Christmas Bombed

Starsky had Christmas all planned until The Christmas bomber decided to target the police station.

 

“It’s not fair. It’s just not fair,” Starsky grumbled as he entered the police department basement.

“I heard you the first five times,” Hutch said, following behind.

“Well, it bares repeating. It’s Christmas Eve. We were supposed to have it off.”

“Tell that to the bomber.”

The two detectives had spent the week leading up to Christmas trying to capture a bomber who’d already targeted two liqueur stores and a gym. There didn’t appear to be any pattern to the bombings; none of the locations were near each other or shared any of the same patrons. Because of the time of year, the press had already nicked named them the Christmas Bomber. The only information Huggy could dig up on the bomber was they were probably going to hit a big location that night. Where this information came from, he couldn’t say. Mostly rumour and hearsay, but it was all they had. They already had officers staked out at all the government buildings and anywhere hosting a big party.

Dobey had ordered Starsky and Hutch to cover city hall.

“I was about to put our dinner on.” Starsky continued to whine as they made their way over to the requisition desk. “It’s our first Christmas together. I had it all planned.”

“We’ve spent many Christmas’ together.”

“It’s our first since we officially got together and after the rotten year we’ve had, I wanted it to be special.”

Hutch could understand Starsky’s feelings on that. The year had started off with them throwing their badges in the sea, followed by the debacle with Kira, which in hindsight had been pointless and then the near fatal shooting in the parking garage. After all those months of pain and determination of get back on the force, it was understandable that Starsky wanted to do something special for Christmas. It was during those months of rehabilitation that they’d finally admitted their feelings for each other.

Not being a big lover of Christmas, Hutch hadn’t realised the grand importance. He probably should have, knowing how much Starsky loved the season.

“What did you plan?” Hutch asked

“Not telling.” Starsky shook his head with a sly smile. “I’m still hoping we’ll wrap this up early”

“You keep hoping.” Hutch stood at the desk, waiting for Officer Bigalow to make an appearance. He just hoped his requisition form had the right number on this time. He had no patients for Bigalow’s arrogance tonight.

“We’ll still have some time tomorrow,” Hutch pointed out.

“Yeah, maybe a hour or two in the evening. Between dinner with Kiko and Molly and Huggy’s Christmas Party.”

“We could always skip Huggy’s party.”

“He insisted we be there. He went to a lot of effort.”

More effort than Starsky knew. They’d not had a proper welcome home party or celebration for Starsky returning to the force, so the Christmas party was meant to be it.

“Well, let’s get this bomber caught as quickly as possible.” Hutch looked at it his watch. It was 7:30. He stuck his head through the little window. “Bigelow?”

There was no response.

“Hey Bigelow!” Starsky called. “You got customers.”

“Maybe he stepped out for a smoke.”

“Or maybe he has half the sense not to work on Christmas Eve,” Starsky pointed out.

“Well, someone has to be here. How else are we going to get the radios?”

“Maybe this is the universe telling us we’re not needed tonight,” Starsky said hopefully.

“It’s Bigelow being an ass.” Hutch made his way into the stores and looked around the shelves. “I’ll find them myself.”

“He won’t like that,” Starsky commented staying behind the desk window.

“He can stuff it.” Hutch moved around, looking at each self, while also trying to remember where he’d seen Bigelow pick them up from.

“I’m going to watch the stairs in case he comes back,” Starsky said, moving away. “Give you some warning.”

“I don’t care if he catches me…”

The rest of the sentence was cut off by a loud explosion from above. It knocked Hutch off his feet and into the rack, knocking it over along with everything around it. Chunks of plaster and mortar rained down around him and he was just about able to move in time to avoid a pipe smacking him in the head. When the heavier pieces had stopped falling, Hutch stayed perfectly still while dust and lighter debris coated him. His ears were ringing and blood was pouring down his face from a cut on his forehead. He stayed where he was, lying awkwardly on the self, while his mind tried to catch up with what had just happened.

The bomber…he’d attacked the police station. It wasn’t just a big location, but a ballsy one.

