Breaking Through

13

Starsky confesses his feelings to Hutch, and Hutch responds the only way he knows how. Can they both overcome their long history of denial? 

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Chapter 1

Starsky sat at Hutch’s hospital bedside, watching him sleep. 

“How’s he doing, doc?” Starsky asked the doctor, eyes on the dozing patient. 

Dr. Garrison reached into his white coat for a pen and clicked it open with his thumb. He held a clipboard and flipped through it, scrawling his signature on each page as he went. 

“Surgery went well,” Garrison answered, “Detective Hutchinson has a broken ankle, a minor concussion, an injured wrist, and other scratches and bruises. All the injuries are treatable, and given the circumstances, your partner was very fortunate.” 

Garrison hung the clipboard at the end of the bed, then turned to his patient’s visitor. 

“He’ll be asleep for several hours. Remember, if you disturb him or any of the nurses during the night, I’ll have to ask you to leave. Good night, Detective Starsky.” 

Starsky nodded his thanks as the doctor left the room. He wasn’t going anywhere. “You hear that, Hutch?” Starsky whispered to the sleeping man, “Doc says you’re fortunate.” Starsky looked at the ceiling, mumbling in frustration, “So why do I feel like I want to explode?” 

A few hours ago, he and Hutch were chasing two drug dealers named Skaggs and Martino down an alley. 

“I’ve got the ugly one,” Starsky declared, heading after Skaggs around the corner. “That leaves the stupid one for me,” Hutched yelled back and went after Martino. Starsky caught Skaggs at the end of the lane as the criminal was trying to scale a fence. 

“Police, drop the duffel bag,” Starsky ordered. Skaggs raised his hands and let the cocaine-filled bundle fall to the ground. 

“You’re more stupid than you are ugly,” Starsky kicked the bag away and pulled the thug down. As he handcuffed Skaggs to the fence, the other one, Martino, came flying over, straight into a group of garbage cans, courtesy of Hutch. 

“I stand corrected, you’re the stupid one after all,” Starsky shouted, seizing Martino, who was lying in a heap of trash. He yanked him up and shackled him next to Skaggs, pausing to cast a glance down the alley at Hutch, who had his head down and his hands on his knees, catching his breath. 

“Hey Hutch, taking a coffee break?” Starsky asked as he snapped Martino’s cuffs in place. “Don’t tell me you forgot to take your vitamins this morning…” 

Starsky didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Terror ripped through him as he saw a black convertible speed around the corner, slamming Hutch from behind and throwing him head-first into a stack of cardboard boxes. 

The driver of the car, known as Klondike, would later claim he didn’t see the blond cop and simply lost control of his vehicle, but Starsky knew better. The enraged cop drew his gun, blasted the front tire, and snatched Klondike from the driver’s seat, securing him to the same fence as the other two. 

All of this happened while Hutch was down on the pavement, unmoving. 

The clicking of heels in the corridor, the occasional sound of a voice crackling over the intercom, and the slow drip of the IV bag drew Starsky back to the present. 

He stared at Hutch, the image of him lying face-down on the concrete, arms extended and legs bent beneath him, ingrained in his mind. 

“Everything will be okay, I promise,” Starsky said to the sleeping patient, grateful for the private room. 

There were plenty of times either he or Hutch got hurt on the job, and Starsky knew it could have been a lot worse. He grasped Hutch’s hand, his muddled thoughts starting to calm, replaced by overwhelming relief. 

And love. 

Starsky had convinced himself his love for Hutch was nothing out of the ordinary. You’re supposed to lay down your life for your partner, aren’t you? You’re meant to cherish and adore your pal, right? Spending as much time with your buddy outside of work as you do on the job is not unusual, is it? 

It’s acceptable to be sexually attracted to your friend and want to crawl into bed next to him and kiss his lips and pleasure him for hours, correct? 

He jolted awake from his half-dazed state. The truth rang in his ears like a military-style reveille, loud enough to rouse the dead or, in Starsky’s case, shake him out of his obstinate denial. 

Yes, all that is acceptable, and much more. His love for Hutch was essential, like food or oxygen. It was genuine, unrelenting, and addictive, and no matter what, not going away. 

What took him so long to admit it? 

Starsky squeezed Hutch’s hand. “When you wake up, we gotta talk, Hutch. I need to tell you a few things about how I feel about you. How I’ve felt for a long time.” 

He smiled, feeling a weight lift from his chest as he curled into his chair and tried to sleep.

—— 

Starsky heard the rustling of the sheets followed by a faint whimper, the kind a well-rested person makes while daylight streams through the window blinds. He pulled the thin blanket off his knees and placed it on the back of his chair, not taking his eyes off the patient. “Hey, how are you doing?” 

“Hey yourself, buddy,” Hutch replied. “Did you sleep here all night? If so, I must be in worse shape than I thought.” 

“Yes, I did, but no, you’re not. Dr. Garrison says you need to spend another night here to recover and ensure your hard brain bucket can still add and subtract simple numbers, spell Mississippi, and stuff like that. Then I can take you home.” 

“Mississippi, huh? Is that doctor’s orders, or is that a Starsky special?”

Starsky’s smile turned into a playful pout. “You don’t like Mississippi? What about Czechoslovakia, can you spell that?” 

“Sure I can, but I’ll save it for someone who can confirm I got it right.” Hutch chuckled, then asked, “Seriously, buddy, are you alright? The last thing I remember, you were handcuffing Skaggs and Martino, and a car appeared out of nowhere, or was it a freight train?” 

“It was a car, not a train, and it was driven by Klondike. Do you remember him? The last fool on earth who thinks the gold rush never ended. He’s only looking for treasure in a bag of cocaine instead of in the Yukon.” 

Starsky stopped, realizing he was caressing Hutch’s neck while fingering his lightweight hair. 

Hutch wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes. “I’m sorry for putting you through this. I should have seen that car coming…I didn’t see it…” 

“It’s not your fault,” Starsky reassured, “Everything’s going to be okay. Do you trust me?” “More than anything,” he answered, extending his hand. 

Starsky’s remaining fears melted away, and he knew the time was right. He took a deep breath and said, “I love you, Hutch.” 

It wasn’t a shout, but a thunderous whisper if such a thing exists. The sincerity was as clear as if he had shouted it from a rooftop, a mountain peak, or out the Torino’s window for all of downtown Bay City to hear. 

Starsky needed to repeat it, to ensure it was heard and ingrained in reality. 

“You are the love of my life. Even before Gunther, I’ve known, although my head took some time to catch up. I realized today I didn’t want to wait until it was too late to tell you. I have you in my heart, need you in my life, and want you in my bed. You mean the world to me.” 

Starsky clasped Hutch’s hand and stroked the offered fingers with his thumb, engrossed in the ocean eyes before him. 

He saw so much love on Hutch’s face, written on his sleek brow and shining through his soft blue eyes. It was indisputable love, and all would be okay. 

Until Hutch answered. 

“Oh, buddy,” Hutch’s brow furrowed, “It’s not that I don’t love you, but you’re confused. We can’t love each other that way. I’m sorry.” 

Hutch drew back his hand, halting Starsky’s stroking thumb in its tracks. The face Starsky loved turned away, those blue eyes went dim, and the beautiful mouth went flat. 

The room became deafeningly quiet, and Starsky remained still, listening to the crushing sound of his own heart shattering into a million pieces.

