Divergence: Variations on Sweet Revenge

131

Variations on what might have been if things had happened differently in May 1979.

 

Originally published in the SHareCon 2018 Zine.

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All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
~ William Shakespeare ~

I.

The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.
~ Henry David Thoreau ~

To Starsky, the disruption of the squad room by the overall-clad painters echoed of the disruption Kira had made in he and Hutch’s lives weeks earlier. Their desks had been shoved off kilter and their files were in disarray. The institutional gray walls, marked by years of smudges and nail holes, were slowly being covered over with the new shade of cheap, landlord beige—making the dull room look even duller before the fresh paint had a chance to dry.

Starsky and Hutch used the interruption at the department to indulge in an impromptu game of ping pong, with an audience of turtle-paced maintenance men and a plastic piggy bank as a referee. Their witty banter followed the bounce of the little white ball as it flew back and forth across the desks tops. The action of the game mimicked days when Starsky and Hutch would sit across from each other tossing thoughts back and forth on everything from a baffling homicide to Hutch’s mustache.

These days, the partners were holding their own as they worked to smooth over the imperfections in their relationship that Kira had so effectively exposed. Reorganizing their priorities, they’d talked out their feelings until their throats had gone dry. Afterward, they’d irrigated their parched passages with Scotch-on-the-rocks, brisk and biting, welcoming its mind-numbing effect. Anesthetizing emotions that so often were too painful to bear.

But even with all they’d shared, one thing remained unsaid.

For years, it had been as clear to Starsky as the Torino’s stripe that Hutch’s feelings for him went beyond just being buddies. Although the thought of Hutch in his bed might be a secret turn-on, Starsky wasn’t prepared to admit it. Homosexuality was taboo in the pious family and tough neighborhood he’d grown up in. Both conviction and cowardice kept him from acting on his own forbidden impulses; for the moment unable to explore his sexuality even for Hutch, whom he loved more than his own life.

Through it all, Starsky had watched Hutch’s own internal battle. He’d watched him question his own sanity along with his sexuality, going out of his way to show himself an adept lover with any number of women. But they had been women they both knew he couldn’t have: a drug-kingpin’s lover, a call girl, a homecoming queen. None of them had been right for Hutch. The knowledge pained Starsky as much as it did Hutch. But the way he saw it, Hutch needed to be the one to change direction. To make the first move. Starsky refused to be the one to push his best friend over the edge.

Starsky, too, had never managed to hold on to love. With he and Hutch’s emotions stretched to the limit, Kira served as the breaking point. Through a painful stutter, Hutch had admitted his fear that Kira might be the one to finally pull Starsky away from him. He’d been compelled to ensure she didn’t. He’d only slept with her to show Starsky that she’d been playing with his affections. Like Starsky, he’d do anything to protect his friend.

It hadn’t been a smart move—Hutch admitted he had been thinking with his heart rather than his head. They could have lost it all. But they didn’t. Hutch may be his own worst enemy, but he was Starsky’s best friend.

He made his decision that night after Kira. Starsky was a master at going under cover. He’d put on an act as long as he had to. An entire lifetime, if it came to that. If it was a normal life Hutch wanted—normal love—just like everyone else, Starsky wouldn’t be the one to keep him from it. Starsky would do anything to protect him, even if it meant letting Hutch stay in a locked closet they both guarded, with silence as the key.

Eventually, Starsky won the ping pong match. He gleefully slapped his paddle against Captain Dobey’s chest as he rushed past him on his way to the parking garage and a victory dinner with Hutch only a step behind. But when he went to unlock the Torino’s door, the keys were thick and clumsy in his hands. The simple action he had performed countless times felt awkward and foreign. His fingers went numb and he shivered as if a ghost had passed by.

“Come on, Starsk. Why did you lock this parade float here anyway?” Hutch grumbled. “It’s not like anyone else in the department would want to take it.”

Rather than his partner’s jibe, Starsky heard instead the echo of an explosive report of a high-powered rifle and he jerked involuntarily.

“What’s the matter, partner?” Hutch said at his partner’s awkward twitch.

Starsky shook himself. “Brrrrr. Nothin’ Hutch. Just… got the spine shivers. Someone walked on my grave, ya know? Ever wonder what that means?”

“No. And I’m going to put you in your grave if you don’t open this damn door.”

Starsky shrugged, his moment of introspection already in the past.

Looking back, Starsky wondered if the strange feeling he had in that moment could have been described as missed opportunity. One of the what if moments he got caught up in from time to time. What if he had stepped on the landmine instead of Tommy Phillips? What if his name had been Anderson and he’d have been a doctor rather than a cop? What if he hadn’t gone back for a neck rub in that massage parlor or saluted a confused old man who thought he was still fighting a war?

What if he were wired differently and was willing take a leap of faith and give Hutch the kind of love he needed? Starsky had wished he was different at least a dozen times when he’d looked into his partner’s eyes, so full of trust and devotion. He knew Hutch would walk through fire for him—why couldn’t he do the same?

But, just like all the other times, the moment in the parking garage slipped through his fingers.

***

Starsky dragged Hutch with as much exuberance as he could muster to Chilangos, a new Mexican restaurant by the waterfront he’d been pestering Hutch to try for weeks.

“This is nice, Starsk. Better than the greasy spoons you usually frequent,” Hutch commented, looking around at the place’s carnival colors and South American street art accompanied by the pungent smells of cumin and garlic coming from the kitchen.

“Of course. You’re paying,” Starsky clapped his palms together gleefully.

“I still think you cheated,” Hutch said as a young, dark-haired hostess led them through the restaurant.

Behind him, Starsky placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Hutch. I’m crushed. Anywho, how could you cheat at ping-pong?”

“Loaded paddles.”

Starsky chuckled as he took a seat at a bright yellow table. He immediately dug into the complementary homemade tortilla chips and salsa. “I swear! Those paddles were Olympic quality,” he declared in between crunches.

“Where’d you get the ball?”

“Huggy.”

Hutch snatched a chip out of Starsky’s hand and plunged it into the spicy red sauce. “‘Nuff said,” he announced before swallowing it down.

A pretty waitress in a close-fitting uniform came up to them and introduced herself as Maria in a musical, Hispanic accent. Starsky covertly waggled his eyebrows at Hutch then proceeded to ask her a dozen questions about the menu. Were the tortillas made of flour or corn? Exactly how hot were the peppers?

Hutch rolled his eyes. “I apologize, Maria. My friend here has an eating disorder. Just give him one of everything.”

Starsky finally settled on Enchiladas La Bandera, then ordered “dos Dos Equis” for the both of them. Then he took his turn to be perversely entertained as Hutch ordered Chiles Rellenos after grilling poor Maria as to how they were made and asking to substitute vegetarian refried beans for the normal beef stuffing.

“You betta leave that lady a big tip after torturin’ her like that,” said Starsky.

