A Crack in the Foundation

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One drunken night Starsky comes on to Hutch, but gets rebuffed. Takes place after ‘Moonshine.’

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“I’m drunk.”

Sitting on the couch, Hutch looked down at his friend sprawled on the living room floor, back against the couch, legs spread and head lolling. “No kidding,” he responded sardonically.

“Hey, Hutch! You and me – we’re like Butch and Sundance, right?”

The blond shrugged his shoulders and went along with his partner’s ramblings. “Well, that’s what we always say.”

“Raindrops keep falling on my head, and just like the guy who’s feet are too big for his bed…” Starsky stopped his off-key version of BJ Thomas’ song. “Hey, Hutch? What do feet have to do with raindrops?”

Rolling his eyes at the not unexpected question from his trivia junkie best friend, Hutch responded, “It’s just a way to make the verses rhyme, dummy.”

Starsky continued, “Those raindrops keep falling on my head, they keep falling. Because I’m free; nothing’s worryin’ me. La, la, la, la, la de da.”

“That’s the wrong verse you idiot.” But Hutch softened the words by rustling his hand through the mussed curls.

“Shit!” Starsky brought his hands up to hold his head together, as it felt like it was going to fall right off his shoulders. “I think I’m a hafta spend the night, Hutch.”

“I wouldn’t let you go home in your condition, buddy.”

“My condition? Like you ain’t as drunk as I am.” Starsky grumbled.

“Nope. I’ve been drinking the regular stuff. It’s you that took a shining – so to speak – to that moonshine.” Hutch took another swig at his bottle of beer, as if to show his friend that his coordination was just fine. Unfortunately the message was ineffective as a small trail of golden fluid dribbled out the corner of the broad mouth and down his chin.

“Well the Ivers’ gave it to us as a thank you. I couldn’t very well turn ’em down.” Starsky burped, “Especially seeing as this is the good, clean stuff.”

“Yes you could’ve. We’re not supposed to take gifts.” Hutch pointed out – verbally as well as physically.

Head tilted backward, Starsky’s blurred midnight blue eyes pleaded with his partner’s. “Aw geez, you’re not gonna say anything are you?”

Blond eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I can’t believe you asked me that, partner.”

Starsky’s messed curls dropped in shame. “I’m sorry Hutch. You’re right. You’re the best. The best partner and friend a man could ask for.” And probably the best lover too…but no use bringing that up.

Jokingly, and with a wicked gleam in his eyes, Hutch promised “not to tell Dobey, if…” he let it hang like a threat. “If you give me a kiss.”

Starsky sat stunned for a moment, then without warning or hesitation, and belying his condition, he scrambled up on the couch. Perching on his knees next to Hutch’s legs, he leaned in close, gathering Hutch’s face to pull it sideways and toward his own.

Not believing his partner would take him up on the joke, Hutch tensed his neck and pulled away.

Come with me babe. I can make it good. This is my big chance to show you what I really feel. Starsky wasn’t drunk enough to not know what he was doing, but relaxed enough to follow through with no fear. He had wanted this from Hutch for awhile now and nothing, not even Hutch’s alarm, was going to stop him now. Though Hutch’s feeling would usually detract him, because he was drunk Starsky wasn’t lucid enough to think through those thoughts.

The darker head followed the lighter one until the latter was flush against the couch back with nowhere else to go.

GOTCHA!

Soft, pliant lips met with taut, dry ones. Starsky took no notice that Hutch didn’t fall into his gift with enthusiastic response. His own mind and body thrummed with the joy that he was finally kissing his best friend. He melted into his partner’s strong body, left hand stroking the side of Hutch’s face, his right hand holding tightly onto his partner’s shoulder. Not realizing that Hutch’s arms were flung out sideways, bracing against the back of the couch, his eyes wide with shock and concern.

He’s drunk; he doesn’t know what he’s doing. The other man was shocked that his best friend had actually taken him up on the joke. It’s because I teased him and our closeness that he has the courage to do this. After several moments Hutch couldn’t deny the sensuous movements of his partner’s hand on his face and the tenderness of the kiss. Something’s out whack here. He’s either really, really drunk and doesn’t realize it’s me, or…he’s been hiding something from me.

Hands began to run down the front of Hutch’s shirt, sending shivers coursing through his torso. As Starsky began to unbutton his plaid shirt, Hutch finally roused from his relaxed stupor. He began to squirm to try to displace his partner, or at least get from under him.

Starsky took the movements a different way. Sighing, he exclaimed, “Hutch, oh Hutch, babe.” Fingers reached into the opened shirt to touch the smooth skin beneath. “Oh man, you are so soft. You feel so good babe.”

Well that throws that theory out; he obviously knows who I am. So, that leaves what? That he’s hot for me? Hutch needed Starsky’s caresses to stop. His partner would be embarrassed enough the next morning – if he remembered anything, that is.

“Starsk, stop. You reek like alcohol and you’re heavy.”

His partner either didn’t hear him, or chose to ignore Hutch, and kept on caressing his chest, swirling dry fingertips in circles around Hutch’s nipples.

“Come on Starsky. Off!” Hutch barked out and pushed Starsky’s upper arms to shove the shorter man off him.

Crawling off his partner and the couch, Starsky slurred an apology. “Sorry, babe. Didn’t know I was that heavy. Just wanna make you feel good.” He slid down to the floor; right arm up and resting on Hutch’s thigh, his head leaning into the couch.

As he landed, Starsky’s stomach rumbled his body’s impact with the floor. “Oooh – my stomach.” He rubbed his stomach with his left hand to lessen the jolt. The fingers of his hand caught the edge of his loosened shirt, dragging it upward and revealing a thin line of dark hair, as he stroked his torso.

“Too much hooch and pizza. Not a good combo.” Hutch relaxed now that Starsky appeared to have ‘recovered’ from his excited state. Or maybe he was playing some kind of game with me to see how far I let him take it. My head hurts, I’m doing too much analyzing. Shoving all thoughts out of his head, he finished off the remainder of the lukewarm beer in his hand, and leaned over to set the now empty bottle on the table with the other bottles and trash from that evening. Leaning back, he threw his arms outward and relaxed. “Guess we should call it a night,” he mused absently.

Neither man felt like moving much, but they knew – or at least Hutch knew – that they couldn’t sleep in these positions. Hutch thought his friend had already fallen asleep, and though reluctant to wake him, he knew he should.

