Solace

108

Hutch loses track of new partner Starsky in a firefight and fears he’ll accidently shoot him. Starsky admits it happened to him. An old partner refined his situational awareness and he offers to train Hutch. As their awareness of each other develops, so does their relationship.

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The dream had never been this horrific, this merciless and cruel, and his humanity died as he watched the life drain from the eyes of the man he’d just gunned down. The man who’d tried to kill him. His partner.

Except his partner hadn’t tried to kill him. It was a firefight gone wrong, bullets flying everywhere and they’d lost track of each other, shooting at anyone with a gun. The shooters went down and as he spun, he saw one more and fired, realizing too late it was his partner firing at a last shooter behind him, saving his life. His partner didn’t miss. Neither did he.

He woke crying, but he didn’t dare go back to sleep and risk the dream again. Instead, he got up and made a pot of coffee, strong and sweet. He spent the rest of the night drinking it and playing solitaire, showing up for work exhausted and edgy. There was no hiding it.

“You had that damn dream again, didn’t you?”

He didn’t deny it, but he still refused to explain what he dreamed.

“Starsky, get in here! And bring your partner with you!” Getting called into Dobey’s office was never a good thing when there were other suits with him and everyone was frowning.

“Cap?” He and Hutch edged into the room, but stayed by the door, not planning to stay any longer than absolutely necessary.

“Word is you had a run-in with the Crips gang when you were patrolling the streets as an officer.”

“Yeah, so?” Now he was frowning, too.

“So, they’re looking to expand their territory again, and they’ve been seen nosing around Bay City.” That came from one of the suits next to Dobey’s desk.

Starsky growled softly. “What do you want from me? I’m no expert on street gangs.”

“No, but you got into a gunfight with them, and—”

“Starsk?” Hutch muttered involuntarily.

“And what? Ted Lewis, my partner at the time, and I got lucky and survived.”

“Lucky how?” One of the other suits piped up.

“Geez. Don’t you guys read reports? A handful of Crips wanted some quick cash and were stupid enough to target a convenience store that was a front for a gang running numbers that was closing shop for the night. A gunfight broke out and was almost over before someone called the cops. We showed up late to the party. The survivors shot at us, we shot back. They died, we didn’t. End of story. We didn’t even know they were Crips till we were cleaning up the mess.”

“What tipped you off?” The same suit asked.

“They were carrying an obscene amount of fire power for a half dozen guys wandering the streets late at night. I saw that in ‘Nam, but not here.”

“We’re seeing that more and more with gangs heavily involved in drugs.” The suits looked at one another, then at Captain Dobey. “Thank you, sir. We appreciate your help and the use of your office. We’ll be in touch if we have further questions.” Their leader nodded to Starsky on his way out.

Starsky watched them leave the squad room before addressing Dobey. “Is there a problem starting, Cap? The Crips are nothing to sneeze at. They’re heavily armed, violent sons of bitches.”

“They’ve been seen in and out of Bay City, Starsky. Be careful out there. Report any sightings, but try not to engage.” Dobey was about to wave them out, but frowned. “Are you coming down with something, Hutchinson? You look like hell.”

“I’m okay, Cap. Just had a bad night. Didn’t get much sleep.”

“Hmm…” Dobey looked him over. “If you’re sick, stay home. Get outta here, the both of you.”

They hit the streets.

* * * *

“This can’t go on, Hutch. We have to talk about this dream of yours. You’re barely able to function and I won’t risk you getting hurt.”

Hutch had been staring blankly out the window of the Torino all morning, ignoring Starsky’s small talk, but at those words, he exhaled sharply. “Not here, Starsk. Not now. Let’s get through the day and we’ll talk at my place tonight. I promise.”

Starsky studied him and nodded. “I believe you. Okay, tonight.”

It was a long afternoon, but largely uneventful. They checked in, finished their paperwork and headed out to the parking lot.

“Want me to pick up a pizza?” Starsky leaned against the Torino.

“I’m not really hungry, Starsk. Just get something for yourself.” Hutch wasn’t parked far. “I’ll meet you at my place and we’ll talk like I promised.”

“I’ll get some burgers and you’ll eat one.” Starsky wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’m right behind you.” He got in the Torino and headed toward Hutch’s place.

* * * *

Hutch choked down half of the burger Starsky bought him, and washed it down with the last of the coffee he’d made this morning, still strong and sweet, but cold. Then he asked Starsky about what went on in Dobey’s office. “Crips? You had a gunfight with Crips? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“About what? You’re a good partner, but we’re still learning about each other. I don’t know what you did after the academy and before we were assigned here. You don’t know what I did.” He took another drink of the beer he was holding. “We’re supposed to be talking about your dream. It must be a bad one if you’re not sleeping. We can’t risk it affecting our efficiency on the streets, or one of us getting hurt.”

