Brothers: Part I

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Hutch’s long-lost brother surfaces.

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Starsky jerked at the sudden scraping of teeth along his cock. His back arched, his ass lifted from the thin mattress, and his fingers wrapped around the metal frame to keep the rest of his body from leaving the bed.

The man between his legs continued sucking his cock, his blond head moving up and down with an arrhythmic cadence. The man’s thumbs stretched the sensitive skin where thighs met hips, and occasionally a hand dipped down to cradle his balls and massage them.

Starsky had long since lost awareness of anything but the bursts of electricity torpedoing through his body. The heat of the night, the moans of arousal from the room next to theirs, the traffic outside—nothing broke through except waves of mounting pleasure.

Each time the blond sucked, Starsky’s cock seemed to lengthen another inch. Inch by painful, pleasurable, wonderful inch. Tracers streaked behind his closed eyelids and a mine went off in his groin.

Starsky was vaguely aware someone was flipping his body and grabbing his ass, squeezing his buttocks hard even as they were being forced apart. A sharp, stabbing pain broke through his trance. Starsky buried his face in the yellowed mattress and put a death grip on the iron frame.

The body on top of him used weight and strength and potency to impale him from the inside and master him from the outside. Starsky wriggled, trying to increase the pleasure tickling him inside. He could feel another orgasm building….

“My turn, not yours,” the voice hissed.

Starsky steadied, and the man behind him dug his fingernails into Starsky’s ass flesh and pushed even further up into him.

Still, warm wetness flooded him from outside as well as inside when the next mine went off.

The blonde pulled his cock from Starsky, groaning. When Starsky felt the weight shift off his body and onto the end of the mattress, Starsky rolled over.

The blond sat back, blue eyes boring into Starsky. “You aren’t going tell about this, are you?”

“Who would I tell?” Starsky’s voice was hoarse. He ran a thumb over his brow, swiping away the sweat.

“You know who,” the blond accused.

Starsky lifted himself on his elbows and frowned. “Hey.” The appeal came out as a whisper, but still a plea. He cleared his throat. “Who do you think I am?”

The blues eyes darkened, as if to say “you’re mine.”

Starsky shifted uncomfortably. “What’s between us is no one else’s business. I’m not going to tell Henderson, I’m not going to tell Trenton, and I’m sure as hell not going to tell your family. Especially your ‘you know who’ fuckin’ brother you’re so worried about.”

The blond man nodded almost imperceptibly, then lifted off the bed with a grunt. Starsky flopped back down on the mattress and covered his eyes with his forearm. Won’t tell anybody, he thought to himself. People would get the wrong impression. Think we’re homo. Ruin our careers. Bring down the wrath of our families.

Give our brothers ammunition to use against us.

Starsky turned on his side. His—what? lover? partner? brother? mentor?—was already dressed.

“Let’s go, babe,” the man said.

Starsky rose and dressed.

 

Chapter One

Hutch was still balanced precariously on the edge of his chair when Starsky returned from the bathroom. He resumed his position at Hutch’s side, standing, as there were no empty seats close by. He glanced down at Hutch, noting for the first time that evening Hutch’s choice of apparel. Hutch was wearing tan corduroys that complemented light brown boots, a plaid shirt with threads of red, gold and green, a forest green tie knotted loosely under an unbuttoned collar, and a stiff, new linen jacket, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

Starsky allowed a corner of his mouth to lift in amusement as he appraised his own outfit: crisp jeans over new leather sport shoes, sparkling white cotton shirt, and a sleek, blue-black leather jacket. He’d been hesitant over choosing such new articles of clothing to wear, afraid the effect might be overwhelming. But apparently Hutch had had the same inclination, and there was safety in numbers.

Starsky caught Hutch wiping his palms on his pants legs, and resisted the impulse to dry his own. Instead, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and deftly crossed his arms against his chest in one inconspicuous movement, lodging his palms against the material of his leather. He cleared his throat and spoke. “Flight should be arriving any time now.”

Hutch didn’t even glance at his watch.

Starsky tried yet again to begin a conversation. “I’m glad you could get out of your dinner date to meet his plane after he switched to this earlier flight.”

