Entwined

199

I’m already entwined with you Hutch,” he said, “Corsican brothers, remember?… There’s no way to untwine us.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Hutch whispered. “Maybe there should be.”

---

CHAPTER ONE

A fork in the road may disappear, a choice removed, a path lost forever.

Six hours—that was how long Starsky sat in a cold, plastic waiting room chair at the hospital. It might as well have been six weeks, it felt that long. He got up twice for a cup of thick black coffee, and as many times to relieve himself. Otherwise, he didn’t budge.

Waiting can be the cruelest form of torture. The longer you’re forced to wait, the harder it becomes to hold onto hope. Each moment stretches out, deepening the sense of uncertainty, until hanging onto hope feels almost impossible.

“Waiting room,” Starsky mused. “Such a fitting name. Why not call it the ‘Most uncomfortable place to make you wait room.’ Such a shame they didn’t go with ‘It will all be okay room,’ or ‘ No need to worry room’—those have a nice ring to them.”

Starsky chuckled to himself at the ridiculous irony of it all. If doctors could guarantee there was nothing to worry about, then why on earth would anyone need a sterile, uncomfortable, god-forsaken waiting room in the first place? He shook his head and stared at the ceiling, trying to calm his nerves as he thought about what brought him there.

He moved swiftly to the rear of the liquor store as Hutch took the front. He squatted behind a row of bottles, his pulse racing as he waited for Hutch to move, counting in his head: one, two, three…

“Hold it! Police!” Hutch’s voice rang out, right on cue.

Starsky edged around the aisle and saw the armed man release the woman, his attention shifting as he pointed his gun right at Hutch.

He caught a chilling glimpse of the robber’s face—a young man, but with a worn, hollow stare in his eyes that suggested he had nothing left to lose.

“Freeze!” Starsky shouted, his voice echoing from behind. “Drop it now!”

Hutch fell to the ground just as the assailant’s gun fired. Starsky’s blood ran cold when he saw a burst of red erupt from Hutch’s body. The man turned to Starsky, but his reaction was too slow. Starsky fired his weapon, and the robber collapsed, falling lifelessly to the ground.

Starsky sat up in his chair, startled, feeling a hand on his shoulder.

“Any news on Hutch?” Dobey asked.

“Not yet,” Starsky answered.

Dobey lowered himself into the chair next to Starsky, his expression grave. “The gunman has been identified as James Filion, twenty years old. We’re awaiting the official coroner’s report, but all signs point to him being under the influence of heroin, looking for money to score his next fix.”

Starsky didn’t take his eyes off his shoes. “I knew it. He had that look,” he said.

“Can’t say I’m surprised by his record,” Dobey added, “Filion has an older brother, Daryl Filion, serving ten years in prison for possession and trafficking narcotics to minors. In that family, the apple didn’t fall far, or whatever the expression is for brothers.”

“It’s not fair, captain. Hutch didn’t deserve to get taken down by a punk like that.”

Dobey shook his head. “No it’s not fair. Hutch’s actions, along with yours, saved the lives of the cashier and the woman in the store. It wasn’t for nothing. Remember that.” Dobey stood up. “Call me if anything changes,” he said, slipping a hand across Starsky’s back as he left.

Starsky nodded and blinked away his blurry vision.

“Hey, Starsk,” Hutch lay on the cold floor, his voice weak as he struggled to speak. “You okay?”

Starsky pressed hard on his jacket, the thin, delicate cloth quickly becoming saturated. “Better than you, it seems,” Starsky said, relieved to hear Hutch’s voice. “You’re going to be okay, don’t worry, you’ll be stitched up and yours truly will be tucking you into bed in no time.”

“Good,” Hutch whispered, squeezing Starsky’s elbow. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said, closing his eyes.  

Starsky smiled at the thought of Hutch’s words. Not quite a conventional thing to say to your male partner, but Starsky didn’t need to analyze it. There was nothing conventional about their partnership in the first place.

Doctor Morrison finally emerged, strolling over a little too casually for Starsky’s comfort, staring at a clipboard, a stethoscope hanging around his neck like a loosened tie after a wedding.

“The bullet went straight through his side and missed any vital organs, which is good news,” the doctor said. “We’ll need to keep him for a few days, but he was lucky. The wound should heal within six to eight weeks if all goes well. You are welcome to wait, but it may be a while longer before he can be seen.”

“I’ll wait,” Starsky replied firmly.

However long it took, Starsky would wait. He had to see Hutch before leaving the hospital; he needed to feel his warm skin and confirm that his heart was still beating. He had to watch his chest rise and fall, like the steady tick of a metronome, yet with no music to obscure the precarious beat, an unbending reminder that time was slipping away.

Dr. Morrison nodded and turned away. “Very well. I will have a nurse come out when he is in recovery.”

The time finally came when Starsky could see Hutch.  He peeked into Hutch’s room and saw his eyes flutter open.

“Starsk,” he said weakly. “You’re here.”

The sight of Hutch made Starsky’s breath catch;  his blond hair splayed across the pillow, the specks of his blue eyes sparkling against his pale skin, and his mouth curved into a welcoming smile.

Starsky couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he knew he loved Hutch. He remembered feeling drawn to him when they met at the Academy, not sexually, but in a way he didn’t know how to define. What he felt now he still couldn’t define. It was like an accumulation of moments that had quietly built up over the years, like the way a gentle snowfall begins with a few delicate flakes that you barely notice, but before you realize it, the world outside is cloaked in a pristine, breathtaking blanket of white, turning everything around you into something magical and alive.

“Where else?” Starsky asked, settling into the side chair with a playful grin. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Oh yeah?” Hutch raised an eyebrow, teasing. “What’s it going to take?”

“Surgical intervention,” Starsky replied with a laugh.

Hutch chuckled softly, his eyes drifting closed as he relaxed into the moment. “Sounds about right,” he said. “Like the Corsican Brothers.”

“Exactly,” Starsky agreed, leaning back. “Except their bond didn’t end even after they were separated.”

His words hung in the air, a quiet connection between them, the unspoken truth lingering in the space between their teasing.

Hutch reached out and took Starsky’s hand. “I’m sorry about this, partner,” he said, his voice weak. “I know this hurts you too.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry for,” Starsky said, squeezing his hand.

Hutch closed his eyes, the anesthetic pulling him to sleep, a wrinkled brow like he had wanted to say something more.

Starsky had been back on the job three months now, though it felt like years. A fresh start after Gunther’s gunshots had nearly taken Starsky out of the game, and he, too, had barely made it back to full strength. But Starsky had defied the odds. And now, it was Hutch’s turn to fight.

“You bleed, I bleed, and vice versa. It’s the way we’re meant to be,” Starsky said as he watched Hutch sleep. “Maybe it’s time we stopped fighting it. Maybe it’s time for the truth.”

——-

Even if you’re rich with love, pain will collect its tax.

It was supposed to be just another two-eleven—a routine robbery at a liquor store. An incident like so many others they handled without, well, incident.

But when the call came through, something about it felt off, like a warning sent through the air, stirring a sense of dread in Hutch’s chest. He wasn’t one to buy into superstitions or omens, but that feeling—a cold shiver running down his spine—was impossible to shake. It felt like he was about to lose a limb, or a vital organ, and it didn’t make sense.

It was probably due to the pounding headache he had since he woke up.

“Your head still hurting?” Starsky’s voice broke through his thoughts, his tone playful as he slammed the accelerator. “Or is the thrill of a liquor store robbery getting you all worked up?”

Hutch gripped the edge of the window as Starsky made a sharp turn. “A bit of both,” he replied with a hint of sarcasm and a sideways smirk. “Your driving is giving me heartburn, so I’ve nearly forgotten about the headache. Thanks for that.”

Starsky glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

They pulled up to the alley behind the store, the faint glow of the neon sign flickering in the distance. Hutch’s instincts kicked in as they slipped out of the car, crouching low as they moved toward the front window. His eyes scanned the scene inside.

“I’ll cover the front,” Hutch said, the words automatic. “You handle the back.”

It wasn’t anything they needed to discuss. They’d done it this way a hundred times before.

Starsky nodded, slipping around the back of the building as Hutch took his position. He could barely hear Starsky moving behind the shelves, but he knew exactly where he was. Hutch counted, instinctively, one, two, three…

“Hold it! Police!” Hutch called out.

The instant the words left his mouth, everything shattered into chaos.

A loud crack of gunfire split the air. Hutch hit the ground, his body slamming against the concrete with a brutal thud. His vision blurred, the world spinning. He could hear Starsky shouting, his voice booming through the noise: “Freeze! Drop it now!”

Hutch could feel the wetness on his skin—the sharp, stinging burn spreading across his side.

There was Starsky, beside him in an instant. His hands were on him, gentle but firm, as he rolled Hutch onto his back, his breath quick and shallow. He barely registered the soft rustle of fabric as Starsky tore off his jacket and pressed it against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

All Hutch could focus on was Starsky’s face, hovering over him. He was okay. He was here.

Gunfire had nearly taken Starsky down once before—back at the police garage—but somehow, here he was. Alive. Fighting. Living.

“Hey, Starsk,” Hutch murmured, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper. He wasn’t sure if he said them out loud, or if they were just a prayer, but the question lingered. “You okay?”

Starsky’s voice cracked as he offered sweeping reassurance. Starsky always took care of him when he needed him most. But the creases of his vision were starting to fade.

The next time he opened his eyes, Hutch was in the sterile, white-lit haze of a hospital room. The sound of footsteps pulled him from the daze, and there, standing in the doorway, was Starsky.

He wasn’t surprised he was there. In truth, he hadn’t doubted for a second that he would come. But even so, the sight of him made him feel—complete.

“You’re here,” Hutch said softly, his voice barely a whisper.

Starsky grinned, a light glinting in his eyes. “Where else?”

“I’m sorry,” Hutch remembered saying.

It wasn’t fair to Starsky—having to endure the pain of watching Hutch hurt, knowing it hurt him as deeply as if Starsky himself were the one who took the bullet. It wasn’t fair to ask him to hurt like that.

Hutch’s eyelids closed again, the image of Starsky beside him filling his dreams, a mix of comfort and fear pulling him into blackness.

 

CHAPTER TWO

At a crossroads, choices loom large, demanding to be faced. 

Starsky wiped his palms on the dishtowel, the damp fabric pressing into his hands as he stood in Hutch’s kitchen. He turned on the oven, the light inside flickering as it began to warm. He glanced over at his watch;—six thirty. A little later than he’d planned, but not too late for the evening he hoped to have.

It had been two weeks since Hutch had come home from the hospital, two weeks since he’d helped him back through the door, still weak and pale. Starsky hated hospitals and hated the thought of Hutch having to endure being there, trapped in a sterile white room with nothing but the beeping machines and the distant sound of the nurses’ hurried feet to keep him company. But Hutch was stubborn, and he said he could handle it once he was allowed to come home, that he could manage.

Starsky knew better, of course. Hutch had always hated needing help.

But tonight, Starsky had worn him down. Maybe it was the way Hutch hesitated a little too long when he answered Starsky’s phone call that morning, and the softness in his voice when Starsky asked if he was up for him making dinner. He agreed, finally, after a brief silence, and that was all Starsky needed to know. Hutch wanted him there but was too stubborn to say so.

Starsky couldn’t shake the feeling that they were at a crossroads and that some invisible force was tugging at his chest. Hutch’s close call was more than just an unfortunate and terrifying incident. It was a sign and not just any sign. It was a warning, flashing like a neon light in front of him.

Life was fragile, more so than he ever let himself admit, even after almost dying himself.

Starsky let out a breath, steadying himself against the counter. Tonight, he would tell the truth. It was time.

He spun around when he heard the shuffle of feet from the bedroom nook.

“Hey,” Starsky smiled. “You’re awake. Good. Dinner’s in the oven; should be ready in about an hour. Hope you’re in the mood for lasagna.”

Hutch tugged at his nose and ran his hand through his hair. Starsky adored the not-quite-awake expression on Hutch’s face, both vulnerable and filled with trust.

“It smells delicious in here, Starsk,”  Hutch said, smiling. “But I feel bad about you doing all the work. It’s my apartment.  Shouldn’t I be cooking for you?”

“Does a guy need an occasion to cook for his partner?” Starsky asked, taking a few strides toward Hutch. “After all, you cooked so much for me when I was recovering, it’s about time I did the same for you.”

He stopped abruptly at the edge of the couch, just as Hutch moved forward and stumbled into him.  Starsky instinctively reached out, gripping Hutch’s elbows before gently guiding him back to a stable position, their arms still joined.

“How are you feeling?” Starsky asked, running his hand gently down Hutch’s side, being careful not to hurt him.

“I’m good,” Hutch didn’t move away. “The doctor says the wound is healing well. Too bad I’m not cleared to go back to work for another six weeks, though.”

Starsky patted Hutch’s cheek. “I’m doing just fine without you,” he teased, “Besides, I don’t need an injured partner next to me, complaining about my driving all day.”

Hutch laughed, and that calmed some of Starsky’s uneasiness. “Hey, let’s sit down for a minute, ok?” Starsky asked, taking Hutch’s wrist and gently leading him to the sofa.

“Uh, oh,” Hutch mocked worry, “I must be in trouble.” He didn’t argue as he sat next to Starsky. “Everything okay, buddy? You seem a little, I don’t know, out of sorts.”

Starsky caught Hutch’s wide, blue eyes, whose depths could fill the ocean, and he remembered what he wanted to say. Running from the truth was no longer an option.

He took Hutch’s right hand and cradled it between both of his own. “Hutch, all I ask is that you hear me out,” his voice was so low that Hutch had to lean forward to catch his words. “I have something important to say…something to confess.”

Hutch tilted his head, stacking his left hand over Starsky’s, as their hands came together like interlocking puzzle pieces.

“Starsk, what is it? Is something wrong?” Hutch asked with a creased brow.

Starsky smiled and felt lighter than he imagined he would at this pivotal moment. “No, there is nothing wrong. You see, it’s the opposite. It’s something right. So, so right.”

Starsky paused, darting his gaze between Hutch’s widening eyes. “Hutch, I love you,” he swallowed, waiting for a shout of protest, but receiving only a warming look. “Being with you, talking to you, sharing all the moments, not just the life-threatening big moments, but the low-key, quiet ones too. The way you listen, the way you laugh at my stupid jokes, the way you make me feel special every day. I’ve come to understand, to truly admit to myself, that I’m happiest when I’m with you. That I’m more than a little attracted to you,” he paused, smiling shyly. “I can’t imagine my life without you. I want you and only you, in every single way. I hope you understand what I’m saying. Most of all, I hope you feel the same way.”

Starsky’s eyes circled Hutch’s face, searching for a response. The answer came without words.

Hutch leaned in, pressing his lips to Starsky’s. The kiss began gently but quickly intensified until Starsky felt lost in the smooth, velvety feel of Hutch’s lips and the light, tender sweep of Hutch’s fingers against his cheek. A tingle spread through Starsky’s body as their passion rose.

Until, without warning, the kiss ended, and Starsky’s lips felt a chill of abrupt abandonment.

Hutch pulled back, his eyes wide, as if trying to process a sudden whirlwind of thoughts. The furrows in his brow deepened, and the corners of his mouth tightened;  the wheels of uncertainty turning visibly on his face.

Starsky knew instinctively that three seconds passed with the silence; Hutch was always on cue. One, two, three…

“Starsk,” Hutch took a deep breath and slowly released his hands, their fingers untangling like a carefully balanced Jenga tower crumbling at a sudden touch. “Do you know the best way to destroy a friendship?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tension.