“Yeah, about that…” Hutch stood up and got himself a Coke. “Want another beer?”

“What I want is to talk about your damn dream. Why are you stalling?”

His exhaustion diminished his control and left him angry. “I’m not. Okay, let’s talk. I dream we’re in a street fight, bullets flying everywhere, and I shoot you by mistake. Only now, you die.” He glared at the pensive look on Starsky’s face. “You’ve got an answer for everything. How do I stop it? It’s all I dream now, and it’s becoming more intense, more detailed. The look on your face as you died last night…”

The look had unnerved him and to save Starsky’s life, he knew he would do what he was about to say. “When I woke, I almost put the barrel of my gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger…” The pensive look on Starsky’s face changed to shock and Hutch took a deep breath. “And now I’m finding out you’re the one who had a shoot-out with the Crips? I was thinking about transferring, but I’m better off doing that instead. I don’t wanna be responsible for getting any partner hurt or killed.”

“Hold on, Hutch. Don’t rush into hasty decisions. When this dream start?” The pensive look was back.

Hutch flopped down on the sofa, the unopened Coke clutched in one hand. “Couple of weeks ago.” He played with the can, to avoid looking at Starsky. “While getting coffee, I overheard some chatter about a gang scruff in the next county. There wasn’t much to it, but somebody had a wild story about two street cops years ago, who were caught in a gunfight involving Crips and they nearly killed each other in the crossfire as things were winding down. It broke up their partnership and they both quit the force.”

He sighed and set the can on the coffee table. “I probably would have shrugged it off, but that was the day we arrested those suspects who robbed the jewelry store and shot the owner. We got separated and for a moment, I didn’t know where you were while I was firing. The damn dream started that night. It was vague at first. Suspects running, shots fired kind of thing. The details came later and got worse, and I started waking up screaming.” He rubbed his face, and said half to himself, “Then you died in the dream, and the look on your face…I woke up in tears.” Hutch shook his head and was silent for a long time.

He stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry, Starsk. I admit it, I’m too damned tired. I catnap when I can, but I can’t handle the dream anymore.”

“Street gossip,” Starsky muttered. “I wish you’d said something. I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose my partner to street gossip, just when we’re beginning to trust each other.” Starsky finished his beer and reached for Hutch’s abandoned Coke and opened the can. “Yeah, those street cops were Ted Lewis and me. I was his rookie. He was a seasoned cop with a pregnant wife and three young daughters, all of whom he loved dearly, but he was always going on about wanting a son.” He took a swig from the can.

“It was like I told the suits in Dobey’s office. We came late, the survivors on both sides shot at us, and we shot back. We lived, they didn’t. But…” Starsky took another drink.

“But?” Hutch prodded.

“…but I lost track of Ted in the gunfight. It was dark, I saw the glint of a barrel and I shot and grazed the shooter. He went down. Before I could shoot again, he yelled my name. It was Ted and he was pissed as hell. He turned the air blue ranting at me while we finished the gunfight and waited for backup. But he didn’t rat me out when backup arrived, and neither of us quit the force.”

Starsky finished the can. “His wife had a boy five months later. Ted named him after me as punishment. Said it’ll be my job to make sure little Davy Lewis doesn’t drown in a sea of estrogen if anything happens to him.” Starsky snorted. “Ted is a desk sergeant now at a precinct across town. We aren’t close, but I see him a couple of times a year. His boy just turned four and is quite the hellraiser. Wants to be GI Joe when he grows up. But Ted’s oldest girl wants to be a cop like her dad. I think she’ll be a good one. They’re a lot alike.”

They were silent for a time, then Hutch yawned again.

“Get some sleep, Hutch. I’ll keep watch—”

“What happened after you almost shot your partner that night? Did he request a new one? Did you transfer?”

“Hutch…”

“Please, Starsk. What happened?”

“Neither happened. Ted said he knew what the problem was. He drove me nuts with some crazy training of his. It was like being in ‘Nam again, without all the shooting.” Starsky muttered appreciatively. “But he was right and very effective.”

“What did he do?”

“Hutch, get some sleep. I’ll stand guard. We’ll talk again when you wake up.”

“I don’t—”

“Just stretch out here on the sofa and close your eyes. You need it.” He cajoled Hutch into laying down.

As Hutch settled, Starsky stroked his brow softly. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be here.”

Hutch sighed and closed his eyes.

Starsky thought he’d have to tiptoe around so Hutch could rest, but by the time he took the takeout trash to the kitchen, grabbed another Coke and returned, Hutch was out cold. He pulled a chair near the sofa and settled in to keep watch.

He hadn’t even drunk a third of the Coke before Hutch moaned and started fussing in his sleep. Starsky leaned over and stroked Hutch’s brow, whispering softly, “It’s okay, Hutch, I’m here.” To his relief, Hutch sighed and quieted.