Starsky! Hutch tried calling his partner’s name, but the dust clogged his throat. He had to move. He tested his legs first and thankfully moved them without pain. He tried his arms next and they seemed fine, but when he tried to left himself off the shelving he felt a stabbing pain in his side. He felt along his ribcage and after a little prodding concluded nothing was broken, maybe a little bruised. When he was upright, he had to take a moment to steady himself, using an upturned chair for support.

There was a giant hole in the roof. Tables, chairs, filing cabinets and a water cooler were littering the floor. Pipes and wiring hung from the ceiling. The basement was nearly pitch black, a weak source of light from the hole above was all the illumination available.

“Starsky?” He finally managed to croak out. He cough the dust away and tried again. “Starsky?”

There was no answer.

Hutch looked around his immediate area, hoping to find a flash-light. He’d seen one while he was searching for the radios, but everything was now strewn across the floor. He started roughly where he remembered seeing the flash-light and felt around the ground. He called his partner’s name a few more times, but still received no answer. His searching became a little more frantic. Eventually he came across something that felt the right shape and after some fiddling, concluded it was a flash-light. He turned it on and used it to scan the floor. He carefully made his way over the debris and around the remains of the requisition window. He moved towards the area he’d last seen Starsky and found him a few feet away.

At first he was only able to see his legs, the rest of him was half buried under chunks of plaster, floorboards and a filing cabinet. The later was lying across Starsky’s ribs. Hutch hurried over, careful not to trip over anything on the way.

Starsky was lying on his back, his right arm trapped between this chest and the filing cabinet. His face had a couple of nicks and scratches, but nothing major. However, he remained unconscious when Hutch knelt down and shook his shoulder.

“Starsk…wake up,” Hutch said gently. He felt for a pulse and thankfully found one. Starsky’s breathing was shallow, probably because of the filing cabinet on his chest. Standing back up, Hutch examined the cabinet, thinking of the best way to lift it. He wrapped his arms around it, like he was giving it a hug and pulled. Thankfully it wasn’t that heavy and he was able to toss it aside quite easily.

Kneeling back down, Hutch examined his partner’s chest, being careful not to press down too hard, but also needing to feel for any damage. Without an x-ray Hutch couldn’t be certain, but by the shallow raspiness of Starsky’s breathing and by what he was feeling, he was fairly sure there were at least a couple of broken ribs. He just prayed there wasn’t any internal bleeding. He examined the wrist that had been trapped next and noticed it starting to swell. There was a very good chance it was broken.

Hutch tried rousing Starsky again by shaking his shoulder. “Come on, Starsk, wakey wakey.”

He looked up at the gaping hole above them “Is anyone up there?” He shouted as loud as he could manage. “We’re trapped down here!” His voice echoed off the walls of the room above, but no one responded.

His shouting hadn’t roused Starsky. Shaking a little harder this time, Hutch leaned in closer to Starsky’s face, hoping to see some sign of consciousness. Instead he noticed a spreading pool of blood on the ground by Starsky’s head. Gently Hutch lifted Starsky’s head a little and felt around, quickly finding a small cut amongst the curls.

Hutch took off his jacket, folded it a couple of times and gently placed it under Starsky’s head. This movement finally enlisted a groan from the brunet.

“Starsk, can you hear me?” Hutch asked softly. He put a hand by the side of Starsky’s face, his thumb rubbing along the cheekbone, encouraging his partner to opens his eyes. “Come on, answer me.”

“Huch…” A faint whisper, but it was a response.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Hutch sighed with relief. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Instead of obeying, Starsky groaned again and reached his left hand out to where he thought his partner was. Hutch took the searching hand and held it tight, keeping his other hand on Starsky’s cheek.

“Good start, but I need you to open your eyes.”

Finally getting the message, Starsky cracked his eyes open a little, blinked slowly and then squinted up at Hutch. It was hard to see in the dark, but Hutch had positioned the flashlight so it was resting beside them. As long as Starsky didn’t turn his head to the left he wouldn’t get the light directly in his eyes.