In fact, Starsky was not asleep and was enjoying the peace that his current closeness to his partner brought him. They never had a problem touching and holding each other in pain, comfort, or friendship; and Starsky was thinking about earlier that week when he lay drunk on the same hootch in Hutch’s lap while on the streets to track down their moonshiners.

As Hutch was just about to lift himself from the couch and wake Starsky, his partner startled him. “Hutch? Do you ‘member the other day – in the car?”

Since rolling his eyes would make his head hurt worse, Hutch tried to inflict sarcasm into his tone of voice. “Starsky we spend every day in the car, mostly your two ton first love.”

“She may be my first love, but she ain’t my best love.” He leaned his head back and looked upward at the long body presented to him – so strong, so relaxed, so…golden.

“Whatever, Starsk. I’m tired, you’re tired and drunk. Let’s leave what you deem meaningful conversation for tomorrow.”

Paying no mind to Hutch’s cynicism, Starsky brought back up what his previous question. “You remember, when I was so drunk you take care ‘a me and I laid in your lap in the car?”

“Uh…yeah.” Hutch’s voice reflected confusion, inebriation, and sleeplessness.

“Did it feel good.”

“Did what feel good?” Starsk, you’re making no sense.

“Me, lying in your lap.”

Hutch was incredulous, and a bit worried. After all, they were so close emotionally that Starsky’s nature invisible boundary might have weakened in his inebriated condition. The dumbo did just kiss me, so obviously the alcohol’s going to more than his head.

Oh, bad pun Hutchinson.

“Starsky, you’re drunk and not making sense. Come on, let’s get up. You need to sleep it off.

“Not drunk.” He hiccuped to contradict the lie and gave a look like a little kid that got caught taking more than one piece of Halloween candy. “Okay, maybe a little drunk.”

Starsky adjusted himself to a more comfortable position on his knees; his eyes more somber and darker than Hutch could ever recall.

“But not so drunk that I don’t know what I’m doing.” With that statement he lowered the side of his face into Hutch’s lap, much the same way he did in the Torino some days ago. “You didn’t answer my question, Hutch.”

More than a little alarmed at not only his friend’s position, but also his frame of mind Hutch attempted to play it ‘normal’. “Hell no, your big head was digging into my leg and if you think I like driving that two ton hunk of metal, you’re more drunk that I thought.”

Even with Starsky’s head facing the other direction, Hutch could sense the change overcome his partner. His lips turned downward, and his body sagged heavily onto Hutch’s legs. Immediately Hutch was contrite.

“Aw, buddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean that. Of course I like taking care of you. And you needed someone then, that’s for sure.” He used his larger hand to pet the dark curls at his reach.

The darker head turned to face Hutch, the smoldering eyes lighting directly upon his zipper. “I’d like to take care of you too, babe. I wanna make you feel real good.” Shockingly, Starsky’s right hand began to pet Hutch’s covered groin, while his left hand smoothed Hutch’s inner thigh.

Even through the denim material, Hutch’s body began to heat up with embarrassment and alarm. Dumbfounded he knew he needed to dislodge his partner from a potentially troublesome situation, while not embarrassing him; yet his mouth and body were frozen – as well as his brain.

After time seemed to slow down then speed back up, Hutch finally got his wits together and slapped Starsky’s straying right hand. “Starsky! Get a grip. Get off me and stop…stop doing that!”

In response, Starsky turned his face into Hutch’s crotch and nuzzled his nose against the bulge beneath the zipper, inhaling the musky scent of his partner as well as the clean scent of Tide detergent. “Mmm. Just me, babe. Gonna make you feel lots better. Take away all that worry.”

Now Hutch was really alarmed. He raised his hips abruptly in surprise as a response to Starsky’s attempt to mouth his cock through his jeans. “Starsky! No!”

The word ‘no’ finally seeped its way into Starsky’s inebriated brain. He lifted his head up to look at his partner. “What?” Confusion, desire, and hunger were reflected on his bleary face and smoky eyes. “No? I don’t understand. You want me to stop?”

Hutch had never seen such a look on Starsky’s face before, not even when the two were making love to the two sisters Jane and Barbette in the same room. He didn’t know how to handle this situation. He needed to be delicate, but firm with his best friend.

“Starsky, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Yes I do. I’m gonna take care of my buddy.” Starsky interrupted, patting gently at Hutch’s crotch.

Continuing his protests, Hutch tried to ignore the sensations coursing through his groin and leg. “Your guard is down and you’re not thinking of the consequences. Please, babe. Stop this; right now. You don’t want to go there.”

“You don’t want me to go down on ya?” The drunker man asked, still stroking Hutch’s leg with his left hand and going after his zipper with his right.

Hutch cringed at the terminology. Normally such crudity didn’t bother him when talking to Starsky, or other men for that matter. It was typical locker room language. But always the subject of our conversation was female!

“No Starsk, I definitely do not want that.” He gently removed Starsky’s hand without jarring the man. Hutch knew that Starsky probably wouldn’t remember much of this event, and he didn’t want to startle him by jostling his body too much. “Come up here. Let’s, uh…let’s take a breather and calm down for a minute and then I’ll get you a pillow and blanket for the couch.” There was no way Hutch could sleep on the couch with his back, and he wasn’t sure about letting Starsky into his bed the way the other’s mind was working right now.

Hutch was the thinker, the more in touch with nature and feelings of the two, but he just didn’t know if he could handle any sort of breakdown tomorrow if Starsky happened to remember what he tried to accomplish. His very male, very macho, very sexual partner wouldn’t be able to handle it if he remembered that he almost gave his best friend a blow job while drunk.

Getting his arm beneath Starksy’s torso, Hutch lifted him up slowly and pushed him backward against the couch. The darker head flopped onto Hutch’s shoulder, followed by his entire body leaning into Hutch’s. Within minutes he was out, lightly snoring away into Hutch’s upper arm, his breath stirring the short white sleeve of Hutch’s shirt.

After dislodging Starsky, it didn’t take long for Hutch to change into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt after settling Starsky with a pillow, blanket, and a sheet for good measure. Sleep came easily for the blond also, even though his mind was troubled with thoughts of Starsky’s abnormal actions. But soon Hutch was lost in the arms of morpheus and being drawn down into a black nightmare of which he could not wake himself from.

The nightmare played over and over in his mind: himself, Starsky, Huggy, and the Torino lined up across from a single gun held in an unknown hand.

First the gun aimed between the partners who were standing next to each other. As the bullet sliced between them, they jumped back and away from each; but not before being grazed and hurting. Wounded physically and emotionally.