Hutch rose and began to pace, silently snapping his fingers as he circled the couch.

“Using the other person’s toothbrush?” Starsky answered. “For me at least, that’s a real turn-off. Although I suppose I could make an exception for you. I mean, we have been known to share coffee cups…”

Hutch halted next to the coffee table, a serious look on his face. “No,” he said. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Starsky opted for a shrug of the shoulders. “Spell it out for me. My detective skills are a little off tonight.”

“Sex, Starsk. I’m talking about sex.”

Hutch didn’t move from the spot, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His eyes implored Starsky to say something, to acknowledge him.

“Go on,” Starsky answered. For once, he couldn’t finish Hutch’s sentence for him. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Hutch shook his head, not in anger or frustration, but with a look that Starsky recognized as fear. He sat back down next to Starsky and reached for his hand.

“Tell me,” Hutch said. “Are you still friends with anyone who you have previously had sex with?”

“No,” Starsky couldn’t lie. “But we’re not necessarily enemies either. I don’t think sex has to weaken a friendship, and it most certainly doesn’t have to destroy it. It’s simply a new level of love.”

Hutch shook his head. “Sex is the most intimate thing two people can experience together,” he argued, without anger, but with genuine concern.

“More intimate than eating off each other’s plates?” Starsky squeezed Hutch’s hand. “More intimate than crying on each other’s shoulders when life gets hard? More intimate than being willing to take a bullet for someone?”

“Yes.”

The answer was flat and sharp. Hutch wasn’t budging, and yet, he squeezed Starsky’s hand even harder.

“I disagree,” Starsky said. “I think those are things that you would only do for someone you love with all your heart. Sex is just .. the ultimate expression of that love.”

Hutch exhaled, taking a breath as he formed his next sentence.

“Sex can be…nothing more than the culmination of an orgasm, just a burst of energy to fulfill an immediate need,” Hutch stated. “Just a physical act.”

“Sure, but that’s not what it would be with us,” Starsky answered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there will be orgasms, plenty of them, but they wouldn’t ever, ever, ever fall into the just category. It’s about making love, Hutch, and love is something you and I have in abundance. If I’ve got that wrong, then I’ve been living in a fantasy land for over ten years with you, and I know that I’m not that bad of a detective. So, would you please cut to the chase and tell me exactly why you’re acting as nervous as a cat right now?”

Hutch ran a hand through his hair, an anxious look on his face. He placed his hands squarely on Starsky’s shoulders.

“You see,” Hutch began. “With us, sex would be so much more intimate than all that. It would result in…the ultimate entwinement.”

Starsky raised his eyes, confused by the turn of Hutch’s thoughts.

“I’m already entwined with you Hutch,” he said. “Corsican brothers, remember? No amount of sex will ever change that.  There’s no way to untwine us.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Hutch whispered. “Maybe there should be.”

“What?” Starsky was most certainly not expecting that response.

“To know for sure,” Hutch repeated. “Maybe there should be.”

Starsky stood up, it was all too much. The conversation had gone from his confession of love—a love that he knew in his heart Hutch returned—to a discussion about untwining, whatever that meant.

“What are you talking about?” Starsky asked, taking his turn to pace around the couch.

“Hear me out,” Hutch said. “Please. It’s not that I don’t love you, and if you aren’t sure of that then you are a bad detective.  What I’m saying is that maybe we need a break from each other, for a little while, to know for sure.”

“A break?”  Starsky’s voice was almost shrill. “Have you gone mad? That’s the last thing I need from you. I need the opposite, more of you, not less. Am I making myself clear?”

Three seconds of silence. Hutch’s cue to speak and his words were cutting.

“What if you’re wrong?”

Starsky felt his world spin around; being wrong hadn’t occurred to him. His feelings, this moment, knowing that if he lost Hutch, he would lose his whole life, those were things he was not wrong about. Weren’t they?

“There can be a lot of ‘what-ifs’ in life,” Starsky answered. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

Hutch rose from the couch and hurried to Starsky’s side, pulling him into a close embrace.

“Starsk,” he brushed his curls. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose what I have with you. What if the sex isn’t what you think it will be, huh? Or what if you get bored with it? I can’t ever see myself sharing you with anyone, once we take that leap.”

Starsky pulled back. “Is that what this has all been about? Don’t you trust me to know that everything I said was the truth? I love you, and I only want you. Can’t you get that through your thick, blond head?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. With everything I have, I trust you, Starsky. That’s not it. I just know life. Things change, it’s no one’s fault. You might not need me so much, someday, when the job is done and the bullets stop flying.”

“This is the most ridiculous conversation we’ve ever had. I need you for a whole lot more than the job, and you know it.” Starsky’s voice was firm, his face adamant.

“Two months,” Hutch said.

“What? Two what?”  Starsky asked. “You know, I’ve had more straight-line conversations with a head of cauliflower.”

“Apart. Two months. No contact. No phone calls, no letters.”

Starsky shook his head. “No, absolutely not. That’s the dumbest idea you ever had. I can’t go two months without you, and more importantly, I don’t want to. I can’t even go two weeks for god’s sake.”

Hutch’s eyes were soft, not angry.

“Me either,” Hutch replied. “That’s why we need to do this. To be sure that our…entwinement…isn’t just habit.”

“Habit? Once again, are you crazy?”

“No, I’m serious. What if we had never met, and all this time you had a different partner who was competent, smart, and protected your every move? You would have grown to love that person wouldn’t you?”

“Respect yes,” Starsky said. “Love, not necessarily. Love isn’t something you hand out just because someone is competent.   Hutch, I love you. Not your goddam police record.”

Hutch was unyielding. “Two months. To prove that we’re not so wrapped up in the idea of one another,” Hutch said, pursuing the point.

Starsky shook his head. “No deal. It’s too long. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that life is short, and not guaranteed. I have no desire to miss any of it on some experiment of yours.”

“It’s not an experiment. It’s to know if you still want to….be entwined. To be sure it’s not habit, obligation, or…confusion. Because once we do this—if we do this—there is only pass or fail, nothing in between.”

“How often do I have to say it? You are not a habit, or an obligation and I’m sure as hell not confused.”

“Are you sure about that? When was the last time you thought about having a family? Wasn’t it only a few months ago when you said you wished you could be a father someday?”

“I say a lot of things,” Starsky answered, contritely. “I do wish I could be a father, but that doesn’t have to be mutually exclusive to being with you, does it?”

“No, but have you truly thought this through? It would be an uphill climb and you know it.”

Starsky ran a hand through his curls and plopped onto the couch. He did want to be a father, someday, maybe. He knew it would be a rough road if he were with Hutch, but it didn’t matter, did it?

“That’s what we do best, Hutch. Climb uphill. Keep going until we reach the peak. It’s about us, together, and I hope, for the rest of our lives. Unless you’re saying you want something else, something that I can’t give you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Hutch answered. “But the rest of our lives is a long time. How do you know you won’t start to feel differently if for once I wasn’t around for a while? You haven’t been given that chance in over ten years.”

That was true, he and Hutch hadn’t been apart for more than a week or so in over ten years.

“Just because we haven’t been apart, doesn’t mean I don’t have perspective about us,” Starsky said. “I know how I feel. However, it seems you, partner, are having serious doubts about the trajectory of our futures.”

Hutch ran his hand around the back of his neck. “This is all happening so fast. Yes, I know how I feel, too, right now, and if I’m honest, for a long time,” Hutch said. “But that doesn’t mean I have the answers. Is it enough to risk destroying our friendship? Is it enough to build our futures on, and ignore all the consequences? Let me ask you a question. Why now?”

Starsky got up and resumed pacing. “Why now?” he repeated. “Hutch, how many times do we have to knock on death’s door before we wake up and admit how we feel, huh? I don’t want to risk losing you, never having had the chance to tell you how much..” Starsky stopped, gulping back a cry. “Damn it, Hutch, you know what I’m saying.”

“I get it,” Hutch said, “it’s so intense sometimes that I don’t think I can breathe. But have you thought this through? I, for one, don’t want to go down some impetuous path…”

“Impetuous? Is that how you think I’m acting?”

“You have been known to act on impulse, Starsk. Sometimes.”

“I act, Hutch. I act on my feelings, yes, but that doesn’t mean my feelings are wrong. Present situation included.”

“What about your feelings about settling down, and having a family? Or, thinking about your mother and how she would like to be a grandmother? How about how much you love being a cop, huh? And worst of all,  how this could affect our friendship if it doesn’t work out? Are you willing to act and jump into bed with me right now without having resolved how you feel about all that?”

Starsky landed on the couch, his heart beating wildly. He hadn’t considered ever getting it wrong. His devotion to Hutch was so intense that it overshadowed everything else.

“One,” Starsky nodded, his head in his hands. “One month.”

Hutch pursed his lips, considering the offer. “Six weeks,” he countered. “That’s how long I have left on my leave of absence. You’ll be working without me all that time anyway. I can visit my sister and her family for a while. She’s been after me to come for some time.”

“Fine,’ Starsky acquiesced. “Six weeks. It doesn’t mean I like this, but if it’s what it takes for you to be sure…”

“For both of us to be sure.”

“Right,” Starsky consented. “For both of us. What happens at the end of six weeks?”

Hutch reached out, taking Starsky’s hand, gripping it tightly with what seemed like all his strength.

“If we are sure we want to…take the next step,” Hutch said softly, “then we meet at a cabin that I go to every year in the mountains. Near Lake Arrowhead.”

Hutch pulled his hand away and reached for a piece of paper and a pen on the table. “Here are the directions. It’s a fishing cabin, and I know the owner. He is only there during the week and lets me use it on weekends whenever I want. The key is over the front door. We meet there exactly six weeks from today, which is a Friday.” He paused, handing the paper to Starsky. “If on the other hand, we decide it’s not going to work, we meet at Huggy’s.”

“What happens if one of us goes to the cabin and the other one goes to Huggy’s?” Starsky asked, stuffing the paper in his jacket.

“Then I suppose we both would have our answer,” Hutch answered. “And we do what we always do.”

“What’s that?” Starsky asked, blinking away the moisture in his eyes.

“Trust each other’s decision and most importantly, don’t let it break our friendship.”

“Will that even be possible?” Starsky murmured.

Just then, the timer for the lasagna rang and Starsky got up before Hutch could answer. He went to the oven, took out the hot pan, and turned off the stove as he placed the oven mitts on the counter.

“If we’re going to do this, it starts now,” Starsky said. “The sooner we start, the sooner we can get this behind us.”

“Starsk, stay and eat with me,” Hutch pleaded.

But Starsky was at the door. He turned. “Freeze the leftovers if you like,” he said, turning. “They should last at least six weeks.”

He stopped and turned around, softly, “And Hutch?”

“Yeah, buddy?” Hutch asked.

“Take your pain pills and get plenty of rest like the doctor said, okay?” He glanced at Hutch, looking at the impression of the bandage underneath his shirt. “If nothing else, promise me that.”

Hutch nodded. “I promise.”

Starsky shut the door behind him and rushed down the stairs. Tonight had not gone the way he intended.  Instead of taking the next step together, they were on a self-imposed break.

He flung open the car door, jumped inside, and fired up the engine. He slammed his palms on the steering wheel. He wanted to go back upstairs and revoke this stupid agreement on the spot. However, something nagged at him, a voice in the back of his head held him back, telling him Hutch might be right, maybe they needed time.

With a surge of adrenaline, he pressed the gas pedal, tires squealing as he sped out into the street. He knew he had to move fast; if he hesitated for even a moment, he might change his mind.

——-

Fear wrapped around love forms a strangled thread, vulnerable to breaking.

Hutch shifted in his seat, the hum of the airplane steady as he glanced out the window, a twinge shooting through his side. His healing was going well enough, and he was allowed to travel, but every so often he was given a sharp reminder of his bullet wound. The injury meant a strict ban on heavy lifting, and that included the three pounds of steel he usually had strapped to his chest, and that brought a six-week leave to go along with it.

Six weeks. Hutch tried to let the thought roll off him, like water off a duck’s back, but it stuck—heavy, thick, like the press of the seatbelt around his abdomen.

“Perfect time to visit my sister,” Hutch mused. “She can hover over me instead of Starsky for a while.”

Hutch closed his eyes, as his mind drifted to Starsky. He had, of course, been hovering, making sure he had enough food in the fridge, filling his prescriptions for him, and if Starsky had his way, he would have moved into Hutch’s apartment for the indefinite future. It was what they did for each other, and if Hutch was honest, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It smells delicious in here, Starsk,” Hutch said. “But last time I checked, this is my apartment and if anything, I should be cooking for you.”

Starsky insisted he wanted to cook for him, his voice threaded with concern making Hutch feel like they alone existed in the world. Starsky’s hands, steady and gentle, hovered over his wound, checking the injury with deliberate care. “How are you feeling?” Starsky asked, searching for any sign of pain. Hutch remained still, letting Starsky take control. His hands grounded him, steadying his dizzying mind. At that moment, Hutch would do whatever Starsky asked.

Hutch knew he loved Starsky since meeting him at the Academy. After they graduated, when they were both rookies, they were pulled in different directions with conflicting schedules and relentless overtime, keeping them apart for two months, which felt like an eternity to Hutch. He had missed Starsky more than he had ever missed anyone, including Vanessa, who had walked out on him when he decided to become a cop.

Comparing Vanessa to Starsky was like contrasting a raging storm with a gentle breeze; one brought chaos while the other brought calm. That was enough for Hutch to know it was love.  At the time, it wasn’t a sexual feeling, at least not overtly.  Hutch liked women, and so did Starsky, but Hutch knew, whatever name he wanted to give it, friendship, partners, brothers, it was more than any conventional relationship he had ever had.

“Hey, let’s sit down for a minute, ok?” Starsky asked.

Starsky pulled his hand as he sat them both down on the sofa. Hutch didn’t know if it was the painkillers, but he felt like he was floating, his heart wanting to hold on for dear life.

He was unprepared for what came next.

“Hutch, I love you.” 

Starsky confessed his love and it rang in Hutch’s ears like a song, searing into his brain, each syllable sending ripples through his body, the world around him blurring as Starsky’s words settled in. The ground beneath Hutch was slipping away, and all he could focus on was the spark in Starsky’s eyes—an uncharted territory he had never before dared to explore.

The kiss followed, so pure, and tender, so unexpected, yet, not surprising. Hutch warmed at the thought. He had been eager to savor more of Starsky’s lips until the pain in his side brought him crashing back to the present, the ground cracking beneath his feet, screeching him to a halt.

What had he been thinking, letting it get that far?

The airplane jolted and Hutch opened his eyes. He ran his hand down his face, trying to piece together his thoughts.

He remembered pacing, snapping his fingers, and trying to focus. It was a strategy that usually worked for him, changing his energy and cutting through the confusion; but this time, nothing could help pull together the scattered pieces of his thoughts that had been tossed in the air like a jigsaw puzzle.

It was all happening so fast, and the alarm bells were clanging in Hutch’s brain like the Notre Dame Cathedral on a Sunday morning.

“It’s dangerous,” Hutch thought to himself. “Sex could destroy a friendship.”

It was a fact that everyone instinctively knew, an unwritten rule that rational people followed. Wasn’t it? Big decisions should not be made with emotion. Something this big, this life-changing, needed to be made with a clear head. With proper time. Right?

“Two months,” Hutch blurted out.  

Time was what they needed. To get rid of the noise in his head, of the warnings that screamed danger, proceed with caution.

