Impact

222

Hutch doesn’t allow a youthful tragedy to destroy his ability to become a better cop. But the impact of these events resonates throughout this partnership with Starsky.

---

“Just get outta here, Hutchinson. We don’t need your kind in our house and we want you gone.”

He didn’t know why, but he suddenly thought about that long-ago dismissal while he waited for his interview. It had been done in malice, was meant to destroy him. It didn’t, but it had an impact. He’d lived a guarded life ever since. Quiet and mostly solitary, reading, studying and playing music. He didn’t avoid people, but he didn’t make friends easily. And he trusted very few.

…your kind…

They meant whistle blower, troublemaker….

It was the viciousness behind the accusation that had unconsciously pushed him toward law enforcement, instead of therapy or social work or politics. In his case, it had been the end of a raucous pledge week and the hazing had been brutal, because “we come from money and the standards are higher,” or so they were told, but it was all about entitlement. A few gave up, or were bullied out early in the week. At the end of it, he and the remaining pledges had been given booze and gotten drunk, then split up for final “tests.” He’d ended up in a bedroom with three of the brothers who’d gotten too familiar with their hands—and he said no.

It had doomed him. The thing was, he’d been enjoying it. He was a virgin and curious and didn’t mind the hands on his body—at first. But the hands got rough, demanding, and when he said no, they’d stripped and gang-raped him, the super-rich, entitled, frat house president going first, aroused by his naïveté and good looks. They’d expected his silence, had counted on it, but were stunned when he filed charges. Even more shocking were his wins in court, despite their claims he was drunk at the time and the sex was consensual.

But he came from money, too. His would-be frat brothers found out it wasn’t about the sex at all. Money didn’t entitle anyone to a damn thing, and it was “his kind” who demanded accountability for wrongdoing.

So, he was out for having principles. But he was still curious. And where women were concerned, he was still a virgin. He dated occasionally, but was very careful about physical contact and emotional expression, in no hurry to satisfy any lingering curiosity with either sex.

“Mr. Hutchinson? They’re ready for you now.”

And he was ready for them. Another impact of that dismissal so long ago. He tried to be as prepared as he could be when dealing with people now. This interview was no exception. He was open and honest about his desire to serve and protect. Could control his responses in volatile situations and had documented experience diffusing confrontations. He’d studied criminal law and had the recommendations of his professors. Moreover, he was candid when asked about the events his background check uncovered. His answers were concise, but appropriate and he was accepted into the police academy.

******

He became a cop. To his satisfaction, a good cop. He worked hard at it and eventually earned a promotion to plain-clothes detective. He took it and gave up the uniform—and was partnered with David Starsky.

He remembered Starsky from the academy. Boisterous and flashy, with his leather jacket and bright red Torino, but good-natured and dedicated. They didn’t have much in common but the job.

He extended his hand before their first roll call together. “Do they still call you ‘Starsky,’ or are you ‘Dave’ now?”

“Yeah, it’s still ‘Starsky.’ Only my mom calls me Dave.” Starsky shook his hand and smiled.

“Don’t you have a brother? What does he call you?” He realized it was the wrong thing to ask when Starsky frowned at the mention of his brother.

“He doesn’t call me anything. We don’t talk.” Starsky shrugged and patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get some coffee. It’s ‘Ken,’ right? Or is it ‘Kenny’?” Starsky led him to the coffeemaker, filled a cup and handed it to him before filling one for himself.

“It’s ’Hutch.’ It got shortened when I hit the streets. I got used to it.” He added a sugar to the coffee, noticed Starsky making a mental note of his preference. For some reason, that pleased him.

“Hmmm. Okay, ‘Hutch’ it is. Let’s go sit down. They’re about to start.” Again, Starsky patted his arm, then led the way to the rest of the group assembled in the squad room.

******

It took a while, but they established a solid relationship. Became friends, slowly learned to trust, then confide in one another. One night, over beers, Starsky spoke of his time in the military, the terrors of combat, the unexpected guilt of surviving when buddies didn’t. With apologies he had no such stories to relate, Hutch mentioned his brief marriage and the pain of betrayal he still carried, just to have something to say, but he stopped there, revealing nothing about his rapes or therapy or the ensuing trials and their impact on him. He also limited himself to one beer. Starsky noticed, but when Hutch evaded Starsky’s questions and said his goodbyes, Starsky let him go.

Hutch got used to Starsky’s hands on him. Starsky was a toucher and Hutch learned to accept it. He found it settled him when things got heated and Starsky seemed to know what helped, without getting too familiar.

