Finding True North

347

Starsky and Hutch are both dealing with deep feelings as they try and find their footing again after Hutch is released from the hospital.

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Starsky filled the battered teakettle and put it on the stove to heat. He rotated his shoulders, hoping to relieve the tension knot that had been with him for weeks. The breeze coming in from the open door of the greenhouse was nice, though, and Starsky appreciated the feel of it on his skin as he wiped down the kitchen counters. Hutch’s kitchen would never make the pages of House Beautiful, but it was cozy and sweet-smelling, and there was nowhere Starsky would rather be right now. Especially with his partner sitting at the table, fiddling with the box that had contained his present.

One look at Hutch and emotion swelled in his throat again. So close. It had been so damn close this time. Life and death separated by a gossamer strand. Starsky cleared his throat lightly so he could speak clearly. “Hey, give me that beauty, okay? I wanna get it ready.”

Hutch smiled as he handed his gift over. “Here you go. Have at it.”

Starsky wished he could just stop the world for a few minutes; freeze time so that he could look as long as he wanted at that smile. He made a silent vow to never take it for granted again. Just one more to add to the hundreds of vows he’d made and bargains he’d struck with God, or anyone who would listen, over the past month.

Swallowing his secret vow to the recesses of his heart, Starsky offered a smile of his own and held the object up. “Just look at it. Now is this beautiful, or what?”

Hutch nodded and his smile ramped up a notch. “Yeah, it sure is, Starsk, in fact I think it’s the most beautiful teapot I own.”

Now that was classic Hutch. A perfect blend of sarcasm and charm. Starsky could lob that comment with ease. “Uh-huh. You know that I know it’s the only teapot you own, right?” Starsky asked.

“Yeah, I think you know that,” Hutch said. “While I’ve never given a lot of thought to my kitchen equipment before, I bet it would beat any teapot out for sheer teapot…prettiness. Yeah, prettiness. It’s a very pretty pot.”

“You realize, of course, that I know you’re makin’ fun of me and I don’t even care,” Starsky said. He used his sleeve to buff the spout. “I can’t believe you’ve never owned a real teapot before. I mean, it’s not like this is the first time you’ve been recovering from something, and tea is the perfect thing to drink when you’re recovering from something.”

Starsky hoped that he’d just given Hutch the perfect opening to acknowledge he still had recovering to do. That his stamina and strength needed time to come back. However, if Hutch heard the opening, he ignored it.

“And I can’t believe you thought a teapot would be a great welcome home present, but here we are,” Hutch said. “Can you answer me this, though–not that I’m ungrateful or anything–but just when do we ever drink hot tea? We drink coffee and beer and lemonade and the occasional whiskey…when’ve we ever drunk tea? Plus, I don’t remember ever seeing a teapot in your kitchen.”

“No time like the present to start! Plus, my ma made a great pot of tea and I remember how she did it. You’re about to have a real treat.”

“Looking forward to it, Starsk, but I don’t think I have any cookies or anything to go with our tea,” Hutch said, and Starsky watched as a shadow crossed Hutch’s face and his tone became pensive. “Hell, I’ve been gone so long, I doubt I have any food at all.”

“Not true,” Starsky said, moving to the ice box. He opened the door with a flourish. “Once we found out for sure yesterday that you were gonna get sprung this morning, I went shopping. You’ve got milk and apples and cold cuts and cheese…all kinds of good stuff. Including cookies.”

Hutch gave him another smile, but there was something different about this one. An expression Starsky hadn’t seen before, and it made him feel almost anxious; in need of reassurance. “You’re happy to be home, right? Even if you couldn’t talk Judith into spending some personal time with you, you’re still good, aren’t you?”

This time Hutch’s expression was familiar; comforting. “I’m good, Starsk. I think I was high on freedom and life when we were at the airport. I felt ebullient, you know?”

Starsky relaxed a bit. “Well, I know I like it when you throw around words like ‘ebullient’ when everyone else would just say happy.”

“I was that, too…happy. I was ninety minutes out of the hospital. I wanted to flirt and I liked Judith…but….”