They needed more than just a few hours or days, more than a weekend. Two months was the longest substantial amount of time he and Starsky spent apart, all the way back to those rookie years. It was the amount of time it took for Hutch to know what Starsky meant to him. Now, he needed Starsky to take the same amount of time. To be sure.

“Apart. Two months. No contact. No phone calls, no letters.”

Starsky was not buying it.

Hutch tried again.

“Two months. To prove that we’re not so wrapped up in the idea of one another.”

Starsky fought it even harder. Life was too short to wait another day, let alone two months. Hutch felt himself waver, Starsky was not wrong.

“I’m already entwined with you Hutch,” he said. “Corsican brothers, remember? No amount of sex will ever change that. There’s no way to untwine us.”

Hutch closed his eyes. The prospect of being with Starsky, of having sex with him, sent a tremor through his whole body. It wasn’t only the idea of the intimacy, or how he imagined Starsky would look in his bed, heated with anticipation. For Hutch, it was much more than that exquisite fantasy—it was everything that came with it. The way Starsky chose to savor life, and everything in it, moving to each beat, immersing himself in every sensation.Hutch knew him so deeply: how he took pleasure in the simplest things, whether it was coffee in the morning, a cold beer after work, or an ice cream float on a hot day, Starsky drank life with such unfiltered enjoyment, a crooked smile spreading across his face whenever joy crossed his path. Hutch imagined that smile against the moonlit window, shadows dancing across Starsky’s naked body as he writhed beneath him. He knew that Starsky would bring all that insatiable enjoyment to the bedroom and shower him with so much more, giving and receiving pleasure like a cat lapping milk from a saucer.

A jolt of turbulence startled Hutch and he opened his eyes. He was sure everyone on the plane could see the look on his face, a look of longing and desire. He glanced at the passenger in the seat next to him, but the man was engrossed in a book, ignoring his inner turmoil.

Hutch shut his eyes again, returning to his private thoughts, pushing away the fantasy, knowing it all meant nothing if after six weeks Starsky didn’t come back.

If Starsky decided he wasn’t sure.

It was when the topic of having kids came up that Hutch noticed a flicker of hesitation in Starsky’s eyes. Most people wouldn’t have caught it, but Hutch could see every nuance in Starsky’s expression—no words, no glances, no subtle cues of Starsky’s that escaped his notice.

The uncertainty was there, yet Starsky still tried to deny it—until he didn’t.

“One,” Starsky nodded his head in his hands. “One month.”

It was a hollow victory. A win with no winner.

“Six weeks,” Hutch countered.

It wasn’t that hard to get Starsky to agree. Maybe he was exhausted; maybe he stopped caring at all – Hutch hoped like hell that wasn’t it.

The timer for the lasagna rang, cutting the conversation short like a bell at the end of a debate.

Starsky rushed to leave like he thought he might change his mind. He closed the door with a resounding thud, leaving Hutch standing there, shivering from the lingering draft.

Hutch felt the shift in pressure as the airplane began its descent. He gazed out the window, the man beside him still completely indifferent, and Hutch wondered how the world could possibly continue turning if he lost Starsky.

He watched the clouds drift by, feeling untethered, with no solid ground to steady his thoughts or ease the ache in his chest.

It was a pain of his own making, but it hurt like hell just the same.

 

CHAPTER THREE

The path to a decision is rarely a straight line.

Starsky let out a heavy sigh as he opened the newspaper. Six weeks would feel like an eternity. It was enough time to drive from New York to Bay City six times or to go through spring training before baseball season. He thought of the old saying about the groundhog: If it saw its shadow, six more weeks of winter would follow. Starsky figured that story was popular in Duluth.

Pushing the newspaper aside, he began clearing away his dinner dishes. He grabbed his keys and hurried out into the evening air, sliding behind the wheel. The destination didn’t matter; it felt as if the weight of the world pressed down on him.

He pointed the car to the open highway and rolled down the window, letting the evening air wash over his muddled thoughts.

Questions swirled in his mind about Hutch. His desire to be with him felt so natural, yet nothing about their relationship was ordinary. Their partnership, their style, even the way they took down thugs—all of it was one of a kind. And their bond? The little touches, the way they shared everything,  the depth of their connection, all of it set them apart from anyone else.

He slammed his foot into the accelerator, the engine roaring in protest, the breeze through the window misting his eyes.

What if Hutch was right? A change could complicate everything. If either of them had second thoughts, it wouldn’t be a clean breakup; it would be a disaster.

It was like the classic dilemma: if they were ever in a lifeboat with other people, faced with the harrowing choice of having to sacrifice one person for the survival of the rest, the answer would be simple. Neither would sacrifice the other; they would each choose to jump into the ocean themselves before letting the other suffer. The problem, of course, was who would jump first.

Starsky swiped the hair from his sweating brow. Maybe they were too damned entwined.

He sighed, glancing at the empty seat beside him, the space where Hutch should have been.

A six-week break. Not exactly a conventional way to figure things out, but just like their partnership, it didn’t have to be. The thought stirred a mix of frustration and fear.

Six weeks: whether it felt like a blink of an eye or a lifetime, it was capable of changing everything.

——–

Starsky plodded into the squadroom and sank heavily into his chair, the clamor of ringing phones and typewriters faded into the background. It had only been a week, but the precinct felt painfully empty without Hutch.

He mindlessly flipped through memos on his desk, nudging the pink and red piggy bank aside, craving more space for his scattered thoughts. He stopped pretending to read and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

“Starsky!” The bellow of Captain Dobey’s voice shattered his spiraling thoughts.

Starsky straightened in his chair. “Yes, Captain?”

Dobey sat down in Hutch’s empty seat. “I need to talk to you about Daryl Filion.”

“Who?” Starsky asked, piecing it together. “You mean the brother of the kid from the liquor store incident? The kid who shot Hutch?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” Dobey replied. “Though I imagine Daryl FIlion might see it differently—he’d probably call it the incident where a cop shot his brother.”

“Captain, I had no choice,” Starsky insisted. “I was cleared by I.A. James Filion shot Hutch and was about to shoot me next, along with the woman and the cashier. There was no question in my mind.”

“I know that, and so does I.A.,” Dobey said. “But Filion’s perspective might be different, and that matters.”

“Why? Daryl Filion is in prison serving ten years…”

“Daryl Filion was granted a twenty-four-hour leave to attend his brother’s funeral in San Francisco two weeks ago. I just found out he slipped away from his guards at the funeral and hasn’t been seen since. There’s been an APB out on him in the San Francisco area, and they’re extending it statewide.”

“He’s been on the loose for two weeks, and we’re just hearing about it now?”

“Believe me, I’m not happy about the lack of communication either. The warden kept it a local matter and out of the news, and the district attorney is up for reelection. It’s a mess, but we do our best.”

“Terrific,” Starsky muttered. “For all we know, he’s in Mexico by now.”

“Possibly,” Dobey said. “Just keep your ear to the ground. When does Hutch get back? You should let him know too.”

Starsky looked up, his heart sinking. “He’s not due back for another five weeks.”

Thirty-five days and seven hours, to be exact.

“I’ll let him know when he returns,” Starsky said. “No point in disturbing him while he’s all the way up in Canada at his sister’s, right?”

“Alright. Tell Hutch I want a full report on his medical status when he gets back. Six weeks with you sulking around here, looking like you got a lump of coal for Christmas or lost your best friend…”

“We’re just giving each other space, Captain.”

Dobey scoffed. “Space? That’s a new one with you two.” He shook his head and walked toward his office, his voice trailing off.

Starsky dropped his head into his hands, a dull throb starting behind his eyes. He rubbed his temples, trying to push the ache away, but it wouldn’t leave—just like the questions that had been crowding his mind for days.

Taking a deep breath, he sat up straight, unable to break the endless loop in his mind.

———

The problem is rarely a lack of love, but often its abundance.

Hutch smiled warmly and wrapped an arm around his sister’s shoulder. “Kristine Marie Hutchinson Nelson,” he teased. “I thought I asked you not to fuss over me while I’m here. So far, all you’ve done is cook the most delicious meals and refuse to let me lift a finger.” He took a deep breath, savoring the aroma. “Not that I’m complaining, though. It smells amazing, Kris.”

Kris leaned into him, her long golden hair cascading down her back and her blue eyes sparkling with pride. “I told you, big brother, both my kids are away at college and I enjoy fussing over someone. I’m going to spoil you while you’re here. It’s not every day you visit, and I want you to remember just how good you have it—so you’ll come back more often!”

“It’s cold up here in Canada, Kris,” he chuckled, kissing her cheek. “Remind me again why you moved here?”

“Don had a job offer he couldn’t refuse. Besides, it’s Vancouver, Ken, not the North Pole. It’s milder here than most of the country, even more so compared to Duluth, so that excuse doesn’t work. Plus, it’s summertime and eighty degrees outside! What’s the problem?” she laughed.

Hutch leaned against the counter, smiling. “I guess I’m just channeling my partner. He’s the one who doesn’t like the cold.”

Kris paused, turning serious as she stopped stirring. “How is David?” she asked gently. “I know sending flowers to him in the hospital wasn’t nearly enough, but we were all thinking of him. He’s doing better after all these months, right?”

Hutch sighed. “Yes, thanks. He’s back at work, and he’s—well, he’s Starsky. He never quits.”

Kris put the lid on the pot and turned down the burner, facing him with concern. “You care about him a lot, don’t you?”

“Maybe too much sometimes, Kris,” Hutch admitted. “Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“I suppose not caring about someone is a whole lot easier than caring too much,” she said smiling. “Less hassle that way.”

Hutch opened his mouth and closed it again. It would be easier if he didn’t love Starsky, but easier isn’t always possible, and it certainly doesn’t mean happier.

“How did you get to be so smart?” Hutch asked.

“I watched my big brother,” she answered. “Unless of course, it came to dancing, then I was on my own.”

Hutch laughed. It felt good to have someone in his corner.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Kris’s husband, Don, answered it.

“Who’s here?” Hutch asked.

“Oh, did I forget to mention? I invited Tanya Fielding and Harry Marisipio for dinner.”

“I haven’t seen either of them for ages,” Hutch replied. “I’m glad to know Tanya finally settled down, but I never thought it would be with Harry Marisipio.”

“Oh, she hasn’t settled down,” Kris said with a smirk. “And Harry is a self-proclaimed confirmed bachelor. They’re not together; I just thought the more, the merrier.”

“Ken!” a woman called as she entered the kitchen. “Hello!”

Hutch turned to see Tanya Fielding, a woman he had briefly dated during a past visit. She looked incredibly attractive with long dark hair, big brown eyes, and a curvy figure that hadn’t changed a bit.

He shot a look at his sister, silently saying, “Really?” Kris shrugged and pushed away from the stove. “Tanya, Harry, come on in and have a seat in the living room. Ken, you too! Don, please get our guests some drinks. Everyone, get comfortable—dinner will be ready soon.”

 

CHAPTER FOUR

The depth of confusion is a comfortable place to dwell.

Starsky motioned for Huggy to bring him another beer.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Huggy said, casually draping a dishtowel over his shoulder. “You’ve been here three times this week drowning your sorrows. You miss Hutch so much, why don’t you surprise him at his sister’s place?”

“She lives all the way up in Canada. It’s cold up there,” Starsky said, feigning a shiver in an attempt to change the subject.

“That’s right, I forgot Hutch’s sister moved to Vancouver a couple of years ago,” Huggy said.

“Her husband is a sports journalist, something to do with the Canadian Football League somehow.”

“Vancouver is only a three-hour flight, and it’s not cold this time of year. Dobey would give you a few days off, wouldn’t he?”

“Not happening, Hug,” Starsky said, holding back a hiccup. “Hutch doesn’t want me to join him. Says we need a break.”

“Is that right? You two have been fighting over some woman again? Won’t you two ever learn?”

Starsky sighed. “Don’t worry, we’re not fighting over a woman. Besides, if I wanted a date with a woman, I could find one. I don’t need to fight with Hutch over a woman to get a date.”

He eyed a long-legged blonde at the other end of the bar.

“Excuse me, Hug, I’ve got to go talk to that beautiful woman over there.”

“Starsky,” Huggy tried to stop him. “You’re three beers past talking sense, let alone hitting on a beautiful woman.”

Starsky tapped his fingers on the bar, tracing the rim of his glass, nodding to the woman with a raise of the eyebrows. She glanced at him with a seductive gaze. Starsky smiled back, approaching her, the faint hum of Huggy’s voice fading into the background.

“Hey there,” he said, his voice a blend of charm and liquid courage. “Can I ask you something?”

She cast an alluring look and smiled demurely. “Sure, ask away.”

Starsky sat on the stool next to her and leaned in, as though he had a secret. “Do you think wanting kids is a deal breaker in a relationship?”

“What?” she asked, her face turning from enticement to confusion. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Sorry,” Starsky said, slurring. “That’s a personal question I guess. So, how about this one—do you think it’s possible to stay friends with someone after you have sex?”

He searched her eyes, hoping to find a kindred spirit who understood the complicated threads of affection and friendship.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, standing up. The next thing Starsky knew, a splash of the remnants of a gin and tonic covered his face.

“Hey, what did you do that for?” he asked, but the woman had already picked up her handbag and stormed out.

“Smooth, Starsky,” Huggy said with a grin, offering him a hand towel. “Real smooth.  Maybe next time you ask if you can buy her a drink first.”

Starsky shot the bartender a suffering look. “It was a legitimate question. It’s not my fault that she took it the wrong way.”

Huggy shook his head with a grin, handing Starsky a steaming cup of coffee. “Here’s a question for you,” he said, nudging the mug toward the drenched detective. “How about you leave the deep philosophical stuff to your beach-loving, blonde partner? It’s probably safer that way.”

Starsky took a slow sip, the warmth of the coffee doing little to ease the tension in his head. He could already feel the headache starting to settle in, a dull ache just beneath the surface. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered. “I’ll do that. Check-in with me in another four weeks to see what he says.”

Huggy didn’t respond, just gave him a knowing look, as if he doubted how long Starsky’s patience would last before he’d crack.

————

The past is not what it used to be.

Hutch carried a stack of dishes into the kitchen, he leaned closer to Kris and whispered, “Kris, Tanya hasn’t left me alone all night. For some reason, she seems to think I’m available.”

“Well, aren’t you?” Kris replied innocently. “I’m sorry I blindsided you. I ran into Tanya at the market and I mentioned you were in town, so I had to invite her. She hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you were here last time. I figured if I invited Harry too, it wouldn’t seem so obvious. Tanya’s beautiful and smart; she’s a real catch.”

“Kristine, I don’t need a matchmaker. I can find a woman on my own if I want to.”

“Ken, I just want you to be happy.”

“I told you, I’m here to get away from Bay City for a little while. To relax, and to think. I’m not here to get involved with anyone.”

“So, is there someone at home?” Kris asked anxiously. “I knew it. Tell me about her.”

The sound of chatter spilled over as the guests headed to the living room. “No, there isn’t a woman at home,” Hutch answered.

“Okay, I’ll drop it, big brother. Here,” she said, handing Hutch a tray of cookies. “Take these into the living room will you?”

Hutch walked into the living room and set the platter on the coffee table. He took a deep breath, glancing over at Tanya, who was animatedly sharing a story with Don. He felt a mix of uncertainty and unease. They had shared some fun moments before, but things had changed. He wasn’t the same guy anymore, and leading Tanya into thinking otherwise was a mistake.