“Hutch…wha…happed?” Starsky struggled to ask.

“You remember that big location the bomber was going to hit?” Hutch asked. Starsky frowned. It took a few seconds for him to remember anything beyond this current moment.

“Bomber…?”

“I think he bombed the precinct,” Hutch said, staring up at the hole above them. “We’re trapped in the basement.”

“Oh,” Starsky whispered. He coughed which made him wince. He weakly tried to turn on his side, but Hutch stopped him.

“Don’t move,” Hutch cautioned. “A fair amount of the ceiling fell on you.”

“Oh…that explains why…hurts to…breathe.”

Hutch nodded sympathetically. “You’ve got a broken rib or two and I think your right wrist is broken.” Hutch held three fingers in Starsky’s eye line. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Starsky opened his eyes a little further. “Quit moving ’em…and I’ll tell ya.”

“And a possible concussion.”

“Oh good. Just what I wanted…for Christmas.” Starsky kept his voice barely above a whisper. “What about you?”

“Bruised my back a little when I feel on the shelving, but I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Forced to look straight up, Starsky examined the giant hole above him. “How are we…getting out?”

“We’ll have to sit tight and wait to be rescued I’m afraid.”

“Can’t we take the stairs?” Starsky asked.

“The doorways collapsed and I don’t want to risk moving you.”

“Hope they don’t take…too long…” Starsky’s eyes drifted shut. “Don’t want to spend…Christmas here.”

“There were still other officers on duty in the squad room,” Hutch said, looking back up at the missing ceiling. “It’s not like it was a quiet explosion.”

“Think…anyone else…” Starsky paused. When he didn’t finish his sentence, Hutch squeezed his hand.

“Anyone else what?” Hutch asked, concerned.

“What?” Starsky didn’t open his eyes.

“Starsk, open your eyes.”

“Don’t wanna.”

Hutch sighed. He had read that it was okay to let someone with a concussion sleep, but he wasn’t a doctor and was afraid that maybe it was more serious than that. He might have cracked his skull. He’d hit it hard enough to split the skin. Also, selfishly, Hutch didn’t want to be left with no one to talk to while he waited for help. Who knew how long that could be?

“I’ll let you sleep soon,” Hutch promised. “But can you just stay awake a little longer? Keep me company.”

Starsky opened his eyes slightly and looked up at the blurry figure above him. “Ya…lonely?”

“Not as long as you stay awake.” Hutch gently ran his knuckles down Starsky’s cheek. “What did you have planned for Christmas?”

“Christmas?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t tell me before, but I really want to know.”

“Plans…” Starsky had to think, which was hard to do with a throbbing headache and while taking short, shallow breaths. “Ruined now.”

“We might just have to improvise.”

“Dinner,” Starsky whispered. “Gonna cook you…dinner.”

“What were you going to cook?” Hutch asked.

“Can’t remember.”

“Turkey or ham?” Hutch prompted.

“Neither, no…wait.” Starsky had to collect his thoughts. “Both with…other things.”

“I hope some of those things were vegetables.”

“Course and special mashed potato recipe…got from Ma.”

“Sounds delicious.” Hutch suddenly had a thought. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

He went over to the remains of Bigelow’s desk. He knew the man took his lunch breaks in the basement and hoped there was something he’d left. He found an unopened packet of peanuts, some beef jerky and a bottle of coke. Hutch took them over to Starsky.

“Well, we have our dinner,” Hutch declared, kneeling back down by Starsky’s left side. “Want some peanuts?”

“No, feel sick,” Starsky said while eyeing the meagre feast.

“How about a sip of this coke.” Hutch opened the bottle, lifted Starsky’s head up a little and
poured some of the liquid into his mouth. He managed to swallow it without choking.

“Was going to be…champagne,” Starsky pouted.

“What was the plan after dinner?” Hutch asked, before popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“Watch a…Christmas Movie…It’s A Wonderful Life…is on.”