“But?” Starsky prompted, but Hutch just shook his head.

“Just but for now, okay? I’m not sure… I mean, what if… I’m not sure I know what I’m trying to say.”

Starsky pondered the time between the airport and now. Hutch had indeed been ebullient as they walked from Judith’s gate to the car. He had been happy and cheerful and talkative on the drive home, but once inside Venice Place a slight change had taken place, one that was probably something only Starsky would notice. A thoughtful expression had replaced Hutch’s joyful one, and he was speaking slower. Starsky knew the gears of Hutch’s big brain had started to engage. Now that Hutch was stumbling around his thoughts Starsky rushed to help.

“It’s okay, partner. I think I get it, and after all you still have my scintillating company to entertain you. What else could you need?”

“According to you I need a cup of tea,” Hutch said, and laughed a little. “Served in a beautiful teapot.”

As if on cue, the tea kettle began to whistle and Starsky went to the stove. “Give me five minutes and I’ll have this ready. Do you wanna stay at the table, or move to the couch? Couch might be more comfortable, huh?”

“I’m comfortable here,” Hutch said. “Besides, don’t you want to put out lemon and sugar–I mean we are having proper afternoon tea, right? Don’t we need to be sitting at a proper table for that?”

“You might be just a few hours out of the hospital, but one more crack about my tea served in a beautiful teapot, and I might have to smack ya one.”

Hutch held up his hands in mock surrender. “Stand down, Sergeant, I promise no more cracks.”

“That’s better.” Starsky flashed a grin at his partner before busying himself with his preparations. In less than five minutes he had everything on the table, including a plate of cookies. He eyed everything before he sat down.

“Do you think this is fancy? I was goin’ for warm and homey, but it looks like I landed on fancy somehow.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed. “I think putting the cookies on a plate instead of the whole package on the table, tipped us over to fancy. I’m fine with it, though, as long as you don’t make me put on a tie.”

They shared a laugh and then Starsky led the way in getting them served. For a few moments the only sound in the room was a spoon clink. Then an appreciative noise.

“See? I told ya, it’s good,” Starsky said and took a sip of his own. “And if memory serves, it’s extra good when you dunk a cookie in it.”

Hutch grinned at that, but then lowered his gaze and Starsky could feel his unspoken thoughts as if his own brain had formed them. He took another sip and pondered how to start for a few seconds, then dove in. “You wanna tell me about it now?”

“Tell you about what?” Hutch asked, continuing to peer into his cup.

“Tell me what it was like,” Starsky said softly. “Tell me everything.”

Hutch drew in a sharp breath and raised his eyes. “You know what it was like. You were there. You know it was a…struggle…to recover, but once I had the serum in me–thanks to you–I started to do just that-recover. Every hour after that got a little bit easier. Easier to breathe. Easier to–”

“Tell me about the parts when I wasn’t there,” Starsky prompted. “Tell me that.”

“What parts, Starsk? You were there most of the time. You even slept on a cot for a couple of nights right next–”

Starsky cut him off. “Tell me about before I was there with you while you were recoverin’. Before Callendar came in. Before the serum. Tell me about that.”

Hutch looked down again. “I’m not sure there’s much to tell about that part.”

“And I’m pretty damn sure there’s a lot,” Starsky said more sharply than he’d intended. He reached across the table and grabbed Hutch’s wrist. “Come on, look at me. It’s just us now. No nurses, no doctors, no visitors. Just us, and I really need to know, Hutch.”

“Why?” Hutch asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s over now.”

Starsky made a mental note of the gesture. Judith had given him a list of things to watch for during Hutch’s first days at home. Hutch always carried tension in his neck, so it could be nothing or it could be extensive body aches. That was on the list. Starsky continued in a soft tone. “It’s important to me. What you went through, all alone…I mean I know I was where I had to be–on the streets, doin’ everything I knew how to do, and some stuff I made up along the way–to find Callendar. It was the only chance we had to save your life–”

“Plus, the lives of a few hundred other people, too,” Hutch interrupted.

