Four Years, Eight Funerals, and a Lifetime of Love

92

Over four years, Starsky and Hutch lost several loved ones. Through each heartbreaking funeral, they are by each other’s side, their bond growing even stronger, along with the gradual realization of their love.

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“It’s Helen. Starsky, it’s Helen.”

Starsky heard Hutch say the words, but his brain failed to register.

Helen? Helen Who?

A split second later, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

His thoughts swirled, his senses overloaded by unrelenting stimuli. A barrage of flashing red lights, police radios crackling amid the faint sound of children laughing, the scent of grass, and picnics mixed with the odor of vomit left behind by a rookie cop who lost his breakfast behind the bushes. A coroner’s wagon arriving, crunching its tires along a gravel path, waiting in eerie silence to transport its latest, lifeless cargo.

Starsky couldn’t bring himself to examine the body. All he had to know was that she had been murdered and wrapped in television antenna wire, dead for two days before being discovered. His stomach turned at the thought, wanting to escape, knowing it would be alright if he let Hutch take charge.

He assured Dobey he would investigate with the utmost professionalism. Starsky didn’t think twice about that promise, knowing his word was Hutch’s word, even if his partner had to do the heavy lifting, whenever and wherever needed. It wasn’t fair, but their partnership wasn’t built around keeping score.

More than once, the Torino became Starsky’s sanctuary, his thoughts turning to Helen and the hope they once had for a future together. There was no turning back now, no option for a ‘you never know’ ending or a ‘let’s try again’ reunion; that choice was stolen by a killer who brought a cruel end to what was once a bright and vibrant life.

As he sat alone in the car, he heard the passenger door open and felt the heavy slump next to him as Hutch got inside.  Hutch sat in silence for a while, allowing Starsky time to finish his thoughts. Hutch’s concerned eyes turned to him, emanating calm, his soft words pulling Starsky out of the darkness.

“I don’t know how to break this to you, but you’re just not the kind of man a woman’s going to kill herself over. I don’t care what your mother says, you’re not Rudolph Valentino.”

Starsky smiled at the remark, joking that he was more the Paul Muni type. It was all he needed to come back to reality.

The investigation led them to an outcome Starsky wasn’t expecting, finding a killer who was as much a victim as the women he killed.  Retribution for Helen’s murder was no longer a viable outcome, only understanding.

As he watched in horror, the killer, James March Wrightwood, fell to his death. Sadness overtook Starsky and he wondered if anyone would grieve for him, speak at his funeral, or even arrange for a service at all. Wrightwood died misunderstood and afraid, with both Starsky and Hutch trying to rescue him from a system that released him into a world where he couldn’t cope. Another cruel ending to a life that should have been saved.

Starsky hoped at least, if he was persistent enough, he could leave a lasting mark on the record of an incompetent doctor who thought a computer-generated diagnosis of Wrightwood was a sufficient standard of care. Was it only yesterday that Hutch had been outraged himself about the dangers of a soulless computer-driven world? For some reason, that made Starsky smile, his hard-headed and passionate partner once again a source of peace.

The next day, Starsky looked around the crowded church, loosening his brown tie, as his tweed blazer and brown pants added to his stuffiness. Hutch was next to him, dressed in a dark turtleneck, a black jacket, and slacks, his gaze fixed forward as they stood behind Helen’s family. A line of duty burial for a fallen officer was Helen’s honor, as her courage, and bravery were recognized by the department.

As Helen’s casket was carried into the church, Starsky glanced at his partner, a pillar of strength shielding him from the grief that permeated the air.

Through it all, Hutch had been his rock, nudging him through the grieving process, ever so skillfully and tenderly, to the point where Starsky reached acceptance faster than he would have thought possible.

Without complaint, Hutch helped him balance the lines between long-forgotten regret and baseless self-blame. The warmth of Hutch’s dedication poured into Starsky, building a permanent layer of protection around his easily broken heart, as though Hutch himself was becoming inextricably bonded with his DNA.

The next evening, Starsky sat on the sofa in Hutch’s apartment, browsing through a magazine while Hutch arranged the table with two tall candlesticks at each end. The enticing smells from the kitchen made his mouth water, as the setting sun through the Hutch’s stained glass window warmed his tired body.

The evening sped by, and he forgot for a while about Helen and Wrightwood, blocking out bleak thoughts of needless deaths and listening to Hutch speak about sunsets, beauty, and life’s simple pleasures.

Hutch’s date never showed up, and Starsky wondered if that was who Hutch had called after dinner, breaking some girl’s heart by canceling their plans. Starsky didn’t mind, silently relishing in his good fortune, sipping his wine, and savoring his meal while soaking up Hutch’s soothing voice and gleaming smile late into the evening.

 ******************

“It’s a long way down,” Starsky said as he lay on his stomach atop the trapeze net, staring down at the killer who had landed in a heap of toy animals and balloons.

Hutch looked up to find Starsky clutching the net’s edge, amazed that his tough and tenacious partner could suddenly appear so vulnerable. “Yeah, for everybody,” he replied.

Hutch felt like he had been running uphill for days, refusing to believe Jack was the strangler, gathering information from Jack’s doctor to back up his claim, and trying to convince the police and his doubting partner of Jack’s innocence.

Even more so than Jack’s death, Starsky’s skepticism made Hutch feel like he was spinning out of control. His brain couldn’t blame Starsky, knowing that Jack’s irregular behavior screamed guilty at worst, and suspicious at best. His heart, on the other hand, was riding an emotional rollercoaster.