Hutch looked around at the supplies littering the floor. “Not sure I can find a TV in here, but…” he spotted something by the ruined desk and went over to pick it up. It was an FM radio. It was battery powered and undamaged. He switched it on and kept turning the dial until he picked up a station playing carols.

“This will have to do.” Hutch returned to his partner. Starsky had his eyes closed again, but reacted when Hutch took his hand.

“Sounds…nice.”

“Hopefully someone up there can here it,” Hutch said, turning up the volume.

“God?” Starsky said, confused.

“No dummy, the rescue team.” Hutch looked up at the hole, but there was still no one in sight. “What comes next? After the movie.”

“After?” It was clear from the slurring speech that Starsky was having trouble keeping up with the conversation.

“Yeah, we have dinner, watch a movie and then what?”

“We go to the bedroom…and fuck our brains out.”

Hutch had been hoping that was how the night would end, but right now he knew that part would have to be recreated.

“Well, uh…I’m not sure I want the rescue team to catch us doing that.”

This elicited a quick, horse chuckle from Starsky. “Shame.”

“Oh, I have an idea.” Hutch was up again, this time looking for a blanket. He looked in any box that wasn’t ripped open, but only found one full of wind breakers with the words police written on the back. He took the box back to Starsky and one by one, draped them over Starsky’s body, the last one covering up to his shoulders. Hutch then cleared the debris from around his partner and lay down next to him, once again taking his hand.

“I’m afraid this will have to do until we get free.”

Starsky squeezed Hutch’s hand. “Not enough…but thanks.”

From this angle Hutch had a good vantage point for spotting the rescue team when they eventually turned up. Looking at his watch he realised it had been less than 20 minutes since the explosion. Someone should have arrived by now, surely?

He found his fingers creeping up to Starsky’s wrist, reassuring himself that his pulse was still throbbing away. He listened to Starsky’s harsh breathing and hated how much it reminded him of earlier in the year when Starsky had spent many nights in the hospital unable to breathing normally.

Hutch turned his head to look at his partner. “Are you still with me?” he asked, squeezing his lover’s hand.

“Always,” the whispered reply finally came.

“You know, dinner, a movie and a night of sex…we can do that any night of the week. Doesn’t have to be a Christmas thing.”

“Had to be…Christmas.”

“Why? Is it the movie? Because most of that movie isn’t even set at Christmas.”

“Important…wanted it to be…memorable.”

“We’ll have other Christmas’ together. I’m not going anywhere.”

Starsky opened his eyes a little and turned slightly towards Hutch. “It’s been…a bad year. One of the worst. Wanted to…to give it a good…ending.” The extended sentence left Starsky a little breathless and made him cough. That action caused a stabbing pain from his broken ribs and a groan to escape his throat.

Hutch moved his head a little closer so they were touching. “Take it easy. I get it, I do. But the year isn’t over yet.”

“Wish it was now…done with it.”

Hutch leaned in and gave Starsky a kiss on the side of his head. “Me too, partner.”

Hutch looked back at the hole and felt that sudden urge to yell at it. “Where are they? What’s taking them so long?”

“Maybe…they’re all…home enjoying the…holidays.”

“It must be something else…maybe…” He cut himself off when he heard movement from above, followed by voices though he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Hey!” He cried leaping to his feet. “We’re down here!”

Clomping footsteps drew nearer and within seconds Hutch saw two faces appear over the lip of the hole.

“Hey, who’s down there?” A man wearing a fireman’s helmet asked. “And is anyone hurt?”

“Ken Hutchinson and my partner, David Starsky,” Hutch introduced. “I’m fine, but Starsky’s hurt.”

“How bad?” the fireman asked.

“Pretty bad, but I don’t think…” Hutch was cut off by Starsky’s sudden, harsh coughing. It was so bad, his whole upper body bucked with each cough. Hutch kneeled down beside his partner and held his shoulder’s down, trying to keep him still.

“Take it easy,” Hutch whispered calmly. The coughing went on for several more seconds but suddenly stopped when Starsky let out a painful gasp. The coughing was now replaced by desperate gasps for air.

