Eroded Trust

In the aftermath of their shared case with the policewoman, Kira, both men’s trust in each other is badly shaken.

Originally published in the Starsky and Hutch gen zine, Venice Place Times II, published in 2002.

When the case they were working on was finished, Starsky and Hutch were left to deal with their anger and hurt feelings toward each other in its wake. They had both become involved with the same policewoman, Kira, while working the case. Their competition to win her affection became a wedge between the men and neither one knew what to do about it. Starsky was angry and hurt. Hutch had slept with Kira after Starsky told him he thought he loved her. Hutch was angry with Kira and with himself. His head was pounding and he didn’t feel well. He knew what he had done was wrong and he was trying to apologize. They had made it out of the precinct to the garage and Hutch was still trying.

“Starsky, please….” Hutch pleaded with his partner one more time.

“Forget it, Hutch,” Starsky snapped, shaking Hutch’s hand off his arm and turning away from him to take a few more steps toward the Torino.

“Starsk, for God’s sake, let me apologize to you. This isn’t easy for me….”

Starsky wheeled on him, his eyes smoldering with hurt and anger. “Oh, that’s just great! Just ’cause it’s hard for you to apologize, I’m supposed to forget everything?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. It’s not hard to apologize, but it’s hard to admit I did something that hurt you like that.”

Still fuming, Starsky barked, “Not now, Hutch. I just don’t want to be around you.”

Hutch stiffened; that cut him to the quick. “Ever?” He asked the question with an edge in his voice he immediately regretted.

His best friend just glared at him and jumped into his car with a slam of its door. The Torino peeled out of the parking lot, leaving a smoking strip of rubber on the pavement.

Hutch sighed heavily and headed for his own car. He couldn’t help wondering where a man goes when he has just lost his best friend. Hutch was coming down with something and starting to cough. That only added to the misery of driving home thinking about all that had happened between them. What if Starsky refused to forgive him? How could he bear the loss? With a heavy heart, Hutch parked in front of his home and sat in the car for a few minutes. He didn’t want to go up to the apartment. He wanted to drive over to Starsky’s to talk, but he knew he might never be welcome there again. Deciding against going home, he got out of the car and headed for the beach for a long walk.

The night was cool, and few people were out walking. Hutch slowly made his way along the tide line for over an hour before he turned back to head for home. By then, he was alone on the beach. He was almost home when it started to rain. He put his head down and turned up his collar, shivering and already feverish.

Hutch didn’t hear the two men quietly approaching from behind him. He wasn’t really alone.

A final quick glance around revealed that no one would witness their crime in the darkness. Before he even knew what was happening, the two men had pushed Hutch to the sand. When he tried to get up to face them, one of them kicked him in the head and sent him sprawling onto his back.

The muggers quickly started searching his pockets. One of them immediately discovered the Magnum, while the other found his wallet and shield.

“Shit, Manny! This guy’s a cop.”

“Dammit! Come on, we’re outta here.”

They took the wallet and left Hutch lying unconscious in the cold sand.

* * *

Between bouts of angry pacing, Starsky sat up in his apartment thinking about what had happened. He was angry at Hutch, but as his anger simmered down, his rational mind began to take over again. Hutch had hurt him, but so had Kira. He was starting to wonder if she had been playing a game with them all along—using them one against the other. That thought gave a new direction to his anger. Although it didn’t change what Hutch had done, that might explain some of his behavior. When he found Hutch at Kira’s tucking in his shirt, Starsky had gone ballistic and had even hit him. Now, he felt terrible about that. He felt worse about telling Hutch he didn’t want to be around him. The look on Hutch’s face had told him how badly that hurt. Whatever went down between them, they had always been able to talk about it. Starsky knew he would forgive Hutch. Doing anything else wouldn’t be possible; the man was too much a part of him. They had been through too much together to throw it all away on a week’s worth of stupidity and bad choices.

Starsky picked up the phone and dialed Hutch’s number. He listened while it rang seven, eight, nine times before he hung up and waited. When he tried again in fifteen minutes and the phone was still unanswered, Starsky began to worry. Was Hutch refusing to pick up the phone? Was he even home?

Unable to reach Hutch for another half hour, Starsky headed for his place. When he arrived, he saw Hutch’s car parked in its usual spot. He looked up and saw the lights were out in the apartment.

