped.

Originally published in the zine, Barely Legal, in 2006.

As soon as he entered the apartment at the end of the second worst day of his life it struck him how still and empty the place was. How still and empty it now always would be.

The silence was a fitting companion to the pain he carried inside him. It was the funeral today which had finally forced him to accept harsh reality; the death of the one person whose death he could not bear to accept. The quiet of the apartment was a sharp contrast to how vibrant and full of life its occupant had been. He had had a unique spirit that radiated from deep inside him and filled every space he inhabited. All the people and all the places that he had ever come in contact with in his too short time had been touched by that energy.

And now Starsky was gone.

Starting on the cold hard pavement of the garage floor and ending in a soft bed in the intensive care unit, first the blood and then the life had drained out of that much loved body which housed the soul and the essence of one irreplaceable David Starsky. Hutch had cradled his partner in his arms in desperation but the damage to his body was too great for even Starsky’s strength to overcome. Although they both fought it to the end, at last Starsky had left him; had slipped away under the too bright white lights in the too cold sterile room where he had held on for so long in spite of the odds against him. Hutch knew that his own life had left him at the same instant and it was a long time before anyone could convince him to let go of his partner. He had never felt so abandoned.

The loneliness hit him full force once again and he staggered to the couch. It was hard to believe it had been over three weeks since he’d last held his partner, too short a time to mourn and too soon to be cleaning out and packing up. However, the death of one person, no matter how loved, had no impact on the workings of the ordinary world. Even in the midst of grief practical matters had to be dealt with.

Starsky’s bank accounts had been frozen due to Nicky’s insistence on contesting the will and his lease had just ended. They had been talking about moving in together, but now he alone was faced with sorting up the remains of a life. Although Hutch would have gladly made the rent payments to keep a tangible connection to his lover, the gentle persuasion of Starsky’s mother had finally convinced him that it was all right to let it go.

Always comfortable around Ruth Starsky, Hutch had become very close to her recently. They had spent long hours on the phone over the past few weeks, trying to comfort each other. It had been due to her poor health that the funeral had been delayed for so long as Ruth had been had been hospitalized with pneumonia. The illness struck soon after Hutch had called and gently broke the news of her older son’s shooting, knowing full well eerie similarities of his lover’s injuries to the manner of her own husband’s death. The news of Starsky’s death two days later had sent her back to intensive care. After that it had taken two weeks for her to be released from the hospital and an additional week to regain enough strength for doctor to clear her to fly- a five or six day drive being out of the question.

It went without saying that they would delay the funeral until she was able to get there. Hutch could not resent that, especially since Starsky was to be buried in LA, close to him and clear across the country from her. But the thought of his partner lying alone in the cold dark morgue waiting only added to his sadness. Starsky had hated the place when he had to visit as part of the job and that had been in the light of day. The fact that Starsky was beyond such fears was cold comfort to the lonely, grieving man.

The place really was empty, about the only items remaining were the furniture and a pitiful stack of boxes. Not much remained of the life of David Starsky except for the inanimate objects he had once owned- and the memories of the one who loved him. The couch itself held entirely too many of those, some joyous and some sad, but up until this point, all shared. Here they had done everything together: argued over which movies to watch, played Monopoly and Starsky’s cheesy trivia games, eaten greasy take out and healthy home cooked meals, sang along to almost any kind of songs from Jim Croce to Simon and Garfunkel to John Denver, ranted and raved about the evils of the world, found refuge from the horrors they saw every day on the streets, and cried for lost friends and lost loves. Often enough over the years they had fallen asleep together on these cushions and eventually they had experimented with loving each other here. It had been ages since they had done any of that, of course, the last time being the night before the shooting. But the memories were still vivid, and the sensations of holding and being held ghosted around him as he curled up his body as tight as he could. Alone on what had become their couch, there was entirely too much room for him to stretch out. The feeling of empty space was very strange.

Huggy and some of their close friends from Metro had packed up most of Starsky’s belongings. His mother had taken a few things, most of the clothes and kitchen items had been given away, and Hutch had taken the bulk of the rest. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do with it all, but he couldn’t let go just yet. Hutch had tried to help with the packing, feeling it was one last thing he owed his friend, but it was difficult for him to stay in the apartment for very long. He forced himself to help, since it was most likely the last useful thing he could do after catching the men responsible for his partner’s murder. It scared him how much he wished he’d killed them all, starting at the bottom and working up to the walking evil that was James Gunther. But somehow he had drawn on the integrity that he and Starsky had always shared and that allowed him to do what they had always done. Gunther and company had been turned over to the legal system in the hopes that justice would be carried out.

It didn’t help that the pieces of Starsky’s life were being taken away so quickly after his passing but he supposed, all things considered, that it was probably for the best to get it over with. He knew that sitting there staring at Starsky’s possessions in the dark apartment wasn’t going to bring him back, although, he thought ironically, that was exactly what he was doing at that very moment. He still did not know why he was here now except that had no other place to go. He had been drawn to this place in a hopeless, desperate search for his missing other half. More than half…

Although weeks had elapsed since Starsky’s death, the passage of time did nothing to bring closure or acceptance to Hutch. The days since Starsky had died were among the longest days of his life. In every other situation where had been Starsky was missing, Hutch had spent each precious minute frantically searching. At least there had been something or someone to fight against, something to figure out, a clue to track down, something. . . This one last time there had been no hope, no chance of a last minute rescue. All the doctors’ hard work to bring him back from the edge of death, all of Starsky’s efforts to fight the damage done to his body by the bullets that had torn it to shreds, all of Hutch’s attempts to pull him through- as if they all could do it by sheer force of will- had not been enough this time. And that thought was impossible to fathom. He was trapped in that instant of time when Starsky had died and left him, the loss cutting him anew with every breath. It was both a lifetime past and a moment ago that he had held his partner for the last time.