Then the gun shifted and shot at Huggy who couldn’t see or hear what was going on because he was wearing dark sunglasses and a large fancy headset radio, listening to some loud disco group. Just before the bullet hits him square in the chest, Huggy changed to a slim, short-statured white man wearing the same glasses and headset. Instead of falling backward from the impact of the gunshot, he in turn changed to a bird and flew away, disappearing in a shower of glass.

Lastly the gun turned on the Torino and shot three times into the gas tank. However, instead of exploding, the car absorbed the bullets and red paint began to drain onto the ground, seeping into the floor where it’s standing.

Over and over the nightmare played through Hutch’s slightly intoxicated mind; to the point he began to call out in quiet whimpers and twisting his body in the thin sheet and blankets.

Normally Starsky would’ve slept through a minor earthquake when drinking, unless his partner was in need. And his subconscious sensed that something was wrong with Hutch now. Rousing slowly with a lightheaded sense of awareness and a shaky body, Starsky stumbled and dragged his way to the alcove where Hutch’s king-sized bed sat.

And in the middle of that bed, a sheet twisted around a long, tight body lying diagonally. Hutch’s left arm was thrown over his face; both fists were balled, the right one holding tightly onto the thin mustard colored blanket beneath him.

Remembering how Hutch would comfort him from nightmares after the Marcus incident, Starsky sat down and placed his body next to his partner. Or rather, plunked down in his woozy state. But Hutch didn’t notice and made no movement other than a slight anguished groan, while rubbing his chest with his left hand.

Starsky laid himself next to his partner and felt the slight trembles and the tenseness of the muscles. Hutch’s t-shirt was damp with sweat, so Starsky gently removed it and used the bunched up material to wipe away the trail that had gathered between his sternum.

The sight of the damp path made Starsky’s innards tremble again. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and kissing Hutch tenderly on the lips. This time Hutch’s lips were more pliant, and Starsky’s hormones began to override his common sense. He started soothing the blond out of his nightmare by running his hand down the slightly damp torso. Each sweep brought his hand closer to the waist band of Hutch’s pajamas.

Eventually Starsky’s left hand found it’s way to Hutch’s groin. Up and down he petted the burgeoning cock through the flannel pants. Hutch didn’t stir from his nightmares as his body began to thrust – hips reaching at each stroke for more of Starsky’s hands.

Starsky was sure Hutch wanted him, even though the prone man was asleep. He told himself that Hutch’s body movements belied his previous denials.

Lovingly he lifted the elastic band over Hutch’s semi-erect penis. Starsky’s hand was trembling as he haltingly touched the velvet head before him. He rested his palm again the shaft as he heard a groan come from Hutch’s throat. Looking up, Starsky saw that his partner was still lost in a nightmare; the pale brow furrowed deeply, the broad mouth turned down.

Still holding Hutch’s cock with his left hand, Starsky reached up with his right hand to sooth the side of Hutch’s face with his knuckles. “Sh, babe; it’s okay. Starsky’s right here. Let me take away those nasty monsters.”

Turning back to the expanding organ, Starsky unhesitatingly dipped his head and darted his tongue around the spongy head, taking a slight dip into the rounded opening at the tip. “Damn, Hutch, you’re gorgeous babe.” Opening his mouth wider and engulfing the head into his mouth just to wet it, Starsky then pulled off and looked back up at his partner. “Man, babe, you taste just like I thought.”

The sensation of cool air hitting his damp cock was enough to finally waken Hutch from his troubled sleep.

Still sleep ridden, his hands went automatically to warm the coolness he felt. Where they should’ve encountered air, they touched a curled head. The luxurious tongue bath jolted him away and he froze momentarily, knowing the feel of that head of hair by heart.

Starsky had not realized that Hutch was awake and continued to kiss and moisten the long cock in front of his face.

Taking both hands and shoving the curled head backward, Hutch curled his lower body into a ball and rolled away from his partner’s form. “STARSKY! What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Chest heaving and fumbling to pull up his pants, the taller man got out of his bed and stayed on the far side, putting distance between himself and his partner. “I can’t believe you! I said no; do you not know what ‘no’ means?!” Hutch was shaking with anger over the breach of trust; disbelief of his partner’s behavior; and fear, that for a moment he actually liked it. He ran a hand through his hair, realizing that he’d better calm down if he didn’t want to push Starsky away emotionally, or say something he’d regret later.

Watching his friend’s tirade, Starsky just sat perched on his knees toward the end of the bed, not saying a word. His alcohol-laden brain was still reeling from the quick shove, and Hutch’s shocked and angry tone of voice.

Taking a deep breath, Hutch looked at his dazed partner and realized that they needed to talk this out. Alcohol or not, it needed to be done tonight. In fact, it was probably better to get into Starsky’s psyche when he had been drinking.

“Starsk, let’s go out to the living room and talk, okay? You’re tired, I’m tired, but I think we need to do this tonight.” There was no way he’d be able to sleep, already his mind was working overtime trying to figure out what was going on with his partner.

Tentatively he reached out and touched Starsky’s shoulder, both men lurching at the contact.

“You want me?”

“I want to talk this out with you.” Hutch corrected, making it clear what he expected and needed from his partner.

Starsky crawled off the bed and stumbled at bit, Hutch automatically reaching out to steady his inebriated partner. The reflex of touching his partner didn’t seem to be gone, however, once Starsky was upright, Hutch drew his hands back at the heat that burned his hands.

After settling Starsky back on the couch, surrounded by covers, Hutch sat down across from him on the coffee table.

“You wanna tell me what that was all about Starsky?” Hutch waved his hand toward the bed.

“You’re my pal, Hutch. Always takin’ care ‘a me. Gotta return the favor.” Starsky’s voice indicated that he was on the verge of sleep.

“Uh, buddy. That wasn’t just ‘taking care of me,'” Hutch pointed out. “You were outta control there, just like earlier this evening. Now what’s going on?”

Starsky turned his body to face the back of the couch. “Let it go Hutch. It was nothin’.”

Hutch didn’t know if he was angrier at Starsky for turning his back to him, or for his dismissal. “Nothing! You think I don’t know a blow job when I feel one?!”

Sighing, Starsky turned back and sat up to face his partner. “Forget about it.” He said sheepishly. “I just thought I could show you how much you deserve. A way to thank you for being there for me all the time, taking care of me. How much I love you.”