A band had begun to play a seductive samba, the guitarist plucking the strings of his instrument as if teasing a lover, when Maria brought their dishes. The music was energizing, yet somehow mournful at the same time and Starsky found himself sparring with it for Hutch’s attention.

“Isn’t that somethin’ about James Gunther’s west coast operation being taken down by the LAPD? I thought he was untouchable.”

“No one is untouchable. Who knew the bastard had a bastard son. When Daddy Warbucks couldn’t get Sonny boy’s rape charges dismissed, he sang his heart out to the DA,” Hutch reminded him.

“Good timing, too, ‘cuz the canary said Daddio was plannin’ to hit some cops around here,” Starsky said. “He musta been getting tired of all the interruptions to his business,” he added blithely, knowing full well that he and Hutch were responsible.

Hutch swallowed down a bite of his rellenos. “Figures an asshole like that would hatch a canary. You can’t pick your relatives.”

“Yeah, you can pick your…”

Hutch shook his head. “You’re uncouth, Starsky. You know that?”

Starsky grinned, then suddenly turned serious. “I’m glad we’re back to being pals again. I was worried for a while.”

“Me, too,” Hutch offered. “I’ve been feeling burnt out. Like… my life is spiraling out of control and I can’t keep up with you.” The guilt that lay beneath Hutch’s words pricked at Starsky. He, too, had searched his soul and hadn’t liked what he’d seen. Suddenly, the delicious food wasn’t so appetizing.

“Hutch, maybe… maybe, it’s time to do somethin’ different, ya know?”

“Like what?” Although Hutch’s expression was carefully schooled, Starsky knew he needed something more from their relationship. Something deeper. Something Hutch deserved but Starsky couldn’t give him.

“Hear me out, Hutch. We need to think about the future.” Starsky’s ebullient facade faded as he waited for Hutch’s response. Starsky knew he had to set Hutch free before they both destroyed each other the way they nearly had with Kira.

Even in the dim light of the restaurant, Starsky didn’t miss the slight blanching of Hutch’s face, the drawing of his lips. But Hutch remained silent.

Say it, damn you, Starsky wanted to shout. So we can get on with our lives. So you can find a man who will love you the way you need. But you won’t—will you. It’s that damn Hutchinson dignity. The appearance of normality you try so hard to protect. Don’t you know that being normal is overrated?

Seconds became minutes. Their food grew cold. It seemed the tighter they tried to hold on to each other, the more they pushed each other away. Starsky imagined the two of them as being the embodiment of the fictional pushmi-pullyu, Dr. Doolittle’s two-headed creature that was forever pulling itself in opposite directions. Starsky knew they could never be lovers. Their closeness had been the beginning of their end. Hutch’s silence had the same effect as holding a match to Starsky’s tinder dry heart, bursting his fantasies of keeping Hutch his platonic partner and brother into flame.

Starsky knew then he could no longer bear to be the reason for Hutch’s self-flagellation. He remembered his pop’s words right before he was about to deliver a well-deserved paddling to Starsky’s backside. “This is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you.” He finally understood what his old man had meant.

“Don’t take this wrong, but we’ve been too close for it to be healthy for us. Livin’ in each other’s heads. You know we can’t do this high wire act forever.” Saying the words, seeing the look on Hutch’s face, hurt Starsky more than anything he’d ever felt. He’d have rather crossed a sea of broken glass.

Hutch nodded and gave a sad smile, then turned toward the band so Starsky couldn’t see his eyes. “Sure, partner,” he murmured. “Whatever you want.”

The world wasn’t ready for who they were and neither, it seemed, were they.

***

The renovations to the homicide department were soon completed. The nicks and scuff marks—the reminders of hundreds of busts gone by—were covered over, the desk and files straightened. The world was set back in place as if it had never been disturbed. Captain Dobey called Starsky and Hutch into his office, as gruff and business-like as always. But then, after they’d taken their usual seats across from him, Dobey cleared his throat as if searching for words. A strange tension became palpable among them.

“You two are my best team,” Dobey announced in a rare show of sentimentality, his thick fingers spread wide on the top of his desk.

“Gee, thanks, Cap’n,” Starsky grinned. “Does this mean you want us to double-date with you at the policeman’s ball?”

“Knock it off. I have more important things to discuss,” he bellowed.

Important. The word piqued Starsky’s imagination. He could practically hear Hutch’s voice join his in his head. Did Dobey have a lead on the hooker who was found beaten to death under the bridge? Maybe a surprise witness had turned up in the Murphy case?

“We’re all ears, Cap’n,” Hutch assured him.

Dobey paused, looking from one to the other of them carefully. “Like I said, you’ve been my best team for going on seven years now. And, ordinarily I wouldn’t even consider… but… well… I’ve been getting pressure from the mayor to add more female detectives to our roster—something that has my whole-hearted support.”

“Sure thing—ours, too,” Starsky readily agreed.

“You might have heard the rumors that I was looking to replace Barnes and Leck.”

Starsky opened his mouth but Hutch beat him to it and answered smugly, “Captain. You know we never listen to office gossip.”

“Sure. Sure, Hutch. And I never listen to smartass comments from my detectives. I’ve selected two promising female officers to add to our team. They’ve already passed the detective’s exam and are ready to be paired with more experienced partners.”

Were those drops of sweat starting on Dobey’s forehead? Starsky looked to Hutch, who merely shrugged. Women joining the homicide division? That’s the big deal? It was no secret he and his partner were both eager to see certain changes in the world.

“The thing of it is… and I’m in total agreement, mind you…. ” Dobey rose from his chair and began to pace behind his desk.

“Just spit it out, Cap,” Starsky encouraged him.

“Okay, here it is,” Captain Dobey spun around and faced them, his unease now on full display. “I’m going to pair the new detectives with the two of you. I’m assigning Joan Meredith to you, Starsky, and Linda Baylor will be Hutch’s new partner.”

Starsky felt like he’d been kicked in the gut by a wild mule. Dobey was splitting them up? He wanted change, but did it have to be this? Then Starsky caught his breath and realized that it only made sense. It wasn’t like it had never been a possibility. Department personnel were shuffled all the time. For he and Hutch to have stayed together as long as they had—especially after all they’d been through—was an aberration. And besides, they’d been the ones to encourage both Joan and Linda in their careers. Both were smart, gutsy, and deserved this promotion.

The change Starsky had been thinking of—had tried to open Hutch up to at Chilangos the night before—had been far different. But he’d gotten nowhere. Despite their intense feelings for each other, Starsky had accepted that Hutch wasn’t ready to step out of the closet he was hiding in and accept the support of his straight brother of heart. Starsky understood his reluctance, and possibly even fear. But twelve hours ago, Starsky thought he’d have plenty of time left with Hutch as his partner. He’d wait for Hutch to decide for himself that it was okay to be what he was, even if society might say otherwise. Now, suddenly it seemed life was deciding for them.

The silence coming from Hutch left Starsky to wonder what thoughts were running through his buddy’s blond head. Were they the same as his—moving from disbelief to reluctant acceptance and everything in between, like Kubler-Ross’s five stages of death?