The emptiness of his arms and of his heart was a raw and unending sorrow.

The only consolation, and it was of very little comfort right now, was that at least there was a grave for Hutch to visit. Years ago Starsky had told his mother that if anything ever happened to him he wanted to be buried out here. He claimed that it was because the California had been his home for so long, but everyone knew the real reason. It was the same reason that Hutch had made similar arrangements. In death as in life, the two partners would not be separated.

Although he knew that it was truly over, his heart could not stop the search. He also could not shake the feeling that he’d abandoned Starsky when they’d lowered him in the ground and left the silent cemetery. They had never given up on each other, never given up on their partnership. But this time. . . this time their time had run out, this time it had been taken out of their hands, this time they had finally come up against something that was stronger than the two of them together. . . and this time they had lost.

Technically he knew where Starsky was, but that was only his body. The essence that was Starsky was lost from this earth, in a place that wasn’t here with him, in a place that he could neither find nor follow. With Starsky in his life, there had never been a time of true silence, not this feeling of oppressive quiet with no living spirit dwelling in it. He always could range from exuberant child to solemn adult. But when they were together they had their own language, their own sense of being that filled the air. The space surrounding them almost crackled with it, together they created something tangible and solid, something real. Together they fed off each other; one filled in the cracks where the other left off and together they were whole. Silence with Starsky was better than conversation with anyone else.

When they did speak, be it with their voices or bodies, spoken language or the language of touch which had recently become extended and deeper, that was magic. It was in their being, it was who they were. Now the connection was severed. The void was deep and unending and he was alone in it. Hutch felt like the sole remaining member of an about to be extinct tribe. He alone held the knowledge of a dead language and there was no one left on this earth who could understand him.

Hutch wondered if he pulled inward far enough if he could find Starsky in that void. Could he follow where Starsky had gone, or would he just lose what hold on reality he had left and go mad? If he couldn’t do the first, the latter seemed like a good place to go at this point. Anywhere but here was a better place. Starsky always had been his anchor.

His thoughts were wandering again, but he had no control over where the circumstances of his life or even the currents of his own mind took him. It mystified him how fragmented the day seemed, how fragmented his life had become in the short time since… he still couldn’t say it, not even to himself. Some events were sharply engraved on his heart, others were a blur, and still others must be missing altogether. He couldn’t for the life of him remember putting on his dress uniform or how he got the cemetery or how he got back to Starsky’s place. He supposed it could be his mind’s way of protecting himself but if that was so, why was he holding onto the memories that hurt the most?

The funeral had passed almost as a dream or a waking nightmare and he still felt lost in a haze. Although Starsky had been Jewish, he had not been particularly tied to the formal rites of his religion. Hutch could recall all the kind words that were spoken, the honors and remembrances that were given, the men and women lined up in dress uniform. He knew that he had desperately wanted to give the eulogy for his partner but had choked up so badly on the second sentence that he could not continue. Their captain had walked up to him and without a word put an arm around his shoulder, gently taken the crumpled paper containing his rough notes from his hand, and tried to put into words what Hutch could not.

The day could only be recalled in fragments as the whole contained too much pain for one human to bear alone. They should have been together celebrating their first anniversary as lovers, instead he was left alone to mourn at his partner’s funeral. As a veteran of both the Army and the police department, Starsky had more than qualified for a military service. They must have played Taps, although Hutch didn’t remember hearing it.

In the cemetery, he had jumped at every report of the shots from the 21 gun salute offered in Starsky’s honor, reliving all over again the sounds of the shots that had killed his partner. Killed them both. Hutch hadn’t felt alive since… He had flinched at the memory as he had at the actuality. The shots reverberated against the cold dead stones in the cemetery as they had against the cold cement of the garage. The shots echoed in his head still and would not fade away, sounds that drowned out everything else. At that moment, he could not call up Starsky’s voice, the beloved voice that he knew every color and tone of better than his own, in every shading from the direst warning to the sweetest loving. The complete absence of it frightened him. If he had forgotten that so quickly, what else would he lose as time passed?

How could something this strong fade so fast? How could it fade at all? They were supposed to be forever.

In the absence of that voice were images of a very young man in a crisp Army uniform. Once again Hutch could see him solemnly hand the folded American flag that had draped the coffin to Starsky’s mother as she was his official next of kin. Hutch had been standing at attention beside her and his legs had almost given way from shock and surprise as she turned to him and just as reverently place the flag in his hands. With that gesture she publicly acknowledged who he was to her son. In the next instant Hutch had instinctively pulled Ruth into a strong hug. They had stood holding each other up and she thanked him for loving her son. It was a long time and many tears later before either could let go and he could not find his own voice to thank her. But she was a mother and she had known what was in his heart.