This brought an immediate response from Hutch, a look both sharp and cautioning. Starsky ignored it. The remark hadn’t been meant as a barb, and he wasn’t in the mood to challenge. He made one last attempt to engage Hutch. “I’m pretty nervous. How about you?”

Hutch sighed, and nodded. Starsky accepted the response as all he was going to get from Hutch. Silence was a recent manifestation of Hutch’s moodiness, and the easiest way to handle it, he’d learned, was to let it be.

A female voice announcing the arrival of the flight they awaited caught his attention, and he turned toward the gate expectantly. Hutch rose to stand behind him, smoothing the creases in his pants as he did.

“I’m afraid I won’t recognize him,” Starsky said without turning. He pulled at the cuffs of his jacket. “Well,” he answered himself, “he’ll probably spot us first anyway. You know how he was—is.”

A smattering of passengers began to emerge from the passageway, and then they became a crowd. Some splintered off from the group to greet relatives and friends, others headed for the escalator that would take them to Baggage Claim, a few scurried for the bathrooms. Starsky scanned their faces, aware Hutch was doing the same.

A man emerged from the dim hall, holding back from the push of the crowd. A hand gripped Starsky’s arm, and Starsky sucked in his breath.

The man was slightly taller than most of the people around him, and lean to the point of being gaunt. He moved slowly until he was just outside the gate and stopped, staring straight ahead. Others jostled past him, but he remained ramrod stiff. Starsky held his breath and gazed at him. He was balding, and definitely appeared older than Starsky had imagined he’d look. The thinning hair was duller than the cornstalk he remembered. And the eyes had lost something. But even from a distance he could still recognize the clear blue he’d come to rely on so long ago. Starsky glanced at his partner, then back at the man. The forehead was a little higher, the nose a little flatter, the chin a little more square. But the color of those eyes were the color of a Hutchinson’s.

“Bobby.” The word came out as no more than a whisper. Starsky swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried again. “Bobby!” The name cut through the terminal noise and caught the man’s attention.

The man started as if waking from a dream, and looked around himself self-consciously. An expression of puzzlement passed over this face, and he tilted his head as if he were listening for something. A woman brushed up against him and he jumped back.

“Bobby!” Starsky called again, and the man finally focused on him. A smile grew across Starsky’s face, and he took a step forward. Hutch’s grip kept him from going any further. Instead, the man walked toward them.

Ten, eleven, twelve steps; the man stood before them. Starsky continued to smile as familiar blues eyes searched his face.

“Davey?” the man asked.

“Bobby!” Starsky could no longer contain himself. He flung his arms around the man, breaking Hutch’s grip in the process. The man within his embrace stiffened. Starsky released him. He tried to look into Robert’s eyes, but they refused to meet his. His smile disappeared, and he retreated a step.

Starsky turned to Hutch for help. Hutch was staring at the man, frozen in his own place, confusion playing over his features. No help there. Starsky turned back to Robert.

“You look terrific,” he enthused. “How was the flight?”

“Fine.” Robert’s eyes locked onto Hutch’s. They stared at each other, no movement from either. Starsky stood uncomfortably between them. His palms began to sweat again, and reflex made him wipe them on his jeans. He searched his mind frantically for something to say.

“Hey!” An idea burst forth. He reached out and touched Hutch’s arm in an effort to gain his attention. “Hey! Do you realize this is the first time I’ve ever seen you two together?”

Hutch finally did look at him, and Starsky raised two eyebrows in helplessness. Hutch bowed his head, and when he looked up he’d managed to replace bewilderment with a fairly sincere smile. Starsky allowed himself a thimbleful of hope.

Hutch held out his hand. “Robert, it’s, uh—it’s good to see you.”

Robert took the hand tentatively, then pulled Hutch into the embrace Starsky had expected for himself. He watched as Hutch accepted the hug passively, only briefly squeezing back.

“Kenny,” Starsky heard Bobby whisper.

Hutch pulled free gently and stepped back. “You look pretty good,” he ventured. “You look—well.”

Starsky took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This reunion was getting off to a shaky start. He stuffed his still wet palms into his jacket pockets. “You do look good,” he agreed.

Robert considered the appraisal carefully. “I’m a little out of shape,” his hand rose and pressed against his abdomen. “My back could use some work, but my stamina and strength are good.” He looked Starsky up and down. “What about you?”