“I’m sick of your stinkin’ loyalty to your friends,” Starsky accused, a few hours earlier in the hospital waiting area.

“Present company included or excluded?” Hutch asked, a knot building in his stomach.

Hutch noticed Starsky’s haggard expression, his uncharacteristic five-o’clock shadow, and the fatigue that concealed his typical shining eyes. He pursed his lips, kicking himself for not noticing the depths of Starsky’s turmoil, his eyes begging Starsky to understand that his strong conviction about Jack’s innocence was nothing compared to how he felt about Starsky.

The next words from Starsky gave Hutch a fresh sense of hope.

“If Jack is innocent as you say he is, then let’s go find the real killer.” Starsky’s voice was soft, void of any remaining judgment.

Hutch knew that Starsky’s concession was a true leap of faith, putting aside his reservations for Hutch.  He reached out and touched Starsky’s arm. “You read my mind, let’s go, partner.”

Together, they tracked down the killer, united in their goal as they chased him through the casino, cornering him at the top of the net, Hutch jumping off first and tackling him to the ground. The local police arrived right behind them, leading the strangler away in handcuffs, while Hutch felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Hutch turned his attention to his partner, looking up and offering his arms. “Hold onto the net and lower yourself down. I won’t let you fall.”

Starsky eased himself off the net, steadying himself as he carefully flipped over and landed his feet, Hutch spotting him to safety from the ground.

“It wasn’t as far down as it looked,” Starsky said as he caught his balance, placing a hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “I guess it’s all about trusting that someone will catch you in case you fall.”

Hutch caught the pleading in Starsky’s eyes, the look that said he was sorry Jack was dead, and that he was sorry he doubted Hutch. The last of Hutch’s pent-up hurt faded away, vaporized to a state of non-existence, an unfounded fear that had no place between them.

“I wasn’t there to catch Jack when he fell. But I’ll be damned if I’d ever let you fall, Starsk.”

They returned to Bay City a few days later, and after submitting their reports to Dobey, went to Hutch’s place, where Starsky sat on the bed watching him pack a suitcase.

“Vicky called me last night and said she received the money,” Starsky said. “She was practically crying with gratitude. It was a decent idea you had, to send our winnings to her.”

“I knew you were already thinking about it. I was just the first one to suggest it.” Hutch shrugged, tossing underwear and socks into his suitcase.

“You always could read my mind, Hutch. And I can read yours, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hutch countered. “What am I thinking right now?” Hutch moved to the dresser and began searching through the drawer for a clean shirt.

“That you want me to come with you?” Starsky asked.

Hutch stopped rummaging through the drawer, turning to face Starsky.

“Come with me? To Jack’s funeral in Duluth?” Hutch asked him, not knowing how Starsky had guessed the truth, and not believing that he could be serious about it.

“Yes, to Duluth. I thought you might want some company.” Starsky’s eyes were downcast as he fiddled with the bedspread, making his face unreadable.

“It’s ok, Starsk. Jack’s family will be there, my mother and father too. I’ll have plenty of company.”

“Sure, but you won’t have the right kind of company if I’m not there,” Starsky remarked, looking up.

Hutch saw Starsky’s adamant look, his eyes imploring him to understand what he wasn’t saying out loud, but what Hutch needed to hear him say.

“What do you mean, I won’t have the right kind of company?”

“It means there will be plenty of people there who cared about Jack, but no one there will be looking out for you. They don’t know what you’ve been through in Vegas,” Starsky sighed as though Hutch should have known.

Hutch folded his arms, still not convinced. “You didn’t even like Jack.”

Starsky rose from the side of the bed, cupping his hand around Hutch’s neck before it slipped down to squeeze the elbows of Hutch’s folded arms.

“That’s not true,” Starsky protested. “I didn’t take the time to get to know him very well, and that’s on me.”

Hutch let his arms unfold, not releasing Starsky’s hands on his elbows, returning the same grip as they stood in mirror image. “It’s not your fault, buddy.”

“It’s partly my fault,” Starsky insisted.

“You’ll really come?” Hutch asked, adding a squeeze to Starsky’s elbows that was more of a thank-you than a question.

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Starsky replied, returning the squeeze.

“But you hate funerals,” Hutch said, aware that his voice lacked conviction.

“Who doesn’t hate funerals? I’m not offering to go because I love the idea of bringing out my brown tie…”

“Then why exactly are you offering to go?” Hutch hoped he already knew the answer.

“Because I…because you’re my best friend, dummy,” Starsky shrugged and shook his head.

Hutch felt the weight of the last few weeks melt away. He was saddened by Jack’s death but overwhelmed with gratitude for the man at his side.

Hutch walked to the phone and dialed, booking a second plane ticket. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of Starsky’s company, of not feeling alone, and despite the circumstances, he felt an elation he couldn’t explain.

As he shifted his attention to the person on the phone, he caught Starsky’s eyes and was certain he saw a glimmer of joy reflecting back at him through Starsky’s unwavering gaze.

 ******************

All Hutch had to do was lean out of the way as Grossman charged at him, eyes wrought with hate for the blond cop, his stupidity and vengefulness causing his demise as he tumbled down the staircase into a groaning heap at the bottom.

Hutch bent over the man who had destroyed his chance for love, his anger palpable. He straightened, Starsky’s gaze burning into his back, willing him to resist the urge to beat the life out of Grossman. Hutch knew he would never cross that line, and he knew Starsky knew it too.