Chapter 2

Five Years Ago

“Good morning, Detective Hutchinson. Please have a seat.” 

Hutch closed the door behind him and walked toward the large leather chair opposite the doctor’s desk. He glanced at his surroundings as he sat down. 

The room was decorated with subdued colors and tasteful furniture. A grandfather clock, a coat rack, and an umbrella stand flanked the doorway, while a grey three-seater sofa and an oversized wingback chair were positioned along the far wall. The doctor’s framed credentials proving his Ph.D. in psychology hung behind a large wooden desk, and numerous elegant artworks were displayed throughout the room. Hutch noticed a painting of bright yellow sunflowers and recognized it as an imitation of Van Gogh. 

“Good morning, Dr. Atkinson. You redecorated your office since the last time I was here.” 

Dr. Brian Atkinson sat behind his desk, his reading glasses permanently poised on his long, straight nose. His hair was thinning, combed over the top from left to right, paying homage to the dark hair that once framed his oval face. He wore a blue dress shirt with no tie, navy slacks, and brown shoes. His teeth were sparkling white beneath his mustache, which was wide and neatly trimmed. 

“It was my assistant’s idea,” Atkinson said, flashing a pleasant smile. “She said we needed to keep up with the times. But you didn’t come here to talk about my new artwork, did you?” 

Hutch shook his head, letting the doctor continue. 

“I haven’t seen you since your misfortune several months ago. Are you having a relapse of some kind?” 

“No, this has nothing to do with…that incident,” Hutch replied, clearing his throat. “It’s another subject altogether.” 

The room fell silent as Hutch watched the man scribble in his notepad. He completed his note, then turned to face his patient. “Why don’t you tell me what brought you here today?” 

Hutch repositioned his arms on the chair’s wooden armrests, attempting to get comfortable, and took a deep breath before speaking. 

“Remember when I was here last time? We discussed how I was kidnapped and drugged with heroin. I struggled with a few things after that… mentally. I thought I had let my girlfriend down in a big way. You and others close to me helped me understand it wasn’t my fault.” 

“Yes, I remember,” Atkinson affirmed. “Are you having second thoughts about it now?” 

Hutch shook his head, “No, that’s not it. Do you remember how I told you about my best friend? My partner?” 

“Yes, as I recall, you told me how he was the person who helped you the most,” Atkinson said, searching through his notes.

“I didn’t realize how much he meant to me or how much he sacrificed for me at the time,” Hutch shifted in his chair, “No, wait…let me clarify. I was aware of it, but I didn’t appreciate it with a clear mind back then.” 

“And you appreciate it now?” the therapist asked, his face expressionless. 

Hutch tugged at his nose, “There’s more to it than that. Starsky recently had a very close call. He’d been injected with a poison that would most certainly kill him. We had twenty-four hours to figure out the poison’s composition so they could administer the correct antidote.” 

Hutch touched his fingers to his mouth. The harrowing event was as clear in his mind as the day it happened. “We eventually found it, but it was the most stressful twenty-four hours of my life. Even more so than when I was the one who was drugged.” 

“Go on,” Atkinson said, putting his pen down. 

Hutch scoured the ceiling for the correct phrase. “It showed me I can’t live without him.” 

“You say he’s your best friend,” the psychologist remarked. “To experience that level of fear is normal.” 

“I agree, but this isn’t about whether my fear was normal or not,” Hutch replied. “I struggled last year with believing I let my girlfriend down. Now, I see letting my partner down would be a thousand times worse. I love him too much.” 

Hutch inhaled deeply through a nod, “By that, I mean, I think I’m in love with him.” Atkinson removed his glasses, questioning, “Love?” 

“Yes, love,” Hutch said, his heart pounding furiously. “I’d do anything for him.” The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Do you love him, romantically?” 

“I never considered myself to be gay, you know?” Hutch spoke quietly, but the words boomed in his head. “What I know for sure is this love is all-consuming. I feel it in my body, mind, and heart.” Hutch chuckled, “If that counts as romantic love, then so be it.” 

Hutch experienced a thrill as his comments cemented the truth of his love. He looked at the man in the wingback chair, expecting an acknowledgment of his breakthrough. 

“If you’re not sure, I recommend you don’t let it go any further,” Atkinson replied, picking up his notebook and scrawling some notes. 

“Don’t let what go any further?” Hutch asked, perplexed. 

“Your feelings. It would do you no good to explore this any further. You love him as your best friend. Isn’t that enough?” 

“Enough?” Hutch questioned, trying to keep his composure. 

“Yes, resist taking this any further. That would simply confuse you even more, and him.” 

Hutch felt contempt from across the room. “I came here because I hoped to get some words of wisdom to manage my unrealistic expectations about being a hero, like last time. I didn’t come here to be lectured on who I should love or how much.”

Hutch started to rise. This session was not going the way he hoped. 

“Wait, Mr. Hutchinson. Before making a misguided love confession to your friend, remember that this is not only about you. This is about him too. Imagine the pressure you would put on him if you told him how you feel. Consider how that would change his life.” 

Hutch sat back down. 

“You think I don’t know that?” He sank in his seat, his head aching. “It’s probably why it took me so long to admit it to myself in the first place. We’ve always been honest with each other. It’s what’s built our trust, the foundation of everything we have. I don’t want to keep how I feel from him, no matter how uncomfortable it may make us.” 

“How exactly do you feel, Mr. Hutchinson? A moment ago, you said you weren’t sure. You were confused.” 

Hutch shook his head. “I was confused about seeing myself as gay. I’m not confused about loving him.” 

“If you love him at all, you won’t let this go any further. Don’t be selfish. Do you want to ruin his life?” 

“Of course not,” Hutch’s face drained of color at the very idea. “I would never want that.” The risk was too great to ignore. “What exactly are you suggesting I do?” 

Atkinson sat back, looking satisfied at the progress. “Remember, you are confused, and I can help you with that. It may take a few more sessions to eradicate these thoughts, but you’ll be grateful you didn’t act on them.”

Chapter 3

Starsky opened the fridge, retrieving orange juice, eggs, salami, and cheese. “You sure you want scrambled eggs? I picked up salami if you want a sandwich.”

“Have I ever?” 

Hutch stood behind Starsky, his arm resting against the counter as he examined the array of food options. He was recovering at home, and Starsky stopped by regularly to ensure the patient was resting and consuming more than a vitamin milkshake. 

“No, but I keep hoping,” Starsky enjoyed the familiar banter. He wanted desperately to talk about other things besides salami and eggs, since his one-sided confession of love at the hospital a week ago. 

Nothing more had been spoken on the subject. At first, Starsky was worried it would be awkward, or worse, that Hutch would be angry. So far, none of that happened. 

Immediately after Hutch said he couldn’t love him that way, a nurse entered to check his vitals. After taking his temperature and blood pressure, the nurse told Starsky the patient needed to rest. 

Hutch didn’t argue. “Hey buddy, why don’t you go home and get some real sleep? I’m a little tired right now.” 

It ended there, and Starsky couldn’t find the right moment or the courage to bring it up again. After all, absolutely nothing had changed. It appeared as though Hutch had forgotten about it and moved on. 

“Where were you earlier?” Starsky asked as he prepared his sandwich. “I tried to call to tell you Skaggs, Martino, and Klondike are all being held without bail. When you didn’t answer, I was worried you floated away during one of your meditation sessions.” 