“Sure, them, too, I guess.”

“You guess? Don’t you know how many lives you probably–had to have–saved, Starsk?”

Starsky sighed, and gave himself a moment before he responded. “Don’t give me any of that hero stuff, okay? I’ve had my fill of that at the station and I don’t want any more. Not between us–”

“You don’t think what you did was heroic?” Hutch asked incredulously. “Don’t you get how bad things could have gotten for this city, hell, maybe the state, if you hadn’t–”

Starsky waved off the whole possibility of a state-wide pandemic. “Here’s what I know. I know I helped save your life. Other than Ritchie… I wanted him to get well, but the rest of ’em? The whole big city of strangers? Barely a thought.” Starsky gazed at Hutch hard, willing him to understand. “You…it was all about you for me, and I don’t feel even a little bit guilty.”

Hutch gave him a long thoughtful look, then nodded. “I think I get that. I think if it had been me in your shoes…yeah, I know what it would’ve all been about for me, too.”

“It’s not like I wanted anyone to die, or even get sick,” Starsky said. “It’s just that I didn’t have a second to spare to even think about anyone else. Not one single second.” Starsky scooted his chair over so he could be closer to Hutch. “I’m just telling you the truth; that’s all that drove me. You dying? Not…imaginable, and not while I could try and do something about it.” Starsky patted Hutch’s shoulder lightly. “But it’s your turn now. Tell me some of your truths.”

Hutch sighed and his shoulders slumped. “I’ll try, if you really want to hear them. I’m not sure where to start, though.”

“How about right after we got the call,” Starsky suggested, knowing that was when the cracks had started in the platform that was their lives. “I drove us over to the hospital, and I don’t think we said a word to each other the whole way there.”

Hutch nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think we did. We just knew one or both of us was in big trouble.” He was quiet for a moment. Starsky waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts. “You remember being in the lab? How it smelled? Remember?”

“I remember,” Starsky said. “Like rubbing alcohol or something. Plus, I swear I could smell my own sweat.”

Hutch gave him a tepid smile. “If you were sweating, I couldn’t smell it, but that alcohol…it was everywhere; my nostrils burned. And they were speaking so slowly. At least that’s what it sounded like to me. Like the bad news was coming out one damn drip at a time.”

Even though he had prodded Hutch into talking about this, Starsky found his own memory wanting to block it out, but he couldn’t and was instantly back in that equipment filled room covered up in terror all over again. He remembered how badly he wanted to rip the room apart when the doctors had told them Hutch was going to die without a miracle. Starsky shook his head to clear the thought, but the residual terror clung in his brain.

“Listening to them talk was like being trapped in a nightmare. I was scared shitless and furious at the same time. I kept thinking ‘not Hutch, this can’t be happening to Hutch’…and then you said…remember? You said, ‘how much time’ve I got?’ and I wanted to throw up.”

Hutch looked at him with an expression both sympathetic and ironic. “You did?  I guess I can imagine your body wanting to rebel that way. But once Dr. Meredith said that thing about the symptoms…well, that’s when it started for me.”

“The fear?” Starsky asked. “There wasn’t gonna be a way to stop that.”

“No, not right then. I was still pretty damn arrogant then.”

Part of being Hutch’s partner was being his defender when Starsky deemed it necessary. No one was allowed to criticize Hutch, not even Hutch himself. “Hutch, you weren’t arrogant–”

“Do you want to hear this, Starsk?” Hutch said in a low tone. “This is how it really went down for me. What I was feeling then.”

Nodding, Starsky shut his mouth. Protests and clarifications could come later. He wanted Hutch to get his story out in his own way right now.

“The first thing I was aware of feeling, after the shock and all, was just pure relief that it wasn’t you. I was so… I don’t even have a word for it. I’ve already faced your imminent death when there was almost zero hope…I can’t do that again, you know? Not ever again.”