Starsky straightened under the gaze and took his hands out of his pockets. He sucked in his stomach as unobtrusively as possible.

“Something’s off,” Robert mused. His manner was becoming more casual and his stance less rigid as he took to the task of appraising Starsky. Starsky enjoyed the attention, but kept from showing it on his face.

“You’re, I don’t know, darker,” Robert passed his judgment.

Starsky shrugged happily and relaxed as Robert’s attention moved to Hutch.

“What’s that?” Robert eyed Hutch intently.

“What’s what?” Hutch’s eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms against his chest.

“That thing on your lip,” Robert gestured at Hutch’s face.

Hutch raised a hand and fingered his moustache. His face flamed, accentuating the pale hair over his lip.

Starsky covered a laugh with a cough and reached for the carry-on bag Robert had with him. “How about if we go find the rest of your bags and get out of here. They ought to be unloading by now.” He took a few steps backward. “I’ll bet you’re pretty tired after the flight.”

“Ummm,” Robert still stared at Hutch. “Blonds shouldn’t wear moustaches. You ought to watch light colors like that jacket, too. Of course, you don’t want to get too prissy with your wardrobe, or people will think you’re a fag.” Robert winked knowingly at Hutch, then suddenly turned and headed for the escalator.

Starsky took a few steps to follow, then stopped as he realized Hutch was not moving. Crimson still colored Hutch’s face, making the half-shut eyes and tight lips appear menacing. Arms were clasped tightly over his chest.

“I like the jacket,” Starsky teased. Hutch made no sign he’d heard him.

“Davey!” A voice boomed from the top of the escalator. Starsky responded immediately and walked toward Robert, not looking back to see if Hutch was following. He joined Bobby at the stairs and rode down one step behind him. They made their way to the luggage carousels and claimed Robert’s bags before Starsky found Hutch was behind them.

Starsky carried the smaller bag and duffel, Hutch hefted a larger suitcase, and Bobby carried nothing to the car. The bags were packed away quickly and quietly in the trunk. Starsky opened the doors and slid in behind the steering wheel. Robert stooped to enter on the passenger side, then straightened and faced Hutch. Their eyes locked, each waiting for the other to make a move.

“Are you trying to add another hour on my parking ticket?” Starsky called from inside the car. He started the engine.

“No.” Hutch broke first and fumbled his way into the back seat. Robert folded into the front.

Starsky weaved the car out of the airport traffic and chose a quiet side street rather than Sepulveda to take them to Venice. He checked his rearview mirror and adjusted it, not to capture the traffic behind him but to watch Hutch. Hutch had slid into the corner and was gazing out the window. The ride to Venice from the airport was not long, and Starsky passed the ride looking first from Hutch, then to Robert. There was no further conversation.

Arriving at Hutch’s apartment, Starsky pulled the car into the nearest parking space, about a block away.

“You live here?” Robert was looking at a great concrete building.

“No—“ Hutch slid out of his corner, “—back there.”

Robert turned to look at Hutch. “You don’t have any allotted parking, do you?” It sounded like an accusation.

“No,” Hutch retorted. “So what?”

“I’m going to need help with the bags,” Starsky cut in. He opened his door and stepped out, grateful for the cool ocean breeze. He unlocked the trunk and pulled out the luggage, the car jostling as Robert and Hutch got out. Starsky handed Hutch the suitcase. As Hutch took it, Starsky maintained his grip, forcing Hutch to tug at it. Hutch looked at him, and Starsky answered with eyes wide and questioning. Hutch jerked the case away and started back to the apartment. Starsky shut the trunk lid, picked up his load, and followed. Robert walked a step in front of him.

By the time Robert and Starsky had reached the front entrance, Hutch had disappeared up the stairs.

“Kenny lives over a restaurant?” Robert asked as they entered. “I guess chubby is as chubby does.”

“Chubby?” Starsky pushed the door shut with his rear. “Hutch?” He climbed the stairs behind Robert.

“Ask him about Dr. Quartermain sometime. I’m surprised he never mentioned him before. Ask him about the fat camp, too.” Robert took the last few steps two at a time and left Starsky behind. By the time Starsky made it to the apartment both Hutch and Robert had their jackets off and were maintaining a respectable distance.