After knocking produced not even an angry shout from Hutch, Starsky let himself in with his key. A search around the apartment revealed that Hutch wasn’t there and it didn’t appear that he had been all evening. Now Starsky was worried. No matter how angry he was at Hutch, he never should have said the cold things he said to him. Hutch’s natural tendency to feel guilty was easily provoked and Starsky was re-examining his behavior to see if he had done that on purpose. Starsky was rarely mistaken when his sixth sense told him his partner was in trouble and the claxon was screaming at him. He hastily headed for the beach, hoping Hutch had gone for a walk. He often did that when he needed to engage in deep thought.

Starsky kicked something on the boardwalk just before he headed out onto the sand. Picking it up, he realized it was a wallet and it looked familiar. He flipped it open and his heart sank as he saw from the driver’s license that it was Hutch’s.

With a mounting sense of dread, Starsky jogged along the beach in the direction Hutch usually took. The night was dark, with no moon, but the rain had stopped. Starsky had only been searching for five minutes when he spotted a dark shape on the sand. His heart skipped a beat as he increased speed to reach the shape. He stopped and dropped next to his partner.

“Hutch! Hey, you all right?” Starsky said as he reached to feel for a pulse.

Hutch’s skin was hot with fever and he was soaked through from lying in the rain, but Starsky breathed a sigh of relief when he found the pulse to be strong. A quick check for injuries revealed a lump under his hair on the side of his head. He didn’t want to leave Hutch there to call an ambulance, so Starsky continued to try to revive him. Patting his cheek and calling his name a few more times brought a reaction.

Hutch moaned and moved his head from side to side. He opened his eyes and looked up at the worried, dark shape that was his partner.

“Hey. You think you can get up, buddy?” he asked solicitously.

“Wha…?” Hutch mumbled. He shivered and coughed.

“Easy, Hutch. Come on, we need to get you home and out of these wet clothes.”

“Starsk?”

“Yeah, it’s me, babe. Come on.” Starsky put an arm under Hutch’s back and helped him sit up in the sand.

“Oh, I feel sick, Starsk.”

“Hold on. Just give yourself a minute.” He rubbed slow circles on Hutch’s back and held him steady. When it looked like he was going to be all right, he helped Hutch to his feet. They started walking, Starsky holding Hutch close to keep him from crumbling.

Hutch’s vision was fuzzy and his head was pounding at the lump and throbbing from his fever. Every step jarred his head and made him feel sick. When they were finally within sight of Venice Place, Hutch thought his apartment had never looked so good.

Starsky managed to get him up the stairs and inside. Hutch tried to head for his bed. but his partner steered him toward the bathroom instead. That was a fortuitous decision as Hutch chose that moment to get sick. When he was finished, he dropped wearily to the floor and Starsky had to help him pull off his wet clothes.

Starsky reached into the tub and turned on the taps, letting the water heat up for Hutch. “Come on, buddy. You need to soak in some warm water to get rid of the chills.”

Hutch pushed Starsky’s hands away from him and said, “I’m all right.”

“Sure ya are, buddy. Let me help you.”

“I can do it.”

“Okay. I’ll be right out in the other room. Call me if you need me and keep your head above water.” Starsky patted him affectionately on the shoulder and left him to his bath.

Fifteen minutes later, he heard the water start to drain from the tub and saw his partner emerge in his robe and start toward his bed. Starsky went back into the bathroom to retrieve the thermometer and some aspirin.

Starsky walked over and sat on Hutch’s bed, putting a hand on his forehead to feel how hot it was. “Open up, Blondie. I’m gonna take your temperature.”

Hutch shook his head. “I’m all right. Just need to sleep.”

“Come on now, you wouldn’t let me get away with that, now open up.”

Fever glazed eyes looked at him in confusion, but Hutch obeyed and let Starsky put the thermometer in his mouth.

“What the hell happened to you out there?” Starsky asked.

“I’m not….” Hutch tried to answer, but he was interrupted.

“How long were you out there?” Starsky continued.

Talking around the thermometer again, Hutch said, “What time….”

“Shhhh. Don’t talk with that thing in your mouth,” Starsky said.

Hutch looked at him incredulously, pulled out the thermometer for a second and said, “Then quit asking me questions for two minutes, huh?”