Still confused, Hutch pressed on. “But Starsk, I don’t get it. There are other ways to show someone you love them without going to such…such extremes. I mean, I love you too, but I’d never go that far.” He missed the disappointed eyes on the downturned face. “Or did you get some hyped up idea that I’m gonna move on, maybe in the department, and you don’t like the idea of losing me as a partner?”

“No, Hutch. I mean I really, really love you.” He looked up at his bare-chested partner sitting across from him and saw only earnest eyes and a kind countenance. No more anger, no disgust.

Hitching a breath, Hutch asked him, “You mean you, uh…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

But Starsky, even inebriated, could read Hutch’s mind. “Yeah, buddy, that kind of love.” The sheets bunched up in his fists without him realizing it. “Don’t ask me where it came from or when, I just know that when I see you, all I want to do is make you happy…make you feel good. Do somethin’ nice for you.”

Now Hutch really was stunned. He never expected that Starsky would’ve fallen in love with him – much less admit to it or tell him directly.

“I don’t…I don’t know what…You’ve really got me at a loss here, Starsk. I think maybe it’s the moonshine, and how close we are all the time; and the fact that you haven’t gotten laid in awhile that’s confusing you.” Somehow, someway, he had to make Starsky realize that he was wrong. That he wasn’t in love with Hutch, but was confused.

“Why don’t we sleep on this and in the morning you’ll see differently. You might not even remember tonight.” God I hope he doesn’t remember. It’ll be bad enough that I’ll remember the warmth of his mouth and the feel of his hands.

“Whatever Hutch.” I know I won’t feel any differently, but how will you feel?

Dismissing his partner, Starsky turned away from Hutch again and this time not even Hutch’s shake to his shoulder would move him to turn back to face another round of questions and most especially, the look on Hutch’s face. The closed off one that said not only didn’t his partner understand, but also that he didn’t feel the same.

With the moonshine still thrumming through his system and a gloom pouring over his soul, Starsky succumbed to sleep. His partner, however, was having a harder time regaining a sleep pattern in the bed nearby

Not only were the remnants of the unremembered nightmare permeating the back of his mind, but a thousand questions with unfathomable answers ran through the forefront.

What happened to the dismayed man that couldn’t understand what John Blaine felt about Peter Whitelaw?

Where is the confusion, the disbelief, the ‘I don’t get it’ questions of the man who worked beside me during John’s homicide investigation?

Why would Starsky think I want him to do something like that, or that I’d even enjoy it?

Did I ever give him any indication or sign that I’d be open to the possibility of loving him?

Why didn’t he back off when I said ‘no’ the first time? Didn’t he think I meant it?

Does Starsky really feel about me that way, or is it just the inhibitions let loose by the alcohol?

If he does, what am I going to do about it?

And most important were the questions that revolved around their current relationship.

Do his feelings change my attitude toward him?

Can we continue to work together?

Can I trust him?… … …

Starsky woke the next morning to the soft sound of talk and the smell of brewing coffee. Flinging his arm to the side to get his bearing, he realized he was on a couch rather than in his own bed.

Brown and white Indian patterned softness greeted his eyesight as he ventured to open them. That action, however, also brought a thumping pain to his head and he closed his eyes briefly to rest.

Involuntarily he groaned softly as he slowly woke up and lifted his body to a sitting position. Realizing he was on Hutch’s couch brought most of the previous night back, flooding his mind in confusing sequences and memories. He groaned even louder from embarrassment, hurt of rejection, and fear of Hutch’s reaction.

Oh Shit, what do I say? Apologize? I don’t want to apologize for how I feel. But if I want to hang on to our partnership, our friendship…I may have to.

Should I let Hutch take the lead? At least then I’ll know where he stands and can take it from there. Yeah. Maybe that’s best.

“Come on Starsk. I know you’re awake. Breakfast is almost ready. Pancakes, coffee, applesauce for me, and gobs of butter and syrup for you.”

The mention of food reminded Starsky’s stomach how weak it was. With more strength than he thought he had, Starsky forced himself off the couch and into the bathroom to take care of business.

In his haste, he didn’t bother closing the door behind him, and soon sensed Hutch step up and pat his back. A small paper cup with a dollop of mouthwash was handed to him as he finished emptying his stomach.

Well at least he can still touch me. But will he let me touch him?

The presence of his partner soothed Starsky’s tumultuous stomach, but not his throbbing head or heart. Starsky wanted to sob as his heart broke with the realization that just because Hutch could still touch him, didn’t mean that he wanted or welcomed the same.

Always looking after me and taking care of me. That’s my Hutch.

God, how I love him.

That thought sent a shooting pain from his heart to his extremities, evidenced by fine tremors in the muscles of his stomach, arms, and legs.

Hutch felt the quivers beneath the palm of his broad hand as he tried to soothe Starsky’s aching body. His partner didn’t get drunk that often that he became sick, but Hutch figured that the combination of the straight alcohol, combined with the emotional upheaval last night was playing havoc on Starsky’s stomach.

He didn’t mind comforting his partner. That’s what best friends did. Whether it was a physical or emotional comfort, they’d always be there for each other. The foundation of their friendship and partnership.

The shaking slowed and stopped. A deep sigh came from the figure that knelt below Hutch. “You okay now?”

A bob of the curled head was his only answer in the quiet.

“Come on, let’s try to get something into your system.” And Hutch reached down and pulled Starsky up by the elbow, steadying him as he stood still for a moment to get his bearings.

Like leading a child by the hand, Hutch guided Starsky out of the bathroom and into the kitchenette area. Seating him at the small wooden table, and setting a plate consisting of buttered toast, apple slices, and coffee in front of him; before sitting across the table from his partner.

At first Starsky didn’t acknowledge the plate of simple food, but stared at it while he tried to gather the courage to look at Hutch directly. Then he noticed his breakfast and looked up at Hutch without thinking about it.

“Hey! Where’s my pancakes?”

Light blue eyes crinkled at the corners in humor as a small smile crept over Hutch’s face. He reached the center of the table for the jar of orange marmalade and told Starsky that his stomach wouldn’t be able to handle heavy syrup. “This is better for you all around.”

“But you said you cooked pancakes.”

“Got you up didn’t it?” He pointed at Starsky’s plate with his knife, not realizing his verbal faux pas. “Eat your breakfast. You’re gonna need it.”

Starsky was confused, as well as embarrassed by Hutch’s inadvertent innuendoes. “Why?”

“We made plans bucko, remember? Keiko, Junior; dirt biking?”