Each time it happened, he did the same, and to his intense pleasure, Hutch settled under his hand. Instead of the hour he’d intended, he gave Hutch two before waking him to talk as promised. “Hutch?”

“Huh?” Hutch woke disoriented. “Starsk? What time is it?”

“About eight thirty. How ya feeling?” He stroked Hutch’s brow again.

“Tired, but no dream,” Hutch said, surprised. “What did you do?”

“I stroked your forehead and talked to you when you started to fuss. Want to talk, or sleep some more?”

“Talk, I guess. We work tomorrow and you can’t spend the night.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve got better things to do than babysit me all night, and you’ll need clean clothes to wear tomorrow.” Hutch sat up and stretched. “Let’s just get this done so you can go. You said your ex-partner had some training lesson? What did he do?”

“He said my situational awareness sucked and needed a booster. Like being in combat, or those pictures they flash at you when they test your responses. Are you shooting a bad guy with a rifle, or an old man holding a cane? A woman carrying a baby, or an AK-47? You can’t just depend on your sight. You have other senses that can sharpen your awareness, make you quicker. After work, he started taking me to vacant warehouses, alleys and the like, and he would blindfold me and make me figure out where he was. Near, far, above him, below him, and so on. The places got smaller and busier as my awareness improved. It didn’t take long. “Nam, I guess, but when he was done, I never lost track of him in a firefight again.”

Hutch nodded abstractedly. “I’ve never been in combat. Can you do that with me?”

“Absolutely.” Starsky said with assurance. “We haven’t been partners long, Hutch, but you already respond to me subconsciously. There’s trust. That’s more than half the battle. Get some rest. We’ll start tomorrow.”

Hutch went to his bedroom and changed while Starsky waited. “I’ll be okay, Starsk. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“Do you have a pair of flannels I can borrow?”

“Why?”

“You need the rest. You’ll get it if I stay.” He studied Hutch. “Is that a problem?”

“No, but you can’t sit in a chair all night waiting to stroke my head if I fuss. I have a double bed. We can share it unless you object to that.”

“No objection. We can share.” He kicked off his shoes by the door, and set his keys and wallet on the counter. “Okay if I put my gun on your dresser or in your nightstand drawer? I don’t want to leave it unattended on the counter.”

“Sure. Bring it with you. Or you can put it in my lockbox.” Hutch returned to his bedroom and pulled out another pair of flannels. “I bought it when that dream changed.”

“Good idea. Here, you can add it while I change.” He swapped his gun for the flannels and changed while Hutch opened the lockbox and placed Starsky’s gun next to his, then set it back on the dresser.

“Settle in and get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need me.” Starsky urged his partner into bed, then laid down next to him. “Good night, Hutch.”

“’night, Starsk.” Hutch turned off the lamp on the nightstand and snuggled under the covers.

* * * *

Hutch woke more rested than he’d felt in weeks, in Starsky’s loose embrace. It felt good, right, and he lay quietly, wanting it to last, knowing it wouldn’t. Starsky was a lot of fun to be around, but he was a womanizer. Hutch enjoyed their double dates, though—the movies, the bowling, mini-golf, picnics. There was none of the chest-beating posturing of sexual prowess Hutch endured with drinking buddies from college or the police academy.

And Starsky was a toucher. That was something new to Hutch’s experience. It wasn’t erotic and it wasn’t patronizing, like re-enforcing the behavior of a well-trained dog. It was simple reassurance. There was no casual touching in Hutch’s personal life, growing up or during his brief marriage. Either it was done for a reason, or not at all, and he thought that was the way it was—until Starsky. The concept fascinated him.

The alarm went off.

He waited until Starsky extracted himself from the bedding before saying anything. “Do you want to shower first? I can find you something to wear, or I’ll cover for you at the precinct if you want to run home and change.”

Starsky stood and stretched. “How ya feeling? Better?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Thanks, Starsk. You didn’t have to put yourself out like this.”

Starsky snorted. “You’re my partner, Blintz. That’s what partners do.”

“Blintz?”

“Another nickname. Get used to it.” He carded fingers through the curls on his chest. “I’ve got a change of clothes in the gym bag in my car. Do you want to drive together today, or take separate cars?”

“We can drive together if you’re serious about giving me that lesson. Go get your clothes. I’ll take a quick shower, then you can have the bathroom to yourself.”

“Thanks. Grab a scarf or something we can use as a blindfold later.”

* * * *

He took Hutch to a derelict warehouse full of junk. He blindfolded Hutch and turned him loose, instructing Hutch to find him, the way Ted had started with him. To his surprise, Hutch was able to track him, but couldn’t explain how. He cut the lesson short and they grabbed takeout on their way back to Hutch’s place.

