Love From Both Sides

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After surviving Kira, Gunther’s assassination attempt changes life in a big way for Starsky and Hutch. Each of them has their own feelings about it all.

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Chapter 1: A Violent Storm

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

 

It was a beautiful day in May, white clouds stark against the blue sky. Starsky and Hutch were renewed, refreshed, and secure in their partnership and friendship once again after resolving the trouble with Kira. They had vowed to each other that no conniving woman – and nothing else – would ever come between them in the future.

“Game, set, and match, sucker!” Starsky exclaimed, slapping his paddle into Dobey’s chest after Hutch mishit the final point into the net. The ping pong game he had just won at the station was a much safer and friendlier competition than the one they had just survived over the blond temptress, and by their reactions, neither really cared who was victorious or who had to pay for dinner. They were obviously looking forward to spending time together to reinforce their bond as partners and best friends. As they headed out to the parking garage, all that stood between them and a relaxing dinner were a couple more shifts.

“I’m talkin’ about a broiled lobster, maybe – maybe even a New York steak!” Starsky crowed as he approached the Torino and jangled his keys toward the door lock. At Hutch’s wry look, he added, “What do you look so ill for, after all, it’s not every day you can buy your best friend a meal.” His lopsided grin over the Torino’s roof was the same one that always made Hutch warm inside. This closeness between them had been missing terribly lately. It was so good that they were back to normal….

A sudden scraping noise caught Hutch’s attention. He looked toward the noise to see a black and white screeching out of the parking lot and careening toward them. In an instant he made out the long shape of an automatic weapon poking out of the passenger side window – aimed at them. Starsky was exposed, in front of the Torino, in the direct line of fire.

“Starsky, get down!” screamed Hutch, diving behind the car as bullets rained around them. “Starsky!” He rolled over and up, unholstering his Magnum, firing at the car as it turned and sped away. “Starsky!” Panic in his voice at the lack of response, he raced around the front of the Torino.

The sight that met him was too terrible to be fathomed. Starsky lay unconscious, his dark curly head in the back wheel well of the Torino. Blood flowed from three bullet holes in his torso, and frothed at each labored, shallow, irregular breath.

Officers were running toward them amid general chaos. Someone yelled, “Officer down! Call an ambulance STAT!”

Someone else took Hutch firmly by the arms and backed him away from the awful sight. He watched numbly and in shock as other officers quickly ran to Starsky’s side and tried to staunch the flow of blood while cradling his limp body.

Hutch looked around him to see sirens and flashing lights, and then a meaty hand reached for him, attached to a large arm that wound around his waist. Holding him up.

“Son,” Captain Dobey’s voice penetrated the fog in his brain. “They’re taking him to Memorial. I’ll drive you.”

Hutch allowed Dobey to steer him to the car and take him to Memorial Hospital as if he were in a trance.

The next place he found himself was a bare and antiseptic corridor lit by greenish lights. He sank into a chair next to Dobey and waited for Starsky to come out of surgery and for a report on his condition.

Time passed slowly. After hours that seemed interminable to them, they watched as Starsky was wheeled into the intensive care unit. Hutch turned his chair around, moved it in front of the window to Starsky’s room, and sat as close to the window as he could, staring blankly. Huggy arrived and joined the tense contingent.

Dobey and Huggy stood behind Hutch in painful silence.

“Captain? …” started Huggy.

Dobey interrupted him. “A couple of guys dressed up like officers. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“He’s gonna be ok,” Huggy said softly.

“He’s dying,” Hutch intoned flatly, eyes fixed and glazed.

Huggy winced. “No.”

“He – he’s suffered massive damage – the body can only withstand…” Hutch’s voice trailed off, his pain overtaking his ability to speak.

Huggy stared in the window at Starsky’s still form, refusing to accept Hutch’s dire prediction. “Well, there’s a chance. There’s always a chance.”

“Of course there’s a chance. There’s always a chance,” Dobey said hopefully.

The surgeon finally appeared, looking haggard. “He’s in a coma.”

Hutch didn’t wait for permission or to hear the rest of what the surgeon had to say. He walked past the surgeon toward Starsky’s room.

The surgeon turned his attention to Dobey. “We were able to remove the bullets and make a repair, but he has suffered major damage. He’s lost part of one lung. I must be honest with you, he’s in critical condition. We are not at all sure that he will remain stable.” The surgeon’s face was tired and not hopeful. He felt he must prepare the Captain for the worst, as he expected. “There’s only so much a body can take…”

“Can we see him?” Dobey interrupted.

“That’s his partner who just went past me, right?”
Dobey nodded.

“One visitor at a time right now, and only for a few minutes. He won’t know anyone is there. If he wakes up, it won’t be for a while.”

Dobey looked at the surgeon with pleading eyes. If he wakes up?

Hutch walked woodenly into the sterile room and drew a shuddering breath as his glassy eyes saw his best friend lying pale and motionless. Beeping machines. Tubes carrying artificial sustenance. Mechanical breaths, methodical, harsh, forced. That handsome face, slack….it was beautiful, so beautiful, wasn’t it?……..even with eyelids closed, the luxurious lashes resting on the high cheekbones, hinting at the glorious indigo portals to the soul underneath. Unseeing now, but beautiful, nonetheless. Hutch sat for a long time. Once he reached toward the bed but stopped himself.

Hutch stared mutely at the tubes, wires, and machines. And at Starsky’s face. His precious face.

Hutch began softly speaking from his heart.

“Starsk,” came the measured, earnest words in his silky voice. “Buddy…. we’ve been through so much together. We’re…we’re not done. There are so many more things I want to do with you, I need to tell you.” He reached again toward a limp hand, with evident longing to take it in between his two, to rub and clasp it over and over. “You are the strongest, smartest, funniest, most loyal, caring, beautiful man I know. I owe you my life. I… I… love you.” He looked at the tubes and wires, and again at Starsky’s hands, lying so beseechingly open beside him, then stood and paced toward the window, shaking his head. “Starsk. I don’t know …what to do. I’m not sure I…I can do anything, without you.”

The minutes ticked by as he returned to the chair and sat next to Starsky’s bed.

A nurse appeared. Her face was sympathetic and sad. He was ushered out of Starsky’s room and returned bleakly to the waiting area.

Hours passed as day turned to night. Hutch sat, head in hand, barely acknowledging that Dobey was at his side.
Dobey’s face appeared in his vision. Lined, concerned, in pain.

“Hutch…why don’t you go wash up, get something to eat?”

Robotically, Hutch stood, his long legs wobbling briefly. He found himself in the men’s room looking in the mirror. Not seeing himself, but an empty shell. His reflection was hollow, expressionless. And suddenly a gasp came from the bottom of his toes and tore out of him. He was turning inside out. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Sobs wracked his body and tears streamed from his eyes as he bent over the sink helplessly, clutching his own face, splashing water over it.

Hutch reeled, his eyes fighting to focus as he swayed in front of the mirror. Desperately trying to collect himself, he startled as his peripheral view picked up something strange in the reflection. Was that a leg lying on the floor under the stall?

Somehow, he was able to move, to give chase to the man who had just left the washroom in the stolen doctor’s coat. But he was in no state to win this battle. Sickeningly, he felt himself being bruised and knocked down before the imposter escaped.

 

Starsky’s Side

I never thought Hutch would do anything like that to me. How could he go right over and fuck the woman I had just told him I loved? When I saw him there tucking in his shirt and knew what they had done, I went blind with rage. I hit Hutch before I even knew what I was doing. And he just let me. It didn’t dawn on me at the time that I should have been enraged at Kira too, before she kicked us both out.

After I had time to think about it and talk it through with Hutch, I realized that in the end, he did me a favor by showing me her true colors. And how could I not believe that he had my best interests at heart? He always has and still does. We have loved each other from the beginning and have offered our lives for each other more than once. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.

The upshot of the whole Kira thing was that we realized our friendship was special and deserved for us to make it a priority. It was like a dark cloud had lifted and we felt restored and lucky to have each other. That morning in May there were clouds, but they were fluffy and white. It was gonna be the start of a new chapter. Little did we know what that chapter would be.

I love winning, it’s true. It was an extra boost to my good mood when I won the final ping pong point. I was gloating too much to pay attention to my surroundings like a good cop should. So I didn’t realize anything was wrong until Hutch yelled at me to get down. My first thought was, pull my gun and protect us. Protect Hutch. I could get down after I did that.

The pain of getting blasted with those bullets was excruciating. I heard Hutch screaming my name and I remember praying he was safe and cursing that I wasn’t gonna be able to help him now. Thankfully I lost consciousness almost right away and I truly don’t remember much after that.

 

Hutch’s Side

I’m not exactly sure what was going through my head when I went over to see Kira. I didn’t love her, at least yet, I knew that. But a warning was sounding in my head that she didn’t really love Starsky either. It sounds self-serving, but it’s true. Something just didn’t seem right about the two of them and I didn’t want him to be hurt again. When she came on to me, I knew that he deserved better. But the sex was freely offered, I hadn’t been with anyone for a while, and I had just learned that she was too skanky to have earned Starsky’s love and loyalty, so I took it as payment for what she was doing to us both. Kind of like screwing her in return. Damn, he deserved better from me that night too. And it wasn’t the first time I had done something stupid to hurt him. I was going to tell him that she was not what he thought, but he showed up before I had a chance.

His initial rage was righteous, and I could only apologize and literally beg him to forgive me after he calmed down a few days later. Thank God I was able to make him understand and believe me that I didn’t think she was right for him and was trying to find out for sure. What I should have done as soon as she made it clear she wanted to sleep with me was leave her high and dry and go tell Starsky right away. So it was very satisfying when we finally slung our arms over each other’s shoulders and walked away together, leaving her high and dry at the bar. Good riddance.

Coming that close to fracturing our relationship, we both realized the depth of our friendship and its importance in our lives. We had been drifting apart, burning out on the job, letting it get to us. When we pledged to strengthen our friendship and make it our priority, it rejuvenated both of us. The friendly ping pong competition was a new start. We were looking forward to dinner together to celebrate the survival and revival of Me and Thee.

It always smarts a little bit to lose, especially to Starsky, but he was so happy and the prospect of us spending time together like before loomed big and bright, so I didn’t mind that I was going to be fronting the bill. I was starting to try to put those thoughts on hold and concentrate on the job ahead when I heard the scraping sound and the harsh gunning of the engine, sounds that were out of place in the police garage.

The next moments are a nightmare that plays over and over in my brain. It’s so vivid, much more vivid now than when it was happening. They tell me I was in shock, and I can’t forgive myself yet for not seeing the danger, not protecting Starsky, not helping him when he was down. Starsky needed me, why couldn’t I move, why couldn’t I think? I remember uniforms holding me back, which never stopped me from getting to him before. I’m much stronger than I look. But this time… so much blood, the sound of him trying to breathe through those foaming holes in his chest.

I have no recollection of the time it took for the ambulance to arrive. Dobey put his arm around me. Did I stagger, was I about to fall? I didn’t know. All I could see was that vision of my partner lying in his own blood.

Dobey drove me to the hospital, where we waited mostly in shocked and sorrowful silence. There was nothing else I could do. Please God, help him, don’t let him die. Starsk! Such terror and pain you must have felt. Why didn’t you get down? Don’t leave me…

When the doctor came out of the ICU after his surgery and told us he was in a coma, I didn’t even wait to hear the rest of what he was going to say. I walked right past him in to see Starsky for myself. It was surreal. That couldn’t be my partner lying there, tubes everywhere, machines beeping, pale, unconscious, dying. As I faced losing him, I was overcome with an awakening that I had suppressed without realizing it. This curly-headed man meant so much more to me than I had ever thought, and I had already thought he meant the world to me. A cruel voice inside screamed to me how awful it was that I might never be able to tell him that. And then I felt a powerful need to embrace all that we could be to each other. The agony that had been cruelly wrenching my body and mind fled briefly, suddenly leaving behind nothing but tenderness and love. There was no anger, no fear, no guilt in that one moment. Only the sweet pain of loving so much. I poured out my heart to his unhearing ears. Too late. Too late.

The nurse returned to kick me out, her face so sad. It made me want to weep. Why couldn’t I cry? Why hadn’t I touched him? As soon as I couldn’t be near him, see him, the fear filled my heart again. I pounded the chair in the waiting area in anger and helplessness.

I shouldn’t have worried that I couldn’t cry. Once I was alone in the men’s room, the sobs erupted. It felt truly like my insides were emptying out, leaving only my despairing thoughts and impotent intentions. I didn’t understand what was happening within me. Why didn’t I tell Starsky how much he means to me? Does he know? Do I even know? Please God, let him wake up. I’ll do anything.

I splashed water on my face, desperately trying to get myself together to be there to keep him safe and help him recover. When I reached for the paper towel to dry my face and hands, I saw the reflection in the mirror of a leg lying on the floor of the stall. Even in my misery that registered an alarm. I realized they knew Starsky was still alive, they were still after both of us, there was still something I should do to protect him. I did my best. But I never really had a chance to catch the guy who was probably trying to finish the job. He clocked me and I hit the floor, bruised and momentarily incapacitated. Thankfully security heard the scuffle and was there to intercept him.

I felt sick. Beating heroin, the plague and botulism were all easier than realizing Starsky was going to die, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it, least of all me.

 

Chapter Two: Above the Clouds

While Hutch’s bruise was being tended to, Dobey was hovering, directing the installation of phone lines and a makeshift office in the doctor’s lounge. He was afraid he was about to lose one of his men, a man he loved like a son. He wouldn’t leave the hospital until his prayers were answered or hope was gone. He didn’t want to lose Hutch too, and he knew that whoever was behind the assassination attempt had wanted to kill them both.

Hutch returned and looked at his captain with determination. “Cap’n. I don’t want to sit around here, Cap’n, and wait for them to make another move.”

“Well at this point in time, we don’t have much of a choice,” replied Dobey grimly.

“We do too! We can take the offensive.”

“How, who, where?” Dobey retorted, his voice rising.

“Make a move!”

“We don’t even know who they are!”

Hutch’s face was angry. He was shouting. “Cap’n. We find out!

“How?” Dobey was shouting too.

“We go out looking!”

Dobey looked incredulously at Hutch. “For what? A bullet in the head? It’s not just Starsky they’re after, they want you! Hutch, if you go out there now, it’s gonna be like shooting a duck in a barrel. Now, calm. Be calm. Calm down and wait until I can find you a new partner….” He stopped himself, absorbing the impossibility of what he had just said.