What I said that night at the restaurant is true. We need to think about our futures, and as much as I want to be with Hutch, Hutch needs to move on and stop tearing himself apart. I need to take care of my partner and make sure he has a good life. Even if it kills me.

Hutch scrubbed his face with his hand. “Well, Captain. This is a bit of a surprise.” He turned troubled eyes on Starsky. Were they troubled because he was afraid Starsky would fight this?

“What do you think, Starsk?” asked Hutch.

You know what I think. You always have. No, wait. There’s one thing you don’t know. Because I’ve been keeping it hidden from you. I know you’re in love with me. What you don’t know is I love you enough to deal with you being gay, seeing you happy with another guy.

What if he spoke up? Told Hutch the truth? But his decision had been made—Hutch wasn’t ready. Besides, Hutch seemed willing enough to go along with Dobey’s plan. Too willing, in fact, if Dobey hadn’t proposed the split, perhaps Hutch would have done so on his own soon enough. A simple matter of self-preservation.

Starsky straightened his shoulders like a soldier marching away from a battle lost, fighting the urge to turn back around, biting back words he longed to say. “I’m game if you are,” he said instead.

“It’s settled then,” Dobey interrupted, before either of the two men before him could say something that would make the whole plan disintegrate like dried flower petals. But neither one did. Hutch leaned his big frame forward, his overly long hair curtaining the gradual change of his sky-blue eyes to a stormy gray. Starsky shrugged and felt the world as he knew it spin away.

The next Monday, Starsky and Hutch officially had new partners.

 

Three Years Later

There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.
~ Charles Dickens ~

Hutch cringed at the odd sensation of sitting in the passenger seat of the Torino. Although its leather had faded a bit and there was a new crack in the dashboard, it still felt like home. But, like Thomas Wolfe wrote, Hutch knew he couldn’t go home again. So much had changed since he and Starsky had shared a ping pong game, a Mexican dinner and a conversation about their futures, it felt like another lifetime.

Starsky sat stiffly behind the wheel, as if he was afraid he might brush Hutch’s shoulder or thigh. When had the intimacy they once shared become so distasteful? Hutch though. Although he was back in the seat where Hutch had spent the best times of his life, it was obvious that he and his former partner—former best friend— and still the secret love of his life, had drifted apart, carried away by the cool wind of change like Autumn leaves.

The only thing constant is change, Hutch reminded himself and pushed down the old, deep-seated insecurities that now threatened to resurface. He’d apologized for his stupid stunt with Kira over and over again that night long ago. He would have written it in blood if he had to. But it hadn’t been enough. Would never be enough. Hutch should have known Starsky wasn’t the kind of man who could overlook a betrayal like that, even if he’d said he understood. Why else would Starsky have slipped the noose of their partnership when the first opportunity presented itself. At least they’d still managed to remain friends, but it wasn’t the same.

Starsky and his new partner, Joan Meredith, had rekindled the romance that had first sparked between them. And while Hutch and his partner, Linda Baylor, meshed well both personally and professionally, Linda was wise enough to know their relationship could never go further. Linda had a few secret proclivities of her own that Hutch could all too easily understand.

Flicking his eyes between the road and Hutch, Starsky suddenly said, “Hey, Hutch. Don’t overthink this,” as if for one brief instant he was once more able to read Hutch’s mind. “I just wanted to have dinner with you alone for a change. Believe it or not, I do miss your scintillating conversation.”

Out of habit, Hutch glanced out the rearview mirror but saw nothing more sinister than a dull green Volkswagen a few car-lengths behind them. Was he crazy to wish that they’d find themselves in some wild chase, with Starsky flooring the gas pedal, the Torino’s rear end fishtailing wildly, and Hutch clutching to the door handle?

“Earth to Hutch. We’re almost there, babe. Come on, I’m treating… oh, shit!”

Starsky had said he’d wanted to go to dinner at Chilango’s, but as he turned the corner, they saw that the old neighborhood favorite had been bought out by one of those TV-cowboy-based steakhouses famous for its all you can eat salad bar and tiny, overly seasoned steaks.

Hutch straightened as if physically fighting his way out of his funk. “It’s okay, Starsk. I haven’t had a steak in a long time. Let’s go in. I’ll drive our server crazy asking for vegetarian alternatives in a place with cow decor, then order a ribeye rare and watch their eyes roll back their head.” He started to pat Starsky on the knee but jerked his hand back at the last minute.

“Sounds like a plan, partner.”

Starsky parked the car curbside and when they got out and walked down the sidewalk, their strides fell in sync. He caught  Starsky’s eyes, hoping to be able to read his thoughts the way Starsky had read him a few moments ago. But what he saw seemed only to be a reflection of his own pain and regret and he quickly looked away before they reached the restaurant door.

The ex-partners slid in to opposite sides of a booth and sipped the draft Michelobs their busy waiter brought to the table before hurrying off to tend to a family with a fussy toddler. Starsky picked up a cocktail napkin with a cow’s skull on it and wiped a bit of foam away from his mouth as Hutch looked on with practiced indifference. The days when the sight of beer foam on the curve of Starsky’s lips would set his blood to racing may have been gone but they weren’t forgotten. Never that.

“Hutch, babe. I… I got somethin’ to tell ya. Now that I’ve passed the lieutenant’s exam, I’ve asked Joan to marry me and she said yes. I wanted you to be the first one to know… ”

Hutch’s hand tightened amount his beer mug, its chill numbing his fingers. He wished the rest of him were just as numb. Hutch had been aware of Starsky’s special love for Joan. He’d seen it grow with each day they worked together, but damn if he still clung to the hope that Starsky might still love Hutch more. Some nights Hutch went a little crazy imagining that it was him Starsky’s lean form was lying next to, instead of Joan’s petite curves.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Hutch thought. Starsky had planned this to be a happy occasion. Why make it more like a funeral? There was so much to say. Make that, had been so much to say. All that was left was, “Starsky, no one deserves love more than you. If you’ve found it with Joan, then I’m all for it. You’re a lucky man.”

“Hey—maybe we could have a double wedding. You and Linda? Wadda ya say, Hutch?” Across from him, Starsky’s expression was achingly hopeful.

It was a silly idea, more fit for a sitcom than real life, but so typical of Starsky. Still looking out for him. Hutch laughed joylessly. “Sorry, but that’s not the way it is between us. I do love Linda as my partner, almost as much as I love… loved…. ” Hutch bit off his pain-filled words. “But I can’t do that to her, she deserves more than I can give. Starsk, I… I…”

Starsky nodded silently and Hutch swore he saw unshed tears glimmer in the man’s eyes. But Starsky blinked them away as he asked, “Hutch, will you be my best man? Will you stand up beside me?”

Hutch took a deep breath and smiled while the ash from his burned-out heart blew away leaving nothing. He responded with the phrase that had been burned into his soul. “I’ll always have your back, Starsk.”