After they finished eating, Hutch hesitantly asked if Starsky was staying the night again.

“I can. Tomorrow’s Friday. I have no weekend plans. We can continue the lessons if you’re available, but you did well today.”

“I’d like to, if you’re willing. Thanks, Starsk.” Hutch gathered the takeout trash. “The flannels you wore last night are hanging on the bathroom door. I can loan you something to wear tomorrow.”

He tossed the trash and offered Starsky a beer. “Feel free to watch tv and help yourself to whatever you want to snack on in the fridge or the cupboard. I’m still catching up on sleep, so I’m going to bed.”

Starsky took the beer. “Thanks, Hutch. I’ll keep an eye on you. I won’t let you down.”

Hutch nodded, relief in his voice. “I know. Thanks.”

* * * *

He woke alone in the middle of the night, not anxious or upset, but puzzled, wondering why Starsky was camped out on the couch and how he knew. He got up and went to the living room.

Starsky was passed out in front of a test pattern on the television.

“Starsk?”

“Huh? Are you okay? Did you have that dream again?” Starsky sat up apologetically.

“No, not at all. Just wondered why you didn’t come to bed.”

“Fell asleep,” Starsky said sheepishly. “Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“Well, come to bed.” Hutch turned off the tv while Starsky got up and headed for the bathroom, before joining Hutch.

“Geez, you’d think I was moving in. I’ve already got dirty socks hanging on your hamper and a toothbrush sitting on your counter, and it’s only been one night!” Starsky teased.

“Toothbrush?”

“Yeah, I keep a travel toothbrush and toothpaste in my gym bag. Never know when I might need ‘em.” Starsky shrugged.

“I’ll bet.” Hutch tidied the bedding. “Which side you want?”

“Same as last night. Side closest to the bathroom, for those quick cleanups,” Starsky said without thinking. “Sorry.”

Hutch said nothing, just laid down and pulled the covers over himself. Starsky laid next to him and turned off the lamp. “’night, Hutch.”

They slept without incident and Hutch woke to find himself in Starsky’s loose embrace again. He enjoyed the touch quietly until the alarm went off.

* * * *

It was a busy shift, but they got through it and the small mountain of paperwork it generated. Afterward, they swung by Starsky’s place to grab some clothes, then stopped and ate at Huggy’s, so they weren’t eating takeout again, and could catch up on the street talk over a couple of beers. Huggy filled them in.

“Crips are nosing around again. I didn’t think our street business was big enough to attract their attention, but word is some of the other gangs aren’t happy, so everyone is spoiling for a fight. Not everyone is into drugs. At least, not yet, but everyone has guns to show off.”

Hutch looked at Starsky and frowned. “Not good, Starsk. A pack is a pack and it’ll keep on going until it’s stopped.”

“Stopped by what, Hutch?” Huggy interjected.

“Either it gets what it wants, or…” Hutch sighed.

“Or?”

“Or is stopped by a bigger pack. At least one more ruthless than it is.” Hutch took a large drink of the beer Huggy set in front of him. “And none of them will have any regard for anyone who gets in the way. Once it starts, it’ll be brutal and bloody.”

“How do ya stop something like that?”

“Judging from the suits we saw in Dobey’s office, they aren’t talking cops. Maybe National Guard? Christ! Troops and guns on US city streets? Shootings, arson, fistfights, mass destruction. We saw that back in ’68 with the Watts Riots. That was a nasty piece of business, and it spread fast and indiscriminately—race, religion, hell, nobody was safe.” Starsky loved action, but not that kind. “Do us a favour, Huggy. Don’t talk that up. That kind of rumour would start a war on its own. We’d end up with martial law!”

“Don’t I know it. My lips are sealed. Maybe yours should be, too. It’s getting busy here, and you never know who could be listening.”

“We gotta go anyway. Give us the check, and we’ll get lost,” Hutch pulled out his wallet. “It’s on me, Starsk.” Hutch paid the bill, left a tip and they headed back to his place in silence.

They were hunkered down with a couple of beers in front of Hutch’s tv before he said anything more on the discussion from dinner. “I dunno, Starsk. I thought organized crime was bad enough with the bad guys armed. But they had a code of sorts. They stuck to shooting each other, Feds and cops, and left families and outsiders alone. But drugs are a whole new nightmare. It’s recession-proof and escalating. The players don’t care about anybody. There is no code but ‘gimme.’ Sellers want what they want—money, territory, power, sex. Users want their fixes and will do anything, give sellers anything they want to get them. I don’t understand that. I really don’t.”

Starsky finished his beer and looked at the empty bottle. “I dunno what to tell ya, Hutch, except it’s not gonna get better anytime soon. Addiction is a nasty business.” He stood up and headed for the kitchen. “We don’t work tomorrow, so I’m getting one more beer. Want another?” He tossed the empty bottle in the recycle bin and opened the fridge.