Hutch’s ice blue glare chilled Dobey to the bone.

“I already got a partner. I don’t need another one,” he spat, turning and stalking purposefully toward the elevator.

Dobey sighed and nodded to Huggy. “Don’t be standing there. Get out there with him.”

Huggy followed Hutch into the elevator with Dobey’s car keys. The door closed. The weight of the moment was oppressive and achingly sad.

“Starsky’s gonna die, Hug.” Hutch’s sorrowful monotone reached Huggy’s ears. “’Starsky’s gonna die, and there ain’t nothing anybody can do about it.” A long pause, a deep sigh. “At least from their end there isn’t. I’m still here. I’m still alive. They haven’t got me yet. And until then, there damn well better be something I can do.”

Huggy’s face bore the agony of the impeding loss of their dear friend. No further words could convey the magnitude of the tragedy and what it would mean for them all.

As the elevator door opened, they looked at each other. Huggy dangled car keys in front of Hutch.

“Oh, uh – what’s it look like?” Hutch asked.

“Looks like Dobey’s car. Take it slow, huh?”

They smiled small, hurting smiles at each other as the elevator door slid shut.

Singular in purpose, Hutch strode out of the elevator into the parking garage. Approaching Dobey’s car, he saw an orderly having difficulty loading a patient into a vehicle.

“Hey, excuse me. You’re blocking my car there. Can I give you a hand?” Hutch offered, his good manners asserting themselves automatically.

“Oh, I’d appreciate it,” said the orderly. “You take his legs, I could grab him under the arms.”

“Yeah, sure.”

As the orderly turned the wheelchair around, the patient threw a blanket off his lap, exposing a knife. Hutch reacted instantly, struggling with the “patient” while the “orderly” pulled a gun that went off and killed the patient. The knife slashed Hutch’s arm superficially, drawing blood. But it didn’t prevent Hutch from shoving the “patient” into the “orderly”, pulling his trusty Magnum and aiming it at the remaining imposter, who had obviously been in wait for him and was complicit in the hit attempt.

“Talk to me! Tell me something I don’t know! I WANNA HEAR IT NOW!” Hutch screamed over his cocked Magnum, beside himself.

“It was a paid hit. I don’t know who wanted it done…” the imposter said haltingly.

“Who paid? Gimme a NAME, DAMMIT!” Hutch shouted.

“A girl…”

“What girl?”

“Brown.”

“WHO?”

“Jenny Brown…”

“WHERE?”

“I don’t know.”

Hutch, enraged, pulled the Magnum’s trigger, firing just wide of the imposter and aiming back at him.

“Park Towers.”

Hutch handcuffed the surviving imposter to his car, stalked off in disgust, wrapped a handkerchief around his bleeding arm and called Dobey from the car radio. Dobey’s surprise that Hutch requested a patrol car and an ambulance right there in the hospital parking garage didn’t last long as he heard Hutch’s next request, which came out as more of an order – but the captain let it go, understanding and sharing Hutch’s panicked sense of urgency.

“Brown, Brown. Jenny Brown. I want you to take her name, run it through the computer, I want the results IMMEDIATELY.”

Huggy, who had heard the exchange, motioned for the microphone.

“Hutch, this is Huggy. Did you say Jenny Brown?” Huggy asked.

“Jenny Brown, right, what’s it to ya?” Hutch was still in focused, determined business mode.

Bless Huggy for his friendship and connections. He knew Jenny and verified that she was a successful model living at Park Towers. Hutch wasted no time in driving to Park Towers and pounding open her apartment door, regardless of the late hour. Jenny feigned innocence, but Hutch, undeterred, read her rights, hauled her into the station and booked her as a suspected accomplice to two attempted murders.

Exhaustedly, Hutch ran his unhurt hand through his fair, disheveled hair. Finally, a moment of reprieve, potentially some progress toward the case, and a moment to think of and pray for his friend. As his mind turned to Starsky, he scrambled to the closest phone in the mostly empty station.

“How’s he doing, Cap’n?”

Hutch, panic rising at Dobey’s uncharacteristic silence, nervously bounced a ping pong ball on top of the phone.
The background noise sounded like frantic activity. Alarms going off, people running, carts rolling. Starsky was coding. His heart was failing him.

Quietly, solemnly. “I think you’d better get down here right away, Hutch. Hutch?”

The phone receiver lay off the hook and the ping pong ball bounced forlornly as Hutch raced to his partner. Eclipsing every speed record, running at a breakneck pace, bursting through the hospital doors, colliding with whoever had the bad luck to be in his way in the hospital corridor, blond locks flying, knocking over a supply cart.

At the door to Starsky’s ICU room he stopped dead as the doctor emerged, his stress showing in the sweat on his brow, but his face held a wondering look.

“He’s alive. He’s still not out of it, but I’ll be damned if he isn’t alive.”

There was hope. And that invigorated Hutch.

With the help of the computer, and a new day dawning, he and Huggy visited Jenny Brown’s attorney and made the connection to a more sinister and powerful force than they had ever imagined to be behind the assassination attempt.

 

Starsky’s Side

I can’t remember being taken into surgery or Hutch visiting me right after. Every once in a while I was aware of a muffled and unrecognizable sound. But mostly I was suspended in a deep, dark place where no one and nothing could reach me. It’s hard to explain that place. Pain, darkness, not being able to move, not even trying to move. Not fear exactly, I wasn’t conscious enough to feel fear, but there was a hazy sense of inevitable doom. I wish I could have felt Hutch there, heard his loving voice. But I couldn’t even hear or see the most important person in my life at that point. I was down too deep. Dying.

I’ll tell you what I do remember, though. At one point I was suddenly in a beautiful place. The first thing I became aware of was a bright, warm, welcoming light that started to spread into colors I can’t describe, except they had cloud-like softness and fluffiness and surrounded landscape that was unreal. It was fantastic! I knew somehow that there was a place there for me, I could walk on those clouds free and happy, and inside one of the sparkling buildings that looked like they were made of crystals there was comfort and love, and a home and shelter from pain and fear and helplessness. Where was I? Was I dead?

But suddenly I couldn’t concentrate on the beauty and peace. Something was nagging at me, tugging at my heart and soul. I looked down at my gorgeous, strong, loyal partner and he was blasting through the hospital doors to get to me, his clear blue eyes wild and desperate, his soft golden hair flying. I couldn’t be dead. I couldn’t leave Hutch. Not yet. No matter how glorious and serene that place was, it couldn’t be perfect if he wasn’t there. Ah, Hutch. My beautiful blond Blintz. I love you. I’ve known it for a long time and was too afraid, too in denial to tell you, but I tried to show you. Heaven, or wherever this is, isn’t where I want to be if it’s without you. I’ll go back to the darkness if I have to, to get back to you.

I floated above my body lying on the bed, somehow able to see outside of that room. I saw the medical staff working frantically on me, and Hutch crashing through those doors. I gotta say it was weird watching my body look so still and…well, dead. It wasn’t too scary because it seemed like I really didn’t need that body anymore. But as I was floating, I felt that pull again – his sprit, his love, his strength that he was trying to will into me. And his desperate need for me. My God. Matched by my desperate need for him. Never mind the beautiful lights and clouds – at least until later. I wasn’t gonna go there yet if he couldn’t come too. I willingly slipped back into the darkness inside that broken body as I heard myself calling his name in my mind.

And then there was more hazy darkness, and I floated in and out until the blackness completely overtook me again. But this time, there wasn’t doom. Just blessed unawareness and freedom from pain and all feeling. I don’t remember what happened after that at all, until I started to wake up later.

 

Hutch’s Side

I was mildly comforted to learn that security had detained the man posing as a doctor. That at least was something going right. Slowly, as the medical staff tended to my bruise, I felt resolve coming back. I was still here, and while I could make a difference, I would. Everything else in my life hung in the balance of the outcome of the only two things that mattered. Starsky had to live. And I had to avenge this horrific deed, put away the monster who did it.

They tell me I’m a great cop, and I guess I am. I only know I’m a better cop with my partner beside me. But Starsky’s potential loss drove me powerfully and unceasingly to find the orchestrator of this event. It occurred to me that the reason Starsky didn’t drop was that he was reaching for his Beretta, trying to protect me. Damn, Starsk. I owed him so much. All I cared about was that justice was done and my partner….my heart and soul, I was realizing…. would survive. If he didn’t – I would never work with another partner. Dobey got that message loud and clear.

If Starsky died, oh God…. I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t follow him. And if God would only let him live, I would nurse him back to health and tell him everything in my heart and promise to love and protect him for the rest of my days. What kind of God would take Starsky away before we could have the chance to fully know what we meant to each other? I guess maybe one who knew how stupid I was for waiting so long to tell Starsky he was the one I loved more than anyone. I didn’t know where our relationship was going to go if he survived. I only knew frantic desperation that it deserved to be explored, realized, treasured.

No surprise that an ambush was waiting for me before I could even get to Dobey’s car. The rage and purpose filling me made it easy to defeat the thugs posing as a patient and orderly. And to demand who ordered the hit. To keep the assassination attempts just that – attempts. And to go get Jenny Brown and haul her to the station.

While she was being booked, an awful feeling of dread came over me. I’ve had a sort of telepathy with Starsk for years. And this wasn’t good. I went straight to the phone and called Dobey at the hospital, bouncing the ping pong ball from our joyous game – was that only this morning? How could this day have turned so catastrophic? And my Captain’s uncharacteristic silence, the beat before he choked out in a strangled voice that I needed to get there right away, confirmed my ghastly premonition.

I’ve never been so grateful for a Mars light, and so glad that I wasn’t driving my own heap. I think I broke every speed record on those streets, even in Dobey’s sedate sedan. As I burst through the hospital doors, the panic peaked and overtook my being. Starsky’s presence had left my chest a horrible vacuum somewhere between the squad room and the hospital. But as the doctor came out of the room with wonder on his face, and I grabbed desperately onto the door frame, my partner’s spirit filled my heart with promise and love. And possibilities that remained because he was still alive.

So it was with new hope and even fiercer determination that I was able to piece together, with Huggy’s help, the link between Jenny Brown’s attorney who bailed her out, and his phone calls to a private line at Gunther Industries. A private line belonging to James Gunther. A man only slightly less powerful than Jesus Christ.

 

Chapter Three: Parting Clouds

Hutch sat vigil at Starsky’s bedside, Dobey understanding that he was unwilling to be anywhere else. Dobey himself remained in his makeshift office at the hospital.

Although Starsky had so far cheated death, his coma continued. Armed with the revelation of the identity of the would-be assassin, driven by the need to avenge his partner, and his grim face and bent body showing the strain of powerful emotions as he sat by Starsky’s bedside, Hutch sorted through his options. This time there was no synergy from the back-and-forth in-depth analysis he normally enjoyed with his partner over a beer, chess game, the squad room desk, or in the comfortable and familiar confines of the Torino – so much of what made their partnership so special and the best detective team at Metro.

As the attending nurse monitored vital signs, Hutch reluctantly moved away from Starsky’s bed and toward the window. He stared outside at the May sunshine, blue skies, soft puffy clouds reflecting celestial glory and peace, and normal people going their normal places.

The nurse finished her monitoring and gave Hutch a guarded, small smile before she assumed her watchful position in a chair nearby. Still stable, then. Stable enough that the ventilator had been removed, although it stayed at the bedside in case needed again. But not stable enough that she could leave him. The silent threat loomed. He could go into ventricular fibrillation again, or worse, without warning.

Long moments went by. Hutch was bent in his despair. His shoulders trembled, then shook, and fresh tears came. Covering his face with his powerful hands that now seemed useless except to clasp in prayer, he gave himself over to his grief.

After a time, the worst of the spasms passed. He looked out at the brightness in the window, clouds parting to expose more sky blue that matched the blue of his tortured eyes. Taking a shuddering breath, he fought to compose himself.

Starsky couldn’t help, but Hutch found himself talking out loud to his partner as if he could hear, as if they were working on this case together like every other time, sorting through it, figuring out the best plan. They almost always did just that. Together. But now he would need to do it alone. He tried to collect his thoughts out loud.

“I don’t know what to do, Starsk. I’m pushing the odds and I don’t know what to do. I mean, what if…what if. Oh man, what am I talking about. What am I talking about?”

As he found the courage to turn and look at the beloved man on the bed, he stared as if hallucinating from the stress and pain. What was that…was Starsky trying to open his eyes? A blink? Starsky’s eyes open?

“Starsky?…Starsky!?…”

The dark blue eyes were open. They blinked again.

“You – you’re awake!?”

Hutch stared at Starsky in incredulous wonder. Daring to hope…

A small smile turned up the corners of the beloved mouth.

“He’s…he’s…he’s awake, he’s awake! Uh…uh…Nurse!” Hutch ran excitedly to the nurse sitting at the edge of the room, reading her book. “He’s awake! He’s awake, look! He’s ok!”

Hutch pulled her up from her chair, and hugged her to him in delirious delight, lifting her feet off the ground and spinning her around and around.

As the nurse ran to alert the medical team, Hutch found himself briefly alone with his friend in the room. He moved to the bed, his face reflecting the love and hope that filled his heart. Starsky needed him, his strength, and he had to convey that every way he could – through his voice, face, and touch. He saw recognition in the depths of the indigo eyes. Lovingly, he reached out to stroke Starsky’s cheek.

“I love you,” Hutch breathed into his ear. The smile stayed. The pairs of blue eyes locked.

Overcome with the sudden desire to kiss his partner, Hutch leaned in…

Doctors suddenly appeared in the room, pushing Hutch out of the way. The nurse took him by the arm.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said gently, as Hutch reeled back. “You’re going to have to leave now while the doctors assess your friend.” Smiling, she shared his relief at Starsky’s return to consciousness. “You can call any time and we will let you know when you can visit him again and how he is doing.”

Starsky’s awakening gave Hutch newfound energy. He went back to the station and with the help of Dobey, the other detectives and the computer output, pieced together a plan to bring Gunther down. Wanting to share his excitement with Starsky and see again for himself that his partner was still improving, he brought the printouts to his hospital room and made a useless attempt to describe them to his drugged and sleepy partner until he was chased out by the nurse.