Starsky’s pat on the back and tiny nod, simple gestures in any other circumstance, were enough to make Hutch feel instantly lighter. The sheer shock of seeing Gillian’s dead body had processed through him, his initial burst of tears and rage faded, Starsky’s presence the catalyst of acceptance.

The next few weeks were difficult, filled with changes that Hutch didn’t expect, his normal independence overshadowed by the need to let go, to submit to his needs, and to allow Starsky to take care of him. He learned he craved the devotion of his partner, even if he outwardly denied it.

They sat in the squad room at the end of their shift, Starsky’s legs propped on his desk, and in that familiar moment, Hutch felt closer to Starsky than he had ever been. He dialed the phone, Starsky listening with head tilted to the side, as Hutch made the usual arrangements. “Yes, Cleveland. Two seats. Ok, I’ll hold.”

Hutch cupped his hand around the receiver and whispered, “Last chance to get out of this, buddy. I’m sure you have better things to do than go to a funeral in Cleveland with me.”

“Not that I can think of, Hutch.”

Hutch stared at Starsky, his eyes trying to convey that he didn’t have to come, simultaneously filled with gratitude for the offer. He turned his attention back to the telephone.

“Tomorrow evening at five is fine. We’ll pick up our tickets at the airport. Thanks.”

Hutch hung up and stared at the receiver before looking up. “It’s a five-hour trip, so we need to catch the flight tomorrow evening to make it to the funeral the next day. I’ve arranged for flowers to be sent ahead of time.”

It was only a few months ago that Starsky joined him in Duluth for Jack’s burial. That was a short trip, but Starsky’s company meant everything to Hutch.

“We’ll catch the red eye after the service and you can crash at my apartment afterward if you like. That is if you don’t mind being with me for that long,” Hutch said, afraid that Starsky would back out.

Hutch had to know for sure that Starsky didn’t mind. It was above and beyond for Starsky to come along to a funeral for a woman Hutch barely knew himself. Hutch had almost decided not to go, but he couldn’t see missing it; that was the only decent thing to do if you loved someone, even for a short while.

Starsky pulled his legs off the desk and shifted forward in his seat, his voice so low that only Hutch could hear.

“Why would I mind? It’s not like you snored or anything when we were in Duluth, so I’m guessing you’re not planning on snoring in Cleveland,” Starsky chuckled before changing his tone. “Gillian didn’t deserve what she got, but she loved you. I didn’t know her well, but I’m sure she would have told you everything if she had the chance. And that’s enough for me.”

Hutch signed inwardly with relief. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle going alone, it was that everything was just better when Starsky was there.

“Thanks, buddy. I was thinking, maybe when we get back we can go back to the bowling alley.  It might seem weird, but I think it will help give me closure.”

Starsky wasn’t likely to say no, but Hutch felt a flash of worry that his question sounded desperate.  What more could he possibly ask of Starsky? Another night babysitting his grieving friend might be too much to ask.

“Bring Nancy if you want to,” Hutch blurted out, adding a noncommittal shrug.

“Sure Hutch, if that’s what you want. Whatever you need. I’ll see if Nancy wants to come.”

Hutch thought he detected a look of disappointment in Starsky’s eyes, but the moment passed, and Starsky’s upbeat expression was restored.

“I better get home and make sure my brown tie is clean,”  Starsky said.  He brushed his hand along Hutch’s shoulder as he headed to the door, turning back and adding, “It’s gonna be okay, you’ll see.”

Hutch gave into the sensation of Starsky’s touch. Despite the sorrow that remained, Hutch felt something brand new, a stirring in his heart and a voice that told him how lucky he was.

He knew without a doubt that he still had someone in his life who loved him so much.

 ******************

Hutch sat at the end of the pew and glanced at Starsky next to him. Despite his tough exterior, Starsky’s eyes were filled with grief.

Hutch couldn’t get the previous night out of his head. A few beers and a game of Monopoly were supposed to distract Starsky from thinking about the funeral the next day. Hutch feared it only made things harder.

“That’s Ollie.  She used to keep him on her bed with her.”

Hutch stared at the stuffed bear and placed it reverently beside him on the floor. He turned his attention to the card.

“Hutch,” he said, reading the name on the envelope. He unsealed the envelope and began reading the note inside.

“To dearest Hutch. To you, I entrust… Ollie and Dave. Please love them both,” his voice cracked and broke off.  He started over. “Please love them both and don’t let either one of them change.”

Hutch ran a hand down his face, his misty eyes turned to Starsky. “That’s beautiful,” he whispered. 

Starsky’s eyes were wet, and he nodded in agreement.

Don’t let him change. Hutch didn’t know if that was possible, or even a fair request. Starsky was the most loyal, caring, intelligent, fun-loving person he knew. Would losing Terry change all that? Would Hutch be able to stop it if it did?

“Whatever he needs,” Hutch thought. “If he changes or doesn’t, that’s up to him. All I can do is stay by his side. Even if he wants to quit the force for real.”

Hutch closed his eyes, thoughts of Starsky quitting the force invading his mind. He knew if Starsky wanted it, he would follow him and play football in Canada, herd sheep in Australia, or drive four-wheel trucks from Montana to Minnesota. It didn’t matter to Hutch what they did, as long as they could be partners.

