Milestones

Starsky has a reminder of high school and starts feeling old. Hutch is there for moral support, as always.

Written for the 20 minute fic challenge.

“Had a crush on Mary Anne De Kalb when I was in ninth grade,” Starsky said abruptly, rustling the morning paper.

“And…” Hutch rotated his finger, well aware there was more to the story.

“She’s getting married.” Starsky folded the newspaper to show a photo of a stunning brunette in full bridal regalia. “Again.”

“To Douglas Constantine,” Hutch read, leaning over Starsky’s shoulder at the breakfast table. “The mayor’s son.”

“She had to get hitched the weekend after we graduated.” Starsky stared pensively at the picture, gnawing on his toast.

“Knocked up?” Hutch guessed.

“Yep. Captain of the baseball team, Sean Heller.” Starsky shrugged. “Obvious that didn’t last long, but I didn’t hear about her after that.”

“The article doesn’t say if she has children, but a baby born in roughly early 1964 would be—”

“About to graduate high school.” Starsky sighed. “Seems like we got old and I didn’t notice!”

“We’re both thirty-six, Starsk.” Hutch grinned, reaching up to run his fingers through his partner’s hair. There were two strands flecked with gray amongst the brown curls. He didn’t mention that. “Not ancient.”

“Not married, not even once. No kids—”

“Speak for yourself, John Alden—”

“No fair quoting poems from high school at me.” Starsky bared his teeth before gulping coffee. “I know you had an ex, and survived. I just wonder if—present company excepted—one day I’ll regret never having a child.”

“Do you want to?” Hutch stopped spreading boysenberry jam on his toast, his heart rate increasing.

“Have a son,” Starsky said, bracing his chin on his fist. “Or daughter?” He inhaled, thinking. “Yes, but how?”

“Adoption is an option,” Hutch said, suddenly excited for reasons he couldn’t have explained if he tried.

“We’d be allowed?” Starsky asked, waggling his finger between them, then swooping in for a passionate kiss. “Can we try?”

“What if you dump me, leaving me with one kid on the hip and one at the breast?” Hutch teased, weirdly giddy with excitement.

“Never happen in a million years.” Starsky rubbed a finger over Hutch’s left nipple. “And none of our kids is ever gonna breastfeed anyway.”

His chest warm, and not only because of the arousing stimuli, Hutch pulled Starsky to a stand. “Let’s call Perkowitz, she must have an in with the foster care department.”

“In an hour.” Starsky hugged Hutch close. “I have more urgent plans—in our bed.”

FIN