Vaguely Starsky remembered making plans for today prior to drinking himself into oblivion last night. “Oh, yeah. I guess I’ll finish up here, then run home.”

“Home? Why?”

“Shower and change.” He explained succinctly. He didn’t want to subject the presence of his nude body to Hutch, and worry his partner. Besides, right now which he doubted he could handle seeing Hutch traipse about the apartment all wet and in a towel.

Understanding dawned, and Hutch glanced down at the table. “Oh, sure. That’s probably best.” Hesitating briefly, he reluctantly tried to bring up Starsky’s actions the previous night. “Uh, Starsk. Maybe we should, uh…talk about last night.”

In a practiced stop sign manner, Starsky’s hand went up. “Not now Hutch, okay? Let it keep ’till tonight, and then if you want, we’ll talk. I’m gonna let you have your chance to have at me, but if you can stand to spend the day with me, I don’t want to let the guys down.”

“Tonight, then. And you’re right, I don’t want to spoil their day.”

By the way Hutch phrased his last statement, Starsky’s stomach knotted up more and he couldn’t finish his toast. Spoil their day? What does that mean?

“I, uh, gotta go. I’ll be back in an hour, hour and a half.” With that Starsky pushed himself out of the kitchen chair, grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch where he’d laid it last night, and bounded from the apartment; not bothering to make sure the door was properly closed behind him.

Watching his partner abruptly leave worried Hutch. Maybe he can’t handle being around me. Would it be better to let him take the easy way out and leave? No. We’ve got to talk this out. Neither one of us is going anywhere until this gets settled.

Even though their activity for the day consisted of little other than watching Junior and his other teammates ride through the bike course, the day was tiring for both detectives. Part of their fatigue was hangover, part was worry. Neither was looking forward to this evening’s discussion, but both knew it had to take place.

Keiko sensed something was bothering them, and he called his big brother on it. He and Hutch had the type of relationship where they could be open and honest. Though it wasn’t always like that, since Keiko was of an age to test his boundaries, there was no other male in his life he could open up with like Hutch. So he didn’t hesitate to ask the older man what was bothering him, and he didn’t quite believe Hutch when he responded that he was worn down from his job. The teenager sensed a distance and a weariness between Ken and Dave.

But Keiko didn’t want to push Hutch, so he dropped the subject, stealing glances every once in awhile. The young man was seated between the two older men – unusual in itself – with a place for Junior on the end aisle when he finished his competition. Usually Dave and Ken sat together, drank out of the same cup, ate from the same bag of peanuts or chips. Today even their conversation seemed a stilted and forced. Junior put down their mannerisms to hangovers, and Keiko guessed that perhaps that’s what it was and left it at that.

Yet in the back of his mind something about the way they interacted bothered him.

The conversation during the drive to take the boys home was filled with a mixture of comments on the skills of the other competitors, opinions on the latest movies, and ‘hot’ girls in school.

Once Keiko and then Junior were dropped off at their respective homes, however, conversation in the big LTD died out between the two detectives. Tension and distress infused the air and the bodies of the blond man and his shorter, darker companion.

“Where to Starsky? Your place or mine?”

“Mine.” That way Hutch can always leave on his own and I don’t have to worry about him kicking me out. “How about we stop and get some beer first?”

“Fortification? Or delay tactics? Nope, I think you – we – both had enough last night.” Hutch shook his head slightly, billowing the longish hair. “This needs to be done without anything to muddle our senses.”

Not pleased, Starsky grumbled at his partner. “Muddle, huh? Another one of your college words? Trying to tell me what my place is?” He knew that the tone of his voice was defensive, but raw fear and pain were bubbling so close to the surface, and he didn’t know how to contain them.

“That was uncalled for, Starsky.”

Immediately ashamed of himself, Starsky figured he’d dug himself a worse hole with Hutch. Soon I’ll be in China.

He passed the rest of the ride watching out the passenger window, not watching the scenes playing out before him, instead imagining how the upcoming scene in his apartment would play out.

There were three possible scenarios:

1) Hutch could punch me in the face for what I did and then get over it.

2) He could punch me in the face, yell at me in disgust, and then walk out.

3) He could take me in his arms, kiss me, and tell me he feels the same.

Starsky was pretty sure #3 was out of the question, even though a part of him couldn’t help but hope. It just remained to be seen how Hutch wanted to handle their partnership going forward, if there was to be a partnership. And that worried him more than even being told that Hutch didn’t return the same feelings.

He wanted Hutch somehow, in some way, in his life. Sure, as his lover would be the best possible scenario, but best friend was without question a necessity. Could he handle not being Hutch’s partner, but still his best friend?

Possibly, but he admitted to himself that he’d have a harder time knowing Hutch was out there with someone else as a partner, than having a different partner himself. If Hutch didn’t want him as his partner, then he’d make damn sure that Dobey understood what it was that the blond would need in a partner to keep him safe.

As for a new partner for himself – he didn’t think he’d really care anymore.

Without realizing it, they had already pulled up at Starsky’s apartment and Hutch was watching him as he daydreamed – or daymared, Starsky admonished inwardly.

Heaving himself out of the passenger’s side, Starsky slowly made his way up the stairs and unlocked his apartment, the sense of his partner behind him overwhelming. He was on an emotional overload and felt as though his body and soul would burst like an exploding star the moment they stepped over the threshold of the doorway.

“Um…want me to make some coffee or something?” Starsky didn’t look at his partner, but retreated into the kitchen, looking for something to keep his hands busy.

“More delay tactics, Starsk?”

“Look, Hutch I don’t know how you want to play this. I’m running on pure adrenaline here, and…just tell me what’s going down.”

“I want to know what the hell got into you last night. Was it the booze? I mean, Starsky, you were all over me. And don’t tell me you thought I was someone else. I was there, remember?”

Sinking down into the couch, Starsky looked at his hands. “I’m not gonna lie to you Hutch. Yes, I knew what I was doing; and I knew to who.” He looked directly up at the man standing in front of him. “I guess the moonshine just served to lower my inhibitions about what I wanted, who I wanted.”

He shrugged. “I love you. It’s as simple as that.”

“I don’t understand Starsky. What brought this up?”

“Honestly Hutch, I don’t know. After Johnny died, and some of the other guys started teasing and bugging us about it and I guess I started thinking about it more and more. The time we spend together, the time we spend apart. Our closeness. How I almost lost you several times these last few years. It just came sneaking up a little at a time, and then when that Professor Gage and his murder loving girlfriend targeted you and I was almost too late – I think at that point it all came home. How much you mean to me and what role you play in my life. And then you came tearing into that barn all fired up to help me out, I guess I thought maybe you might feel the same, and I took advantage.”