During his short flight to San Francisco that evening, Hutch was pensive as he studied the broken clouds and fog outside the window. But even the fog of the other city by the bay couldn’t cloud the execution and the vindicating purpose of that journey. Tossing the warrant on Gunther’s desk, grabbing the barrel of Gunther’s gun, discharging it harmlessly, cuffing him and informing him of his rights became the most intensely satisfying arrest Hutch had ever made.

 

Starsky’s Side

When I finally came to fuzzy awareness and opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was his beautiful blond head bathed in light from the window. He looked so much like an angel that I wasn’t sure I was still on earth. I couldn’t seem to talk, but the sight of him filled me with so much warmth that I felt myself trying to smile at him. I thought maybe I was imagining it because I wanted to hear it so much, but I could swear he told me he loved me. I tried to show him with my eyes that I loved him too. The look of joy on his face was more than enough to make up for the pain my body was in. I’d suffer a lot more than this just to stay with him. My beautiful, strong, golden, kind-hearted, impossibly good Hutch.

Sometimes he is just so goofy and klutzy. It’s kinda adorable. He brought computer printouts in to show me, stumbling all over them and having trouble holding them and just bubbling over with enthusiasm he couldn’t contain. I wanted to help him but all I could do in my drugged haze was smile and try to focus. I knew he was onto something big, and it had to do with me. I trusted him to do the right thing and prayed he would stay safe. So, it was no surprise later when I found out he had tracked down Gunther and brought him in, singlehandedly. That’s my partner when somebody messes with me.

 

Hutch’s Side

What can I say about some of the worst moments in my entire life? Sitting by Starsky’s side praying, hoping, not knowing what to do. I was filled with dread, anger, desperation, guilt, and love. Such a fierce love that it nearly consumed me as I sat impotently weighing the options. How I missed weighing them with him!

What kind of cruel world was this? When a good, kind, smart, giving man could be riddled with bullets within seconds by such evil, lying comatose, so perilously hanging between this world and the next? How could the day outside be so beautiful and normal, with people going about their lives as if nothing had happened? Why didn’t they stop when Starsky’s heart stopped, cry, beat their breasts and decry the injustice of it all? Why didn’t dark clouds descend and rain and hail on everything?
And why, why hadn’t I told, shown Starsky everything I needed to?

The worst of it was I knew I should touch him. I longed to, and hated the distance my shock, fear and his fragility kept between us. I might never be able to touch his body again. He was lying there dying because his partner, the big blond Blintz of Me and Thee, couldn’t protect him, and he had been exposing himself to try to protect me. Such guilt. And I needed to tell him, somehow, what I was too dense to let him know before now. Hell, too dense to even let myself really feel before now. Too afraid of losing our jobs, our backup, our families if they freaked out. And honestly, mostly – too chicken to risk losing what I did have of Starsky if he was the one that freaked out. I knew I loved Starsky. What I was realizing now was that I was in love with him. I had ignored those feelings because of my fear. What a coward I had been! I wasn’t worthy to touch him. I didn’t deserve his love.

I felt miserable. The words despair and turmoil don’t even come close. The powerful emotions warred within me and erupted in a torrent. I thought I couldn’t possibly have any more tears to cry, but they kept coming. It didn’t matter to me that the nurse was in the room and saw me melt down. I was helplessly overcome and completely lost it. If Starsky died, I would leave this unfair world too.

When I was spent, I knew I still had a duty to do. For him. As I struggled to compose myself and come up with a plan, I found myself talking out loud to him as if he could hear me. I needed him, his mind, his presence, his friendship, his detective’s wisdom. But I was on my own this time.

I still wanted to touch him. So much. But I couldn’t, just then. Instead, I did find the courage to turn away from the window and look at him while I was thinking out loud, talking to him, wishing he could hear me. What I was praying silently was Starsk, please stay with me…. Dear God, let me do this for him…. And my prayers were answered when I saw those beautiful deep blue eyes looking at me over a tiny smile.

The poor nurse probably got vertigo when I spun her around and around in my joy.

I didn’t think Starsky was totally with it. But the smile told me he knew I was there. He deserved all I could give him, and he needed me in every way I could be present for him. In those few quiet moments before the doctors swarmed in the room, I was able to go to his bedside and look into those cobalt eyes, see some recognition in them, hold the look between us and touch his face. I smiled back at him and whispered in his ear that I loved him. He couldn’t speak but I prayed he could hear me. I was overcome with the feeling that I just had to kiss him. Without even thinking, I bent over his sweet face, but that’s when the doctors all barged in and shoved me out of the way. It took me a few minutes standing there to soak in what was happening to me, what I hoped was going to happen between us, and then they kicked me out.

I went a little bit nuts with joy and energy after Starsky woke up. He wasn’t in any state to comprehend what I was up to or help me, but he watched in what I decided was amusement as I brought my computer printouts to him and planned Gunther’s demise. Just having him there breathing and giving me that dopey little smile was all I needed for fuel, even though I hadn’t eaten or slept for hours.

Under normal circumstances, I would have been taken aback at the prospect of bringing down James Gunther. But you see, with my partner lying near death because of that bastard, nothing else was important anymore. Fear, rest, food, sleep, anything else in my life didn’t matter. I often wonder how much more effective I could be as a cop if I always had that relentlessness. Except I couldn’t sustain it, I’d go crazy from the intensity. But that night I was fueled by pure adrenaline, righteous purpose, and new hope. I didn’t give a second thought to jumping on a plane, walking into that piece of garbage’s office, disarming him, and making him assume the position to be taken in. It simply was a mission that had to be accomplished. By Me. For Thee.

 

Chapter Four: Clouded Emotions

 

But now it’s just another show
You leave ‘em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away

 

The first few days were touch and go for Starsky. Although he had emerged from his coma, he was still in critical condition and remained in the intensive care unit. He was in and out of consciousness and developed a post-surgical infection that made him feverish and required treatment with intravenous antibiotics. His internal organs had not yet recovered from the trauma, and his kidneys had to be supplemented with dialysis. There was also damage to his gastrointestinal system, necessitating intravenous feeding. His medical team kept him mostly sedated to anesthetize him from the pain and shock of his injuries so that his body could focus on healing.

Dobey maintained his makeshift office in the doctor’s lounge at the hospital and fielded multiple media requests for interviews regarding Gunther’s case. Gunther’s corrupt empire had been widespread and sophisticated, and his takedown by a Bay City detective was a major accomplishment that drew accolades from the public and law enforcement far and wide. Hutch was instantly a celebrity. His blond, athletic good looks made him even more irresistible to the press. Glamorous photos of him taken at the courthouse or when receiving previous awards, tall and lean in his vested suit and looking like a fashion model, were everywhere. In many of the photos, Starsky was by his side, dark and handsome. The striking good looks of the pair and the heart-tugging story of their partnership and Starsky’s near death fed the media hysteria.

Hutch showed no interest in the media attention and did his interview duties with terse answers, deferring the press to his captain or the department’s public affairs liaison whenever he could. He had only one focus now. After he brought Gunther in, Dobey put him on administrative leave, knowing that while Starsky was still critical, there would be no other place Hutch could be but by his partner’s side. And that is where Hutch sat, hour by hour, with only brief trips to the men’s room, to try to force himself to take some nourishment, or to field a reporter’s questions.

The hospital staff had given up trying to get him to go to the waiting room or home to rest. Seeing Starsky’s response to Hutch in his brief lucid moments, the light in the dark blue eyes, the reaching for Hutch’s hand, the staff realized that having Hutch there would only help Starsky’s recovery. After watching Hutch try to arrange his long body on the plastic chair and drowse restlessly for the third night in a row and noting the dark circles under the worried pale blue eyes, the sympathetic night nurse finally rolled in a cot for him. That made it easier for him to stretch out, but he still slept only sporadically and fitfully, awake and alert at every soft rustle from his partner, the beeping of machines, and the sounds of the doctors and nurses as they made their endless rounds. He begged them for information on Starsky’s progress and prognosis and listened carefully to their hushed conversations. Starsky’s condition was still critical. His infection had not cleared up and his kidneys and his digestive tract had not started working on their own.

Hutch prayed incessantly to a God he hoped was listening for the infection and organs to heal, and for the heart in the ravaged chest to keep pumping. The beeping of the cardiac monitor became music to him. If the alarm went off because a cable became loose or disconnected, it sent him into a sweating panic until the nurse he summoned assured him that all was stable. He stood for many minutes watching the rise and fall of the beloved chest, counting the breaths, in and out, in and out. Keep breathing, Starsk, he murmured aloud. Keep beating, heart. My heart of hearts.

One morning weeks later, Huggy brought his breakfast as usual.

“Mornin’, my blond brother,” Huggy greeted him. “I bring sustenance, made special for you.” He placed a box from which wafted the enticing odors of bacon and eggs on a nearby tray. “And some clean clothes. How is our Curly doin’ today?”

Hutch ran his hands through his tousled hair and wiped the sleep off his haggard face. “Thanks, Hug. He’s been in and out. I think he knows I’m here. He looks at me and I can see it in his eyes. Still in some pain, I think…he’s been restless when it’s time for his meds.” He pulled his pocket watch out and consulted it. “They’re due pretty soon.”

Huggy approached the bed, assessing the equipment and monitors. “Hey, less stuff! He must be getting better.”

Nodding, Hutch opened the box of food lovingly prepared for him. “Yeah, they said he might be able to start talking when he’s aware. He’s moaned a few times.” He took a bite of the eggs, felt suddenly hungry, grateful for Huggy’s presence and gift of the tasty food, daring to be hopeful. “They haven’t been as worried. They’re still telling me he isn’t… off the critical list, but his chances are improving.”

As if on cue, a weak moan came from the bed. Hutch and Huggy instantly moved to Starsky’s side.

“Starsk,” Hutch said softly. “It’s us, buddy. Hutch and Hug. We’re here.”

The blue eyes opened in the wan face. “Hu…” A wince of pain. “Hurts…”

Hutch looked at Huggy. “Would you mind going to get the nurse? I think you know where the station is. He needs something for the pain.”

Starsky reached out with his hand, groping for Hutch. Hutch hesitated for only a moment and then did the only thing he could do. He took Starsky’s hand between both of his large ones, covering it with warmth and strength.

“I’m here, Starsk. I’ll always be here.” He raised the hand to his face, kissing it gently. “You scared the crap out of us, partner. But you’re gonna be just fine.”

The nurse returned with Huggy. “Detective Starsky, so good to see you awake!” She started recording his vital signs. “I have some pain medication for you. But first, would you like to try to talk? After I give this to you, you may feel groggy again.”

Starsky’s eyes met Hutch’s, looked at Huggy, the nurse, then slowly around the room. And came back to rest on Hutch.

“’M here,” he croaked. A trembling smile started to turn up the corners of the dry lips. Dark lashes dipped, fluttered, opened again with effort. “Hu…Hu…Hutch.” He squeezed Hutch’s hands weakly. Hutch bent his head closer to hear the words Starsky was working so hard to say. They came out in a hoarse whisper, more mouthed than said.

“F…for y…you…”

Another soft moan. Hutch’s eyes and Starsky’s held in a poignant stare.

Hutch’s breath quickened. “Nurse, I think he needs that medicine. Maybe he can talk later? We know he can.”

A nod from the bed, where the eyes fluttered closed again.

“All right, Detective Starsky. Your vitals are more stable today, and your fever is lower.” She injected the pain medication into the intravenous line. “I’ll let the doctors know that you are awake and able to speak. That is just wonderful.” To Hutch and Huggy aside, she said quietly, “This is really good news. But please don’t tire him out. He needs to rest to heal. His condition is still quite serious.”

Hutch nodded. “I’m not going anywhere. But I promise to let him rest.”

Huggy smiled at Hutch and the nurse. “I’m glad I was here when he spoke. That’s terrific. I think he’s going back to sleep.” To Hutch he said, “Eat up dude, don’t waste my fine concoction. I’ll be back later with some dinner.”

“Thanks,” Hutch said softly, pulling Huggy into an embrace and hiding his wet eyes on top of Huggy’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you were here to see him talk. He’s gonna make it, Hug. He has to.”

Huggy patted Hutch’s back. “Damn right he is, Blondie. And we’re gonna help all we can.” He moved to the door, giving Hutch a knowing look. “He understands what this means to both of you. And make no mistake, so do I, and lots of other folks who – who see what’s been goin’ on between you two for years.” He winked and gave a parting salute. “Take good care of Curly. See you tonight.”

Hutch started to smile and return the salute but froze at this disclosure from their friend. Huggy was out the door before he could make a reply.

Shaking his head, he took up vigilance in the uncomfortable plastic chair by the bed. Soon several doctors came in and checked dressings, reflexes, examined Starsky. Hutch frowned questioningly at how Starsky was supposed to rest with all that going on, and winced whenever movements caused his partner to gasp, moan or startle in the bed. He tried to stay out of the way, but when the doctors stepped apart for a moment, he saw a familiar flailing hand and instinctively stood and moved toward the bed, reached out and squeezed it. Starsky’s contented sigh and the instant relaxation of his body back into the bed sent knowing glances between the doctors.

“I can see the effect you have on Detective Starsky, Detective Hutchinson,” said the cardiothoracic surgeon. “Most remarkable. Normally we wouldn’t allow this extended visitation. But we are familiar with your partnership, previous injuries at Memorial, and the Gunther arrest, and I can tell that you are doing only good by being here for your partner. I hope it isn’t too hard for you. Please let us know what we can do to make it easier.”

“Call me Hutch, please,” smiled Hutch, still holding Starsky’s hand. “The nurse already brought me a cot, and our friend who owns a restaurant brings me food and clean clothes. I guess the only thing I really need is the use of a shower.”

“Of course. You can use the one in the locker room. Here is the code.” The surgeon wrote the number down on the back of a card and gave it to Hutch.

The nephrologist looked up at Hutch. “Detective Starsky is doing better. I think you know that when he first arrived, his chances of survival were very slim. But his kidney values are improving. If this continues, we may be able to discontinue dialysis before he leaves the hospital.” He thumbed through the chart in his hands. “And the postoperative infection is responding to the antibiotics. The pulmonologist has recorded that his lungs are clearer, and his lung function is improving to the point where we were able to take him off the ventilator. His fitness before the event has probably helped him in his recovery. He has a long stay ahead of him, but I would say at this point his chances of surviving this ordeal have increased to near 50 percent.” A smile Hutch’s way. “As long as he has you here to count on.”

