Happy Birthday, Detective Hutchinson, Part 1

It’s a very special day for Hutch. Or at least, he hopes it will be.

Hutch sprang out of bed the moment the alarm started to go off. Today’s the day, he thought, a broad smile beginning to spread across his sleepy face.

Eager to get going, he quickly jumped in the shower. As he soaped up, he realized that today was the first day he actually had a spring in his step in a long time. A very long time, he sighed. How long, he couldn’t say, as memories of the past several months flashed by in succession, instantly flattening the curved smile.

That time when he had tried to take down Pardee alone instead of reaching out to Starsky and working together as a team, as they had always done. What the hell was he thinking? What had happened to me and thee, who do we trust, and all that? “And no, I refuse to blame my actions that day on the botulism poisoning,” he asserted to no one in particular.

Something had been turning rotten between them for a long time and he could still smell the stench after all these months. It continued to linger even after they’d made up and Starsky had forgiven him for his betrayal. It was there even when they’d sat side-by-side together in Starsky’s hospital bed, laughing as the sprinkler soaked them, and Dobey and Huggy, with ice-cold water.

Something that Hutch felt remained unspoken between them and needed to get out, to come out into the light and be exposed to the fresh air.

As he rinsed off the soap, he remembered that slightly queasy sensation he felt when Starsky wouldn’t stop going on and on about his uncle’s inheritance and how he was looking forward to cruising the streets, presumably alone and in his police-siren-and-radio-less Maserati.

Then an even more sickening feeling began to roil his stomach as he recalled the events in the dance hall that ultimately led him to sleep with Kira and betray his best friend. And it wasn’t just betrayal, was it? He had profoundly hurt Starsky in a way that the subsequent bullets hadn’t ever managed to do.

That was a part of his life he desperately wished he could do over. He would give anything to be able to go back in time and make a different decision. And the decision he would have made wasn’t just that he wouldn’t have slept with Kira, but who he WOULD have slept with if he had the chance (and, let’s be honest, the guts) to talk to his partner.

If he had simply acted like a grownup and used his words to tell Starsky how he felt then, things might be different now. And even if those words, and feelings, weren’t reciprocated, the trajectory of events that eventually followed might have altered the course of history anyway. If only he had been willing to take his lumps and deal with the fallout of his confession, perhaps Starsky wouldn’t have been standing in front of the Torino at that exact moment on May 15th.

He hoped it wasn’t too late. Today was June 10, 1979, and if he wasn’t an adult by now — Kenneth Hutchinson, age 36 — when would he ever be?

Hutch turned off the water and stepped out of the shower to dry off. Lost in his thoughts, he realized almost too late that the phone was ringing. He burst out of the bathroom and ran to answer it, dripping droplets of water across the sun-streaked apartment as he went.

What if Starsky needed him? Or worse, what if it was the hospital calling with a sudden turn of bad news? How many middle-of-the-nights had he woken bolt upright in a cold sweat, heart pounding in his chest, dreading the possibility of hearing the phone ring at a time of day when phones were never supposed to ring? His stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with lead.

“Hello!” he snapped at the caller, breathing loudly from his mad dash across the apartment.

“Ken, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Oh…no, Mom, it’s fine, I was just getting out of the shower.”

“Your father and I were calling to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Mom.” He allowed himself a little smile.

“How is Starsky? What are you doing today to celebrate?”

Celebrate my birthday or celebrate Starsky’s recovery? He wasn’t exactly sure what she meant.

“Starsky’s doing great, Mom. As a matter of fact, he’s coming home from the hospital today. I’m on my way to pick him up now.” He looked over at the clock in the kitchen, starting to feel impatient.

“That’s terrific, dear. I’m glad to hear he’s doing well. Your father’s working out in the garden so he’ll have to call you later. And please give Starsky our love.”

“Thanks, Mom, I will.” Then suddenly he blurted out, “I love you.” He was feeling extra love for everyone today, it seemed.

He hung up the phone, hurriedly got dressed, and with the spring back in his step, ran down the stairs towards the latest car that Huggy had provided him. This one was a red Ford 1972 LTD with a white top. It wasn’t quite candy apple red, and while he had always hated bright red cars, he liked this one quite a lot. He thought Starsky would like it, too.

As he drove determinedly towards the hospital, he thought of the last words his mother said before she hung up.

“I love you too, Ken.”

I love you too, Ken. He smiled and blushed a little at the thought. Oh, how he longed to hear those words coming from his partner, but would that ever happen? Could it happen?

He was about to find out.

Chapter End Notes:

To be continued….

Sequel: Happy Birthday, Detective Hutchinson, Part 2