Starsky clutched his cup hard and nodded, because he did know. He knew the difference now. Hutch’s life had been in danger before, too, agonizing times of stress and uncertainty. But this time Starsky had to fight an actual time limit. An unforgiving, uncaring, constantly ticking clock that would take Hutch away from him when its hands landed on doom. A clock he had to beat, because the alternative was unthinkable. The memory was so powerful, Starsky opened his mouth to speak, needing to share it with Hutch.

“You know what, though? You were grateful it wasn’t me, and I wished it was. I wished it bad, Hutch. God, so bad.”

Hutch wrapped his fingers around Starsky’s wrist, firm but gentle, and Starsky loosened his grip on the cup. “Partner thing, huh?” Hutch asked. “I guess we’re each other’s vulnerable spot.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Starsky answered. “Sometimes I think, what we are to…” Starsky stopped himself with an effort. It wasn’t the time. “Never mind, I’m runnin’ my mouth when I want to hear the rest of it from you.”

Hutch gave him a funny look that lasted long enough to make Starsky squirm a little. “Keep going, Hutch.”

“Okay, well like I said it wasn’t you, you weren’t sick, and that part was wonderful.” Hutch’s funny look was gone. “That part was a gift. Then my heart started to pound really hard, so I told myself that I was strong. I was tough. Tougher than some stupid virus. I could beat this. See, arrogant?”

“Don’t you think that’s just human nature,” Starsky said gently. “Anyone in your place would have thought the same thing–it’s primal right? The need to survive.”

“Maybe, yeah, I guess. Anyway, it didn’t last long. As soon as I sat down in the wheelchair… that’s when it started to slip away. And when you said that thing about Callendar–”

“That I was gonna find him?” Starsky asked.

“Yeah. The way you said it…well, I just knew you meant it with everything you’ve got. So, I held on to that all the way up to that isolation room.”

“God, Hutch, I hated being in that room, and I had you with me,” Starsky said, realizing all over again how terrifying those first minutes in isolation had to have been for Hutch. “All alone like you were, you must’ve felt–”

“I started waiting for the cyanide pellets to drop,” Hutch said calmly.

Starsky’s throat started to close again. “Wha–”

“Or the noose to tighten around my neck as the platform dropped under my feet.”

“Hutch…you didn’t actually sit there and think–”

“I didn’t actually sit there and wait for my execution? Is that what you were going to say, Starsk?”

“Well, maybe,” Starsky said softly.

“Yeah, I did. That room felt like a coffin–like death was stalking me and intended to win.”

Starsky started to speak, but Hutch held up a hand to cut him off. “Don’t misunderstand me. I hadn’t given up. I wasn’t feeling hopeless–not right then–but I felt powerless. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do to try and save my own life.”

Hutch got up then and walked to the coffee table. Starsky watched as he adjusted the position of the pillar candle and straightened a pile of magazines. There was a hardback book on the table, too, with a tasseled bookmark nestled between its pages. Hutch picked it up and sat down on the couch.

“Looks like we’re movin’ to the living room now,” Starsky said. He left his unfinished tea on the table and joined Hutch on the couch. He glanced at the book Hutch was holding to read the title. “Hey, that’s Coma! Didn’t I loan that to you?”

“Uh-huh, a few months ago,” Hutch said.

Starsky fingered the bookmark. “Looks like you haven’t finished it. I must’ve liked it more than you; I think I read it through in a weekend.”

“No, I liked it a lot, Starsk. I just didn’t get to start it right away…I started reading it two or three nights before we picked Jake up at the airport.”

Starsky didn’t need to ask why he’d read no further after that. Both of their lives had turned upside down. “Maybe it’ll be nice to curl up with tomorrow while you’re here resting.”

“You know what’s funny?” Hutch asked, completely ignoring Starsky’s comment. “This book was on my mind in isolation. I couldn’t help wondering if it was the last book I was ever going to read, and then I thought about how I hadn’t even finished the last book I was ever going to read. It seemed like some kind of sad commentary on my life. Just one more thing I hadn’t finished. Another regret.”

Starsky never had a good defense against Hutch hurting. It wrecked him each and every time and this was no exception. “Were you thinking a lot about regrets, Hutch?” he asked softly. “Because from where I’m sitting you’ve lived a pretty damn righteous life.”