Starsky chuckled and said, “Sorry, buddy,” as he inserted the thermometer back into Hutch’s mouth.

In a few minutes, Starsky took the glass tube and went into the bathroom to read it so he wouldn’t have to turn a light on next to his already squinting, bleary-eyed friend.

“Almost 102, buddy,” he called from the bathroom. “Better get some aspirin in you.”

When he returned to Hutch’s side, the blond was already asleep. He shook his shoulder gently and said, “Uh-uh, Hutch. Wake up enough to take these aspirin, then you can sleep.”

A groggy Hutch opened one eye and put his hand out for the aspirin. After he’d taken them, he closed his eyes and sank back onto the bed, shivering.

“Get under the covers, Blintz. You’ll be warmer that way.”

Hutch had just crashed on top of the bed. He let Starsky help him maneuver under the blankets and settled into the pillow. His slurry voice sounded pathetic to Starsky when he said, “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Go home, Starsk. I’m okay now.”

“Shut up and sleep. We’ll talk about it when you wake up.”

Hutch nodded sleepily and closed his eyes. When Starsky stood to leave, Hutch reached out for him and grabbed his hand. He squeezed it lightly and mumbled, “Thanks.”

Starsky settled back down on the edge of Hutch’s bed and watched while he fell into a deep sleep. He decided that despite the fact that Hutch had gotten sick, he didn’t act like he had a concussion, so he’d let him sleep, but check on him from time to time. His raspy breathing made Starsky wish he had gotten some cough medicine into him before he went out, but he didn’t have the heart to wake him again that soon. When he was sure his movement wouldn’t disturb the slumbering man, he went out to the living room and crashed on the couch.

* * *

The aspirin wasn’t doing much good, and as Hutch’s fever climbed up closer to 103, he started having nightmares. His dreams were full of gunfire and sirens and blood and loss. He tossed and turned and cried in his sleep. When he started talking aloud, the sounds roused his sleeping partner who came in to check on him.

He cried out in his sleep, “No, no, Starsky!”

The other man was disturbed to see the tears on his face and the damp, tousled hair clinging to his fevered forehead. He sat on the bed and pushed some of the unruly hair back, gently trying to waken the blond.

“Hutch, wake up. Hey, you’re dreaming.”

Hutch didn’t awaken; he tossed in his sleep and cried out Starsky’s name. He muttered something Starsky couldn’t quite make out, that sounded like, “I’m sorry. Please don’t take him, please.”

Starsky shook him a little harder and when he got no response, he climbed onto the bed behind him and gathered the troubled sleeper into his arms.

“Shhh, I’m right here. Shhh,” he said soothingly as he hugged Hutch closer.

Finally, with a gasp and a gulped sob, Hutch opened his eyes and realized he was in Starsky’s embrace. He clung to the strong arms encircling him and said, “Oh, God, are you really here?”

“Shhh, I’m here. I ain’t going anywhere.”

Hutch’s trembling eventually lessened, and he sighed deeply, holding onto Starsky as tightly as he could. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t.”

Starsky was worried about the heat that radiated from the blond. He was wrestling with the idea of taking him to the hospital, when a tired, weak voice said, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for? You can’t help it that you’re sick and hurt.”

“No, for Kira. I’m so sorry.”

“Forget it, Hutch. I forgive you. Besides, I did and said some stuff I’m not proud of, too—and I’m sorry for that.”

Hutch squeezed a little tighter on his arms and said, “You said you didn’t want me around you. I-I thought you’d never speak to me again. Not sure how I could….”

“Stop. I said it’s forgiven, and I meant it. That’s what I came over here for, to tell you I was sorry, too, and to figure out how to straighten out this mess we both created.”

“I was wrong.”

“Enough. We can talk about it when you’re better. I’m going to go get you some more aspirin and some cough medicine. Be right back.”

Hutch didn’t lessen his tight grip on Starsky’s arms.

“Hey,” Starsky said, “you’ll have to let me have my arms if I’m going to get your medicine.”

Sighing, Hutch let him go and whispered, “Come back.”

Starsky couldn’t understand why he was being so clingy. That clinginess was completely out of keeping with the White Knight’s usual style. He wondered if it had something to do with the dreams that were haunting him.

He returned in a few minutes and got Hutch to comply with his instructions to take his medicine and drink the juice he’d brought.