******

They worked well together, an effective team on and off the streets. They socialized more, doubled-dated now and then, and Hutch worked his way up to an occasional two beers, but was still guarded with what he shared about himself.

Then Jeanie Waldon entered his life. He didn’t love her. Didn’t come close, but she was alone and afraid and had been sexually exploited by her entitled ex-boyfriend. It struck a nerve and Hutch wanted to help. He hid her away and her ex had him beaten and forcibly addicted. Ben Forest crowed over his handiwork, to him, to her. It broke them both.

Hutch was a wreck, unable to function when they took away the drugs. He had a shredded memory of crawling on the floor in agony, hearing laughter as he begged to sell his soul for a fix. He didn’t care about her tears the next time he saw Jeanie. He was high again, rewarded for giving her up and to make him easier to handle when they took him out to kill him. But he broke away and ran—and ended up in Starsky’s arms.

Then the agony was back. It was Starsky’s fault, and Hutch was livid. How dare his partner deny him the high he wanted so badly? He said terrible things, but Starsky stayed with him, pushing him to get clean. Never doubting his partner’s ability to do it, even when Hutch doubted himself.

It took days, and he was weak and exhausted when the craving finally eased. But thanks to Starsky, Hutch had a chance to recover the life he’d worked so hard to build and came so close to losing. He fretted about Jeanie, though, and Starsky saw to it they had their chance at apologies and goodbyes.

It wasn’t easy. Forest taunted them both, urging Jeanie to tell Hutch all about the “fun” they’d had on their recent trip to Vegas, where she’d entertained his friends.

They both shut down, unable to speak, only able to admit they’d never see each other again, when what they really wondered was whether they could forgive themselves for the pain they’d caused the other.

Hutch had Starsky to help him, but Jeanie couldn’t get past what happened. Hutch had warned he’d never look her up, but Starsky did, and he found out she’d suicided. He never told Hutch, and kept a close eye on his partner.

But the ordeal had an impact on them both.

******

They resumed being partners, but Hutch noticed a change: Starsky stopped touching him. With anyone else, it would have been a relief, but this was Starsky and Hutch found he missed it.

They were on their way back to the station and Hutch took a chance. “Did I do something, Starsk?”

“Hmm? What are you talking about?” Starsky shot him a quick glance, but pointedly kept both hands on the wheel.

“You—ah—you don’t….” The Torino pulled into the precinct lot and Hutch stopped talking. “Never mind. We’ll talk later. Wanna get a beer when we’re done here? Maybe order a pizza?”

“Not tonight. I’ve got plans.” He looked up in surprise when Hutch grabbed his wrist. “What are you doing?”

Hutch let go, suddenly feeling dirty for feeling entitled, for touching Starsky without permission. He rubbed his hand against his pants as Starsky got out of the car. After check-in and paperwork, he headed out to talk to Huggy.

******

“Hutch! My man! How ya feeling?” Huggy’s place was already swamped, but Huggy made time for him.

“Need to ask you something, Huggy. Got some place we can talk for a minute?” When Huggy nodded and headed to his office, Hutch braced himself and followed him.

“So how can I help ya?”

“First, I never thanked you for helping me get clean after Forest did his number on me. But I wanted to ask, did I do or say something to upset Starsky? He’s…changed…since we’ve been back on the streets.”

“Changed? How so?” Huggy frowned at him in confusion. “He seems the same to me.”

“My memory of my time upstairs is kinda spotty. I know I was angry with Starsky for not providing the heroin I wanted and I said some ugly things. But something must’ve happened. He’s…careful…around me now. Keeps his hands to himself and watches what he says. Like he doesn’t want any misunderstandings.”

His heart sank when Huggy suddenly closed down. Something did happen….

“You need to talk to your boy, Hutch. I got nuthin’ to say. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m short a bartender till Jessie gets in and we’re busy. Close the door when you leave.” Huggy beat a hasty retreat.

He drove by Starsky’s on his way home, but the lights were off and the Torino was gone. He sighed and went home to think.

******

He asked again the next day and the day after that, but Starsky continued to blow him off. He’d obviously done something, but didn’t know what and Starsky wasn’t saying. Hutch reluctantly accepted the changes and it quickly became work and nothing else. He felt bereft in Starsky’s presence now and resumed a careful, solitary life to avoid further offense.

******

It had been a quiet Saturday. Hutch had done a little cleaning, played a little music and was asleep on the couch when the pounding woke him, as though someone had been knocking for a while and was demanding he answer. He got up and shuffled to the door.

