Once

350

He’d been a cop once. One who loved his job, loved his partner. Was in love with his partner, but the timing was all wrong and it nearly destroyed them both. Hutch left to find other ways to make a life for himself, struggling with incredible pain and barely surviving.

Hutch’s life spirals ever downward after confessing his love for his partner, everything going from bad to worse. Can he survive living in a world without his partner? Maybe even more important, can he survive in a world with him?

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He’d been a cop once. One who loved his job, loved his partner. Was in love with his partner, but he should have kept his mouth shut. Telling Starsky put their friendship on shaky ground because Starsky wasn’t in love with him, didn’t want anything to change between them, didn’t trust that it wouldn’t.

Hutch did his best to calm things. He asked no questions, kept his hands to himself and limited all interaction after work to public gatherings with groups of friends. Away from the job, they were never alone.

Things settled down when Starsky met Laura Manning. She was smart and pretty, had a wicked sense of humour and was a terrific cook. They seemed a good match and Hutch tried hard to be happy for them.

He met Sam Taylor at a bar one night. Sam was a drug rep for a pharmacological lab with a territory that covered Southern California. They hit it off and started hanging out whenever Sam wasn’t traveling. Nothing serious, just something to do in the evening when they had nothing else going. They grew closer, attracted to one another, but in no hurry to do anything about it.

That changed after an especially bad day on the streets. Abandoned by Starsky and faced with an evening alone, Hutch called Sam. They met at a bar and got too drunk to drive home. They ended up in each other’s arms at a motel down the street. Too wasted to do more than rub their bodies together, they enjoyed quick orgasms, then passed out.

Morning was awkward at first. They woke in messy bedding with blinding hangovers. They intended to take quick showers and go their separate ways, but their embarrassment faded as they gathered their things. They shared a shower, exploring each other with soapy touches and made each other come. When they said their goodbyes, they planned to meet at Sam’s place when he returned from his next trip.

They took it slow, alternating between Sam’s place and Hutch’s. Nowhere near ready for penetration, they found great pleasure in leisurely 69s, sucking each other to mutual orgasm and sleeping in each other’s arms.

It wasn’t love. They agreed neither of them wanted that kind of commitment. But the companionship was pleasant and the sex made it special. It helped Hutch bury his unrequited love for Starsky and continue to work at his side.

And then John Blaine died.

They’d solved the case quickly because of unspoken pressure. Everyone agreed that John was a good cop, highly-decorated, well-regarded. A family man in the wrong place at the wrong time, murdered by a crooked cop involved with illegal drugs.

But learning John was gay, and that his wife knew he preferred his male lovers to her, totally blindsided Starsky. Maggie Blaine pleaded with him to remember John as a good man who loved him, who was proud of the young man he’d had a hand in raising. Starsky tried, saying what he thought were all the right things, agreeing people had the right to be themselves without condemnation or judgment from society at large. He even laughed half-heartedly at Hutch’s observation that they spent the majority of their time together, and what did that mean? But he questioned everything now and his faith in Hutch was shattered.

Privately, he struggled with the truth. He had a problem with homosexuality, with being confronted by it and the prejudice that came with it. He didn’t try to hide his misgivings from Hutch, but he refused to discuss them further. Hutch backed off, careful not to judge and to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself.

A few weeks later at his place, Hutch broached the subject with Sam over a couple of beers. Sam shrugged off the labels. He worked a job where sexual preference wasn’t hidden. It was an asset that could be used; flirting often improved sales. He was an extrovert, handsome, discreet and focused, and he wondered why Hutch was so concerned. Hutch dropped the subject and asked Sam about his latest trip.

But later, as they prepared for bed, Hutch asked Sam to penetrate him. He’d wondered what it was like since learning about John’s secret life and lovers and he trusted Sam enough to try. Sam agreed to do it.

Hutch pulled out the tube of lubricant he’d bought, hoping Starsky would use it on him till his partner shut him down. Sam finished stripping, laid down on the bed and invited Hutch to prepare him. Hutch carefully squeezed gel on his fingers and slowly, shyly caressed Sam with it, arousing them both as Sam got hard.

Hutch straddled him.

Sam repositioned himself, grabbing Hutch’s hips and aligning with his hole, deliberately pushing up into Hutch as Hutch sank down. It hurt, but not for long. Hutch gasped at the sensations as Sam moved in him, encouraging Hutch to ride his cock, growing longer and harder as Hutch obeyed.

It was wonderful. Hutch soared toward ecstasy, more aroused than he’d ever been, touching himself, stroking hard, almost there—

“Hutch?”

He froze, shocked at Starsky standing unannounced in the bedroom doorway. As their eyes met and locked, Hutch gasped and came in the most intense orgasm he’d ever had, sharing it with the man he loved. The gaze lasted a lifetime, then his eyes closed as he fell to earth.

When he opened them again, Starsky was gone.

He felt dirty, caught in the act of being unfaithful. He uncoupled quickly and left the bed, wanting to catch Starsky, to try to explain…

Explain what? He’d gotten as far as the coffee table when he heard the Torino start and pull away from the curb in a hurried screech. His bare foot stepped on something hard. He looked down to find the spare key he’d once given Starsky, now a pointed symbol of rejection.

He picked it up and carried it with him back to the bedroom. Sam was up and almost dressed.

“This was a mistake, Ken. Your partner, right? You mentioned him once, but didn’t tell me you were in love with the guy. Does he know?” Sam tucked his shirt into his jeans, shoved his socks into a pocket and stepped into his loafers.

“Yeah,” Hutch set the key on his dresser. “Said he wasn’t interested. He didn’t know about you.”

“No reason he should. There’s nothing to know. We were drinking buddies having some fun, but it’s over now. Take care of yourself, Ken. You’re a nice guy. I hope you work it out.” He left the room without saying goodbye.

Hutch closed his eyes and snorted softly to himself, knowing that would never happen. He didn’t bother escorting Sam to the door. After he was gone, Hutch took a shower, got into sweats and stripped the bed, then tried to call Starsky. When he got no answer, he took the sheets down to the dumpster, then sat alone in the dark and finished the rest of the beer in the fridge. At some point, he passed out on the couch.

* * * *

He showed up for work ten minutes late, with a hangover he didn’t try to hide. At the end of roll-call, the last announcement mentioned Starsky had put in for a transfer and the team was invited to a goodbye party at the bar down the block after work on Friday.

He waited until they were in the Torino and on the streets before he said anything.

“A transfer? Is this to punish me?” When Starsky ignored him, he reached out and touched his partner’s leg.

“You goddamn fag! Get your hand off me!”

Hutch snatched his hand away in shock. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and absently scrubbed away imagined filth. “Can we at least—”

Starsky pulled to the curb. “Either shut your mouth or get outta my car. Oh! And give me back my house key.”

Hutch pulled the spare to Starsky’s place off his key ring and set it on the console. “Don’t worry. I’m done talking.”

Starsky picked up the key and shoved it in a pocket. “See that you are.” He pulled away from the curb and back onto the streets.

They spent the rest of their shift in absolute silence.

When they got back to the precinct, Hutch went to Dobey’s office, then stopped by their desk long enough to say, “You don’t need to transfer on my account, Starsky. I just quit. Enjoy your life.”

He left the station, bought two fifths of whiskey and spent the next week home alone, drunk on his ass.

* * * *

One hundred fifty dollars. That’s what was left after paying his bills and balancing his accounts. He had no idea what to do now that he was unemployed. Going back to school and becoming the lawyer his father wanted him to be didn’t appeal to him. Neither did becoming a cop elsewhere. Not without Starsky at his side.

The most tempting options at the moment were eating the barrel of the gun he cradled or crawling into a bottle. After a long time staring at the gun, he sighed heavily, got up and locked it away, then opened the new bottle of whiskey he’d bought and poured himself a drink.

* * * *

Time to decide on his next job. Something. Anything. Just as long as it got him out of the house and away from the booze. If he opened another bottle so soon, he’d be dead of alcohol poisoning before he finished it.

What he took surprised him. His first full-time job in college was as a short-order cook in an off-campus diner. He’d learned to develop a rhythm and excelled at it, making good food and filling orders quickly. He went back to cooking, working in a small mom-and-pop restaurant in a family-friendly, blue-collar neighbourhood across town. The rhythm came back to him, he kept a clean kitchen and nobody bothered him. It didn’t pay much, but he lived simply and it was enough.

* * * *

Three months later, he read in the paper that Starsky was marrying Laura Manning. He wasn’t invited, wasn’t surprised. He thought about sending a gift, but decided the gesture would be unwelcomed. The unopened bottle in the cupboard tempted, but he took extra shifts and came home grubby and too tired to do anything but shower and sleep.

* * * *

For eighteen months, he lived a solitary life, working, watching a little TV and playing his guitar. He didn’t date, didn’t socialize with anyone.

Then one night, he saw the news report of a fiery freeway pile-up in heavy fog on the coast, two dozen cars, multiple deaths and injuries. A follow-up story reported eight deaths and seven victims hospitalized, some with life-threatening injuries. This time, names were mentioned and to his horror, Hutch recognized one—Laura Starsky, dead in one of the fiery collisions, along with her infant twin sons.

In a panic, Hutch called Dobey.

“There’s nothing to tell you that you don’t already know, Hutch. It’s too soon for arrangements. The coroner hasn’t released the bodies yet. Starsky’s devastated. So are her parents. She was an only child.”

“Is there anything I—”

“No. I doubt he’d want to hear from you anyway. He still bristles if your name comes up, even after all this time.”

He heard the tension in Dobey’s voice, warning him not to push it. “Thanks, Cap.”

“How are you, Hutch? What are you—?”

He hung up before Dobey finished his question.

For two days, he scoured the papers, watching for funeral arrangements. And then he found them—a closed casket service at the funeral home the next afternoon, followed by a graveside service at the cemetery. Hutch took the day off and showed up at the funeral home a half hour before the service.

It affected him more than he anticipated. Three closed caskets—one large, two tiny—were clustered together, their silvery sheens dulled by the floral blankets covering them. People hovered protectively and sobbed. He stayed in the background and kept to himself, nodding to cops he knew back in the day, but most of them ignored him and he didn’t talk to anyone. He walked around, waiting for Starsky, looking at family photos on display. A recent portrait caught his eye—Starsky and his wife, smiling at the camera, proudly holding their sons in their laps. But it wasn’t the Starsky he remembered. There was a smile on this one’s face, but a hint of sadness in his eyes, as though forever grieving an unnamed loss, and he wondered at it.

“Mr. Hutchinson?” One of the funeral directors was at his elbow, speaking quietly.

“Yes?”

“The service is about to begin, Sir. Ummm… Mr. Starsky has requested we ask you to leave. He doesn’t want you here.” The director coughed in faint embarrassment. “Please?”

Over the man’s shoulder, Hutch saw Starsky waiting in one of the doorways with an older couple and a clergyman. He gave a slight nod, turned and left without a word through another door.

He went straight home, opened the bottle and got drunk.

* * * *

He became a functional mute and his routine didn’t vary. At work, he cleaned and cooked and organized the stock orders that came into his kitchen. On the way home to start his days off, he bought a new bottle of whiskey, locked himself in and drank it, ignoring the occasional phone call and the even rarer knock on his door.

Six weeks after the funerals, Hutch found Dobey waiting on his doorstep when he got home from work. He frowned, but allowed his former boss entry. He had no coffee and didn’t offer anything else to drink. He just crossed his arms and leaned against the counter as Dobey took a seat on the couch.

“Why are you here, Cap? What can you possibly want from me?”

“I need your help, Hutch. Starsky…well, Starsky had a breakdown. He’s confined to the psych ward at Bay City Hospital.” Dobey looked anxiously at him, but Hutch said nothing. Dobey sighed and continued. “I’m asking you to go see him. Doc says he might recover sooner if he talked to you.”

