My Waterloo

201

Starsky is having recurring dreams while Hutch goes on an undercover job alone. Will Starsky finally surrender to his true love?

 

Author Notes: Napoleon surrendered to the British and Prussian armies at the Battle of Waterloo in the year 1815.

The Swedish group ABBA had success in the Top 100 in the USA and internationally between 1974 and 1982. Their song ‘Waterloo’ was released in 1974, topping the charts in several countries, and reaching the top 10 in the United States.

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Chapter One

I am shattered and abandoned as I lie on the raging battlefield. The sound of distant cannonballs and the screams of wounded soldiers, both allies and enemies, surround me.  Time is my most coveted possession.  If only it could be purchased and saved for later, to be cherished and not wasted. 

My eyes close and I dream of boundless time and everlasting love, freely surrendered.

 

Starsky yawned and combed a hand through his hair.  After another restless night, he was exhausted and irritable. Spending the day watching an empty warehouse didn’t help.

It should have been a short and sweet stakeout. Two hours at most, they were promised by Brady. Garnier would show up, exchange the drugs for cash, and the cops would charge in and arrest the bad guys.

Eight hours went by, and the drug dealer was a no-show. No Garnier, no buyer, no suitcase full of money. No one at all entered the building that day.

Dobey’s drained voice came over the crackling police radio. “Brady’s been sprung by some high-class attorney. It’s over for today.”

Hutch clutched the mic. “Brady, the same Brady who swore on his mother’s life the deal was set for today? The same Brady who was supposed to be locked up for some minor infractions until it was over? That Brady, Captain?”

“We had to let the snitch go, Hutchinson, there wasn’t enough evidence to detain him.  For all we know, Garnier made the drop elsewhere by now.”

“Terrific. You tell Brady that Hutch and I are gonna pay him a visit, Captain. And it won’t be a social call.”

“Cool it Starsky. The whole thing went to hell in a handbasket. These things happen,” Dobey retorted.

“So what does this mean for us, Captain?” Hutch asked. “We sit here all day like fish in a barrel, for nothing? Garnier and his little sidekick Brady are free to sell narcotics to kids another day?”

“What it means is you two go home tonight and get your tails in here first thing in the morning. We can review things at that time,” Dobey bellowed, and the line went dead.

Starsky sighed and put the mic back in its socket. He turned the steering wheel and merged into traffic.  “Let’s go to Huggy’s for some real food. The last thing I ate was that bite of apple before you snatched it from my hand.”

“Well, it was my apple. You brought the bagels, and ate them both.”

Hutch seemed to be in a good frame of mind, despite the long and grueling day. Starsky had a hunch he knew why.

“You don’t have plans with whatsername tonight?”

“Whatsername has a name, Starsky. And it’s Allison.”

Starsky bit his tongue. He knew her name was Allison. She was Hutch’s squeeze of the month, a blonde who worked at a bank.  Not to be confused with last month’s brunette named Suzi who sold shoes. Before that, Tammi, the redhead, who had a flower shop and swooned over Hutch’s interest in hydrangeas. Or was it his gladiolas? It didn’t matter, Tammi and her blossoms were long out of the picture now.

“And no, Allison had to go out of town to visit her aunt. So I’m all yours tonight.”

“How do you know I don’t have plans later?” Starsky acted upset, but in reality, was excited about the idea of a night alone with Hutch.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you were free all night. You have a date?”

“I don’t. But I could if I wanted. Just no particular woman I want to pursue at the moment.”

Hutch laughed out loud. “You expect me to believe the great Casanova named David Starsky doesn’t have a woman or two waiting in the wings for him to call? Is the sky falling?”

“Sky’s not falling. Can’t a guy want to take a break from dating nameless woman after nameless woman? I’ve got more depth than that, you know. I’m not the womanizer you think I am.”

Hutch squashed his smile. “Sorry, buddy. I know you have a lot of depth, and you know I know it. So, what’s eating you these days?”

“I’m just tired from the long day. Plus, I haven’t been sleeping too great for some reason. Once we get some food, I’ll be back to normal.” Starsky turned up the radio, avoiding further discussion.

As Starsky drove, his thoughts turned to two weeks prior, when they arrested Brady and the snitch sang like a pop star. Afterward, he and Hutch went to Huggy’s to unwind.

Huggy’s bar was jumping that night, and Starsky remembered feeling good as if he and Hutch won a battle or something. Of course, two women approached Hutch in the first fifteen minutes. One of them slipped her phone number into his pocket and mouthed ‘Call me.’