“Hey, Tanya, can we talk for a minute?” Hutch asked, motioning to the corridor.

“Of course, Ken!” She got up and joined Hutch in a private area down the hall, her smile brightening. “I’ve missed you. It’s been too long!”

Hutch smiled politely but felt a flutter of nerves. “Yeah, it has. Listen, I appreciate you coming tonight. It’s nice to catch up, but I need to be upfront with you.” He took a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not looking to date anyone right now.”

Tanya raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I thought maybe we could… rekindle something.”

She inched forward, running a finger through her hair, her full red lips opening as her tongue peeked out. She tilted her head provocatively,.“Ken,” she said, “this doesn’t have to be complicated. I’m an independent woman, and I’m not here to force anyone into a commitment, but I do think we could have a good time together, while you’re here, just like last time,” she added, “If you like.”

Hutch stepped toward Tanya, her eyes glistening with an invitation that felt almost impossible to resist. She was smart, beautiful, and fiercely independent, radiating confidence and knowing exactly what she wanted. It was everything most men would jump at without a second thought. Yet, for Hutch, it stirred up nothing at all.  A woman like Tanya was like a prize he once chased, but now it felt painfully foreign.

Whether he and Starsky decided to meet at the cabin or not, Hutch knew Tanya was not going to help him figure it out.

He shook his head gently. “I need to be honest. My life is pretty complicated right now, and I’m sorry, but there is someone else at home that I care deeply about. I’m trying to work through that relationship and…”

“So, you’re taken?” Tanya asked, disappointment in her eyes. “Because Kris told me you were single. I’m sorry if I got it wrong.”

“That’s okay, Tanya. The truth is Kris doesn’t know about this because, it’s not like any other relationship I’ve ever had, and I haven’t been ready to share it with people because I don’t even know myself where it’s going.”

Hutch shuddered at his own words—sounding as if Starsky was just someone he was keeping at arm’s length, weighing his level of commitment like an insecure teenager. But it was nothing like that. Hutch only cared about figuring out how to hold onto the one thing that truly mattered—not losing him.

Her expression shifted to one of understanding, though there was a hint of disappointment. “I get it. You’ve got a lot on your plate. I just thought… Well, we had a good time before.”

“We did,” he said, a touch of sympathy in his voice. “But things are different now.”

Tanya nodded, her posture relaxing. “I appreciate you telling me. I didn’t mean to assume anything. It’s just nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, it is,” he replied, relieved to have been honest. “I hope we can still be friends.”

“Sure,” she said, a smile returning. “But don’t forget, I’ll always be here if you change your mind.”

Tanya excused herself and said goodbye.

Hutch exhaled, a sense of lightness washing over him. No matter what Starsky chose, Hutch knew he couldn’t go back in time, to the life of denial he lived before.

He grabbed his drink and slipped into the den, distancing himself from Tanya, his sister, and the noise of her guests. Settling into the big leather office chair, he took a long pull from his beer, savoring the quiet that surrounded him. He needed this—just a few minutes of solitude to escape the weight of everything else.

 

CHAPTER FIVE

Who needs the whole world – a sweet slice is more than enough.

Starsky lay sprawled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.  Huggy confiscated his car keys the night before, and he awoke in the cramped apartment above Huggy’s bar, a cold washcloth pressed to his forehead.

“Smooth Starsky,” he sighed,  admonishing himself. “Trying to find answers in the bottom of a bottle.”

Starsky let out a low grunt. Deep down, he knew that drowning his sorrows wouldn’t provide any answers. After two chaotic weeks of this self-destructive cycle, he knew he was done.

His mind wandered to Hutch, wondering what he had been doing all this time. “Are you figuring this all out without me?  Or are you in the arms of some woman up in Canada just because you can?”

Starsky closed his eyes and imagined Hutch’s body in bed, attentive and caring with a woman, bringing her pleasure as Starsky was confident he could. The woman rapidly vanished from Starsky’s mind, and he took her place, lying next to Hutch, inhaling his scent as he attempted to breathe through his burning desire. He stretched out to touch Hutch’s golden skin and felt his heartbeat, which matched his own. Starsky placed his lips on Hutch’s neck, and he imagined Hutch quivering as if an electric charge ran through his body.  Starsky moved his hands down Hutch’s body, feeling every inch of trembling skin, until his hand wrapped around Hutch’s bulging erection and his need intensified…

A knock at the door startled Starsky from his thoughts. The scent of fresh coffee wafted into the room as Huggy entered. Starsky tried to shake his thoughts but was sure his face was betraying him.

“Starsky, my man,” Huggy began, placing the coffee pot on the table and pouring a mug. “I love you, but how many nights will you spend here in a haze of too many beers and women splashing drinks in your face?”

“I know, Hug,” Starsky said, running a hand down his face, relieved that Huggy was unaware of his fantasy. Starsky walked over to the table and sat down. “Last night was the last time, I promise.”

“Good to hear,” Huggy replied, taking a seat. “But can you tell me what’s going on? Maybe the Bear can help.”

Starsky snorted, taking a sip of the steaming coffee. “You got advice for dealing with an existential crisis? Or, more specifically, how to choose the right fork in the road?”

“That depends,” Huggy said, leaning forward. “Does this fork have anything to do with a certain blond detective?”

Starsky sighed. “Everything has to do with Hutch,” he admitted.

“Thanks to that no-contact break you two imposed on yourselves, right?” Huggy asked.

“Exactly. You could say that sums up the whole problem.”

“Starsky, I’m the only one allowed to speak in riddles here. You need to be clearer if you want my help.”

He looked at Huggy, relenting. “Okay, but this stays between us, promise?” He glanced around the empty room as if to ward off any prying ears.

“I got you,” Huggy replied, lowering his voice. “But you don’t need to dance around the subject.  I got eyes.”

“Really?” Starsky raised an eyebrow. “So now you’re a detective?”

“Nah,” Huggy shot back, a grin breaking across his face. “Doesn’t take detective skills to see what’s in plain sight.”

Starsky nodded, and stilled. “I love him, Hug,” he murmured, the words heavy with truth.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Huggy replied, his expression unwavering.

“He loves me, too.”

“Of course,” Huggy said, leaning back. “So far, I haven’t learned anything new.”

“I want to spend my life with him,” Starsky confessed, staring down at the coffee swirling in his cup. “How’s that for shocking news?”

“Getting warmer,” Huggy said. “How does Hutch feel?”

“He said we needed a break from each other. What does that mean?” Starsky’s voice trembled with frustration.

“What exactly is this break about?” Huggy pressed.

“Six weeks—no calls, no letters, no contact. He said we’re too… what’s the word… entwined.”

“Too what?” Huggy asked, brow furrowed.

“It means we’re too wrapped up in each other. At least, that’s what he says.”

Huggy shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowing with confusion. “What happens after six weeks?”

“We meet up north at a cabin if we decide to take the next step. If not, we meet back here, at your bar.”

“And if you go in different directions?”

Starsky blew on his hot coffee and took a sip.

“He says we respect each other’s choices and move on. It would be a stalemate to end all stalemates.”

“What do you say?” Huggy asked, nodding.

“I love him, with all my heart, that’s what I say; but is that enough?” Starsky looked up, eyes pleading for understanding.

“You saying too much love is a problem?” Huggy asked. “Because in my experience it’s the lack of it that is usually the deal breaker.”

Starsky shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s not a question of how much love there is. It’s about whether that love is enough to shield him from all the complications that come with loving me back. His family, my family, our jobs, any future chance of becoming fathers, how the world sees us… how our friends will react…”

“Hold up there, Starsky,” Huggy said, his expression turning serious. “Speaking as one of those friends, I have a question. If you decide to pursue a relationship with Hutch, will that change how you treat me or our friendship?”

“Of course not.”

“Will you expect me to act differently toward you?”

“No,” Starsky assured him. “Never.”

“Then why are you worried about that?” Huggy replied, a smile creeping back. “Live and let live, that’s what I say.”

“Thanks. That means a lot,” Starsky said. “If only the rest of the world felt the same way.”

“The acceptance of the rest of the world is a pretty tall order, no matter who you are,” Huggy said thoughtfully. “But if you’ve found even one person who loves you no matter what, and a few others who’ve got your back, you know what you have?”

“What?” Starsky asked, perplexed.

“A hell of a lot more than most people,” Huggy answered with a quiet, knowing smile. “I would grab a sweet slice of that any day.”

Starsky let the weight of his words settle into him, the truth of it hitting deeper than he’d expected.  He rose slowly, pulling on his jacket, feeling the tension in his chest ease, if only a little.

Huggy’s voice stopped him just before he reached the door. “So, what do you think, Starsky?”

Starsky paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “What do you think I think?” he replied, his lips curling into a small, wry smile.

He stepped into the hallway, but before the door closed, Starsky turned back. “Thanks, Hug,” he said, his voice softer now, more sincere. Huggy nodded in return, his expression one of quiet understanding.

Starsky shut the door behind him. What did he think? That didn’t matter half as much as what he did about it.  And even more importantly, what Hutch was going to do as well.

—-

Everything is possible, except for guarantees.

Hutch sat in the leather chair of Don’s office, his gaze drifting to the framed pictures of his sister’s family on the desk. There they were—Kris, Don, and their two kids, Austin and Anna—dressed in their Sunday best, all smiles and warmth. A typical family: close-knit yet free-spirited. As he took in the scene, a sense of pride swelled within him for the happy life his sister had built, but it was quickly overshadowed by a deep twinge of remorse. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever have the same level of happiness.

“Ken?” Hutch heard a man’s voice from behind the door.

Hutch turned to see Harry Marisipio, Don’s friend. “Good to see you, Harry,” Hutch answered,  getting up and extending his hand. “We didn’t get much of a chance to talk at dinner. You still work for the Vancouver Lions?”

Harry shrugged a hint of amusement in his eyes. He entered the office with a drink in his hand. “The team is called the B.C. Lions, not the Vancouver Lions, but don’t worry—a lot of people get it wrong. I used to play football, and have been their manager for several years. I met Don when he still lived in Duluth and was visiting Vancouver to do a story. It’s been nice since Don and Kris moved out here.”

Harry was tall and muscular, clearly built like a football player. He had deep brown eyes and thick dark hair and wore a blue sportscoat with a sharp pair of jeans. He would describe Harry as a very handsome man.

Hutch sat on the sofa and Harry took a seat in the leather office chair.

“I heard you tried to call me a couple of years ago,” Harry said, swirling the ice in his glass before taking a sip. “The answering service said, and I quote, ‘Someone named Hutch called looking for Harry, a friend of his brother-in-law. He said he wanted to join the Canadian Football League.’ Was that really you?”

Hutch felt his face flush. “Oh, that—I’m so sorry. I had a few too many drinks that night, trying to distract my partner during a tough time. I thought it’d be a brilliant plan for us to quit the force and play football.”

Harry took a sip of his drink. “I figured it was a stunt, but honestly, knowing you were reaching out made me feel… hopeful that you’d call again.”

Hutch’s cheeks burned. “Oh, I…” Hutch’s eyes widened with realization, “Oh…it didn’t dawn on me when Kris mentioned you were a confirmed bachelor that meant…”

Harry raised a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t advertise it. Just a few close friends and family know. Can you imagine? An ex-football player who’s gay? I’d be run out of town.”

Hutch wrinkled his brow. “That’s not fair, Harry.”

“No, it’s not, and I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I just thought, if there was even a slight chance you were interested—though Kris and Don have never suggested that—I figured a guy can only ask. But it seems you’ve had two dinner guests making passes at you tonight. You’re not exactly desperate for dates, are you?”

Hutch felt his face turn red. “Tanya is someone I dated once, but it’s over.” He added, “I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship right now. You see, I’m sort of caught up in one already.”

Hutch looked at Harry to see how he would react. It would be good to get an objective opinion from someone who understands. “Harry, I hope this doesn’t sound forward, but can we talk? You’ve been open with me, and I could use an objective ear right now.”

“Of course,” Harry said. “So, is this relationship you’re caught up in with another man? This isn’t just about a woman, like your sister thinks, is it?”

“Am I that transparent?” Hutch asked, worried.

“Not at all, but a guy doesn’t usually turn to a gay man for romance advice unless it’s something straight people can’t help with.”

Hutch stood up and closed the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself as he sat back down. “You’re right. There is someone. I’m in love—with a man. I came here to clear my head and make sure I didn’t ruin both our lives. He means too much to me for that.”

“It’s your partner, isn’t it?” Harry asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

“What? I never said that! I’d prefer not to—”

“Ken, listen. You talked about your partner throughout dinner, did you know that? David Starsky, your partner who’s recovering after being brutally shot, loves his red and white Torino, chocolate ice cream, pet rocks, and beef burritos… It all makes sense now. And you don’t need to be ashamed or worried; I won’t say anything to Kris or Don. I know how to keep a secret.”

Hutch took a long sip from his glass, setting it down with a sigh. “Okay, I appreciate that.”

“So, tell me more about Starsky. Why do you love him?” Harry asked, leaning back in a leather chair.

“You don’t waste any time with easy questions, do you?” Hutch grinned, taking another drink to buy himself a moment. “Let’s see…why do I love him? Do you ever feel like you can’t breathe when someone isn’t around? Or feel butterflies when you see him in the distance, and you realize you missed him for no reason at all? Have you ever been in a crowded room, and you just know where the other person is, and when you catch each other’s eyes, it’s not awkward at all—just a quick connection that says everything without words?”

Harry nodded, intrigued.

“I love him because I can’t think of anyone else I’ve ever known or ever will know who makes my heart soar like he does,” Hutch paused, smiling. “So, what do you think? Is this normal, how I feel?”

“Normal?” Harry said, unsure. “Do you mean is it normal for a man to feel that way about another man?”

“No, I don’t mean that exactly,” Hutch said, stammering. “I mean when a man feels that way about another man, is that how love should feel?”

“Oh, you think two gay men feel love differently? Let me tell you, there is nothing different about how your heart skips a beat at the thought of the person you love entering the room. Or how you dream about their touch, or their skin, or their lips on yours. It is love, pure and simple, and it is cut from the same delicate fabric as love felt by everyone else.”

Hutch looked meekly at Harry. “I’m sounding awfully uneducated, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to,” he said, pausing. “I just have no idea if what I want is truly what is best. To have someone in your life who is your partner at work, your best friend in the world, like a brother to you, and also your lover and soulmate? How can I ever unwind all the things that are rolled together into one person?”

“Why on earth would you want to?” Harry asked. “Most people spend their lives searching for someone like that.”

Hutch shrugged and swiped a hand through his hair. “I mean,” he paused, gathering his thoughts, “if one aspect of that relationship ends, everything else could fall apart too.”

“Maybe,” Harry said. “Or, if one aspect gets stronger, so could the other parts of your relationship. It can work both ways, can’t it?”

“I..uh,” Hutch muttered, then smiled. “I suppose I never thought of it that way.”

“Let me ask you something, Ken,” Harry said, tilting his head. “Does Starsky feel the same way about you?”

Hutch tried to suppress a giddy grin. “He says he does.”

“Then I’m a little lost,” Harry answered. “You both love each other, why are you here instead of with him, trying to figure this out together?”

“Because I was frightened. I’m the one who suggested we take a six-week break to figure things out. If we both decide to take our relationship to the next level, we’ll meet at a cabin a few hours outside of Bay City. If not, we’ll go to a local bar owned by a friend of ours, Huggy Bear.”

Hutch shifted in his seat. “This isn’t a question I can afford to get wrong,” Hutch admitted.