Hutch straightened and went into the kitchen. He poured himself a drink from the bottle in the cupboard, drank it down, then decidedly shook his head. “No.”

“Please, Hutch.” Dobey was almost begging. “He asked for you.”

Hutch contradicted him. “Someone misunderstood. He doesn’t want me anywhere near him. He made that abundantly clear at the funeral home. I was asked to leave. Now I’m asking you. Go.”

Dobey watched Hutch pour himself another drink. “I can remember when you didn’t drink anything harder than beer.”

Hutch deliberately drank it down and wiped his mouth. “I didn’t used to do a lot of things. Times change, Cap. You need to go.”

Dobey stood and Hutch walked him to the door. “You’ve changed. That’s for sure. Goodbye, Hutch. Sorry I bothered you.”

Hutch shut the door behind him and went back to the kitchen. He picked up the bottle, but didn’t pour another drink. He put it back in the cupboard and took a shower instead.

* * * *

On his next day off, with deep misgivings, Hutch found himself at Bay City Hospital. He signed into the psych ward and was directed to Starsky’s room, but he stopped in the doorway and waited to be noticed. Starsky was in bed, staring at the ceiling. He took his time focusing on Hutch.

“You’re here.”

“Can I come in?” Hutch frowned, wondering why he risked coming.

Starsky waved a hand. It was cuffed to the bed. “Why not? I can’t stop you.”

“Sure you can. Just say no and you’ll never see me again.”

Starsky shrugged. “Yeah, come on in. Whaddaya want?”

“Dobey said you asked for me.” Hutch edged into the room, but stayed near the door.

“I did?” Starsky scowled. “Hmmm…. Maybe so. They told me I did and said a lot of things when I lost it at the station. I don’t remember most of them.”

“I see.” Hutch rummaged for the car keys in his pocket. “This was a mistake then. They warned me not to upset you, so I’d better go.” He exhaled heavily and turned for the door. “Sorry for the miscommunication, Starsk. Feel better soon.”

“Hutch, wait!”

But he was gone.

* * * *

Hutch put up a good front at work. He managed to get the job done, but he was drinking more and sleeping less. He never should have listened to Dobey and gone to see Starsky. It awakened the feelings he had for the man, feelings he had buried deep and tried so hard to forget.

He stripped and crawled into bed, drunk but aroused, trying to recall the last time he’d touched himself. It was here in this room, a long time ago. He’d been riding Sam’s cock, a sensation completely forgotten now. What he remembered was the sweet ecstasy of bringing himself to the brink of heaven and staring into Starsky’s eyes as his orgasm hit. Of breaking into a million pieces and falling into hell.

He tried to recreate any of it, wanting to feel something, stroking his cock, telling himself how good it felt, but he was too drunk to do it, and he gave up in despair. He’d had everything he wanted once, in one eternal moment blended with Starsky’s soul, but it was gone now. Unrecoverable.

He wanted to cry for what he’d had once, would never have again, but the tears wouldn’t come. There was only the pain.

* * * *

He woke in darkness, loud, relentless pounding invading his sleep. He rolled away from it, tried to ignore it, but it was persistent, not to be denied, and he realized there was someone at the door. A determined someone who wasn’t going away. Hutch got up, shrugged into a robe and shuffled angrily to answer it.

“What the hell—?”

It was Starsky.

“Let me in, Hutch.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to. Because we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t. I don’t want you here.” Hutch started to close the door, but Starsky forced his way in and closed it himself, then shoved Hutch against it and kissed him.

Hutch tried to push him away. “Are you outta your mind? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Claiming what’s mine. What you offered me once, and I threw back in your face.” He opened the robe and touched Hutch’s cock.

“Get your hands off of me!”

“Why? I know you want me. You told me so yourself. I know you’re alone tonight. It’s not like last time. I’m not interrupting anything or anybody.” Starsky leaned into him in the dark, didn’t stop touching.

“How would you know? Let go of me, dammit!” He grabbed Starsky by his wrists and pushed him away.

“You did it in front of me last time I was here. Who’s touching you now?” Starsky reached for him again.

Hutch punched him and Starsky went down. “NO ONE!” he shouted. He backed against the door and rubbed his hand against his robe. “No one is,” he said in a quieter voice. “I haven’t been touched since you called me a fag.”

“I don’t believe you.” Starsky was quiet for a moment. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sulking about a little name-calling all this time. You want an apology? Okay. I’m sorry I called you a fag.”

Hutch shrugged. It was old pain. A pain he lived with every day. Not to be forgotten.

Starsky got up and brushed himself off. “What about—”

Hutch interrupted. “Sam followed you out that night. You weren’t the only one I embarrassed. Said he was done with me. I never saw him again.”

“You weren’t an embarrassment, Hutch. You just caught me by surprise. You made me an offer and I turned on you.”

“Get over yourself, Starsky. It was a long time ago. You were honest with me, told me no, and we both moved on.”

“But I wasn’t honest. I was afraid of what people were thinking. Of what they were saying.” Starsky hesitated and drew closer. “I’m not anymore. Let me make it up to you.”

The pain flared again, warning Hutch not to believe him, and he listened to it. “Stop. If I thought it would help, I’d let you,” Hutch muttered in a low voice. “But you want nothing I have to give. You’ve lost your family and you’re grieving. You’d say anything, do anything to forget what you’re feeling for a little while.” Hutch closed his eyes and spoke more to himself than to Starsky. “I don’t want you hating yourself for anything we’d do here.”

Starsky deliberately caressed him and his cock got hard. He needed to stop this, but he couldn’t. Didn’t want to. Hutch moaned and arched into Starsky’s hand, whispering, “God…oh God…please….”

“Please what, Hutch? Tell me. What do you want?” Starsky’s voice was soft. Intimate. Demanding.

“You. God help me, I want you.” He lost himself in Starsky’s touch, then Starsky took it all away.

“Come with me, babe. Show me what you’ve kept for me all this time.” Starsky led him into the bedroom.

Hutch dropped his robe on the floor and turned on the bedside lamp. “What—?”

“Lay down and touch yourself, Hutch. Make yourself hard. Make yourself come like you did for me last time. The memory of that punished me for years.” Starsky slowly undressed. “But that’s what you intended.”

“It punished us both.” The betrayal was intense as Starsky stood over him, deliberately out of reach. “But let’s be honest. You don’t want me, you wanna watch me play with myself.” Hutch wrapped his fingers around his cock. “Okay, then watch. Let’s get this done so you can go.” He stroked himself for Starsky’s pleasure, growing harder with Starsky’s murmured encouragement. Hutch closed his eyes and soared toward an ecstasy he’d only known once. When one of Starsky’s fingers touched the swollen head of his cock, Hutch screamed and exploded in orgasm while Starsky watched.

It wasn’t enough. Hutch panted raggedly, wanting more, whatever Starsky would deign to give. He shuddered when Starsky reached out and touched the cum on his hands and licked the gathered wetness from a finger.

Hutch groaned. Starsky’s cock hung over him and he captured it, took it into his mouth, enjoying the sensation as it hardened against his tongue. He sucked enthusiastically, and too soon, Starsky gasped and spilled down his throat. Hutch came again in delight.

They were both exhausted. Hutch moved over and pulled Starsky down on the bed. As Starsky stretched out beside him, he drew the sheet over them both.

“We need to talk, Hutch.”

“Rest now. We’ll talk in the morning.” Hutch reached over and turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He wanted to hold Starsky, but was still unsure. Then Starsky slid an arm across his chest and gave a possessive hug. Hutch sighed and fell asleep, a faint smile on his face.

* * * *

He woke alone at sunrise, with no sign Starsky had ever been there.

Hutch crawled out of bed disgusted with himself. His memories of the night before weren’t real. He desperately needed a shower, but first swung by the kitchen and poured himself a drink. He downed it, washed hands sticky from pleasuring himself, then poured another, frowning at the bottle. He’d gone through this one quicker than usual, but right now, he didn’t care. He set it on the counter, downed the second drink and stumbled to the bathroom.

Clean up didn’t take long. He wandered into the living room—and Starsky was waiting.

“What—?”

“When was the last time you bought groceries? I wanted to make you breakfast, but there isn’t a thing to eat in this place.” Starsky set coffee and a bag of golden arch breakfast on the table. “I went out to buy some. I didn’t want to break back in, so I borrowed your keys.” Hutch’s keys went on the table next to the food.

Hutch shrugged. “I’ve already had breakfast.”

“I saw the bottle. How much ‘breakfast’ have you had?”

He didn’t answer.

Starsky picked up the coffee and held one out to him. “Then think of this as lunch. Do me a favour and drink it.”

He went into the kitchen instead and put the bottle away. “I don’t need groceries. I eat at work.”

“Where’s that?” Starsky followed him, still carrying the coffee.

“I cook.” Hutch didn’t say where.

“You working today?” Starsky stood in the doorway, blocking his exit.

“No. Day off.”

“Then you’ll need something to eat. Last night you said we’d talk in the morning. It’s morning. Let’s talk.”

He huffed, but took the cup Starsky held out. They went back into the living room and sat on the couch.

Starsky drank some of his coffee, then opened the bag and grabbed a sandwich. “I’m hungry. Help yourself.”

The smell upset his stomach. He sat back and focused on keeping the coffee down. “What we did last night was a mistake. You woke me and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“You were drunk. I could smell it on your breath.”

“So I was drunk. That’s my business. It would have been better if you hadn’t come back.” He choked on a mouthful of coffee and muttered, “Or not come here at all. Why did you? I thought you were in the hospital. When were you released?”

“Day before yesterday. They put me on short-term disability for now.”

He watched silently as Starsky finished his sandwich and reached for the other. “Are you going to eat this?”

He shook his head. “No. Go ahead.”

“Thanks” Starsky unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite, washed it down with more of his coffee. “I haven’t eaten much the past few days.”

Hutch snorted softly, but didn’t respond. He waited until Starsky finished eating, then asked his question again. “Why did you even come, Starsk? I have nothing to say you want to hear.”

“I wanted to apologize for calling you—”

“A fag?” Hutch scoffed. “So what? You were right. I am. That’s why I got out of your life, so nobody could point fingers. Question your manhood. You took care of the rest.”

“The rest?”

“Yeah. You got married, had kids. Lived a normal life. Killed the gossip.”

Starsky shook his head. “You don’t know. I was so angry, Hutch. At you, at John, at Maggie, at everyone. I was hurt and confused and unable to say anything because of what you’d told me once. That you loved me and wanted more.”

“Let it go, Starsk. I get it. I was a humiliation you didn’t want to deal with.” He finished the coffee and set the cup down. “I should have stayed away from the funerals, the hospital…. Don’t worry. I’ll leave you alone from now on. I’ll make sure you never see me again.” He got up and went to his wallet on the counter, pulled out a couple of singles and took them over to Starsky. “For the coffee. I’m sorry about last night. I took advantage of you and that was seriously wrong of me. If you want to press charges, I won’t fight you. I’ll sign a confession and go quietly. But we’ve had our talk now. You need to go. Forget you ever knew me.”

Starsky shook his head. “No, Hutch. You weren’t a humiliation. That night I showed up unannounced and walked in on you and…and…” Starsky swallowed hard.

“Sam,” Hutch offered.

“Sam.” Starsky looked at Hutch, determined to have his say. “I wanted to ask you what you meant. What you wanted to do with me. Maybe get you to show me. And you did.” Starsky sighed and absently hugged himself. “I was with you when you came. A part of you. I came too, and it scared me to death. I ran like hell. Truth is, I didn’t realize Sam was there till later.”