Starsky stepped inside. “Hey, Hutch, can you get the door for me?”

Hutch thought a moment, then walked over and shut and locked the door. Starsky dropped the bags and stood in front of him, keeping Hutch from returning to the room.

“What?” Hutch asked in exasperation.

“Is everything okay?” Starsky probed. “You haven’t exactly been Mr. Sunshine tonight. Would you rather Bobby stayed at my place?”

“He’s here. All the plans have been made. Everything’s okay, all right?” He met Starsky’s eyes, then pushed past him. Starsky looked at the door, trying to decide what was going on and what he should do about it.

“Want a beer?” A hand held a cold can of beer against his cheek. He reached for it and turned to face Robert. Robert smiled at him and raised his can in a toast. Starsky tapped it with his. Robert gave an approving nod and strolled to the couch. Starsky popped the top and took a generous mouthful of the drink.

“Well,” Starsky took a moment for another sip. “What shall we do now?”

“That’s an invitation I haven’t had in a long time.” Robert finished off his beer, crumpled the can, and tossed it across the room into the sink. “Two points!” he cheered.

“We’ve got work tomorrow,” Hutch went to the sink. “I think we ought to call it a night.”

Starsky sighed. Early evenings were another manifestation of Hutch’s moodiness. “Okay,” he agreed somberly. “How about if we all have lunch tomorrow?”

Robert mulled over the suggestion. “I think we can arrange that, can’t we, Kenny?” He smiled at Hutch.

“Okay, Hutch? That is, if you’re free.” Starsky was immediately sorry he’d added that last line. Now was not the time to get into that.

Hutch, however, jumped on it. “Oh, I’m free,” he retorted sarcastically. “Maybe we could make a few other dates now, too, as long as I’m checking my social calendar.”

Starsky pulled his keys from his pocket and fingered them. “Lunch tomorrow, then,” he said softly, not looking up. He edged toward the door. The room was silent. “I’ll be by in the morning, usual time.” He risked a glance at Hutch, who had his back to him. He looked over at Robert. Robert’s eyes were closed, and a faint smile played upon his lips.

“It’s good to see you, Bobby.” Starsky opened the door and stepped through. “Really good.”

Robert waggled a few fingers at him, but kept his eyes shut. Starsky closed the door and trudged down the stairs. It would take about half an hour to get home. Plenty of time to replay the evening. Plenty of time.

 

Chapter Two

Starsky stood in front of Hutch’s door and debated whether to use his key, tap on the door, or just go back down to the car and wait for Hutch. He was, after all, about 15 minutes early. And he was also leery of appearing over-eager to be in Robert’s company. But at the same time, he had as much right to see Robert as Hutch did. Maybe more. Starsky compromised. He tapped on the glass, then used his key.

Entering the apartment, he found Robert leaning against the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. The shower was running. Starsky guessed it would take Hutch ten minutes before he’d be ready to leave. He shut the door and walked over to Robert.

“Morning.” Starsky grinned and found himself a mug for coffee.

Robert sipped his brew. “Do you always just come in like that?”

“Like what?” Starsky poured himself a cup and set about looking for some sugar.

“Like this was your place, instead of his.” Robert had yet to actually look at Starsky. He continued to drink his coffee.

Starsky scrounged for white sugar, found a packet of artificial sweetener instead, and emptied it into his mug. He leaned back against the counter, next to Robert. “Hutch doesn’t mind. We ‘share and share alike’.”

Robert grunted and finished his coffee. He handed the empty cup to Starsky, who promptly refilled it. Robert took it back silently.

The shower stopped. Starsky and Robert watched the bathroom door expectantly, drinking their coffee. A minute passed, and Hutch emerged in a cloud of steam, a towel around his waist.

“Morning!” Starsky grinned again.

Hutch blinked at him in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Traffic was light,” Starsky explained. “Want some coffee?”

“Yeah—sure,” Hutch said. He padded over to the couch and began to strip the bedclothes off. He quickly folded the sheets and left them on the arm of the couch. Starsky brought him a cup of coffee, which Hutch took with him to the bedroom. Starsky followed him.

”Yes?” Hutch turned and looked at him.