 

II.

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
~ Edgar Allan Poe ~

Hutch was haunted by how Starsky had lain rigid as a corpse in his hospital bed. Wrapped in white, he’d looked like a mummy in one of those B movies his partner had once enjoyed so much. Keeping vigil at Starsky’s bedside, Hutch’s guilt had been like a boa constrictor threatening to strangle him and swallow him whole. He had known something was off about the police cruiser in the garage that day—had warned Starsky to get down—but he hadn’t been able to keep his partner from being shot three times as the rogue car careened by.

All during the endless hours that Starsky had hovered near death, Hutch hadn’t been able to bring himself to stroke his cheek or ruffle his hair so rich and full against his pale skin. Why? He’d asked himself a hundred times, when they’d touched so many times before. Marched shoulder to shoulder, sat thigh to thigh. Far too many gestures of affection for them to continue to insist that they were nothing more than buddies.

Starsky had told Hutch once that he felt closer to him than his own brother. As for Hutch, well, Hutch’s ache for Starsky had crossed the line of platonic long ago. But even though Hutch might fearlessly face down psycho killers, he’d never had the nerve to tell his partner he was in love with him. That Starsky was his first thought in the morning, the image he took to bed with him each night. While their psychic connection was as natural as breathing, Hutch’s physical desire for his male partner was terrifying. Maddening. Imagining what it would be like to intimately caress Starsky’s limber, cat-like body—press his lips to the pulse point at his neck, feel his shaft grow thick in his hand—left Hutch in a sweat.

Death had been so close in those sterile surroundings that Hutch could practically hear its brittle whisper. Tell him now. There’s no more reason to wait. Still, Hutch hadn’t even reached out for Starsky’s hand, let alone his heart. To feel his too cold skin would have made the thought real. Life without Starsky would be unlivable.

Instead, Hutch turned away from the still form in the bed and did what he did best. Put his mind to solving a crime. Just as when Starsky had been kidnapped by Simon’s cult followers, he turned his fear inward. It energized him like tossing a match to kerosene, allowing him to focus on a thousand details, pinpointing what was important and weeding out the rest.

Hutch pursued their would-be killers like a man possessed. He was determined to find not just the hitman and his get-away driver, but the one who had hired them. Hutch swore to himself he’d bring down the whole city if he had to.

When Starsky opened his eyes and returned to the world of the living, Hutch had been dizzy with relief. He felt like singing and dancing. There’d be plenty of time for talking …later. He’d been right to keep his feelings to himself, he reasoned; to throw himself into bringing in those who had nearly taken Starsky from him. Hutch’s journey had taken him all the way to the top of the Gunther crime syndicate. James Gunther may have thought he was above the law, but he wasn’t beyond the reach of Ken Hutchinson’s vengeance.

***

Hutch avoided the elevator and used the hospital stairway instead, half concealing a platter of veal—warm and juicy and fit for a king—with his jacket. It was the meal he’d owed Starsky for winning their ping pong match weeks ago. He’d been planning this evening for days. He’d made up his mind and nothing would stop him tonight. Not his nerves, and certainly not some hospital staffer who would frown on his unorthodox offering.

Hutch was going to tell Starsky he was in love with him. That he wanted him for more than a friend. He wanted him for a lover. The thought of it made him punch drunk. For once, Hutch couldn’t predict what his partner’s reaction would be. But he wasn’t afraid anymore. Nothing could be worse than what they’d just been through the past few months. They’d walked through fire and come out on the other side together.

When Hutch pushed open the stairwell door and entered the fifth-floor corridor where Starsky’s room was, his thoughts were already three steps ahead. He imagined himself slipping into his partner’s room, showing off the tempting dish. He pictured Starsky straightening in his bed, flashing him a conspiratorial grin. Hutch glowed with the thought. He pushed the vision further and imagined himself lifting the bed covers, sliding in next to Starsky and telling him everything. Telling him how much Starsky meant to him, admitting how much he desired him. Convincing him that they could take their relationship to a new level.

As he entered the corridor Hutch’s thoughts were interrupted by a red light flashing high on the wall and a voice over the loudspeaker calling for “Dr. Brooks” with calm urgency. A group of white-coated technicians, their credentials dangling from their necks, hurried in Hutch’s direction from the other end of the hall. One was pushing a machine that looked like it could have been snatched from the set of a sci-fi movie. Their faces were grim.

Hutch flattened himself against a door, hoping that he wouldn’t be noticed. He wasn’t. The medical crew seemed single-mindedly focused—the last stopgap between someone’s life and death. When they stopped at the door of Starsky’s room his heart gave a lurch. What were they doing? That couldn’t possibly mean …Starsky!

The platter slipped forgotten from Hutch’s awkward hold and crashed to the linoleum floor, its greasy juice splattering onto his shoes and the hem of his jeans. Hutch didn’t even notice. He ran down the hall, reaching the entrance to Starsky’s room in seconds, then stood frozen. Inside was a surreal tableau. A still, dark-haired form in the bed; doctors and nurses circling like white-coated vultures. Tubes and wires and machines that glowed and beeped.

This was all wrong, Hutch’s mind screamed. Starsky was supposed to be sitting up, waiting expectantly for Hutch, a goofy smile on his face—not lying so eerily motionless.

The medical team’s manic motions began to slow and he felt as if he was looking through the lens of a video camera that had been switched to slow motion. The doctors’ and nurses’ demeanors gradually changed from tense to calm resolve. Acceptance. Someone clicked off a monitor that had gone dark.

Awareness dawned.

Suddenly he heard a torturous, animalistic sound—terrifying in its anguish. When one of the nurses turned his way, he knew the sound had come from him. She stepped over to him and laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hutchinson. There was a complication. An infection that got out of control….” Her words tumbled over him. Jumbled and meaningless.

“No…no.” Hutch fell to his knees. He was sinking, sinking…. “He can’t be gone. Not now. Not when I was going to tell him….”

“I’m so sorry….”

The nurse’s voice faded, drifting toward oblivion. Or maybe he was. Nothing mattered anymore. All Hutch knew was that he was too late. Starsky had died before Hutch could tell him how he really felt. Without ever knowing what could have been.

 

One year later

‘Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone
When true hearts lie withered and fond ones are flown
Oh! Who would inhabit this bleak world alone?
~ Thomas Moore ~

With fresh-faced earnestness, the male nurse tried, like always, to engage the former detective-turned addict in conversation. “Group’s in an hour, Ken. You gonna remember to come this time?” he gently chided.

Ken Hutchinson looked up at him through pale eyes. The young man in blue scrubs would have been just at home in a monastery as a rehab facility, he thought to himself tiredly. He was so damn tired of everything these days. Just getting through a day required the effort of a marathon runner. But as the weeks passed, the man once known as “Hutch” had to admit that The Bay City Police Benevolent Society Rehabilitation Center staff not only had the newest advances in treating drug addiction but were full of compassion as well.

Today, Hutch finally responded.