Starsky was irritated by Hutch’s all-too-eager flirtation. They were there to celebrate a small victory, not pick up women.  Starsky attracted some female attention too but apologized before politely blowing each of them off.

The drinks, the music, and the ladies, all should have helped Starsky relax. After all, it seemed to be working for Hutch, who was nodding to a familiar tune, his posture loose against the bar.

Starsky tried to play along, tapping his fingers to a song on the jukebox

“Hey Huggy, you playing the greatest hits of the seventies? Didn’t this ABBA song come out a few years ago?”

“It doesn’t matter if this song is a few years old, that band is still all over the airwaves. No point in fighting popular demand, man, even a brother like me knows that.”

“I don’t even understand these lyrics,” Starsky said, holding his glass to his lips. “What do they mean when they say ‘Finally facing my Waterloo?”

Huggy stood up and wiped the counter. “It means cha-ching for a little pop group out of Sweden, that’s all I know. But for the low price of a quarter, you can make a different selection. Now if you excuse me, I have some other customers who need the services of the Bear,” he said, slapping the dishcloth over his shoulder as he walked away.

Hutch chuckled, inhaling a long swig of beer. “It’s a clever love song. The girl is surrendering to her love, just like Napoleon surrendered to the British at the battle of Waterloo.”

“The battle of Waterloo took place almost two hundred years ago, Hutch.”

“It was fought between a coalition of British and Prussian armies and the French in the year eighteen-fifteen,” Hutch explained.

“Exactly. The year eight-teen-fif-teen,” Starsky repeated with exaggeration. “So, why is a modern-day woman comparing her love to a war that was fought so long ago?”

“Because it’s catchy when she says Wa-Wa-Wa-Wa-Waterloo?” Hutch offered.

Starsky smirked, his partner’s attention lightening his mood.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming at Hutch as he sang along…“Promise to love you forever more…Waterloo…couldn’t escape if I wanted to…Waterloo…”

“…Knowing my fate is to be with you.” Hutch joined in, speaking the lyrics more than singing, his stare riveted on Starsky.

Starsky’s body froze as a wave of emotion washed over him. He lost focus, unable to think of a comeback.

He could have teased Hutch about how beautiful his eyes were when he sang along with ABBA. Or say Hutch was gushing like a teenage girl and joke that he wanted to go steady. He could have said a million things to ease the tension and keep the night simple.

Starsky just couldn’t pull it off. Something about a joke felt wrong and out of place.

He placed his beer on the countertop. “Listen, I’m beat. Let’s get out of here. Got an early day tomorrow.”

Hutch looked shell-shocked. He swept a hand down his face and shut his eyes. Starsky thought he could see Hutch blush, but wasn’t sure.

Without argument, Hutch guided Starsky out the door. “I’m exhausted too. I’ve had more than enough singing for one night.”

It was that night, two weeks ago, when Starsky’s dreams began.

The images made him restless the next day as if something was unfinished and needed to be resolved. He couldn’t remember the details but knew they held a similar theme.

In every dream,  Hutch was there. Not his face, but he recognized him. He could feel his presence as he slept. When he awoke, he felt like he was missing a limb.

The blaring of a car horn startled Starsky back to the present as he blinked and course-corrected the Torino back into the right lane.

“Shit Starsk, you almost crossed the center line. That stakeout wiped you out, huh?  Are you sure you want to go to Huggy’s?” Hutch gripped the dashboard to brace himself.

“Sorry. I guess I’m more worn out than I thought. Maybe we should call it a night.”

“Why don’t we order a pizza at your place and I can crash on the couch? That way I don’t have to worry about you driving me home and falling asleep at the wheel.”

Starsky smiled and turned the car towards his apartment. “First good idea I’ve heard all day.”

Maybe if Hutch was in the next room, he would be able to sleep in peace.

 

Chapter Two

I hear the man’s desperate cries. He says he is in pain, paralyzed by unbearable suffering.

I scream to him, tell him he is not alone, and ask if he can hear me, but he doesn’t answer. A grassy rise of dirt is between us, and I am unable to see his face. I am near enough to touch him, but with my injuries, I fail to reach him.

I beg him to find a way to save me. To help gather my missing body parts strewn across the battleground and reassemble me. I know some parts belong to me, while others belong to the man, but I have no idea how to tell them apart.

 

“He’s dead.”

Starsky jumped up, spilling his coffee on his hand. He was tired, last night’s bizarre dreams still haunting him. He could hear Dobey speaking behind him, while Hutch sat typing.