“No thanks. I haven’t finished this one.” Hutch looked at the nearly full bottle in his hand, but didn’t drink from it. “Want it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Starsky closed the fridge door, came back to the living room and took the beer from Hutch.

Hutch watched Starsky’s lips wrap around the bottle he’d just had in his own mouth, and he felt an unexpected twinge of arousal flash through him, one he’d never had before. He shook it off and focused on the television show Starsky had turned on.

“Still wanna do that lesson tomorrow?” When Hutch didn’t respond, Starsky prodded him. “Hutch? The lesson?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” Hutch no longer felt the need, but he didn’t want Starsky to go. Wanted to wake up in one last embrace. Wanted to feel the reassurance he got from Starsky’s casual touch.

“Okay.” Starsky took another slow drink from the bottle.

Another flash of arousal hit Hutch. “I’m going to bed, Starsk. Help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen.” He fled before Starsky said anything more.

* * * *

The dream was different this time. Vivid, hot touches, passionate whispers urging—no, demanding—that he obey the order to come in the hand that gripped his cock. Starsky’s hand. He gasped and poured his life out with a strangled cry.

“Hutch? You okay?” Starsky muttered softly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Hutch turned away, his crotch soaked from the most intense wet dream he’d ever had. As Starsky settled back into sleep, Hutch got up and hurried to the bathroom for—what did Starsky call it? —a quick cleanup. He was embarrassed as hell, but he’d never been so satisfied by an orgasm before. After his cleanup, he quietly stopped by the dresser to get his last set of clean flannels to wear the rest of the night, then crawled back into bed. He was barely settled when Starsky rolled over in his sleep and cradled him in the loose caress he so enjoyed.

Hutch lay awake the rest of the night.

* * * *

The lesson went so well, Starsky deemed more weren’t needed and they returned to their separate lives, but closer, more comfortable with each other than they’d been. As they resumed their occasional double dates, Hutch buried the memory of his wet dream as a fond aberration of circumstance.

The streets were fairly quiet, and life went on.

Then Ben Forrest happened and Hutch got a first-hand taste of life as a drug addict. He didn’t experience the homeless, jobless, failing health desperation of the street addict, but Forrest made sure he suffered and crawled and begged for the fixes he needed to regain his highs and maintain them for as long as Forrest allowed. By the time Forrest was done with him, he’d have done anything for his next fix.

But in one last, barely sensed, subconscious plea from his frantic partner, Hutch broke away from captors taking him to be killed—and ran straight into Starsky’s arms.

Starsky hid him away, nursed him, bullied him, caressed him through his own version of tough love rehab. Nagging him, holding the bucket while Hutch puked his guts out, cleaning up his messes, force-feeding him coffee and the sugary sweets he generally avoided, and touching him. Constantly touching him, murmuring words of comfort and encouragement, while Hutch offered Starsky his body and soul for one more fix, one more high, and angrily spouted words of hate when Starsky refused.

When it was over, when Forrest was locked away, Hutch was clean of the heroin, but not the remorse he harboured for his treatment of Starsky.

It bothered him that Starsky didn’t seem concerned by it, didn’t want penance from Hutch for what he’d put Starsky through. But Starsky’s touching escalated and Hutch’s wet dream resumed, which was punishment enough. Awake, he knew it was only a dream and never gonna happen. But like the earlier dream, his subconscious filled in more and more details, and he found himself craving Starsky’s attention, wanting a profound emotional connection and a physical relationship that he fantasized as exclusive.

In an attempt to derail the fantasy, Hutch frantically serial dated for a time, seldom seeing the same woman twice, then gave it up and lived like a monk. He listened apathetically to Starsky’s small talk in the Torino, but didn’t say anything unless asked direct questions, answered in the fewest words possible.

It didn’t help. The fantasy grew stronger, more real to Hutch, and he began to consider a transfer, but didn’t know how to tell Starsky without embarrassing them both.

Then a Crips-Blood gang fight occurred in L.A.

It was brutal and bloody and had their usual mixed ideology—power, protection, anger at “The Man” and money. Always money. But although there were worries it would spread to Bay City, it stayed in south L.A. and ended quicker than expected. An uneasy truce settled in the region.

Starsky was restless and a little unnerved on their shift the next day. “I dunno, Hutch. Maybe we should move someplace smaller, more rural. There’s gotta be a Mayberry somewhere that needs a couple of deputy sheriffs. Whatcha think? Hutch? Hutch! Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, sure, Mayberry.” He hadn’t been, he just parroted back the last thing he heard.

Starsky knew it and made up a story to get him to focus. “Great! I’ll pick you up at 10:15. We can make the last show at 11:00. Make sure you have a wad of singles. Don’t worry. The kitchen’s open till midnight.”