Starsky smiled playfully. “I heard on the radio it’s supposed to be hot today.”

“So?” Hutch queried.

“So,” Starsky said, “dress light!” He grabbed at Hutch’s towel and pulled it off.

“Starsky!” Hutch made a grab for the towel, but it was whipped away too rapidly. Starsky threw it over his shoulder and sauntered back into the kitchen.

Vague and dirty rumblings carried over the room divider. Starsky ignored them and walked up to Robert.

“Coming in with us this morning?” He grasped the towel draped across his neck.

“That was witty repartee.” Robert pulled the towel from around Starsky’s neck. “You share this kind of stuff, too?” He shook the towel in Starsky’s face.

Starsky frowned at the towel, but ignored the question. “You coming?” he repeated.

Robert set his cup down and moved over to the couch. He sat down on top of the folded sheets. “No, I don’t think so. I think I’ll go diddybopping.” He winked conspiratorially.

Starsky grabbed the towel back. “Are you sure?” He was disappointed that Robert didn’t want to drive in with them but preferred to go out wandering on his own. He’d been looking forward to showing Robert the stationhouse.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Robert stretched his arms out along the sofa back. “I think I’ll check out the territory. Get a feel for the people. Maybe I’ll go in with you tomorrow.”

Starsky draped it over a chair back. “Whatever you want,” he acquiesced. “This is your vacation.”

Hutch came out of the bedroom. His hair was still damp, but he was dressed. “I’m ready. Let’s hit the streets.” He walked over to the sink, finished up the last few swallows in his coffee cup, and rinsed out the mug.

“Bobby’s not coming in with us,” Starsky almost pouted.

“So I heard.” Hutch picked up his jacket and shouldered into it. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Starsky snapped his fingers. “What about lunch?” he pointed to Robert.

Robert shook his head. “Better not count on me for lunch. I want plenty of time to get a look at what’s out there.”

Starsky frowned. “Hutch can leave you the keys to his car, and we could meet somewhere. Or we could pick you up, or—“

“Davey, what did I just say?” Robert leaned forward, blues eyes boring into Starsky.

Starsky straightened under the gaze. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow, huh?”

Robert shrugged and nodded. He eased back into the cushions.

“Ready?” Hutch’s tone was exasperated.

“Ready.” Starsky found his keys and followed Hutch out of the apartment. They thumped down the stairs arrhythmic ally and out to the car. The two men slid into the car, Hutch nearly squashing a paper bag in the process.

“That’s Danish.” Starsky put the car into gear and pulled into traffic. “I forgot to take it up with me. Want one?”

Hutch looked at the bag between them. “Yeah,” he decided, and pulled out a sticky pastry. Starsky glanced at him in surprise. “Good?”

Hutch took a bite and licked some fruit off his fingers. “Let’s run by Braverman’s Lot before we go in, huh?”

Starsky tapped the steering wheel. “We’ll be late.”

“I thought you said traffic was light.”

“We’ll just get run off the lot again. You’ve got no business there. And if Dobey finds out—“

“I also thought you were tired of desk duty and wanted to get out,” Hutch cut him off.

“I am,” Starsky mumbled.

Hutch shrugged and finished his Danish.

Starsky pulled up short at a stoplight he’d been unable to beat. He looked at Hutch. “How’d it go after I left last night?”

Hutch gazed out his window. “Okay, I guess. We just went to bed.”

“He asked me this morning if I always just let myself into your place.”

Hutch glanced sharply at Starsky. “What did you say?”

“I said you didn’t mind.”

Hutch moved his gaze to the traffic in front of them.

Starsky rubbed a finger over a dull spot in the vinyl seat cover. “It’s not easy, is it? I’ve been looking forward to his visit for weeks, but now that he’s here I’m kind of scared.”

“It’s green,” Hutch pointed at the light.

Starsky drove three blocks before speaking again. “Seventeen years,” he said. “That’s a lifetime.”

“I had him dead and buried,” Hutch spoke so softly Starsky could barely hear him over the street noise. “He was a memory. A ghost. He was gone. Hell, ever since I came out here I’ve told people I don’t have a brother. And now, all of a sudden, here he is.”

“We’ve known he was alive for a couple of years now.”