“Who’s dead?”

“Brady. Get in my office, both of you.”

The tapping of keys halted, and Hutch pulled the paper from the typewriter. “Looks like we’re in for another exciting day at the office. Let’s go.”

Starsky licked the spilled coffee from his hand and headed to the coffee pot.

“Coming, I just need a refill.”

Hutch paused at the Captain’s door. “Hey, you okay? Couldn’t help but notice you were tossing and turning last night.”

Starsky recognized that worried expression.Hutch displayed it on a regular basis after Gunther and the months of recuperation that followed. Hutch was by his side the entire time, never wavering in his dedication to his recovery. It was a well-worn look, but it was always welcoming and warm.

“More dreams is all. Sorry if I kept you up. Didn’t think you’d notice from the couch.” Starsky waved him off and poured a refill.

“You care to talk about it?” Hutch offered, as he did every morning.

“Maybe later. Dobey’s waiting, let’s get in there.”

They walked into Dobey’s office and saw a man in a suit standing behind the desk.

“This is Special Agent Wellington of the FBI,” Dobey said.

“Wellington? Like the Duke of Wellington, who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo?” Starsky blurted it out before he could stop himself. He clocked the puzzled look on Hutch’s face, adding with a shrug, “It’s not that common of a name, after all.”

The FBI agent raised an eyebrow. “Sure, just like the Duke of Wellington. But to my knowledge, he’s dead and is no relation to me.”

Dobey looked annoyed and ignored the interlude. “Wellington informed me of Brady’s death. His body was found down at the docks this morning, with a bullet hole in the head.”

Hutch sat and crossed his legs. “I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Garnier must have gotten wind that Brady was working with us, even if the little fink backed out at the last minute. Now we need a new snitch.”

“We don’t have time for any more informants,” Wellington added. “What we need is someone to go undercover.”

“And you want me and Hutch to go under?” Starsky asked through a swallow of coffee.

Wellington paused and looked at the Captain.

“They just want Hutchinson,” Dobey said flatly.

“Wait a minute, Captain. Starsky and I are a team. If I go in, he goes in, and vice versa. We’ve learned our lesson too many times. Separating us just doesn’t work.”

Starsky tried to hide a smile. Hutch was right, they had too many close calls when they worked apart. It was dangerous and something always went wrong. To hear Hutch say it out loud warmed his heart.

“You think I haven’t been your captain long enough to know that, Hutchinson? The FBI has set up a cover for a high-powered buyer flying in from London. Garnier hasn’t met him in person, they’ve only talked on the phone. Garnier has been told he’s Caucasian, tall, and blond. The problem is, that FBI agent Gordon was going to do the job but got sick at the last minute.  Hutch, you know the details of the case and you fit the description. The operation is in a week. There’s no time to set anything else up.”

“Hang on. You said he’s from London? You expect me to pull off a British accent by next week?”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect. Gordon’s wasn’t, and Garnier isn’t discerning enough to know the difference. You’ll see a voice coach this week to help.” Wellington assured him.

Starsky got up and stood in front of Wellington, nose to nose. “This is a bad idea. You want my partner to go undercover…without backup…against a dangerous drug dealer… learn to talk with an English accent…and sound like someone Garnier has already talked to on the phone.. in only a week? Tell me one thing about this that makes sense.”

Wellington stood firm. “It’s all been set up. Garnier is expecting a blond buyer from London. If we miss this opportunity, we may not get another one.”

“And Garnier continues to sell drugs to kids who are naive, or abandoned, and don’t even stand a chance,” Hutch said, his tone unsettled.

Starsky swung around, concern in his eyes. “Is this an order, Captain?”

“No, it’s not an order. But Wellington is right. This may be our only shot.”

Starsky grasped Hutch’s arm and pulled him out the door.  I’m going to talk to my partner. We’ll be in touch.”

Chapter Three

He said he was an ally of Britain. I told him I fought for the other side. I did not know his language, but somehow I understood him, without speaking the words.  

He questioned if I could accept him, despite his uniform, his background, or the fear instilled in me by others. He asked if I would rather draw my musket and shoot him than acknowledge that fear.  

I assured him I would never want to hurt him. 

It wasn’t important where he came from, or what hollow rules society indoctrinated in my mind about who I must hate and who I may love.  

All that mattered was I felt drawn to him like the moon to the earth.

 

Starsky’s eyes flew open, sweat on his forehead dripping into his pillow. The bedside clock rolled to five forty-five in the morning. In another fifteen minutes, the alarm would go off.  He blinked into focus, staring at the ceiling, and tried to clear his mind.