Hutch opened his eyes, feeling guilty for letting his mind stray as the sounds of weeping from the back of the church caught his attention. Many of Terry’s students were in attendance and their sobs cut through the strained air as the pallbearers carried their load down the aisle. Hutch looked at Starsky, whose eyes were dry but his face anguished, his repeated swallows revealing the edge of his suppressed tears.

When the service ended, Starsky and Hutch stopped in the vestibule where a crowd was gathering, exchanging hugs and words of comfort.

Sally, one of Terry’s students, reached out and grabbed Starsky’s arm.

“Hi Dave,” Sally said, turning to Hutch. “Hi Ken. I’m going to miss her.”

Starsky took Sally’s hand and lowered himself to her height. “One of the last things Terry said to me was to make sure you keep practicing, you’re doing so great. Promise me you won’t give up.”

“I won’t give up, I promise. I have my friends and family who will make sure I don’t. I love cheerleading.”

Hutch envied Sally’s childlike wonderment, a welcome diversion from the sadness. Starsky must have felt the same as he managed to flash a smile.

“Good, that’s good, Sally. Terry would be proud,” Starsky said.

“And Dave?” Sally asked.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Starsky answered sweetly.

“Don’t you give up either,” she said.

Starsky straightened, patting Sally’s arm. “I promise I won’t give up. I have good friends that will make sure of it too.”

Starsky smiled and looked directly at Hutch who stood silently next to him, like a tall tree providing security from the rain.

Hutch followed Starsky out of the church, the fresh air stimulating his nostrils, a sharp contrast to the stuffy atmosphere he left inside. Hutch placed his hand on Starsky’s back, amazed by the strength Starsky not only displayed but also demonstrated to others, including himself.

He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to express the love and pride that was in his heart for Starsky, or how to even put it into words.  Maybe someday he could define it, but not today.  Today was about easing Starsky’s pain, and hopefully, if he was lucky, restoring the sparkle in the blue eyes that lit up Hutch’s heart.

 ******************

Starsky parked across the street from the church where a small group was gathering outside the door.

“This will be nothing like the funeral Helen had, or Mac, or all those other cops who Prudholm killed, or those cops who…”

“I know Starsk, it’s not fair,” Hutch stated, at his side in the passenger seat. “Blaine deserved the same recognition as those other cops, for his years of service, for the respect he showed all of us, for just being a cop. It stinks to high heaven that the department won’t acknowledge that.”

Starsky wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel, trying to release his tension and untangle his feelings of confusion and pain.

“Yeah, the brass didn’t want a scandal on their hands. Pressure from all over, Dobey said. The department made the excuse that he doesn’t get a cop’s funeral because he didn’t die while on duty, of all things.”

Starsky gripped the wheel tighter and looked at Hutch, stabilized by his presence.

“What matters is who is coming, like Dobey, Simmons, Babcock, and most of Blaine’s men. It may not be an official cop’s funeral, but we’re all here because we loved him,” Hutch reminded him, not for the first time.

“Thanks, Hutch,” Starsky said, his eyes back on the steering wheel.

“What for?” Hutch asked, reaching his hand across the console.

Starsky felt a comforting hand cup his knee. He reached down, encircling Hutch’s hand with his fingers.

“For helping me realize this doesn’t change who John was, and most of all it doesn’t change what he meant to me. If Maggie can see that, I certainly can. I owe it to you for helping me see it.”

Hutch squeezed Starsky’s knee, his voice was hushed.

“I didn’t do much. Your affection for people has always been based on their character, not because of what others tell you it should be.”

Starsky turned to face Hutch, his words striking him with a new understanding, a certainty about himself that he didn’t know he had. He paused, looking directly into Hutch’s eyes. “You’re right about that. When I love someone, I’m all in.”

Starsky thought he saw a deep connection in Hutch’s pinning gaze. He forced himself to look away, saying, “I mean, a person would have to be an ax murderer or something for that to change. And even then….”

“And even then, you’d still find a way to love them, even if you didn’t fully understand them,” Hutch added.

Starsky tightened his grip on Hutch’s hand and felt a shiver run through his whole body.

“I’m beginning to understand what John must have gone through, even if I’m just scratching the surface. Do you think it’s normal that I’m changing?”

Starsky dismissed any guilt about changing, hoping Terry would understand. It was inevitable, and for the most part, he thought, changing and growing was for the good.

“I’d call it evolving, Starsk, and I think it’s more than normal. The more time we have on this earth, the more opportunities we have to learn. You’re the one who taught me that, you know.”

Starsky inwardly smiled, relieved they were on the same page.

“Oh ya? When did I do that?” Starsky prodded, perking up despite the solemn mood.

“Plenty of times,” Hutch shrugged like it was obvious. “Like when Abbey left to go back home. I learned a lot about people, and that not everyone has the desire or stomach for this life, unlike you and I. John did, and at least we can remember him that way.”

“I think you’re pretty special too,” Starsky said, his tone more serious than he originally intended.

Hutch chuckled. “Now don’t go getting all mushy on me.”

“Too late,” Starsky grinned, relieved by Hutch’s light-hearted response. He opened the door to the Torino. “It’s time. Let’s get inside, and pay our respects.”

“Right beside you, buddy,” Hutch said as he stepped out of the car.

Starsky patted Hutch’s back as they climbed the steps, ready to show his respect for the man who had to hide his life in the shadows.

Starsky longed to talk to John one last time, to tell him he was sorry, and that he wished they could start all over again. He wanted to ask him how he learned to live through the fear and loneliness of his double life.