Hutch’s face and posture showed the relief that was flooding him. His legs suddenly seemed inadequate to support him, and he leaned against Starsky’s bed. “I’ll be here, Doctor.”

The surgeon moved the plastic chair behind Hutch and pointed to it. “There, Hutch, please sit. As his medical team, and with you in charge of his power of attorney and medical directive, we still feel that we must caution you. He has a long way to go and there are any number of potentially life-threatening complications that could still develop. I know this is difficult.”

Hutch sank gratefully into the chair and studied the beloved face on the pillow.

“Not difficult at all,” he said softly. “He’s going to make it.”

Truer words were never spoken. As the days went by, it would have been difficult for Hutch to be anywhere else. When Hutch’s administrative leave ended, he took an unpaid leave of absence to remain by his partner’s side. Hutch was there for every feverish moan, every nightmare. The doctors came and went, meeting quietly in hallways and reporting Starsky’s progress to Hutch. Although it seemed agonizingly slow, and there were setbacks, there was overall progress. Starsky had trouble speaking at first from the damage the intubation tube had made, but as this healed, he was able to communicate. His pain was controlled with less powerful analgesics, and although the stubborn infection was not yet completely cleared, his condition was no longer critical.

The physical and mental strain accumulated in Hutch. Between the constant comings and goings of the medical staff, and Starsky’s nightmares and moaning, Hutch ate little and slept less. The stress of Starsky’s perilous condition, Hutch’s guilt, and the longing that he couldn’t yet bring himself to express formed a formidable combination for him to contend with.

The only respite he gave himself, when Huggy or Dobey could sit with Starsky, was the occasional hot shower in the doctor’s lounge. There, for a brief time, he could let down his guard, give himself a moment of comfort under the warm spray, and try to refresh his depleted reserves.

A series of difficult days and nights when Starsky’s fever had again risen and refused to break incited concerned activity from the nurses and delirious moaning from the bed. Hutch was terrified that his partner’s condition was deteriorating and couldn’t bring himself to leave the room except for the shortest of trips to the men’s room. The morning that Starsky’s fever finally broke and his white count was down, the doctor stopped at Hutch’s side before leaving the room.

“Hutch,” he said kindly, taking in the pale, haggard face, the obvious weight loss. “This has been a tough stretch. You look about all in. He’s turning the corner; the infection is finally under control. Please take some time for yourself. You won’t be any good to him if you get sick.”

“Thanks doctor,” Hutch replied, relief showing on his tired face. “I’ll get a shower as soon as Hug gets here.”

The doctor squeezed the thin arm. “And eat the food he brings, please. You should really go home for a while and rest. We are taking good care of him, you know. We can call you if …we need to.”

Huggy arrived shortly thereafter. The food he brought, however, was left on the tray as Hutch yearned for the cleansing and calm of the shower. He stood, catching himself as a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Hey Hutch, you ok?” Huggy asked. “Why don’t you have a bite first?”

Hutch braced against the wall. “I just stood up too fast. I’m fine.” He gave Huggy a weary smile. “Thanks for the food. I can eat it when Starsk is awake. I’ll just go grab a shower now, while he’s sleeping.”

Hutch made his way down the hall to the locker room. He unlocked his locker and sat down on the bench as another bout of dizziness hit him. Shaking his head, he sat for a moment until it passed. When he was undressed, he put his clothes in the locker, locked it, wrapped a towel around himself and walked slowly to the shower.

Turning on the spray, he sighed deeply and adjusted the temperature. He stood under the water, closed his eyes, and felt its cleansing warmth. Opening his eyes, he reached for the soap and suddenly his vision narrowed into a tunnel of grey spots.

Leaning against the shower wall, he gasped as he slowly slid down to the tile floor and lost his battle to stay conscious.

The next thing he knew, a doctor was wrapping a towel around him, and he was lifted onto a gurney. Huggy’s worried face appeared.

“Blondie! You with us, man?”

Hutch groaned softly.

The doctor shook his head. “He’s been burning the candle at both ends. We’ll check him out, but I think he just needs rest and food.”

“Don’t tell Starsk,” whispered Hutch to Huggy as he was pushed into an exam room.

The doctors found nothing seriously wrong with Hutch, but diagnosed him with exhaustion, dehydration, and inadequate nutrition. They gave him intravenous fluids, watched him eat a meal and ordered him to go home for at least 24 hours and rest. Huggy, Dobey and Edith stayed with Starsky, who was in and out of awareness. After that, Hutch was kicked out of Starsky’s room at least every few nights to go home and sleep, which he hated but knew he needed to do.

Two months into his hospital stay, Starsky’s condition was upgraded so that he was moved out of the ICU to a regular hospital floor. His kidneys were functioning well enough that dialysis was discontinued. His infection had cleared, and his feverish nights diminished. Still troubling him were reduced lung function and muscle atrophy, but these would still require months of therapy.

As his condition improved, Starsky became lucid, bored with his hospital stay, and frustrated with what he regarded as his slow progress. He and Hutch both got more sleep and their appetites improved. Snippets of the old Starsky began to appear.

Such as one day when the dietician came with his menu choices and lunch tray. She was a pretty brunette who obviously found Starsky attractive and had fun flirting with him. She did her best to encourage him to eat her healthy selections, but Starsky’s dietary desires were not even close to what she could offer him.

“I thought you said I could start to eat food,” Starsky complained. “This ain’t food. This looks more like the stuff they stick in boxes for packing material.” He poked listlessly at the food on his tray.

Hutch chuckled. “Starsk, it’s not like you’ve never seen sprouts before. You’re lucky this hospital is serving you fresh healthy food.”

Starsky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I seen ‘em. I seen ‘em makin’ their way into the garbage can when you ain’t lookin’.”

The dietician shook her head but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I can’t stay right now, but Hutch, will you protect the trash can and make sure my carefully designed meal finds its way into Detective Starsky’s stomach, which sorely needs all the healing help it can get?” Clicking her tongue at Starsky, she wagged a finger at him as she was leaving his room. “Now how can we ever trust you to eat right after you leave here? I may have to do some follow-up visits.”

Watching her leave, Hutch raised his eyebrows at his friend. “Looks to me like someone has a crush on you, Gordo. And she’s cute, too.”

Starsky put down his fork and sighed. “I know. But somehow…that doesn’t seem to be my priority…anymore.”

There was an awkward silence. Hutch suddenly found his feet interesting. Starsky looked down at his tray.

“Well then.” Hutch cleared his throat. “Can you do a little more damage to that salad? At least eat some more of the vegetables and chicken breast. And you need the carbs in in the bread. Put a little more flesh on that skinny body.”

“Yes, officer.” Starsky picked up his fork and did as he was told.

After another month in the hospital, Starsky’s doctors decided that he could go home and receive therapy and treatment on an outpatient basis. Hutch was overjoyed and made big plans for his last night in the hospital.

There were too many obstacles for them to sneak in the gourmet meal during regular visiting hours, so Hutch, Dobey and Huggy planned the party for after midnight. Hutch arrived first, bringing the veal he had stuffed himself. He had obviously begun imbibing earlier in the evening because he was giggling the moment he came in the room and didn’t hesitate to hop right into bed next to Starsky. Dobey brought antipasto and Huggy contributed his finest wine for the occasion and a lantern to set the mood.

Starsky lifted his wine glass. “Gentlemen, I’m gonna propose a toast. My toast. To four very, very heavy dudes. God bless us all. I’m gonna remember this night for a long time to come,” Starsky smiled warmly. The glasses clinked just before the fire sprinkler that Huggy had hung the lantern on erupted, spraying the entire room with cold water and setting off the fire alarm. But the hospital staff was so happy for Starsky that they couldn’t get too mad at any of them. They were going to miss him but rejoiced in his recovery against the odds.

 

Starsky’s Side

There were times when I doubted my decision to come back. There was so much pain, and the medicine didn’t always control it. I couldn’t figure out who was in the room with me and wished they’d stop moaning and yelling, until one day I realized I was the one hollerin’ up a storm.

The one thing that made it worth it was Hutch. I knew he was there. Just like always, his presence filled me with hope and comfort. And now, something else was added to the mix. Longing. I was still too hurt and struggling to be longing for him like a lover, even though that thought had crossed my mind – to be immediately stuffed back in there – even before the hit. But the first thing I reached for when I woke up, or was in pain, was him. I needed his touch, his inner and outer beauty, his steady calm. When he covered my hand between his big palms and squeezed it with his warm, strong fingers, all was right with the world.

The first time I was able to talk, a while after they removed the ventilator, my voice didn’t seem to want to work. All I could think of to say besides it hurt was that I was here, and here for him. I tried my best to say it, and I wasn’t sure I had gotten the words out right, but it didn’t really matter what I said because we both said it all, said everything, just with a look between us and the touch of our hands. Just like the times when we thought that we might never see each other again, only something else deeper than before was there too; I felt it, even though I wasn’t sure yet what it meant. Who woulda thought that so much could be said without any words?

The next month was so hard. The days I had dialysis, I had no energy at all – what little I had to begin with seemed to get sucked right out of me with my blood and not come back. Most nights I couldn’t sleep very long without having terrible nightmares about the shooting. The bullets usually hit Hutch instead of me and I woke up screaming his name. Sometimes I dreamed that we had both been hit but that he was dead, and I wasn’t. And I always woke up crying and wanting to die too then, which was tough because I couldn’t breathe very well yet and it hurt to sob. But Hutch was there every time, whispering to me that it was just a dream, holding me, wiping my tears. Solid, strong, sensitive, loyal Hutch. And tired Hutch. I knew it was taking a toll on him too. He looked so haggard, so thin. I know even though he had a cot there, it was so loud and I woke up so many times that he didn’t get much sleep. And I never noticed him eating much.

He seemed to be on autopilot, zombielike. When he touched me or held me, I sensed a hesitance that made me sad. I wondered if he was too grossed out by my damaged body. I hadn’t really seen the scars yet, but I knew they had to be bad. That made my heart ache, that Hutch was holding back somehow. Would things never be the same between us? Would he be so disgusted by me now that any hope of what I was starting to long for was gone?

The doctor finally made him go home to sleep every few days, and I missed him, but I knew he needed to. And he always sent Dobey or Huggy or Edith to be with me, although it wasn’t the same.

The day I got moved into a regular room was kinda like a milestone. Not needing intensive care anymore was a big deal. I figured Hutch would have to go back to work, go home, have a life. But he was almost always there. Through all the physical therapy, respiratory therapy, early morning doctor visits, dressing changes, bedpans, vomit, all of it. It had to be ugly. I was groggy from the pain meds through the first part of it, but it had to be hard on him to see it all every day and night. I think it was worse for Hutch to see me go through everything than it was for me. Especially the shooting and right after. There were times when I thanked heaven above that I was the one in the hospital bed instead of him.

The dietician was a cute brunette who liked to flirt with me. I’ve always been a big flirt myself and started to feel well enough to banter back. But somehow it felt hollow, unimportant. Especially when I saw the look on Hutch’s face when she did it, the way he looked so uncomfortable. By then, the only one I wanted to flirt with was a six-foot-one gorgeous blond. And I had started to hope that he was feeling the same way about a five-foot-eleven curly-haired invalid. I could still hear him telling me he loved me when I was first waking up from the coma and hoped it hadn’t been a dream.

When he washed me, turned me, held me, I felt stirrings that I hadn’t felt for a long time. And never for a man. Hell, just looking at him sent my heart and groin tingling. I knew he was handsome, but I hadn’t truly realized before that he was really, really gorgeous. Those sky-blue eyes, perfect face and lips, strong, muscular – shit, strong, muscular everything. So long and hard and athletic. The golden hair, the golden aura just all over him. My heart sang, but my groin wasn’t up for it yet…. good thing or he would have noticed. But would he want me this broken, scarred? And what if he didn’t want me the way I wanted him? I couldn’t risk losing him. I needed him so much.

When they told me I could go home, I was both excited and scared. Although Ma was gonna come for a while, I knew most of the burden would fall on Hutch. I wanted to tell him to take a break for his own sanity. But I knew if the tables were turned, I would be there for him every day too.

The last night in the hospital was a crazy celebration. I finally got the dinner I had won months before. Hutch outdid himself with stuffed veal, Dobey and Huggy brought the antipasto and some awesome expensive wine. It tasted terrific, even if the dietician would have had kittens knowing what they were feeding me. The nurses were too distracted by the sprinkler goin’ off after Huggy hung the lantern on it to worry about what we were eating. But I think that meal and party did more for me that a ton of medicine and disgusting “approved” menu items. My partner, captain, friend, and I were celebrating that we were gonna be able to live our lives again. There was a long road ahead still, but Gunther didn’t win, didn’t take that from us. Revenge is so very sweet.

 

Hutch’s Side

That first week after Starsky woke up was full of both hope and fear. He was still so critically injured. My focus was intent on just being by his side, but the press hounded Dobey and me for interviews with the cop that had taken down the infamous James Gunther. Dobey was still working out of the hospital and took most of the questions for me, but it was my duty to provide some interviews. I got pretty sick of them bringing pictures of us and wanting me to sign them. Like I was some kind of celebrity, I couldn’t figure it. All I did was my job. After a while the reporters realized I wasn’t going to say much, so they went to Dobey anyway.

It was both torture and balm for my soul to be with Starsky. When he moaned in pain it tore me apart inside. When his monitors got disconnected, the alarms sent me running in terror to find the nearest nurse or doctor to make sure he was ok. He had terrible nightmares and woke up screaming; many times, I thought he was yelling my name. But worst of all was when he groped for me with his trembling hand, a kind of desperate reach for me to assuage his anguish. When he reached out for me like that, I felt the awful guilt of my inability to protect him and heal his pain and be everything I wanted to be to him.

How could I be uncomfortable touching my best friend, when it had been so normal for us for so long? Why was I hesitating? Most of me was desperate to lay my head down on the pillow next to the brunet curls, stroke the ashen face, wrap my arms around the broken body. But fear, longing, and guilt wrestled inside me. This is real. He’s really fighting for his life. I didn’t stop it from happening, but he tried to. And I can’t stop the way I feel either, that’s real too, how much I love and want him. What would that do to him? Does he already know, is he too out of it to even care right now? Or does he want it too? Will he be able to tell from my touch? Will it hurt him now, to find out? Worse, will it hurt him to know I should have told him long ago? Round and round in my head the tormenting thoughts tumbled.