He nodded and cleared his throat, dry from lack of use and a fiery thirst he could never quench. “Sure, man. You know I love spillin’ my guts on the nice white floors every Wednesday afternoon. Why would I want to skip it today?”

“Sarcasm. That a grrrrreat coping mechanism.” The nurse gave him an appraising sideways look, as if seeing beyond the hollow gaze and stooped posture. “You know, I wouldn’t say this to just anybody, but… you’re not the only one in pain here. Sometimes I think you could be the strongest one of all. You just have to believe it yourself.”

Hutch just stared back at him. Strangely enough, there was a time he and the nurse might have been on the same team instead of caregiver and patient. And that the one person who had believed in him more than anyone was gone.

After a few seconds the nurse shook his head, then handed Hutch an envelope from the stack he’d been passing out. “Here’s a letter for you. All the way from Brooklyn, New York. You have relatives there?”

After so many weeks, the mention of Brooklyn was the trick to help loosen Ken’s tongue.

“Yeah. My family…” Hutch finished the rest of sentence in his head. The ones who matter, the one buried in the ground.

Hutch had accompanied Starsky’s body back to Brooklyn where his friend’s mother had been waiting for him. She’d worn a black headscarf and a valiant smile, so reminiscent of her son’s. Ruth ‘Ma’ Starsky took one look at the shattered man and adopted him on the spot. Ruth had seemed able to ease her own sorrow at burying her oldest child by comforting his bereft friend who’d sunk into a cushionless chair in her living room. If anyone thought it was odd for a big, blond Viking to be sitting Shiva alongside the diminutive dark-haired fireball that was Ma Starsky, they kept it to themselves.

Hutch listened for hours to childhood stories of little Davey spun by countless relatives and old friends. All the while, his pale blue eyes stared out the window as if seeing the young, tousle-headed boy dodge late model cars as he played stick ball on the street. He wondered if the man the child had grown into would still be alive if he’d have stayed in New York. Maybe it would have been better if they had never met.

Starsky had been buried next to his father. Afterward, Hutch continued to sit Shiva for a full week, almost unheard of in these modern days, except for the most orthodox. The tradition gave him an excuse to hang onto his grief even as others urged him to move on. Besides, it was the only way he had left to honor his friend. Finally, on the eighth day he roused himself enough to book a flight to California with a vague promise to Ruth that he would keep in touch, knowing he never would. He had other plans.

When he’d stepped off the plane into the bright sunshine of Bay City, his eyes had been hidden behind dark sunglasses. No one had been there to meet him. He hadn’t even told Dobey and Huggy that he was coming back. Hutch had taken a taxi to a rundown section of the waterfront where he’d found a room in a pay by the hour no-tell motel. He’d paid cash for a month in advance and for the proprietor’s silence.

He’d hit the docks after dark to look up a heroin dealer he knew but left his gun and badge behind. It wasn’t a bust he was after. It was a deal with the devil— his soul in trade for the obliteration of his memories. What good was his soul anyway, when his heart was buried in a crowded cemetery in Brooklyn Heights?

Eddie was the one who’d stumbled across a jonesin’ Hutch huddled in the hallway of the hotel where Eddie had gotten his latest in a string of under-the-table cleaning jobs. “Hey, Starpy,” he’d mumbled as he’d patted his old friend’s dull and matted hair. “They told me you was dead. You look a little lopsided. But don’t worry, I’ll go find Hotch for ya.” And he went off in search of a free burger at Huggy’s.

That was two months ago.

The kind nurse turned to leave, but his enigmatic patient stopped him with a question. “Hey, buddy. What’s today’s date?”

“June first, 1980.”

Hutch closed his eyes. It was a few days after the year anniversary of Starsky’s funeral. The ache in his chest was just as strong as it had been at the grave a year before. He was trying, not to live—he was too dead inside for that—but just to be able to cope would be enough. He opened the letter.

My dear boy,

I hope this letter finds you healthy and happy. Captain Dobey told me where you were. Don’t be ashamed, Ken. I know your sorrow, but you know our Davey would want you to live for him. Please try for the sake of his memory to find a path to a new life. If you need a place to stay when you get out my door is always open for you, sweetheart.

The Matzevah, the unveiling of the tombstone was last week. I enclosed a picture. I know you might think that a little strange, but I wanted you to see where our boy is resting. Remember, the grave only contains the vessel he used on his too short time on earth. His spirit could never be contained and lives on. You will see him again someday. I truly believe that. Make a life that you can be proud to share with him.

All my love,

Ruth

Hutch pulled out a polaroid of two identical tombstones side by side. One had the name of Michael, the other David. Both had police badges etched in the stone above the date of birth and death. David’s had an added inscription.

If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.

Hutch stared at the photo, oblivious to the wetness on his face, until it was time to go to group. He looked around at the other faces in the circle—Mary who still blamed herself for the car accident that killed her child, George who lost his job and his wife in the same week— and thought back to Ruth Starsky’s letter. Everyone was fighting their own private demons. He pulled the photo out of his pocket. Maybe it was time he stood up to his.

It was a start.

 

III.

Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, “It might have been.”
~ Kurt Vonnegut ~

When Starsky woke up from his coma, the first thing he saw was Hutch—haggard and rumpled but more beautiful than ever. The sight of his golden halo of hair, impossibly blue eyes, and tall, lithe form, albeit now a little stooped, was as close to seeing an angel as Starsky figured he’d get. Maybe Hutch had looked so beautiful then because that was moment Starsky was sure he was in love with him. Surer of it, in fact, than he had been of anything ever before.

Starsky hadn’t said anything about his epiphany at the time. He hadn’t wanted Hutch to attribute his confession to the effects of medication or ICU delirium. All he’d needed to know was that Hutch was there with him, the way he always was. The way Starsky always wanted him to be.

Bit by bit, the doctors explained what had happened. He’d been shot three times by a high-powered rifle. His body had sustained massive damage. At one point his heart had even stopped beating but then Hutch had arrived, and they’d said it was as if his partner’s presence had re-started it. Of that last tiny miracle, Starsky had no doubt.

Starsky had known for a while that his partner’s feelings for him went beyond simple friendship. At first, Starsky hadn’t been comfortable with the idea of homosexuality. That was for the oddly effeminate, Haight-Ashbury types. Or the walking wounded with father issues. But this was Hutch. His partner, his best friend. The man he entrusted with his life. The one who had come through for him time and time again when others would have given up.

Hutch was different, yes, but different in the best ways. Eloquent when not stuttering, elegant when not stumbling, bravely wearing his heart on his sleeve even when it wasn’t fashionable. Hutch was stronger than any man he’d ever known.

Starsky had wondered for a long time if Hutch would ever just come out and admit his true nature. He’d had the perfect opportunity that day in the car after finishing up the Blaine case. Hutch had asked him what he thought about two men who spent so much of their time together. Starsky kicked himself, thinking he should have followed along with him then and there, but at the last moment he’d chickened out. Starsky had brushed him off and Hutch had saved his dignity with a joke about not being a good kisser.