“Hutch…” Starsky was barely able to say his name in his struggles to take a breath.

It dawned on Hutch pretty quickly what had happened. “Oh no!” He turned his head up to look at the hole above. “We need help now!”

“What…where’d the…air…” Starsky tried to say between gasps.

“Don’t talk, Starsk.” Hutch placed one hand on the good side of Starsky’s chest and the other on the side of his head. “Just focus on breathing slowly, okay?”

It took a moment for the instruction to filter through Starsky’s concussed mind, but even then he struggled to obey. His chest was on fire and the air around him just wouldn’t be sucked into his lungs.

“Can’t…” Was all he was able to say.

Hutch looked back up at the hole and prayed the rescue team would get them out in time.

*

Of all the places Hutch had envisioned spending Christmas day, Memorial Hospital was the very bottom of the list. And yet, here he was, sitting in the waiting room while his partner was in surgery getting his punctured lung repaired.

He felt like the universe was playing a big joke on them both. Allowing Starsky to suffer a brutal recovery most of the year, only to be back, on the force in time to get hurt again just before Christmas. So funny it made Hutch want to laugh bitterly and then hit something. He opted instead for drinking coffee and reading an out of date fashion magazine.

Dobey stopped by a few hours later to check on them and with news on the Christmas Bomber. He’d planted the bomb in the office above the supply stores, disguised as a police officer. The rescue team had found his body by the door. They’d surmised that his bomb went off earlier than intended and he’d been caught in the blast. Luckily, only a couple of other officers on the same floor had been hurt, but no deaths.

Dobey couldn’t stay long and asked to be kept informed of Starsky’s condition, even if it interrupted his Christmas dinner and then went home to be with his family.

Hutch was on his third cup of nasty hospital coffee when the surgeon came out to talk to him. Hutch recognised him from before.

“Detective Hutchinson, there must be easier ways for you to drop by to wish us a happy Christmas,” the doctor said with a smile.

“It seems Starsky’s bad luck won’t let me him stay away.” Hutch returned half the smile. “I take it all went well?”

“Yes, we’ve repaired the injured lung and set his ribs. There’s no further internal damage that we could see. However, because of his medical history, the potential for hidden internal bleeding and putting him under anesthesia while suffering a concussion, mild as it is, we are going to be keeping him in the ICU for the next 24 hours. A precaution, I must stress.”

Hutch wasn’t surprised, though he hadn’t thought things were that bad. He rubbed his tired eyes. “Christmas in the ICU. He’s going to love that.”

“Well, fortunately, he’ll probably sleep through most of it. Which is also just as well since we’ll be keeping him on the ventilator while he’s there.”

That surprised Hutch. “What, why?”

“It’s another precaution really because of the previous damage to that lung and it makes things a little easier for him while it heals. Also it puts less strain on his damaged ribs.” The doctor could see how much this news was distressing Hutch and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’m confident that he’ll be fine. This is all just a…”

“Precaution, I know.” Hutch took a deep breath and nodded. “When can I see him?”

“He’ll be in recovery for a couple of hours and then we’ll need to get him settled. A nurse will come and get you then.”

Hutch thanked the doctor and took a seat again. He then got up to get a fourth cup of coffee.

When the nurse came to get him, she had to wake him up. It had been a long day and he could see by the clock that it had been a long evening too.

It was 4 am.

Christmas morning.

Hutch ignored the clock and followed the nurse to Starsky’s room in the ICU. He was thankful to see it wasn’t the same one as before. It was in fact a lot smaller and the opposite end of the ward. There were other differences, Hutch reminded himself. Like Starsky wasn’t in a coma and his bandaged chest wasn’t on view for all to see, but hidden under a hospital gown. He also had a cast on a his right wrist, with an IV in the same arm. The ventilator, beeping heart monitor and the stillness were all there though. All signs that Starsky was seriously ill. But Hutch had to remind himself as he walked closer to the bed that this wasn’t like last time. Starsky wasn’t dying and would be awake and grumbling before he knew it.