It was Starsky, juggling pizza and two six packs—Coke and beer. “About damn time! I nearly dropped this twice!”

He didn’t move from the doorway. “What are you doing here, Starsk?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing? Are you going to let me in, or are we eating this out here?” Starsky waited impatiently, expecting Hutch to step aside.

Entitled…. He shrugged and let Starsky in.

They shared a quiet dinner. Hutch refused a third slice of pizza, finished his Coke and got up for another. He wasn’t drinking beer these days. “So are you gonna tell me what this is all about? I’ve already apologized for whatever I did. What do you want, Starsk?”

“You really don’t remember, do you?”

Starsky’s pointed scrutiny made him uncomfortable. “No. But whatever I did, I’ll never be able to make it up to you, will I?”

“You tried to give me a blow job in exchange for a fix.”

“I—what!” Starsky wasn’t kidding. It was worse than he thought and his stomach rebelled. He barely made it to the bathroom. It was a while before it settled down and he could force himself to go back and face his partner.

Starsky had cleared away the remnants of dinner and was waiting for him, beer in hand. “You okay? Can I get you a Coke?”

Starsky’s concern embarrassed him. “No. I…no. No thanks.” He sat as far away from Starsky as he could manage in the small room and waited for Starsky to bitch him out.

Starsky just studied him intently. Then— “Talk to me, Hutch. What haven’t you told me all these years? You didn’t just offer sex. You tried to do it, like it was acceptable currency, and I wanna know why.”

Hutch sighed, went to the kitchen and got himself a beer, trying to decide how much to tell Starsky. It only took seconds to realize this man meant more to him than anyone ever had. That he wanted this man to know him. Know everything about him. He opened the beer and went back to his partner. This time, he shared the couch.

“I was at university and it was pledge week. They got us drunk and I wound up in a bedroom with some of the frat brothers. They got overly-familiar. I said no and…” he took a drink before continuing, “…and they held me down and raped me.”

Starsky didn’t seem surprised, nodding as though he knew this already. “What happened afterward?”

“Afterward, I brought charges. It went to trial and they were convicted. They went to prison and I went into therapy.” Hutch looked at his beer, but didn’t drink.

“And…?”

“And…what? You tell me. What do you really want to know?”

“The impact on you. Is that why you’re always so careful about what you do and say?”

“Yeah. People don’t like being told no. And those with money like it even less. They can be brutal when they don’t get what they want. As though money entitles them to special privileges. They tell you what they want and expect you to give it.” He took a swig of the beer he held. “Those without money don’t bother to ask. They just grab.”

“Grab….” Starsky looked at him thoughtfully. “If my touching offended you, why didn’t you say so?”

Hutch abandoned his beer on the coffee table and studied his hands. “It didn’t,” he muttered. “I liked it. It was something I didn’t share with anyone else.” He got up and slowly paced the room. “But I was entitled with you over the drugs and I understand now why I lost the privilege. Thanks for telling me.” He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Don’t worry. I’ll be extra careful from now on.”

Hands touched him from behind and turned him gently. “What are you thinking, Hutch?”

“I’m thinking…” he spoke softly, “…I’m lucky to have a friend willing to forgive the stunt I pulled.” He looked up as a timer turned a lamp on and he gave a faint smile. “You should get going, Starsk. It’s getting late. I’ll see ya on Monday.”

Starsky patted his arm like he did the first time they met as partners. “I should have told you when you asked, Hutch. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, Starsk. We’ll be okay.” As long as I’m extremely careful, he thought to himself. And I will be from now on.

He let Starsky out, locked the door behind him and spent the night staring at the ceiling.

******

They spent much of their time together now, and with Starsky’s tendency to touch him returning, his curiosity was back. What would it be like, he wondered, to be intimate with Starsky? To open up and tell him things he’d never told another living soul. To touch back when Starsky touched him. To actually know Starsky completely, inside and out, and be known in return….

He’d never do it, of course. Never risk what he already had with Starsky. But he thought about it when he was lonely and in need.

******

Time passed.

Working the streets got rougher and took its toll on their bodies. The women came and went, and the fallout from those relationships unexpectedly brought them closer than they’d ever been. When they were hurt or sick, they were there for each other. They didn’t always agree, but even their arguments couldn’t tear them apart.

The day came when the job became too much and Hutch quit. Without a word, Starsky followed him. And when Hutch returned to the force, Starsky came, too, no discussion needed. Where one went, there was the other. Without realizing it, they’d become part of one another.