The number of people attending the funeral had been a testament both to the phenomenal man David Starsky had been and to the depth of the loss felt by his friends and family. Had Hutch been capable of feeling anything beyond his own loss, he would have been heartened by the number of people who had gathered to honor his partner’s memory. After the service most of them had gone to the Dobeys’, spending time telling stories and reminiscing. Although he knew they all meant well, the outpouring of emotion had been too much for Hutch to bear in addition to his own sorrow. After a short time, he had to escape from noise and the crowd and he went to the only place he could think to go. He had no intention of letting anyone in, even if they did track him down. No one could call, since Starsky’s phone had already been disconnected. It hurt to think that he would never dial that familiar number again, that he would never hear that warm voice on the other end of the line, that the only person he wanted to talk to would never speak again.

The day had faded to twilight and the twilight given way to the dark of night as he had sat lost in his thoughts. Except for the faintly reflected glow of a streetlight, the apartment was dark. Somehow even that was too bright. It was much safer to stay in the dark.

So much of this unbearable day had just swirled around him. If he didn’t let it touch him it wasn’t real. If it wasn’t real than he wasn’t all alone in the silence where the man who was his heart should have been. It was probably for the best that Hutch didn’t remember much after that, didn’t remember leaving the cemetery or remember how he got to this cold empty apartment that such a short time ago had felt like home to him. But it had been home only when Starsky had been there.

In the midst of all this uncertainty and doubt, Hutch suddenly needed some confirmation that he had not imagined everything they were to each other. Out of all that was left of Starsky’s material things there was only one item that Hutch needed at that moment and it was in the bedroom. The beautifully framed photograph of him and Starsky had been a gift from Huggy after the Kira fiasco. As soon as he’d caught on to the game they were playing, Huggy had come bounding out of the bar after them with the camera he kept stashed next to the cash register in hand. He claimed he kept it there to shoot participants in bar fights, but that day he used it to get one of the best pictures Hutch had ever seen of the two of them. Both men looked joyful standing there in the streetlight with their arms wrapped around each other and sporting broad grins that lit up their faces.

A week later, Huggy had presented each of them with a framed copy accompanied by a stern warning never to behave so stupidly again. Their friend might have been slow on the uptake inside the bar earlier that day but something in the way they had looked at each other and stood together as one had been enough. Huggy had known what had changed and this was his way of showing his approval.

Hutch hadn’t been able to pack the picture away, even though he had his own copy. It was irrational, but he just couldn’t do it, just couldn’t let go of that moment in time. All that remained in the room that had become their bedroom was the bed, the nightstand, and the picture. And the memories.

It was only as he reached out to touch the photograph that stood on the nightstand that Hutch realized that he was still holding Starsky’s flag. He suspected that he hadn’t let go of it since Ruth put it into his hands, but like everything else since, since … he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. All he wanted was to be back in that moment with Starsky. All he now had was clouds and darkness and silence.

Unable to let go of his prize, he cradled the flag in his arms as he lay down on his absent lover’s side of the bed. Even though it had been stripped and the linen packed away, he still thought he could detect traces of Starsky’s unique scent. He just make out the picture in the dim light, letting his memory fill in the details. As he closed his eyes he could almost believe that Starsky wasn’t gone for good, just out for a little while or doing something in the other room.

But he could not hold onto that illusion for long. The silence was too pervasive. It intruded behind his eyes and into his soul. The silence weighed on him and there was no place deep enough inside himself or far away outside that he could escape the truth. Starsky was gone.

Exhaustion eventually won out over the relentless flow of memories and sleep provided a temporary escape. An indeterminable time later he awoke and finding his arms empty, blindly reached out toward the other side of the bed. Encountering only vacant space, he slowly opened his eyes. As he saw the picture on the nightstand, the reality of the past few days came crashing down on him. The searing knowledge that he would never hold his love in his arms again forced him completely awake. He was heartsick and his entire body ached from grief and shook from the sobs that finally overwhelmed him. After a long time, he found the strength to move, deciding that he could not spend another moment alone in the empty bed.

Stiffly he got up and headed for the bathroom in search of aspirin. There was a time when he would have gone for something far stronger, but he had had enough of drinking. He had done far too much of it in the past year in an attempt to escape as everything seemed to fall apart around him. As they had worked to repair themselves and each other he had, among other things, promised both Starsky and himself that he would not succumb to that means of escape again. As welcome as oblivion seemed in the light of everything else, he could not bring himself to break that promise now.

Looking at his tired reflection in the mirror he realized that he had fallen asleep in his clothes, but instead of the stifling dress uniform he had worn to the funeral he was wearing a pair of his oldest jeans and a shirt he had borrowed from Starsky months ago and never bothered to return. He vaguely remembered falling asleep holding something but his head hurt too much for him to be able to think clearly.

It was only as he was opening his medicine cabinet that he remembered the flag and falling asleep in Starsky’s empty apartment, in Starsky’s bed. As badly as his head was spinning, he was pretty sure that this was his bathroom he was in. Those were his green towels over there on the rack and his bottles of vitamins staring back at him from the shelf. Shutting the cabinet door he managed to make it back to the bedroom on very shaky legs. Once there, he could only stare at his large brass bed. Like Starsky’s, it held many memories of long nights and late mornings shared together, but he was fairly certain that it wasn’t the bed that he had fallen asleep in alone earlier that night. Or was it?