Hutch made his way to Starsky’s left, uninjured side and took his hand. He placed the other one beside his lover’s check, an errant finger brushed against the tape keeping the vent tube in place. Not caring who was watching Hutch leaned in to kiss Starsky on the forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Starsk.”

*

As predicted Starsky slept through most of Christmas Day, but during the brief moments when he was awake he was too groggy to understand what day it was and couldn’t ask anyway with the tube down his throat. Hutch spent the day by his partner’s side, apart from the times he was asked to leave. Then he sat in the corridor listening to the Christmas music coming from the radio at the nurse’s station, wishing he could smash it and forcing himself to eat the food Huggy brought for him. The party had been cancelled, but someone need to eat up all the prepared food.

It was early on Boxing Day when Starsky was awake enough to understand his situation, by which time they’d removed him from the ventilator so he was able to voice his displeasure with some colourful language. Christmas had meant to be a special day for the two of them. Starsky had been bouncing like a kid all week, excited for the day to finally arrive, but now he was stuck in a hospital bed with oxygen tubes up his nose and a really bad headache.

Once out of ICU and into a private room, Hutch tried to cheer Starsky up by bringing in a tiny Christmas tree and putting a Christmas movie on the TV, but neither worked. Starsky was in a sulky mood and determined to stay that way.

Dobey and Huggy visited on Boxing Day, but apart from thanking Huggy for sneaking him in a turkey sandwich, Starsky remained quiet and subdued.

This mood continued as he started to heal and after two days of trying to get a smile out of his partner, Hutch gave up and just enjoyed the silence.

It was only when the doctor said he wanted to keep Starsky in the hospital until after New Years that Starsky became animated. He flat out refused to start the new year in the hospital. Christmas had been bad enough, but the thought of starting the year in the one place he’d spent most of the year trying to get out of was just too much.

“I’ll release you under a couple of conditions.” The doctor said, finally relenting. “First, you have someone with you for the next 48 hours. Second, you stay in bed during that time, getting up only when necessary and at the first sign of distress, you come back. Deal?”

“Deal,” Starsky and Hutch said at the same time.

“Good. I’ll go get the release papers and after one final exam, you can go.”

If Starsky had the strength he would have leapt out of bed there and then, but he gestured for Hutch to give him a hand sitting up. Hutch helped Starsky get dressed, which was hard when one arm was practically glued to his side. They agreed on just a flannel shirt and sweatpants. Though Starsky insisted he could do up the buttons.

Nearly an hour later they were out the door to far less fanfare than the last time and on their way to Starsky’s place.

*

It took some huffing and puffing and couple of stops, but finally Starsky entered his apartment with Hutch holding his left elbow. He kept his right casted arm close to his ribs to support them. The climb had left him breathless and sweaty, but thankful to be home, that is until he looked around. The sight of the Christmas decorations still up felt like a mockery. He’d decorated the tree himself while Hutch watched and teased him about the placement of the ornaments. They’d argued over why the angel should go on top over a star which ended with the compromise of having both with the star being used as a halo. They’d drunk too much mulled wine and fallen asleep amongst an array of left over tinsel.

Dis-hearted that there was nothing he could do to rid them from his sight, Starsky headed to his bedroom where there weren’t any decorations.

“There’s still 8 hours till midnight,” Hutch said following his partner. “How about you take a nap now and I’ll wake you up before the year ends.”

“Sure,” was all Starsky said as he eased himself down on the side of the bed.

“But first.” Hutch went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He opened the freshly prescribed bottle of pain killers and took out a couple. “You look like you could use these.” While Starsky gratefully swallowed the pills, Hutch arranged the pillows and a couple of cushions around the head of the bed so Starsky could lie semi-reclined. Easier on his breathing and healing ribs.

It didn’t take long after he was settled for the painkillers to kick in and Starsky was out. Hutch got started on his own preparations for the night. He started by taking the decorations down.