“There are no guarantees in life,” Harry reminded him gently.

“I know that. I’m not looking for guarantees. I only want to ensure we both have space to examine the truth. When I’m with him, it’s so intense, so filled with love and energy—I can’t think straight.”

“Don’t you trust him?” Harry pressed.

“Yes, of course, but I’m worried he hasn’t fully considered what this means. He’d be giving up a conventional life—a white picket fence, a wife, two kids. He’d be a great father.”

“So would you, Ken. So would I. But that doesn’t mean that’s the only path that matters. Besides, there are ways for gay couples to have kids. It’s not easy, but it is possible. I know couples who’ve made it work.”

“You do? How?” Hutch asked, intrigued.

“One couple used artificial insemination with a woman they trusted to carry the child. Another was adopted from overseas. Others have gone through the foster care system. In some progressive areas, regular adoption is becoming more acceptable. The important thing is—if you both want kids, it’s not impossible.”

Harry leaned forward, catching Hutch’s eyes in a deep stare. “But what do you want, is the question,” Harry said. “To be together, happy, and accepting whatever happens, or to be apart, living a life, maybe with someone else that doesn’t make you even close to as happy?”

Hutch nodded slowly. “I get it. I do, but I don’t want to be the source of regret for Starsky. Or worse, a choice he settles for. Why shouldn’t he have everything he deserves?”

“Did Starsky ever indicate that his life would be better without you?”

Hutch hesitated, weighing the question carefully. This was at the center of everything he had asked Starsky before suggesting their six-week separation. “Harry, that’s why I’m here. To give Starsky a chance to answer that question without me around—without the noise of our situation. To untangle his thoughts.”

“What made you think his thoughts were tangled? Did he tell you that?”

Hutch scratched his nose, deep in thought. “No, not in so many words. He insisted he was clear on what he wanted, but I thought he had doubts.” He shook his head in frustration. “Am I an idiot?”

“No, not at all, but it’s possible you projected your fears onto him,” Harry suggested.

Hutch stood up and began to pace. “It’s all so risky. It’s safer to stay friends because I know for sure our friendship will never end, at least not in the form it is today. We’ve already tested each other so much and proven our bond is not breakable. But taking it beyond friendship? I don’t want to jeopardize that. How can I be sure that won’t happen?”

“You can’t, not for certain. All you can do is listen to your gut and figure out what you can live with. You both need to go into this freely, with all your cards on the table about what you want—commitment, kids, even your jobs—talk to each other openly so there are no surprises.”

“I think we try too hard to spare each other’s feelings,” Hutch admitted. “That’s when things get blurry. I wanted to make sure he was clear on his own terms. My God, did I push him away?”

“Based on what you’ve told me, it sounds like there’s a lot of love between you two. Maybe there’s just a bit too much worrying about the other person. Don’t fear change if it happens—it’s a normal part of life. Isn’t that what brought you both this far?”

“I never thought about it that way. You’re right. Change is what got us here. If neither of us had changed since the day we met, I wouldn’t even be contemplating spending my life with him. I’d probably still be married to Vanessa.”

“I heard all about Vanessa from your sister,” Harry teased, a smile creeping onto his face. “Can’t say you made the wrong decision in divorcing her.”

Hutch shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “You know, I think you’re right about a lot of things, Harry. I can see why Kris and Don are friends with you—you’re pretty damned smart.”

“I was hoping you’d say I was sexy,” Harry replied, feigning hurt. “A guy can still dream, can’t he?”

Hutch laughed, his mood lifting. “How is it that a guy like you is single, anyway?”

“I’m waiting for someone who makes my heart flutter,” he said, “Just like everyone else.” He turned serious. “Do me a favor, Ken?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“If Starsky meets you at that cabin, don’t waste another minute questioning it. Throw your arms around him, jump in with both feet and don’t look back.”

Hutch got up and shook Harry’s hand, “That’s a promise I hope I get a chance to keep.”

 

CHAPTER SIX

Sometimes the less conventional path leads to the most beautiful destinations.

Starsky lay on his sofa, ready to face another weekend alone. He stopped spending time drowning his sorrows at Huggy’s, and the last few weeks had been full of reading, relaxing with his photography, and of course, thinking about Hutch.

The ringing phone jolted him from his thoughts.

“Hello?” he answered, suddenly sitting up. “Kathy?”

Kathy Marshall, a flight attendant, often reached out whenever she had a layover in town. Today, her call felt like a potential lifeline to his spiraling thoughts.

“Oh, no, Hutch’s out of town,” he said, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice. “But I’m here if you want to get together.”

A distraction—that’s all he needed. What better way to clear his mind than by avoiding his thoughts altogether?

“See you in a few hours,” he said, hanging up. He rose, feeling a flicker of determination. A shower and a quick trip to the market would set the stage.

A few hours later, after washing away the remnants of his self-imposed gloom, Starsky felt lighter than he had in weeks. Kathy was always fun, and that was exactly what Starsky needed right now. He arranged a few candles around his apartment, lighting them as he dimmed the lights, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. He set out wine glasses and opened a bottle, letting it breathe.

In the bedroom, he slipped off his old T-shirt and pulled on his favorite red button-down shirt, a gift from Hutch last Christmas. “Red looks good on you,” Hutch had said, and Starsky smiled at the memory. The shirt fit him perfectly after his recovery and that felt like a small victory.

Stepping into the softly lit living room, he admired the flickering candlelight. Kathy was a beautiful woman, fun and energetic, and full of life. He longed for some companionship, and Kathy never failed to lift his spirits.

Starsky sat on the sofa. The ambiance was perfect;  a setting that would normally put a woman in a romantic mood.

A sudden shiver coursed through his body.

“What am I doing?” he muttered to himself, realization creeping in. “Who do I think I’m fooling? I can’t forget about Hutch any more than I can forget my own name. This isn’t fair to Kathy or Hutch. Or to me.”

Starsky wandered through the apartment, extinguishing the candles. The smoky scent hung in the air like a reminder of his struggle. He picked up the wine glasses and bottle and put them in the kitchen.

“I can’t pretend anymore,” he whispered to the empty room. “And I can’t escape the truth by sleeping with someone just to forget about him for a while. No matter what Hutch decides.”

There was a knock at the door, and Starsky opened it to find Kathy standing there, her face beaming with a huge smile.

“Come in,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.”

Kathy wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. “I’m so happy to see you! It’s a shame Hutch isn’t here; I would have loved to see him too.”

Starsky ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Well, actually, Kathy, I’m afraid that…” He hesitated, trying to find the right words to let her down easily.

“I’m getting married!” Kathy interrupted, holding out her left hand to show off a sparkling diamond ring. “I wanted you and Hutch to know. I’m so happy!”

Starsky’s eyes widened in surprise, then softened as relief and joy washed over him. He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Congratulations! Tell me everything.”

They settled onto the sofa, and Kathy animatedly recounted how she met Daniel on a flight a few months ago. “We just clicked,” she said, her eyes shining. “I’m ready to settle down. I know it won’t be easy,” she added, her tone shifting. “Not everyone will agree with my choice of partner.”

“What?” Starsky asked, disbelief creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Kathy replied, her smile faltering slightly. “It’s more about what’s wrong with other people. You see, Daniel is black. There are still a lot of people out there who struggle with interracial relationships, even in this day and age.”

Starsky paused as he absorbed this. “It shouldn’t matter,” he said, his voice firm. “But I know the world we live in, and unfortunately, it does for some. As long as you’re happy, Kathy…”

“I am, Starsky! I’m so happy. We have so much in common—travel, adventure. We aren’t planning to have kids, and we want to explore the world together. We’re excited about whatever life brings.”

“No kids?” Starsky asked, curiosity piqued. “Not that it’s my business, but why not?”

Kathy’s expression turned serious. “I found out a few years ago that I can’t have kids. And do you know what Daniel said when I told him that?”

“No,” Starsky replied, his smile warm. “Tell me.”

“He said he’d marry me anyway. He believes it’s more important to be with the love of his life than to conform to some conventional idea of marriage with kids and a picket fence. He chooses me, Starsky. And I choose him.”

Moved, Starsky took her hand and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m so happy for you,” he said softly.

“Thanks, Starsky,” she said. “You will tell Hutch for me, right? I want you both at my wedding. You’re a package deal.”

Starsky chuckled at her words. “I know,” he said. “For better or worse,” he added.

Kathy got up and headed to the door. “And Starsky?” she asked, turning before she left.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Starsky asked.

“There’s one thing I have learned, all these years, flying all over the world to different places. Do you know what it is?”

Starsky shook his head, encouraging her to finish.

“That it doesn’t matter where you’re going, as long as you enjoy the journey.”

Starsky watched Kathy as she drove away.  “You’re right,” he whispered. “I hope a beautiful destination awaits,” he sighed, “for both of us.”

——

When fear unravels, love tightens its hold.

Kris entered the guest room and wrapped Hutch in a warm hug. “I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness.

“I know, me too,” Hutch said. “I’m looking forward to spending the last week of my time traveling the countryside, seeing the Rocky Mountains.” He gently pulled back, brushing his sister’s hair away with a smile. “Kris, before I go, I wanted to talk to you about something. You were right —there’s someone special in my life, and I want to let you know that.”

“Really?” Kris’s eyes widened. “You’re only telling me this now, just before you leave?”

Hutch invited Kris to sit beside him on the bed. “I’ve been hesitant to say it out loud because I wasn’t sure where it was going, but the other night, Harry helped me see things clearly.”

“Harry?” Kris laughed. “What does he know about relationships with women?” She turned serious. “Oh, I get it,” she said softly. “I must be the biggest idiot in the world.” Her eyes went wide and she grasped Hutch’s hands. “Whatever you want to tell me, know that I love you. Anyone you love is someone I’ll love too, whether it’s a man or a woman.”

Hutch’s eyes glistened. “You figured me out,” he confessed. “It’s Starsky. I love him, and he loves me. At least, I hope he still does.”

“Starsky?” Kris gasped, her eyes widening. “How did I not see it sooner? I’m so happy for you. David is wonderful.” She smiled brightly. “This is such great news.”

Hutch felt a huge sense of ease. “I’m so relieved to know you feel that way. Do you think Mom and Dad will agree?”

“They won’t have a choice if they want to see either of their children again,” Kris replied playfully. “Seriously, why have you spent the past couple of weeks here with us instead of being with Starsky?”

“Fear,” he sighed. “That it would ruin my friendship with him. I needed time to sort that out.”

“And have you,” Kris asked, “sorted that out?”

“Yes,” Hutch nodded, affirming what he no longer doubted.  “Fear was unraveling me like a spinning wheel unwinding the yarn.”

“And now?” Kathy asked.

“Fear isn’t gone completely —it probably never will be—but it’s been stitched into the seams if that makes sense.”

Kris nodded. “Ken, if you ever get caught up in knots like this again,” she smiled knowingly, “don’t forget I’m here for you.”

“I won’t,” Hutch said. “It’s good to have you in my corner, sis. I just hope Starsky will give me another chance. If not, I might take you up on that and come back here looking for a place to hide for the rest of my life.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” Kris assured him, “no matter what happens.”

Hutch kissed Kris goodbye on the cheek. “Thanks, that means a lot,” Hutch said, grabbing his bag.

Hutch headed to the door, hesitating for a moment at the threshold, then pushed the door open, allowing the fresh air to wash over him. A glimmer of hope warmed his heart, relegating any remnants of fear to the background.

It was time to take the next step and find out where his feet landed.

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

Decisions, more than chance or circumstance, can make all the difference.

Starsky walked into the Pits, the familiar scent of grease and stale beer hanging in the air, a comforting reminder of Hutch. He gave a subtle wave to Huggy, who was busy wiping down the bar, signaling him to join him at a secluded table in the back. It was a quiet corner, far from the usual clatter of plates and glasses, where the world seemed to slow down just enough for Starsky to think clearly.

Huggy tossed a towel over his shoulder and made his way over, a bemused grin on his face. “What’s up, my man?” he asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a casual ease. “It’s not even breakfast time!”

Starsky let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Before he could speak, the waitress appeared at their table, a bright smile on her face. “Can I get you anything, sugar?” she asked, her tone light and playful.

Starsky glanced up, his eyes catching Huggy’s for a moment. “No, nothing, thanks,” he replied with a slight shake of his head. “I won’t be here long.”

“Thanks, Diane,” Huggy said, flashing the waitress a friendly wave as she walked away. He turned his attention back to Starsky, a raised eyebrow signaling his curiosity. “How’s a guy supposed to stay in business when you’ve been MIA for weeks?”

Starsky’s smile faltered. “Sorry, Hug. You know how it is. I’ve had… some things to figure out.” His gaze dropped to the table for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “I’ve had some time to think about where I want my life to go. What comes next.”

Huggy leaned forward, his eyes sharp. “And?”

“I’ll be out of town for a couple of days, heading north to a cabin,” Starsky said, unable to contain his tentative grin.

Huggy raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Is that right?” he said, his voice betraying more interest than he’d let on. “You sure about this then?”

Starsky sat back, his hand resting on the edge of the table. His expression softened, but there was an unmistakable certainty in his tone. “Yeah. I’m sure. I know this is the right path.” He glanced at Huggy, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You know how it is with relationships, right? You have to choose the person you’re with, before the life you think you want. The rest? That’s just details. If you try to plan everything down to the last letter, you’ll end up chasing your tail.”

Huggy chuckled, leaning back in his chair, clearly amused. “Uh-huh. About time you figured that out, man. You’ve been running in circles for a while now. But hey, it’s a start.” He paused for a moment, his expression turning more serious. “Do you think Hutch’s on the same page with you?”

Starsky’s stomach tightened at the mention of his name. The uncertainty he had tried to bury crept back in, but he pushed it aside. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the words coming out more slowly than he intended. “I hope so. But that’s why I need to ask a favor.” He looked up at Huggy, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “If he comes here, instead of the cabin, can you do something for me?”

Huggy raised an eyebrow, his casual demeanor slipping slightly as he sensed the shift in Starsky’s mood. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Starsky leaned forward, his fingers tapping against the wood of the table as he spoke. “Tell him it’s okay if he’s not there. No hard feelings. I get it. I want him to know that whatever he decides, it doesn’t have to mess with our friendship. I understand where he’s coming from. I just need him to know that it’s not some kind of test.”

Huggy frowned slightly, the lines of his face deepening as he considered Starsky’s request. “Why not just tell him yourself?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

Starsky exhaled slowly, a deep sense of frustration flooding him as he tried to explain. “Because he and I have this deal, you know? I’ve made my choice, but I’m not sure where he stands. I think I have an idea, but I can’t be sure. And if I’m wrong… I don’t want him sitting here, stewing over what he should do. I don’t want him second-guessing himself.” He met Huggy’s eyes, the raw emotion evident in his gaze. “If he shows up here instead of at the cabin, I just… I’ll have to accept it. And I want him to know that whatever happens, it won’t hurt us. You get me?”

Huggy was quiet for a long moment, a slow understanding spreading across his face. “You still talk in riddles sometimes, man,” he said with a laugh, but it wasn’t as light as it normally was. “But yeah, I get it.”

Starsky nodded, a small weight lifting off his chest. “Thanks, Hug. I appreciate it.”

Huggy reached across the table and gave his shoulder a reassuring slap. “Anytime, brother. Anytime.”

Starsky stood up, feeling a bit lighter, the conversation leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth. He walked out of the bar and into the crisp air, the familiar hum of the street pressing in around him. His hand brushed the cool metal of his car as he opened the door, slipping behind the wheel of the Torino. The empty passenger seat felt even more glaring today, a symbol of all the choices that loomed ahead.