All attempts in the last two days to talk Hutch out of the undercover job were unsuccessful. Starsky felt like a broken record. “I got a bad feeling, Hutch…something’s wrong…you know my hunches are usually right.”

Hutch listened but always came back to the same argument.

“I’m not saying this will be a walk in the park either. We’re so close to busting Garnier. I don’t think I could live with myself if one more kid overdoses because of that dirtbag.”

It went on like that until Starsky knew there was nothing more he could say. Hutch wanted Garnier and his drugs off the streets, to save a few innocent kids. Starsky wanted that too, but not if it put Hutch in danger.

Starsky sighed, trying to quell his nerves at the whole operation. He stretched across the bed and switched off the alarm before it could go off.

The details of the dream had vanished, but emotions lingered, accumulating like snow at the peak of a mountain. It became impossible to breathe if he thought about it too long.

There were only five more days to go.

No time to dwell on dreams. Too much was riding on the line.

*****

Starsky arrived at the precinct by seven, and Hutch was there,  poring over notes and files.

“Top of the morning, Starsk.”

In full Hutch style, he decided to speak like an Englishman as often as possible. Starsky knew this was part of his process, getting into character, his partner called it.

“So, mate, do you fancy a cuppa coffee?” Hutch asked.

“How about you keep quiet and I take a nap, okay mate?”

Hutch got the hint and dropped the accent. “Seriously, you look wiped. Are you ever going to tell me why you’re not sleeping?”

“It’s just the damned case. Look, sorry for being snappy.” Starsky opened a file and started reading.

Hutch’s face emitted all the concern that Starsky recognized so well. “Ok,  I’ll let it go, but not forever. We need to talk sometime.”

Hutch walked to the coffee pot and poured one for Starsky. “Here you go mate, maybe it will help, you look knackered.”

Starsky smiled. “The voice lessons are working. Still sounds a little dodgy, but alright.”

Hutch chuckled and they both settled in for a morning of cramming through files.

At noon, Hutch left to meet with his dialect coach. With the squadroom emptied for lunch, Starsky rested his head on his arms, his eyes heavy, luring him into a dream.

I ask if he is afraid.  He says he fought willingly for a cause he believed to be right. His voice seems weary, but not wavering, his foreign accent almost imperceptible. 

He asks if I thought it was worthwhile. If lying here on the cold, wet field filled with bodies, blood, and death holds any meaning for me.  

I tell him I once believed in the war, and maybe dying, for a greater purpose. But that was before.  

Before I heard his voice and felt his warm presence. 

Now, I don’t know anymore.  

 

“Starsky, wake up.”

Captain Dobey stood next to him, nudging his shoulder. “Late night last night?”

Starsky massaged his neck and cleared his throat. He looked at the clock and saw an hour had slipped by.

“Sorry, Captain. Won’t happen again. Listen, tell Hutch I went to get a bite to eat and I’ll catch up later.”

Starsky snatched his jacket from the back of the chair and hurried out the door.  He needed food, more coffee, and a break from his thoughts for just a little while.

Chapter Four

Starsky propped his feet on the desk, watching Hutch write up some notes.

“Hey Hutch, you got a date with whatsername tonight?”

“You mean Allison? No, we broke up a couple of days ago.”

Starsky swung his legs off the desk and sat up. “Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”

“Well, we’ve been a little busy with the case, just didn’t have time to mention it. She was a nice girl, but it wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Or was it because she was no good in bed, if you know what I mean?”

“Starsky, that’s crude. There’s more to a relationship than that, if you know what I mean,” Hutch said, mocking Starsky’s words.

“If there’s no chemistry from the beginning, there never will be,” Starsky remarked.

Hutch placed his pen on the desk, and sat back, asking softly. “What do you know about chemistry, buddy?”

Starsky cleared his throat before answering. “I only know two things. That it’s real, and that it’s rare.”

“Have you two gone by the warehouse yet?” Dobey barged into the squadroom, interrupting any further conversation.

“Ah, not yet Captain.” Hutch tore his eyes away from Starsky. “We were planning to do that today.”

“Well get moving. I want you to drive by, and get a look at Garnier’s building. You only have a couple of days left.”

Starsky’s heavy head perked up. “Couldn’t agree more, Captain. Hutch, you drive, I want to bring my coffee.”

They drove for about thirty minutes, to the industrial section at the edge of the city, to the site of the partially constructed warehouse where the deal would go down. Hutch drove slowly, as Starsky sank in his seat to avoid being seen.