*

When Starsky woke up hours later he had an initial feeling of deja vu. He was lying in bed feeling breathless and his chest hurt. If it wasn’t for the cast on his wrist he could have believed his recovery from Gunther’s hit had been a dream. He certainly wished the last week had been. He’d had his share of crappy Christmas’ before, but this year officially won the gold as the absolute worst.

He looked over at the clock; it was just after 11 pm. One hour left of this rotten year.

He shuffled a little in bed, wondering if he should try to get up himself or shout to get Hutch’s attention. In the mood he was still in he’d have been happy to just go back to sleep, but he was hungry and deep down he wanted to say good bye and good riddance to the year at midnight.

In the end, he didn’t have to make a sound, Hutch poked his head in, pleasantly surprised to see his partner awake.

“Hungry?” he asked, as if he’d read Starsky’s mind.

“What’s on the menu?”

Hutch disappeared and reappeared a moment later carrying a tray of food and wearing a shiny gold party hat. Instead of a proper meal, Hutch had put together a number of plates filled with finger food type dishes.

“I thought this might be easier to eat with one hand,” Hutch said placing the tray over Starsky’s lap. “We have an assortment of sandwiches, including smoked salmon and turkey. Cheese on sticks, cocktail sausages and these little mini pizza’s I made myself. And there’s some salad in case you feel like being adventures.” He popped a party hat on Starsky’s head which actually got a smile out of him.

“It all looks good,” he said, immediately going for a cocktail sausage, followed quickly by a mini pizza. Hutch helped himself to turkey sandwich before leaving the room again. He came back carrying the TV, which he set up on a table at the foot of Starsky’s bed. He turned it on and selected the right channel.

“Now we can see the new year in with Dick Clark,” he said, turning the sound down.

“Good idea,” Starsky said, his mouth full of cheese.

Hutch sat on the bed, on Starsky’s left side and took another sandwich. “It’s the best I could do under the circumstances.”

Starsky felt his sulky mood lift. He couldn’t help but feel touched at the effort Hutch had gone to, though simple as it was, it was just perfect. He may have lost his perfectly laid Christmas plans, but he hadn’t lost his lover.

“I appreciate the attempt,” Starsky said sincerely.

“Good, because I’m going to come out and say it; I much prefer New Years to Christmas.”

“That’s hardly a revelation,” Starsky said

“I’m not done. I know Christmas means a lot to you and I’m really sorry we couldn’t celebrate it this year, but my feelings on the holiday haven’t changed much. I still stand by what I said a few years back. New Years on the other hand. Saying goodbye to the old year and seeing in a new. That’s far more worthy of celebrating. And while I’m more than happy to say goodbye to this terrible year, I’m mostly thankfully that I’m saying goodbye to it with you. Christmas is one day to look forwards to, New Years has 365.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way.” Starsky leaned in closer to his lover. “But I still prefer Christmas.”

“If you insist, we’ll do it right next year. And next years will be extra special because we’ll be celebrating a whole year of good things.”

“With our jobs, you honestly believe that?”

“How about a year of really good sex?”

Starsky smiled. “I’ll drink to that…wait where’s the drink?”

“Oh.” Hutch popped out of the room again, returning with a glass bottle and two wine glasses. “Here we have the finest sparking champagne.”

“Really?” Starsky eyed the bottle suspiciously.

“Well, no. More like carbonated fruit juice, but it’s the best we can do tonight.”

“Oh come on, I can’t have just one sip of champagne?”

“Depends. Do you want to start the year throwing up?”

“Wouldn’t be the first,” Starsky sighed. “Fine. It’ll quench my thirst at least.” Hutch handed Starsky a wine glass and filled it up. He poured one for himself and sat back on the bed. While they drank and eat they watched the last TV show they’d watch of the year and thought about all the things they had to look forwards to, not only in the new year, but the new decade.

The count down began. The new year was just seconds away. The two lovers looked at each other as the countdown ended and a jubilant cry went up from the crowd.

The two shared a deep, passionate kiss as Auld Lang Syne played.

“Happy new year. Starsk.”

“Happy new decade, Hutch.”