Starsky wished, above all, that he could ask John how he handled having a secret and hidden love.

Starsky’s thoughts turned to Hutch, and he wondered what Hutch would think if he asked him that same question, and more importantly, what Hutch would say if he did.

 ******************

“I can’t believe we’re back here again, paying our respects to a person who left this earth too soon. When will it end Hutch, can you tell me that? I’ve been trying to hold it together for Junior’s sake, but I don’t know if I can anymore.”

Starsky paced the sidewalk in front of the church where Jackson’s funeral was about to begin, tugging on his brown tie.

Hutch gently pulled Starsky’s elbow, bringing him to a halt, and laid his hand on his arm. “Jackson didn’t deserve what he got, there is no denying that. I sound like a broken record, we have said that too many times. It’s even harder because a fellow cop took him down.”

“Fellow cop is too good of a description for him. He was a bigot first, and a cop second if you ask me. That is if you could call him a cop at all.” Starsky fumed.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Hutch added softly. “Sometimes I feel like I’m getting numb to it all.”

Starsky reached out and ran his hand through Hutch’s hair, attempting to lessen the mournful expression on his face.

“That’s not true, Hutch. You are not numb to the suffering in this world, you are just such a good supporter of the living that you put your emotions aside all the time. It’s okay to get mad once in a while.”

“But I didn’t lose my father like Junior did. Like you did. I’m not qualified to say I understand what it’s like. I…”  Hutch continued his protest.

Starsky released his hand from Hutch’s hair, moving it down to his arm, his fingertips enjoying the smoothness of the black leather jacket.

“You are more than qualified because you know what loss is about, but more than that, you know what survival is about. And you know what it means to carry on with life after losing someone. When I’m caught up in my grief, sometimes I ask myself how Hutch would handle it. And you know what I say to myself?”

“What?” Hutch murmured.

“I say that Hutch would cry, and hold people, and give strength and support, and would put aside his comfort for the other person,” Starsky responded, his heart filled with pride. “That’s what you do, Hutch, and there’s nothing cold or numb about it.”

Hutch looked down at his newly shined shoes before lifting his eyes. “I see what you’re doing here, Starsk. You’re supporting me, instead of the other way around, even though Jackson was your friend.”

“Correction. Jackson was our friend. And I get to console you if I want to.”  Starsky’s eyes implored Hutch to believe him. “It’s my prerogative, partner.”

Starsky felt the familiar churning in his gut all day at the thought of burying another friend. Now, he was able to breathe, knowing that Hutch had once again guided him through his sorrow, allowing him to act as the consoler for a little while.

“Let’s get in there, Starsk. I see Junior going in with Sammie and Mrs. Walters.”

Starsky took a deep breath, and straightened his brown tie. “How do I look?”

“Terrific,” Hutch said, putting his hand on Starsky’s back to let him go ahead.

Starsky walked up the stairs toward Mrs. Walters and Junior, ready to offer his shoulders to cry on, knowing the strong hand on his back would give him all the strength he would need.

 ******************

“So, uh, how have you been feeling?”

Hutch stuffed a black turtleneck into his suitcase, his mind replaying the familiar question he asked Vanessa that night in Huggy’s bar. The words had come out naturally, his memory awakened by years of practice.

If it had been anyone else, he would have asked, “How are you doing?” or “How have things been going?” – the usual thing you would ask someone after a long period.

Vanessa, on the other hand, was not just anyone. Hutch would always ask her how she felt, at the core of every discussion and argument, until his care and sympathy wore out.

It was crucial to Hutch at this moment that Starsky understood this fact.

“She would get scared a lot, ever since I met her. She rarely showed that side of herself to the rest of the world, and even tried to hide it from me. But it came out, like when she ran back into the house because she worried she left the door unlocked or left the stove on, or when she wouldn’t step on the cracks in the sidewalk.  That’s why I believed her when she  said she was a scared little girl who couldn’t face having a biopsy alone…”

Starsky listened, straddling backward in a wooden chair, his forearms resting on the back as he watched Hutch pack for another funeral.

“She was a grown woman who made decisions for herself. You can’t blame yourself for them, no matter how scared you thought she was,” Starsky reminded him.

Hutch knew Starsky was not interested in making excuses for Vanessa, and he saw both concern and doubt reflected in his eyes.

“I don’t blame myself, but I don’t think everything was her fault. We’re all products of our environment, upbringing, genetics, whatever. Vanessa thought she could control her anxiety without any help, opting to chase money and power, as though those things would solve all her problems. She was like a lot of other avaricious people who think the more money you have, the happier you’ll be.”

“You saw through all that years ago, Hutch. Why did you even agree to meet with her?”

Hutch detected the confusion in Starsky’s voice, along with a hint of sympathy. Hutch realized for the first time how much he wanted Starsky to understand.

“I heard her voice, and my mind went back in time. I guess I didn’t see the harm in meeting up with her, and mistakenly thought we could be friends.”

“I get all that, but don’t you think it’s time to move on? You don’t have to hold onto the past anymore,”  Starsky said, his chin in his hands, his voice low and soothing.

Hutch knew he wasn’t living in the past, there was no reason that he would, especially when everything important to him, his present and future, was sitting right in front of him.

“I moved on a long time ago. That’s not why I’m going to her funeral,” Hutch clarified.

“Then explain it to me again, Hutch. This can’t be the whole story.”