“It’s supposed to happen on the ground floor. There’s a finished office at the far right of the building. The second floor is still too open, only partial walls and likely not stable enough for weight bearing,” Starsky said, sipping on his coffee.

“It looks like there’s a window on the right with blinds installed,” Hutch pointed out. “That must be Garnier’s office. There will be one thug at each end of the hallway, and another two in the room.”

Starsky looked satisfied. “Ok. Let’s get out of here. It’s not safe to hang around too long.”

Hutch checked his rearview mirror and turned into traffic. “Hey, how about when this is all over, we go out, maybe play some pool at Huggy’s, or go to a movie? Whatever you want to do.”

Starsky smiled at the idea.“I like that idea, but are you going to tell me what happened with Allison?”

“As I said, she was a nice girl. But we didn’t have much in common, she just didn’t understand the job.” Hutch cleared his throat and shrugged. “But just because we broke up doesn’t mean you can’t bring a date. Whatever you want.”

Starsky gave him a suspicious look. “Wait, you already found someone else, haven’t you?”

“Nope.” Hutch shook his head, sounding hurt. “Can’t a guy just want a break from dating nameless woman after nameless woman? I’m not the womanizer you think I am. I do have some depth, you know.”

Starsky grinned at his own words coming back to him.

“Besides Starsk, is it so wrong to want to spend a night alone with my partner?”

Starsky’s smile widened. “Nothing wrong with that at all.”

He relaxed against the window as Hutch drove, the steady rolling of the car pulling him into a dreamy slumber.

*****

Do you have someone waiting at home? I ask, needing to know if his affections have been captured by another, by someone lucky enough to hold his heart.  

He says no, he is not taken. He spent his whole life searching for his soul mate, for his other half. But he found no one who fulfills his needs. 

He whispers, and I strain to hear him. I think he says his search is at last over. At least I want that to be what he said.  I want to be the one to meet his needs.

I struggle to turn my body and peer over the grassy hill. 

I need to see his face.  Before it is too late.

 

Starsky felt a hand nudge his thigh.

“Wake up, buddy. We’re pulling into the precinct. That coffee isn’t helping much, huh?”

Starsky glanced down at the empty styrofoam cup nestled between his knees. He rubbed his tired face and sat up straight.  “Guess not.”

Hutch shut off the engine, a hesitant look on his face. He blew out a deep breath, lifted his hand, and brushed Starsky’s neck, sliding his thumb to his chin. “I’m worried about you. What’s wrong?  ou can tell me anything.”

Starsky closed his eyes, his body loose, and his drowsy mind savoring the attentiveness. “Have you ever had dreams about us, Hutch?”

“More times than I can count,” Hutch said in a low voice.

Starsky blinked, lost in a dreamy haze. “Do you think that’s strange?”

“Strange to have them, or strange to like having them?” Hutch’s gaze remained fixed, hand remaining on Starsky’s face.

“Both. Either. All of the above.” Starsky’s voice trembled.

Hutch shook his head. “There’s nothing strange about us, partner. Of that I’m sure.”

Panic mounted in Starsky’s gut. He straightened up and pushed away Hutch’s stroking fingers, forcing himself to look away. “We better get back inside before they think we skipped town.”

Hutch turned his head, but not before Starsky could see the flush in his cheeks.

“Let’s go,” Hutch said as he stepped out of the car. “But no more napping on the job.  People will start to talk.”

Chapter Five

“Tomorrow is the big day, mate,” Hutch said with a British flare as he poured Starsky another coffee. “Here’s your morning tea.”

“Your accent has improved,” Starsky admitted. “But this better not be tea. I’m not that desperate yet.”

Starsky took a sip of the muddy coffee, no longer caring if it was fresh or not. It had been a long week, but at least Hutch had made good progress with his accent. Starsky wasn’t surprised. Hutch was a quick study, and when he put his mind to something, he made it happen. That was the only thing that calmed Starsky’s fears.

The daily meetings with Wellington had not gone as well as Hutch’s grasp of the British dialect.

“What do you mean, Hutch won’t be wearing a wire? And no gun? And no vest?” Starsky paced Dobey’s office as they discussed strategy.

“We can’t risk it. Garnier’s men will search him for sure, and that would be the end of it.  We’ll give Hutchinson thirty minutes. If he’s not out, we go in regardless,” Wellington said.

Starsky leaned his knuckles on Dobey’s desk. “Captain, tell our FBI friend here that just isn’t good enough. Before I blow a gasket. Please.”