Hutch remembered Starsky sharing his orgasm. He didn’t remember Sam’s cock at all. “Starsk—”

“I went home, cleaned up, then called Laura. I told her about you, wanted to tell her about that night, but she said things that surprised me, and I shut down.”

“Things?”

“She said that people like you weren’t normal, had no business trying to force themselves on the rest of us. I know now it was her father talking. He’s quite the homophobe.” Starsky stopped talking for a time, and Hutch waited. “But I felt better when she said it. Felt like me again and I turned my back on you.”

This line of thought was upsetting Starsky, and Hutch tried to divert it. “Tell me about your family, Starsk. You and Laura had twins? When were they born?”

“Six months ago. Twins were a surprise. We didn’t know till just before she delivered.”

“What did you name them?”

“Laura wanted to name them after our dads, so we did. ‘John’ for mine and ‘Andrew’ for hers.”

Hutch looked at him in confusion. “But your dad’s name was Jacob.”

“Yeah,” Starsky shrugged and played with his empty coffee cup. “I told you my father-in-law was a homophobe. Truth is, he’s an all-round bigot. He wouldn’t have tolerated ‘Jacob’. Too Jewish, even though I’m not religious. He barely tolerated me.”

“Why ‘John’?”

Starsky shot him a penitent look. “A nod to John Blaine. He was as much a father figure to me as my own father was. Maybe even more so. My dad died when I was little, Hutch. John pulled me out of a troubled youth, kept me on the straight and narrow. When I joined the army, he and Maggie kept in touch. When I became a cop, he was there when I graduated the academy.” Starsky leaned forward and dumped his empty cup into the bag of breakfast trash. “After making the mistake of talking about you, I never told Laura about Blaine. When it came time to name the twins, I just said ‘John’ and she assumed. My mom never said different. She and the in-laws didn’t get along.”

“What else aren’t you telling me, Starsk?”

Starsky took a shaky breath. “Understand that I loved my wife, Hutch. She was a good person in her way, and I tried hard to be a good husband. But I knew the marriage was doomed. She listened to her father and he ran the show whenever he could. After you quit, Dobey partnered me with a rookie. A bit of an eager beaver, but he’s a good detective. Laura was polite, but stand-offish until she met his wife. They got to be best friends.”

“Starsky,” Hutch had known this man a long time. Was in love with him. But something had broken him and Hutch wanted to know what. There was a deeply buried sadness that was eating him alive. Something he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“I never should have married Laura. I liked her fine, but it wasn’t enough. I was on the verge of leaving when she got pregnant and I was trapped.”

“Trapped how?”

“It took me a long time to admit it to myself, but I wanted to explore what your kind of love was like, Hutch, what you offered me, and that complicated things. After she announced her pregnancy, if I’d left Laura, her father would have made every effort to cut me out of their lives. She told him everything and he knew about you. He would have taken no chances I‘d hook up with you and ‘taint’ his grandchildren. That’s why I asked you to leave before the funeral service. If he’d known you were there, he would have caused a scene and I didn’t want to deal with it.”

The admission eased some of the pain he carried, but he knew Starsky, knew there was more. “And?” he asked quietly.

Starsky looked at him with tears in his eyes. “And God help me, if they had to…to die…,” he choked, “I’m glad they went together. Laura’s parents would have fought me for custody and her father would have turned my boys into racist homophobes if they’d won.” Starsky jumped up and paced the room. “Ohmygod, Hutch! I just said I’m glad my boys are dead so I can see what love with you is like! What kind of a monster does that make me?!”

Hutch pulled him into a hug and held on tight as Starsky burst into tears. “You’re not a monster, and you’re not ‘tainted’. You’ve suffered a horrible tragedy no one should have to deal with. And you’ve had to do it alone.”

Starsky cried in his arms for a long time and Hutch held him, rocking gently, saying nothing more. When the tears slowed, Hutch murmured, “Go wash your face and lay down for a while. You’ll feel better when you’ve had some sleep.”

Starsky hiccupped and nodded.

* * * *

He wanted a drink, but he wasn’t alone and he needed to stay sober for Starsky. Hutch went to the doorway to check on Starsky again, still asleep three hours after being tucked in. Starsky was restless, crying softly in his sleep and Hutch hurt for him, but he had to be careful. Starsky had said things Hutch longed to hear, but he was grieving and when he was better, his need for Hutch would be gone.

Another hour passed and Hutch stopped worrying. Starsky was finally in a deep sleep, calm and quiet. He went to the kitchen. There wasn’t much in it, but he finished the bottle, then settled on the couch to rest.

* * * *

“Hutch? Where are you?”

Hearing his name woke him and he was confused, struggled to answer. “Huh? Who’s there?” He sat up and wiped his face. It was late afternoon already. He’d slept half the day away.

Starsky was standing over him, waving the empty whiskey bottle. “I was going to buy you dinner, but you’ve already had it. You’re drunk.” The words were accusatory, the tone disappointed.

“No, I’m not. There was only half a glass left. Not enough to get me drunk.” He got to his feet, took the bottle away from Starsky and tossed it in the trash. “I’m not especially hungry, but if you are, order a pizza. I think there’s an old menu in the drawer over there.” He thought for a moment, then said, “See if they’ll include soda. I don’t have anything to drink except water. No grocery shopping, remember?”

“I don’t want pizza.”

“And I don’t go out.” Hutch sighed and went to the front door. “Go home, Starsk. We’re done here.” He opened the door and leaned against it. “I’m sorry about your family. I truly am. And I’m sorry my behavior—never mind. It was totally inappropriate.” He couldn’t look at Starsky anymore. Just wanted him gone so he could be alone again. It was what he was used to, what kept him out of trouble the past two years. And if he drank now and then, so what? If he was an alcoholic, at least he always locked himself in so no one got hurt when he drank.

But the bottle was empty. He’d have to get another. “C’mon, Starsky. Time to go.”

Starsky approached him and reached out to touch, but he shook his head and backed away. “Don’t. There’s nothing for you here. Just leave and don’t come back.”

He walked past Hutch without a word. Hutch closed and locked the door.

* * * *

He was supposed to be off, but his boss called and offered him an extra shift. Hutch took it. He got up, dressed quickly and brushed his teeth, then headed out the door.

Starsky was sitting on the steps, holding a paper bag.

“What the hell are you doing here? I told you not to come back.”

“I brought you breakfast.” Starsky held the bag out to him.

“I don’t have time. I got called into work and I’ll be late if I don’t hurry.” He stepped around Starsky and started down the stairs.

“Then I’ll leave it in the door. You can have it for dinner.” Starsky opened the bag and pulled a bottle of whiskey part way out of it. “Save you a stop on your way home tonight.”

Hutch stopped in annoyance. “Starsk—”

“You don’t want to eat with me, you don’t to be with me. Think of me as one of your pickups buying you a drink. You don’t even have to share it with me.”

He shook his head in disgust. “I’m late. I gotta go.”

“How can I make you understand? I came here to tell you I love you, Hutch. That I want—”

“Stop!” He grabbed the bottle from Starsky’s hand and smashed it on the steps. “You don’t know or care what that means to me. One of my pickups? You and your twisted in-laws think it’s all about the sex. Meet a guy, suck his cock, or take it up the ass and I’m good till the next guy wants “my kind of love.”” He shook his head and left Starsky sitting there.

When he got to his car, Hutch glanced back at Starsky and muttered to himself, “Maybe they’re right. Maybe it is all about the sex. That’s what he wanted from me. That’s what I gave him. Maybe I’m the one who’s got it wrong. They asked what someone like me would even know about love. To them, I’m all about trolling for perverts, spreading my legs for anyone who asks.”

The bleak future he’d been avoiding—sharing meaningless sex with strangers—was looming again. He shouldn’t have broken Starsky’s bottle. Living a solitary life was hard and sometimes alcohol helped. He’d need to get more.

Hutch started his car and drove to work.

* * * *

The restaurant was busy and he was tired when his shift ended. He grabbed the dinner he packed to go and headed home, planning to eat, shower and get some sleep. He had another early shift tomorrow. When he got there, he sighed. The Torino was parked up the street from his place, but there was no sign of Starsky. Hutch let himself in, put supper in the oven to warm and went out to the Torino to look for him.

He found Starsky asleep in the back seat. From the look of things, he’d been living in his car. Hutch tapped on the window to wake him.

“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you go home?”

Starsky rolled the window down and rubbed his eyes. “It isn’t my home. Not anymore. Truth be told, it never was. The in-laws owned the place. Laura grew up there and insisted we rent it from them. A month after the funerals, I came home to find movers packing things up. I grabbed my clothes, some of my kids’ things and all the pictures I could find and got the hell outta there. My father-in-law called me at the station the next day demanding Laura’s photo albums and scrapbooks and I melted down.”

“Where are your things now?”

Starsky waved a hand around. “Here, and locked in the trunk. He has no right to them.”

“Unless he had your permission, he had no right to do any of what he did. He can’t evict you without cause and notice.”

“I got what I wanted outta there. The place came furnished. He can burn the rest for all I care.” Starsky wadded up the blanket he’d been sleeping under and climbed over the seat.

Hutch frowned. “So where have you been living since your release from the hospital?”

“In my car.” He slid behind the wheel and dug out his keys. “Step back, Hutch. I’ll find someplace else to park tonight.” He started the Torino.

“Starsk, wait!” Hutch leaned into the open window. “You can sleep at my place until you find another. C’mon inside. I brought dinner.”

He snorted faintly as Starsky turned off the car and asked, “What are we having?”

“Meat and potatoes. Grab what you need. I’ll meet ya inside.” He pulled out of the window and went back to his place.

* * * *

He was dishing up supper when Starsky walked in. Hutch set a plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans in front of him and gathered the wrappings to throw in the trash. “I only have water to drink. Do you want ice in it?”

Starsky nodded and picked up the fork. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah. It was today’s special.” Hutch filled two glasses with water and added ice.

“It’s good.” Starsky swallowed a mouthful of food before he noticed. “Where’s yours?”

“You’re eating it.” Hutch set one of the glasses in front of Starsky and took a drink from the other.

Starsky stopped eating and put the fork down. “No! I can’t—”

“Just eat it, Starsk. I won’t starve. I’ve been sampling meatloaf all day and I’d bet you haven’t eaten a thing. If I’d known you’d be here, I’d’ve brought extra.” He finished his glass of ice water and set it in the sink. “I need to take a shower.”

He left the room as Starsky picked up the fork.

* * * *

It was a longer shower than he usually took. Hutch stood under the spray, wondering what the hell he was doing allowing Starsky to stay with him after what happened last time. He sighed heavily and shut off the water. It didn’t matter. He loved the man and Starsky needed help. He’d just have to be extra careful.

He found Starsky on the sofa, clutching a blanket and a paper bag of clothes.

“Where do you want me?”

“Take the bedroom. I have to be up early for work. That way I won’t disturb you.”

“Hutch, I—”

“Help yourself to anything you need. There’s no food, but tomorrow, I’ll bring dinner and get some groceries so you’ll have something around here to eat.” Hutch turned off the kitchen light and stood next to the sofa.

“Thanks, Hutch. I’ll leave you the blanket and get out of your way.” Starsky stood and took the paper bag into the bedroom and closed the door.

Hutch turned off the lights in the living room, wrapped himself in the blanket and settled on the couch. He was tired, but the blanket distracted him. It smelled of Starsky. He snuggled under it, surrounded by warmth and real comfort for the first time in longer than he could remember.

* * * *

“Smells good. What’s for supper?” Starsky looked up from the sofa as Hutch came in carrying dinner and a bag of groceries.

“There are two more bags in the trunk of my car. Bring them in, will ya, Starsk? It’s open.” Hutch took what he was carrying into the kitchen and set everything on the counter. He slid dinner into the oven to warm, then started putting the groceries away. Starsky brought the rest in and helped.