Hutch paused and took a breath, wanting desperately for Starsky to understand why this was important to him.

“I’m going because I need to say goodbye, not only to Vanessa but also to the man named Ken who married her in the first place.”

Starsky sat up straight. “I for one like everything about Ken, even that.”

Hutch wasn’t expecting that answer.

“You do? Why?”

Hutch wasn’t fishing, but genuinely curious. As far as he was concerned, that young, idealistic Ken caused him nothing but heartache.

Starsky rose from the chair and moved forward, clasping Hutch’s shoulders. “Because that Ken had a big heart, same with the Hutch standing here today. No matter what, don’t say goodbye to that.”

All along, Hutch thought Starsky was the one who needed to understand Vanessa, but now he realized that he was the one who needed to understand himself.

“I won’t,” Hutch nodded. “I’ll just say goodbye to giving my heart away to the wrong people from now on.”

Starsky seemed to accept that answer, grinning in agreement. “Good, that’s good. You want me to come with you?”

“What?” Hutch said, not expecting the offer, but also not surprised by it. “You don’t have to,” he added unconvincingly.

“I’ll go home and pack my bag. Be back soon.”

Starsky turned to leave but was stopped by Hutch’s arms as they wrapped around his back. He gently twisted Starsky around, Hutch’s long arms stretching around his waist. Starsky flung his arms over Hutch’s strong shoulders, and Hutch breathed in the embrace, wishing he could meld his body into Starsky’s until the fear in him was gone.

“I want to come, no need for soapy scenes,” Starsky said, not attempting to release his arms as he mumbled the assuring words into Hutch’s ear. Hutch tightened his arms around him, accepting that Starsky wanted to be with him as he closed this chapter in his life.

Starsky slowly withdrew his arms from Hutch’s shoulders, moving his hand to cup Hutch’s cheek.

“If I have anything to say about it, you’ll never give your heart away to the wrong person again. I’ll be back soon, don’t leave without me.”

Starsky left, his hand softly slipping from Hutch’s cheek, his words hanging in the air, echoing in Hutch’s mind.

Hutch stared at the closed door as he inhaled deeply. He touched his hand to his face, the warmth of Starsky’s hand still lingering on his cheek, and he slowly let out the breath he forgot he was holding.

“Don’t worry Starsk, I’ll be right here waiting. I’m not going anywhere without you, and neither is my heart.”

 ******************

“If we don’t go, we may never forgive ourselves,” Hutch argued.

Hutch shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the sofa in his living room as Starsky plopped down on the couch next to it.

“If we do go, we may be chased out of the church like outlaws,” Starsky warned.

Starsky wiped his brow, surprised by the sweat accumulating on his temples. He thought it must be stress, then brushed the concept aside, assuming he was just coming down with a cold.  In Starsky’s mind, stressing out about work was unhelpful and not something Starsky did regularly. Things happen, and you just have to adjust as best you can.

“What’s the matter, buddy? You don’t look so well,” Hutch asked, reading Starsky’s mind.

“I’m okay, just coming down with a cold, I think,” Starsky replied.

“We don’t have to go if you’re not up to it,” Hutch offered, and Starsky knew he must look worse than he thought.

“You’re being ridiculous and so am I. It’s settled. I’m going home to change. I’ll be back in an hour to pick you up.”

Whatever consequences awaited them at the funeral, Starsky knew it was the right thing to do, and he knew Hutch agreed.  He rose from the couch and headed to the door, succeeding in turning the knob before a hand came from behind to stop him.

“Starsk?” Hutch said quietly from behind him.

“Yeah?”  Starsky answered, not meeting his eyes. He knew Hutch didn’t blame him, but it was too big a risk to see even a hint of incrimination in those soft blue eyes.

“You have to stop blaming yourself,” Hutch said, and Starsky marveled at how Hutch’s psychic ability was honed to perfection. “I’m the one who didn’t know my car was rigged with explosives.”

“I’m the one who left Rigger in the hotel room alone,” Starsky said as his voice shook.

Starsky was tormented by the image of the car exploding and Hutch’s body leaping into the air and landing on the concrete with such force that it could have killed him. He had no regrets about running to Hutch’s aid, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel responsible for the consequences.

“With the power of a federal judge behind this, we were all just collateral damage.” Hutch added, “Whatever happens, remember that Rigger made his own decisions all the way.”

“I know that, but I’m not sure Mardean or her little girl will care about any of that.”

Starsky wiped his brow again, turning to meet Hutch’s sympathetic gaze, any fear of seeing blame in those blue eyes fading away.

“They’re grieving,” Hutch assured, squeezing Starsky’s shoulder. “In time, they’ll realize that Rigger did it all for them, and was willing to risk his life to protect them.”

“What about Huggy? Do you think he’ll ever forgive us?” Starsky closed his eyes, savoring the touch of Hutch’s strong hands on his shoulder.

“He’s grieving too, but he knows us.  Give him a little more time.”

Starsky opened his eyes and breathed deeply, calming his nerves for the first time since that horrific day.

“I guess you’re right. They might not understand right now, but I hope in time they’ll see how much we respected Rigger and why we want to go to his funeral to show that respect one last time,” Starsky said. He started to leave, catching Hutch’s eyes one more time. “And Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m getting tired of putting on my brown tie.”

“I know, buddy. Let’s make this the last funeral for a while, agreed?” Hutch said, his blue eyes starting to swim.