“There’s things I’m proud of, sure, but–” Hutch cleared his throat and stayed quiet for a short time before he started speaking again. “It’s funny, you know, how the mind works? When I thought time was running out on me, I didn’t want to waste a second thinking about the things I’ve done right. I just wanted a chance to fix the things I’ve done wrong. Or not done at all.”

Hutch’s tone was so sad that Starsky had to fight himself to not change the subject, to not turn the mood of their conversation into one of celebration–all the years of life ahead. It was only the deep gut instinct that Hutch needed to purge the dark memories that enabled him to stay focused.

“Well, you’ve got that time now, you know,” Starsky said. “All the time you’ll need to do all the things you wanna do, and as for things you’ve done wrong, it seems to me you haven’t made any more wrong moves than the average human. In fact, I’d say you’re under-average in the screw-up category.”

“You’re biased, Starsky.”

“About you? Nope. I know you inside and out. Sure, you’ve got a few flaws–”

Hutch narrowed his eyes and interrupted. “Oh, yeah, I sure do,” he said, bitterness clear in his tone. “Flaws and scars and fears and…regrets.”

Starsky took a deep breath and stayed quiet for a moment, letting himself absorb the grim words. Then, almost in a whisper, “Did you think about regrets a lot before–”

“Before I lost the ability to think at all?” Hutch interjected. “I did, but I don’t want to give you the impression that’s all I was thinking about…and maybe some of it was less about regrets and more about the habit I have in disappointing people.”

“Wanna tell me about that?” Starsky asked, hoping harder that he was doing the right thing in pushing this conversation.

“No.”

“Okay,” Starsky said calmly. “How about going back to the before part. To the before you couldn’t think anymore.”

“The before part.” Hutch blew out a breath and rubbed his forehead. “Well, there was a pad of paper in my room with the hospital’s logo and phone number on it. I wrote some notes.”

Starsky hadn’t expected that. “What kind of notes? Like to your parents?”

“Uh-huh, my parents, and my sister. A few friends from high school that I haven’t spoken to in years or even know how to reach now, but I wrote them, anyway. Captain Dobey–”

“The captain, huh? What did you want him to know?” Starsky asked curiously.

“Some important things,” Hutch said quietly. “And Huggy-he’s been our friend much more than he’s been our informant. He deserved to know how much I appreciate him.” Hutch fidgeted with his hands for a few seconds, and then dropped his eyes. “Vanessa.”

“Holy shit, that–” Starsky checked himself just in time. “That ex-wife of yours that tried to crush your heart with her stiletto heels? That Vanessa?”

“The one and only.” Hutch looked sheepish now. “There were a couple of things I wanted her to know. Not that I think–or thought–it would mean that much to her, but it felt like the right thing to do, you know?”

Starsky felt a lump start to form in his throat. The thought of Hutch spending any of the few precious conscious minutes he had on someone who had hurt him so badly both infuriated him and filled him with pride. Pride that threatened to wet his eyes. No one but Hutch would have done it. And Vanessa sure as hell didn’t deserve one ounce of his partner’s kindness–or his regrets. He gave his head a shake and cleared his throat lightly. “Anyone else?”

Hutch gave him a brief smile, then clasped his hands together in a gesture similar to a man about to pray. “You know there was one for you, too, don’t you, Starsk? I don’t have to even say it, do I?”

This lump in his throat thing was really starting to piss him off and was hard to swallow around. Starsky gave a weak smile until he could be sure he could speak in a normal tone of voice. “Do I get to read it?”

Hutch was looking down again, staring at his hands. “I guess it depends.”

“Depends on what?’ Starsky asked.

Hutch blew out a breath, then looked up slowly until they were eye to eye. “Do you remember the last time I saw you before it all went dark for me?”

If Starsky lived to be Hutch’s mystical 148 years old, he would never forget that meeting. He would never forget how he’d had to bully Judith into letting him enter the glass-walled room where Hutch lay trapped, trying his hardest not to die. He’d never forget the way Hutch’s eyes–huge in the pale face–tracked his every movement until he’d reached the bed. One closeup look at Hutch had the same impact as watching an hourglass shed its last grains of sand. They were almost out of time.