Hutch was busy whisking eggs in a bowl, his back to Starsky. His sprained wrist had healed well, and he could support himself on his recovering ankle. 

“Oh, didn’t I mention it? I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. I took a taxi, in case that’s your next question.” 

“You went to see Doctor Garrison? I thought you weren’t due for a follow-up until next week. Why didn’t you call me?” 

“No, not Garrison.” Hutch stopped whisking but kept watch on the bowl. “I went to see Doctor Atkinson.” 

Starsky stopped buttering his bread and glanced at the ceiling, trying to recall where he heard that name before. There had been so many doctors over the years and their names all muddled together. 

“Doctor Atkinson? Is that the guy who treated your botulism last year? Are you feeling some long-term side effects from that, Hutch? They said you might experience fatigue, dizziness, and difficulty breathing, months or years afterward. Are you having trouble breathing?”

Starsky dropped the knife and turned Hutch around, his palm running over Hutch’s chest to verify he was breathing normally. He touched the sensitive flesh of Hutch’s face, savoring the texture of the smooth upper lip, the mustache long ago removed. 

“Tell me and don’t mess around,” Starsky commanded. 

Hutch didn’t protest the hand on his face, and a small smile erupted. 

“No, he’s not the doctor who treated me for botulism. No, I’m not experiencing any of those symptoms. Yes, my breathing is fine, but if you keep hovering over me, I can’t promise I won’t hyperventilate from being mother-henned to death.” 

Starsky placed his arms at his sides, nodding at the gentle admonishment. “Ok blondie, then who is Doctor Atkinson?” 

“I started seeing him after Forest, remember? Dobey referred me to him. He thought I needed to talk to a psychologist about what happened to me, to be sure my head was on straight.” 

“Hutch, that was like, almost five years ago. I thought you saw him only a couple of times. Why did you decide to go back now?” 

“I didn’t go back…I never stopped. I’ve been seeing him off and on all this time.” 

“What? You’ve been seeing a head shrink and didn’t tell me? What the hell, Hutch? Are you still struggling with what Forest did to you?” 

Starsky couldn’t bring himself to use the word heroin, addiction, or anything else that conjured up images of Hutch lying in Huggy’s apartment, begging to stop feeling. Desperate for something that would numb the pain. 

Hutch set the fork down and watched the well-beaten eggs swirl in the bowl. He raised his head and held Starsky’s gaze. 

“No, don’t worry. It has nothing to do with heroin or Forest. I promise you that. I don’t think about that at all. And he’s not a head shrink. He’s a psychologist.” 

Starsky felt shaken, trying to digest what he was hearing. “Why have you been seeing a psychologist all this time?” 

“Off and on.” 

“Right, off and on,” Starsky corrected himself. “Off and on means what, once a month? That’s well over fifty times.” 

“Not fifty times, Starsky.” Hutch sounded defensive. “Not once a month, just when things were, I don’t know, too much to handle.” 

“What do you mean, when things were too much to handle? Like when?” 

“Like…like… for instance the Bellamy case…or when Simon Marcus captured you…like when Gunther…” 

Hutch paused, taking a breath. “And I know I should have said something, but I didn’t want you to worry about me. To think less of me.” 

“Think less of you?” Starsky shouted. “In what world would I ever think less of you? Even if right now you said you craved heroin or I don’t know, smoked cigarettes, or were secretly married to a three-headed unicorn. In all seriousness, nothing in this world would make me think less of you. I’m here for you no matter what.” 

Hutch’s arms flew around him. “I was wrong not to tell you. I was trying to keep it private, to not involve you. I’m sorry.” 

Starsky pressed Hutch’s head to his shoulder, lunch far from his mind. “It’s okay. No need to be sorry. You had your reasons. I overreacted is all. You’re entitled to your privacy. But why tell me now?” 

“Because of what you said at the hospital,” Hutch said warmly. “Because you said you loved me. I needed to talk to my psychologist to get another perspective.” 

Starsky drew back. He felt like he’d been sidelined, sucker-punched by his partner. “Why the hell do you need another perspective? Isn’t the perspective of the two of us enough?” 

Hutch turned back to the whirling bowl of eggs. “No…how I feel…it’s not enough.” 

“What do you mean, it’s not enough how you feel? Why isn’t that enough? Isn’t that, in fact, everything?” 

“I said no, Starsk. And I mean it. How I feel is not important.” 

“Wait for just a second,” Starsky said. “If how you feel isn’t important, then are you saying how I feel is also not important?” 

Starsky’s mouth hung open at the notion. If Hutch wanted to talk about his problems with a therapist, no problem; he was entitled. But dismissing his feelings too, as though he didn’t understand his own heart? As if Starsky’s feelings were like some kind of high school crush, nothing but a brief infatuation? That went a step too far. 

Hutch turned around. “A feeling is fleeting, something that can be influenced by ideas or extreme situations, but they also disappear. You may be confusing your feelings with panic or fear from seeing me hurt. Now that I’m better, it’ll fade in time, go back to normal.” 

Starsky’s mind was still trying to catch up. His reasonable, sensible partner, who adored springtime and searched for purpose in life, was denying that feelings matter. 

“Maybe I was wrong to blurt it out that day,” Starsky admitted. “I’m sorry for that, but I’m not sorry for what I said. They weren’t fleeting feelings coming from extreme situations. I meant every word, and I still mean them, standing here in your kitchen making eggs and salami sandwiches. I could have said it last month when we stood in line at the bank, or six months ago when we played chess.” 

Starsky swallowed and continued, desperate to make his point. 

“I could have said those words when I was recovering after Gunther, and you stayed at my side… and anytime in between. Intense, ordinary, mundane, or any other situation you might care to name. I could have told you I loved you and meant it.” 

“It’s okay. I know you believe that.” Hutch cupped Starsky’s cheek. “I think you should go now.” Starsky stood with his hands on his hips, his expression sober.

“No, I’m not going anywhere. I want to know where you’re getting these ridiculous ideas from. It’s not the Hutch I know.” 

Hutch went quiet, replying softly, “Please go. I want to be alone for a while.”

Starsky felt a barrier form between them, like a sheet of plexiglass, transparent but impenetrable. He snatched his jacket and walked out, Hutch’s words chipping at his already fragile heart.

Chapter 4

Four Years Ago

Hutch sat on the sofa while Dr. Atkinson faced him in the oversized wingback chair. “You may lie down if you wish. Many patients find that relaxing and are more able to open up.” 

“I’m fine sitting, thank you.” Hutch sat with one leg crossed over the other, his right elbow resting on the armrest. 

“As you like. Let’s see…the last time I saw you was a few months ago. Your partner had been kidnapped by a cult and almost killed. You said your attraction to him had bubbled to the surface again. Have you been practicing the techniques we discussed last time?” 

“Bubbled to the surface?” Hutch answered. “More like erupted inside me like a volcano, but yes, I’ve taken those techniques into consideration.” 

“The intention was that you do not have those feelings at all,” the psychologist said, conveying his disappointment. “What have you been doing?” 

Hutch blinked and replied, “I focus on other things as you told me to do. For example, I spend time with the lovely opposite sex. I thought I was in love a few times, and who knows, I may have gotten married if things were different.” 