“No arguments from me. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“And Starsk?”

“Yeah?”

“No matter what happens when we get there, it’s Me and Thee.”

Starsky couldn’t help but smile.  He ran his hand through Hutch’s hair, wishing there was more time to talk.

“I love you, ya big lug.”

Starsky turned and left.  He had no idea if this would be the end of a long line of funerals, he could only hope. All he knew was that it was time to let go of the torment and suffering, the unspoken secrets and hidden shadows, and face the truth he could no longer find the strength to bury.

Maybe, just maybe, if he deserved any luck at all, his loyal, caring, big-hearted blond of a partner was hoping for that too.

 ******************

Did you forget your promise Starsk? No more funerals. That includes yours, buddy.

Hutch stared in anguish at the medical equipment, his mind racing as he sat next to Starsky’s hospital bed.  Hutch’s face was stern, his eyes hollow, and his hands were immobile, like a statue. His emotions stayed hidden beneath the surface, boiling like wildfire and consuming what felt like the last strands of fragile straw barely holding his body together.

He was at a loss for what to do or where to go next.

“I don’t know what to do, Starsk. I’m pushing the odds,” Hutch heard himself say to his unconscious partner.

Pushing the odds of my survival. It’s supposed to be Me and Thee. Always. Did you forget that?

“I mean, what if…?” Hutch asked aloud.

“You’ve been by my side, you’ve been my heart for so long, it won’t beat without yours, Starsk.”

“What if…”  he asked again.

The lines are blurring, and the edges of my mind are frayed. I can’t go to another funeral. Especially not yours. I’ll have no strength.

“Oh man, what am I talking about?” Hutch said, trying to convince himself that he was not going crazy.

I won’t survive this battle alone. My love for you is still unspoken. Why did I not tell you I loved you before?

“What am I talking about?” he asked again. Hutch thought he might ask that question for the rest of his life.

I never got a chance to tell you….

Hutch rose from the chair, the darkness of his mind no longer contained.

Starsky, Starsk…

Hutch ran a hand through his hair and turned around.

My love.

“Starsky? Starsk?”

Hutch’s world became bright as Starsky’s eyes fluttered open.

“You – You’re awake.”

Hutch’s mind was suddenly clear, his smile reaching his eyes as he twirled the nurse in the air.

“He’s awake! Nurse, nurse, he’s awake!”

Hutch memorized Starsky’s smiling face, thinking it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen, and vowing to cherish this priceless gift of life that had almost slipped away.

There wouldn’t be another funeral, at least not now, and not as long as Hutch was alive to do anything about it.

There would only be life. And if his beautiful, caring, intelligent, fun-loving, ever-evolving partner wanted it, his life would be with Starsky.

 ******************

The first early morning welcome from the sun came through the window blinds. Starsky rolled over and shut off the alarm clock beside his bed before it could shriek its usual unpleasant awakening. This morning, an alarm wasn’t unnecessary.

“Sorry, I woke you so early,” came the seductive voice next to him.

“Are you kidding?” Starsky replied. “Waking up that way beats the clock radio and is better than coffee, that’s for sure. Besides, you have the day off and I’m not returning to desk duty until next week. No reason to waste our precious time off sleeping.”

Hutch rolled over, his expression soft from the afterglow, and stroked Starsky’s chest, tickling his chest hairs. Starsky closed his eyes and savored the sensation, cataloging the events of the morning and savoring the life he felt lucky to have.

Hutch had planted a morning kiss on Starsky’s lips, rousing him from a deep and blissful slumber. Starsky’s body reacted quickly to the stimulation, and his mind and heart followed pace with rising passion.

Hutch’s kiss started slowly, then he slid his lips down Starsky’s throat, before lavishing attention on his nipples and chest. He didn’t try to avoid the scars, but he also didn’t make a spectacle of them, showing love to Starsky’s entire body as if every stretch of skin, every mound of hair, and every scar, new and old, were both spectacular in their beauty and normal in their existence.

Hutch’s tongue traveled further down, taking Starsky’s rigid erection in his mouth and milking the fluids from his organ with a talent that Starsky knew was reserved for him. He gasped as the orgasm swept over his body, and for a brief time, it seemed as if the world had come to a halt just long enough for him to understand what life was meant to be.

Hutch rested his head between Starsky’s legs, allowing Starsky a moment to still his quivering body, then moved up to place his head on the pillow. Starsky kissed Hutch’s warm mouth, then took Hutch’s hard erection in his hand, pumping as he watched the blond head tilt backward on the pillow, rewarded by a moan of desire as Hutch reached a climax of his own.

Starsky wanted to wake up that way every morning for the rest of his life.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Hutch whispered, his fingertips lingering on Starsky’s chest.

“Are you sure you can handle my thoughts?” Starsky laughed. “They usually involve my favorite morning ritual, and that always involves you.”

“In that case, your thoughts deserve at least a dollar,” Hutch said, smiling.

Starsky grinned and stretched his arm over Hutch’s body, reaching into the nightstand beside him, and pulling out a neatly wrapped box with a bow.

“What’s this?” Hutch sat up as the gift was placed on his lap.

“It’s an anniversary present,” Starsky answered. He placed a pillow behind his head and sat up next to Hutch.

“Anniversary?” Hutch asked, perplexed.

“It’s been a full year,” Starsky replied.

He pretended to be upset by Hutch’s forgetfulness, welcoming Hutch’s lips on his pouting mouth.