Hutch started pacing, while running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what to say, Starsk. This has all come on too fast. Too much for me.”

“Sit down, you’re making me nervous with all that pacing.”

“I can’t. I need to…I…” He turned on his heels and faced his seated partner. “Starsky, I can’t give you what you want. I love ya, but not like that. Not the kind of love to go that route.”

Nodding and gulping, Starsky admitted, “I know that. I kinda figured it out this morning when everything from last night came a little clearer. And I want to apologize for last night, too. I should’ve listened to you, I came on too strong and you said ‘no’ and I didn’t listen.”

“Hey, you’re not the first guy whose hormones have gone off half-cocked,” Hutch blushed, but he continued without comment, “with a little alcohol.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t some lay I picked up. You’re my best friend.” Starsky looked down again. “At least if you still want to be.”

“Stop with the sacrificial lamb shit. Of course I’m your best friend, and I’ll still be your partner. Best friends don’t throw away years of experiences and loving over a mistake. And there’s no one else out there I’d trust other than you to watch my back.”

It wasn’t a mistake, loving you Hutch. Maybe the way I tried to force it with you, but not the loving.

Hutch sighed and finally sat down in Starsky’s brown leather recliner. “We can handle this. We deal with the downtrodden all the time without letting our emotions get involved. We can figure out how to do the job the same way.” He was trying to convince his partner that everything would be the same, meanwhile Hutch was telling himself, the same way, Hutchinson? I doubt it. We’re so good at our jobs because of the emotion and connection between us.

He reached over and put a hand on Starsky’s slumped shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Gordo. Soon you’ll find a nice lady and all this – whatever – will be forgotten. Remember your goal? Picket fence, 2.5 kids?”

“I guess, Hutch. If you think you can handle it, then I can. I won’t bring it up again, and I won’t try to force anything on you, that you don’t want.”

If I can hang onto it for Starsky, then that’ll help him in the long run.

“That’s enough of an apology for me buddy. I’m glad you told me though. It’s nice to hear when someone loves you. A good ego booster.” Hutch grinned broadly beneath his mustache.

Starsky groaned. “Oh, that’s all you need. More ego.”

Patting the same denim-clad shoulder several times, Hutch told his partner that he was going home. They both were still behind on sleep and it had been an emotional day. “You driving tomorrow, or am I?”

“I’m driving. I already had to spend today in that clunker. I’m not likely to spend two days in a row sitting in it.”

The following morning Starsky didn’t know if he could handle going back into Hutch’s apartment just yet, so he sat in the Torino in front of Venice Place and honked several times to get his partner’s attention.

Hutch was obviously waiting for him – besides Starsky usually ran late, as he appeared from the doorway within seconds. Once settled in the passenger seat, Starsky asked him about his dance date earlier that week, the one that was originally his own before he got injured when Hutch rescued him the other day.

“Hey I forgot to ask you. How’d you’re the date go with Roxie? Is the lady still able to walk?”

“It went fine. So fine, we’re going out again tonight. I think she’ll find my horizontal tango a much better move.” The last part slipped before Hutch could stop it. It seemed so easy to settle into their usual banter.

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Starsky assured him; but without the usual pat to the knee that accompanied his prior assurances.

Hutch realized, however, that he would now be on his guard in what he said to or how he treated Starsky. And that can’t help but affect how we work together.

How do we get back to what we were? Can we?

While Hutch was lost in his thoughts, Starsky’s mind was running along the same vein. How can I get us back on track? I’m afraid Hutch is gonna retreat from me now. Maybe not on the job, but definitely emotionally.

“So how’s this gonna work?” Starsky spoke softly aloud without realizing it.

Hutch turned his head warily to face Starsky, “How’s what gonna work?”

Starsky passed his non-driving hand – the right one – back and forth to indicate the two of them. “Us, Hutch. If you’re gonna hold back with every little thing, are we still gonna work? Out here? As best friends?”

“I guess it’s gonna be a little difficult for awhile. I’m dealing with this as best I can. Just bear with me.”

“I want you to talk to me, Hutch. About…whatever.”

“I know Starsky. And we’ll be okay, I promise.

But best laid plans – and promises – don’t always happen as intended…

As much as both men tried to maintain the same level of contact that they’d had since they’d met, Starsky’s revelation couldn’t help but change how Hutch behaved around him, and in turn Starsky’s reactions to that behavior. Creating a vicious circle of which the result was the two best friends pulling away from each other emotionally and physically.

Only in times of adversity or need did they again come together as one. Like the morning just a month after that fateful night, when Hutch was shot within inches of his life by a teenage girl.

All during the drive home that morning did Hutch tease Starsky. Granted I probably set myself up for a lot of that, but it felt good. Even though Hutch’s teasing smarted a little, Starsky thought.

But Starsky never let on that his buddy’s teasing was getting a bit caustic. Especially once Hutch was in the hospital. There were so many more important things to worry about. Like the possibility of losing Hutch permanently through death. No, it wasn’t the first time he nearly lost his partner, however, Starsky theorized…

The times Hutch disappeared, there was always hope. And when he had the Plague, Starsky had time to become fully prepared to lose his partner, though he’d fight like hell in order not to.

This time it happened so quickly. In the blink of an eye Hutch had a bullet just to the side of his heart. And as they took him away to surgery, Starsky knew he could still die on the table or from an infection…all kinds of complications.

Oh God, please don’t take him. I know we don’t deserve each other lately, but I’ll make it up to him. Somehow, he’ll see that I’ve gotten a handle on the situation and we can go back to before.

As if to prove to himself that he was ‘over’ Hutch, Starsky fell into bed with the lovely, intelligent Detective 2nd Class Joan Meredith, within days of being paired up.

But Starsky’s actions in going after the gang that the girl robber was involved with, showed more than a desire to get the person who was exploiting underprivileged teens, but rather revenge against those who nearly took his partner from him.

Without regard for his, or Detective Meredith’s safety, Starsky set up an undercover operation lacking preparedness or notification to his superiors. Hurtling into an unsafe situation and requiring rescue by his still-recovering partner and their captain.