But I still ached to touch him, and was so full of love and gratitude that he was still here. So every time he reached for me in his pain and stupor, I overcame my misgivings and took his hand between mine because he needed me, and it seemed to calm and help him to feel my touch. I was afraid he could tell I was tentative because I had never hesitated before to touch him with affection. But truth be told, even in my quandary, holding his hand felt like the only anchor I still had to keep me sane.

At times like that, when he relaxed and closed his eyes, I would be afraid that he was so silent and motionless. So I counted his breaths. In and out. Too shallow, sometimes uneven, and that scared me too. When the doctors came, I begged them to tell me everything. Still touch and go, they said. But so far, so good. Shouldn’t medicine be more scientific than that? But I was afraid to ask that too. Because he really should have stayed dead, except for the miracle that answered our prayers.

Huggy came every day to bring me food and clothes. Such a good, loyal friend. This was hard for him, too. I really tried to eat what he brought, but a lot of times I just couldn’t choke it down, delicious as I’m sure it was. I couldn’t even give it to Dobey because he wouldn’t eat it either. He must’ve lost twenty pounds. I wanted to remember to tell Starsk that he went to some pretty extreme lengths to get our Captain to lose some weight.

After the ventilator was out, Starsky started moaning. One morning when Huggy was there, Starsky was more lucid than usual. He opened his eyes and looked at me and tried to tell me he was hurting. And his hand reached for me. I took it between mine, relishing its warmth and pulse.

I sent Huggy in search of the nurse to bring his pain medication, leaving me alone with Starsky. I moved closer to the bed. His eyes were open this time, with an urgency I hadn’t seen in them since the shooting. I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it. I wanted him to know how much I cared, to help him be strong, but I wasn’t sure he could hear me.

When the nurse came back with his medication, she asked him if he wanted to talk before she gave it to him, before he got sleepy again. And I will never forget what he said. As soft and ragged as it was, it was my reason for staying alive, my reason for living. He told me he was here, he came back, for me. And the look that passed between us at that moment was full of what we meant to each other but couldn’t put into words. It was so much like the looks we shared when Bellamy had poisoned him and when I was dying of the plague, and we thought we were saying goodbye. But with a new intensity, filled with a new purpose that was both frightening and exhilarating. When the doctors came in and told me they thought he had reached the point where he might survive, I nearly collapsed with relief.

I stayed with him nearly every moment. I couldn’t stand to be away from him. I was terrified that something bad would happen when I wasn’t there, and I knew he needed me. I guess I didn’t realize how little food, drink and sleep I was getting. All I could think about was being there for him. But I did give myself a break to take a nice shower every couple days, when someone else was there to stay with him.

He had a few really rough nights before the fever from his infection broke. All I could do was hover, do my best to comfort him while the fever raged and he moaned and muttered incomprehensible words in his pain and delirium. It was so hard to see him like that! When the fever finally broke, I was limp and dizzy with relief and allowed myself a brief shower while Huggy held down the fort. But the last things I remember after stepping into the shower were seeing spots and a desperate feeling of losing control.

Exhaustion, dehydration, lack of nutrition was what the doctors said. None of them anywhere near as bad as what Starsk was going through. But I knew I had to stay strong for him, so the new rules were that I had to go home and sleep every few nights and force myself to eat and drink.

He improved gradually after that. And started talking more and showing more signs of the old Starsky. He complained about the food – of course. But atypical for Starsky, when the pretty dietician flirted with him, he didn’t flirt back. That moment was awkward for both of us, for what I thought were different reasons – me, because I was trying to hide my feelings for him still, in case that emotional revelation would set him back in his recovery; and him, because he wasn’t ready to wine and dine a pretty woman yet. Little did I know at that point that he was feeling like he wanted to wine and dine me.

My heart was so full of love and longing for him. I had to be careful. When I touched him to turn him in bed, or help him with his exercises, or wash his body or his hair, I had to make sure I had a pillow in front of my fly because there were plenty of times he would have seen my need for him. He was thin and pale, but still so handsome and desirable in my eyes. When I shaved his face, I desperately wanted to caress it, take it between my hands and look into his beautiful eyes, kiss his forehead, cheeks, eyelids, and lips. I massaged his scalp through his extravagant curls and yearned to press his precious head to my chest, hold him close, murmur words of love and desire in his ear. But I had to hold back. I wanted him to feel the love, but not the lust, not yet. It was a tough balancing act. There were moments when he seemed give me a slightly confused look. I would just smile and will that love from my eyes to his.

We were so happy when the doctors decided he could be discharged to continue his recovery at home. We had what was supposed to be a secret party for him the last night in the hospital and brought him the dinner I owed him. I spent hours stuffing veal and trying to get it just right. I was afraid that my love and joy would be too obvious to Huggy and Dobey, especially after what Huggy had said in the hospital. But I also was so giddy from the drinking I did to celebrate that I had no inhibitions about jumping right into that tiny bed next to him. It felt so wonderful, so right, our thighs warm against each other, our shoulders touching. Until the sprinkler drenched us.

 

Chapter Five: Illusions of Love

I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know love at all

 

Hutch parked his battered Galaxie 500 in the patient loading zone at the hospital entrance and gave it a last once-over. He had actually washed it and cleaned out the inside. That was the last thing he had done before leaving for the hospital. Going up to Starsky’s room in the elevator, he wobbled and smiled from a combination of exhaustion and elation. He had spent most of the last few early morning hours while Starsky slept preparing the beach house he had rented for the two of them to live in during Starsky’s recovery, making sure he was back in the darkened hospital room before dawn when Starsky’s pain medication would be wearing off. This morning he had gone back to the beach house to make sure everything was perfect for the homecoming, and to bring clothes for Starsky to wear home.

When he got back to Starsky’s room, the day nurse was there to go over his discharge instructions.

“Hey, Gordo!” he said happily. “It’s a big day.”

“It certainly is! We are all so glad for you, Dave.” The nurse put some equipment in the bag she was filling for him. “Now remember to use this spirometer every day just like the instructions say right here and record the numbers. It’s very important that you keep doing that to increase your lung function.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Starsky said obediently, but he was fidgeting. It was clear that he was ready to be done and leave.

Hutch paid attention as the nurse went over the long discharge instructions. When she finally finished, she stood up and smiled at them both.

“We all wish you the very best,” she said. “We’ve grown very fond of you. Fond of you both. I’ll just go get a wheelchair, and a cart for all your things, while you’re getting dressed.”

She left the room. They stared at each other.

“Here, buddy. Let me help you with your clothes.” Hutch broke the awkward silence. He pulled Starsky’s second favorite shirt and his favorite jeans out of the bag he had brought with him.

“Uhhh, Hutch. Underwear?”

“Oh. Yeah. I bought you some real underwear. Not one of those teeny weenie slings.” Out of the bag came some new boxers and socks.

Starsky surveyed the briefs. “Thanks, Blintz. But you’re crampin’ my style. And whaddya mean, teeny?”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “The sling, not the weenie. I guess…” He blushed.

“My next to favorite shirt! I guess I can wear my favorite one when I get home….”

Hutch froze.

Starsky looked down at the shirt he was holding as realization came over him. His favorite shirt was probably a bloody mess.

“I’ll get you another one,” Hutch said softly.

Getting Starsky dressed was a slow process. Hutch let Starsky do as much as he could by himself, and helped when Starsky struggled to push the second arm into his shirt sleeve and pull up his jeans. By the time he was ready, the nurse had arrived with the wheelchair. Hutch helped her move Starsky into the chair. As she pushed him into the hall past the nurses’ station, the men were surprised to see the nurses lined up along the hall. Music started playing. And they sang to Starsky as he passed them.

“Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It’s all right
Little darling
It’s been a long, cold lonely winter
Little darling
It feels like years since it’s been here

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It’s all right

Little darling
The smiles returning to the faces
Little darling
It seems like years since it’s been here.”

There were tears from the nurses and hugs and thanks all around.

When the nurse pushed Starsky out the front doors of the hospital, the sun shone brightly on the three people. Starsky blinked and looked at the clear sky.

“Can we stop, please?” he asked. “Just for a minute?”

She stopped the wheelchair. Starsky raised his curly head, stretched his arms out, and felt the rays warming his pale skin. His face shone in the sunlight with happiness Hutch had not seen for months.

“Aw, Starsk,” Hutch whispered to himself, the pain and sweetness of the moment battling in his chest.

Getting Starsky in the car took some maneuvering by both Hutch and the nurse. He had to lean on Hutch, and it was still painful for him to bend into the passenger seat. But once there, he was ready with a grin when Hutch took his place in the driver’s seat. As they drove, he was so absorbed in looking out the window that he didn’t notice that they were going in a direction away from either of their apartments.

Hutch stopped the car in front of a small house right on the beach.

“Where are we, Blintz?” Starsky asked. “I been so busy just lookin’ out the window I wasn’t payin’ attention to where we were goin’.” He looked at the little house. “Whose house is this?”

Hutch just grinned. He got out of the car, went around, opened Starsky’s door, helped him out, and started walking with him to up the driveway. When they got to the front door, he took out a key, opened it, and helped Starsky inside.

The room they entered was bright. It had full-length windows that looked out at the waves sparkling and crashing on the sand.

“Beautiful!” Starsky sighed. “You can even hear the sound of the ocean from inside.” He admired the view for a few minutes, then turned toward the kitchen.

“Blondie. That looks just like your furniture. And…your kitchen stuff. And…plants.” Confused, he turned in the other direction and looked in the first bedroom, seeing Hutch’s things, then turned to look in the second.

“That’s my….my…”

He looked at Hutch, wonderingly.

“Did you…is this…?”

Hutch nodded, still grinning. “And there is something else I want you to see.”

He helped Starsky through the well-stocked kitchen into the garage. Turning on the light, he stood under it, his blond hair glistening. But for once, his golden crown wasn’t the brightest thing in the room.

The Torino, lovingly repaired and restored to prime condition by Merle, shone under the light. Her paint gleamed, the stark white stripe bright against the candy-apple red. No bullet holes, bad memories erased, she stood in reminiscence of only the good times. Clean, beautiful, sleek – a work of art.

“My car!” gasped Starsky.

Stunned, he ran his hand lovingly over the shiny fender. He looked in the clear window, then back at Hutch. And slumped against Hutch, his face working.

“Don’t you like it?” Hutch asked, concerned, bringing his face close to Starsky’s twisted one and supporting his leaning partner.

Starsky’s arms went around Hutch, and he held the big body tight as he shook and cried. “Thank you,” he choked. “Hutch…this means so much. Thank you, buddy….”

Hutch’s body stiffened. He patted Starsky on the back until his friend seemed to get control of himself.

“She’s ready to roll again, Starsk,” said Hutch. “And you will be too, soon.”

Starsky looked at Hutch, confused at his seeming awkwardness.

“I hope so,” he said softly. “Hutch…this is just all so great…I can’t believe you did all this. What about Venice Place? My place?”

“Well, we couldn’t afford to keep them all, Gordo. I wasn’t sure if you would want to go back to yours, so I sublet it month to month. But I let Venice Place go. I wanted us to have a safe place for you to heal…with no stairs to worry about. A sanctuary…someplace you would love and would be good for your healing and your soul. You love the beach, and so do I.”

“Are you gonna stay here…with me?”

“Absolutely. That’s what partners do, partner. Me and Thee.”

Starsky’s serene face showed his contentment with this arrangement and his gratitude for Hutch’s presence.

They settled into the beach house. Hutch slept in his own bedroom, but it was close enough and he was a light enough sleeper to go to Starsky when he woke from lingering pain or from a nightmare. He gave comfort but stopped short of the affectionate touches that had come so naturally to them before.

Toward the end of the first week, Rachel Starsky came again to see her son. She had come the first time when Dobey had called her from the hospital, but Starsky had not been aware, and Hutch had been tracking down Gunther, so this would be the first time they had seen her since before the shooting. Hutch picked her up at the airport and brought her home. She exclaimed over the beach house, and when she walked in, her first sight of Starsky brought tears to both of their eyes.

“Boychik,” she crooned, wrapping him in her arms. Silently, they held each other and rocked gently.

“Ma.” Starsky held her shoulders, looking lovingly at her. “I am so glad you are here.”

“How could I not be here for my Davy? I could have lost you…” She wiped her eyes. “Look at you, my sweet boy. I can see you need some of my cooking to put some meat on those bones.”

Hutch cleared his throat, breaking the tension of the emotional reunion. “I think you will find everything you need in the kitchen, especially the ingredients for a Paul Muni special.” He took her luggage and put it in his room. “Here is your room. If you need anything, please let me know.”

Rachel shook her head. “No, I don’t want to put you out. I can sleep on the couch. I’ll fit better there anyway.”

Hutch smiled. “I’m afraid no guest is allowed to sleep on the couch. Sorry.”

Rachel wasted no time preparing fine meals for them and making sure the house was clean and stocked. She entertained Starsky with tales of the family back in Brooklyn, played cards with him, sat with him on the beach, and made him laugh. Hutch was grateful for her help. They took turns attending to Starsky at night.

The evening before she was going to go back to New York, when Starsky had fallen asleep for the night, the two of them were alone in the kitchen. Rachel brought steaming cups of tea for them and sat across from Hutch. She laid her hand on his arm.

“You look so thin, Kenny. How are you doing – really?”

Hutch looked at her honestly. “The truth? It’s been really hard, Rachel. We came…so close to losing him.” He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “I don’t know what I would have done…if…”

Rachel squeezed his arm. “I know.” Looking up at him with her blue eyes – Starsky’s eyes – her face turned serious. “What I don’t know is…. why you are sleeping on the couch.”

Hutch patted her hand that was still squeezing his arm. “I told you…honored guests do not sleep there.”

She looked at him coquettishly. “I don’t want to sleep there. I just think you should be sleeping with my Davy.”

Something in Hutch’s shocked expression made her laugh softly, as not to wake her boy.

“Do you think I am blind?” she asked unflinchingly. “I am old, but not blind, deaf or dull. I see what is happening, has happened between you. He loves you. It’s obvious in the way he looks at you, dreams about you, talks to you. He calls your name in his sleep. I’ve wondered before, but now it’s as clear as those ice blue eyes of yours.” She reached out and touched Hutch’s cheek. “And, Kenny, it’s just as clear to me that you love him too. Don’t be afraid of it.” Her eyes searched his, intensely. “Tell him, before it’s too late. It almost was.”