Taking a deep breath, Starsky let it out slowly, feeling a quiet resolve settle over him. This was the last time he would let the space next to him be filled with doubt. He merged into traffic, the car’s engine purring smoothly beneath him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt sure of where he was headed.

—–

When feet are floating, heads stay in the clouds.

Hutch felt as if his feet barely touched the ground after landing in Bay City. Time spent with his sister and then another week in the Rocky Mountains left him refreshed and clear-headed.

He was eager to get to the cabin, wanting to arrive by mid-day. He first went to his apartment, quickly packed a fresh set of clothes, and filled the trunk with extra blankets and pillows, just in case Starsky got cold.

Hutch couldn’t help but wonder what Starsky was doing right now.  He wished he had the nerve to call him, but resisted.  That was not the deal.  He wanted Starsky to have every single moment he needed to make up his mind.

But what if Starsky didn’t show up?

Hutch brushed those thoughts aside. If Starsky opted for Huggy’s instead of the cabin, Hutch would have to accept it. He would find the strength to accept Starsky’s choice and cling to their friendship, no matter what.

He pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic, drumming his hands on the steering wheel as he lost himself in the music on the radio, shoving aside the lingering doubts that didn’t belong in the moment.

He was so focused on how he hoped things would go, that he didn’t notice the blue car that had slipped out into traffic behind him.

———–

The narrow, winding road off the main highway led to a cozy cabin by the lake, nestled among the trees. The cabin belonged to Al Radnor, a man Hutch had come to know on camping trips with Kiko. Hutch and Kiko often helped clear brush and cut wood for Radnor when he was away, earning Hutch the privilege of using the cabin any weekend of the year he wanted.  This would be Starsky’s first trip here, at least Hutch hoped it would be.

Hutch stopped at the market on the way and stocked the trunk with food that he knew Starsky would like. Steaks to grill, hot dogs, fruit, cheese, and other snacks. Hutch also splurged on a bottle of Muscadet, a French wine that was one of Starsky’s favorites.

He grabbed the wine off the seat and hopped out of the car, taking quick strides to the door. The key was right where it always was, above the lintel, and he stepped inside.

The cabin was neat and clean, with a small kitchen, a sofa in front of a large fireplace, and a bed in the corner next to the bathroom.

Hutch turned the bottle of wine in his hands and smiled at it. “This is a very good year,” he mused, opening the fridge and placing the wine inside.

He closed the fridge, his hand still resting on the handle when he heard a noise. The sound was faint, a soft, shuffling, like someone was outside the door.

His heartbeat quickened. Was it possible that Starsky was here already?

Hutch could hear Harry’s voice in his head. “ Throw your arms around him, jump in with both feet and don’t look back.”

Hutch intended to take every word of that advice, and then some.

Hutch practically bounced away from the fridge, hastily opening the door, eager to see Starsky’s sparkling eyes.

He pulled the door open and his face dropped like a stone.

It was not Starsky. It was a man dressed in orange overalls, pointing a gun straight in his face.

“Who the hell are you?” Hutch asked, glancing around outside for any signs of Starsky, still wondering if somehow he had come.

“Daryl Filion,” the man said. “Your worst nightmare.”

Hutch was off guard, his mind straying to his partner. He knew that Daryl FIlion was the brother of the kid that Starsky shot, but that didn’t explain anything else. At least Starsky was not there, and that relieved Hutch more than it disappointed him.

“Who?” Hutch demanded, stalling.

The man shoved his way into the cabin, pressing the gun into Hutch’s temple. “You don’t know my name, pig?” he snarled, “Your partner shot my brother Jimmy. Remember that?”

James Filion, of course, Hutch remembered his name. Hutch felt the pressure against his still-tender wound as Filion pushed him against the wall.

“You will not be needing this where we’re going,” Filion said, reaching into Hutch’s inside pocket for his magnum and stuffing it into his pocket.

“What do you want with me?” Hutch said, wincing from the steel that pressed into his head.

“I want you and your partner to pay for what you did to Jimmy,” Filion said. “I’m taking you on a nice little trip and your partner is going to walk right into my trap.”

Filion shoved the gun into Hutch’s back. “Move,” he said, pushing Hutch out the door. “We’re taking your car.”

He pushed Hutch into his car through the passenger seat, a gun to Hutch’s head the entire time.

“Drive,” Filion demanded.

Hutch put the key into the ignition and started the car.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

Waiting can be the cruelest form of torture. 

The sun was beginning to set as Starsky navigated the long laneway leading to the cabin. The trip had taken far longer than he’d expected. He’d made a few stops along the way—first, at the market, where he picked up fresh fruits and vegetables, along with a prime cut of steak he knew Hutch would love. He packed the food on ice and put it all into a cooler that he brought for the occasion. He also grabbed a bottle of Muscadet, recalling how Hutch’s fondness for French wine, and put it on the front seat. Then, as fate would have it, he took a few wrong turns and ended up having to stop at a gas station a mile down the road to ask for directions. Frustration bubbled beneath his surface, but he pushed it aside, hoping the effort would be worth it when he finally reached the cabin.

The gravel crunched beneath his tires as he pulled up. The cabin loomed ahead, dark and still, casting an unsettling shadow. He parked the car, stepped out, and scanned the laneway with hopeful anticipation, but as his eyes searched for Hutch’s car, his heart sank. It wasn’t there.

A wave of doubt washed over him, tightening the knot in his stomach.

He checked his watch, reminding himself that the evening wasn’t over yet—maybe Hutch was on his way. He grabbed the bottle of wine from the passenger seat and approached the door. He reached up to the lintel where the key should have been but found nothing.

With a hesitant jingle of the doorknob, he was surprised to find it was unlocked. Was it possible Hutch was here but parked out of sight? Hope surged through him as he pushed the door open, and inched his way inside.

“Hello?” Starsky said, his voice echoing in the sparse surroundings. “Is anyone here? Hutch, buddy if you’re hiding it’s not funny.”

Silence answered him. He wandered through the cabin, peering into the empty bathroom before moving to the window. The trees outside swayed gently in the evening breeze, but there was no sign of Hutch’s car.

He placed the wine bottle on the coffee table and sank onto the sofa, his head in his hands. Exhaustion washed over him—the long drive, getting lost, and the gnawing fear that Hutch might not come at all had taken their toll.

Minutes passed. Or maybe it was hours. Time felt like it was stretching into something painful and unrecognizable. The sun sank lower, casting long shadows across the room. The quiet of the cabin felt suffocating. His eyes fluttered shut, and despite the ache in his chest, despite the fading hope that lingered, exhaustion claimed him as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

————

No way. Not today.

“How did you know I was here?” Hutch asked, gritting his teeth as he pulled out of the laneway.

“For a detective, you’re not very good at spotting a tail, are you? I followed you from Bay City.”

Hutch mentally kicked himself. He had driven to the cabin, exhilarated by his decision to meet Starsky, his heart pounding with the hope that Starsky felt the same way. Thoughts of seeing him consumed him completely, drowning out everything else. He was so lost in his anticipation that he didn’t even realize he was being followed.

“So, where’s your car?” Hutch asked.  He knew he had to keep the guy talking and distract him.

“It’s not far from here, hidden in the bushes,” Filion said smugly. “but it’s not my car, I stole it back in the city. No one can trace me here.”

“You do know that kidnapping and killing of a police officer are capital offenses,” Hutch said. “Any chance you have now of getting out on parole would disappear.”

Filion pushed the gun into Hutch’s forehead.

“Shut up,” Filion said. “I don’t care. I’m not going back to prison. We’re going far away from civilization, all the way up north into the mountains. You’ll radio your partner when we get there to come and get you, and I am going to take him out when he gets there.”

“Starsky’s not stupid,” Hutch replied, anger dripping in his tone. “He would never fall for that.”

“He’ll come. You two are inseparable, right? Everyone on the inside says so; Starsky and Hutch are a package deal, cross one the other comes after you. I already know the score.”

Hutch glanced at Filion, angry yet amazed by the truth that even the criminals could see their inseparable bond.

Filion smirked, his smug expression pushing Hutch to the brink of rage. He redirected his attention to the winding road as it narrowed and twisted through the woods, blinking away the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

For six long weeks, he had thought about Starsky and the future they could share. During that time, one truth had become undeniable: he had no future without Starsky. There was no way some thug in an orange jumpsuit was going to stand in the way of something Hutch hoped was still possible. If there was any chance that Starsky was coming to the cabin, Hutch would not, under any circumstance, miss him.

It was starting to get dark and Hutch knew his time was limited. He squared his jaw, steeling his resolve.

“Tell me about your brother,” Hutch said calmly, glancing at Filion with a practiced look of concern. “Tell me about Jimmy.”

Filion hesitated, and Hutch felt the pressure of the gun against his head ease slightly.

“Why do you care?” Filion said, his attention refocused on Hutch.

“Because,” Hutch continued, appealing to any sense of loyalty Filion had. “He was just a kid, wasn’t he? A kid who lost his way. You must have loved him very much.”

“Jimmy used to follow me around when we were kids,” Filion said, shifting in his seat. “Our father walked out on us and our mother was always working, trying to put food on the table.” He paused and looked out the side window. “Jimmy’s friends would follow me around too, like I was some kind of superhero to them. I taught them all about the streets.”

Not to mention teaching him and all the other minors about drugs, thought Hutch silently.

“Sounds like you two were close,” Hutch managed to say.

Filion became agitated. “Your partner had no right to shoot him. Jimmy didn’t mean any harm.”

No harm except that he shot me and would have shot an innocent woman and the store clerk.

“I understand,” is what Hutch said.

There was a glimpse of regret in Filion’s eyes, his attention waning as the gun dropped slightly.

Hutch knew there would be no second chance. It was time to act.

Hutch turned the steering wheel hard with one hand while grabbing Filion’s gun with his other. Filion looked at Hutch with shock, and the gun dropped from his grasp.

The car swerved violently, skidding through a patch of loose gravel, sending a jolt of panic through Hutch. The world outside blurred into a chaotic swirl of green and brown as he desperately fought to regain control. But it was no use; the tires lost their grip, and the vehicle careened sideways.

In a heartbeat, the car shifted, overturning as the ground rushed up to meet him.

 

CHAPTER NINE

The truth was right there waiting for you.

Starsky jolted awake, disoriented, as the morning sun began to seep through the cabin window. For a moment, he forgot where he was. He rubbed his eyes and got up, plodding to the bathroom.

His reflection in the mirror showed his anguish and fatigue. Six weeks of isolation from Hutch, of soul searching and reflection, and finally landing at the same place he started, except with no lingering doubts. He sighed and splashed cold water on his face, awakening to a truth that he didn’t want to face.

He walked over to the small window next to the bed, peering outside, but there was no sign of movement. The view outside would have been breathtaking if it weren’t for the weight of disappointment hanging over him.

It was time to accept the truth: Hutch wasn’t coming.

He glanced at the bottle of wine on the table. “Well, it looks like it’s just you and me,” he said softly, picking it up. He studied the label, noting, “I thought Hutch would have loved us.”

He walked over to the telephone on the wall. “Time to face reality,” he murmured, reaching for it and dialing a familiar number.

“Hey, Hug,” Starsky said when his friend picked up. “Busy last night?”

“Starsky!” Huggy exclaimed, his voice groggy. “Do you know what time it is? Even the birds know better than to sing near me this early!”

“Sorry, I just need to know—did you give Hutch my message? How long did he stay last night?”

“Hutch?” Huggy sounded confused. “He didn’t come in last night. I thought he was with you.”

“What?” Starsky felt a wave of disbelief wash over him. “Are you sure? Maybe he was in the back, waiting for me to show up.”

“Starsky, why would Hutch be at the Pits last night when we both know he wants to be with you?”

“That’s the thing, Hug,” Starsky said, his heart sinking. “I must have got it wrong.” He squeezed the telephone cord between his fingers. “He must have been there because he’s not here. Is it possible you missed him?”

“It’s possible, I suppose, but Starsky I don’t get it…” Huggy insisted.

Starsky looked down, feeling the weight of the moment. “Neither do I,” Starsky whispered. “Sorry to call so early. Thanks, Hug,” he said, hanging up.

He sighed deeply and examined the bottle of wine in his hands. “Maybe the owner can enjoy this,” he said, his heart heavy with despair as he opened the fridge.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

In the fridge was a bottle of Muscadet —the same label as the one he held.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, glancing around the cabin as if expecting Hutch to appear.

“Hutch,” he whispered, the realization hitting him like a cold wave.

“Where the hell did you go?”

————-

The right choice is wasted if made too late.

Hutch groaned, attempting to clear his thoughts. He didn’t know how long he had been lying on the ground, flung from the crash, but the morning sun was starting to peek through the clouds. He felt a trickling moisture on his brow and a searing pain in his right foot. Despite the pain, he attempted to stand up and search around for Filion.

“Nice try,” Filion shouted from behind him, driving a gun into Hutch’s back.

Hutch cautiously turned around, realizing that FIlion was holding his magnum. Filion’s shirt was stained with red, an obvious gash on his chest from the crash, and blood trickled from his mouth.

“Give it up,” Hutch said. “You’re hurt. There’s nowhere to go. Drop it and surrender, and I’ll put in a good word for you with the judge.”

Filion raised his fist and struck Hutch hard across the face. “I warned you earlier, shut up,” he yelled. “It is not over. Now, move!”

He jammed the gun into Hutch’s back and pushed him. Hutch felt a sharp pain in his ankle.

“I think my ankle is sprained, maybe broken,” Hutch explained, warning Filion to slow down.

“That’s too bad,” Filion replied, wiping blood from his face.

Hutch picked up a large stick off the ground, balancing against it as he struggled to take each step, hobbling painfully. His head was bleeding, and he was nauseated. He was in no shape to fight and had no choice but to comply with Filion’s demands.

They walked through the trees for what seemed like an hour before stumbling upon a small clearing. On the edge of the opening was a small hut.

“There,” Filion said, motioning Hutch towards the structure.

The weathered cabin was nestled among the towering trees, its sun-bleached walls and moss-covered roof making it difficult to see in the distance. He pushed Hutch into the door and looked around. The hut had a small table, a dirty sink but no running water, and a closet. In the closet, Filion found some thick twine.

He pushed Hutch’s face against the wall, pulling his hands behind his back, and tying them with the twine.

“Sit down on the floor,” he ordered, gun still pointed at Hutch’s head. Filion secured Hutch’s ankles in front of him in a knot.

“Now what?” Hutch asked, struggling to stay conscious.

“I’m getting out of here, whether you are alive or dead, Hutchinson,” Filion snapped. “This is just a change in plans, that’s all.  Now will you shut up and let me think!”

Hutch knew a man who was backed into a corner when he saw one. Filion’s plan had been thwarted and he didn’t know what to do next. That made him all the more dangerous.

“I’m sorry, Starsk,” Hutch said to himself. “This is all my fault.”

Hutch fought the fog that pulled him and he closed his eyes, thinking of Starsky.

 

CHAPTER TEN

When doubt is gone, the path ahead is clear and unobstructed.

Starsky snatched his keys and sprinted outside, heart pounding with urgency. He raced down to the water, scanning the area for any sign of Hutch.

“Hutch!” he called out, his voice slicing through the air, mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves. “Where are you?”