“What do you want to drink?” Hutch got silverware out of the drawer and pulled their re-heated meals from the oven. “We’re having breakfast for dinner—scrambled eggs, potatoes, sausage links and pancakes. I bought milk and orange juice.”

“Orange juice, please. I’ll get the glasses.” Starsky got two out of the cupboard as Hutch took the orange juice from the fridge.

They sat to eat. Starsky was hungry and scarfed his down so quickly, Hutch wondered if he tasted anything he ate. As Starsky drank his juice and poured another glass, Hutch pushed his plate over and offered it to him. “You look like you want more. Go ahead and finish mine. I’m done.” He drank his own juice as Starsky looked from him to the plate and helped himself. “Thanks”

Hutch watched him eat more slowly and asked, “What did you do today?”

“Laundry. I also washed what was in your hamper. Tomorrow I’ll change your sheets and wash that blanket I left on the couch.”

“No!” He didn’t want to lose Starsky’s scent, but couldn’t admit it without causing a problem. “No, that’s okay. It’s clean enough. Leave it be.”

“Umm, okay.” Starsky finished the food on Hutch’s plate and stacked the dishes. “Do you care what sheets I put on the bed? Where’s the robin’s egg blue set? I always liked that colour.”

“Use any you like, but you won’t find those. I tossed them a long time ago.” Hutch stood and took the dishes to the sink, did a quick wash up.

“Why?”

Hutch shrugged. “Memories. They were on the bed the night you and Sam walked out on me. After you left, they went into the dumpster.” He finished washing the dishes. “You can say it. It was a childish thing to do.”

Starsky was silent for a moment. “Not childish. You were in pain, weren’t you? I never realized that before. Never even considered it.”

Why would you? What would someone like me know about feelings? he thought, but didn’t say out loud.

He felt Starsky come up behind him and wrap his arms around his waist. “Don’t, Starsk. It was a long time ago.”

“And you’re still grieving, even after all this time.”

He felt Starsky’s forehead pressed against his back as arms embraced him from behind. It was true. He was grieving. He’d never stopped. The alcohol helped to dull the pain, but it never went away. And the time to discuss it was long past.

“This isn’t about me. Let it go, Starsk.” He patted the arms across his chest and stepped away from the embrace. “I need to take a shower and get some sleep. I work tomorrow.” He dried his hands and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll bring home supper. How does fish and chips sound? That’s the special, or if you’d prefer something else…”

“Fish and chips sound great. You’re a good cook, Hutch.” Starsky looked at him and asked quietly, “Sleep with me, Hutch. No games, no touchy feely. Just sleep with me. Maybe we’ll both feel better.”

He stopped in the doorway and shook his head. “No. Not a good idea, Starsk. Let’s just keep things the way they are. That way, there’ll be no misunderstandings. I’ll see ya when I get home tomorrow.” He closed the bathroom door.

* * * *

Starsky was sitting at the counter nursing a glass of juice when he picked up his keys the next morning.

“Need anything on my way home? I can pick up some newspapers to help your apartment search. There’s a rack near the register where I work.”

Starsky nodded absently, but said nothing and Hutch left for work.

* * * *

Two days later, Starsky announced, “I have an appointment to see a place tomorrow. If it works for me, I’ll be out of your hair.” He folded the paper he’d been searching and left it on the counter. “Thanks for your patience, Hutch.”

“Not a problem. Need anything? Help with the security deposit? Dishes? Bedding?” Hutch was just about finished cleaning the kitchen. They’d barely spoken the past few days. He’d discouraged any serious conversation between them.

“No, I’ve got it. Place comes furnished. Thanks anyway.” Starsky paused in his retreat to the bedroom. “I’d buy you a fancy dinner to repay you for hosting me, but you don’t go out. Can I buy you a bottle?”

“Not necessary.” He hung up the dish towel and faced Starsky. “Let me know if you do need anything. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Starsky nodded and closed the bedroom door. Hutch headed for the shower and an early night.

* * * *

He came home with dinner to a bottle, a note and an empty place.

H –

I took the apartment. I can move in tomorrow, so I think it’s best if I go now and get out of your way. I can sleep in the car tonight.

I know you said a bottle wasn’t necessary, but I wanted to thank you and you won’t accept anything else from me. Drink it or not, it’s up to you.

I’m so sorry I treated your love like something dirty. I didn’t understand then, and it’s too late now. I only wish I could make it up to you.

S

Hutch sighed. Tomorrow was his day off and he’d thought maybe he and Starsky—. It didn’t matter now. He threw dinner and the note in the trash, skipped the shower and opened the bottle to dull the pain.

* * * *

A soft knock at the door woke him early the next morning. Hutch got up off the couch and shuffled to answer it.

Starsky was standing there. “I wanted to catch you before you left for work.”

“I’m off today. What do you need?” He wasn’t ready for company or serious conversation.

“Oh. I didn’t know—”

“What do you need, Starsk?” he interrupted, but he didn’t step aside to let Starsky in.

Starsky frowned in disapproval. “You’re drunk.”

“And if I am? You bought the bottle. I’m home alone and not hurting anyone,” he said defiantly. “What do you need? I won’t ask again.”

Starsky shrugged. “I-I changed my mind on the apartment and wanted to ask if you’d host me another day or two. But never mind. I’ve got it covered. Sorry I woke you. Go back to bed and sleep it off.” He turned to go.

“Still making your high and mighty assumptions, Mr. ‘Holier-Than-Thou’? I’m not drunk. I opened the bottle, but didn’t drink any of it.” He didn’t know why he bothered, but somehow it was important to him that Starsky knew. “Yeah, you can stay.” He stepped aside to let Starsky in.

Starsky looked at him apologetically. “Thanks. Let me get some clothes.” He went back to the Torino while Hutch waited, and came back with his blanket and paper bag.

“Same arrangements. Take the bedroom.” Hutch closed the door as Starsky tossed his blanket on the couch, took his bag into the bedroom and dropped it on the bed. As Hutch sat down on the couch and picked up the blanket, debating whether to go back to sleep or not, he heard Starsky fussing in the kitchen. He leaned his head back on the couch and sighed.

“Here, Hutch. Drink with me. Maybe it’ll help.” Starsky sat next to him and handed him one of the glasses of whiskey he held.

Hutch took it, clinked it against the one in Starsky’s hand, and drank half of it down. It burned, but the warmth spread quickly on his empty stomach, dulling the pain he carried. He scoffed as Starsky took a sip, then a larger swallow from his glass and choked softly. “Yeah, not exactly the breakfast of champions. Why are we doing this?”

Starsky took another swallow and coughed, then said, “It’s something to do together. Your kind of activity. No talking, no touching, no strings of any kind. I don’t know what else to do, unless you want me to leave till bedtime and not hang around here on your day off.” He took another drink from his glass.

Hutch finished his drink and set the glass on the coffee table, then took Starsky’s drink and finished his, too.

“Hutch?”

He set Starsky’s empty glass next to his, leaned over and kissed him. When he pulled away, Starsky gasped and touched his lower lip.

“Do it again, Hutch. Kiss me.”

He did, leaning into it, deepening the kiss. Starsky moaned against him in growing excitement and he stopped for a moment to suppress the pain that he carried. It was sharper now, punishment for what he was about to do. He wanted love, not sex, but Starsky didn’t, and he had resigned himself to take what he could get. He leaned against Starsky and nuzzled his throat.

“Tell me, Hutch. When I walked in on you and Sam, he was in you, wasn’t he?”

He stopped what he was doing, but didn’t look at Starsky. “Yeah. He was.”

“What…what did it feel like?”

It was curiosity talking, not lust, but it was time to put an end to it. He stood and pulled Starsky to his feet, led him to the bedroom. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

He stopped next to the bed and kissed Starsky again, then took off Starsky’s shirt and unbuttoned his jeans. “Step out of them and lay down.”

As Starsky did, Hutch stripped and rummaged in the nightstand drawer, looking for the tube of lubricant he’d used on Sam. When he found it, he squeezed some on his fingers and applied it to Starsky’s cock, carefully stroking it, arousing Starsky, but not himself. Still, when Starsky was ready, Hutch climbed onto the bed and straddled him, sinking onto Starsky’s cock, accepting it deep in his body.

Starsky gasped in excitement, urging Hutch to move. Hutch watched him while he did, wanting the connection they’d shared once before, but there was none. Only empty sex and the pain of loneliness as Starsky came without him, not even noticing Hutch didn’t get hard.

Hutch uncoupled carefully and lay next to Starsky.

“That…that was amazing, Hutch. Nice and tight. Is it like that every time?”

He could feel Starsky’s heartbeat slow as he touched Starsky’s chest. “I don’t know, Starsk. I’ve only been penetrated twice. And I’ve never done it.” He told himself he was right to do this because Starsky wanted the experience, but there was nothing for him in it and no need to let Starsky know. Hutch gave a quick hug and got up.

“Where are you going, Hutch?”

“Need to get groceries if you’re going to stay here.” He gathered his clothes and retreated to the bathroom to clean up. When he was dressed, he returned for his wallet, ignoring Starsky’s body sprawled on the bed. “Want anything in particular, since I’m going to the store?”

“Don’t run off, Hutch. Stay with me,” Starsky protested.

“I’ll be back soon.” Hutch leaned over and gave Starsky a quick kiss, then left.

* * * *

He took his time shopping, buying groceries for several days, foods he knew Starsky preferred. When he got home, Starsky was asleep, so he put the food away and settled on the couch, wrapped in Starsky’s blanket. It gave him comfort with no demands, and he slept.

* * * *

“Hutch?”

Gentle fingers that smelled of soap and his aftershave stroked his face and he woke to a freshly showered Starsky sitting on the floor next to the couch.

“What are you doing out here alone? You could have come back to bed with me.”

No, he couldn’t. He needed to suppress the feelings sex with Starsky had re-awakened. “Didn’t want to wake you. Are you hungry yet? We can have an early supper.”

“Sounds good. Whatcha got planned?” They got up and headed for the kitchen to cook it.

They kept it simple—steaks, oven fries and broiled tomato slices topped with melted cheese. They kept the dinner conversation simple, too. Starsky spoke of the appointment he had the next day with a therapist to discuss his meltdown and hospital stay. Hutch mentioned some errands he needed to run on his remaining day off. To his relief, they didn’t talk about the sex.

“I should be back by two thirty, Hutch. Will you be home by then?”

He knew why Starsky was asking. He’d deliberately not offered a house key when he agreed Starsky could stay over and he wasn’t about to leave the door unlocked. “Yeah, I’ll be here. Is spaghetti all right for dinner?”

“Whatever you make will be fine, Hutch. Is there something I can do? Pick up while I’m out? You’re doing all the work, shouldering all the expense.”

“No, I’m good. Keeps me busy and out of trouble.” He gathered up the dinner debris and washed the dishes. A shower and early bedtime were next. With Starsky here, he hadn’t bothered getting a bottle.

But Starsky had a request. “Play for me, Hutch. It’s been a long time.”

It had been for him, too, and he was tempted to do it, but sharing his life with Starsky was a bad idea. When Starsky was gone, it would only add to the pain he carried, so he stuck with his plan. Shower and bedtime. “Not tonight. It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He got up and headed for the bathroom.

Starsky was bedded down on the couch when he returned. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to take the bedroom.”

“I’ve already cost you money you don’t have. I feel guilty about taking your bed again, spoiling the privacy I think you need. Take it back, Hutch. I’ll be fine here.” He curled up under his blanket. “Good night.”

Hutch didn’t argue. He went back to his bedroom and closed the door, then thought for a moment. What could it hurt? Maybe they’d both feel better. He sat on the floor and pulled his guitar case from under the bed, opened it and leaned against the bed frame, tuning his guitar. When it was ready, he strummed it softly, played ballad after ballad. Sometimes singing, sometimes humming, sometimes just playing the melody, losing himself in the music. When he finally stopped, he was ready to sleep, but he did feel better. He put the guitar away and climbed into bed.