Hutch looked up, clearing his thoughts. “I took up meditation, did I tell you that? I also jog. I date countless women, but I mentioned that already.” Hutch paused and pointed to his left leg. “This used to be in a full cast. I almost died when I was trapped under my car, but I still find a way to bury myself in my work. When all of that doesn’t help, I flat-out get irritable.” 

“It sounds to me like you’re doing the right things, but it’s taking more time than I might have hoped. Or is there another reason you’re here today?” 

Hutch clasped his hands and scowled at his twiddling thumbs. “He’s in love with a cute school teacher. I think he’s planning to marry her.” 

“Good for him,” Atkinson replied smugly. “So, you can see why it was the right decision not to tell him. He is living his life, and there was no reason for you to ruin it.” 

Hutch’s eyes snapped up. “Believe me, I’m happy for him. Overjoyed that he found someone…I told him so and meant it. But I think he might suspect that I’m a little sad too, and I don’t want that to get in the way of his happiness. I need to know how to avoid that…what else I can do.” 

The doctor pulled out a small pad of paper. “ I’m going to write you a prescription…”

“No way, no drugs. I won’t take them. Give me some other options,” Hutch insisted. 

Atkinson sighed. “Very well. So far, we have concentrated on diverting your attention away from your attraction, but there are other aversion therapy techniques I could introduce.” 

“Aversion therapy?” Hutch exclaimed. “Are you planning to give me an electric shock? Let me tell you right now, that’s not going to happen.”

“No, I would reserve that for extreme circumstances.” He held out his hand and offered Hutch an elastic band. “Let’s start small, shall we?” 

Hutch regarded the elastic band with skepticism. “Start small?” 

Atkinson nodded. “Yes, every time feelings for your partner surface, I want you to snap this band against your wrist.” 

Hutch twirled the elastic around his index finger. “You expect me to snap this band against my wrist every time I have sexual thoughts about my best friend? You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“With your current diversionary techniques and this aversion tactic, you should be able to rid yourself of these.. these.. abnormal feelings once and for all,” the doctor explained. 

“Abnormal?” Hutch’s face darkened. “How can love be… abnormal? I’m afraid it was a mistake coming here…” he said, rising. 

“There you go again, detective. One minute wanting my advice, the next ready to storm out the door. It’s clear to me you’re still confused.” 

The therapist sighed, continuing at a slower pace, “The word abnormal… that’s a professional term. I don’t consider love abnormal, but in your situation, I do consider it harmful. It can harm you and your partner, not to mention the good people of Bay City that you are hired to protect. What if this little fantasy of yours was discovered by your fellow police officers? Would they be supportive? Or would they let you both down in an emergency?” 

“Let’s get something clear, Dr. Atkinson. I am not confused about how I feel. I am, however, conflicted about how to handle it. The single requirement I have is that Starsky not get hurt, ever. That’s why I’m here, to help me balance everything.” 

“Then you agree with me that your feelings are secondary. In my professional opinion, if you love your friend like you say you do, you’ll put him first, and let him be with his lady.” 

“So noted. I’ll take your professional opinion under advisement.” 

Hutch rose and grabbed his jacket from the coat rack, almost stumbling into the grandfather clock in the process. Hutch looked at the elastic band, stuffed it in his pocket, and slammed the door behind him.

Chapter 5

“Do you think all the crooks in Bay City knew you were back on the job this morning, Hutch? You know, testing us to make sure we’re earning our paychecks?” 

Starsky let out a yawn, feeling as though he worked an entire week that morning. They busted a gas station hold-up and stopped two different liquor store robberies, all before lunchtime. If Starsky had hopes of resuming his talk with Hutch, the criminals had other plans, leaving little time for anything personal. 

At least he could keep an eye on Hutch for a while. Starsky propped his legs on the desk and put his hands behind his head. He gazed at the blond who slouched in his chair, his eyes glued to the typewriter, hunting and pecking at the keys, and slamming the carriage at regular intervals. 

“Penny for your thoughts, Hutch. Or a dime if you like. You can deposit one in Piggy here” 

He joked, pointing his toe to the red piggy bank that resided at the north end of the desk. “I’ll empty it later and buy you a candy bar.” 

“You know I don’t like candy,” Hutch said over the ring of the typewriter. 

Starsky swung his legs down, inched his chair forward, and placed his head on his forearms, 

I know that, but I hoped you’d grow to like candy. You know, change your mind and recognize its sweetness and splendor.” 

The tapping stopped, and Hutch raised his eyelids. “The sweetness only lasts a few seconds. Then all you’re left with is a fat belly or rotten teeth, and the candy itself is all gone.” 

“I’d rather lose every one of my teeth than never taste that sweetness again. Life is too short to worry about the dentist all the time.” 

Hutch raised a finger, then lowered it. Starsky expected a snappy comeback, but instead, he saw Hutch’s eyes expand, staring back at him like there was an invisible truth inscribed on his forehead that only Hutch could see. 

Hutch looked around the room before leaning over the desk. “My doctor is the one who told me candy’s not good for me. My mother told me that too, so I figured it was true.” 

“I’ve got a mother too, and she always encouraged me to try new things,” Starsky responded, his face serious. “As for your doctor, maybe you just need a second opinion.” 

“You might be right,” Hutch said, smoothing his palm across the typewriter keys.

Starsky cocked his head, smiling. “I keep telling you, I’m the brains of this outfit…” His next words were cut short by a rush of air as Dobey burst through the squad room doors. 

“Do you two want the good news or the bad news?” the captain asked, stopping abruptly in front of Starsky’s chair. 

“Who in their right mind ever wants bad news?” Starsky smirked. 

Dobey sighed, unimpressed. “Very well, the good news. Both Skaggs and Martino pled guilty to drug trafficking. After we confiscated two hundred grams of cocaine from the duffel bag, they knew they didn’t have a leg to stand on. The judge is expected to sentence them next week.” 

“That’s great. Chalk one up for the good guys,” Starsky said. 

“What about the bad news, captain?” Hutch asked. 

Dobey looked at Hutch. “Klondike cut a deal and was released. He spilled the identity of the top guy, who goes by the street name The Bull.” 

Dobey threw down an envelope. “His photograph is in there along with all the details. Klondike also provided the location of a large amount of cocaine at a scrap yard just outside of town.” Dobey paused. “The most Klondike is expected to get is a dangerous driving charge.” 

“Dangerous driving?” Starsky was on his feet. “Is that what a person gets when they run down a police officer with a car and almost kill him?” 

Starsky leaned on the desk, pressing against his knuckles, trying to contain the anger his voice failed to hide. 

“Calm down, Starsky.” Dobey bellowed. “I don’t like it any better than you do, but sometimes the wheels of justice don’t roll in our favor.” 

Dobey softened. “One of these days, Klondike is going to slip up. In the meantime, we’re planning to bust the scrap yard tonight and arrest The Bull, and I want you both to be part of it. Got that?” 

Hutch nodded. “Understood, Captain.” 

“Good. Now get moving on that file. I want you to know everything about The Bull before you go down there.” Dobey stormed away, shutting his office door behind him. 

It’s not fair.” Starsky sat back down. “I don’t care about any criminal named Bull or how much cocaine we stand to retrieve. I want Klondike…he tried to kill you.” 

“I know, buddy, but you heard Dobey. We’ll get him. It’s just a matter of time. Let me drop this report off, and we can head out,” Hutch said as he rolled the paper from the typewriter. He stood up, fishing in the front pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a quarter. 

