Choices Made

Hutch’s marriage is over when Vanessa doesn’t want kids and walks out. Will he find the answers he needs when he becomes a cop and finds a friendship with Starsky?

It was a shock. They were cuddled after making love and he murmured he was looking forward to having a baby with her. Vanessa laughed in derision.

“I count every calorie I put in my body and work out religiously to maintain this figure. Why would I ruin it having a baby?”

He fumbled for options, trying to understand. “We-we could adopt, or maybe use a surrogate, but that’s expensive…”

“You have money.”

“My father has money. I don’t.”

She scoffed. “He’d give it to you if I asked him, but I won’t. What’s the point? We don’t need kids.”

He let her go and stared at the ceiling. “You say we don’t need kids, but I’d like to have some.”

“Why?”

“I think I’d make a good dad. I could help take care of them, play with them, do things with them my dad never did with me.”

“So, you’d let a baby puke on your suit before you go to the office. Or do hands on toilet training, read bedtime stories, or roll around on the floor playing games with the little dears.”

“Yeah, I would.”

“That’s a waste of your time. That’s what nannies are for.”

He said no more, suddenly realizing children with Van was never gonna happen and it saddened him.

A few days later, he came home to an apartment empty of everything but his clothes and the pots and pans Van had never touched. He bought a cot and sleeping bag, and a bar stool so he could use the kitchen counter as a desk, and concentrated on wrapping up the life he’d been leading—his degree, his marriage and his dreams of a family.

* * * *

He stared at the degree he’d earned, that he’d paid for himself, his father’s tirade still burning in his ears. The pompous man hadn’t bothered attending the ceremony. He was angry that his son had changed his major from business to criminal law and that he wasn’t coming home to join the family firm.

He set the degree aside and filled out an application to the police academy.

* * * *

He passed the interview and the background check, and was accepted into the academy. His father nearly disowned him.

First day, he arrived early, got a cup of coffee and met the other early attendees. One of them was John Colby. Another was Dave Starsky. The two seemed to have a lot in common with each other. Both were ex-military, both had served in Vietnam. He refilled his coffee cup and introduced himself. “Hi! I’m Ken Hutchinson.”

John looked him over. “Midwest born and raised, with some money, right?”

“How did you know?”

“I recognize the accent and the fancier labels. Any military service?”

“No.”

“So, probably never touched a gun in your life.” John seemed dismissive. “Better learn, or you’ll wash out.”

“That’s a little judgmental, dontcha think, Colby? Not everyone served in the military. Maybe Hutch and his dad went hunting.” Starsky laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a friendly pat.

“Hutch?” He’d never had a nickname before and somehow, the idea pleased him.

Starsky shrugged. “It’s shorter than Hutchinson and more grown up than Kenny, but it’s up to you. What do you want to be called?”

“Hutch is fine.” He smiled shyly at Starsky, unused to smiling at all. “And I’ve touched a gun. I have a permit and I’m a decent shot.” That was directed at Colby.

“Permit for what?”

“A 357 Magnum.”

Stunned silence for a moment at the unexpected answer, then Starsky patted his shoulder again. “Good for you, Blintz!”

An announcement was heard over the P.A., calling everyone to assembly. They threw their cups away and headed out together.

* * * *

Hutch wasn’t a decent shot, he was damn good. And he was an excellent student, determined to learn all he could to make a difference as a cop. He was slow to trust, but dependable, and his friendships with Colby and Starsky became solid.

He didn’t date. When Starsky asked why not, he shrugged, saying he didn’t want the distraction, that there’d be time for it later. But the truth was, he was still hurting from his failed marriage and loss of family. He wasn’t ready to superimpose dreams of another by dating.

* * * *

Graduation day! They got their assignments and parted company, but pledged to remain friends. He and Starsky did. Colby disappeared.

Hutch learned the streets of Bay City and worked hard to become the cop he wanted to be. He stayed in loose touch with Starsky as promised, and cautiously resumed dating, but strictly casual. He had no interest in acquiring a steady girlfriend.

Eventually, his hard work paid off and he earned a promotion to plain clothes detective. He was transferred to a precinct run by a Captain Dobey, who enjoyed a solid reputation as a no-nonsense administrator. A family man who insisted his people strive for a work-life balance to help manage their stress.