“Okay Hutchinson, either you’ve finally lost it or that was one hell of a nightmare,” he told himself in a voice rough with emotion. As he became more and more awake he became more and more confused. He thought about the party they had with Dobey and Huggy in Starsky’s room. He remembered the loud and very angry voice of the head nurse as she’d unceremoniously tossed the three of them out of the hospital and threatened to call the cops if she caught them on the grounds again before morning. The argument that he was a cop had died unspoken on his lips at the sight of the threatening look on her face.

He remembered driving home on a high, changing out of his wet clothes, calling Starsky to tell him goodnight, and then crashing out on his bed when the adrenaline rush that had kept him going finally ran out. That had been the night before, hadn’t it? If it had been, then there was no possible way that he could have attended Starsky’s funeral yesterday. He was supposed to be released today, wasn’t he? And if so then he couldn’t had died in his arms but then again how could he not have when all Hutch could feel was emptiness? He wasn’t sure any more what was real and what wasn’t, whether it was grief or just fear that was filling his brain.

His eyes landed on the picture on his nightstand. He took in the joy and the life in Starsky’s eyes, the strength in that body that he loved so dearly, and the concrete connection between the two of them that extended beyond the captured moment in time. Something made him close his eyes, still his churning mind, and reach out with all that he had and all that he was. And in the dark and the silence he thought, no, he knew, that he could feel his other half.

The idea of calling either the hospital or Huggy briefly crossed his mind but he knew that he desperately needed to see Starsky. It was with that thought that he found himself racing through the deserted city streets at a quarter to five on a Tuesday morning. He drove on autopilot as he retraced the route he’d been following for the past three months, hoping that the reason he was following that road would really be there waiting for him when he arrived.

In the hours before the dawn even the usual chaos of a hospital settles down into a more relaxed routine. It was in that calm Hutch was able to sneak past both nurses’ stations and reach Starsky’s door although he froze upon reaching it. He could not bring himself to cross the threshold. If he crossed that barrier and encountered only an empty room, or worse, another patient, he would know beyond a doubt that what he had hoped was only a nightmare was in fact cold truth. And he couldn’t face that reality. Not now. Not ever.

Death had come so close to them both many times over the years.

Each every day they had stepped out into the streets with the possibility that one of them might never come home again. Yet none of those experiences had been enough to teach him how to even begin to learn to live without his partner. Oh he’d said the words- to Huggy, to Dobey, to Jenny Brown, to himself. He had said out loud that his partner was dying when what he really meant was that his world was ending. But although he had given voice to it, he’d never believed what he was saying.

Starsky couldn’t die. It was that simple. He couldn’t die and leave Hutch. He’d thought that saying the words would force him to accept the idea, but every time he’d said that Starsky was dying the voice speaking didn’t sound like his own. He’d said it, but he never meant it, never felt it, never truly believed that Starsky’s heart would stop. And he’d never, in all those years, figured out how he would go on if Starsky didn’t.

Rigid with fear, all he could do was stand and lean heavily against the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust from the bright light of the hall to the faint light within. He though he could make out a form on the bed. He found himself listening for the sounds that weren’t there any more, replaying in his mind the hiss of the respirator, the steady drip of the IV, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. For so long, all of that equipment had been necessary simply to keep Starsky alive. But now his body was strong enough to carry the burden and all Hutch was hearing was the echo of the past. He forced himself back to the present.

Finally his head cleared and the phantom sounds faded. In the still of the night he could hear what he thought must be the most beautiful sound of all, the sound of his beloved’s breathing. But it still wasn’t enough to convince his wounded heart that Starsky was truly alive.

During all this time, Hutch didn’t make a noise but Starsky must have sensed his presence. Without opening his eyes, he softly called out Hutch’s name. Unable to bring himself to answer, Hutch stood keeping watch. Because there was no reply Starsky spoke again, a note of worry in his voice.

“Hutch?”

The repeated sound of that voice was finally enough to free him and it was only then that he could pick out the details. He stood there for a long time simply listening and looking, soaking it all in. The curly black hair spread out on the pillow, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the way that Starsky was laying on the bed. He always did manage to find a way to take up all the available space there was, Hutch thought with a smile. Soft light reflected from the hall onto Starsky’s face. It was still too dark to see his eyes, but Hutch imagined he could see the light there also. It was the same light that had been captured in their photograph, the same light that Starsky always carried around inside of him. And hearing the sound of his voice, the voice that he couldn’t call up in his mind up just a short time ago, the voice that he thought he would never hear again, it was almost too much. The feelings of relief and of joy were as intense as when he had first found out that Starsky was going to live after the shooting. They were as intense as when Starsky’s heart, and with it his own, had resumed beating after he went into cardiac arrest. Once again his love, and his life, had come back to him.

It was too overwhelming and it would have taken far more strength than he had in him at that very moment to be able to speak. It was difficult enough just to rest his weight against the doorframe and keep from sliding to the floor.

“Hey Hutch, you okay buddy? Why are you standing there looking all lost?”

“Starsk?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Who else were you expecting to find here.. what the hell time of the morning is it anyway?” The response was so typical of his partner that Hutch felt some of his fear recede. Even so, he wasn’t entirely convinced that what he was hearing was real or if it was all just a continuation of his nightmare.