Panic, in its purest form, was crushing, and Starsky remembered how he had started babbling inane conversation just to squelch it even a little, but Hutch was having none of that. And when Hutch spoke, with that expression of desperate hope in his eyes–hope that Starsky could fix it; that he could right their world again–Starsky was hit with another bombshell. Hutch wasn’t just his partner. He wasn’t just his best friend in the whole damn world. Hutch was the love of his life. And Starsky was about to lose him.

“Starsk? You okay?” Hutch’s quiet, concerned tone instantly brought Starsky back to the present.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Of course, I’m good!” Starsky said, hoping the effort it took to speak cheerfully wasn’t noticeable. “I was just remembering.”

Hutch gave him a long hard look. “Maybe we’re doing too much remembering right now? And, anyway, didn’t you say Huggy was going to stop by sometime? Why don’t we just watch some TV or something until he gets here?”

Starsky was annoyed with himself; annoyed that allowing those deeply precious memories to play in his mind must have caused his expression to send Hutch into high alert concern. Now he had to turn it back again and keep Hutch talking. Starsky felt antsy, too, it was hard to sit still, and he was also confused. Knowing Hutch was the love of his life and knowing what the hell to do about it, or even what it meant, were all very different things.

“Huggy didn’t say he was definitely coming over and he hasn’t even called,” Starsky said. “I wanna hear everything you were about to say, Hutch. It’s important to me. And I think it’s important for you to get it out, you know? You’ve had to hold all this shit in for so many weeks.” Starsky silently congratulated himself on striking the right tone, just as sincere as his honest wish for Hutch to be able to purge the scary stuff. The emotions and the love that tightened his throat and weakened his knees could be set aside for another day. Besides, he certainly wasn’t ready to share any of it with Hutch until he understood it more himself.

“Starsky, if I go on it’s gonna get mushy in here…maybe even downright soapy. You and I both know how much you hate mushy and soapy.”

“Try me,” Starsky said. “I bet I’m going to surprise you.”

He received another long hard look before Hutch spoke. “Okay, I’ll try you, but let me ask you a question first.”

“Shoot,” Starsky said, prepared to answer anything.

“Did you know that I think your eyes are gorgeous?” Hutch asked the question head-on, not looking anywhere but Starsky. “Did you know that?”

Starsky thought he was prepared to answer anything, but this kind of a compliment out of left-field made him realize that wasn’t true and it also made him suspicious. “Is this your weird way of trying to change the subject?”

“No,” Hutch said simply. “It’s part of the subject and I’ll explain it in a minute. Answer the question first.”

Starsky felt heat rise on his throat and wondered if he was blushing. “I–no, I don’t think you’ve ever said somethin’ like that to me before.”

Hutch nodded. “That’s what I thought. We’ve been partners for over six years now and been best friends for ten. I thought your eyes were amazing on the first day I met you. The color of them–really unique, you know? Somewhere between navy blue and grape. And your lashes are really long and dark. I knew all of that but because men aren’t supposed to pay other men that kind of personal compliment, I never told you. I could’ve died and you would have never known that I love your eyes.”

Starsky no longer had any doubt about whether or not he was blushing, he knew it to be fact and he also had no clue how to respond or where Hutch was leading them. “Um, that’s nice of you to say–”

“I’m not done,” Hutch interrupted.

“Sorry.”

“So, you know now that I’ve always loved your eyes, but on that day in the hospital when you put on the gown and the gloves and the mask–they were all I could really see. My vision had been getting blurry. I couldn’t see much but shapes and outlines, but as soon as you sat down on the bed, I saw your eyes. I saw them clearly. And when you saw how badly I was hurting and you got…emotional…I saw the tears on your lashes. Do you understand? Do you?”

Starsky was a detective and a damn good one. He knew when he was missing a clue right under his nose, and he knew whatever this was, it was one giant clue. “I’m trying, but no, Hutch, I don’t really understand what you’re trying–what I think you’re trying–to tell me.”