Frustration surged within him. “Damn it, Hutch! I know you were here!” He pushed forward, moving down a narrow trail that led into the woods, constantly shifting his gaze in every direction, desperation driving his every step. But there were no footprints, no signs of life—just silence that felt suffocating.

As he jingled the keys in his pocket, he pondered his next move, returning to his car. He would call Dobey, then Hutch’s apartment…He stopped abruptly in front of the Torino, suddenly aware of tire marks on the opposite side of the lane—marks he’d overlooked the previous evening. They looked strikingly similar to the ones Hutch’s car would leave behind.

He dashed back to the cabin and grabbed the phone. “Captain? It’s Starsky. I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but have you heard from Hutch?”

“Starsky, didn’t you get my messages? I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”

“No, I’ve been out of range,” he admitted, his voice trembling with anxiety. “What’s going on?”

“There’s still a statewide APB out on Daryl Filion. His photo has been on the news. Someone spotted him northeast of the city, near the mountains by Lake Arrowhead.”

Starsky’s heart raced. “That’s where I am—I was supposed to meet Hutch here for a bit of..camping.. but he hasn’t shown up. Where was Filion seen?”

“At a gas station off the main highway, right before you hit the village. The owner recognized him when he stopped for cigarettes. They found Filion’s car abandoned this morning.”

Dobey hesitated, his tone grave. “Starsky, there’s more. They found a brown LTD rolled over in a ditch—it was Hutch’s car. Three roads over from the gas station. There’s no sign of either Hutch or Filion.”

Starsky’s stomach dropped. “What? What are the coordinates?” He hastily scribbled them down. “I’m on my way.”

Starsky arrived at the scene, his stomach a ball of nerves. Hutch’s car lay on its roof, tires in the air, both front doors flung open. A few police officers were dusting for prints, snapping photos of the wreck.

“What do you have?” Starsky asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

“Both front doors were open, so it looked like whoever was in the front seat got out. The car is otherwise empty except for some food and blankets in the trunk—looks like he was planning to stay a few days.”

“Damn it, Hutch,” Starsky whispered, guilt washing over him.

“There’s a search party out in all directions,” one of the officers informed him.

Suddenly, the crackle of the radio broke through his thoughts. He rushed to the Torino. “Starsky here.”

“Starsky,” Dobey’s voice crackled through, urgency evident. “They’ve got him. The search party stumbled on a clearing and they heard a gunshot coming from inside a small hut.  It’s less than a mile from where they found Hutch’s car.  Filion’s inside, he’s making demands. You need to get over there.”

Every instinct screamed for him to act before it was too late.

Starsky put the Torino in gear. “On my way, Captain.”

————–

Leaving now is not an option.

“Jimmy wouldn’t want you to do this,” Hutch said weakly as he sat on the floor of the hut, struggling to stay alert. “He looked up to you, he wouldn’t want you to throw your life away like this.”

Filion walked over and struck Hutch across the jaw. “I told you before, don’t talk about Jimmy!” he said. “He was just a kid.”

Hutch felt the wetness of blood on the lips. He ran his tongue along his lips to clean off the blood. “You’re never getting out of here,” Hutch said. “The cops will find my car and come looking for me.”

“Your car is too far off the main road, no one is looking for you. You’re on vacation, right? Why else would you have come up here?”

Hutch glared at Filion. The man had no plan, nor any idea why Hutch had come. He couldn’t possibly know if Starsky was coming; Hutch didn’t even know himself.

“I come up here often, and I know the owner, Al Radnor,” Hutch stalled. “He’s expecting me to call and let him know I opened the cabin for him. He lets me use the place and only asks that I keep him informed when I get here. When he doesn’t hear from me, he’ll get suspicious.”

Filion was pacing, his eyes bright with anger. “Who cares,” he said. “We’ll be long gone before he even comes looking for you.”

Hutch knew he wasn’t going to make it far on his sprained ankle, but he didn’t want to remind Filion of that. He had to think of a way to get back to the cabin.

“There’s a phone at the cabin, I can call Radnor from there. We can get there in a couple of hours if we leave now,” Hutch said.

He was rewarded with a punch to the stomach.

“We’re not going back there,” Filion shouted. He picked up a set of car keys that hung on a hook on the wall. “Would you look at these?” he smiled. “They must belong to that truck out there,” he pointed with the gun out the front window. “We’re taking that.”

Hutch remembered seeing the dilapidated truck when they got to the hut. “That rust bucket?” Hutch said angrily. “It doesn’t look like anyone has used it in months. It probably doesn’t even have any gas,” he said, stalling. “I’m telling you, there’s a phone at the cabin…”

Another crack against his jaw.

“And I told you to shut up!” He said. “Now get up!”

Filion pulled Hutch to his feet, untying the ropes around his ankles. He pushed Hutch outside the door, his hands tied behind his back.

Hutch squinted into the darkened distance, heart hammering in his chest. At the far end of the narrow, gravel road, a flicker of red lights flashed intermittently through the trees. At first, it seemed distant, almost like a trick of his tired eyes. But then it came into sharper focus. Red lights—like a cop car. Or maybe two.

Hutch’s pulse quickened. He glanced at Filion to see if he saw the lights, but his attention was on the rusted truck at the other end of the lot.

Hutch’s eyes flicked back to the road. The red lights pulsed again, this time closer.

In a split second, Hutch made his decision.

He moved with lightning speed, shoving his body into Filion hard against the side of the old wooden hut. Filion grunted in surprise, a startled curse slipping from his lips as his back slammed against the splintering wood.

The weapon slipped from FIlion’s grip, firing into the air, echoing through the silence.

Hutch froze, every muscle tensed until he heard it—faint, distant but unmistakable—the shrill wail of sirens, piercing through the stillness. It was real. They heard the shot. The cops were coming.

Filion spun around, fury in his eyes, but Hutch was already moving, his arms tied behind his back, his sprained ankle slowing him down. Filion dragged him back into the hut, desperate to find cover before the sirens grew louder.

“What the hell are you doing, Hutchinson” His voice was sharp, panicked now, the sirens closing in, a signal that their time had just run out.

“I’m not letting you take me anywhere,” Hutch spat, as the blood trickled from his mouth.

Filion shoved him through the door into the hut, pushing him back against the wall and grabbing the rope. “You don’t have any say in the matter,” he said, hurrying to tie the rope around Hutch’s ankles, distracted by the sound of the sirens.

Hutch sat, wincing in pain, defeated. If you’re coming, Starsk, just know that I’m here, Hutch thought, closing his eyes. I’ve been here all along.

Sweat dripped down his brow, his foot throbbing, and anguish permeated his exhausted body. He mostly felt a heaving agony in his chest, like a hole waiting to be filled by his other half, the part he pushed away and hoped like hell would find him, and give him a chance to be whole again.

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Not today.  Not ever.

It was more of a tiny hut than a cabin, tucked away in the woods and accessible only by a gravel road that wound through trees and rocks. Starsky navigated his Torino down the rugged road until he reached the clearing. Three black-and-white police cars were already parked, and police officers crouched low, surrounding the hut.

Starsky approached the lead officer and crouched beside him. “I’m Detective Starsky of the BCPD. My partner, Ken Hutchinson, is inside. What’s the situation?”

“I’m Lieutenant Martin,” he said, guiding Starsky to a safer position behind some trees. “Filion is demanding a helicopter and safe passage to Mexico. He sustained injuries in the car crash, but it’s not clear how bad they are, he said he wants a doctor on board the helicopter to take care of them. We told him no deal. Filion has a police officer in there as a hostage, not a civilian, and we won’t negotiate. He claims Hutchinson is inside and ‘incapacitated.’”

“What does ‘incapacitated’ mean?” Starsky asked, a knot forming in his stomach.

“Unclear,” Martin replied. “But we have every reason to believe he’s hurt in some way.”

Suddenly, a loud voice boomed from inside the cabin. “Is that Detective Starsky?” Filion shouted, his voice dripping with menace. “I heard all about that red and white car of his. Tell Starsky his partner will die like he should have in that liquor store if you don’t meet my demands!”

Starsky instinctively moved, stepping out from behind the trees.

Martin pulled him back, urgency etched across his face. “Are you crazy? Don’t make yourself an open target.”

“It’s my partner,” Starsky said, his eyes hardening with determination. “Tell Filion I’ll go in if he releases Hutch.”

“No deal, Starsky,” Martin insisted, shaking his head firmly. “I won’t trade the lives of police officers. It’s against protocol—and it goes against everything I stand for as an officer.”

“Leaving my partner to die at the hands of a madman goes against everything I stand for,” Starsky retorted, pulling out his gun and holding it in front of him with one finger.

“Filion!” Starsky yelled, ignoring Martin’s shouts behind him. “It’s Starsky. Release my partner and I’ll come in and I’ll get you everything you want. But I want to see Hutch first, alive and well.”

“Why should I believe you?” Filion cried out. “No deal. You drop the gun and come in. Only then will I release Hutchinson.”

“Do not go in there, Starsky!” Martin shouted. “You do not have jurisdiction here.I will have your badge if you take another step.”

“My badge is the last thing on my mind,” he said, ignoring Martin’s pleas.

Starsky threw his gun on the ground, held his hands in the air, and walked up to the door.

—–

Starsky’s heart fell at the sight of Hutch. He was motionless, seated on the floor. He had his eyes closed, his back against the wall, and his legs sprawled out in front of him. He appeared to have a large gash on his temple, and blood was streaming down his forehead. His feet were bound together with a rope, and his hands were tied behind his back.

“Hutch,” he took a step forward.

“Don’t move, Starsky,” Filion said, a gun pointed at Starsky’s temple. “He’s alive, that’s all you need to know.”

Starsky turned to face Filion, his blood boiling. “So help me, Filion, if Hutch doesn’t make it, you’ll wish you were never born.”

“Like my brother didn’t make it, Starsky?” he snarled, his teeth clenched as he spat out the words.

“Your brother shot my partner and was about to kill two innocent people,” Starsky retorted. “If anyone is to blame, it’s you for getting him hooked on heroin in the first place.”

Filion raised his gun. “You shut up about Jimmy. You don’t know the first thing about him,” he said.

“Fine,” Starsky answered. “I said you could have me for Hutch. Help me pick him up and take him outside.”

Filion laughed. “You think I’m stupid?” he said. “Your partner isn’t going anywhere and neither are you. I have you both where I want you.”

Filion moved to the front of the hut, holding his bleeding chest as he grimaced with pain. He shouted out to the cops. “I have both of them now, and you better meet my demands!”

Starsky heard a faint whimper from Hutch and saw his head droop against his shoulder. He rushed to Hutch’s side, crouching down, unnoticed through FIlion’s shouting rants.

“Hutch,” Starsky said, on his knees. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Hutch’s eyes fluttered open. “Starsky,” he smiled. “You came.”

“So did you,” Starsky couldn’t hold back a smile.

The world shrunk to just the two of them. He came, and so did Hutch. No way would he be taken away by some punk in an orange jumpsuit. Not today, not ever.

Starsky caught a glimpse in Hutch’s gaze; he was motioning with his eyes for Starsky to look down at his feet. Starsky peered downwards and saw what Hutch had been signaling. The tie around Hutch’s ankle was loose.

Starsky blocked Hutch’s body from Filion’s view and casually moved his fingers down to Hutch’s feet, pulling the knot free.

“What are you doing?!” Filion shouted. “Get up! Now!”

In a split second, Starsky glanced at Hutch.

“If you say so,” Starsky said.

Hutch pushed his back against the wall and used his good leg to kick Filion in the back of his knees, causing him to lose his balance. Filion fell against the wall as Starsky spun around, seizing Filion’s arm and forcing the gun to point to the ceiling.

The gun discharged, dust and filth crashing down on their heads. Starsky punched Filion in the stomach and Hutch stepped in, kicking the gun from his hand as it landed across the hut at the opposite wall.

“Hold it!” Three armed policemen charged the front door. “Drop it now!”

“It’s okay, it’s over,” Starsky said, pulling FIlion off the floor. “Take this punk away and get an ambulance for my partner!”

Starsky quickly untied Hutch’s hands and steadied him by the elbows. Hutch was starting to sway on his feet, limping on his bad ankle, his complexion pale and his eyes glazed.

“You okay?” Starsky asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Never better,” Hutch replied, his words barely a whisper before he collapsed into Starsky’s arms.

Two paramedics rushed in, and Starsky helped them ease Hutch onto the stretcher with careful hands. He stepped back as the medics took over, his heart still pounding in his chest as he watched helplessly.

Lieutenant Martin approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “The ambulance was on standby,” Martin said, his tone neutral but heavy. “They’ll take him to the County Hospital. It’s a good facility, he’ll be well taken care of.”

Starsky nodded, not taking his eyes off Hutch. He started to move toward him, but Martin’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm and halting him.

“I won’t say I agree with your methods today,” Martin said, his tone steady, but with a hint of respect. “Still, there were no civilians involved, and you managed to stabilize the situation.”

Starsky’s jaw tightened. “My partner and I did it together,” he corrected firmly. “That’s how we operate.”

Martin studied him for a moment as if weighing his words. Finally, he nodded. “Just so you know,” he said, lowering his voice, “I won’t be putting our earlier conversation in the official report, but I will be informing your captain about how things went down. It’ll be up to him to decide how to address it with you.”

Starsky met his gaze without hesitation. “That’s fair,” he said. “And I can assure you—our captain may not be happy, but he won’t be surprised.”

With a brief nod, Starsky turned away, heading toward the ambulance.

“Hutch!” he called, his voice sharp but soft with urgency as he saw the stretcher being loaded into the vehicle. “I’ll meet you at the hospital. Don’t worry. I’ll be there. Nothing can stop me.”

Hutch’s hand reached up, his fingers brushing Starsky’s arm as he pulled him closer. “I have no doubt,” he whispered.

Starsky smiled, reluctantly letting go of his hand. “Me either,” he whispered, watching the ambulance pull away.

——-

It has always been a gift.

Hutch exhaled slowly as if he had been holding his breath for days, his tension lifting the moment Starsky stepped into the hospital room.

“How are you feeling?” Starsky asked softly, settling into the chair next to Hutch’s bed, his voice warm with concern.

“I’m okay,” Hutch replied, feeling newfound relief. “The doctor says the bullet wound reopened, my ankle’s sprained, and I’ve got a nasty gash on my forehead…”

“From the car crash?” Starsky’s face tightened with worry.

“Yes,” Hutch confirmed with a tired nod. “The crash. Filion. Everything. But, Starsk…” He looked up at Starsky, his eyes searching, softening. “I care more about you. I put you through hell again. Filion followed me from my apartment. I was so focused on everything else, I didn’t even notice.”

“No, Hutch. This is my fault,” Starsky’s voice trembled with guilt. “I knew Filion had escaped. I  screwed up. I should’ve warned you. I should’ve protected you.”

Hutch gave a tired chuckle. “Here we go again.”

“What?” Starsky asked, confusion clouding his face.

Hutch glanced toward the door, making sure it was closed, before looking back at Starsky.

“Worrying more about each other, blaming ourselves. Starsk, I was so wrong. All this time, I thought what we had…our entwinement… was a problem. But it’s not—it’s a gift. One I know I don’t deserve.”

“I want to tell you everything I learned, too,” Starsky said, his voice quieter now, almost shy. “But first, do you want to tell me what happened with Filion?”

Hutch leaned back against his pillow, his breath heavy with emotion. He looked down for a moment, gathering the strength to speak.

“I got to the cabin early that day,” he said, almost sheepish. “I wanted to clean up and stock the fridge. You know, get ready for us.”