“A year since what?” Hutch asked as he withdrew his lips. “If you’re counting our first kiss, I happen to know for a fact that it was only ten months ago. We have another two months until our anniversary, for which by the way I have a surprise.”

“Like I told you before, I don’t count that peck on the lips you gave me while I was still half-comatose in the hospital with a band of hospital staff outside my door as our first kiss.”

Starsky enjoyed the ongoing debate, knowing neither one of them would give in, and loving every minute of the banter.

“No matter what you say, you can’t deny that was the first time I kissed you,” Hutch argued. “I had just returned from arresting Gunther, and it was the first moment we had been alone since … that day. I didn’t want to wait another minute to show you I love you.”

Starsky settled his head into the pillow and recounted his version of their first kiss, a memory he would cherish forever.

“Ok, I’ll give you that, it was pretty special. But for me, the first real kiss was a month later when you brought me home from the hospital. You helped me up the stairs to my apartment, then through the front door and onto the sofa. You leaned over to ease me onto the couch when I pulled you down and kissed you. I even gave you tongue, if I remember correctly.”

“Oh, you remember correctly,” Hutch chuckled, then sobered. “It’s a day I’ll never forget.”

Starsky grinned and pressed his nose to Hutch’s template, nibbling at his ear. “Me either. What took us so long, huh?”

“I don’t know, Starsk. I guess our hearts weren’t communicating with our brains. At least, that’s how it was for me.”

Starsky nodded, knowing it was the same for him. He couldn’t spend time on past regrets when the present and future with Hutch were all that mattered.

“Now, what kind of surprise?” Starsky teased, changing the subject.

“What?” Hutch asked, his confusion apparent. “Are we still talking about our first kiss?”

“No, I’m talking about the surprise for the anniversary of our first kiss that you think is another two months away. What kind of surprise do you have?”

Hutch pulled away from the enticing tongue, taking his turn to act offended. “If I told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

Hutch returned to the box on his lap and shook it. “Don’t change the subject. What is this anniversary present for?”

“Just open it,” Starsky sighed, trying to hide his anticipation.

Hutch obeyed and slid his finger under the tape, loosening the paper as he pulled it off in one piece. He examined the square box underneath.

“A box of chocolates? A bottle of my favorite cologne? Of your favorite cologne?”

“You know, most people just open the box,” Starsky retorted. “It makes the act of gift-giving work better.”

Hutch grinned and relented, removing the lid along with the white tissue paper that concealed the gift. In the box was Starsky’s brown tie.

Starsky placed his hand on Hutch’s arm. “I haven’t needed it for a full year. Not one funeral since Rigger’s.”

Hutch briefly closed his eyes, and Starsky thought he looked like he was saying a silent prayer. Hutch opened his eyes and asked, “So you’re giving me your old tie?”

“No, dummy. Look underneath. Sheesh, I didn’t know you needed an instruction manual to open a gift,” Starsky teased.

Hutch pulled the tie from the box, and a small, mahogany box fell out and landed on his lap. He opened the box and inside was a gold compass nestled into the satin cushioning on the bottom, with words etched on the wooden lid.

“It’s a compass, Hutch,” Starsky stated the obvious as Hutch turned the smooth object in his hands.

“It’s beautiful, Starsk. It’s truly stunning.”

“Read the inscription,” Starsky said excitedly, his love pouring through his words.

Hutch held the box closer to his face and read the words engraved on the lid.

Point towards Me & Thee and you will always find love.

“Don’t ever doubt it, Hutch. I’ll be by your side for the rest of our lives. I have a million reasons to live, but you’re the one that matters most.”

Hutch looked at Starsky with misty eyes and moved his palm across Starsky’s cheek. “I love you.” He shifted his body and stepped out of the bed. “Don’t move,” he instructed as he began rummaging through Starsky’s closet.

“Where are you going? What are you looking for?” Starsky asked, baffled by the sudden action.

Hutch smiled as he retrieved an object from the spare jacket he kept at the back of Starsky’s closet, returning to bed holding a small box.

“Forget about waiting another two months. Happy One Year of No Funerals Anniversary, and here’s to many more.” Hutch placed the box on Starsky’s lap. “Sorry. I didn’t get a chance to wrap it.”

With a flood of affection, Starsky eagerly opened the box. Inside was a silver key chain with a rectangular shape hanging from the ring, one side was etched with black and white stripes, and the other side was smooth with writing engraved on it.

“Hey, it looks like our call sign,” Starsky said with a grin.

“Zebra three. Now read the inscription on the back,” Hutch repeated the same instruction, smiling.

Starsky let the keychain hang from one finger as he read.

Wherever you travel, I’ll be at your side.

Starsky swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s beautiful,” Starsky said, leaning in for a kiss. “And so are you. I love it, and I love you.”

Hutch gathered Starsky in his arms. “So, what are we going to do in two months for the anniversary of our first kiss?” he murmured, nuzzling his tongue to Starsky’s ear.

“You mean in three months,” Starsky corrected. “According to my logic.”

“Let’s celebrate both,” Hutch conceded. “How’s that for logic?”

“You won’t get any argument from me.”

Hutch chuckled, his tongue moving away from Starsky’s ear and down his neck. “Let’s start celebrating now. You up for another round?”

Starsky succumbed to the sensation of Hutch’s tongue as it roamed his body in pursuit of its next goal, closing his eyes as he moaned his response with the word that said everything.

“Always.”