Ever since, Starsky hadn’t been able to stop thinking what it might really be like to kiss Hutch. To feel those sensual lips pressed firmly against his own. To exchange heated breath. Hell, they’d touched each other in almost every other way and nothing about their physical closeness thus far had felt foreign or awkward. Quite the opposite, in fact. Hutch’s touches had been comforting, supportive. Pleasurably intimate. The low fire Hutch had ignited in Starsky had become a burning flame. It wasn’t hard to figure out that they’d both used Kira as kindling, no matter what she might have had in mind.

Now that Starsky had gotten used to the idea of loving Hutch, he spent countless hours thinking of how he would go about telling him. But there was little privacy in hospitals, and once Starsky was on the road to recovery, Hutch had become preoccupied with bringing justice to Starsky’s would-be killer. They’d learned that James Gunther, one of the most powerful crime bosses in the country whose Southern California operation they had worked to shut down, had arranged the hit. Starsky decided to wait until after Gunther was arrested to tell Hutch how he felt. With Gunther in jail, they’d have a brand-new life ahead of them.

Although they’d discussed the evidence together, Hutch had been the one to do the leg work and take all the chances in bringing down someone considered to be nearly untouchable. Starsky was the first to admit Hutch deserved any accolades coming his way, but he chafed at not being able to be at Hutch’s side when he made the bust. He could picture Hutch bursting into Gunther’s pretentious, leather-appointed office and confronting the man who considered himself God’s left hand. The fire in Hutch’s eyes as he presented the warrant, the triumph in his voice as he read Gunther his rights. It would be magnificent to behold. Hutch, his own avenging angel, soon to be his lover.

***

Visiting hours had come and gone and Starsky’s patience was wearing thin. It was the day Hutch was to have arrested James Gunther. He had expected Hutch to have come to him by now with tales of glory and an overdue celebratory dinner. It had been a long time coming but the best things in life are worth waiting for. He couldn’t recall if he’d heard that from Hutch or read it in one of the magazines delivered daily by the candy stripers. Oh well, it didn’t matter as long as it proved true. But it was Huggy and Captain Dobey, not Hutch, who knocked on the door of his room late at night. Their movements were stiff, their eyes as hard and glittering as marbles.

“Hey guys? What’s going on?” Starsky felt a sharp pain in his core that wasn’t from his injuries. It nearly took his breath away. “Where’s Hutch?”

Dobey cleared his throat and looked awkwardly to Huggy who prodded him with a slight nod. “I’m sorry to tell you this, son.”

“Then don’t,” Starsky suddenly snapped. He wasn’t in any mood for some sick joke. All he wanted was Hutch.

“Starsky, man,” Huggy approached but then backed away. The look in Starsky’s eyes was that of a wounded, feral animal.

“Starsky,” Dobey began again gruffly. It was obvious to Starsky that he was battling his emotions. “Hutch was ambushed when he went to Gunther’s…. We hadn’t thought…. ”

Dobey didn’t need to say anything more. Starsky knew. They’d come to tell him Hutch was dead. The pain of it was greater than a bullet tearing through his heart. Starsky longed to die all over again. Hutch was gone and Starsky hadn’t even told him how he felt.

***

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead, Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves
~ W.H. Auden ~

Starsky insisted on going to the funeral. Huggy offered him his shades against the spiteful sunshine as he pushed his wheelchair up the slight incline scattered with white pebbles that lead to the gravesite. Hutch was given full honors as an officer of the law who had given his life in the performance of his duty. The mayor and commissioner were there, too, along with uniformed representatives of police departments from miles around. On the edges of the crowd were hardened street people and prostitutes, outcasts whom Hutch had touched with his big heart. Even they had tears in their eyes. It wasn’t the humble service Hutch might have wanted, but seeing the wide range of attendees, Starsky accepted that it was more important for them to pay their respects than for Hutch to receive them.

Conspicuously absent were Hutch’s blood relatives. Starsky knew Hutch had had a falling out with his parents years ago, but even he didn’t know what had finally broken their fragile bond. Now he would never know. “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,” Hutch had told him once, quoting Tolstoy with a sad smile, to which Starsky had replied, “family ain’t always blood.” Who knew that better than them?

Starsky took the place designated for the closest family member and hugged the folded flag that was handed to him to his scarred chest like a healing balm. The gun salute given in honor of their fallen comrade by the police guard reverberated throughout the cemetery. Starsky held it together through all the hoopla, grateful for the powerful painkillers that kept him numb. Afterward, Huggy took him back to the hospital and tucked him into bed, surprising him with a chaste kiss on his brow. “Why did it always take either tragedy or alcohol to bring out the truest emotions?” he wondered dimly.

Starsky asked Huggy to take care of the flag for him, then sent him home to rest. Left alone, Starsky reached for the stuffed toy Hutch had given him—a blonde bear with blue eyes and a goofy smile, meant to watch over him when Hutch was working. His fingers gripped the plush animal almost brutally as his deep anguished sobs filled the quiet room.

 

Four years later

Starsky had too many regrets to count. His latest ill-advised romantic relationship with a gorgeous, blue-eyed blonde topped the list. She’d followed her California dreams from the Midwest and Starsky had fallen fast and hard. Huggy had warned him he was only trying to fill the Hutch-shaped hole in his heart, and looking back, Starsky knew he should have listened. Although they took precautions, the lady had gotten pregnant and they’d married to do the right thing. They’d tried to make a go of it, but motherhood wasn’t on the lady’s mind. The marriage lasted for two tortuous years until she took off with a hot shot Italian director.

The only good thing to come out of the disaster was their son, Kenny, a sensitive and precocious child with soft, flaxen curls and bright blue eyes. The little boy was the one spot of joy in Starsky’s life. Starsky quickly filed for divorce and won custody officially, not willing to chance losing something so important ever again.

Starsky had taken a position at the police academy as a driving instructor after he’d recovered from Gunther’s assault. At first, he’d missed being on the streets almost as much as he missed his partner, but now he was grateful for a job allowed him to be home every night with his boy. As for women—he’d given them up all together.

Huggy and he occasionally filled a mutual itch and the Bear even sent an attractive blond man Starsky’s way every now and then. One of these days he might even go out with one of them. Starsky had to concede that Huggy had never been a bad judge of character.

Starsky glanced at Kenny who was finally tall enough to sit up front in the old Torino without a booster seat. “Hey, Blondie. Whadda ya want on your pizza?”

“I want veggies pizza, Pop. It’s good for us. And can I have a juice juice box?”

“It’s may I have, Baby Blue and a please for your old Pop is always appreciated.”

Kenny innocently batted his long lashes at his father without a trace of guile. “May I pleeeease, Pop?”

Starsky shook his head wondering how he had so lucked out in having such a beautiful, sweet son. He’d hit the jackpot in a way he hadn’t expected. Kenny wasn’t Hutch but he filled his heart with love the same as his namesake had.