* * * *

He dreamed of soft kisses, gentle fingers stroking his chest. It had been a long time since he’d been touched like that. Then sharp teeth bit a nipple, and he woke to Starsky, naked and aroused.

“Did you want the bed after all, Starsk? I can take the couch.” He tried to act nonchalant, edged away from Starsky and sat up.

“No. Stay with me. Let me show you how much I—”

“Don’t say it, Starsk.” He sighed heavily and gave in as a hand reached out to him possessively. “We can do whatever you want, but don’t talk feelings. They don’t mean a damn thing.” He left the light off, reached into the nightstand drawer and fumbled for the lubricant, handed the tube to Starsky. “Here ya go. Let me get these off.”

He stood and stepped out of the sweatpants he’d been sleeping in, then climbed back onto the bed and settled on his hands and knees. “Okay, Starsk. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Wha—?”

“You know how this works now. Grease yourself up, stick it in my hole and shove,” he said crudely. “Once you’re in, just move until you come. Nothing to it.” He bowed his head in the dark and waited.

Starsky froze. “I…”

“C’mon, Starsk. What’s the problem? It’ll make you feel good and I won’t tell anyone you fucked a fag.” But when there was still no movement from Starsky, he got up, grabbed his sweatpants and headed for the door. “All right. I’m going back to sleep. I’ll take the couch. Do whatever you want, just keep the noise down till I wake up.”

Out in the living room, Hutch slipped back into the sweatpants, but spurned Starsky’s blanket. He opted for the afghan Starsky had tossed on the chair and settled on the couch, ruthlessly suppressing all of his emotions. Eventually, he slept.

When he woke, Starsky was gone, along with his blanket and bag of clothes. The bed was made, the bathroom tidied. The tube of lubricant was in the trash. There was no note.

Hutch dressed and left to run his errands. He didn’t bother buying groceries; he didn’t expect Starsky back. But he got himself a bottle to dull the pain later. He felt nothing right now, but it always returned.

At home, he put the whiskey in the cupboard and started a load of laundry. He’d already cleaned the kitchen, but he hadn’t vacuumed in a while and he did it now to keep busy. When everything was cleaned and dusted, he put the clothes on to dry and settled on the couch. But as loneliness crept in, so did depression, and he pulled the afghan over himself and tried to sleep.

* * * *

It was early morning. He hadn’t intended to sleep through the night on the sofa, but it was a workday now. Something to do. He got up and got ready, headed out the door. As he got to his car, he looked up the street and glimpsed the Torino at the end of the block. Hutch sighed.

“Dammit, Starsky, open up.” Hutch tapped on the rear window with a key to wake him. When he rolled the window down, Hutch handed it to him. “This is bullshit, Starsky. Just move in. We’ll work something out.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Re-arrange things however you want. Oh! And while you’re at it, fold the clothes in the dryer. I’ve gotta go. I’ll bring dinner.”

He turned away and went to work.

* * * *

He knocked on the door, hoping to get into his place. He’d given Starsky his key and he wondered where Starsky was. The Torino wasn’t out front.

Starsky opened the door. “What’s for supper?” He reached for the bag Hutch carried and took it into the kitchen.

“Beef stew and rolls. I’ll reheat it in a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“I can do it.” Starsky took out a pot and dumped the stew into it, set it on the stove to reheat.

Hutch went to the bedroom and rummaged on the dresser, looking for his spare key, then added it to his keychain. His laundry was folded on the bed in two neat piles, waiting to be put away. He left it and went back to the kitchen.

Starsky was setting out bowls and silverware. There was already butter on the counter, next to the rolls. “What do you want to drink?”

“Milk, if there’s any left. Where’s your car?”

Starsky pulled milk out of the fridge. “Next block over. I ran an errand and there was no place to park when I got back. Get two glasses from the cupboard.” He turned off the stove and ladled stew into the bowls. “It’s ready. Let’s eat.”

Hutch buttered a roll, took a bite, then reached for a bowl of stew. It was one of his better batches, and he watched Starsky eat hungrily, go back for seconds. “Slow down, Starsk. You’ll make yourself sick eating that fast.”

Starsky looked at him in embarrassment. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten today. You’re a terrific cook, Hutch. Better than Laura was.” He ducked his head and ate another spoonful.

Hutch said nothing, uncomfortable to be compared to Starsky’s wife in any way. She hadn’t cared for him and had been vocal about it.

“Why are you letting me move in with you, Hutch?”

“Why were you hanging around? Every time you left, I found you sleeping in your car near my place.”

“Because…because I wanted to be near you. It was like the old days, when we were partners, on and off the job. We didn’t always agree, but with you, I felt…connected. Safe…supported…you always had my back, and that hasn’t changed. You know me. Understand me, even when I don’t know myself.” Starsky looked at him earnestly. “You’ve told me you love me. Maybe I don’t know what you mean, but no matter what I do, you care. I need that, Hutch. I need you.”

He was silent for a long time. “I guess that’s why.” He yawned suddenly, tried to hide it. It had been a long day and he was tired. “Sorry. Let’s clean up. I need to shower. If we’re gonna share the bedroom, I need to clear my clothes off the bed so we have somewhere to sleep tonight.”

“I’ll clean up here. Go take your shower.” Starsky smiled at him and gathered the dirty dishes. “I’ll wait until you’re done to wash these.”

Hutch showered quickly, brushed his teeth and moved into the bedroom. He checked the dresser and found that Starsky had put his things in the bottom two drawers. He re-arranged the others and put his clothes away, then put on clean boxers and a t-shirt and pulled the covers back on the bed. He heard the water go off in the kitchen and headed that way to talk to Starsky.

“I’m tired, Starsk, and I’m going to bed. I have an early shift tomorrow. I’ll try not to disturb you when I get up. I’ll bring dinner home for us.”

To his surprise, Starsky did more than give him a nonchalant wave of acknowledgement. He came over and gave him a token hug. “Thanks, Hutch. I know this isn’t easy for you. I’ll try hard to make this work.” Starsky went back to the sink. “Get some sleep.”

He wished the hug meant something meaningful to Starsky, knew it didn’t. “I’ll see ya when you come to bed. ‘night, Starsk.”

He curled on his side on the edge of the bed, leaving most of it for Starsky.

* * * *

It wasn’t easy, but they were making it work. Starsky cleaned, did laundry and occasional household errands like grocery shopping, and he saw his mandated therapist twice a week in an effort to get back to work. Hutch worked, fed them both and avoided the unopened bottle in the cupboard.

They didn’t talk much the first few days, avoiding anything serious that might cause a misunderstanding. But on the day before his first day off since Starsky moved in, Hutch came home to find a small foot locker in the corner of the bedroom, tags still on it, next to a couple of boxes. “Starsky?”

“What? Oh, I…” Starsky came into the bedroom carrying more boxes. “…I’ll get it out of here, Hutch. I can lock it in the trunk of the Torino as soon as I fill it with these.”

“With what?” He sat on the bed, watching as Starsky crouched down next to the foot locker and opened one of the boxes.

“Keepsakes.” Starsky pulled two teddy bears out of a box. From another, two small quilts with ‘John’ embroidered along the edge of one, ‘Andrew’ on the other. “My mom made the quilts. Laura and I bought the bears when we learned we were having twins. The other boxes have scrapbooks, portraits and photos.” He carefully re-folded the quilts, wrapped them in tissue paper, opened the foot locker and laid them inside, then tenderly did the same with the teddy bears and set them on top, leaving space for the pictures.

“Are there any of us from back in the day?” Hutch asked, curious about the photos in the boxes.

Starsky shrugged.

Somehow, Hutch wasn’t surprised. It told him they’d shared nothing worth remembering, then or now.

Starsky opened the other boxes, putting the scrap books and photos in the empty space beside the quilts. He saved the family portraits—including the one Hutch had seen at the funeral home—for last, touching it gently, then laying it carefully on top of the rest. He closed the foot locker, secured the lock and removed the tags before looking up at Hutch. “Give me a moment and I’ll take it to my car, get it out of your way.”

“It’s not in my way, Starsk, and it doesn’t belong in the trunk of your car. You live here for now. It’s in a safe place. Leave it where it is.”

Starsky looked at him gratefully, then stood and gathered the empty boxes.

“Tell me something?” Hutch got off the bed to help him. “Why are you so sad in that last family portrait?”

“Sad? What do you mean, Hutch?”

“You’re smiling, but I know you, Starsk. There’s sadness in your eyes. Why?”

Starsky didn’t look at him. “I was thinking of you. I missed you, Hutch. I was wrong to treat you the way I did and thought I’d lost you forever.”

“I’m here, Starsk, but I don’t know what we have yet. We’re still picking up the pieces and trying to fit them together.” He juggled boxes and stepped back. “Are you hungry? I brought dinner.”

“What are we having?”

“Thanksgiving. Owner got a deal on turkey, so we served it up family style. There’s containers of sliced turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and broccoli. You won’t go hungry anytime soon.” He smiled as Starsky hurried to the kitchen. “Come keep me company while I warm some of it up.”

Starsky broke down the boxes while Hutch plated the food and warmed it in the oven. While it heated, they continued to talk.

“How’s your therapy going? When do you return to work?”

“He hasn’t said yet. He wasn’t happy with my lack of response at first to his questions about what happened. But we’ve made progress recently, so I’m hoping soon.”

“Progress. Let me guess. You’ve told him about me. What did you say?” Hutch checked their dinner and pulled it out of the oven. “Have a seat, Starsk, and be careful. These plates are hot.” He set the plates on the counter and pulled silverware out of the drawer.

“Yeah. Do you mind? I told him we were trying to recover our friendship. I didn’t mention the sex.” Starsky looked at him warily.

“Probably for the best. It’ll be dangerous enough to call me friend once you get back to work. Nobody needs to know about the sex. You were curious. That’s all it was. And now you know. Doesn’t make us lovers. Doesn’t make you gay.” Hutch grabbed a fork and started to eat. “What do you think? How’s it taste?”

“Really good, Hutch. Food tastes great, and the gravy ties it all together.” Starsky finished his meal, dished more stuffing onto his plate and nibbled. “What are you doing tomorrow? I know you’re off the next two days.”

“I don’t really know. I guess I got used to killing a bottle and sleeping it off before you came back around.”

“Can I ask a favour, Hutch?”

He wondered at Starsky’s sudden timidity. “You can ask.”

Starsky pulled a small box from a pocket and handed it to him. “I want you to decide if or when we use this.”

In the box was a new tube of lubricant.

“Why?”

“You’ve never penetrated a man. I’ve never been penetrated. I figure if we stay together, it’s something we can share. We’ll do it, or we won’t. But it’s a first-time thing, ya know? A something new we can experience.”

Hutch looked at the box in his hand. “If we stay together…” he muttered, his appetite gone. He stood and gathered his dishes, stopped by the trash. “Let’s eliminate the uncertainty now.” He dropped the little box into the trash and scraped his plate on top of it. “We won’t be using it, Starsky. We’re trying to be friends again. Let’s not pretend we’re anything else. If you’re still curious about the sex, find someone else to play with.” After his dishes went into the sink, he went to the cupboard and got the bottle, grabbed a glass and left the room.

A half hour later, Starsky found him on the front steps, pouring himself another drink. “Hutch—”

“If you want some of this, get a glass before you sit down. I’m not sharing this one.” Hutch waved a vague toast in Starsky’s direction and downed half its contents. “Better hurry, though.” He frowned at the bottle in his other hand. “This one’s half gone already.” He shrugged and drank what was left in the glass.