Then Starsky was gunned down, dying in a hospital operating room. Hutch came running, prepared to follow him, and Starsky waited. But Hutch had business to conclude that impacted them both, and Starsky fought to hold on because Hutch needed him to.

******

At last, it was done. Now Hutch was ready, but suddenly, Starsky wasn’t and Hutch followed his lead. They celebrated at the hospital with Dobey and Huggy, then celebrated some more when Starsky was discharged.

Hutch took him home.

He’d intended to get Starsky settled on the couch, expecting to spend the evening changing channels for him, so Starsky didn’t have to get up, but Starsky insisted on his bed, where he could spread out. Hutch propped him up, using some of the throw pillows from the couch.

“Want something to drink? I know there’s Coke and orange juice. There might be some ginger ale. You’re not allowed alcohol yet.” He wasn’t expecting the silence he got. Starsky had talked non-stop all the way home. “Starsk?”

He turned to find Starsky studying him. “What? What do you need?”

“Lay next to me, Hutch. I wanna talk, maybe ask a favor.”

“Yeah, sure.” He kicked off his shoes and stretched out next to Starsky on the bed. “What do ya wanna talk about?”

Starsky rolled carefully to face him. “Us.” He reached out and touched Hutch’s cheek.

“Us? What about us?” He closed his eyes as Starsky stroked his face.

Starsky spoke shyly, hesitantly. “You once tried to give me a blow job. I turned you down, but I wasn’t outraged and I never forgot. I-I always wondered…” He swallowed and tried again. “…did you ever do it? Give a blow job?”

“No. I never have.” He covered Starsky’s hand with his to still it. “But after you told me I tried, I used to fantasize doing it.” He whispered half to himself, “I fantasized doing a lot of things to you, with you.”

“But no more?”

He opened his eyes to find Starsky watching him apprehensively. “I never stopped. I want you, Starsk. I have for a long time. I just didn’t want to ruin what we had by asking for more.” Hutch turned his face into the hand he held and kissed the palm. “What’s the favor? Do you want me to suck you?”

Starsky nodded faintly, pulled the covers back and freed his cock, stroking himself while Hutch watched. “Do it, Hutch. I’ve waited so long. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

He leaned over and blew gently on the glistening tip of the cock in Starsky’s hand, then opened his mouth. Starsky guided his cock into it and moaned in delight when Hutch started sucking.

It was warm and slightly salty, and Hutch took over holding it, savoring its taste and the way it throbbed against his tongue. He took his time, enjoying the sensations, but Starsky groaned suddenly, grabbed his head and forced his cock down Hutch’s throat.

Hutch choked slightly. Starsky tried to pull back, but Hutch held on and swallowed him deeper. Starsky gasped and poured down Hutch’s throat.

It pleased Hutch that Starsky was slow to recover from the first blow job he’d ever given. He laid his hand on Starsky’s heart to feel its pounding calm and it took time for Starsky to focus on him instead of the ceiling.

“Hutch?”

“I’m here, Starsk. How do ya feel?” It was important to him that Starsky was okay.

“You didn’t come.” Starsky’s hand delicately groped him. “I’d like to suck you, but you’ll have to help me.”

Hutch covered Starsky’s hand with his. “Soon, babe. But you’re not up to it yet.”

“Then do me another favor?” Starsky gently squeezed the cock he held. “Strip and touch yourself for me. Let me watch you make yourself come.”

He was already excited and the idea aroused him even more. Without a word, Hutch got up and removed his clothes, then deliberately stood just out of Starsky’s reach and slowly fondled himself. “Like this?” he whispered, eyes locked on Starsky’s.

“What do you think about when you do it?” Starsky was fascinated.

“I used to think about the women in my life.” Hutch closed his eyes and stroked harder. “Now…now I think about you. How you’d feel moving in my body. Coming for me, in me…” He gasped unexpectedly and spurted in his hands, panting excitedly as his heart raced.

“Ohmygod…you are so damned hot….” Starsky reached out and this time, Hutch let him touch. “As soon as I’m better, we’re going to explore your fantasies. And mine…”

“I’d better go clean up and get outta your way. You need to rest.” Hutch wiped a hand on his bare thigh and carefully picked up his discarded clothes.

“No. Go clean up and come back to bed. Sleep with me tonight. Please?”

Hutch nodded and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower, anxious to get back to his love.

His love…

It was worth all the pain he’d endured in his life, because its impact brought him Starsky.