“If you get dehydrated, you have to go to the doctor. I have half a mind to take you there anyway, so do what you’re told.”

“You just have half a mind anyway, mush brain,” Hutch quipped, bringing a smile to Starsky’s face.

“Tell me about your dream.”

“No… I can’t.”

“Please. You sounded so scared—like you’d lost everything. Tell me.”

Hutch swallowed hard and blinked back the tears that started to well up in his eyes as the nightmare washed back over him. “Aw, Starsk. I don’t really remember all that much. Just like most of my worst nightmares, I guess. Danger… me yelling at you to get down, squealing tires, then rapid gunfire and blood, so much blood.”

“I died?”

Hutch shuddered and nodded. “In my arms.” He took a deep breath and shivered again, trying to shake off the bad feelings the nightmare had produced.

“Don’t worry, buddy. I’m okay. You’re just sick and your fears about the fight we had are cropping up in your dreams.”

“You’d make a good psychologist, Starsk.” Hutch smiled at his partner, content that he understood him so well.

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m just expert on the subject of Viking warriors in distress.”

Hutch snorted at that and snuggled down into the covers. “Thanks.”

* * *

Both men slept peacefully throughout the remainder of the night. When they awoke the next morning, they were both glad it wasn’t a workday for them. Starsky could spend the day nursing his partner back to health and Hutch could use that time to make amends for his actions. His fever was coming down and the coughing was improving. Things were looking good when the phone rang at around six in the evening.

Hutch was stunned to hear Kira’s voice on the other end of the phone.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Fine. Why?” Hutch responded.

“You and Starsky were pretty angry with each other last night. 1 just wanted to check on you.”

Hutch decided not to let on that he and Starsky had already started mending fences. He wondered where the conversation might lead.

“What do you want, Kira?”

Starsky’s eyes opened wide when he heard her name.

“I was hoping we could get together. Talk,” she answered.

“Not sure what more there is to say, Kira. Maybe you should be talking to Starsky.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about him? Meet me tomorrow night, at Huggy Bear’s? Say around seven?”

“I’ll be there.” Hutch hung up the phone and explained to Starsky.

“What does she want?” Starsky wondered.

Hutch chuckled sarcastically and said, “Maybe she’s not done screwing with our heads and trying to come between us. I’ll go tell her off and be done with her.”

The two men had managed to pick Hutch’s larder clean that day and Starsky volunteered to go out for a food and liquids run. “I’ll just stop by my place and get some more clothes, then I’ll be back with the food. You’re doin’ better, but I think I’ll stay one more night, just in case you have any more nightmares.”

“You don’t need to, Starsk. Go home and sleep in your own bed.”

“And just what will you do for food if I do? Nah, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

When Starsky was at his place, sorting his mail and getting a few things together for another night at Hutch’s, his phone rang. Guessing it was his partner, impatient for dinner, he answered it, “What now?”

“Hello?”

Kira! What on Earth could she want?

“Yeah, hello. What’s up?”

He had a similar conversation with her to the one she had held with Hutch. She never mentioned that phone call, and he didn’t either. Kira also wanted him to meet her at The Pits the next evening at the same time. He agreed.

* * *

Later that evening at Hutch’s, they made their plan. They would dress alike and show up at the bar to meet her. They would pretend to be angry at each other, first for Huggy, then for Kira. They would exact their revenge together by dumping her, no matter what she had planned for them.

Their encounter with Kira had been a strange one; not going exactly as either had planned. Neither man cared, though, as they walked out of the bar with their arms around each other. They leaned against Hutch’s car laughing, the tension of the trying experience pouring off them.

“Starsk,” Hutch said, suddenly turning serious. “I really am sorry. I can’t believe what I did and it breaks my heart to think of how I made you feel. I’d do anything to regain your trust. I know I shook it, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Aw, Hutch. I know you feel bad. I trust you. Yeah, it hurt me and yeah, I feel a little funny right now. I forgive you, though, I told you that. I want that Me and Thee connection back, Hutch. I can’t live without it—you know that. We’ll be okay, I promise.”

Hutch smiled at him and gave him a quick hug. They both got into Hutch’s car and drove off to have a quiet dinner at a place where they could laugh and talk and start rebuilding that trust. Neither man thought about how prophetic dreams could be. They didn’t know they were a week away from having their world torn asunder in a hail of bullets.