“I just came out to tell you I put the leftovers away and cleaned the kitchen. I’ll see ya when you’re done here. I’ve got an early therapy appointment in the morning, so I’m going to bed.”

“Hmmm.” He waved his empty glass at Starsky and poured another drink.

Starsky huffed sadly and went inside.

* * * *

He made it as far as the sofa when he staggered in later; the bottle and empty glass ended up on the floor beside him. He didn’t hear Starsky get ready to leave the next morning, didn’t hear him pick up the glass and bottle and put them away.

But when he woke mid-day, he stayed where he was, nursing a hangover, thinking about everything and finally making a decision. Starsky could stay as long as he wanted to, but it was time for Hutch to get on with his life. Reconnecting with his former partner was hard enough. So was restoring some version of their friendship. But he needed to stop pretending love was possible. It wasn’t and was never going to be. Time to find someone else to play with.

Now that he’d made a decision, he got up and went to shower and shave.

He was almost ready when Starsky got back, carrying groceries and a bag of takeout. “You’re on your own for dinner, Starsk.”

“Wait, what?” Starsky set everything on the counter and stood in the bathroom doorway to talk to him while he combed his hair. “But I brought food. Figured I’d surprise you and spring for an early dinner. Where are you going?”

“Out. Got a date. Just put the leftovers in the fridge. They’ll get eaten.”

“Out where? With who?” Starsky watched him in stunned surprise. “You don’t go out and you never mentioned seeing anyone.”

He shrugged and put the comb down, reached for the aftershave. “I am tonight. There’s always someone willing to fuck someone like me. I just haven’t met him yet. One of my pickups, remember?” He glanced at the mirror one last time and walked past Starsky. “Don’t worry. I won’t bring him home. That’s what motel rooms are for.” He picked up his wallet and checked it for cash. “I’ll see you later. Don’t wait up.”

Hutch headed for his car before he could change his mind. He noticed Starsky had come outside, was standing on the steps watching him, and when he started his car and gave a nonchalant wave, Starsky went back in and closed the door.

* * * *

It was strange to be out like this. Hutch hadn’t been anywhere but work and the market since Sam had walked out on him, and he drove around aimlessly, not noticing changes in the cityscape since he’d been this way last. He wanted to go home, but he didn’t want to face Starsky’s questions, and he didn’t want to fight.

He kept driving. Eventually, he found himself in a familiar neighbourhood and saw the bar where he’d first met Sam. Against his better judgment, he stopped to get a drink.

Happy hour was underway, but it wasn’t busy yet. He sat at the far end of the bar, sipping a glass of whiskey and ignoring the few patrons around. Suddenly, an arm encircled his waist and a familiar voice whispered in his ear, “Hi, Ken. Long time. Here alone?”

“Sam.” He frowned at Sam’s presumption and Sam let go. “Long time. And yeah, I’m alone.” Hutch didn’t bother asking if Sam was alone. Sam would have ignored him if he was here with someone else. He didn’t know if they were exclusive when they were seeing each other, but Sam had always been attentive when they were together. “How’s work?”

“Not bad at all. Sales are up and I’m making good money. Did you ever work it out with that partner of yours?”

The question was typically blunt for Sam, but Hutch was surprised that Sam remembered. Then again, they’d been having sex the night Starsky walked in on them, and his reaction had told Sam he was in love.

“He married and started a family not long after you stopped seeing me. So, no.” Hutch left it at that, not feeling the need to update Sam on his life.

“And there’s been nobody since then, has there?” Sam looked at him knowingly and sidled closer. “Come home with me, Ken. We won’t be disturbed. We’ll pick up some burgers, relive old times.” He reached for Hutch’s glass and deliberately finished Hutch’s whiskey. “I’ve never known anyone who enjoys cock like you do. You have a talent for riding it and such a sweet mouth.”

Hutch closed his eyes. Arousal ignited and burned through him, as Sam’s arm slid around his waist again and Sam whispered, “My cock will make you feel so good…”

His own cock swelled and his nipples hardened. He did love cock. It was why he was here, and he would’ve willingly spread his legs for any stranger and enjoyed the cock that used him, then hated himself after. But seeing Sam again reminded Hutch that meaningless sex was all they’d had, and he already knew it wasn’t enough. He was in love with Starsky, but needed to accept that the one orgasm they had shared was all they ever would.

“I’ll pass. I didn’t expect to see you. I was in the neighbourhood and stopped for a drink for old times’ sake.” He stepped out of Sam’s casual embrace and took a last look around. “I won’t be back,” he said, and left.

* * * *

He got home at twilight to find Starsky waiting on the steps like a worried parent. Starsky didn’t say anything, but Hutch got the feeling Starsky was relieved.

“Are there leftovers in the fridge, or did you toss them? I haven’t eaten today.” He went inside with Starsky at his back.

“Are you sober, Hutch? Where ya been?” Starsky asked guardedly.

He deserved that for the way he blew out of here earlier. “Been out driving around…” No, Starsky deserved the truth. “I’m sober, Starsk. And I won’t lie. When I left here, I intended to hit a bar, find a guy or two and get laid.”

“What happened?”

“I stopped at a bar I used to go to and ran into Sam.” He shook his head. “We shared a drink and he asked me back to his place for sex. No strings.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Thought about it. But seeing him again reminded me of … other things. So I said no and came home.”

Starsky watched him intently, but gave away nothing, and Hutch decided to bluntly say what he felt and get it out of the way. “I like cock, Starsk. I know you find that unnatural and I will respect that. But if resuming our friendship has a chance of working, I’m asking you to do the same.”

He felt dirty when Starsky said nothing, and he decided to skip eating and shower again. Before he headed for the bathroom, he stated in the clearest terms he could. “It’s important to me that you’re comfortable, with no misapprehensions. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. Make yourself at home. I promise I’ll behave myself. No more drinking, no sneaking off for sex, no touchy-feely games. If I do something that upsets you, say so. Until you’re ready to move on, you’ll have the bedroom to yourself. I’ll need storage space in the dresser and closet, but I won’t intrude. I’ll only go in there when you’re not.” He closed the door, re-opened it quickly. “I’m working tomorrow, and I’ll bring home dinner.”

He took his shower and came out to find Starsky waiting for him on the couch.

“Until I’m ready to move on? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed, hoping to avoid a fight. “Just what I said. There’s no more ‘Me’n’Thee’, and that’s my fault, but you’ve had one foot out the door since I ruined our friendship coming out to you the way I did. I tried to make it up to you by getting out of your life. I’m sorry things happened that pulled me back in, and I’ve been trying hard to keep my distance. But you got curious and I’m safe. Someone to experiment with, because your kind doesn’t commit to someone like me. You tell us we don’t know what love is, we only know sex, and it’s the perverted kind. So you’re satisfying your curiosity. Soon, you’ll walk away and return to being “normal”. I’ll go back to being “one of them”, to be maligned and avoided at all costs. If we keep our mouths shut about what we did here, no one will be the wiser.”

He hesitated a moment, reluctant to mention it. “Right now, I’m a distraction from your grief, and that’s okay, but you’ll leave sooner or later. When you do, all I’m asking is that you let me know we’re done, so I don’t accidentally embarrass you.” He reached for the afghan tossed on the chair. “Now please, I need to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. ‘night, Starsk.”

It bothered him that Starsky said nothing, but what did he expect? He waited while Starsky got up and went to the kitchen, got himself a glass of ice water and locked himself in the bedroom, then Hutch laid down on the sofa under the afghan and stared at the ceiling the rest of the night.

* * * *

He was up and out as quietly as he could manage the next morning, so he didn’t disturb Starsky. It was a long day, busier than expected. There was a large delivery he handled alone; his kitchen help had called in sick and they ran out of the now-popular meatloaf special before he thought to set some aside for Starsky. He’d have to choose something else to bring home for dinner, and there wasn’t much left.

He settled on leftover fried chicken and au gratin potatoes. He skipped the veggies—today’s offering was mixed vegetables, and Starsky didn’t care for them unless they were in soup.

At the end of his shift, he packed up gratefully and headed home to a shower and early bedtime. He’d had no rest the night before and he was exhausted.

Simon and Garfunkel was playing on the stereo when he walked in the door. Starsky was in the kitchen, mopping the floor and softly singing along to “The Boxer”. It surprised Hutch. He didn’t think Starsky cared for the duo; when their songs played on the radio, he was always changing the station, searching for more contemporary rock.

Hutch stopped in the doorway and held up the dinner bag, not wanting to track up the damp floor. Starsky waved him into the room. “Just be careful. Don’t slip.” He entered and set the bag on the counter. “It’s all yours, Starsk. I’m for a shower and an early bedtime. I’m really tired.”

“What is it?”

“Fried chicken and potatoes.”

Starsky nodded his thanks and finished mopping the floor as Hutch headed for the shower.

* * * *

It was quiet when he left the bathroom. The stereo was off and the kitchen was dark. Starsky was eating in the bedroom with the television on and the volume down low. He couldn’t hear what Starsky was watching, but he didn’t care. He laid down on the couch and was asleep before he could cover himself with the afghan.

He woke hours later under Starsky’s blanket. The place was dark; Starsky was asleep with the bedroom door open, as though Starsk had been keeping an eye on him. Somehow, he felt comforted and he didn’t question it. He nestled in the blanket and went back to sleep.

* * * *

The rest of the week was more of the same—quiet comfort and easy conversation. So was the week after that. They shared chores and made no demands of one another, and their friendship slowly reasserted itself, to their mutual relief.

Then one day, Starsky came home excited. “The therapist is clearing me to go back to work!”

To Hutch, it was the beginning of the end of what they had, but he celebrated with Starsky. “Congratulations! You’ve worked hard for that. When do you go back?”

“Maybe two weeks. I still have to pass some evaluations, but I can do that. It’ll be good to be working again. Something purposeful, ya know?”

Hutch nodded in agreement. “That should be enough time to get settled in your new place. Will Mickey still be your partner, or are they giving you a new one?”

“I dunno. They haven’t…wait, what? My new place? Are you kicking me out?” Starsky looked at him apprehensively.

“I just…I think you’ll be better off living on your own again. Somewhere private you can bring your ladies to, when you’re ready to move on, or invite your buddies over to play cards with, or watch a game.” He tried to be reassuring. “We’ll still be friends, Starsk. I’ll even bring over a dinner once you’re back to work.”

“I move out, we come apart. I won’t risk that. Let me stay, Hutch. We’ve worked so hard to be friends again.”

He didn’t want Starsky to move, but he needed Starsky to understand that living with him had serious consequences. They would need to talk, but not tonight. Starsky wanted to celebrate. He looked at Starsky and offered, “Wanna order a pizza for dinner? We haven’t done that in years.”

Starsky smiled in relief. “Sounds good! I’ll order it. Still pepperoni, mushrooms and cheese?”

“Make it double cheese. We can pick it up. Maybe buy a six pack of beer to go with it to celebrate?”

“That might be fun. I can’t remember the last time we shared a beer.” Starsky pulled the menu from the drawer and ordered a pizza. “It’ll be ready by the time we get the beer. Let’s go!”

It was a fun night. They took their time eating and limited themselves to one beer each. Mostly they talked about the past. People they once knew, things they once did and the fun they’d had back then. It made their decision to be friends again feel like it just might work.

* * * *

He dreamed he was under surveillance and woke at sunrise to Starsky sitting on the floor, watching him sleep.

“Talk to me, Hutch.”

“About what? We need to get busy finding you a place.” He sat up and draped the afghan on the back of the couch. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.” He went first to the bathroom, then stopped in the kitchen to pour two cups of coffee from the machine they had set up.

“Do you want to spread out in here, or do this on the couch?” He added sugar to his cup and picked up the newspapers next to the coffeemaker.