”Hey,” he said, tossing the coin to Starsky, “why don’t you get yourself some candy?” Starsky reached and caught the coin with one hand. 

“And…get me some too, will ya?” Hutch added, turning back around towards Dobey’s office. Starsky didn’t move, clutching the coin as if it were a million dollars. 

“Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Hutchinson,” Starsky said to himself, and he headed to the vending machine with a smile.

Chapter 6

Two Years Ago

“It’s been a while, Detective Hutchinson. Please take a seat on the sofa.” 

Hutch nodded and shuffled over to his seat. “Yes, well over a year..” 

Atkinson settled into the wingback chair, his notepad balanced on his lap. “What brings you here today? Last time we spoke, your partner was going to get married. How have you handled that?” 

“There was no marriage.” Hutch couldn’t hide his sadness. “Terry, the woman, died.”

“I see,” he noted, adjusting his glasses. “That must have been difficult for him.” 

“Yes, very difficult. Several months later, he began seeing another woman, but she left him to follow her father out of town. It’s a long story, but suffice it to say his heart was broken again,” Hutch explained. 

What about your heart?” Atkinson probed, tilting his head. 

Hutch shrugged. “I’ve had a few relationships. They haven’t lasted, though. I guess the women were mere distractions.” 

The therapist scrawled a note and nodded. “Has the aversion therapy with an elastic band worked?” 

“I tried it for a while. I even bought this wristwatch to cover it up.” Hutch pointed to the silver and turquoise watch he wore high on his forearm, lightly stretching the band against his skin. “But snapping a rubber band while Starsky was sitting two feet away from me and not having him notice was ridiculous. I gave it up.” 

“You may call it ridiculous, but I assure you aversion therapy works in many forms if the patient is willing to take it seriously. Apparently, you were not. Did you give up because you’re still holding onto hopes of having a romantic relationship with your best friend?” 

“Hopes of a romantic relationship?” Hutch sneered. “I’d settle for a normal relationship with my best friend again.” 

Atkinson didn’t rush him, letting the patient take his time. 

“We’ve been drifting apart. We don’t hang out as much.” 

Hutch ran a hand through his hair. 

“There was an incident where he accidentally shot and blinded a woman a while ago.” He paused again, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“He didn’t reach out to me once to help him get through it. He pushed me away. He’s been pushing me away a lot more lately, and I’ve done the same.”

The therapist reached forward and poured a glass of water, offering it to Hutch. “If you ask me, you’ve come a long way.” 

Hutch felt the room spin. He thought he was losing his humanity, and his doctor said this was progress. 

“Come a long way?” Hutch protested. “Then why am I so unhappy? I pushed my feelings so far away I’m starting to feel like a robot.” 

He paused. The sound of a pen scribbling against paper competed with the loud ticking of the grandfather clock. 

“I went undercover a few weeks ago, alone. I was supposed to persuade a woman to testify against a mob boss. I ended up sleeping with her, using her, and I’m not sure I cared.” 

“Even if you don’t know it right now, you’ve found your way forward, away from those feelings,” Atkinson said. “Everything you have done has been necessary for his happiness and your own.” 

He tapped his fingers on his notepad, a leg dangling over one knee, his foot rotating as he thought. “I believe what you’re suffering from is typically caused by burnout. Do you ever think about taking a break from police work?” 

Hutch couldn’t think straight. Was his misery really all about the job? 

“Detective, is leaving the force something you would consider?” the doctor repeated.

“I don’t know, maybe.” Hutch couldn’t lie. “Isn’t that like running away?”

Running away from it all. Was that the answer? If it meant hurting Starsky, Hutch didn’t see how. 

“If it ultimately benefits you, it’s not running away. You’ve figured out how to give your partner room to be himself. You need to figure out how to do it for yourself as well. If you left the force, what do you think he would say?” 

Hutch became uneasy. “On the one hand, I wonder if he would even care. The way things have been going, he might agree and let me go.” 

“And on the other hand?” came the reply. 

“On the other hand, and more likely, he would follow me. And if he does that, I’m terrified I’d find a way to break his heart.”

Chapter 7

Starsky hated stakeouts, especially when they felt more like busy work, the outcome practically predetermined. He lightly held the steering wheel at ten and two, stealing a sideways glance to his right. “The police are planning to bust The Bull tonight. That’s a given. Why couldn’t Dobey get someone else to stare at this scrap yard until then?” 

Hutch adjusted his long legs and looked out the passenger window. “You heard Dobey. He wants us on the case. That means the boring stake-out parts too.” 

“We’ve been here two hours now. Who knows if Klondike’s information was on the level or not?” Starsky grumbled, raising a pair of binoculars for the hundredth time. 

The scrap yard was on the outskirts of town, abandoned. There was a gravel road from the front entrance to a clearing and an old building at the driveway’s end. The yard was littered with crushed vehicles and metal, and several heavy machines were parked around the perimeter. Starsky and Hutch parked in the distance behind a row of trees, out of sight. 

Starsky handed the binoculars to Hutch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a candy bar, unwrapping it as he spoke. “Hey, can I ask you a question, and you won’t get mad?” 

Hutch shrugged as he peered through the lenses. “Shoot.” 

Starsky slipped the candy in his mouth. “Did it help you all those years, seeing a psychologist?” he asked, chewing slowly. “Are you better off for it?” 

Hutch frowned and lowered the binoculars. “I don’t think that was the point. I didn’t go to him to be better off.” 

“Then why did you go?” Starsky asked, puzzled. 

Hutch repositioned the binoculars on his face, eyes on the abandoned lot. “I wanted to talk to someone because I wasn’t sure I could handle things on my own. When I wasn’t certain I could keep things safe.” 

Starsky nodded. “What do you mean…keeping what things safe?” 

Hutch squinted through the lenses before sighing and lowering them to his lap. “Things that would impact you, me, and us. Our partnership. Our lives. All of it.” 

“When you talked to the doctor, did you ever talk about me, in particular?” Starsky’s gut was telling him there was more to it. 

“Your name came up,” Hutch admitted, looking ahead. 

“You said you saw Atkinson after Bellamy, and after Simon Marcus, and Gunther. All those times were about me.” Starsky said softly. 

“Yes, those were times when I didn’t know if I could protect you. If I can’t protect you, what’s the point of anything?” 

“Hutch, you do protect me, every day. You always have. But I don’t need protection all the time. What I need is the truth.”

Hutch forced a swallow, and Starsky thought he saw a tinge of regret in his partner’s tired blue eyes. Hutch opened his mouth, a gulp replacing words, then a long silence. 

A sudden movement in the distance broke the tension in the air. 

Hutch swiftly raised the binoculars. “We’ve got action,” Hutch said, pulling out the mic. “This is Zebra three. We spotted a white van pulling into the scrap yard. It’s headed toward the abandoned building at the back.“ 

“Reinforcements are on the way,” Hutch said, the binoculars raised. “Time to move. Wait…I don’t believe it.” 

Starsky pulled the binoculars from Hutch and saw a man getting out of the van. “It’s Klondike, and he has The Bull with him. Didn’t Klondike figure we’d be staking out this place? He really is the village idiot.” 