But Hutch was delighted to find that Starsky had earned a promotion, too, and was assigned to the same precinct. Starsky’d arrived a few days earlier, and somehow convinced Dobey to partner him with Hutch. He wasn’t surprised; Starsky could sweet-talk the devil out of a day pass from hell if he put his mind to it.

They hit the streets in Starsky’s Torino.

* * * *

Starsky and Hutch became well known on the streets, a highly successful team with an effective record. Best friends who absolutely trusted and confided in each other, and who spent most of their time together.

At the end of an especially frustrating week, they skipped the usual double-dates and retired to Starsky’s place with a bucket of chicken and a six pack to wind down. Hutch skipped the chicken and drank. Starsky studied him intently.

“Today’s call was a bad one. The ones involving kids always are. But why did this one upset you so much? Because it was a murder-suicide? Because the landlord only found them when he came to evict her, days after it happened? Because no one knows who the father is?”

Hutch finished his second beer and opened a third, but didn’t drink it.

“Talk to me, Hutch. What’s wrong?”

“The guy walked out on them, Starsk. He didn’t even try to be a father. She was desperate. Behind on her rent and utilities. There was no food, no family. She couldn’t do it alone. So, her solution was murder-suicide?”

They’d been flagged down by neighbours in a crumbling tenement, because a young mother had drowned her infant and fifteen month old toddler, then overdosed on pills next to the tub. Not their usual type of call, but they were known on the street and trusted, and anger was running high against the unsympathetic landlord, annoyed at the mess he was stuck with once the bodies were removed.

Starsky waited silently. There was obviously more going on here for Hutch, something he was having trouble confiding, but needed to say.

“I was married when I moved here, Starsk. Did you know that?”

He’d suspected, but hadn’t known for sure and had hesitated to ask.

“I wanted to start a family, but she didn’t. Worse, she belittled my desire to be a hands-on dad. I wanted to do the everyday things with my kids that my father paid others to do with me. You know, nannies, tutors, servants and the like. He liked making money more than spending time with me. He stopped speaking to me when I applied to the academy, instead of coming back to work for him.”

It explained Hutch’s reticence to seriously date, but Starsky wondered if Hutch understood that parenthood—especially single parenthood—was about more than money and good intentions.

Starsky wiped his hands and took a long drink of his beer before asking, “Did I ever tell you I was raised by a single mom?”

“You mentioned it.” Actually, Hutch knew quite a lot about Starsky’s background. His father had been a NY cop, killed in the line of duty, leaving a wife and two young sons to struggle in a rough neighbourhood. It hadn’t been easy. There’d been help at first, emotional support from other cops and their families, but as time passed, and the boys grew up, the emotional support waned, then disappeared and the boys turned to the mean streets for companionship and acceptance. They began to get into trouble.

It got ugly and Starsky’s mom decided to send her boys away to get them off the streets. But she could only afford to send one, and she chose Dave. He was hostile at first, but the Blaines were patient and stubbornly supportive and Dave was smart enough to make choices that put his life on a more productive path. He finished school, joined the army, got an honourable discharge, and became a cop. It pleased his mother, except he refused to come home, get married and make babies. She wanted grandchildren nearby to spoil and he stayed resolutely single in Bay City, nearly three thousand miles away.

His brother Nicky, on the other hand, skirted a life of low-level crime. The brothers spoke only when absolutely necessary, usually when Nicky was in some kind of trouble and mom insisted Dave intercede.

“It wasn’t easy for my mom. She—”

“I know, Starsk. I’ve been a cop a long time now. I’ve seen what happens when kids grow up on the streets with little to no guidance. When single parents are barely able to provide subsistence living for their kids. Hell—when cops don’t have enough family time. They’re working swing shifts and mandatory overtime, depending on their spouses to hold things together or they’re divorcing and hoping their kids will even remember them when they grow up.”

Hutch sighed. “I do pay attention and I understand. Good or bad, it takes a village to raise kids. Nobody can do it alone. Food stamps and welfare programs are all well and good, but emotional support is more important than money, because it offers hope. A chance that things could work out. Too many people don’t have that anymore.”