 

IV.

I became insane with long intervals of horrible sanity.
~ Edgar Allan Poe ~

Hutch burst through the hospital doors, pale and out of breath. He ran up to Huggy standing vigil just outside Starsky’s room and grabbed his arm. “I got a call… What’s going on?”

Huggy turned to him, lips trembling and eyes bleary. For perhaps the first time in his life, he couldn’t speak.

“Talk to me, Hug!” Hutch’s heart began to pound and he felt his knees go weak.

Just then Dobey appeared at Hutch’s elbow and maneuvered him into a chair as he knelt on one knee in front of him. “Son. He’s gone.”

Hutch shook his head. This couldn’t be happening. “No. No! Starsk wouldn’t leave me!” Didn’t they know he and Starsky were a team? They were supposed to stick together.

“Hutch… I’m so… sorry. David Starsky had the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. But even as big as it was, it just couldn’t take anymore. The damage was too great. They tried… Everyone tried… but there was nothing they could do….” Dobey’s voice faltered and he hung his head.

In a rare move of solidarity, Huggy came up behind him and placed a hand on Dobey’s shuddering back. Starsky’s legacy of connecting with all kinds of people apparent even then.

“No. Starsky? Starsky!” Hutch sprang from his chair, almost knocking Dobey to the floor. Huggy stepped back, knowing better than to interfere.

Hutch burst through the door to Starsky’s room where a grim-faced doctor waved away a somber nurse. Both exited to give the grief-stricken man a private moment. Hutch approached the bed and took his partner’s hand. The warmth he’d known was gone. He gazed on the face he knew better than his own, seeing on Starsky’s now-silent lips the hint of a smile, as if he might be having a wondrous dream. Released now from all pain.

“Starsky? Babe, don’t do this. Come back to me. I need you. Don’t you go. Don’t you fuckin’ go. Partner? Partner? Starsk?”

Hutch smoothed Starsky’s hair back and leaned in closer, still gripping his hand. “Starsky, buddy. You need to open your eyes now. Joke’s over, Gordo. Your sense of humor is getting weird in your old age. So open those gorgeous eyes and tell me you were just kidding, okay?”

Hutch saw a tear fell onto Starsky’s pale cheek. He heard a pitiful howl and realized it was his own. He pulled his partner’s chest into his arms as he continued to plead, “I’ve been wanting to, gotta tell you—I love you. I mean, I’m in love with you, babe. I had it all planned how I was going to say it. I was gonna cook you a Paul Muni special and tell you while the candlelight glowed in those beautiful eyes. And you were gonna laugh and tell me you loved me back. Then we were going to plan our future together. Starsk? Starsky? What am I gonna do now?”

There was no answer.

Hutch kissed Starsky’s forehead and smoothed his curls. Then, as he carefully kissed his loved one’s breathless lips, the chill from his partner’s lifeless body seeped into Hutch’s heart. “No, Starsk. No. We’re not done,” he vowed as he gently laid the still body back on the sterile pillows. “We’re not done. Gotta get Gunther, partner.” Hutch dried his tears, his decision made.

At last, Hutch backed away from Starsky’s body on the bed. He was only looking at an empty shell. His partner’s bright light was gone but Hutch had to believe it would be waiting for him somewhere. “Starsky. I’ll see you soon. Wait for me, babe.”

***

As Dobey and Huggy watched the heartbreaking scene through the glass window, Dobey’s arms found their way around Huggy’s thin, shaking shoulders while the streetwise Bear sobbed like a child. The Captain’s own tears would come later. After a few minutes, Dobey patted Huggy’s back and gently pushed him away, offering a handkerchief. “Huggy, Hutch will be out in a moment. He’s going to need us, brother.”

Huggy nodded and wiped his eyes. Both men held their breath as Hutch turned from the lifeless form and walked out of the room, back rigid and eyes dry. He walked silently past Dobey and Huggy, not hearing their words of solace and concern.

***

Hutch flashed his Mars light on the freeway from Bay City to San Francisco as he gunned the LTD to speeds reaching ninety miles an hour. To hell with police procedures. The big engine roared with a rage that matched that of its driver. Hutch’s senses were clearer than ever, his reflexes at their peak as he pushed himself and his car at the insane pace. His heart was broken but his mind was strangely at peace.

Starsky was waiting for him.

The normally five-hour trip was accomplished in four and ended as abruptly as it had begun. The sedan’s tires screeched as they hit the sidewalk in front of Gunther Enterprises‘ west coast headquarters. Hutch slammed the gear shift into park and flung open the driver’s side door. He swung out his long legs and rose to his full height in one graceful move, oblivious to the blaring horn as he left the old tank coughing up smoke at the curb. His Magnum hung in his grip as if it was controlled by the force of Hutch’s anger alone.

With badge and head held high, gun by his side, Hutch stalked into the formal lobby He was met by muffled shrieks of office workers frightened by the rock-hard face of the cop and his deadly weapon. “Police business. No cause for concern, folks,” he said brusquely. Hutch knew he had just enough time to get to Gunther before security was notified of his arrival. It would be over soon. Starsky wouldn’t have to long wait.

Hutch hit the up button on the tastefully wallpapered wall. He glared at the directory for the bastard’s name. An empty elevator pinged open as if inviting him to enter and do his worst. He jammed his finger on Penthouse and watched as the floors went by ominously, one after another. As the car was ascending, Hutch spoke aloud, the words echoing in the enclosed space like prayers offered in a tomb.

“Starsk—Buddy, hold on. Don’t go anywhere till I get to you, okay? I know you must be confused, maybe a little scared. Totally in awe, I bet. I can feel you all around me keeping me alive, wanting me to reconsider, asking me to live for you. But, babe, don’t you see? Gunther didn’t just kill you. He killed me, too. I can’t live without you. I know that now. I watched your back every day and kept you in my heart every night. We were always together even when miles away. I only exist by your side. There is no Hutch without his Starsky. You are mine and not even death can take you from me. You are my religion. You are my heart. Don’t you see? I’m already dead and I’m taking that bastard with me.”

At last, the elevator door opened at the penthouse level and Hutch stepped out. No one tried to stop him as he strode down the sinfully luxurious hall. Or perhaps it was just that he was unstoppable. He kicked open the heavy, wood paneled door to Gunther’s fortress of an office, positioning himself so that his sidearm entered ahead of him.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of David Starsky,” Hutch announced, his finger poised on the trigger of the Magnum. Then he stepped inside the room to face the man inside head on, glowing with a righteous fury.

James Gunther rose slowly from behind his impressive desk, a sick grin on his face. It didn’t escape Hutch’s notice that he was fiddling with something in a top drawer as Hutch stepped forward. With uncanny speed and accuracy for such an old man, Gunther lifted his hand and fired a small caliber pistol straight at Hutch’s chest. He got off three shots, but Hutch kept coming. He didn’t stop until the two men were just a few feet apart.