“In there, I guess. There’s more light.” Starsky got up, brushed off and came into the kitchen. “I don’t want to do this at all, Hutch. I want to stay with you.”

“Starsk—”

“I know. You’re protecting my ass by kicking me out.” He took a sip of his coffee, picked up a pencil and opened one of the papers to the apartment listings.

He didn’t say anything. The pain he carried was intense this morning and he didn’t want Starsky to know.

“Tell me, Hutch. Where do you see yourself five years from now?”

‘Alone’ he thought. Aloud, he said, “I don’t know. I know you don’t think it’s much of a job, but years ago, when I was getting my degree, I cooked and I got good at it. After I quit the force, I needed something to help me cut back on the booze and this job came up. I know how to do it and people leave me alone. I figured I’d cook till something else came along…” He poured another cup of coffee and added sugar, trying to decide how much more to say, and whether it was even worth saying. “…but I discovered I like cooking. I’m no chef, but I got this grand idea of leaving town and opening a little place of my own somewhere.” He snickered at some private joke. “Although a lunch counter at some gas station is really all I can afford.”

Starsky looked at him, appalled. “Leave town?”

“Yeah. Some joke, huh? When I took this job, the place was struggling. Charlie and Sarah had owned it for years and it did all right. The neighbourhood liked them and frequented the place. But Sarah died suddenly. She ran the kitchen and without her, Charlie floundered. I wasn’t looking to turn things around. I just needed a job. But after I’d been there a couple of weeks, Charlie asked me to update the menu. I simplified it and added a daily special to save time and money. I stuck with entrees that were family favourites and business picked up. So did Charlie. Now I cook and keep the kitchen clean and Charlie handles the rest. He’s given me a couple of raises and lets me take some of the leftovers home. That’s how I’ve been feeding us. He’s been teaching me the financial side and about the time you went back to work, he asked if I had any interest in buying the place. I don’t have that kind of money. But it’ll be a business he can sell to someone who does and make a profit now.”

“Thanks to you,” Starsky muttered.

“Maybe when I know more, I can qualify for a business loan, and buying a share of some other place could be an option for me. I know it’s not much of a plan, but it’s all I’ve got and it’s enough for now. And there’s always a chance the new owner will keep me on when Charlie sells.” Hutch opened the other newspaper and looked through the ads. “How far of a commute are you willing to make? What’s the maximum you want to spend on rent?”

“I did it again, didn’t I? Was I this tactless when we were partners?” Starsky tapped his pencil against the paper he was searching. “I need to think before I speak.”

Hutch didn’t disagree. “You hungry? I can make us breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast okay? Or would you prefer your eggs soft-boiled?”

“Scrambled is fine.” He watched Hutch pull out a pan and a bowl for the eggs and put bread slices in the toaster. Starsky seldom did more than warm things up or keep the cook company, so he’d never paid much attention to the actual food prep. But as Hutch moved around the room, he realized that Hutch did enjoy cooking, even something as simple as scrambled eggs.

“Do you want cheese in your eggs, Starsk?”

“Sure.” Now that he was paying attention, Starsky was fascinated by Hutch in the kitchen. Hutch had never been overly tidy, but his kitchen was spotless and he cleaned as he went. Breakfast was ready quickly and Hutch invited him to eat.

They didn’t say much at first, but halfway through, Starsky asked, “Where do you work, Hutch? You just say you cook. Where?”

Hutch shrugged absently. “The Family Time Diner across town. Mostly blue-collar customers. Why?”

“Just wondered. You never said.” Starsky finished his eggs and nibbled at the last of his toast. “Think maybe we could go there for lunch or dinner?”

Hutch looked at him thoughtfully. “I suppose. Today’s special is the meatloaf. It got popular, so we’ve started to run out before the diner closes, but if we go early, there should be some available.”

“Good.” Starsky stacked their plates and silverware and took them to the sink to wash them. But before he started, he turned back to Hutch and wrapped his arms around his shoulders from behind. “Let me stay, Hutch. You’re trying to protect me from trouble at work if word gets out I’m living with you. But Mickey and I have been together almost two years now. It’s not the same as it was with you, but he’s got my back. He’s heard about you, but he’s tolerant, and he’s taught me a thing or two about that.”

“What do you mean ‘he’s heard about me’? Heard what?”

Starsky came around and looked him in the eye. “There are stories floating around about you, and they’re our fault, Laura’s and mine. After we married, I told Laura you loved and wanted me and she spread it around to explain why you quit.” Starsky dropped his gaze and his voice. “She may have embellished things a bit.”

“And you didn’t see any reason to correct them.” It explained a lot, and he’d made it worse without even knowing. “Then she died, and I showed up at the funeral out of nowhere, and the stories came up again. No wonder people ignored me and you wanted me gone.” Hutch stood and turned to the sink to wash the dishes himself. “Good thing you have such a tolerant partner now,” he said sarcastically. “I sure wasn’t.”

“Hutch—”

“Enough, Starsky. I don’t wanna hear anymore. There’s no point.” He finished the dishes and left them on the rack to dry. “Let’s find you a place. We’ll have an early supper at the diner, then come back here and do laundry so your stuff is ready to pack.”

Hutch took the opportunity to get clothes from the empty bedroom and get ready in the bathroom to go out. Starsky did the same while he sat on the couch and tied his tennis shoes. When they were ready, Hutch picked up his keys. “I’ll drive. Where are we going first?”

“Bayside Apartments on Water Street. One bed, one bath, two story walk-up.” Starsky tucked the ads under an arm and led the way out.

They stopped at the four places Starsky had circled, but Hutch waited in the car while Starsky toured them. When he was finished. Hutch drove them to the diner. They didn’t bother with small talk.

The diner was busy. Hutch parked behind it and led them in the back door. The storeroom was tidy and well-stocked; the cook smiled at Hutch as they walked through.

“Any meatloaf left, Nate?”

“Yeah, there’s some, but it’s going fast.”

“Make up two orders when you have the chance. Dine-in. We’ll be out front. No rush.”

“You got it, Ken. Vegetable, too? It’s cheesy broccoli today.”

He looked at Starsky, who nodded. “Yeah. And gravy on the mashed potatoes.” Nate waved and they went out to the dining room.

An older man at the register greeted Hutch in surprise. “Ken! Isn’t it your day off? What’s going on? Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, boss. An ex co-worker stopped by and wanted to see where I worked. Charlie, this is Dave Starsky. Starsk, this is Charlie Diamond. He owns the place.” He looked around and saw a booth opening up in the corner. “Okay if we sit there? Nate is plating two of the specials for us.”

“Sure. Let me get it bussed…”

“I’ll do it. C’mon, Starsky.” He grabbed a bin and led the way to the booth. It only took a minute to clean it, and he took the half-full bin to the kitchen as Starsky sat down. He came back with their orders. “Soda?”

Starsky shook his head. “I’d rather have milk.”

Hutch waved to a waitress. “Gina, when you get a minute, can you bring two glasses of milk to booth five? Oh! And two sets of silverware.” He turned sheepishly to Starsky. “Sorry about that. I don’t come out here much and when I do, the tables are already set.”

Gina came over with milk and silverware rolled in napkins. “Here ya go, Ken. Charlie said to tell you dinner’s on him.”

“That’s not—”

She smiled and walked away before Hutch finished his protest.

Starsky unwrapped his fork and started eating. “’Ken’? Not ‘Hutch’?”

“Why not? That’s my name. I haven’t been ‘Hutch’ since I quit the force. I don’t meet many people. When I do, they assume the ‘Ken’ and I go with it.” He laid his napkin in his lap and started on his own dinner.

When Starsky was finished, he sat back and looked around, watching people come and go. Many of them seemed to be neighbourhood friends and families who knew each other and gathered to enjoy the community feel and food.

“I like this place. The food is good, but your meatloaf is better.”

Hutch shrugged and finished his dinner. “Want dessert? They get cakes and pies from the bakery down the street. The carrot cake is pretty good.”

“No, I’m full.” Starsky patted his belly and finished his milk. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

They headed back toward the kitchen. Hutch stopped by the register and insisted on paying for dinner and leaving a tip for Gina. Charlie clapped him fondly on the arm and sent him on his way.

“Thanks for dinner, Hutch. I’m glad we did this.”

They drove the rest of the way back to Hutch’s in silence. Starsky looked out the window and watched the neighbourhoods go by.

* * * *

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Starsk. You’re putting your work life back together and I’m not part of that anymore.”

Starsky had been back to work for a week now. It had been awkward at first, because everyone at the station remembered his meltdown, but he did his best to put them at ease with no outlandish emotional displays. They partnered him with Mickey again and Mickey welcomed him. It worked. No one asked questions, and things quickly got back to normal for him in the squad room and on the streets. Afterwards, he went home quietly to Hutch’s company and whatever dinner Hutch provided.

But tonight, Starsky wanted Mickey and Hutch to meet, and Hutch was reluctant. He still didn’t go out, didn’t socialize with anyone but Starsky.

“You live like a monk, Hutch. You need to get out. Come with me. We’re meeting at Huggy’s. You know Huggy and we won’t stay long.”

Hutch sighed, but agreed to go. “Did you want to eat before we head out, or get a sandwich there?

“We’ll eat at Huggy’s. Are you ready?”

He put on his shoes and nodded.

“I’ll drive.” Starsky grabbed his keys and headed out the door. Hutch followed him. He hesitated before sliding into the passenger’s seat. He hadn’t been in the Torino since the day he quit the force and it seemed strange to be in it now. But Starsky chattered happily about inconsequential things, and Hutch closed his eyes and let the air from the open window wash over him as they drove to The Pits.

“Hutch! My man! How the hell ya been?” Huggy’s greeting was warm and genuine, but Starsky must’ve warned him when setting this up. Instead of the endless catch-up chatter and hugs he’d done in the past, Huggy aimed a playful thump at Hutch’s shoulder and quickly showed them to a table.

Starsky took the seat facing the door. “We’ll have whatever you have on tap. And we’re gonna want sandwiches, not burgers, Huggy. What do you suggest?”

“Not the chicken salad. Stick to a cold cuts sub. Maybe add some vegetables. The lettuce is fresh today.”

Starsky looked at him, and Hutch shrugged indifferently. “Make it two. Lettuce, pickles and tomatoes on whatever rolls ya got,” he said to Huggy.

“Comin’ right up.” Huggy headed for the kitchen.

“There he is! Mickey! Over here!” Starsky waved to a tall, muscular blond, who looked like he played linebacker for a living. He came to the table, and as Mickey pulled out a chair, Starsky made introductions. “Hutch, this is Mickey Johnson. He’s a native Californian, born and raised in L.A. His wife Shelly’s a teacher who became Laura’s best friend. Mickey, this is Ken Hutchinson. We’ve known each other since the academy.”

Hutch made an effort to be cordial. He smiled and held out his hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Mickey. Starsky tells me you’ve been a good partner. That you have his back.”

“So you’re the one.” Mickey ignored the outstretched hand and sat down on Starsky’s other side. “I finished the Smithfield paperwork Dobey’s been bitching about, Dave. We just need to update the Gilmore file and we’ll be all caught up.”

Hutch lowered his hand and the smile faded. “Excuse me? The one what?”

“Do you mind? I’m talking to my partner and you’re interrupting, ‘Hutch’ is it?” Mickey said snidely. “Yeah, I’ve got his back. But I heard that means something different to you, and Dave was right to shut you down.”

Huggy appeared, carrying a tray with their subs and beers. Hutch stood and pulled a ten from his wallet and laid it on the table. “This’ll cover my order. Keep the change, Huggy.”

“Hutch, wait!” Starsky grabbed his arm.

“Let him go, Dave,” Mickey said, protectively. “He’s not worth the pain he’s caused you. I’ve told you before, forget this loser. You need to move on.”