“Wait, what show? What the hell do I need singles for?” Hutch finally clued into Starsky’s annoyance.

“You agreed to go to that new strip joint down on Main with me tonight. The one where the Chippendales are strutting their stuff twice a night for their adoring fans, and they’ll love your fingers tucking singles in their g-strings. But Blondie, be careful. You don’t wanna be mistaken for one of them enjoying a night off spending his wad of g-string singles. You are one gorgeous piece of meat. Hell, I’d pay to see you oiled up and packing…” It was meant to be an acerbic barb, then suddenly, it wasn’t.

Starsky blushed redder than the Torino and shut up.

Hutch’s jaw dropped and he burned with arousal, with another hour of their shift to kill. He didn’t think he’d make it.

“Zebra Three, Zebra Three, come in…”

Thank god! Hutch took the call. A liquor store, two blocks over was being robbed, shots fired. Hutch acknowledged, Starsky hit the pedal and turned right at the corner. They were there in ninety seconds flat, in time for Starsky to block the getaway car and Hutch to leap out and tackle the robber running out of the store, waving his gun at someone behind him. He didn’t see Hutch.

Neither expected a store clerk to chase after him, shooting indiscriminately, winging Hutch.

Starsky was livid. “Police! Drop the gun! Let me see your hands!” He pointed his own gun at the second shooter. “I said drop the gun!”

“Wait! I own the place! He was robbing me!” The guy stopped dead in his tracks and set the gun down, then raised his hands.

“Hutch! You okay?”

“Yeah, he just grazed me.” Hutch cuffed the robber, picked up the robber’s gun, then reached for the owner’s.

Starsky addressed the driver of the getaway car he was blocking. “Keep those hands where I can see them. Now, turn off the car.” The car shut off and Starsky opened the door, motioning the driver to get out. “Don’t do anything stupid now, buddy. An ambulance will take forever in rush hour traffic, even with sirens blaring.” He cuffed the driver to the car, radioed for backup, then went to help Hutch.

His left side was bloody, where the bullet had torn through his shirt and grazed him. Starsky wanted to punch the owner. “You idiot! You could have killed a cop or some innocent bystander! The guy was leaving the store. You should have let him go, instead of shooting out the door like that! Hell! I could’ve shot you as this loser’s partner! I should charge you with assault with a deadly weapon for this damn stunt of yours!”

“Calm down, Starsk. I’m fine.” Hutch said softly.

Starsky wasn’t buying it. “You’re not fine! This clown shot ya! You’d be lying dead in a pool of blood on the pavement if you hadn’t already been going down tackling that guy.” Starsky turned back to the store owner. “You’d better have a permit for that gun, or I swear…”

To everyone’s relief, backup arrived. They arranged for a tow truck to take the getaway vehicle to the impound lot, stuck the cuffed perpetrators in the rear of the backup unit and took the owner’s statement. He got a receipt for his gun, pending proof of permit, then Starsky said the rest of the paperwork would have to wait while he drove his partner to the ER for stitches for the wound in his side.

“Get in the Torino, Hutch. Let’s go.” He was calmer, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. Hutch got in.

* * * *

Four stitches later, they skipped going back to the precinct and headed back to Hutch’s place with the prescription for pain they picked up and a pizza Starsky ordered before they left the ER.

At Hutch’s, Starsky grabbed a couple of Cokes from the fridge. As they ate, Hutch said, “We should have skipped the pizza. I still need to pick up my car at the precinct, so I have a way to get to work in the morning.”

“I can stay over and drive you, but maybe you should call off.”

“Why?”

“Why?! You were shot tonight!”

“Oh for chrissake, Starsk. I got grazed. Four lousy stitches. You act like I’m at death’s door.”

“Don’t say that!”

Hutch frowned. Starsky had been volatile since they took the call. “What’s wrong, Starsk?”

“I could ask you the same damn question,” Starsky retorted.

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Don’t play games with me, Blintz. You don’t want to hang out anymore. You don’t talk to me. You mope in the Torino like a puppy who knows he’s going to the vet for his shots. Hell, half the time, you don’t hear a word I say. You don’t listen to me!”

Hutch had to admit it was true, but he couldn’t admit why. “So, what do we do? Change partners? Transfer?”

Starsky looked at him intently. “Can we just talk? I’ll tell you what. For the next hour, we’ll speak nothing but the truth to each other. Maybe we can clear the air.”

Hutch shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Starsk.”

“Half hour.”

“No.”

“Fifteen minutes! Dammit, Hutch, you can’t tell the truth for a lousy fifteen minutes? Fine. We’re done. Do you wanna transfer or do you want me to?” He stood and dug out his keys. “Never mind. I’ll do it. That way, you don’t have to make a decision. I’ll meet ya downstairs and take you to your car.” He headed for the door.