“You knew I’d come,” Starsky said, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

Hutch’s gaze softened. “No. I didn’t know for sure. But I hoped… I dreamed about it. I was so afraid, though. Afraid I’d pushed you away.”

“Hutch, you could never push me away,” Starsky reassured him, his voice low but firm.

Hutch’s eyes flickered up, catching Starsky’s gaze for a moment. “I practically sprang into the cabin, not paying attention to anything around me. I even brought a bottle of Muscadet…”

“I know,” Starsky said with a smile. “I brought one too.”

“You did?” Hutch’s eyes brightened with a spark of surprise.

“Yes, but that story can wait,” Starsky teased, his smile growing.

Hutch grinned, shaking his head. “Alright, so… I was turning around from the fridge when I heard a noise outside the door. I thought it was you.”

“I was coming, Hutch,” Starsky said softly as if to reassure him all over again.

Hutch’s gaze grew distant. “I know that now. But I wasn’t thinking clearly. I rushed to the door, opened it… and found myself staring at the barrel of a gun.” His eyes darkened. “Filion told me he was going to use me to get to you.”

“Oh my God,” Starsky interrupted, his face contorting with regret. “I should’ve warned you about Filion.”

“No,” Hutch’s voice was sharp, the edge of it cutting through Starsky’s guilt. “Don’t do that to yourself. You couldn’t have known. I was the one who insisted on the no-contact period. I shut you out.” He paused, his eyes finding Starsky’s again, vulnerability creeping into his voice. “This is neither of our faults. The way I see it, even Filion, even everyone else, they see us as irrefutably connected. There’s no hiding from that.”

A small, sad smile curved Starsky’s lips. “Go on,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “How’d you end up crashing the car?”

Hutch reached up, tenderly brushing a lock of hair from Starsky’s forehead, his fingers lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

“Filion said he left his car down the road and walked to the cabin after he saw which direction I’d gone. He wanted me to drive north—to the mountains. He was going to make me radio you after we were far enough away from civilization.” Hutch’s voice quivered slightly. “He probably planned to take me out before you could get there. And then take you out when you showed up.”

“That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard,” Starsky said. “He should’ve just made a run for the border on his own.”

Hutch nodded, his gaze shifting as the memories continued to unfold. “He said he didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t do any more time, all he cared about was avenging Jimmy’s death.” He inhaled deeply. “But I wasn’t having it. I’d come so close to my six weeks—I wasn’t going anywhere. We hadn’t gone far when I made my move. I talked to him about Jimmy, trying to throw him off, and then I knocked the gun from his hand. That’s when we ended up in the ditch. We were both unconscious most of the night.”

“Filion wasn’t the only dummy,” Starsky said, his voice thick with emotion. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, Hutch. You shouldn’t have taken that chance. I would’ve found you.”

Hutch looked down, a knot forming in his throat. “I waited so long to tell you what I had decided—what I hoped you had decided, too. There was no way I was letting that chance slip away,” he said quietly. Then, a teasing glint sparkled in his eyes. “Now, should we talk about your daredevil act—coming into that hut unarmed, negotiating your own life for mine?”

Starsky mirrored Hutch’s words, his voice gentle. “I waited so long to tell you what I had decided, too. There was no way I was letting that chance slip away.”

Hutch’s head sank back into the pillow, smiling. “I had that one coming, didn’t I?”

“No more than me,” Starsky replied softly. “Hutch, we need to figure this out. I don’t want either of us jumping out of the lifeboat.”

Hutch scratched at his head as he processed the analogy. “Me either,” he said, understanding. “I don’t want to be in the lifeboat at all—not anymore. We need to talk about a lot of things.

“Any chance we can go back to the cabin after you get out of here?” Starsky asked. “I happen to know that not one, but two bottles of Muscadet are chilling in the fridge.”

Hutch beamed, his whole face lighting up. “I’m way ahead of you,” he said. “I called Al Radnor—the cabin’s owner. It’ll be empty for another week, and we’re welcome to it.”

Just then, the doctor entered, cutting through the moment. “Detective Hutchinson,” he said, his tone clinical. “Your ankle has a mild sprain, and you’ll need crutches for a couple of weeks. Your other wounds are superficial, but I would like you to watch out for headaches or dizziness due to the gash on your head. I don’t see any reason to keep you here, but I’d like to see you again in a week for a follow-up. Or would you prefer to see someone back in Bay City?”

Hutch shot a playful glance at Starsky. “I’ll be in the neighborhood for at least another week,” he said, a wicked grin on his face. “I think I can manage that.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting between the two men. “You’ll make sure of this?” he asked, eyeing Starsky.

“Yes,” Starsky said, his voice unwavering. “Don’t worry. Neither of us is going anywhere.”

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Forever entwined.

They arrived at the cabin just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Hutch hobbled in on crutches, leaning heavily on them with each step. Starsky gently helped him to the bed, then turned to bring in the cooler of food.

“The food’s still good,” Starsky said, his voice upbeat. “There was plenty of ice, so it didn’t spoil. Are you hungry?”

Hutch sat on the bed, carefully leaning the crutches against the side. “Maybe in a bit,” he replied, with a tired smile. “Looks like you’re stuck with nurse duty again.”

Starsky chuckled softly. “Guess so,” he said, standing at the fireplace, throwing in some logs to light it. He glanced over at Hutch, shaking his head. “You know I don’t mind.” He walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Muscadet and a few pieces of cheese and crackers from the cooler.

“What do you say we relax for a bit?” Starsky suggested, setting the wine and food on the nightstand. “Maybe talk for a while?”

Hutch’s eyes lifted to meet Starsky’s. “Sure,” he said softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Talk.”

Starsky knelt in front of Hutch, his hands trembling as he caressed Hutch’s shoulders. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

Starsky moved his hands to the front of Hutch’s shirt and started unbuttoning it. “You okay if I do this?” he asked, looking up Hutch through his eyelashes.

“I’m more than okay with it,” Hutch answered. “But I only ask that I get a turn, too.”

Starsky flashed him a crooked smile as he slid Hutch’s shirt off and tossed it to the end of the bed. “Let me finish taking care of you first,” Starsky said. “We’re supposed to talk, remember?”

He reached down to Hutch’s pants and lowered the zipper. “Can you push your butt up for me?”

Hutch obliged, balancing his arms behind him as Starsky slid off his pants, throwing them on the floor.

“My turn,” Hutch said.

He pulled Starsky up to his feet, and removed his belt, sliding it through the loops and tossing it aside. He unzipped his jeans, slowly lowering them to the floor and Starsky stepped out of them one foot at a time.

Hutch caressed Starsky’s back, raising Starsky’s t-shirt above his head and throwing it into the pile that formed on the floor.

They were both stripped down to nothing but their underwear.

“If we take these off, we’ll never get around to talking,” Starsky said, smiling.

He carefully lowered Hutch’s head onto the pillow and crawled in next to him.  He poured a couple of glasses of wine, handing one to Hutch. They lay in the small bed, a sheet covering their almost naked bodies, the glow of the fireplace was the only illumination in the room.

“You came to the cabin,” Hutch said quietly. “Thank you,” he kissed Starsky’s forehead.

“So did you,” Starsky managed to say, “so, thank you right back.”

Starsky handed a piece of cheese to Hutch and took another sip of wine. He pulled back to look Hutch in the eyes, running a hand through Hutch’s hair. “We’re supposed to be talking,” he said nervously. “Kathy’s getting married,” he announced, trying to stay focused.

“Really?  That’s wonderful news,” Hutch said. His voice became hesitant. “So, you saw Kathy recently?”

“Yes, and I need to tell you something,” Starsky turned serious. “For a micro-second, I contemplated sleeping with her.  I’m not proud of it, but I kept thinking all I needed was a distraction, like a gigantic reset button, and our..entwinement..would be finished.” He paused. ‘But I didn’t do it, Hutch. I didn’t want to sleep with Kathy, or with anyone else for that matter. I could feel you, even though we weren’t together.”

Hutch looked at him with trusting eyes, and Starsky’s heart flipped over.

“Kathy taught me something else,” Starsky said. “She reminded me that love between two people comes in many forms and that it’s a deliberate choice even when it’s difficult—no—especially when it’s difficult. She said she wasn’t planning to have kids. That can be a choice, too.”

“Or,” Hutch said, “there are many ways in which having kids could be possible. I learned a few things too.”

“Oh yeah?” Starsky asked, intrigued. “Like what?”

“Like,” Hutch paused, “I’m not interested in curvy brunettes anymore, only curly-haired ones.”

“Hold up,” Starsky said, nervously. “Did you and some curvy brunette get together…”

“No,” Hutch assured him, “it would have been easy, Starsky, but easy doesn’t interest me. I like hard,” he laughed, reaching under the covers, almost spilling his wine.

“Hold on there buckaroo,” Starsky said. “Talk first, remember? I want to hear what else you learned first.”

Hutch cleared his throat and made a face like he was giving a speech. “Let’s see, well there was Harry. He taught me a lot of things, like how a profession like football is almost as hard to be gay as it is for cops. He also taught me how important it is to have friends and family in your corner. Oh, by the way, Kris knows about us.”

“You mean Harry from the Canadian Football League? Do I have to watch out for men making passes at you now, too?” Starsky teased.

“You don’t have to worry one bit,” Hutch assured him. “No one holds a candle to you, and never will.”

“Good,” Starsky said, “because I can’t see me ever sharing you with anyone.” Starsky smiled. “Oh, by the way, Huggy knows about us too.”

Hutch laughed aloud and settled into Starsky’s arms.

“You know what else I learned?” Hutch said, his eyes gleaming. “I learned that there are a lot of ways to have everything you want, but the most important thing is to hold onto love with all your strength. The fact that I had everything, have everything, right here in front of me, makes me the luckiest guy in the world, and it’s certainly not something I should run from. I would have survived, Starsky, if you had gone to Huggy’s, but I don’t know if I would have gotten over it. Ever.”

“Same here,” Starsky said. “At first, I blew it off like some stupid game, drowning my loneliness in beer. Then I realized it wasn’t a game, it was our lives. I began to think that maybe if it didn’t work out, I would find a way to keep going and make sure our friendship survived. I would let go of the rest. I want you to know that if it went down that way, I would have done that. I would have found it hard, yes, but I would have found a way.”

Starsky took the wine glass from Hutch’s hand and placed both of them on the nightstand.

“But you know what?” Starsky continued. “I didn’t want to,” he said, kissing Hutch on the lips. “I really,” he kissed his nose, “really,” he trailed his lips down Hutch’s neck, “really didn’t want to.”  He stroked Hutch’s face as they locked eyes. “Hutch, I know where I belong, and I choose you. Freely.”

The tender look on Hutch’s face sent a wave of warmth through Starsky.

“I could tell you I fell in love with you a long time ago,” Hutch said softly. “And that’s true, but… the word ‘fall’ always makes me think of eventually having to hit the bottom. With you, though, it feels more like floating—endlessly. Is that… normal?”

Starsky’s heart tightened, his breath catching for a moment. He reached for his hand. “For us,” he said. “We’ll define our own normal. We’re not meant to be a conventional couple, are we, Hutch?”

It wasn’t a question, but a shared truth, one that wrapped around them both, creating a space where their love was anything but ordinary.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Hutch answered, pulling Starsky close. “For starters, I can’t see me ever pretending to have a headache when you want sex,” he laughed. “But in other ways, we will be just like everyone else, you know?”

“What about kids? Would you be willing to go down that route, and see where it takes us, maybe not right away, but someday?”

“Definitely. I’ll happily do whatever is best for us,” Hutch said. “We’ll figure that out together. I was thinking, maybe we should be talking to Dobey too. About getting off the streets, I mean.  Being a cop will always have some danger, but we need to get out of the line of fire.”

“You would make a great Lieutenant, Hutch. Or even a Captain.”

“So would you, Starsky. Who knows what’s next, just as long as no more bullets are flying into either one of us.”

Starsky smiled, grateful. “We’ll figure it out, together, like always.”

Starsky closed his eyes as Hutch slowly trailed his hands down his body, the feel of his hands engulfing his every nerve, the soft brush of his breath against his skin, the smoothness of his lips against his neck making him feel alive with need.

Hutch’s silky voice murmured in his ear.

“Starsky,” he said, his hands roaming Starsky’s body. “I don’t know if I can wait anymore, but I don’t want to rush this, or do anything neither of us is ready for.”

Starsky reached under the covers and tugged on the elastic band on Hutch’s shorts, sliding them down past his knees and carefully past his bandaged ankle. He then removed his own underwear and threw both sets on the floor.

“We have the rest of our lives,” Starsky added, “but I don’t think I can last much longer either, if you know what I mean.”

Hutch pulled him close. “If I remember correctly, you told me there would be plenty of orgasms,” his voice was intimate, “There’s no time like the present.”

“A first time for everything,” Starsky chuckled. “What is it you said, Hutch? Sex can be…nothing more than the culmination of an orgasm, a burst of energy to fulfill an immediate need.”

“I did say that,” Hutch admitted, “and you reminded me that with us it would be so much more.”

Starsky lay beneath Hutch, taking his stiff shaft in his hand, rocking the bed. “I’m a pretty smart guy” Starsky smiled. “But so are you. There is absolutely nothing wrong with,” he paused and looked squarely into Hutch’s eyes, “the culmination of an orgasm,” he started pumping slowly, mesmerized by Hutch’s expression of desire, “a burst of energy to fulfill an immediate need,” he murmured, “unless of course,” he paused, teasing, “you want me to stop.”

Hutch whimpered, his eyes mellow and soft, his lips tight against his teeth like he was trying to contain his breath, “Don’t you dare stop,” Hutch demanded. “There is no turning back now,” he said.

Hutch reached below the sheets, finding Starsky’s hard erection, and they began to pump each other in unison. “But I want us to do this together,” Hutch said. “Like everything else we do.”

The bed moved with the rhythm of their rocking bodies, the headboard banging against the wall as they synchronized their movements, the rustle of the wind and the singing frogs making background music, until they peaked, eyes wide with passion, screams of joy against the stillness of the night, culminating in a connection like no other.

They collapsed in each other’s arms, spent, enjoying the subsiding climax.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” Starsky said, a promise he intended to keep. “About how to tell the rest of our friends and family, when the time is right.” He added, “And then we can spend the day doing other things,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“I’ll be here,” Hutch chuckled, as he sleepily closed his eyes.

“I love you,” they said in unison, and chuckled at the tender moment, closing their eyes.

The next morning they awoke, arms and legs still wrapped together, the sun shining through the little window.  Starsky reached across Hutch’s body, stroking his skin, his palm landing on Hutch’s heart.

“Good morning,” Starsky whispered as he kissed Hutch’s forehead. “You know what?”

Hutch blinked, his face soft and damp from the morning kisses. “What,” he said.

“I like it here, like this,” he smiled, wrapping his arms tightly around Hutch. “I may never want to move.”

“They found them,” Hutch laughed, putting on a deep voice. “No food or water for days, attached together, so tightly woven that all the king’s horses couldn’t unravel them.”

“No point in even trying,” Starsy pulled Hutch closer. “Corsican brothers to the end.”

“You sure, Starsk?” Hutch asked, stroking Starsky’s back. “Because I for one can’t ever let you go.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Starsky said, shaking his head with love. “There’s no untwining us, Hutch.”

Starsky rolled on top of Hutch, their arms encircling one other and their legs entangled. Soon, their bodies merged, becoming one, just as their hearts had long before.

Connected from the beginning.

Entwined until the end.