“His stupidity is surpassed only by his greed,” Hutch quipped, his hand on the car door handle. “Or is it the other way around…” 

“Either way, Klondike is mine,” Starsky said as he gripped the door. He shot a quick nod to Hutch as they both exited the car, crouching toward the van.

Chapter 8

One Year Ago

“Detective Hutchinson, please sit down.” 

Hutch closed the door and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You should know, I’m not here for the reason you think I am.” 

“Please sit down,” Atkinson repeated from his usual spot in the wingback chair, motioning again to the sofa. 

Hutch took a tentative step forward and sat, his hands secured in his pockets. 

“What brings you here, Mr. Hutchinson? Have things gotten better with your partner since the last time you were here?” 

“Don’t you watch the news? Starsky was shot. Three times in the back.” Hutch felt like someone else was speaking those terrible words as he heard them leave his mouth. 

Atkinson nodded. “Yes, I heard about that, and I’m very sorry.” 

“Well, as long as you’re sorry, then it’s all okay,” Hutch said, dripping with sarcasm. “I, on the other hand, am having trouble remembering how to breathe.” 

“I’m sure it’s been very difficult, and we can talk about that,” the therapist stated as he flipped through his book. “Ah yes, here it is,” he said, pausing on the desired page. “Your last visit, you were contemplating quitting the police force. That didn’t happen, did it?” 

“It did happen. I decided to leave, and as I thought, Starsky joined me and quit too. I felt close to him again at that moment.” 

Hutch smiled and shook his head. The painful memory of losing Rigger flooded his mind, but the thrill of knowing Starsky stayed right by his side through it all was immeasurable. 

“The reasons were complicated, but we were eventually persuaded to rejoin the force. We were together again on the job. Partners.” 

“Was that a problem, being back on the force with him?” 

“Maybe, I don’t know. I started to pull back again. We went after the same woman, and it wasn’t pretty. I was going through the motions. You might be happy about that. I tried to shut myself down completely, even from him…especially from him.” 

“It’s not about whether I’m happy, detective. Tell me what happened next?” the doctor asked. 

The noise of the grandfather clock echoed in Hutch’s ears. He wished he could reach out and grab the disappearing time, turn it back, and start again. 

“Then, he got shot, and my whole world collapsed.” 

Atkinson pressed his glasses to his nose. “That was two months ago. I heard he’s on his way to a full recovery.”

“Yes, he’s had tremendous support from his family, friends, and the medical staff in charge of his case.” Hutch played with his wristwatch as he spoke, flicking the band gently against his skin. 

“I see, and he’s had your support too, I imagine?” 

Hutch stopped fidgeting. “Of course. I’ve been there for whatever he needs. I moved in with him for a while, but I’m back at my place now. He’s not back to work yet, but we expect him to pass his physical in due time. It’s been difficult, but his recovery is what matters.” 

“So if things are getting better, why come to me now?” 

Hutch shrugged, twisting his ring around his finger as he choked out the words lodged in his throat. “Because…what if he had died? Have I made the right decision, all these years?” 

“Then he would have died with full honors from the police force,” Atkinson stated, his face neutral. “He would have died knowing his best friend cared about him. He would have died without any other… burdens.” 

Hutch’s thoughts were hazy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent night’s sleep. His eyelids burned as he strained to concentrate on the doctor’s remarks. 

“Burden? Is that the name for it?” Hutch felt his will to fight wane. “Maybe you’re right. If I had told him all those years ago, who knows if we would still be partners? After almost losing him, I know seeing him alive is all I care about. Feelings that arise now and again don’t matter. I can deal with them now.” 

“That’s good, that’s very good.” The psychologist nodded in approval. 

Hutch was fixated on his ring, his vision cloudy, as he rubbed at his temple. “I don’t know if it’s good. I know that Starsky is alive, and he’s got another chance to live his life.” 

“It sounds like you are coping with the situation.” Atkinson nodded again. 

“I focus on the things that are important right now. I go to the office, work on the Gunther case, take care of Starsky, make sure he gets to his appointments…” 

“And do you have time for yourself?” Atkinson asked. 

“Time for myself?” Hutch shook his head. “That’s a luxury.” 

“You need to make time to take care of yourself. You don’t want to burn out again. Find things you care about and achieve some balance.” 

Hutch barely heard the words, wondering why he had bothered to come. “Why?” he said bluntly. “My feelings are secondary, isn’t that right?” 

Hutch rose from the sofa and headed to the door. He turned the knob, pausing when he heard the doctor call him back. 

“Detective?” 

Hutch stopped, facing the door, waiting. 

“You did the right thing, all these years.” 

“He’s alive.” Hutch repeated, not turning back. “If I had a hand at giving him a real chance at happiness, that’s all that matters.” 

He wrenched the door open, toppling the coat rack as he grabbed his coat and left.

Chapter 9

Starsky ran at top speed, the chance to get Klondike his singular motivation. 

His blue and white sneakers kicked up dirt as he reached a pile of wrecked vehicles. Starsky flattened himself against the barrier and peered around it, spotting Hutch running toward a large forklift, his magnum drawn. 

The white van idled in the open, while Klondike sat in the front with the door open, and The Bull wandered around to the back. 

“I’m moving in,” he mouthed across the yard to Hutch, motioning toward a stack of metal near the van. Hutch gave the all-clear, and Starsky raced off, sliding into his destination with a crash. 

“Who’s there?” a voice yelled. 

Starsky could hear the van doors closing and the sound of wheels reversing across gravel. He ran out and lifted his gun, seeing the vehicle backing over The Bull and Klondike driving away. 

Starsky stood in a wide stance with his gun drawn and eyeballed his target. He fired, shots deflecting off the back as it continued its retreat. He looked down at the forklift where he last saw Hutch; his partner was gone. 

“Terrific,” Starsky muttered, dashing up to the fallen man, appraising him quickly. “You’ll live, Mr. Bull,” he muttered, pulling him up. 

Just as he was cuffing the crook to a nearby fence, he heard the crunching of gravel from behind. 

Starsky whirled around and covered his face as a cloud of dust obscured his vision, the white van rushing toward him. He fired his gun, one bullet shattering the front window, the others bouncing off the unpaved road, the van still charging. 

Starsky looked around for an escape when the familiar sound of Hutch’s magnum boomed out. 

Both of the van’s back tires blew, sending it careening out of control and into the fence in front of Starsky. 

“Fool me once, shame on you,” Hutch said as he ran up and plucked Klondike from the vehicle, searching him for weapons. “Fool me twice, and you’ll have to deal with my partner here.” 

Starsky stepped forward and cuffed the offender. “Looks like you’re the fool, Klondike.” 

Sirens blared as a couple of black and whites rushed into the yard. “Read these two their rights,” Starsky said, pointing to the handcuffed criminals. 

A hand appeared on his shoulder. “You alright?” Hutch asked, his face displaying the familiar look of emotion Starsky knew so well. 

“For a minute there I thought I was doomed,” Starsky said, catching his breath. “Your aim was spot on, thanks.” 

“Must have been the candy,” Hutch said, pulling a piece from his pocket and stuffing it in his mouth. “I think I’m starting to understand what you see in it.”

Starsky’s throat tightened, mesmerized by the sight of the sweet treat moving down Hutch’s throat as he swallowed. 

“Hey, Starsky, Dobey’s on the radio for you guys,” a uniformed cop said, interrupting the image. 