“Starsky, wait!”

He didn’t even slow down. “No reason to. I’ll be downstairs.”

The Torino was idling when Hutch wandered down and slid in without a word. But before Starsky could put it in reverse and back out of the parking space, Hutch said “The truth for fifteen minutes,” and he leaned over and deliberately cupped Starsky’s crotch.

“Hutch?” Starsky gripped the hand touching him and arched into it. “God, that feels so good,” he breathed.

“Your touch centers me. Reassures me.” Hutch murmured to his partner. “It’s given me comfort for a long time, tells me things are gonna be all right. But lately…lately, I dream…your touch arouses me, Starsk. In my dreams, it’s an addiction. I do anything you want, so you’ll make me come for you.”

He unconsciously squeezed the crotch he held. “And when you talked about paying to see me oiled up, I got hard as hell.” He sighed and let go of Starsky and sat back. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Babe…” Starsky could barely speak. He turned off the Torino and opened the door. “Upstairs, Hutch.”

On the way up, Hutch took a chance and asked outright. “Why do you touch me, Starsky? I mean, you touch others, but not like you touch me. Why?”

Starsky followed him up in silence. When they got inside, Hutch faced him and asked again. “Why?”

“I-I dunno, Hutch.”

Hutch sighed. “I guess the fifteen minutes only applies to me. Go home, Starsky. I’ll call a cab.”

Starsky pushed him against the door and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Hutch grabbed Starsky’s wrists to stop him.

“I want to touch skin, not your shirt.” He finished unbuttoning Hutch’s shirt and opened it as Hutch’s hands fell away. He carefully stroked Hutch’s torso, leaned close and sniffed. “You smell of the antiseptic they used to scrub your skin before they stitched you up.” He kept stroking and his fingers touched Hutch’s nipples. “Like that, huh? They’re rock hard.” He pinched both nipples, then deliberately bit one.

Hutch gasped. “Christ, Starsk! What are you doing to me?”

Starsky’s hands moved down to Hutch’s crotch. “Turning you on. You’re so damn hard.”

“Let’s go to the bedroom, take off our clothes and touch each other, Starsk.”

Starsky’s hands released him. “No, Hutch.”

Hutch nodded to himself and closed his shirt. “So, this was meant to teach me a lesson. I got it, Starsk. Very effective. All your lessons are.” He stepped away from the door and opened it. “You can go home now.” He went into the bathroom, closed the door and locked it. He stripped, took a shower and carefully changed the dressing on his stitches, but didn’t bother getting dressed. He padded naked to the kitchen.

Starsky had turned the lights out when he left. It didn’t matter. Hutch went to the fridge, got a beer and leaned against the sink. He chugged it in the dark, set the bottle on the counter and went to his bedroom.

Starsky was in his bed.

“Get out of my bed, dammit! I don’t want you here. In fact, I don’t want to see you again. I’ve already made a fool of myself today. Didn’t you get enough?”

“You wanted to know why I touch you. I honestly don’t know, Hutch. You had a rough time early on, so I gave you a pat like my mom used to do and you acted like no one’d ever done that before.”

“No one ever had,” Hutch muttered.

“Seriously?” Starsky was surprised. “You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seemed to help, so I just kept doing it. Then when you were coming off the heroin…” They were both silent, remembering Starsky’s hands all over Hutch’s body. “…after you were clean, I couldn’t stop myself. I started having my own dreams and fantasies.” He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp to show he wasn’t nude. “Lay with me, Hutch. I’ll put my hands wherever you want them, but I can’t strip down. If I do, I’ll bury myself in your body, and we’re not ready for that. Not when I haven’t even kissed you. Don’t even know if you’ll let me…” He groaned softly and adjusted himself, staring hungrily at Hutch.

Hutch returned his stare. “At least take off your jeans, Starsk. We’ll both be more comfortable.” He laid down on the bed and fondled his growing hard-on while Starsky removed his jeans, then laid beside him.

“Now what?” Starsky whispered.

Hutch took one of Starsky’s hands and wrapped it around his cock. “Now kiss me.”

Starsky did as he was told. The kiss was sweet, intense, and Starsky began pumping Hutch’s cock, manipulating it the way he did in Hutch’s wet dream so long ago.

Hutch moaned in growing need. “Starsk…oh god, Starsk…”

And just like in his wet dream, Starsky took over and drove him higher, demanding Hutch come. Hutch obeyed and spurted all over Starsky’s hand, collapsing in ecstatic bliss.

“Felt good, didn’t it? I can make it even better if you’ll let me,” Starsky whispered, half to himself. “I want you, Hutch.”

The bliss faded, and reality set in. After a long silence, Hutch said quietly. “It wouldn’t work, Starsk. You want a partner you can trust unconditionally to back you up when you’re on the job, but you question everything I say if I disagree with you. As for this…” he waved his hand at the mess they’d made, “You want someone you can play with, no strings attached, when you’re between women. That’s not me.”