“My detective is right, Wellington. Anything can go wrong in thirty minutes, and Hutch will be a sitting duck. At a minimum, he wears a wire, or we get another plan.”

Wellington held his ground. “A wire, gun, and vest are absolutely out of the question. It’s too dangerous. But if someone has another idea, by all means, lay it out.”

Starsky’s flustered face turned to Hutch who sat quietly to this point. “Are you going to chime in here, or do I have to think of everything?”

Hutch took a deep breath. “I agree with Wellington, there’s no doubt I’ll be searched. But hear me out. Reinforcements come in at the left, once I’m in Garnier’s office. Three cops at most, any more is too risky. We know the office is at the far right of the building. That gives a long stretch of an unoccupied hallway for the reinforcements to wait and stakeout.”

Wellington agreed. “You’re right. The cops can enter from the left entrance and will only deal with one guard at a time.”

“Brilliant. Sounds like a jolly good plan,” Hutch said with a weak English slant.

Starsky grumbled. “I don’t like it, but what else is new? I’ll be one of those reinforcements, Wellington. I want Simmons and Babcock for the other two, I trust them. And I want to be wearing a wire, even if Hutch can’t. No negotiation on those points.”

“Consider it settled,” Wellington concluded the meeting, creating a cool breeze as he walked out.

Starsky shivered. Only one more sleep to go until it was all over.

*****

I struggle to cross the rise of dirt when my aching body lands next to him.

At last, I see his face. His helmet had flown off in combat, and his golden hair is matted against his sweating brow. His eyes shine blue like crystals against his fair skin covered in dust.  

He is beautiful.  

We lie together throughout the night, fighting death but feeling alive under the brightness of the moon. He embraces me, telling me of his hopes and desires, his sense of duty, and his wish to make the world a better place. 

He talks to me about love. How he tried to please everyone in his life, but true love eluded him. How he attempted to give others what they wanted, but in the end, he was not fulfilled.  

He says all this while his eyes bore into my soul.  He says I am the beautiful one.  

I feel my cheeks blush, as my heart throbs, pierced by an imaginary arrow. I want nothing more than to kiss him, even if this is our last day on earth. Or especially if that is so.  

Our lips meet in perfect harmony and the warmth engulfs my heart.  

My soul merges with his, my broken body is reborn. 

I am finally whole.

 

The alarm clock blared in the darkness, jolting Starsky out of a deep sleep. He punched the relentless buzzer to a halt and sat up, heart racing at the unwelcome disturbance.

Starsky rubbed his eyes and calmed his breath until his thoughts refocused. He touched his fingers to his mouth, reveling in the sensation of an overwhelming kiss. He could still taste its sweetness on his lips. Hutch’s kiss.

His thoughts were clear like fog evaporating against the morning sun. Starsky couldn’t contain a smile. “Sigmund Freud would have a field day with me.”

He threw his legs over the bed and dressed, grabbing a coffee on the way out.

“My partner, on the other hand, might want to have me committed.”

Chapter Six

Starsky sat in the Torino, holding his binoculars, reporting to Dobey and Wellington as he watched.

“Hutch is entering the office through the exterior door on the right. It’s time to roll, gentlemen.”

Starsky choked back his nerves and approached the warehouse in a crouching run, Simmons and Babcock right behind. He arrived first, looking into the window of the exterior door, as the other two men flattened themselves against the side.

Starsky peered in the window and gave a thumbs up, kicking the door open.

“Hold it right there!” Starsky easily disarmed the hood and handcuffed him to a post, covering his mouth with a piece of duct tape.

He patted the goon’s cheek and quipped into his transmitter. “One down.”

They crept out of sight toward the guard at the opposite end of the hallway. Starsky approached from behind and hooked an arm around his neck, dragging him into an unfinished office in handcuffs.

“How many are in the office with Garnier?” Starsky demanded.

The bodyguard laughed. “If you don’t know, I ain’t telling.”

Starsky landed a left hook across his face. “I asked you a question. Now, how about this time you answer?”

The thug saw he was outnumbered. “There are two more plus Garnier. But they’re not in the office. They had a visitor and took him upstairs.”

Starsky’s heart sank, his tone demanding. “What do you mean upstairs?”

“There’s an interior door in the office leading to a set of stairs. They went to a half-finished room on the second floor. It doesn’t have windows or even a roof, you wouldn’t know it’s there from the outside.”

Starsky broke off a piece of duct tape and covered the guard’s mouth.

He spoke into the transmitter, his voice stern. “They’re not in the office, they’re on the second floor. Whatever asshole provided your intel Wellington, should be fucking fired.”