He finally took a drink of the beer he held and said what he really wanted to say. “About the time I became a detective, I gave up the idea of having a family of my own. Kids are more apt to listen to big brother Kenny or maybe uncle Hutch when they need direction, than to some blowhard trying to play dad.” He took another drink of his beer, drained half the bottle. “I know I can’t fix everything, save everybody. But I set aside a portion of each paycheck and use it to anonymously help when I can. I wish I’d known about Kisha Williams. Maybe I…”

He caught the frown on Starsky’s face and didn’t say another word on the subject. He finished the beer and stood to go. “I tend to talk nonsense when I drink. Pay it no mind.” He dug his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll see ya Monday. Have a good weekend, Starsk.”

Hutch was out the door before Starsky could move.

* * * *

They didn’t speak of it again. They resumed patrolling the streets, enjoyed taking double dates to movies or bowling, and shared the occasional beer and pizza after stressful days at work. Hutch especially loved the small talk they engaged in. It didn’t matter what they said. It was the casual touching Starsky did when they talked, and it seemed to be escalating. Hutch found himself fantasizing what intimacy with Starsky would be like.

But before he got the courage to do anything about it, Terry Roberts happened, and Starsky fell deeply in love.

For the very first time, he spoke of marriage and family, and the plans he and Terry made included ample time with Uncle Hutch.

Hutch was happy for them, but he began to withdraw and keep to himself.

Terry noticed and asked him why. Hutch told her gentle half-truths, that their alone time together was important and he didn’t want to be in the way with some new lady friend he had yet to meet. Terry hugged him and whispered conspiratorially, “Things’ll happen just like they’re supposed to, Hutch. You’ll see.”

Another crossroad. Another life choice to make—stay or go. Hutch chose to stay. He could care for Starsky from a distance—he couldn’t admit to loving him—and send Starsky home safe to the family he would make with Terry. More than once, Hutch caught himself smiling, wondering what mini-Starskys would be like.

Then George Prudholm struck, and Terry was dead. Hutch had his hands full dealing with an unrepentant Prudholm and an enraged, inconsolable Starsky. When it was finished, and Terry was buried, they went back to Starsky’s place, got drunk and cried.

* * * *

Starsky grieved a long time. Hutch got it—Starsky was mourning the loss of the wife and family he never had the chance to have, and he was listening to a sympathetic mother urging him to come home to NY to visit. Starsky decided to go, till his mother slipped up and mentioned her plan—already in progress—to marry him off to her best friend’s daughter, who would be the perfect wife and mother and keep him there.

To Hutch’s relief, Starsky didn’t go. But he didn’t want a partner’s advice. He’d only listen to big brother Kenny. So, Hutch told Starsky what he wanted to hear. That while mom’s sympathy was genuine, her intentions were self-serving and a betrayal of Starsky’s own desires and plans.

It was enough. Starsky resumed grieving, visiting Terry’s grave and talking to her for hours. Hutch watched from a distance to ensure his safety, but let him be.

* * * *

They were partners again, the way they were before—patrolling the streets and sharing confidences and the occasional meal at each other’s home. Starsky had yet to resume dating, but the touching continued and so did Hutch’s fantasies.

To Hutch’s surprise, it was Starsky who brought it up. And they hadn’t been drinking; they were stone cold sober in the Torino, heading back to the precinct at the end of their shift.

“Terry gave us to each other before she died. She said we belonged together in every way possible. Did you ever think of us like that?” and he absently patted Hutch’s leg.

He gave a faint gasp and closed his eyes, burning in sudden arousal. He wished Starsky would pull over, so they could touch. He never wanted anything so bad in his life.

“Hutch?”

His silence was damning.

“You have, haven’t you, Hutch?”

He took a careful breath before answering, and opened his eyes. “Yeah,” he admitted, deeply ashamed. He turned his head and watched the neighbourhood go by. They were almost to the precinct, where he could escape and be alone.

Starsky had other plans. He drove past the precinct and kept going.

“What are you doing, Starsk?” Hutch asked in a panic.

“We’re going to my place to talk. Something just happened, and I want to know what.” It was said in the no-nonsense, not to-be-denied voice Starsky saved for the streets and had never used on him. Hutch knew better than to argue. Arguing with that voice had serious consequences.

“All right,” he conceded. “But no beer. Do you have any soda in that fridge of yours?”

“I’ve got a couple of six packs, Coke, and grape NeHi.”

“Grape NeHi? What are you, twelve? That stuff’ll turn your teeth purple.” Hutch shook his head and smiled.

“So? I like the taste.” Starsky shrugged, but grinned back. “Are you hungry? We can get burgers at the drive thru on the way.”

“No. Let’s just get this over with.” The mirth died and things were serious again.