“But…he is so weak and n…needs to heal,” Hutch stuttered. He stood up and took a deep breath. She knew! “I can’t…can’t deny, Rachel…that I love him. God help me, I do. But…what would it do to him…to tell him that now, of all times?”

Rachel gave him a meaningful look. “Give him all the love and hope he needs to recover fully?”

As Hutch stood, shaken, she smiled at him, picked up her cup and put it in the sink. “Please, don’t waste any more time. A mother knows. You two are meant for each other. And I love you, too, like a son. You are so good for my boy.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Goodnight, Kenny.”

“I love you too, Mom,” Hutch murmured into her hug. “Your Davy sure got lucky when God handed out mothers.”

Hutch watched Rachel leave the kitchen and then slumped into his chair. He grasped the teacup between both of his hands and closed his eyes, praying for the courage to divulge his secret and the news to be welcomed.

With Rachel gone home, all the care duties fell back to Hutch. Soon the day-to-day demands took over his routine and Starsky’s progress and healing reasserted themselves over what Hutch considered his selfish need to confess his love to Starsky. At least until Starsky was strong enough to handle it, one way or the other. He desperately hoped that Rachel’s words were true. And prayed for the right time to come.

 

Starsky’s Side

Hutch brought me home from the hospital in his beater. He even cleaned it out for the occasion. I didn’t ask about the Torino; I was kinda afraid to know what damage it had taken. But whatever that damage was, it was a sacrifice I was glad to make because it had saved my partner’s life.

The nurses all singing to me as I was wheeled down the hallway was really touching. They took such good care of me. But it was good, so good! to be leaving that hospital. The sensation of the sun on my skin was something I hadn’t realized how much I had missed until the warmth hit me. Such a fantastic feeling! The rays felt terrific on my face and arms. Like I was really alive. No clouds in the sky. And the slight breeze tickled me in a way I had forgotten but always loved. It made my heart so glad, I asked the nurse to stop rolling my wheelchair for a minute so I could soak it in.

I looked up at Hutch. He was smiling, but that little dent was showing in his forehead and the corners of his lips trembled just a bit. The breeze blew his fine hair around his face. He always was jealous of how my thick curls stayed in place while his baby fine hair went every which way at the slightest puff of air. But with the sun shining on that golden head, and the joy on his face, he was a picture. He looked like he was about to cry from happiness. And I swallowed a big old lump in my own throat.

I thought he was gonna take me to my apartment. But he drove past both our places before I realized it. And what a surprise when we got there! He stopped in front of a little house right on the beach, opened the car door for me, helped me out, and stood there just grinning. I asked him whose house it was, but he just kept smiling and walked me up to the front door. Whoever’s house it was had given him the key, and he let us right in.

It was amazing. Small but so full of light. The back windows were huge, and the beach was right there; you could hear the waves breaking from the living room. I enjoyed the view for a few minutes, and then turned toward the kitchen. And there were Hutch’s kitchen table and chairs. And the blender for his glop on the counter. And Violet, and Fern, and all his other plants everywhere.

I gave him a funny look and started slowly toward the bedrooms. The first one had all of Hutch’s stuff in it. But in the second one, there was….my bed. And my dresser.

The big dope had moved to this place on the beach! And moved all my stuff here. And more than my stuff. There was a set of weights, a bench, other physical therapy equipment, devices in the bathroom to help me get in and out of the shower and on and off the toilet. There was a medicine cabinet stocked with supplies and a kitchen full of food. Never mind that most of it was his healthy crap. There were goodies I liked too. Even cookies and candy bars. The other bedroom had his stuff in it. There was even a little one-car garage.

And when he opened the garage door, there was my bright and shiny striped tomato. Looking like nothing had ever happened.

The expression on my face must have worried him because he came right over to me and bent down to look at me with concern. I thought he was gonna hug me, and I really wanted him to. But he didn’t. He just held me up like he thought I might fall over and asked me if I liked it. Hell yeah, I liked it. The tears in my eyes were proof of that. But how did he afford it? And what had he done with our places?

Turned out he had let his place go and sublet mine. I knew he loved Venice Place and that must have really hurt him. But he was thinking, like always, about me and not himself. I threw my arms around him, and he shrugged and went all shy on me. At the time I thought it was a little strange that he was so reserved about it, but then the whole situation was difficult. I sure wasn’t reserved. I held him tight and cried and thanked him. Over and over. And he held me up, kinda stiff like, and patted my back. What the hell. What I really wanted was for him to hold me, hug me back – and for us to find each other’s lips in a slow and perfect kiss. But of course, that wasn’t happening.

Toward the end of the first week, Ma came. I hadn’t even known when she was there the first time, so I wanted to go with Hutch to pick her up at the airport, but he was firm that it would be too much for me. I gave in because I realized it would be too much for him to take care of me and get through the airport with Ma and her luggage. So, I stayed home with Hug while he went to get her.

When she walked in the door, I thought I was ready. I hadn’t seen her for a long time, although we had talked most every Friday before the hit and had had some conversations from the hospital. But the look on her face and the tears in her eyes as she hugged me tight made tears come to my own eyes. I hadn’t cried much since it happened, except for when I had those nightmares that Hutch was dead, and when he showed me the tomato all fixed up. But I seemed to be turning into a real softie.

Ma stayed for a couple weeks, and she was a big help, cooking and cleaning and just being with me so Hutch could get a break. But she was too little to help me move and exercise. Hutch was there for all of that. I loved leaning on him, feeling his strength. He was so beautiful and strong and gentle and kind. Just looking at him took my breath away. It stirred those feelings in me, loving him in a way I wasn’t sure I should. If – when, I prayed – we took it to a physical level, I had no doubt it would be mind-blowing. That fed my fantasies now that I could be in the shower for a while by myself. Hutch with his long, tanned, lean, muscular body was always the star of those events. The only times I could get a hard-on were dreaming about what his would look like when he was all hot and ready for me.

I didn’t spend too much time analyzing why all of a sudden, he was more attractive to me than any woman had ever been. It didn’t matter. He was all I needed and wanted, and I knew it.

And Ma knew it too! One afternoon when Hutch was out shopping, she told me it was a waste for Hutch to be on the couch while she was taking up his bed, and why wasn’t he sleeping with me. She said the love between us was completely obvious. I was shocked at the time, but my Ma is pretty progressive and a very wise woman. When she hugged me as she left, she winked at me. I knew that meant, time for you to tell him. But I still couldn’t. Things were so right with us living together, I couldn’t risk ruining it. I hoped that we would figure it out somehow and waited for the courage to come to me.

And as the days went on, Hutch did everything for me. Fed me the right food, supervised my physical therapy and exercises, massaged my aching muscles, took me to appointments, and came to me in the night when I woke up panicking in the middle of a nightmare. I longed for him to get in bed with me then, hold me until I could fall back asleep. And I longed for much more than that. I had seen his body many times, but now the sight of his lean, muscled limbs and chest made me weak with want. For some reason he was careful these days not to be completely naked in front of me. And there was a distance that had never been there before. Even his massages felt mechanical. It hurt me, but I was afraid to talk about it. I needed to get strong and healthy again and I needed him by my side. So, the days passed, and I got slowly better physically, while I ached to have my dream come true.

 

Hutch’s Side

The day I took Starsky home was full of hope and promise. Had we known how difficult the recovery was still going to be, we might have been more subdued. But that day we were so happy to be out of the sterile confines of the hospital after so long. And it was a celebration, with the nurses lining the hallway and singing “Here Comes the Sun” to him. It was so appropriate, too. When he finally got outside and the sunshine hit him, he looked like a child seeing his first rainbow. It sent daggers through my heart.

I had prepared for this day, looked forward to it, dreamed about it. His mom couldn’t afford to keep his place while he was in the hospital so long, and I couldn’t afford to pay the rent on both his and my place. I didn’t know if he would be mad if I let his go. But both our places had stairs and that wasn’t going to work for him right now. So, I sublet his month to month, gave up Venice Place, and looked for something we could live in together. I knew he would need continued care and I wanted to be the one to take care of him.

Starsky had always loved the beach. We used to run there, play football there, drink there, goof around. And have some serious talks there. When I saw the little house on the beach, I knew it would be perfect. Healing for his soul as well as his body. And mine too. Yeah, it was expensive, but I tapped a little of my trust fund money for the deposit. And to rent the equipment I knew he would need that the insurance wouldn’t pay for. Between Starsky’s disability pay and leave balance, and what we had both saved, I figured we could swing the rent until at least I could go back to work. But not on the street without him. And realistically, I knew that meant probably never on the street again.

I was nervous enough about the Hutchinson family reaction to what I hoped would develop with Starsky that I had requested as much of that trust fund as I could justify. My father was already tight-fisted with it because I hadn’t followed in his footsteps to become a high-powered lawyer and take over his practice. But when I told him that what had happened was making me rethink my career choice, that, and my latest close call with death, were enough to loosen the purse strings.

I couldn’t stand the thought of Starsky seeing the Torino ravaged by the same bullets that had ravaged his body. He loved that car, and it meant so much to him, we had so many memories in it. So, some of my trust fund money went to Merle to fix it up real nice. And he did a fabulous job! It looked better than it had that morning before it was peppered with automatic rifle fire. I drove it into the garage to be there for him. It held hope that Zebra 3 could ride again.

Starsky didn’t seem to notice when I drove in a different direction past his or my place. He was so happy to be in the car, looking out at the scenery going by – his face was a joy to see, and I had to concentrate on driving instead of watching his pleasure at such a normal part of life that he had missed.

When I parked in front of the beach house, he was intrigued and asked me whose house it was. I just smiled at him and helped him out of the car and up the driveway. He looked confused when he recognized my furniture and my plants. When he saw his own bed and dresser in one of the bedrooms, he knew. The wonder on his face shone straight into my heart. My face was starting to hurt from all the grinning I was doing. I could hardly wait to show him the tomato, the piece de resistance. And that did it. The tears in his eyes swam like a beautiful blue ocean, and he held me and cried. I wanted so much to hold him, kiss him, cry with him. But I stiffened my body because I knew if I didn’t, an eager part of me would stiffen to the point that he would notice. So I self-consciously patted his back to comfort him, keeping air between us.

I was still conflicted inside. My love for him grew every day. Watching him be so vulnerable yet so strong, so frustrated yet so determined. Still so full of life. So Starsky. But still fragile, underneath the veneer. We had been working so hard on repairing the physical damage, we hadn’t talked much about the psychological damage he had suffered. But I knew it had to be significant, because I wasn’t even the one shot, and I was suffering mightily. I was still afraid to reveal my true feelings to him when he wasn’t healthy yet, either physically or mentally. I had to be careful not to let it show, because as he was getting stronger, and I had to touch him to nurse him, I had physical reactions to his beautiful body. He turned me on many times a day.

How I longed to tell him how much I loved him, wanted him! There were so many times I stopped myself from a caring touch, holding him the way I wanted to, kissing every part of him. But instead, I put all my love for him into the effort of making that place his sanctuary. Our sanctuary. There would be love, and care, and light, and the ocean’s ceaseless, calming peace and beauty until I could find the courage and he could find the strength and healing to deal with this life-changing secret. Because I knew once it was out, things would change forever, one way or the other.

His mother, Rachel, came for a couple weeks right after we moved in. She was a great help. I was able to take some breaks and get better sleep since we traded off nights listening for Starsk.

With some time to think, and the ocean’s continuous, soothing sound to sit and think by, I tried to analyze what I was feeling, and why. I had always loved women. They still were beautiful and sexy to me. But I started to wonder why none of them, as gorgeous and sweet as some of them had been, had moved me the way Starsk did. Like I couldn’t get enough, like I needed him, really needed his presence, his touch, his life, his love, every day. And why his body was suddenly so irresistible to me. Van was beautiful, but a terrible mistake of my youth; I had thought I loved her, but she turned out to be an evil, shallow person. Gillian had come closest, but even she had lied to me by omission and wasn’t what I thought she was.

Starsky was reality, truth, and genuine love – we had been so intimate without even realizing it. He would never lie to me. He would give his life for me, and me for him. As I thought back, I realized that I had always been attracted to him as more than a friend. As well as the loving friendship, I’m sure he inspired sexual desire in me, but given the societal tabus, I channeled it to the next girl of the month, or stewardess that dropped by, and pushed it aside because it wasn’t something I was supposed to feel for him. Now I could confess to myself that he was gorgeous, muscled, dark, with those striking deep blue eyes and curly hair in all the right places – as I was constantly reminded by my fluttering heart and the uncomfortable tightness in my groin. I came to the conclusion that he was the other half of my soul, and it was about time I admitted it. It really didn’t matter that he just happened to have a Y chromosome.

One night, after he had fallen asleep, Rachel and I were at the kitchen table. She had fixed some hot tea and offered me a cup. And she flat out told me that she wondered why I was sleeping on the couch instead of with her boychik. I looked at her in alarm, but she just smiled and said that a mother knows when her son is in love, and she saw it in my eyes too. I prayed she was right. And it made me feel so good to know that she would accept it, and me, should my dream become reality. I wished the rest of society, and our employer, would do the same.

It was a lot harder than I thought it would be taking care of him 24-7. Not for lack of will or desire. But I was so focused that I hadn’t realized the demands. There were appointments, physical therapy, exercises, weights, medications, food, bills, and the realities of life to take care of. And always, the fear lurking that my deep and potentially unrequited romantic love for him would ruin everything. So, I kept my distance and bided our time as best I could while still giving him all the care he needed. And he was healing, though I think he knew something was off between us. My Starsk, the detective.

 

Chapter Six: Clouds Lifting

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way

 

“Nine. Ten……. eleven. Come on Starsk, almost there…. you got this!”

The dark curly waves held droplets of sweat that streaked down Starsky’s face. As he struggled to lift the bar holding weight that would have been easy for him only months before, Hutch stood spotting him. And a good thing, too, because the twelfth lift brought a grimace of pain and more trembling to the straining arms. Before the bar could fall onto Starsky’s chest, Hutch reached out with both hands and caught it, slipping it into the rack above the bench Starsky lay on.