He cleaned himself up with the top sheet, then stood and pulled the quilt off his bed and wrapped it around himself. “Wipe your hand on the sheet, then you can clean up in the bathroom, but it’s getting late and you need to go.”

“Your car is still at the precinct.” Starsky watched him carefully.

“I’ll take a cab in the morning. And you don’t need to transfer. I intend to quit, effective immediately.” He didn’t look at Starsky.

“Hutch—”

“Just go. Please.” He waited while Starsky wiped his hands on the sheet, and headed for the bathroom to wash them. Hutch stripped the top sheet off the bed and tossed it in a corner of the room.

When Starsky returned for his jeans, Hutch was sitting dejectedly on the bed, waiting for him to go. Starsky dressed, then stopped at the dresser, but instead of asking Hutch to open it so he could retrieve his gun, he took the whole lockbox and headed for the living room. “You don’t need a cab, Hutch. I’ll take you in the morning.” As he closed the door behind him, he said, “I’ll be on the sofa. Get some sleep.”

Hutch curled up on his bed and cried softly to himself.

* * * *

Starsky was up and waiting for him with coffee in hand when Hutch came out ready to pick up his car the next morning. He opened the lockbox and accepted the coffee, then led the way down to Starsky’s car. It was all done in silence.

When they were almost to the precinct, Starsky dared to touch his leg and say, “Don’t quit, Hutch. Just give it a little more time. Now that we’re talking again, we can work this out.”

Hutch continued to look out the window of the Torino, but as it pulled into the precinct parking lot, he nodded silently. Starsky sighed in relief and parked. “Let’s go. We can grab another cup of coffee before roll call.”

Their partnership got better as their trust in each other deepened. They resumed hanging out after work, first on double dates, then alone, sharing takeout, the occasional movie with home popped, buttered corn, or just watching games on television in comfortable silence.

They didn’t even notice they had both stopped dating entirely.

And they touched—Starsky confidently, Hutch timidly at first, then assuredly as Starsky encouraged him.

One evening, at Starsky’s place, Hutch sat on the floor next to the couch, enjoying Starsky’s fingers in his hair. Suddenly, Starsky’s fingers tightened and tilted his head back. Starsky leaned over and kissed him deeply.

“I want you, Hutch. Come to bed with me, make love with me.”

“L-love?” Hutch stuttered, panting in arousal, eager to be touched, but scared to death.

“Yes, love. I’m not between women. Neither are you. And I don’t want no-strings sex with you. I want more.”

Hutch closed his eyes and nodded.

Starsky stood and helped him up off the floor. He kissed Hutch again and led him into the bedroom, slowly removed his clothes. “Down on the bed, Hutch.”

Hutch sank down, fondling his cock. “Starsk…”

“What do you want, babe?” Starsky tugged his shirt over his head and paused at the longing on Hutch’s face.

“Suck me, Starsk. Please? Suck me,” Hutch whispered, as his cock throbbed in his fist.

Starsky leaned over him and licked the tip, then sucked it delicately. Hutch moaned. Starsky went down on him, sucking Hutch’s cock deep and fucking his own mouth with it.

Hutch went wild, guiding his cock down Starsky’s throat and erupting in an orgasm that took his breath away. He collapsed on the bed, his hands in Starsky’s curls, then he let go and patted them.

Starsky pulled off and wiped his mouth, then stood and finished stripping. “Turn over, Hutch. Please. I want you so damn bad.” His own cock ached, but he didn’t dare touch it. He waited anxiously for Hutch to decide.

Hutch rolled over and got to his hands and knees. Starsky took hold of his hips with trembling hands, spread Hutch’s cheeks and rubbed his cock in the crack. Hutch shuddered. “Do it!” he pleaded. “You’ve talked about it for so long, I’ve begun to dream you do it, and I need to feel what having you in me is like.”

Starsky pushed into him, carefully, steadily, until he was as deep as he could go. “So tight,” he breathed. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you if I move.”

Hutch did it for him. He squeezed Starsky’s cock in his ass and fucked himself on it, moving it in and out, driving it deeper than Starsky could do it alone and urging him to come. Starsky rammed deep one last time and came hard, sobbing Hutch’s name.

He collapsed on Hutch, pushing him flat on the bed, still in him. “Are you okay, babe?” he whispered to Hutch. Hutch squeezed his cock again in response, but didn’t speak, his own face wet with tears.

Starsky gathered him close and held him. “I love you,” he murmured softly. “Don’t cry, Hutch. We’re together now and I’ll never let you go.”

More tears, gentle weeping Hutch didn’t try to hide. He lay under Starsky as Starsky consoled him and loved Starsky back with all his heart.