Hutch’s sigh was deep and somehow mournful, and the beautiful airport smile now seemed a hundred years ago. Starsky reached over and squeezed Hutch’s knee. “Keep going. I’ll get there.”

“I was really lonely in that room, Starsk. No matter how many nurses came in and out, I was all alone. By the time they let you in, I’d also begun to realize that not only was I more than likely going to die, I was going to die hard. Lot of pain. Lot of alone. And I was really scared.”

Blinking the wetness from his eyes, Starsky clutched Hutch’s knee a little harder. He couldn’t think of even one comforting thing to say, and it hurt so badly to know he hadn’t been able to protect Hutch from all he’d been through.

Hutch covered Starsky’s hand with his own. “So, you were my only chance. I had to get you out of that room–where I could have infected you at any second–and back on the street, both to protect you and to give me any kind of hope of living, but, oh, God, you’ll never know how badly I wanted you to stay.”

“I didn’t want to leave you; you know that right?” Starsky asked. “I was so fuckin’ scared I’d never be able to talk to you again. That I’d never be able to see your beautiful eyes wide open and full of the sky.”

Hutch smiled at that, a real smile, the private one that Starsky knew belonged to him alone. “I guess what I wanted you to know–why I told you about your eyes–is that when you were gone, I focused on them in my mind. It helped with one of those big regrets. It helped me from panicking.”

“What was one of the big regrets?” Starsky asked, wondering if this time Hutch would tell him.

“That I’d never be able to hug you again, or hold you when you were hurting. That was a big regret, and I couldn’t help wondering who would fill my shoes after I was gone.”

Starsky felt that like a punch in the gut. “First off, you didn’t go anywhere. Let’s keep remembering that, okay? You’re healthy and breathing and sitting right here next to me.”

“Yes, but–”

“Secondly,” Starsky continued as if Hutch hadn’t tried to speak. “No one, nowhere, no way, would ever fill your shoes. Never. We clear on that?”

“That’s not what I’d want–”

“Shut up, Hutch. No one could ever fill your shoes. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have kept on living–for both of us–and that I wouldn’t still get and give hugs and eat tacos and drink beer. But nothing would have ever tasted or felt the same way again. You’ve got too big a piece of my heart.”

“Starsk…that’s part of what I realized in that stinking room. How much of you…how much I feel for…the holding I wanted to do. How much I wanted to be held. What if you’d been able to get in that bed with me and hold me close and make it stop hurting? What if you could’ve even held my hands without the gloves on so I could have felt your skin on mine. Warm and alive…God, I really did almost die, didn’t I?”

Overwhelmed, Starsky got to his feet and pulled Hutch up with him. He opened his arms and Hutch filled them. They stood holding each other tight for nearly a minute, and Starsky hoped Hutch was feeling their hearts beating next to each other the same way he was. He burrowed his face against Hutch’s neck, and then without thinking yanked Hutch’s shirttail out and Starsky ran his hands over the small of Hutch’s warm bare back. “Can you feel that, partner? Those are my hands on your skin.”

“Yeah,” Hutch whispered. “I feel them. It feels so good. I needed… something….”

Starsky brushed his lips against Hutch’s neck in the lightest, most gentle kiss. “I think maybe you need me, huh? I damn well know I need you.”

“What’s it all mean, Starsk? What’s happening?”

A loud kicking sound at the door prevented Starsky from answering, and then Huggy’s voice came through. “Huggy Bear is here, with my arms full of dessert extraordinaire! Can someone please let me in?”

“I guess we have to let him in,” Starsky said quietly. “He is our friend.”

“But what about–”

“We’re gonna let Huggy in and then eat dessert. After that we’re kicking Huggy out again and we’re gonna have the deepest, longest talk we’ve ever had until we know exactly what’s happening. Okay?”

The airport smile was back and Starsky felt quivers in his belly just looking at that ebullient smile. “Yeah, Starsk, it’ll be the best talk of our lives.”

 

The end.