*****

Starsky strained to hear any voices inside the office as Simmons and Babcock held their positions.

“Can’t hear anything. We’re going in.” Starsky approached the door with care and turned the handle.

The three detectives burst through, guns drawn.

The room was empty. A door on the inside swung open, revealing a set of stairs.

Starsky reported into his transmitter. “I see the staircase and I can hear muffled voices, so Hutch is still in action. What’s our move, Wellington?”

“Hold position. Wait until you hear them come down, and take them by surprise. With Hutchinson, there will be four of you and only three of them.”

“I’ll play it your way, but if anything even starts to smell bad, mark my words, I’m going in.”

Starsky’s stomach was in knots as he perched at the bottom of the stairs, gun drawn, and patience running thin.

As the minutes dragged on, Starsky had enough. He signaled he was going up, on the count of five.

Starsky held his fingers in the air, making it to four – when all hell broke loose.

Above his head came the sound of scuffled feet, the thud of something heavy being thrown, and the crash of a body against a wall.

A man shouted, “You’re a cop!”

He heard several rapid punches, fists meeting face, and another slam against the wall.

Two gunshots rang out.

Starsky’s heart fell through his feet. He was about to bound up the stairs when a thundering crash stopped him in his tracks.

Starsky watched in horror as the ceiling collapsed into the far side of the office. Bodies plummeted from above and a large pile of wood and drywall formed on the floor. He started to run to the rubble but was restrained by Simmons and Babcock.

“Let me go! Hutch is under there! I have to get to him.”

They held Starsky back from the carnage as dust emerged throughout the room. Starsky looked up in horror at the gaping hole in the ceiling.

He yanked his arms free and ran to the wreckage, screaming into the transmitter. “Wellington, get backup in here and call the fire department and an ambulance. Do it now!”

“Hutch!” Starsky shouted. “You in there? Talk to me. Hutch…Hutch talk to me.”

Simmons hurried over to Starsky’s side. “I tried to get up the stairs, they’re pretty rickety. I checked and there’s nobody left up there.”

Starsky’s face fell. He held his ear to the pile of debris and listened for movement.

He could hear Dobey and Wellington rush in, followed by several policemen.

“Shit,” Wellington said.

“That’s all you got to say, Wellington?” Starsky’s tone was vicious. “Listen, keep it down, I thought I heard something.”

There was a faint whimper coming from inside the rubble. Starsky held up his hand and silenced the room.

The voice came through louder this time.

“Starsk?”

Starsky plunged to his knees.“Hutch? I can hear you. Keep talking to me, and we’ll get you out.”

“I’m over here. There’s a wooden beam over me and it’s holding back the debris from crashing on my head. I can’t feel my left foot. I think it’s crushed.”

Starsky swallowed at his partner’s agony. “I heard gunshots. Were you shot?”

“No. Garnier figured out my voice didn’t match Gordon’s. Maybe my British accent was a little too good.” Hutch managed a chuckle, then coughed before continuing. “He pulled his gun and was about to shoot me, but I disarmed him and grabbed it.  Garnier is dead.”

“It’s ok, Hutch. What about the other men?”

“I pushed one into a wall and crashed a heavy crate on the other; they both fell through the floor with me.  I can feel someone underneath me. I think I’m surrounded by dead bodies down here.”

“Ok. It’s ok. You just keep talking. Firemen are here.We’ll get you out. Hear me?”

Starsky stood back, his nerves frayed, as he watched the firemen secure the site and start to dig. He forgot how to breathe as they painstakingly cleared a path to Hutch.

Night had fallen, and Starsky felt an eternity had passed when they finally uncovered his partner. He lay on the floor, his eyes closed, his body not moving. A large cement brick was lodged on top of his left foot, and a dead body lay beneath him.  His face was covered in dirt, bleeding, and motionless.

Starsky willed his partner to move. He stepped forward and heard a small voice.

“Starsk? Is that the moon?”

Starsky exhaled and rushed to Hutch’s side. He looked up and saw the night sky through the gaping hole.

“The same moon for hundreds of years, Hutch.” Starsky held Hutch’s face in his hands. A face he knew in his sleep.

The golden hair was matted against his sweating brow. His eyes shone blue like crystals against his fair skin covered in dust.

It was the face of his dreams. The one he loved.

He was beautiful.

Starsky stroked Hutch’s hair before they loaded him onto a stretcher.

“The war’s over, babe. We won.”