Starsky caught Hutch’s eye. ”There’s more where that came from if you want it.” He dashed away to answer the call, feeling Hutch’s gaze burn through him as he ran.

Chapter 10

One Day Later

“Hello, Detective Hutchinson, it’s been a couple of weeks since you were last here. Right after you had been hit by a car. Please have a seat.” Dr. Atkinson gestured to the sofa. 

Hutch closed the office door and sat down. He crossed one leg over the other and rested his arm across the back of the couch. 

“Hello, doctor. Before you ask why I’m here, I’ll jump right in.” 

Atkinson raised an eyebrow and nodded. 

“I came here to say goodbye. Not because I think you’ll miss me, and certainly not because I’ll miss you, but because I needed some closure.” 

“What kind of closure?” The therapist inquired, his pen resting untouched beside his notepad. 

“You led me to believe I was confused all these years. You’re not fully to blame. I’m the one who listened to your advice. I was telling myself I needed to stay silent to protect him. But you know what?” 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Atkinson replied. 

“Starsky told me he loved me, and that’s the only perspective that matters,” Hutch said, unable to contain a smile. “I couldn’t see what it meant at first, and then I realized it. He was scared, but he was much braver than me. He had been feeling the same way all along; it just took him a while to know it. These are not fleeting, misplaced emotions. It is genuine, long-lasting, and enduring love. The same way, without question, I feel about him.” 

“I see,” Atkinson replied. “What do you expect from me, detective?” 

Hutch sat up straight and said firmly, “I told you, closure. And to tell you I hope that you will reconsider your so-called tried and true techniques. Advising someone to deny their emotions? To dismiss what they feel in their soul? How does that benefit people?” 

Atkinson fidgeted with his pen, twirling it over his thumb as he listened. He leaned forward, setting the notepad and pen on the side table. 

“I did what I thought was right, what others in my profession have been doing. It’s advice that’s been proven in the real world.” 

“That so-called advice is as false and deceiving as your imitation artwork, Atkinson,” Hutch replied. “Maybe it’s time you got out of the dark ages.” 

Hutch rose and headed to the door, then changed his mind and turned. “One more thing. The next time someone says they’re in love, whether it be with a person of the same sex, the opposite sex, or…,” Hutch paused and chuckled, “…a three-headed unicorn…do me a favor will you?” 

“What’s that, Mr. Hutchinson?”

“Believe them.” Hutch turned and reached for the doorknob. 

“Detective, wait,” Atkinson said from the chair. 

Hutch halted with his back turned, allowing him a chance to speak.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said faintly. 

Hutch took a deep breath and straightened. He pulled the door open and didn’t look back.

Chapter 11

Starsky sat in his living room, feet propped on the coffee table, drinking a beer but not tasting it as his thoughts raced. 

The police recovered a cargo of cocaine worth over a million dollars following the raid at the scrap yard the day before. As if trying to steal the cocaine and double-crossing the cops weren’t stupid enough, Klondike’s attempt to run over Starsky sealed his fate. Of course, whatever the judge threw at Klondike would pale in comparison to The Bull’s vengeance, even if dispensed from behind bars. 

Starsky barely had a chance to talk to Hutch all day between meetings and reports, and for a good part of the afternoon, he didn’t see his partner at all. When the day finally ended, Hutch declared he wanted to go home, water his plants, and shower off the lingering smell of dust in his hair and grime in his clothes. 

Starsky rested his head on the back of the couch. “Another near-miss, another death-defying day,” he muttered aloud. “Another day when Hutch is avoiding me.” He took a sip. “Another day when I think we’re on the same page and then he goes home to water his plants.” 

Starsky gulped a hefty mouthful of beer, his throat dry from the memories of so many close calls and so much wasted agony. 

“Enough of this,” he said aloud, setting down the beer. “Either Hutch and I work it out or I’ll go crazy talking to myself all night.” 

He picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number. One, two… three… eight rings, no answer. “Damn it, Hutch, where are you?” Starsky slammed down the receiver. 

In a rush, he grabbed his jacket, scooped his keys, and headed to the door. 

——- 

“Hutch,” Starsky said as he opened his door, almost colliding with the blond. “How long have you been standing there?” 

Hutch’s hands were in his pockets, his eyes cast downward, shifting from side to side. “Not long, a few minutes. I was working up the courage to knock.” 

Starsky stepped back and gave Hutch space to enter. “Since when do you need the courage to come to my place?” He closed the door, throwing his jacket and keys on the side table. “You want a beer?” 

“Sure,” Hutch said, hands still jammed tightly in his pockets. 

Starsky held a beer in each hand and gestured to Hutch to take one. 

“Good timing,” Starsky said. “I was just trying to call you.” 

“You were?” Hutch accepted the beer. “Why?” 

Starsky perched himself on top of the counter as Hutch leaned against it, his elbow lightly brushing against Starsky’s knee as he raised the bottle to his mouth. Starsky watched him swallow, his eyes roaming over Hutch’s neatly combed hair, his crisp shirt, and his fresh pair of jeans. Hutch smelled good, the scent of shampoo still lingering in his damp hair, a hint of aftershave floating in the air. 

Starsky cleared his throat and forced a look at the floor. 

“Because, Hutch, we haven’t finished a conversation in weeks, and I, for one, can’t take another minute of it. I could ask you the same question. Why did you come over?” 

“Same reason,” Hutch said softly. “We need to talk.” 

Starsky heard the hesitation in Hutch’s voice. He sighed as his bottle swung through his dangling legs. “Ok, I’ll go first. I’m frustrated as hell, partner.” 

Hutch blinked, and his mouth went flat. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“I know you are. I am too,” Starsky said. “I told you how I feel about you, and we barely spoke about it. I know you said you don’t feel the same way, and I’m trying hard to accept that. Just don’t shut me out. I’ll figure out a way to push these feelings aside, like you told me. Just give me time.” 

“I didn’t say I don’t feel the same way,” Hutch said with a pained look. “I said we can’t love each other that way.” 

“Tom-ayto, tom-ahto,” Starsky said, his heart getting ripped open again. “What’s the difference?” 

“No,” Hutch interjected. “What I meant was, I thought you had those feelings just because you saw me hurt. I didn’t want it that way, based on some intense situation that would fade away in time. The last few weeks, when you didn’t bring it up again, I was afraid I was right.” 

Starsky placed his beer down and hopped off the countertop. He stood in front of Hutch, placing a hand on each shoulder. “You thought I was over you? Just like that?” 

“I wasn’t sure.” Hutch said. “I needed to be sure.” 

Hutch’s sky-blue eyes revealed a hint of despair. He set his beer down and gripped Starsky’s hand as it rested on his shoulder. 

“All this time, Starsk, all this time,” Hutch murmured, breaking the stillness. “I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t have anyone to confide in… about my love for you.” 

Starsky tightened his grasp, squeezing Hutch with both his hands. “Did you think I’d run if you told me?” 

“No, that wasn’t it,” Hutch said, his hand sliding to Starsky’s cheek. “I figured you wouldn’t run because you’re not that type of person, but I was worried you wouldn’t reciprocate. This thing would hang between us, forcing you to choose and possibly ruining whatever chance you had for a regular life.” 

“My life is not going to be ruined, and I’m not going anywhere.” Starsky scanned Hutch’s face, searching for confirmation he was heard. 

Hutch’s palm wandered to the back of Starsky’s neck. 