“Starsk?” Hutch repeated, still unable to do or say anything else. It would be up to his partner to bring him back.

For his part, Starsky was very worried. Although it wasn’t unheard of for Hutch to sneak back after hours, when he did he usually couldn’t move fast enough to get into the room. Something had to be seriously wrong and the fact that Hutch obviously hadn’t gotten much sleep did nothing to ease his mind. Hutch had been fine when he’d left earlier that evening, wet but happy, and he’d called right after he’d gotten home. What in the world could have happened between then and now?

“Hutch? Come here, love.”

The gentle invitation was enough to finally get him moving in the right direction and he slowly entered the room. As he walked towards Starsky’s bed, he murmured something unintelligible but Starsky thought he caught the words “died” and “so silent, too quiet” and “left me here.” None of this made any sense at all to Starsky, but he figured the sooner he could hold his partner, the sooner he could figure out what was wrong.

He slowly pulled himself up to a sitting position, grateful that the motion was nearly pain free. This simple action had been virtually impossible a week ago. His body had been battered and torn but it hadn’t given out on him. The stitches were holding and Starsky could feel himself healing and growing stronger. He just hoped that his partner could be convinced of this fact. He had watched Hutch suffer along with him and he badly wanted to relieve the sadness and the fear he could still see in his eyes.

Knowing that they’d always communicated best by touch, he reached out and he guided Hutch down onto the bed and into his arms. He was surprised at the strength and desperation in Hutch’s embrace as Hutch grabbed him and held on tight. He still couldn’t make out all the words that Hutch was babbling into his shoulder but he did hear him say, “I’m not even sure you’re real.”

He had been trying to comfort his partner with soothing touches along his back and sides, but after that comment he couldn’t resist the temptation to reach down and pinch Hutch’s ass.

“Starsky!” yelped his victim, the cry a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“See, I’m real and so are you.”

“Very funny.”

“Hey, you set yourself up for that one, buddy.” Still smiling, he reached up with both hands and gently held Hutch’s face. He slowly pulled him close for a soft kiss which soon deepened. Both were enjoying the chance to get reacquainted with the taste of each other and the taste of them together. Finally their lips separated, but they still didn’t completely let go of each other.

“God, how I’ve missed you,” Starsky whispered.

“Same here. It’s so good to just to hear your voice and I’m so damn tired of sleeping alone. For a while there I thought…,” he trailed off.

“Shh. It’s okay baby, it really is,” Starsky said tenderly, leaning in for another kiss. “It really is, I promise.” Then he frowned, as he carefully turned Hutch’s left hand over in his and looked down at the bandage wrapped around his wrist. “You need to get your hand looked at again, love.”

“It’s fine, Starsk.” Hutch quickly denied, but he made no move to pull his hand away.

“Don’t argue with me,” his partner answered, sounding so much like their boss that it made Hutch smile. Starsky resumed running his fingers softly over the bandages as he continued, “You hafta stop throwing things when I’m not there to catch them.” Looking up into his lover’s eyes he finished more seriously, “Or you.”

Hutch had shown up a few days ago with a blood soaked make-shift bandage around his left wrist in the same place where Gunther’s goon had cut him before. He also had fresh scrapes and bruises on both his hands. In typical Hutchinson style, he had tried to act as if the injuries didn’t exist. In the midst of their argument over whether or not he was going to have his wounds examined, Starsky’s doctor had walked in. It had only taken one look for him to hustle Hutch downstairs to the emergency room.

Half an half later he was back in Starsky’s room and deftly evading his partner’s questions. First he claimed he’d dropped a glass bowl and then he tried telling a story about slamming his hand in the car door. The last excuse survived for about three seconds before Starsky commented, “Even you’re not that much of a klutz, Blintz, try another one.”

“I don’t even know what happened, Starsk. I really don’t. I’ve never lost it quite like that before.” A long pause, and then, “I came here after work, but you were asleep. Stayed about an hour but I really didn’t want to wake you up. Went home, called your mom.” Hutch started pacing around the small room, stopping by the door. Unconsciously rubbing his hand against his chest, he continued “The home nurse was there, by the way. Ruth’s fine, said she’d try to call you again today.” He starting pacing again. Starsky watched him roam around the room until his wandering had finally had taken him to the left side of the bed. Starsky reached out and grabbed his partner’s hand, trying to still his motion.

“C’mere Hutch. You’re making me dizzy. Tell me what happened.”

Hutch still wouldn’t look at Starsky, but he didn’t let go of his hand either. “I got off the phone and just stood there for a while. I’ve hardly been home lately, and I was too tired to think. I realized that I couldn’t remember when the last time I watered the plants was, so I filled up the watering can. Got in the green house and I guess I just snapped. Started throwing things.”

“You should see the place, Starsk, plants and dirt everywhere. When I ran out of plants, I just closed the door and left it all there. I’ll throw them out when I get home, I guess. Didn’t even realize I’d cut my hands until I’d walked out, and this seemed like the best place to go.”

The fact that Hutch had taken out his anger and frustration and sadness on something alive, especially his beloved plants, scared the hell out of Starsky. He had desperately needed to talk to his partner to find out exactly where his mind was and how much undeserved guilt he was drowning himself in.