Starsky drove the rest of the way in silence.

They were halfway through their sodas before Starsky demanded, “What happened in the car, Hutch?”

He told the truth in the fewest words possible, then turned it back on Starsky. “You asked me if I’d ever thought of us together. Yeah, I have. So? If you’re asking, I’m guessing you have, too.”

“Yeah, but it’s a recent notion for me. Something Terry gave me with love. You…this isn’t just a fantasy for you. You’ve lived with this a long time and it’s become a real need. I’ve never seen you so aroused.”

There was no condemnation in Starsky’s tone, but no acceptance, either, and he didn’t want to risk the partnership they had. “Like you said, Starsk, this is a new notion Terry put in your head. If you want to talk about more when you’re ready, I’m willing to consider it. If you want to resume the occasional double date, we can do that, too. Just let me know what you decide.” He hoped saying that would be enough talk.

It wasn’t.

“How many dates have you had since Terry?”

“Two or three,” he said in his most convincing manner.”

“Bullshit! Terry said you’d stopped dating. Like I hadn’t noticed? How long have we known each other, Hutch?”

“Since the academy.”

“And how long have you been thinking of this? Of me?”

He hesitated, reluctant to say.

“Hutch?”

He gave up and answered truthfully. “Couple of years.”

“Years…” Starsky muttered to himself in surprise.

Hutch finished his soda and set the bottle down. “We’re done. Time to go. I’ll see ya at work.”

“I drove, Hutch. Your car’s at the station.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call a cab.” But before he could move, Starsky touched his leg.

“Tell me how you see us, Hutch. What do you need to make it real?”

Hutch told him, distracted by the touch of the man he wanted so badly. “We’re in bed and I-I kiss you. You’re so eager, and I watch your naked body respond to me, to my touches.” In his mind, he saw it happening, and his need began to burn.

Starsky’s hand stroked him gently. “What else?” he whispered.

He closed his eyes and sagged against the couch. “I suck you and you come in my mouth. I love your taste when I swallow you down.” He thought he heard Starsky moan, but Hutch didn’t look.

“Have you thought about taking your pleasure buried deep in my body? Or mine buried in yours?”

Arousal flashed hot and he found it hard to breathe.

“Yeah…yeah, you have…” Starsky stopped touching and stood. “Come with me, babe. Let’s give this a try. It’s time.”

“Starsk?”

“We won’t do it all. I’m not ready for that. Not yet,” Starsky murmured. “But I’m excited to satisfy some of your need.” He reached for Hutch’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

His arousal, not Starsky’s hand, drew him to the bedroom, and Hutch took over, taking his time undressing Starsky, laying him down on the bed before undressing himself and joining the man he considered his lover.

Hutch kissed him. It excited them both and Starsky moaned. Hutch kissed him again.

“Touch me, babe! Put your hands on my body and make me feel good! Make us both feel good!”

Hutch stroked Starsky’s body. He arched into Hutch’s hand, eager for more. Hutch fondled Starsky’s cock and Starsky went wild. “Ohmygod, Hutch! I’m gonna come!”

“Not yet. I’m not done with you. I want more…” And Hutch leaned down and kissed the tip of Starsky’s cock before taking it into his mouth. The smell was musky, the taste was salty, slightly bitter, and Hutch held Starsky down while he sucked hungrily.

Starsky screamed and gushed into Hutch’s mouth. Hutch swallowed avidly, savoring the taste, on the verge of coming himself.

Starsky whispered his name with a contented sigh. “Hutch…”

He exploded in ecstasy.

* * * *

It was their place, their bed. They’d been lovers more than a year and were intimate in every way now. Hutch cuddled his exhausted partner after a strenuous lovemaking session, but he didn’t sleep. He lay awake thinking about the life choices he’d made. One of them—not becoming a hands-on dad—seldom crossed his mind anymore. After his experiences helping the kids on the streets, changing the infants and playing with the toddlers at the quarterly police picnics the precinct held, he had the answers he needed. He’d have made a good hands-on dad. Knowing that was enough.

The life choice he made—to wait patiently for the partner he loved to love him back—was his greatest achievement, one he cherished every day of the life he now led. He was able to, because Terry gave him hope, as though she knew, when she told him “things’ll happen just like they’re supposed to”, and he would love her for that forever. His choices brought him the love of his life.

They brought him David Starsky.