Hutch turned toward Starsky. “And we’re supposed to just forget all the grieving and pick up right where we left off? Change our whole way of thinking?” He slashed at the air with his hand. “Change our whole way of life?”

“Hey!” Starsky made his own stab at the air. “He doesn’t expect that!”

Hutch turned back toward the window, ignoring Starsky. Starsky gripped the wheel in frustration, turning his knuckles white. He was tiring of unfinished arguments and the sullen manner with which Hutch met all dissent. They finished the drive to Braverman’s Lot in silence.

Braverman’s Lot was a huge used car lot, aglitter with silver flags flashing in the sun. Row upon row of used cars radiated from the showroom located at the center of the lot. It was cleverly arranged so that the rows of cars appeared to be spokes in a wheel when viewed from the sky, a common shot in all of Braverman’s commercials.

Starsky maneuvered between rows of cars until he spotted what they had come for. A young man, slim but not particularly tall, was gesturing at a green LTD in a very meaningful manner. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a new shirt, accented by a yellow tie knotted loosely at his throat. Fine, black, limp hair hung over his collar.

Starsky brought the car to a quiet stop. They waited a few minutes until the mechanic the young man had been flailing at left, then Hutch got out. Starsky remained behind, choosing to watch his partner play out his game. He rolled his window down to be sure and catch the exchange.

Hutch walked up behind the boy and leaned against a nearby car. “Car trouble, Junior?” he asked.

The boy spun around and looked at Hutch with menace. He leaned sideways to peer at Starsky, who waved at him. He straightened and glared at Hutch, his body tensed.

“I thought my father told you to stay off his lot or he’d get a restraining order.”

Hutch folded his arms across his chest. “This isn’t pleasure, this is business. I’m in the market for a new hunk of junk.”

The boy snorted. He looked Hutch square in the eye. “Why don’t you take your business elsewhere?” There was arrogance in his voice, and Starsky caught the smile that crept over his face even at this distance.

Hutch shifted his weight suddenly, startling the boy. He took a hasty step backward, as if he thought Hutch had meant to come at him. Realizing this wasn’t the case, he quickly regained his position and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Your business is my business,” Hutch said. “I told you I was going to check up on you, Junior. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you before the trial.” Hutch removed his sunglasses and inspected them for dirt. “I want you in perfect condition when you go up for Mustin’s murder.”

“Ha!” The boy crossed his arms defiantly. “My lawyer says all you have is circumstantial evidence, and that’s not enough to convict me. You’re going to fall flat on your face in that courtroom.”

Hutch put his glasses back on, and stood up to let his full height tower over the boy.

“I wouldn’t count on that, Junior.”

Starsky smiled to himself at the dramatic quality of Hutch’s taunting. Hutch was a consummate actor when it came to his work. Always had been, always would be. Starsky’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror in time to see the elder Braverman stomping toward them. He gave a brief toot on the horn to attract Hutch’s attention and started the engine.

Hutch looked to Starsky, then spotted Braverman. He casually brushed some dirt off his jacket sleeve. “With my testimony, you stand a good chance of leaving this Pinto Paradise for a long time.” He took a few steps toward the car, then turned back toward the boy. “I’ll see you in court, Junior.”

Starsky rolled the car up to Hutch. Hutch got in. The boy walked up to the window.

“Maybe. Maybe not. One of us just might not need to show up.”

Hutch eyes the boy, a slight frown creasing his brow. Starsky judged the distance between the car and the man coming toward them in the mirror to be too close and hit the accelerator. Tires squealed as he pulled into traffic.

“Dramatic exit, huh?” Hutch asked.

“You’re calling me dramatic?” Starsky asked back. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Feel better?”

Hutch looked off toward the horizon. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” He let his head fall back against the seat. “The kid is guilty, Starsk. I’m as certain he murdered his supplier as I am my name is Hutchinson. The only reason we can’t nail him outright is because his father can afford a hot-shot lawyer who knows every trick in the book.”

Or maybe it’s because all they really have is your testimony,” Starsky replied, without looking at Hutch.

“So?” Hutch brought his head up and turned toward Starsky. “Are you implying my word is no good?” Are you implying I don’t know what I saw?” Hutch gripped the dashboard tightly.