But in an extreme case of bad timing, Huggy had shown up right then followed by two other cops who stopped to visit, and the opportunity had slipped away. However, Starsky knew that his outburst hadn’t provided a real catharsis. The pain ran far too deep for it to be that simple. Nor had arresting Gunther, although obviously satisfying, been redemption enough. It wasn’t over and Starsky knew that Hutch hadn’t taken any time for himself to just be, let alone to reflect on and deal with everything that had happened. He had a feeling that Hutch had finally gotten to the breaking point tonight.

“Come on and lay down with me.” Carefully the two men managed to get settled on the narrow bed, both heads resting on the same pillow, Starsky on his right side and Hutch lying on his back next to him. “I’d love to hold you, but I don’t think my muscles can take your weight just yet.” They were close enough to hear the other breathing and that closeness appeared to be having a calming effect on Hutch. “You haven’t let go of any of this, have you babe?” he asked as he stroked Hutch’s cheek.

“I should have killed them. I’m surprised you’re not mad at me for letting them walk.”

At that, Starsky did get angry, but not for the reason Hutch was expecting. “Hutch, that’s crazy and you know it. You’re not a killer. Not like that. That’s one of the reasons I love you and one of the things that I’m proud of ya for. You tracked them down and you caught them and they’re gonna get what they deserve. I don’t know if I could have done that, but I’m glad you did.” He knew that once the initial satisfaction of revenge had worn off, that his partner would have had a terrible time living with what he done. Even though he had killed before when he had to, killing someone in cold blood just wasn’t in his nature. Even when that someone was evil as James Gunther. Starsky was glad that they didn’t have to deal with that guilt along with everything else they still had to face.

“Anyways, I’m really proud of ya, Blintz.”

“For what?” questioned Hutch, sounding genuinely curious.

“Everything,” replied Starsky with sincerity. “Taking good care of me and Ma. Bad enough I got shot without her being in the hospital too. Proud of ya for dealing with Gunther and company the right way and for keeping your promise. And I know it hasn’t been easy but I know you haven’t been drinking. If you ever had a reason, this was it.”

Hutch shrugged. “I’ve been waiting for you. ”

“Whenever I get off all these damn pills they’ve got me on, I’m there.

And I mean a real bender, not just a little loopy like you were earlier.” They had agreed that if one of them felt a need to get smashed for whatever reason, he wasn’t to do it alone. It was mostly because Starsky was worried that his partner would wander off into the bottle without him again that he’d suggested that any drinking sprees had to be joint trips. And the current situation most certainly warranted one hell of a binge as soon as they were both up to it.

“So you gonna tell me why you’re so upset?” Starsky asked gently.

“Do I have to?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” he ordered. “Now tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours. It’s got to be more entertaining than the crap on TV. I’m even getting sick of the late movies, I swear they keep showing the same two over and over and over.”

After a few moments Hutch quietly said, “Everything got all mixed up, Starsk. I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. Even after I woke up it didn’t make sense. For a while, I was convinced you were dead, that we’d packed up all your stuff- that it was over. When I woke up I still wasn’t sure. I thought… I thought I could feel you again but I couldn’t tell what was the dream nightmare and what was the waking nightmare.” He started to go into some of the details, glossing over the part about holding Starsky as he died but telling him about the empty apartment and the funeral. He got as far as the eulogy and as in the dream, his voice gave out on him. Unable to continue he turned and buried his head against Starsky’s chest and held on tight. Hutch sounded lost again, like he had when he’d first arrived, but this time Starsky was close enough to hold him. Instinctively, Starsky reached around to pull him even closer and he laid a soft rain of kisses on his partner’s head in an attempt to sooth him.

After a few moments in a blatantly obvious attempt to lighten the mood Starsky teased, “Is that my shirt? That is my shirt. I’m not even de.. there to defend my property and you’re taking my stuff,” he finished in a mock threatening tone, stopping himself just in time. Right now, it was the last thing that Hutch needed to hear. Eventually they might get to the point where they could joke about it, but eventually was a long time away. Even though he hadn’t finished the thought, Hutch had obviously completed it in his own mind. As he looked up, Starsky could again see the sadness in his partner’s eyes. To try again to steer them off a dark road, he quickly said, “Somebody oughta call a cop.”

As he hoped, the got a small chuckle out of Hutch and he pointed out, “You’re a cop.” The comment would have been stating the obvious just a short time ago but now everything was uncertain. They hadn’t yet talked about what happened next, and a lot depended on what he was capable of doing. Time enough for that later, for now was enough for to know that Hutch still considered him a cop, and by implication, still trusted him as his partner.

“Yes I am, and I was in the middle of an interrogation wasn’t I? So then what happened?”

“That’s not very intimidating. What kind of interrogation is that? That’s it, I’m revoking your license to play bad cop.”

“Ve hav vays of making you talk,” Starsky tried again, the humor in his voice shining through. It was so wonderful to be able to joke again.

“Oh, that’s better,” said Hutch with only a tinge of sarcasm in his tone and on the edge of laughter himself. “I’m really scared now.”

“Don’t make me tickle you.” More gently he said, “Come on, tell me what else happened. We’ve got this far, babe, we may as well keep going.”