“I couldn’t think straight in the hospital, Starsk. Now, it’s all so clear. You know when that van was headed toward you yesterday?” 

Starsky nodded. “How could I forget it, but you’re not going to say this is about some fleeting feelings due to an extreme situation, are you?” 

“No,” Hutch shook his head. “It was the candy in my pocket.” 

Starsky blinked. He wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on, and his partner wanted to talk about candy. 

“Are you serious right now?” he felt Hutch’s fingers along his hairline, gently caressing the nape of his neck. 

“Yes, I’m serious. A small, insignificant piece of candy in my pocket, so special because you thought I’d enjoy it…no…knew I needed it. Just like when you brought me soup that time I had a cold, or we played chess in the greenhouse, or you wrote your name in red lipstick on my hospital window when I had the plague or any other intense, ordinary, mundane situation you might care to name.” 

Hutch smiled. 

“Your words came from your heart, Starsk, not because of the circumstances, but because you meant them. I see that now. I’m sorry I doubted that.” 

“Maybe we had to go through those years to figure things out.” Starsky said, leaning into Hutch’s palm. “Can you forgive me?” 

“What for?” Hutch tilted his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Yes, I did,” Starsky replied. “ I wasn’t there for you like I should have been, to the point where you had to see a damn psychologist. I had my head in the clouds, and I’m sorry.” 

“If you had your head in the clouds, I had mine in the sand, and I mean buried deep,” Hutch said as he stroked Starsky’s hair. “I looked for help in the wrong places.” 

Starsky bent his elbows, still clutching Hutch’s shoulders, closing the gap between them. 

“I saw Atkinson today,” Hutch continued. “You were busy with the Klondike case, and I slipped out for a while.” 

“You did?” Starsky tensed, remembering how Hutch had disappeared for a while. “What for?” 

“To tell him to his face I won’t be going back, along with a few other choice words.” Hutch smiled shyly. 

“I can’t say I’m upset about that. But why did you go along with it all this time?” Starsky asked, needing to understand. 

“He helped me in the beginning, with Forest, and I believe therapy can help in the right situations. But after a while, I became too scared to take any chances. I wanted to protect you, and now I know that was just misplaced fear.” 

Starsky nodded. He knew too well how it felt to be overwhelmed by love, and not know how to handle it. 

“It all worked for a while,” Hutch continued, “but the feelings kept coming back until I had to turn them off, or try to. It was like, instead of putting water on the fire, I was putting gasoline on it. Fueling my denial. Does that make any sense?” 

“Yes, it makes sense,” Starsky said. “I was fueling my denial too, except I pushed it away subconsciously.” 

“I had a nagging feeling something wasn’t working,” Hutch said, grimacing. “The longer it went on, the harder it was to see what was happening. I was in too deep.” 

“You did what you thought was best for me, Hutch. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.” Starsky stared into Hutch’s eyes, lost in their depth, but at the same time feeling anchored. 

It was Hutch who made the first move. He lowered his gaze and bowed his head, his tongue hovering with hot breath over Starsky’s awaiting mouth. Starsky felt as though he were being carried away on a bubble as their lips at last connected. 

The feverish kiss reassured Starsky that this was not a fleeting fantasy, and he knew Hutch finally believed it too. 

His body grew warm as passion overcame him and understanding struck Starsky’s senses, realizing he was responsible for bringing Hutch’s feelings out in the open. Hutch had carried his love inside for so long, buried it well into the crevices of his heart to protect him. It left Starsky breathless and filled him with gratitude, and from that moment forward, he wanted to show Hutch how much he was loved. 

They came up for air, Starsky’s arms wrapped around Hutch, whose back was still against the countertop. 

“Is it too soon to ask you to join me in the bedroom?” Starsky asked. 

“Too soon?” Hutch laughed and took Starsky’s hand. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Starsky took Hutch’s hand and led him to his bed, both kicking off their shoes along the way. He let go of Hutch’s hand and grasped his waist, dragging him down and falling on the mattress into his arms. 

Large hands unbuttoned Starsky’s shirt and tossed it to the floor. They both discarded their jeans, and Hutch removed his shirt, heightening Starsky’s excitement as he felt Hutch’s bare chest rub against his own. 

“I want to look at you,” Starsky said, his hands roaming over Hutch’s naked body. “You’re so beautiful, I want to feel every inch of you.” 

“And you will,” Hutch moaned, “but first there’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.” 

Hutch captured Starsky’s mouth with his lips, then slid down his body, his tongue trailing down the furry chest toward the swelling hard-on. Starsky felt warm breath cover his tingling flesh, Hutch’s pace slow and intense as he took his time approaching the stiff and inviting target. 

Starsky’s head shot back as Hutch’s hot, wet mouth enveloped his rigid erection. The exquisite attention was unlike anything else Starsky knew, leaving him gasping in the ecstasy of a mind-blowing release. 

He lay back, fingers intertwined in silky blond hair as a wet tongue lathed the inside of his thigh.

Hutch’s strong, gleaming body moved up, extending Starsky’s pleasure with loving, wet kisses along his stomach. He reached out, anxious to wrap his hand around Hutch’s hard shaft, his lover’s deep eyes brimming with infinite longing. Starsky pumped until the blond exploded, savoring his unrestrained moans, and etching in his mind the image of Hutch’s body-shaking climax. 

The creaking of the mattress beneath their bodies soon died away, the sound of deep breathing filling the room, lulling them both into a blissful sleep. 

—- 

The next morning, Starsky awakened with Hutch still draped around his body. Hutch’s hair was matted on his brow; his face was relaxed and serene. For a moment, Starsky thought he was dreaming, until the body next to him stirred. 

“Morning,” Starsky said, watching the crystal eyes open. 

“Morning yourself,” came the reply, lips reaching for a kiss, flooding Starsky’s senses with the taste and scent and splendor of Hutch. 

Their lips finally parted, and Starsky reached out, brushing away the stray hairs from Hutch’s smooth forehead. “Promise me something?” Starsky asked. 

“Anything,” Hutch said, his hands roaming hungrily over Starsky’s body. 

“Promise if you ever feel the need to talk, you’ll come to me, and I’ll make the same promise. Whatever happens from now on, whether on the job or off, we’ll figure it out together.” 

Hutch smiled, “Promise. Whatever happens, we’re in it together.” 

Starsky pulled a blanket over their naked bodies and wrapped his arm around Hutch. “I love you, don’t ever forget it. Of course, if you ever do, I’ll introduce a few tactics of my own to jog your memory.” 

Hutch laughed, “What kind of tactics, exactly?” 

“Like the opposite of aversion therapy. Call it approval therapy. Instead of doing something to make you hate something, I’ll do something to make you love it, repeating it over and over until you can’t get enough of it.” 

Hutch agreed, chuckling. “ I’m beginning to feel a growing and urgent need for approval therapy right now.” 

“The doctor is in.” Starsky laughed through a kiss. “Now lie back while I work my miracles.” 

Starsky rolled over and pinned Hutch beneath him. “I love you like crazy, blintz. I’m going to show you how much, today, and every day after.” 

“I love you, Starsky. These feelings are real, and they’re not going anywhere. I’ll never doubt it again.” 

Starsky’s once-broken heart had been made whole, ready to be offered to Hutch. He floated as their bodies merged, bands of morning sun trickling in and warming his skin, a new light at last breaking through.