When Hutch saw the looks that passed between Starsky and Meredith, he realized something was brewing between the pretty brown skinned detective and his irrepressible partner. And while outwardly he was glad, subconsciously a slight streak of jealousy flared. Just a month ago, he professed his love for me? How fickle he is. Would he have treated Terry like this? Loving her one moment, then jumping into another’s bed? It’s a good thing I had my senses about me and nipped the situation in the butt.

The realization that Starsky was again playing the field, caused Hutch’s barbs to get more sarcastic and biting. And though he realized it, he couldn’t seem to stop.

They began to take opposite directions in terms of their love lives. Hutch, who with few exceptions more was prone to the one night stand, became almost celibate. With the exception of Kate- who was more than willing to continue to develop their relationship, and Marion- who Hutch genuinely had feelings for, but guilt overrode all the others.

And Starsky, always looking for the perfect family model, tried to cover his feelings for his partner by ‘falling in love’ with any woman willing to show some interest in him.

He hopped from girl to girl, bed to bed looking for the fit that would make him forget his feelings for his beautiful blond partner.

Hutch became more and more frustrated with his partner’s behavior. He couldn’t understand why Starsky was spending less time with him. He was jealous when his best friend would rather spend their days off alone and his nights with some meaningless woman. He tried to rationalize that Starsky couldn’t handle being around Hutch in a relaxed – read tempting – atmosphere. But it still hurt. And that hurt came out in the form of biting sarcasm.

Hutch was correct in his assumption that Starsky would rather be alone than tempt himself with his partner’s presence. Starsky knew his limitations and he feared that the more time spent with Hutch, the harder it would be to get over him. Or that he’d cross the line again one day, effectively ruining the best friendship – and partnership – he ever had.

But the end result was that they spent less time on the job together, and their case work didn’t run a smoothly. And when Hutch felt guilty and confused by using Marion, he didn’t turn to his partner for comfort as usual.

Starsky didn’t know how to help him; he didn’t know what to say. Hutch wanted absolution for his perceived ill treatment of Marion Fitch, but Starsky couldn’t give it to him. Sometimes using people was part of their job – as Hutch knew from past cases.

He should know better than to let his feelings get involved on these cases, Starsky grumbled. He didn’t want to be harsh with his partner, but the jealousy that reared up when he thought of Hutch and Marion in bed together, hardened his heart towards his partner’s insecurities and guilt.

After the Fitch case ended, as far as Hutch was concerned, the tension between he and Starsky receded as days passed. They made an effort to spend more of their off hours together and came to grips with the way the case ended. Starsky realized how his behavior had hurt Hutch, and Hutch realized that he couldn’t be responsible for what happened to Marion.

But they still hadn’t figured out how to completely work out the changes they were going through as individuals and as a team.

And then Kira joined the department temporarily and Dobey assigned the three to work the dance hall murders together.

Both male detectives were attracted to the vibrant, free blonde police woman. And while they were competing with each other to grab her attention, she was trifling with them. With Hutch she played up her alluring, witty side and with Starsky she showed her soft, girl-next-door side.

There was an undercurrent of hostility and tension between the two adversaries for Kira’s affection and it began to seep into the murder investigation.

The blow came when Starsky told Hutch that he loved Kira. He nudged Hutch when he told him, as if to say ‘See it didn’t take me long to get over you’.

Hutch was floored, dumbfounded. Starsky doesn’t act like he’s in love – with her at least. And Kira sure the hell doesn’t act like she’s in love with him. It flitted through his mind briefly that he was jealous of Kira. Not in a romantic way. He was jealous of the attention and time that Starsky spent on her. Our friendship was just starting to get back on track and now this. I thought it’d be just the two of us – at least for a little while.

Without really thinking about it, Hutch fell into bed with Kira. Letting her lure him into his bed with false words and affection. Did he do it to hurt Starsky? To make Starsky jealous? Hutch never really knew, when he thought about it later that evening wondering how their friendship had come to blows.

After Starsky caught Hutch coming out of Kira’s bedroom all rumpled and guilty, he knew they needed a no holds bar talk. However, the case was just coming to a head and the talk had to wait several days, which made the working relationship of three harder than ever.

Once their suspect was behind bars and being evaluated, the three detectives finished up their reports for Captain Dobey, mostly in relative silence. The only words spoken between them relating to the case itself, and then only as short, terse questions and answers. After placing the reports in Dobey’s in-box, all three got ready to leave. Kira walked out first without saying good-bye. Now that their case was over, she would be headed back to Vice and off their floor.

As Hutch made to leave out the double doors, Starsky grabbed his elbow. Whipping his head back, Hutch glared at his partner’s hand; his hardened face saying it all.

“Hutch, please. We gotta talk.”

“So talk.”

“Not here. My place, your place, the beach, the park. I don’t care as long it’s quiet.”

“Yeah, like I’d trust you at your place.” Hutch said mockingly. His anger was a defensive mode, but he didn’t care what it looked like to Starsky.

Shit it’s worse than I thought. I might not have lost my partner, but did I lose my best friend?

“All right your place then. It doesn’t matter to me. What does is the fact that we need to talk.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow, Starsky? Dobey gave us the day off so we’ll have time to hash through things.”

“No. I want to do this tonight, Hutch. Let’s grab a 12 pack and get this out and then we can…”

“What,” Hutch interrupted, “move on? As partners or not? Move forward? As best friends or not?” This strain in their relationship was tearing him up just as much as it was Starsky, but he wasn’t sure he could handle dealing with it just yet.

“Fine. Follow me.” Came from Hutch’s mouth before he could analyze what he wanted to say. Turning abruptly, he marched down the hall and to his car without looking back once to see if Starsky was following.

The bright red Torino followed closely the mustard colored LTD and parked directly behind it on the street in front of Venice Place. Starsky exited his car just as Hutch reached the sidewalk, and followed him up the stairs to Hutch’s 2nd floor apartment. Not once did Hutch look back to see if his partner was behind, but he left the front door open to admit Starsky.

Instead he went to the refrigerator and pulled out a couple of beers. Slapping the cold bottle into Starsky’s hand with a soft thwack, Hutch finally addressed him. “Okay you wanted to talk. So talk.” He leaned nonchalantly against the kitchen counter, opening his bottle and tossing the aluminum cap into the sink. The metallic rattle reverberated throughout the small apartment as Hutch waited for Starsky to say something.

“I feel like…I feel like I’m losing you. We’re losing each other.” Starsky blurted out. He hurried to assure the tense man standing across from him. “As friends. We’re drifting…or something.” He trailed off.