With a sigh indicating he had resigned himself to the inevitable, Hutch moved to lay down next to Starsky again. As he got settled, Starsky wrapped a strong arm around his waist once again. Part of him hated to make Hutch relive his nightmare, but in the end he knew it would be best for his partner to get everything out in the open. Hearing about he own funeral was a surreal experience, but he was curious as to what Hutch’s subconscious had dreamed up.

“I’ve never been to a military funeral,” Starsky mused. At Hutch’s surprised grunt he continued, “By the time I got home the ones I wanted to go to were over. Not the only thing that I missed while I was over there,” he said sadly. But in typical Starsky fashion, his next words were filled with excitement. “I love the flag and the 21 gun salute. And Taps and having the guys in dress uniform. Never thought about it before, but I guess that’s what they’d do.”

As strange as thinking about his own funeral seemed, it was easier than having to think about Hutch’s. It didn’t surprise him in the least that Hutch would know all about the formal traditions. As smart as his partner was, he’d probably already known all about them. And if he hadn’t, Starsky knew that he would have done detailed research it in order to get it perfect in honor of his friend. It was only one measure of the depth of his love.

Another was the way that Hutch had taken care of Starsky’s mother when he could not. He was aware that Hutch had called her several times a week since the shooting to keep her updated, reassure her, and make her feel closer to her son. He also knew that those conversations had been a lifeline for Hutch as well. It only made sense that she would show up in his dream. The knowledge that the two most important people in his world not only got along, but loved each other in their own way, made Starsky very happy. His mom had adopted Hutch since the beginning of their friendship. Although Starsky had been somewhat nervous about breaking the news to her, he had been able to tell her about the change in their relationship soon after they’d figured it out for themselves. Her only reaction had been to ask if he was happy. With his assurance that he had never been happier or more serious about anyone in his life, she had made him put Hutch on the phone and formally welcomed him into the family. Even the cold reaction of Hutch’s relatives when they had finally been informed could not diminish the blessing Ruth Starsky had freely given them.

As Hutch continued relating his nightmare, his voice cracking in places, Starsky kept up a steady stream of gentle touches and reassuring words, providing enough support that Hutch was finally able to get through it all. Starsky knew how easily Hutch could get lost in his own thoughts and suspected that he still could not entirely shake the feeling that this was the dream. He had no intention of letting Hutch out of his arms until he was convinced that this was the reality.

“How come you’re taking care of me? I’m supposed to be taking care of you, you’re the one who got hurt?”

“We both got hurt Hutch, just in different ways. Besides we’re supposed to be takin’ care of each other, remember? It’s in the rules.”

“It is, huh? What else is in there, oh wise one?”

“Me and thee, same as always. Love each other, protect each other, put up with each other, all that good stuff,” Starsky asserted.

“Be faithful to each other?”

“That too.”

Unspoken until then but already understood. All the deception surrounding Kira having been resolved long before, along with the other things that had gotten in the way of their friendship and the love that had existed between them long before it had found physical expression. Still the act of saying it out loud cemented what they were to each other, and given the night he’d had, Hutch needed all the reassurance he could get. They both needed that comfort in the face of what they had almost lost.

“Hey Hutch.”

“What, love,” Hutch asked gently, reluctant to break the mood.

“I think we just got married.”

“I think we already were.”

“Probably, but I’m going to kiss you anyway.” Starsky reached down and Hutch reached up toward him and they met halfway. This kiss was sweeter, both a continuation of the time before and a promise of what was to come, rather than the more desperate homecoming of earlier that night.

“I love you, Starsk.”

“That’s a good thing because I love you too, Hutch.” Starsky replied with a satisfied smile.

As if it were the last thing he wanted to do at that moment, Hutch said sadly, “I guess I oughta head out before we get caught.”

“No way babe, you’re staying right here with me. Besides, what are they going to do, throw us out? They’re cutting me loose tomorrow and we both get to go home. About damn time too. Speaking of which, did we ever figure out which one?”

“I was thinking your place, all the comforts of home and closer to the hospital for therapy.”

“And if something goes wrong, which it won’t although you’re worried about it anyway. I know you. Still, it sounds like a good plan. Are you staying with me?”

“Now who’s asking stupid questions? Of course I’m staying with you, dummy, where else would I be? Moved some of my clothes and stuff over last weekend”

“Yeah, and you’ll sleep better with me next to you.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

Starsky knew it wasn’t a serious complaint, they’d been psychic with each other for years now. “Like I said, I know you. And, now that that’s all settled, can we get some rest now? Some of us get cranky without it, and I could use some sleep too.”

“I’ll show you cranky,” Hutch retorted.

“Go to sleep.”

“Yes, Mom.”

But sleep didn’t come easily, even with his lover close by, and after a few moments Hutch broke the silence. “Talk to me?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Why?” asked Starsky, just as quietly, as he pulled him closer.

“I just want to hear you talk to me. Does there have to be a reason?” But there was no hint of malice in his tone, just a bit of embarrassment.

“Usually you can’t wait to get me to shut up,” Starsky gently teased.

“Just talk to me, Starsk, please. I just need to hear your voice.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Since when do you not have anything to say?”

“If I had any energy, I’d hit you with a pillow for that,” Starsky threatened.

“Uh un, I’m not moving and neither are you. This is entirely too comfortable. Now talk to me.”

“Okay, let me think. Got it,” he said with a smirk. “How about I tell you what I’m going to do to you when we get out of here?”