“Shit!” exploded Starsky, fighting to catch his breath and letting his arms fall to his sides in defeat. “Shit, shit, shit! I’m such a fuckin’ weakling!”

Exasperated, Starsky lay panting on the bench. His blue eyes were filled with anger and despair. He still could not seem to make his body work the way it used to before the shooting. The frustration of days in a row of workouts that hadn’t gone the way he wanted them to erupted, and he grabbed the towel off his waist and flung it against the wall.

“I’ll never be able to pass the board!” he shouted. “You shoulda just let it fall on me and get this over with!”

Hutch slowly picked up the towel and put it on Starsky’s chest, placing his hand above it in a gesture meant to convey encouragement and send his strength to his best friend’s body. Bending over Starsky’s face, he locked eyes with him as cool blue met stormy blue.

“You knew it wouldn’t be easy,” he said softly. “But you are alive. You are doing it. And I will stay with you every step of the way.” He patted his friend’s chest under the towel. “You can do this, Starsk.”

Starsky had seen Hutch dispel many a tense situation with that strong tenderness and normally found it irresistible. But today, he was disconsolate at what he perceived as his lack of progress toward becoming reinstated. He pushed Hutch’s hand away, slid down the bench and sat up, holding his head in his hands, and looking down at the floor.

“Sometimes I wonder, Hutch. So much pain and struggle. And for what?” Those long-lashed eyes looked up, haunted, and then looked away, not revealing the depth of his despondency even to his best friend. “So I won’t feel like Gunther won? I’ll get shot again on the street? Or worse, watch something like this happen…” his voice cracked as his composure wavered, “…happen to you?”

Hutch started to put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder but hesitated. Steadily, he said, “Not for that. For your life, for your health.” He sat down on the bench next to Starsky and turned to the sweaty face to lock eyes again. “For your future, whatever you decide that is.”

Starsky laughed cynically. “Yeah, that’s the big unknown, isn’t it? What good is a weakling cop put back together like Humpty Dumpty?” He shook his head, threw his hands in the air in a gesture of helplessness. “Not even all the king’s horses and men could fix him. How can I ever do what I used to do? How can I watch your back, protect you or anyone else? I can’t.” He stood up and walked to the nearby table, placing his hands on the edge, and leaning over it with his back to Hutch. The shaking was still affecting his arms and had spread to his shoulders.

Hutch didn’t follow him, allowing him time to recover his dignity. Finally, he said, “You can if you want to. And if I want you to.”

Starsky turned to face Hutch.

“Why would you want to risk your life with me out there?” With a self-contemptuous smirk, he turned away again, the trembling shoulders still noticeable.

Long moments passed. This was the first time in his recovery that Starsky had been this defeated, this despondent.

Hutch stood, unwanted tears springing to his eyes, and came up behind his friend. His long, strong arms encircled Starsky’s waist, and he hugged the slumping body to him, willing his power and feeling into the shuddering back.

“Starsk, it doesn’t matter to me if we ever see the street again. We can do something else,” he said passionately, feeling the warmth and closeness of this man he would die for, would have followed in death. “All that matters to me – “Hutch’s throat caught on the lump forming there – “is that you are with me, wherever we are…. whatever we end up doing.”

Another first: Hutch alluding to the fact that their partnership on the street might be over. And the first time in months he had shown his affection with close physical touch other than that necessary for nursing duties.

Starsky whirled to look at Hutch, their faces only inches apart.

“But all I know how to be is a cop!” he cried.

They stood, head-to-head, the two sky blue eyes filled with tears and the two cobalt eyes losing the battle to contain theirs. Starsky couldn’t find the words to say, was afraid to say them even if could find them. All he could manage was to reach for his partner and say the name that was the reason for his clawing back to life and the core of his existence.

“Hutch…. Hutch…”

A whimper, then a sob, choked their way out of Starsky’s throat. Hutch gathered his friend tight in his arms and held him, rocking him gently.

“It’s ok. It’s gonna be all right. I’ve got you,” Hutch whispered, holding up Starsky’s slender frame as it sagged against him. “Let it go, babe. I’m here. I’ll always be here…”

At long last, the floodgates opened. Starsky erupted with sobs that racked him powerfully, finally purging the cruel months of pain, struggle, desperation, and longing from his tired body. As his weeping built in intensity, wails of despair escaped him and he clutched Hutch with a strength that defied his weakened condition. Hutch’s face distorted as Starsky’s grief and his own overwhelmed him, and his body trembled as he cried shamelessly over the bent, shaking man in his arms.

As they wept together, Hutch stroked Starsky’s hair, his neck, his back, channeling his strength and caring and aching yearning through his touch. Between his ragged gasps, he didn’t even realize he was voicing his thoughts out loud.

“Starsk,” he cried softly and brokenly into the ear beneath the soft, unruly curls. “I love you. So much.” He caressed the chocolate waves as he pressed the precious head to his chest. “You have no idea how much.”

Starsky’s crying continued. The only sign that he had heard Hutch was a pitiful whimper as he tightened his arms even more around the tall lanky body.

Hutch fought for control over his voice, desperately trying to impart all his comfort and love to this man he adored. “I love you, partner… I love your name.” His halting, impassioned words grew stronger in Starsky’s despairing ear. “David Michael Starsky. I love your strength, your caring, your loyalty…” a pause for a deep, shuddering sigh. “I love your intelligence, your grace, your heart, your body, your smile.” Hutch’s own shaky smile shone through his tears as he took Starsky’s face between his two big hands. “That amazing smile.” His voice became clear and steady. “My God, Starsk. There is nothing for it, no reason to hide it anymore… I am hopelessly in love with you.”

The words settled on the entwined pair like a mist permeating a barren void. Hutch lowered his head to Starsky’s, pressed his golden wet cheek into Starsky’s dark stubbled one, and they swayed together, lost in emotion.

Starsky’s sobs finally slowed, and his shuddering lessened. He clung desperately to the muscular, lean frame.

“Hutch….” Starsky quavered. “Oh, babe…….”

He turned his face to Hutch’s, foreheads touching as they had in another memorable time so long ago, in a dingy office in an Italian restaurant by the docks, as midnight approached, and urgent but unspoken love and care flowed between them. This time, it all needed to be said.

“I love you, Hutch,” he whispered. “My beautiful Hutch. I need you, I want you. I need to be with you…. please, don’t ever leave me.”

Hutch’s face glowed, his throat working as joy bubbled up inside him. Starsky’s crooked smile and tear-filled indigo eyes shone back at him.

“I will never leave you,” Hutch said softly. “Never.”

Starsky closed his eyes as they slowly leaned closer, his trembling mouth brushing against Hutch’s palm. Hutch tilted Starsky’s chin up. And pressed his perfect lips into Starsky’s eager ones.

Time seemed to stop to acknowledge the earth-shattering, life-changing meaning of that first tender kiss. Tentative, seeking, wondering, then so full of sweet discovery. Building in intensity. Cataclysmic.

Overwhelmed and overloaded, Starsky’s body again started its shaking. Through his amazed and joyous fog, Hutch responded with the loving care he knew was needed.

“Here, buddy,” Hutch whispered, keeping his hold around the quaking body as he guided them to his bedroom, the closest. “I think you need to lie down.”

Gently, Hutch sat his partner down at the side edge of the bed, turned and positioned him on the bed, and still holding him, lay down beside him, facing him.

Starsky’s breaths came in gulps, his long, dark lashes still wet. Taking Starsky’s face in his hands, Hutch gently wiped the tears from the swollen cheeks with his thumbs.

“My Starsk,” he murmured worshipfully. He gently kissed each cheek, the forehead under the curls, the eyelids closed in rapture.

Starsky wrapped his arms around Hutch. Hutch’s long fingers reached around to bury themselves in the thick curls and pull Starsky’s head closer, resuming and deepening the kiss. As Hutch’s lips opened, Starsky’s tongue, warm and inquisitive, found entrance and hungrily explored the willing mouth.

More minutes passed with only the sweet sounds of wet, passionate kisses, moans and gasps of pleasure, and hands caressing firm muscles. So different than a woman’s small softness, the feeling of strength and power being returned in their embrace was intoxicating.

They clutched each other, not wanting to let go of this newfound delight. Starsky’s hands pulled the shirt up from Hutch’s trim waist and lingeringly explored the taut muscles of his back, then slipped down inside Hutch’s sweatpants to cup and squeeze the firm ass. Hutch wriggled out of his shirt and moaned his appreciation as his hands returned the pleasure and roamed everywhere he could reach on Starsky’s hard, sinewy body.

“Starsk,” he breathed into the vulnerable neck, kissing along its length and back up to the square jaw. “I love you.” His breathing became ragged, his voice hoarse with need. “I want you. So much.” He paused, brought his face up to Starsky’s, his eyes begging the question he voiced softly. “Are you…is it ok to -?”

“Hell, yeah,” Starsky gasped. “Better than ok. Don’t you dare stop.”

Hutch eased Starsky’s shirt off, then kissed his way down Starsky’s neck and chest, found a pebble-hard nipple, laved it. His tongue swiped the bud, lips sucked, teeth nipped gently, and then its twin received the same adoration. Kissing and licking his way across Starsky’s chest, he turned his rapt attention to the scars there. Lovingly, he traced each of them with a gentle finger, then with his lips and tongue, deliberately trailing languidly on the jagged patterns left by the bullets and the surgeon’s knife. After his revering devotion to Starsky’s chest, he moved downward, nuzzling and lapping at the furred, rippled abdomen.

Starsky reveled in the unbelievable sensations Hutch was creating in him. He threw back his head to give Hutch’s eager lips better access to his sensitive neck, quivering and moaning his enjoyment of his lover’s engrossed ministrations. When Hutch latched onto his nipples, he gasped in pleasure. But he tensed as he sensed Hutch moving toward the scars on his chest. At Hutch’s adoring attentiveness to that ruined part of him, Starsky’s eyes filled again at the love and acceptance so freely given. He grasped the blond head as it traveled down his body, caressing it, petting it, pulling it back up to his face.

“C’mere,” he begged. “Hutch. I love you. I love your sweet mouth, what it’s doin’ to me.” He traced the moist, red lips with his thumb. “My scars. You…you….”

Hutch’s face twisted in tender pain.

“They mean everything to me,” he whispered. “They’re beautiful, Starsk. Even more beautiful than the rest of you.” He touched the scar on Starsky’s shoulder reverently. “They tell me…. just how much you wanted to come back to me.”

Starsky suppressed a sob. “Hutch,” he whimpered. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t leave you. You’re my life.” He took the handsome fair head between both of his shaking hands for a profound look between them, before pulling Hutch’s face to his for another deep, long kiss.

The kiss and the ones that followed increased in passion as long-repressed lust and the realization of their mutual love and desire overtook them. Tongues met, swirled, and danced provocatively; erect maleness strained together through sweatpants that suddenly urgently needed to be removed.

Hutch abandoned the carefulness that had recently guided his handling of his friend as he grasped the elastic waistband of Starsky’s pants and yanked them off, exposing the blood-engorged cock and that sexy, beautifully sculpted ass. He ran his hands greedily over the glorious cheeks before regretfully leaving them to remove his own sweatpants in one quick motion. Naked now, sweating, they ground against each other. Starsky’s moans of pleasure incited raging fire in Hutch’s groin. He returned his hands to Starsky’s luscious buttocks, squeezing, pressing, driving their frenzied bodies together as they thrust together feverishly.

Starsky plundered Hutch’s mouth with his tongue, then withdrew it and rained kisses on Hutch’s neck, face, chest. “Hutch,” he panted. “God…so good!…babe…stop it or I’m gonna…”

“It’s ok, love,” gasped Hutch, close to orgasm himself. “Let go. We’ll have plenty of time- “another gasp of pleasure – “ohh, Jesus… Starsk!…”

Giving them both permission to abandon all restraint unleashed something fierce in Hutch. Abstinent for months, his sexual need was all-consuming and his passion for Starsky was finally set free. He thrust harder, loving the feel of their cocks sliding together, the wet sounds of their balls slapping against straining groins and thighs, the musky smell of Starsky’s sweat and maleness and their slick sex. Frantically, he latched onto Starsky’s neck, sucked, licked the salty sweat there, moved his mouth to Starsky’s ear, drilled it with his tongue, nipped the lobe, groaned into it. “Starsk…so fucking good,” he moaned loudly in his hunger and passion. “Love you…want you so much…can’t get close enough babe! Ahhh, fuck…Starsk!”

Hutch’s obscene, impassioned, loving words, tongue lapping and ravaging his ear, and the wildly erotic humping and sliding of their bodies together tripped Starsky over the blinding edge. With a shout of joy and a shuddering gasp, he clutched Hutch as he came hard, shooting hot semen against their writhing bodies and Hutch’s throbbing manhood.

Hutch cried out at the realization of this culmination of Starsky’s desire and love for him. “God, Starsk. Yes! Yes!” Desperately needing the same release, he growled low in his throat and buried his face against Starsky’s shoulder, pumping his aching cock against his lover’s semen-coated belly and sated organ. Soon, he erupted, spurting his seed in ecstasy as he cried out Starsky’s name.

Panting, trembling, they clasped each other in awe of the realization of what had just transpired between them. Hutch gave in to the flood of emotion overcoming him and wept softly into Starsky’s neck. Starsky hugged Hutch’s flaxen head and pulled it to his chest, kissing the golden strands and stroking Hutch’s smooth back as his own tears flowed silently. They held each other close, buffeted by a whirlwind of new sensations.

For many minutes they lay, closely entwined, the long golden legs and chest pressed against the darkly furred ones, the blond head protectively bent over the ruffled brown curls, as their pulses slowly returned to normal.

Starsky found his voice first. “God, Hutch……” he whispered, still stroking the broad, sweat-covered back as Hutch sighed into the whorls of dark hair resuming their growth on his lover’s scarred chest. “That was…oh, man…” His voice caught in his throat on the huge swell of emotion lurking there.

Hutch, ever the caretaker, pulled himself out of his own deep contentment. He realized that as the first adrenaline rush was receding, the intensity of their revelations and physical exertion were taking their toll on them both, but especially Starsky, and his lover was starting to fade.

“I know,” Hutch breathed softly, still filled with awe. “Just beautiful, Starsk. No words.” He cupped the handsome face in his strong hands as a loving look held between the four wet blue eyes. So much to say, and no language adequate to express it all.