“I’m not implying anything,” Starsky glanced at Hutch. “All I’m saying is, you said it was dark, and you thought you might have heard another person running from the building. That’s all I’m saying.”

Hutch shoved a finger in Starsky’s face. “I saw Braverman run out of the building.” Two fingers were in Starsky’s face. “He was covered in blood and brains and the lab said they came from Mustin.” The fingers disappeared. “Just because the gun they found doesn’t have Braverman’s fingerprints all over it doesn’t mean he didn’t fire it.” Satisfied with his defense, Hutch settled back into the seat.

“Doesn’t mean he did,” Starsky mumbled.

“What?” Hutch jerked his head toward Starsky.

Starsky picked up the bag and handed it to Hutch. “Have another Danish.”

Hutch took the bag and dug out another pastry. Starsky watched him with concern. For Hutch to eat anything Starsky offered was a rarity, for him to eat two of anything was unheard of. He tried to cool down the conversation.

“Well, you’ll get your day in court,” he soothed. “Besides, he’s only a four-bit punk who zapped his two-bit supplier, and his case is not worth worrying about.”

Hutch stopped in mid-bite and lowered his Danish. “Is that a professional or a personal opinion?” Hutch asked. “Or do I detect a hint of jealousy over my even having cases?”

Starsky bristled under the accusation, but remained silent. Hutch lifted his pastry and finished it.

vvv

Dobey was waiting for them back at the station.

“That’s it, Hutchinson,” he bellowed from across his desk. “You’re finished harassing Braverman. I am not putting up with this kind of behavior from one of my senior officers.”

Starsky sat opposite Dobey, next to Hutch, his hands folded in his lap. Hutch’s hands gripped the chair arms. His eyes were focused on Dobey’s desk, refusing to look at the man. Starsky looked from Hutch, then to Dobey, then to the tips of his shoes.

“Cap,” he tried.

“And you—“ yelled Dobey, “—overstepped your authority by driving him there! You are assigned to desk duty, Officer Starsky! That means you stay at the desk until you are told to leave it! That does not mean you are free to make runs with Officer Hutchinson whenever you feel like it! Do I make myself clear?”

Starsky was sullen, and still staring at his shoes. “Yes sir.”

“What was that?” Dobey demanded.

Starsky straightened in his chair and looked at Dobey. “Yes sir!”

“All right. Hutchinson, I want to hear some kind of explanation.” Dobey swiveled his chair toward Hutch. “Now.”

Hutch shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t have one.”

Dobey stood up and walked around his desk, stopping in front of Hutch. Starsky kept his face forward but his eyes followed Dobey.

Dobey towered over Hutch. “Look at me, Hutchinson. Look.”

Hutch lifted his face to find two black, hard eyes piercing him.

“I don’t need your kind of behavior. I’ve got enough problems with my men without you playing cowboy on me.” Dobey’s voice was rough and gravelly, and sweat was beginning to trickle down his face.

“And I’m not talking about the Braverman case,” he continued. “I’m talking about your casework for the last ten months. You’ve played fast and loose with departmental rules and regulations for far too long, and I won’t have it anymore. You either learn to play the game the way I say, or you find yourself another game to play.” Dobey paused to take a deep breath. “Do I make myself clear?”

The room was stone-still. No one moved. “Yes sir,” Hutch finally broke the silence.

“The same goes for you, too, Starsky.” Dobey returned to his chair and seated himself, “And if you don’t understand it, then have Hutchinson explain it to you. By the way, Hutchinson,” Dobey’s attention returned to Hutch, “you’re off the Navarro case. If my words don’t mean anything to you, then maybe my actions will. I’m reducing your caseload until I see signs of improvement. Dismissed.” Dobey picked up a folder from his desk and began perusing it, signaling the end of his tirade.

Starsky suddenly shot up from his chair. He started to speak, but Hutch had grabbed his arm and was pulling him back. Their eyes met. Hutch dropped his gaze and his grip, and fled the office. Starsky followed him into the corridor.

“What the hell was that?” Starsky corralled Hutch in the corner. “Dobey wasn’t just mad, he was hysterical.”

Hutch ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You don’t know?” Starsky pushed. He took a step closer to Hutch, their bodies almost touching. Starsky could still smell the soap from Hutch’s shower. “That tirade wasn’t just about the Braverman kid. There was a hell of a lot more to it than that. Or else our own sweet Captain Dobey is having a breakdown in front of our eyes.”