Chapter Seven

After two days in the hospital, Starsky took Hutch home with a broken ankle, and some minor cuts and bruises.

“You were a little groggy in the hospital Hutch. Tell me again what happened up there.” Starsky sat on the bed and handed him a glass of water. “And take your pain pill before you forget.”

Hutch swallowed the pill and relaxed into the pillow. “It seemed like Garnier was buying my cover until he said my accent was too thick if you can believe it. The next thing I knew, I was wrestling with one of the bodyguards when the ceiling gave way. I spun around at the last second and forced myself to land on top of him, which probably broke my fall.  It’s over, buddy. Garnier is dead. I’m gonna be fine.”

Starsky gave thanks every day for his partner. No one could get themselves out of a pinch like Hutch.

“I know, I know. I’ll stop fussing. You just need to rest,” Starsky remarked, sighing as he got up to leave.

Hutch caught his elbow and pulled him back to his side. “If I’m not wrong, we have a date.”

Starsky felt his face flush. “Whaddya mean, a date?”

“We’ve been saying we need to talk since this case began. I’m not letting you avoid it anymore.”

Starsky remained quiet, not knowing where to begin.

Hutch’s eyes softened, his persistence unwavering. “Ok, I’ll go first.”

Hutch lifted a hand and squeezed Starsky’s shoulder. He smiled shyly and said, “Starsk, in case you didn’t know by now, I love you. I’m lost without you. I don’t want anyone else, only you.”

Starsky’s mouth opened, but his words became lodged in his throat. He snapped his mouth shut and looked away, searching the ceiling to help express what he felt, blurting out, “I was supposed to say it first.”

Hutch threw his head back and laughed. “I didn’t know this was a competition.”

Starsky grinned and lowered his voice. “No competition. I win either way.” He started to half-sing, half-speak,  “How could I ever refuse…I feel like I win when I lose..”

“Are you singing that ABBA song again?” Hutch asked with a smile.

“I think I’ve been singing it in my sleep.”

Starsky quieted. He paused, absorbing the devoted expression on Hutch’s face. Lowering his head, he drew Hutch near with his eyes.

Hutch tilted up his chin, allowing Starsky to lay his mouth upon the offered lips. They joined together, Starsky trembling at the sweet wetness of Hutch’s tongue, his pulse racing as his senses were overcome with desire.

Time became meaningless as Starsky submitted to a rush of helpless need. His dreams were a pale comparison to reality, immeasurable against his awakened heart.

Starsky wanted the kiss to last for eternity, but his breathlessness forced their lips apart.

He nestled his head at Hutch’s ear, words flowing with the truth he could no longer deny.

“I’m in love with you, Hutch. There, I said it. I love you and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Hutch held his head, stroking his curls. “How long have you known?”

“Maybe for the last couple hundred years or so, give or take a few.” Starsky raised his head, blinking the moisture from his eyes. “How long for you?”

“I don’t know exactly. Since yesterday…or since years ago. I wanted to say it, but was afraid of losing you.”

“I was afraid too. I was having dreams about us.  We were on a battlefield, I think it was the Battle of Waterloo. I couldn’t see your face at first, but I knew it was you.It was like you were speaking to me when I slept.”

Starsky’s tone softened as he continued. “It felt like my body was broken into pieces and I needed you to put it back together. Like you did for me after Gunther, but this time, it was more than my body. It was my soul too.”

Starsky paused, and continued, chuckling, “A little ABBA song helped me figure that out. Go figure. I always thought I was a Bob Dylan man.”

“A person can love different kinds of music, Starsk. No rules can apply to what, or who, we’re attracted to.”

“It took me a while, but I know that now. So where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know what comes next, but I do know wherever you go, I’ll be at your side,”  Hutch said.

“Me too. I want to look at the moon with you for the rest of my life.”

Starsky stood up, stripped his clothes, and helped Hutch remove his pajamas. He climbed under the covers and snuggled into Hutch’s arms.

Starsky’s heart was fired by passion as the dying sun transitioned to a moonlit brightness. The soothing touch of Hutch’s wandering fingertips calmed his trembling skin, catching his breath as he swelled beyond pleasure.

No space existed between them as Starsky succumbed to the rhythm of their intertwined bodies.

He could not hold back his climax, building to a wild release beneath Hutch’s writhing body.

His shouts of Hutch’s name mingled with Hutch’s fervent cries of his own.

Starsky’s body was spent, but he never felt more alive. He wrapped himself around the man he loved as they both yielded to a blissful sleep.

His beating heart drummed a victory song, for a love surrendered.