As Starsky sighed deeply in satisfaction and exhaustion, Hutch reached around his back and massaged comforting circles there, the way he had done all those nights when Starsky was racked with pain. This time there was so much more than comfort in the caresses.

Starsky traced a wondering finger across Hutch’s lips. Those perfect lips that now held such promise for the dawn and the days beyond. “Hutch,” he breathed. “I love you. I always have.” His face creased into what Hutch recognized as his limit of strength. “I’m in love with you. I can’t believe…this is really happening…I’m…I’m so…”

Hutch smiled into Starsky’s neck and planted a soft kiss there.

“Me too, Gordo. Lots to digest in one night. And we have our whole lives ahead. We can take it as slow as you need.”

Starsky smiled a wistful smile back. “Not too slow though,” he admonished, moving the trace of his finger to the golden sideburn and wispy curls at Hutch’s temple. His next request was whispered, dreamlike. “Hold me, please, babe? Don’t leave me. Not tonight…not ever.”

The look between them spoke silently of everything that was to come.

Hutch smiled into Starsky’s gaze and nuzzled the damp nose with his own. “Nothing I’d rather do than hold you all night. Just relax, babe. Let me get us comfortable first, ok?”

With a parting kiss to Starsky’s forehead, Hutch rose and retrieved a warm, wet washcloth and towel from the bathroom. He washed and dried the scarred and muscular chest, abdomen, and groin with great loving tenderness. After he had cleaned himself as well, he nestled his long body around Starsky’s back, arms wrapped around his waist, and pulled the covers over them both. Starsky leaned into the comfort and strength, soaking in the feel of Hutch’s moist skin against his back and heavy, satiated maleness nestled in the cleft of his buttocks. Soon the room was quiet except for Starsky’s steady, even breathing.

After a time, a golden hand reached gently up to the broad furred chest, flattened against it, and sought the steady thud of the heart beating beneath it. Hutch lay, comforted by the sturdy, regular cadence, reveling in the life, warmth, and closeness of his lover until long after darkness fell, and his own breathing became regular and calm.

 

Starsky’s Side

I had never had trouble lifting weights before the hit. I kinda enjoyed doing it, and I liked the way it made me look, you know…the defined pecs, the toned arms, the six-pack (which stayed even though I drank plenty of real six-packs). So even though I realized it was gonna take some time for me to get back into shape, it was so goddamn frustrating that it was taking so long. I tried not to look at the amount of weight Hutch put on the bar for me, but I could sense it and it made me feel like a failure when I started to shake at weights that I used to sneeze at.

Now my partner, he hardly ever lifted weights (boxing and running were his chosen workouts), but I have no doubt he could destroy me anyway, if he wanted to. He is only a couple inches taller than me, and leaner, but my God, he is one big muscle. And his hands, his big hands with those long, slender fingers, they’re so beautifully shaped, but deceptively strong. I’ve seen him deck guys that outweighed him by 50 or 60 pounds. And then go home and wrap those same beautiful fingers around a guitar and turn me into a pile of goo just listening to him play and sing with that clear, sweet voice of his. So having him watch me struggle made it even worse, although I needed his strength and caring presence to get as far as I had.

See, it wasn’t just that I wanted to get reinstated to the force, to show Gunther he didn’t win. It was that, but mostly about Hutch. I felt so inadequate. I wanted to be the strong, capable Starsky, his partner, his friend, his lover. I ached for him that way every day – hell, every minute I was near him, and most minutes that I wasn’t. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. I swear, there were a lot of times I thought he could be feeling the same way I was. But insecurity is a bitch. And I was willing to suffer the longing for him just to be near him, in case making a move on him would ruin everything.

How I missed working side by side with my strong, sensitive, capable partner who understood what I was gonna do before I did it, and whose every expert move and thought were in tune with my own. My future now seemed lonely, empty, without purpose. And my yearning for a future with him rose to a powerful, constant ache in my heart. If we couldn’t be partners, how could I spend all my time with Hutch? Would we drift apart again? How could I possibly tell Hutch what I wanted, needed, without risking losing him? Since my recovery began, since the moment I knew I couldn’t leave the earth without him, I had known I needed to tell Hutch that I loved him, and over the last few months I knew I wanted all of him. But every day as I thought of doing that, my lack of confidence, my fear of rejection and the potential loss of Hutch as my best friend stopped me.

The day it all came pouring out of us started just like most days. Hutch had me on a schedule, this pill at this time, this exercise at this time, this awful, desiccated body part/vitamin/butterfly bone concoction at this time. I was tryin’ my hardest, I really was. I even drank the crap he mixed up for me, because I knew it was blended with love. Plus if I swallowed it quick, I didn’t have to taste it much. And I guess I was making pretty good progress, but I’ve never been the patient sort. So I pushed too hard, and when Hutch had to grab the ridiculously light weight again to keep it from falling on me, I couldn’t hold in my frustrations any longer. I really lost it for the first time in my recovery.

My mind flooded with pictures of our partnership, our closeness, the love I wanted to share, mixed with the physical longing I had been feeling toward Hutch. It all seemed so hopeless.

It happened when Hutch held me as I was breaking down. We’ve held each other lots of times before when things got rough for one or the other of us, but this time was – so special, I need one of those words Hutch taught me to describe it. An epiphany. Hutch was so tender and supportive, so smooth and effortless and golden and beautiful like he always is, but as he was enfolding me in his strong arms and stroking my hair, neck and back, some barrier melted away and I felt all his love and longing go straight through to me. It was literally a dream come true. Yeah, I had dreamed a lot of times about how it would happen. And none of my dreams were as good as the real thing.

We were both crying our eyes out. I couldn’t stop sobbing. The release of all the pain, the realization of all that we were to each other, all that was almost taken away before we could even know it, completely overwhelmed me. I felt it before he started saying it, how much he loved me. When he was fighting through his crying to tell me all the reasons, my heart was so full, torn apart and filled right back up with my wonderful Hutch. And then as if it could get any better, when Hutch took my face in those gorgeous hands, and kissed me, it was like the heavens opened and everything I had ever wanted was all mine.

I stopped crying long enough to tell him I loved him too. How much I wanted him, needed him. But at that point I was still far from strong. Not for lack of trying. I started shaking like a leaf again. And Hutch, he went right into protect and care mode, helped me over to his bed, and held me with such tenderness and passion that everything tilted out of control. In the best of ways.

I can’t possibly describe all the feelings that rushed madly inside me the moment I realized that he wanted me that way. That first time, that first kiss. The feel of his lips on mine, so hard and soft at the same time, so insistent and warm. Exploring each other’s mouths while my head exploded with feelings I had never had before. I wasn’t in total control of my body anyway, but the love, hunger, and excitement of it all took over pretty quick. I thought he figured that out the way I squeezed his ass hard and ravaged his mouth when he started kissing me again, but being Hutch, he still had to ask me if it was ok. Shit yeah, I begged him not to stop! And the way he worshipped me, adored my ruined body! His love was so pure, so generous, and how he took so much care over my scars, accepted them, loved them as much as and more than every part of me – was the sweetest loving I had ever known. His hard, strong, sweaty body and swollen cock rubbing against mine sent thrills through my whole being. This was Hutch! – as hot for me as I was for him.

I knew I was gonna come real fast, and I tried to hold back, but Hutch told me to cut loose and then he wasted no time making it happen. I’m not usually quick on the draw, or to cry, but Hutch’s love and beauty, his erotic frenzy – for me! – and the realization that he was mine made me crazy like nobody ever has before. I had the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life just from grinding against him. Holding him as he growled those filthy loving words in my ear, cried out my name when he came, and then sobbed out his joy, were the most beautiful moments of my entire life.

Of course, right after, Hutch knew the way he always does that my body and senses were on overload. That unbelievably gorgeous and sensitive man washed me lovingly, curled up around me and did just what I needed…wrapped his long, strong arms and body around me and pulled me into his cocoon of caring and warmth. I have never felt so loved. And I knew that there would be time now to show him that love right back. Which is what I was thinking about as I nestled into him. Falling asleep in his arms was…just unbelievably peaceful and right.

I don’t know why that day in particular was our breaking point, but thank God it happened because now, I can’t imagine not being with Hutch that way. He completes me. He’s my heart and soul. My torn-up body and semi-conscious brain knew that well enough to bring me back from the dead, even before I could admit it to myself.

 

Hutch’s Side

The days were full of doctor appointments, physical therapy appointments, exercise, diet, and sleep schedules all devised in consultation with the medical staff to help Starsky recover his health and strength. And he was making some real progress getting stronger. But it was never fast enough for him. And there was always that nagging doubt in both of our minds that when he got as good as he could be, it wouldn’t be good enough for us to resume our work on the streets together, or even for him to still be my partner.

Terror still seized me whenever I thought of those moments in the Bay City Police Department parking garage, and later, at the hospital. And sometimes those awful memories infringed upon my thoughts, whether I was awake, asleep, or doing my best to distract myself. I wondered when, and if, the sheer desperation and despair of those days would stop haunting me, and him. The nearly certain loss of Starsky had almost destroyed me.

But Starsky was here now, warm and alive and needing me. So I swallowed my fears as I always did to be the best friend to him that I could be. And I continued to try to hide the love that constantly ached inside me. I had promised myself while I sat in vigil by Starsky’s hospital beside that if only my partner lived, I would tell Starsky what he meant to me. I hadn’t even then realized the depth of my love for this vital, handsome other half of my soul, what I longed for. But I was still afraid to express my growing need, which had become increasingly physical as well as emotional, until I was sure that Starsky’s fragile body and psyche could handle it. And even though Rachel’s vision had fortified me somewhat, there was still a part of me that was fearful that telling this secret would be the end of us.

I honestly didn’t care if he got back to fighting strength. He was alive, could function, and didn’t need me anymore for most of the tasks required to take care of himself. His body was healing, the parts of it that could. His breathing capacity would never be the same with part of one lung gone. Sure, if left to his own devices, his diet would have had a lot to be desired. I took care of making sure that most of what he ate was nutritious. But he had always taken pride in working out and having a fit body, and I was constantly having to step in to either reduce the strenuous exercises or weight he tried to lift or spot him.

I did my best to console him, support him, love him, without serving my own selfish need to tell him how I felt before he was strong enough to handle it. I don’t know why I always think I know best. A force that couldn’t be denied was about to be unleashed for both of us.

That evening he was trying way too hard. He was tired of me always monitoring him, and I gave in. I could see the determination, almost desperation, in his face as he tried to lift a weight that was the next in progression, against my and the physical therapist’s advice. When his arms started to shake, I had to grab the bar and I could tell right away that was going to trigger a meltdown.

The look in his eyes hurt my soul. He was so upset that he wouldn’t be able to be a street cop again, be able to protect me. I had the most absurd desire to laugh at that one, thinking silently to myself, I couldn’t protect you either, Starsk. Compassion and love for him welled in my chest. I felt his pain as if it were my own – because it was. Months of pain, but nowhere near the hurt I had known when I was sure Starsky would die. So intertwined we were. Me and Thee.

When I saw Starsky losing control like that, something inside me broke open and all the caring I had inside me for him came pouring out. I held him while he shook and cried, just the way he had held me when Gillian died, and the love and desire for him emanated from me and straight into his trembling body as I enfolded him and caressed him. I couldn’t hold back anymore. It was time. He had to know, and whatever was going to happen after that, would happen. The words formed and came out of my mouth without even thinking about what I was going to say.

He was sobbing and wailing. His crying tore me apart, and all my pain and repressed feelings for him rushed out of me as I started sobbing too. I held him, rocked him, trying to heal his pain with my love. And then the most amazing thing happened. He told me he loved me too. And wanted me. We were both consumed by rushing emotions as unstoppable as time. When I turned his face up to kiss him, and felt his soft lips meet mine, there was nothing to compare with the sweet rightness of it all. The salty taste of Starsky’s tears mingled with his yielding mouth and evening stubble became the sweetest, most exotic and exciting kiss I had ever known.

He started shaking so hard that I knew he was about to collapse, s0 as soon as I could gather myself together, I brought him gently over to my bed. Once we were comfortable there, I held him close as I never had before. He seemed to recover and his need for me was apparent. Although I thought I knew, I had to make sure one last time it was ok with him and his healing body before we took this drastic step. His begging reply was so Starsky-esque, and all I needed. At that point, our clothes got discarded quickly.

My Starsk! Finally, after all those months of want and denial! Naked and sweaty and as desperate for me as I was for him. I loved him with every part of my being. I couldn’t kiss him, lick him, suck on him enough. I started at his mouth and went down, worshipping every inch of that beautiful man, his open neck, his strong chest, his nipples – he loved that – and his scars. I paid special attention to those because they told the story of just how much he wanted to come back to me. And the way he responded, loving me back, grinding himself against me and scouring the inside of my mouth with his tongue, left no doubt about where we were headed.

Our lovemaking was frantic, so hot! I never knew desire like that. His rigid cock sliding against mine, his overt strength, his frenzied need for me. Not like anything I had ever experienced with a woman. I just wanted to ravage him, swallow him whole, forgetting totally that he might not be strong enough yet, but he was so ready for me, so eager for me, that I couldn’t slow down, and I couldn’t stop the feverish, lewd words that came out of my mouth. And after we climaxed together for the first time it was so sweet, so overpowering, that all I could do was sob my relief, joy, and gratitude into his neck as he cried his own quiet tears at our loving each other completely. At long last.

So, we had finally confessed our feelings to each other, in words and with intimate touch. Some detectives we were, right? The competing emotions and risk had clouded our thinking. This beautiful man was alive, and he returned my adoration. The clouds had lifted and exposed our love in brilliant, dazzling sunlight.

When everything we felt for each other was confessed and consummated, it was so overwhelming for me that I knew that after the rush wore off, in his weakened and trembling state, he had to be spent. Then, it was so satisfying for me to care for him, clean him lovingly, cover us together, hold him securely in my arms and find comfort for both of us in blissful rest. I laid awake, listening to his even, living breathing, just soaking in the joy of holding him, for a long time. And as I was drifting off, I put my hand on his chest, over the patchwork of scars that told our painful story, to feel that steady beating of his strong, healing heart that was giving us our chance of a lifetime. That’s the last thing I remember before I fell asleep more content than I have ever been.

 

Chapter 7: Real Love

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way