“I don’t know,” Hutch repeated. He tried to shove past Starsky.

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s arm and pushed him back into the corner. “Like hell you don’t. He was mad enough to take us off the Navarro case. Something must have stuck in his craw.”

“‘Us’?” Hutch pulled back viciously. “Took ‘us’ off the case? Don’t you mean ‘me’? You were never assigned to that case. Just me. Just me.” Hutch glared at Starsky.

Starsky backed off. “What’s wrong with you?” Hurt and confusion were impossible to hide any longer. He reached out to touch Hutch’s shoulder, hungry for the physical contact that had lately been almost—almost—non-existent.

Hutch shrugged the hand off. “You’d better get to your desk,” he spat. “I’ve got work to do.”

Starsky’s hand remained suspended in mid-air. He stepped aside and allowed Hutch to stomp back to the squad room. His hand finally fell to his side, and he walked quietly down the corridor.

vvv

Starsky paused by the squad room window before entering the room. He watched his partner carefully, noting the slumped shoulders and bowed head as Hutch read through a report. He had noticed that about Hutch in the past few weeks, a stoop to his posture, a weariness, as if it required too much energy to fight gravity. This morning there had been almost no tan line when he’d taken the towel from Hutch. And he’d also spotted a belly that would have done a couch potato proud. But it wasn’t just the physical changes that bothered Starsky. What nagged at him most was that he couldn’t remember the last time they’d gone anywhere together that wasn’t prescribed by duty, responsibility, or prior commitment.

He tapped on the glass, catching another officer’s attention. The officer said something to Hutch, and Hutch turned to look up at Starsky. Starsky lifted an eyebrow and waved his hand in greeting. Hutch stared at him, then motioned almost imperceptibly for Starsky to come in. Starsky nodded and walked into the room.

Hutch watched him as he took the seat across the table. Starsky thought he caught a flash of something close to fear in his eyes, but before he could confirm it Hutch dropped his head to study his report.

“It’s just about check-out time,” Starsky said. “Are you ready?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hutch took a deep breath and began shuffling the papers around him. He evened up a couple of stacks, then ran a hand through his hair. “I guess that’ll do until tomorrow.” He was still looking around the table.

Starsky watched him fiddle with the papers. “I was thinking maybe we could take Bobby to dinner tonight.”

Hutch nodded, pulling his jacket from the back of the chair and sliding into it. He had yet to look at Starsky.

Starsky pushed himself up and fished keys out of his pocket. He waited for Hutch to move toward the door. Hutch didn’t. He was looking at the floor, a fist resting on the table.

“Starsk—“

“It’s okay,” Starsky interrupted hastily. He suddenly felt a great need to forestall any kind of mention of what was going on between them.

“No,” Hutch shook his head. “I wasn’t going to apologize.”

“It’s still okay,” Starsky insisted. “Let’s take off.”

Hutch jerked his head up to face Starsky. Irritation shone in his eyes. “I wasn’t going to explain, either.”

Starsky leaned over the table, irritated with himself that he’d misread Hutch’s intentions. This time he was sure he knew what Hutch was talking about. “You don’t have to explain. I know what it is.” He peeked at a nearby officer and lowered his voice. “It’s Bobby. It’s tough for you to see him again after all these years, and I understand. It’s tough for me, too.” He smiled sheepishly at his confession. “Now let’s go home.”

Hutch watched him angrily for a moment, then zipped his jacket and stood up. “Yeah, sure.” He scrubbed a hand over his chin.

Starsky tossed his keys up and caught them, leading the way to the door. He held it open for Hutch, waiting.

A phone rang in the squad room, and the officer answered it. “It’s for you, Hutch,” he announced, just as Hutch was about to step through the door.

Hutch looked at Starsky, who was frowning at the phone. “I’m gone,” he decided, and passed through the door. Starsky smiled and walked after him.

“Might’ve been your mysterious dinner partner,” Starsky prodded.

“Might not’ve,” Hutch answered. He quickened his pace and turned the corner, leaving Starsky behind.

---

The sequel to this story is Brothers: Part II.