Shoulders dropping in capitulation, Hutch’s demeanor changed from one of defensive to concern, worry. “I know. And I’m sorry Starsk. What’s happened between us the last few days is mostly my fault.” He took his beer bottle and sat down in one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table, fingers tapping on the table in nervousness. “I knew when you said you loved Kira that I shouldn’t have gone over there. It was too tempting; she was too tempting.”

“Then why’d you do it?” Starsky wasn’t just asking why his best friend went over to the female officer’s home, but why he slept with her; and Hutch knew it.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to believe it.” He didn’t look up at Starsky when the other man walked over to the table and stood across from him. “The way she behaved around me, I was sure that you were wrong. That she had stronger feelings for me than she did for you. I wanted to hear from her directly.”

He finally looked up, eyes full of sorrow and pain. “Believe me, when she told me she loved you I was leaving. I was on my way out, and then she threw that ‘I love you too, Hutch’ and I got all confused.”

“Then you didn’t sleep with her to get back at me or something? For the way I went off on you when you took my shift?” Taught fingers gripped the edge of the chair while Starsky waited for Hutch’s answer during the long pause following his question.

Glancing down again and keeping his fingers busy, Hutch finally answered. “I…I admit that I was jealous.” He looked up again at his partner. “Not of her, or of you. I was jealous of the two of you together. The time you’ve been spending with all these women lately. It feels like ever since I turned you down that you’ve been wanting to spend more and more time apart. And it hurts. I know I should let you find a good woman and settle down. I don’t want you to continue to hurt or wait for something that’s not going to happen. But I haven’t been able to develop much in the romantic department, and I guess I felt left behind.”

All during Hutch’s long speech Starsky stood stock still, unable to move. The only indication that Hutch’s words had any effect was the small shivers of tension that ran through his upper muscles beneath his plaid shirt.

Fingers cramping, he finally let go and sat down, leaving the still closed beer sitting in front of him. “Okay, time for me to be honest too.” He looked piercingly at Hutch “I didn’t know how to handle being around you all the time. I’ll admit it. You were smothering me.”

Stunned, Hutch opened his mouth to defend himself, but Starsky held up his hand and continued.

“Not intentionally. Just by being you. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to control myself and it’d put a final wedge in our friendship. If you couldn’t trust me as a friend, there’s no way our working partnership would’ve survived without one of us gettin’ killed.”

Hutch couldn’t deny the truth there, and he admitted reluctantly to himself that maybe he had helped that put that wedge in place with his own behavior also.

Like reading his partner’s mind as usual, Starsky stated the unspoken thought. “And then you started pushing me away. At least that’s what it felt like.” He shrugged. “So I figured to give you what you wanted. Anyways, I figured maybe it was mostly my fault. The way we been treating each other the last few months.”

“You figured wrong.”

Hutch’s statement was firm and direct; and he startled Starsky slightly.

“It’s true, I was concerned that you’d try to cross that line again. If I’m totally honest with you, I guess I wanted to knock you down a few pegs. Not very pleasant, is it? But there it is.” Laying his emotions on the table honestly, Hutch waited to see if anger an distress would finish them off, or if Starsky could forgive him.

Starsky chose the second course of action. “Let’s just admit it was both of us.”

“Then you can forgive me for being such an ass?”

The infamous 1,000 watt smile made itself known for the first time in weeks. At its first glimpse, Hutch was relieved and the grin was returned. “Hell, Hutch you’ve been an ass longer than I can remember, but I still put up with you.”

Finally the beer was opened as Starsky got up from his chair. The intense conversation was enough for him for the moment. He began rummaging through Hutch’s cupboards and refrigerator, looking for something to snack on. “I see the eating habits haven’t changed that much, Blintz. Still no chips or sausage.”

The normalness of Starsky hunting for snacks comforted Hutch. His grin broadened at the thought that maybe things could go back the way there were – before Starsky’s stunning announcement of his desire for him. Then he mentally shook his head. No, things can never be the same. But they can get better than what they’ve been lately. And I’m not gonna try not let his feelings for me determine the course of my actions, or our friendship.

The banging of cupboard doors brought Hutch from his musings.

“Here we go!” Starsky was holding up a jar of unpopped corn, admiring the way the dimming sunlight from Hutch’s kitchen window reflected off the golden kernels. “Come to poppa. You’re just as anxious to come out of your shell as I am!” He chuckled at his own pun.

“Starsk, that’s just corny.”

Blue eyes rolled upward. “Very funny, Hutch.”

The two laughed together and it felt good. The laughter was a release, as well as a moment of companionship. And when it ended, a sense of togetherness pervaded the small apartment.

Soon the smell and sounds of popcorn popping in a metal pan resounded in the kitchen, making Hutch even more comfortable. Once the popcorn was finished to Starsky’s satisfaction, he grabbed a large bowl, the condiments, and mixed his snack; then set everything in the middle of the table and swung his leg over his chair to sit back down across from Hutch.

Noticing the man was in deep thought, he touched the large hand across from him. “Hey, Hutch. We’re gonna be okay. I’ll stop looking under every skirt for something I’m not gonna find and spend more time with my best friend. Okay?”

“Starsky, I want you to be happy. And if that consists of you finding your perfect woman and making a life together with her, meaning our time together is limited – then, hey, as long as you’re happy and fulfilled, I’m happy.”

Without you I will never be fulfilled, babe. But I can’t tell you that. Starsky tried to put an easy smile on his face. “I will be happy Hutch as long as you’ll be my best friend and partner as long as we can do the job.”

“Tell you what? When’s our next day off? Day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah, why?” Asked Hutch.

Grinning impishly, Starsky explained. “Well, since things are pretty quiet at work, comparatively, we should be able to get out on time. Then you can take me to dinner.”

“Not a chance dirtball.”

“Aw, Hutch. I thought you want to make up.” Batting his thick eyelashes, Starsky pretended peevishness.

“Not at the expense of my pocketbook and my stomach.” Hutch tapped his fingers on the bridge of his nose. “How about this? We play for dibs on who’s paying?”

“Uh, Hutch remember what happened last time we played a stupid game?”

“This is a just a little bet on dinner, Starsky.”

“Okay, play what then?”

“No problem partner. We’ll come up with something tomorrow at work. Deal?” His large hand snaked across the table.

Starsky grabbed the palm and shook it firmly. “You got it partner.”

---

Chapter End Notes:

Part of the “Wedges and Glue” series. Sequel is Tearing Down the Walls.