“Like what?” came the somewhat drowsy reply, Hutch was finally relaxed enough that sleep was a real possibility for the first time in weeks.

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking about, lying here by myself all day? I’ve been thinking about you and me and all the things we’ve done together. Sometimes it was the only thing that really kept me from going crazy bored when you weren’t here and I was all alone. I’d close my eyes and daydream that I was in my bed or yours, that it was the morning after we’d been together, and I’d remember all the times we made love.” Starsky’s hands started moving of their own volition, gently stroking Hutch’s silky blond hair as he spoke, reveling in the feel of having his lover so close again.

“It’s almost like it’s the first time all over again, you know, because its been so long since we’ve been together. I’d love to take it slow but I know us and how we get carried away with each other. Of course that just means that we get to do it over and over. I don’t even know what I want to do first but I do know that I’m dying to see you like that again. I could just look at you forever all stretched out across the bed, naked and blond and hard and hot and all mine.” Starsky continued his slow caresses. He could feel Hutch’s long body stretched out beside him and the heat radiating from him. Although his partner had his eyes closed, he knew Hutch was as wrapped up in the erotic words as he was. The knowledge that each day brought them closer to the time when they could be together like that again only made it sweeter.

“I can’t wait to taste you, run my tongue over your nipples. I know how that drives you crazy and I love to feel you move and squirm underneath me. Can’t wait to take your hard cock in my mouth and feel you get harder. Gonna suck you until you can’t take it anymore and you just keep coming and coming. I love the way you taste and I love the sounds you make.”

“I want to be in you again Hutch, I can remember how tight you feel and how you pull me in. Somehow it feels like you’re all around me, even though I’m in you. I just want to lay you on you back so I can see your eyes as I take you one inch at a time.”

Hutch was moaning softly and the sound made him warm all over, although certain parts of Starsky’s body were incapable of responding physically. However, Starsky was taking great joy in reminding them both of what they had to look forward to. Even the knowledge that nothing could come of it that night wasn’t enough to dampen either man’s enthusiasm. They had time now.

The reality of Hutch in his arms, holding on tight, obviously excited, only fed Starsky’s fantasy. “I can just imagine hard you’d be in my hand right then. I want to drive into you until we’re as close as we can get and we both come at the same time. I want to feel you in me again, have you show me what its like to have your body wrapped all around me and feel you as deep as you can go, like you were never gonna let go of me ever again.” Starsky’s voice had dropped to a low seductive whisper by the end of his passionate description and he could feel Hutch reacting in his arms.

“You sure you’re going to be up to all that,” Hutch gasped as soon as he could speak again.

“I’m always up for that, especially with you.”

“Keep talking like that and neither of us is going to get any sleep. I wish we could too, just have to hold on for a little while longer,” Hutch said wistfully.

“I know. I can settle for this for right now, it’s good just to be able to hold you again. It’s been way too long. So how about if I tell you what else I wanna do with you when we get home?”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Hutch said, reaching up to steal one last kiss or two and then getting comfortable in Starsky’s embrace once again.

“First off, I’m just looking forward to being home. It sounds dumb, but I just missed laying on the couch with you and watching TV or hanging out and playing games and stuff. I can’t wait to go driving, I miss my car ya know. I wanna go driving around the city, find out what all I’ve missed being in here. I wanna to go for some long drives up the coast, find a couple of nice quiet beaches and go walking in the sand with you, maybe head up toward the mountains. Get out of the city and get my nature boy some fresh air. I’d love to go on a real trip with you, head back home to New York and see Ma, I think we both probably need that, and maybe go out to Duluth, but that’s your call. I know you’re probably not real keen on visiting your parents, but it’d be nice to see your sister again.”

He could feel Hutch relaxing next to him, and was grateful that his partner was finally finding some peace. Reaching over to intertwine their hands, he continued his soothing words. “Then we oughta go somewhere romantic, Hawaii or the Bahamas or something. I wanna hear you sing, I’ve missed that too. Hope you brought your guitar when you moved your stuff into my place. I wanna make love with you out in the greenhouse and in both of our beds, sorry I know I wasn’t supposed to go there but I’ve missed touching you something awful.”

As his spoke, his voice slipped down to a near whisper. There was something special in the knowledge that could hold Hutch safe in his arms and feel him dropping off to sleep as he spoke his own gentle lullaby.

“I’ve been thinking about us a lot, you know how we’ve been talking about getting a place together. Seems kinda dumb to keep going back and forth when we always wind up together anyway. A nice house to call our own, doesn’t even have to be a fixer upper, just something that’s ours. And I hope like hell I can go back to being your partner, but I guess we’ll deal with that when we get that far. I know I’m pretty damned lucky just to have all this.”

Drifting off, Hutch only heard bit and pieces of Starsky’s dreams, but he loved the sound of them all. He knew beyond any doubt that he wasn’t alone anymore and he rejoiced in the fact that his world was no longer silent. Finally, he fell asleep listening to that much cherished voice and the strong and steady rhythm of his love’s heartbeat.

I cannot even begin to express how grateful I am to Kathy (Windrain1) who bravely betaed this story for me not once, but twice. Thanks darlin’. And thanks to Kath Moonshine and Glow for publishing this in their Barely Legal zine. It’s an honor that you included my story.