Confessor

The first HIV/AIDS story in SH fandom.

He liked this neighborhood. And it wasn’t just because there was always a place to park in front of the apartment. He liked it because there were trees here, trees and bushes and grass and green. Here he could pretend the city and everything associated with it was miles away, but that was the second reason he liked this place: The city wasn’t miles away, only just down the hill. So Starsky could have his city, and he could have his outdoors, all at the same time; together.

Hutch pulled up in front of the apartment in what was his favorite spot: his car door lined up evenly with the front door. He stopped the engine, opened his door, and grabbed the handles of the plastic sack nestled on the car floor. He’d told Starsky he was going for groceries, which was true but not altogether accurate. He had gone to the store for groceries, but what he’d bought weren’t exactly staples. Hutch dragged the sack out after him, swinging it as he walked up the drive, fairly skipping up the stairs. The sack was passed from his right hand to his left as he fumbled in his jeans pocket for the keys to the door. He fished them out, then carefully and cautiously inserted the first key into the lock. He turned it gently, clicking the double bolt, then used the second key to unlock the doorknob. He turned the knob slowly, prepared to burst in with his sack of surprises and partying disposition. But he’d opened the door only half an inch before his partying disposition disappeared, along with several beats of his heart. Hutch listened, stuck in a terrible vacuum that prevented him from moving forward for fear of what he’d find out, yet kept him from retreating for fear of what he’d miss. So he listened, guilt-ridden at his invasion of Starsky’s privacy but too curious to close the door. And too scared not to do something about what he’d stumbled onto. He pulled the door shut quietly, then jangled his keys, jiggled the knob, and entered noisily.

The warning had given Starsky enough time to compose his features into a mask that only revealed a concern with what might be coming through the door. As soon as he saw it was Hutch he turned quickly, and took a few steps away from the phone and into the kitchen.

Hutch shut the door, clamped down on his accelerating heartbeat, and threw a smile on his face. “Hi.” He grinned, fairly certain he was actually assuming more of a grimace. He lifted the sack in front of his face. “Brought you goodies.”

“Yeah?” Starsky turned back around, his arms clasped about him, his eyes refusing to settle on anything.

“Yeah.” Hutch walked over and plopped the sack down on the table. He reached in. “Ice cream-” he pulled out two pint containers, “-your favorite and mine.” The two containers were set down side by side. “Nuts.” He pitched two hefty cans from the sack and set them beside the ice cream. “Cookies-” he pulled out a familiar blue bag, “-Oreos.” They were laid on top of the two pint containers. “And the piece de resistance-” he reached into the depths of the sack, “-root beer!” A genuine grin lit his face as he pulled out two six packs.

Starsky returned Hutch’s generosity by giving him a half-hearted smile, then walked around him and into the living room. He stood in the center of the room, his back to Hutch. Hutch put the six packs down on the table, took a steadying breath, and walked over to the couch.

“Everything okay?” he ventured. He leaned against the arm of the sofa, trying for the appearance of nonchalance.

Starsky turned back toward him, looking at him as though he’d suddenly appeared from nowhere. His eyes darted about the room, then settled on his much-cherished fan back chair. “Uh, fine,” he finally answered, moving over to the chair. He sat down gingerly, still refusing to look at Hutch. “I guess I’m not very hungry right now.” He shrugged. “Sorry if I spoiled your party.”

Hutch rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “No problem.” He shook his head. “I’ll just put everything away for later. I should have warned you anyway.” He walked back to the table, picking up the ice cream and tucking the pints away in the freezer. The Oreos went into the cookie jar, the nuts in the cabinet, and one six pack went into the refrigerator while the other was put in the pantry. When he returned to the living room, Starsky was still seated in the fan back. Hutch took a few steps toward him.

“Want some company?” he asked.

Starsky’s eyes flicked up at him, then returned to the far wall. “Whatever suits you,” he replied.

Hutch came a step closer. “Want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Starsky began to adjust the roll of his sleeve, sharpening the crease.

Hutch shrugged, stepping back to the couch. He sat down on the edge of the cushions, body forward, hands clasped between his knees. “How about whatever’s bothering you?”

Starsky turned his attention to the other sleeve. “S’nothing,” he murmured.

Hutch nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. He rose, then looked down at his partner. Starsky was rolling a loose button between his fingers. The button suddenly snapped off and disappeared into a clenched fist. Hutch sat back down.

“Starsk–” he began, “–do you want to tell me about the phone call?”

Starsky’s head remained down. His fist trembled. “What phone call?” he mumbled.

Hutch’s throat constricted, and he found he had no spit to moisten his mouth. “What did they say?” he managed.

Starsky’s head lifted slowly, his eyes narrowed and questioning.

“I heard you on the phone as I was coming in.”

“What did you hear?” Starsky turned away.

“I heard you asking somebody about the results of a test.” Hutch found he was unable to take his eyes off the man in front of him.

“I was checking on some lab work Brody was doing for us.” Starsky shifted in his chair.

“No.” Everything in Hutch began to pound. He could feel his heart thudding painfully against his chestwall. “No. You were checking on a blood test. Your blood test. You were talking to Dr. Murphy.” He tried to slow the rhythms in his body. They continued to beat out a cadence he was unable to control. “I know. I did it, too.”

Starsky’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and staring. His chest began to heave.

Hutch turned away from the panic he saw in the cobalt eyes. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it unless there was something to say.” He forced himself to look back and face the terror he’d just created. “And there wasn’t.”

The fear bled from Starsky’s eyes and he buried his face in his hands. “God–” he breathed, “–all those transfusions…all those–lovers…” His voice broke.

Hutch was suddenly in front of Starsky, kneeling; his hands tightly gripped Starsky’s thighs. “For me, too,” he admitted. “But I had to know.”

Starsky brought his hands away. Tears slipped down his cheeks. “I was going crazy wondering,” he began to confess to Hutch. “I didn’t know what to do or what to think.”

“I know.” Hutch slowly rubbed Starsky’s legs. “Maybe I should’ve said something. Then we wouldn’t have had to suffer alone and in silence.”

The tears continued to slide down Starsky’s face, and the words began to tumble out. “Everybody’s always talking about it, and they’ve got all these flyers and pamphlets down at the station, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it! Then when I went to Murphy he said I was probably right to take the test considering my history, and he kept giving me all this talk about risks and outcomes and counseling and–“

“Shhh, babe,” Hutch continued to massage Starsky’s thighs. “Shhh.”

Starsky shook his head. “He wasn’t going to tell me over the phone.”

Hutch nodded. “He was only trying to do the best thing for you. You shouldn’t have forced it out of him like that. I’m surprised he did tell you.”

Starsky laughed, a weak but sincere sound. “Yeah. Well–” he took on a bad German accent, ” –ve haf our vays.”

“Yeah.” Hutch stopped his ministrations and looked up at Starsky. “So?” He held his breath.

Starsky put his hands on top of Hutch’s. “All that worrying for nothing. Negative.”

Hutch lowered his forehead to their hands, then looked up at Starsky. He stood, bringing Starsky up with him, wrapping his arms about him. Starsky clutched back, burying his face in Hutch’s shoulder. “God, I was scared,” he whispered. And the tears began to flow again. Hutch simply held him tighter, comforting them both.