Hutch stared into Gunther’s eyes, noting his look of surprise that Hutch was still on his feet. Then, with cold calculation, Hutch squeezed the trigger of his Magnum, sending a bullet straight through the old man’s black heart.

Only then did Hutch fall to his knees, his gun dropping with a thud. He looked down at the three gaping wounds in his chest and welcomed the exquisite pain as torrents of blood soaked the carpet and drained his life away.

“What the fuck, Hutch? You let him kill you? What’s with that, ya dumb blond?” Hutch looked up and saw Starsky standing in front of him, looking just as cocky and full of life as he always had.

Hutch smiled even as blood fell from his lips. “Starsk. You left me behind. What was I supposed to do? I let him kill me so I could follow you—so we could be together—and it worked!”

 

V.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
~ Robert Frost ~

Nothing could dampen their spirits that night, not even an impromptu shower from the hospital sprinkler system. Starsky was alive, Gunther was in jail and they were all together enjoying a clandestine, celebratory meal. For once, Captain Dobey hadn’t been opposed to stretching the rules. Maybe it was because he had finally accepted that Starsky and Hutch were destined to defy convention of any kind, no matter how he tried—as their superior officer and sometime surrogate father—to constrain them. Whatever they had together, it sure as hell worked. This after hours gathering was a testament to that.

Dobey and Huggy Bear had followed Starsky’s poignant toast, “To some very heavy dudes—we’ll remember this night for a long time to come.”—with a few heartfelt words of their own.

“To one of the best detective teams Bay City’s ever seen,” Dobey pronounced.

“My brothers from other mothers,” Huggy added with a sappy grin.

Hutch had appreciated their sentiments but had been too overwhelmed by a potent mix of emotion and alcohol to voice his own. Besides, what he’d really wanted to say was too private for even Dobey and Huggy to hear.

The Captain and the Bear left soon after they’d finished off the veal and libations. Starsky and Hutch remained huddled together in the narrow hospital bed savoring the tastes on their tongues and their physical proximity. The giggles had stopped. As much as they’d enjoyed the boisterous company of their friends, what they’d wanted most was to have each other to themselves.

“Hutch, I got somethin’ to tell you,” Starsky began, “but I’ve been waiting for the right time. It might be a bit of a shock, so I didn’t want you thinkin’ it was the drugs still messin’ with my head.” His heart was pounding. Against all odds, its beat was steady and strong. It thumped through his chest like a cranked-up bass speaker. He wondered if Hutch could feel it, too.

“Sure, Starsk,” Hutch said. “But I have something to tell you first. Because after you hear it, well, it may change everything.” Hutch hoisted himself up further on the slightly soggy pillows, trying not to jostle Starsky any more than necessary. He was glad that the effects of the champagne still lingered slightly in his system—not so much to scramble his words but just enough to loosen his inhibitions. He’d kept a tight rein on his emotions for so long that he had no idea what would happen once they were set free. But it was finally time to find out.

“Go ahead,” Starsky said. What were a few more minutes compared to a lifetime?

“I… I’ve had certain… feelings for a while now. Some people call them unnatural. Believe me, I’ve tried fighting ’em for years. With Jeannie, with Gillian… even with Kira. But then I realized they’re as natural as breathing. I can’t change who I am.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Starsky interrupted softly and Hutch smiled. He’d never known anyone as brash, childish, irritating, and… accepting, as his partner. “Because I’m in love with the person you are. The person you’ve always been,” he finished.

A delicious warmth grew in Hutch’s chest and spread throughout his body, extending out to his fingers and toes. It reminded him of soaking in a hot bath after coming in from the cold. He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the feel of it. Of course, he knew Starsky loved him. It hadn’t been the first time he’d said it. But before it had been more a lighthearted acknowledgment followed up by a quip. “I love you but I’m not riding in that hunk of squash you call a cahr,” or “do you know you’re beautiful when you’re angry?” Just now, Hutch wanted to pretend Starsky didn’t just love him but was really in love with him, the way he was with Starsky.

“Did you hear me?” Starsky asked. He’d surmised what Hutch was about to say. He was incredibly humbled by his bravery and wanted to let him know that he wasn’t alone.

When Hutch stayed silent, Starsky gave him a little nudge. Could it be possible he hadn’t read Hutch right? A fission of fear opened up in his chest, close to his physical wounds. Maybe Hutch had given up hoping for the kind of relationship with Starsky that he needed and had found someone else. Someone who’d been there for him while Starsky had been near death. Could Starsky blame him? If he had died, wouldn’t Starsky have wanted Hutch to move on?

“You’re in love with me?” Hutch’s question, so humble, so hopeful, so Hutch, had come so quietly that Starsky wasn’t even sure he’d spoken it aloud.

Starsky turned to him, their bodies touching from chest to thigh, their faces mere inches away. He wanted to close the gap with his lips and he felt himself harden. It was a heady experience, to feel so completely drawn in both physically and emotionally to his partner, his best friend. “Well, you’re in my bed, aren’t you?” Starsky challenged wickedly. If there was someone else, he or she would have to go through Starsky first.

Hutch blushed. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m…”

“Bother me? Hell, I’m beginning to think I’ve been missing out all these years.”

Starsky gave in to his impulse to kiss Hutch’s cheek, then moved to his mouth. Hutch let out a sigh that was close to a moan, but he held himself rigid. Starsky’s injuries remained severe and Hutch dared not complicate matters. He’d already chanced a midnight dinner and wasn’t about to press his luck.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you. I couldn’t wait any more,” Hutch admitted. Death and the possibility of losing each other had become all too real.

“Is there someone… I mean, have you…?” Starsky began to ask.

“Have I what?’ For the first time, Hutch couldn’t follow Starsky’s train of thought.

“Fallen in love with someone?” Starsky swallowed.

Hutch stared at him. “Yeah, dummy—you. What did you think I’ve been trying to tell you?”

Starsky breathed sigh of relief it nearly strained his damaged lungs. “I’m glad you did, before we both did something even more stupid than Kira,” he said. Like miss the chance to live the life they were meant to. He adjusted his position slightly, trying not to show any discomfort. He didn’t mind.

“So what do you think?”

“I think I can’t wait for the doc to give me the okay for sexual activity,” Starsky grinned.

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Starsky brought up his arm and wrapped it around Hutch’s shoulders and Hutch tilted his head to lean it against him. It was awkward, but they managed.

They imagined growing old together, having their own kind of family. They knew it would be unconventional, even disapproved of. They might come to regret not having their own biological children. But they had each other and that’s what mattered. Starsky gave a little shiver and Hutch pulled the blanket further up around them.

“Are you cold? Should I call the nurse for dry sheets?”

“Nah, I was just thinking…”

“I thought I smelled wood burning.”

“I’m serious Hutch. What if we nevah woulda told each other how we felt? If we just woulda gone on…”

“Living lives of quiet desperation?” Hutch finished for him.

“Whatevah,” Starsky said.

“No,” Hutch assured him. “Not us.”