Hutch looked down at the hand touching him, suddenly remembering the hate in Starsky’s voice calling him names the day he quit, and he felt betrayed. “Yeah, let go, Starsky, and wash your hands. You’ve got a rep to maintain and you don’t wanna risk defilement touching someone like me.”

He pulled away and walked out of The Pits without a backward glance.

* * * *

He lived miles from The Pits and he walked the whole way. It was after midnight when he got home to an irate Starsky.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Who are you? My mother?” Hutch kicked his shoes off and sat on the couch.

Starsky tried to calm down. “Listen to me, Hutch. Mickey…”

He shook his head. “I don’t wanna hear it. Get outta here, Starsky. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted and you’re standing in my bedroom.”

“I just wanted to apologize for Mickey. He wasn’t supposed to say what he did…”

“And what was he supposed to say? It’s evident the two of you cooked up that meeting. You dragged me out to meet a normal version of the cop you wanted me to be, and he was busy proving he’s a better partner to you than I ever was. I notice you didn’t object to what he said.”

“How do you know? You left before I could!”

“Did you? Reproach him?”

Starsky looked away.

“That’s what I thought. Why are we even doing this? He’s right. You need to move on. We both do. Time to quit this charade and never see each other again.”

“Tell me something, Hutch. What triggered your “grand revelation” back then? One day, we’re doing the usual things we did every day for years. Next day, you’re proclaiming your undying love and want to get me in the sack. What changed? It’s not like you were seeing other guys all along. You say you like cock. How many have you had?”

He leaned back on the sofa, stared at the ceiling and didn’t say a word.

“So not many at all. Maybe you were just curious, too, and wanted to try it with me. Okay, we did it. Curiosity satisfied. Doesn’t make us gay. Hell, you told me that.”

“Shut up, Starsky. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure I do. You made a pass, I turned you down. So you pick up some random guy, suck his cock a bunch of times, take it up the ass and that makes you gay? He didn’t think so. He dumped you.”

Hutch closed his eyes as Starsky’s words assaulted him. He dumped me because he saw that I love you. Something you don’t see, you don’t want. Hell, something you don’t even believe I’m capable of.

“Let it go, Starsky. It’s a word that doesn’t apply to you. Nobody sees you that way and if they do, just tell your good partner Mickey, and he’ll set ‘em straight. He’s got your back.”

In desperation, Starsky said, “Remember what Dobey said after John died? That they’re under pressure to hire gay cops? Come back to the force, Hutch. You were a good cop and I bet they’d be happy to re-hire you.”

“NO!” The anger in his sharp response surprised even him. Hutch gave a deep sigh and tried to make Starsky understand. “I’m done, Starsky. I’m not coming back. I have no interest in being poster boy for gay cops or filling some damn political quota. I don’t want to have to prove over and over that being gay isn’t a disability. Or that I can do the job as well as a “normal” guy—maybe even better—if given half a chance. And what makes you think they’d partner us again with the stories floating out there about me? Stories you’re responsible for?”

A guilty look flashed across Starsky’s face, disappeared.

But Hutch noticed. “Starsky, what the hell is happening here? I was trying to relearn how to be your friend, and I thought we were making progress. But now I realize you’re saying things you think I wanna hear, trying to seduce me, and think that’ll magically cure me. That I’ll get this gay thing out of my system, publicly apologize and we’ll go back to where we left off, like the past two years never happened. Back to being partners working the streets, drinking the occasional beer at Huggy’s, bowling and double-dating for everyone to see. No issues, no consequences. All of it on your terms, and I’ll just play along. But it doesn’t work that way. Mickey’s proof of that.”

“So you’re okay with being a gay fry cook, fucking strangers for the rest of your life?” Starsky snarked, making what he did sound petty and small. “Whatever happened to ‘Protect and Serve’?”

“Who says I didn’t?” Hutch retorted. “I got out of your life. Now I’m trying to be the invisible friend so no one gets the wrong idea. But I’m done. I want you gone. We’ll find you a place tomorrow. Be ready.” He got up and went to the bathroom to wash his face and put on the sweats hanging on the door. He didn’t bother saying anything else. He ignored Starsky when he came back into the living room, turned off the light, settled on the couch and went to sleep.

* * * *

They co-existed the next few days mostly in silence, while Starsky dragged his feet on a decision.

“How long are you going to pretend to look for an apartment?” They were almost finished folding another round of laundry and Hutch was tired of Starsky’s stalling. “You need to make a decision by tomorrow. I want my place back and you out of it.”

“I dunno, Hutch. I’m still hoping you’ll let me stay here.”

“Not gonna happen. If you’re not out tomorrow, you’ll find your stuff in bags on my porch tomorrow night.”

Starsky studied him while they worked, then made up his mind. “Can I talk to you?”

He looked at Starsky, depressed and in pain. “Make it quick.”

“Let’s go in the living room so we can sit down.” Starsky turned from the clothes on the counter and pulled a Coke out of the refrigerator. “Want one?”

He shook his head. Starsky looked at the can he held and put it back in the fridge.

When they were seated on the couch, Hutch sighed in resignation. “You’ve been watching me since breakfast this morning. Say what’s on your mind.”

“I was wondering if…” Starsky froze, then folded his arms across his chest. “I have a proposal, but I don’t want to offend you. I’ve been doing that a lot, I think.”

“Just say what you have to say.”

“I want you to let me be your silent partner. Help you buy that diner. It would be yours, to run the way you want to run it. I’d just put up the funds. Or we can make it a loan. We can keep it between us. No one else needs to know.”

“You don’t have that kind of money, Starsky.”

“Actually, I do. Or…I will.”

Hutch looked at him in surprise, a sinking feeling in his gut. “Where…never mind. None of my business.”

“Actually, it is.” Starsky looked at his hands, rubbed the finger where his wedding ring used to be. “I’m expecting insurance settlement checks sometime next month. Payouts from Laura’s life insurance and the auto insurance for the crash that killed my family. It’s a substantial amount of money.”

It was worse than he thought. “No! Absolutely not. Do something to honour them. Start a scholarship. Donate to a children’s charity. Or use that money to your benefit. Open an account for your retirement.” He wanted to be sick.

“We owe you, Hutch, Laura and I. This is our chance to make it up to you. For outing you, smearing your name behind your back…”

He barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach emptied. He was in there a long time, flushing the toilet over and over, trying to suppress the excruciating pain he knew would never go away. When he was able to face Starsky again, Hutch went to the kitchen and found him folding the last of the laundry. He got himself a Coke, opened it and chugged half the can. It burned going down a throat raw from puking.

“You okay, Hutch?”

“What are your terms, Starsky?” He took another swig of the Coke and leaned against the sink, feeling used and empty.

“Terms?”

“Yeah. Terms. You aren’t gonna let this go, so what are your gimmies? You want to stay here. You want absolution. You want sexual experimentation. You want discretion. In return, you’ll buy the diner, so I can turn a profit for you with my fabulous meatloaf. Lay it all out so there are no misunderstandings. We’ll even put it in writing, so you’ll have proof I was told what you expect your money to buy.” He finished the Coke and pulled a pen and paper from a kitchen drawer, started a list.

“The bedroom is yours for as long as you’re here. You don’t need forgiveness. People had a right to know I’m one of “them”, that I was insensitive and tried to make a pervert of you. But you resisted, so I quit.”

He listed each item as he said it. “The money will be a loan. How long to re-pay it? At what rate of interest? What kind of salary can I expect? I’m not asking for a raise, but it would help if I could continue to earn what I’m making now. I’ll need to re-budget and cut expenses to have a chance of paying you back, but I can’t assume no pay cut. How often will you inspect your investment, or will you install someone onsite to look over my shoulder and report? Will the sex be on demand, or scheduled like happy hour or bowling night? I expect I’m to be monogamous, so I don’t infect you with any diseases, and I’m to keep my mouth shut unless I’m sucking you off.” He looked at Starsky with dead eyes. “What else do you want? Will you be entertaining here? Bringing people over? Will I be expected to cook for them or will you order in?” He scribbled frantically. “Will it be like college, where you leave a sock on the doorknob warning me you have a sleepover friend and I need to stay elsewhere or sleep in my car? Or will I be providing sex for them?”

He stopped talking at the look on Starsky’s face and waited with eyes lowered to prevent a confrontation.

“All I wanted to do was stay together and help. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I have, haven’t I?”

Hutch felt a hand caressing his cheek, was careful not to flinch. He didn’t say anything, didn’t raise his head.

“My Hutch has disappeared again. Where does he go when the pain gets bad?”

I’m standing in front of you, but you only see what you want to see. “Your Hutch” is someone you’ve created in your head. It’s not me. He waited in silence for instructions from Starsky, acknowledging to himself it was his own fault his life was no longer his own.

“Come with me, Hutch. Lay down with me.”

They went to the bedroom and he started to strip, only to find he’d overstepped.

“Stop, Hutch! Just lay with me. I want comfort, not sex.”

He re-dressed. They laid down and Starsky put his arms around him. As he drifted, Hutch heard Starsky do something he never had before. Starsky softly hummed a tune that seemed to give him comfort.

“Starsk?”

The humming died abruptly.

“I-I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Hutch stuttered. “What were you humming?”

Starsky shrugged in embarrassment. “Lullaby. Got to be a habit. I’m not much of a singer, but my boys liked it when I’d rock them and hum. John was especially fond of that one.”

“Hum if it comforts you.” He quieted and tried to relax as Starsky resumed humming. He fell asleep Starsky’s third time through.

* * * *

They didn’t mention the “gimmie” list again. It disappeared, but was implemented nonetheless. Starsky stayed and his mail began to come to Hutch’s place. He used the bedroom; Hutch used the couch. Sex didn’t resume, but Starsky’s touchy-feely did. Hutch submitted; the sex was a matter of time.

Carefully, Hutch assured Starsky he’d done nothing to atone for, that Hutch had been clumsy coming out the way he did, and that telling Starsky he wanted him was an inappropriate thing to do.

Starsky didn’t object. In fact, he acted like he’d finally gotten the apology he’d wanted.

The sex resumed unexpectedly. There was a shootout during a robbery that spilled out into the streets. The suspect winged Starsky, Mickey took him out. After paperwork, four stitches and a bandage at the E.R., Starsky came home sullen and tense.

Hutch helped him clean up and got him into bed, but Starsky wanted more hands-on comfort. He fondled himself and told Hutch to suck him. After a slight hesitation, Hutch complied. He took his time, using his experience with Sam to bring Starsky to the brink of orgasm again and again. When Starsky finally came, he smiled at Hutch, caressing his face as he relaxed into sleep. It never occurred to Starsky to ask Hutch if he came, too. He hadn’t, never even got aroused.

The blow jobs happened more and more frequently. Hutch made sure Starsky enjoyed them, that he went to work or finished his day happy and content. Whether Hutch was or not never came up.

But a month later, the settlement checks arrived. Nothing was said, nothing changed at the diner, except Charlie withdrew his offer to sell the place to Hutch, and declined to answer Hutch‘s questions, other than to assure Hutch he wasn’t retiring any time soon.

Hutch began to diligently learn the life Starsky planned for them, love as Starsky defined it. He shut down his feelings, stopped making conversation, answered only when spoken to directly, in as few words as possible. He was careful with his responses, so he’d cause no problems.

Hutch became an enigma, but only to himself. No one else cared. No one else noticed. Not even Starsky.

* * * *

Six weeks later, they were living the life Starsky envisioned—together again, playing at being friends. That’s all that mattered. What didn’t matter was he was still cooking at the diner, but no longer enjoying it. Still sleeping on his couch, still sucking Starsky, still feeling nothing.

Then things abruptly changed.

The diner was closed for the night and Hutch had finished cleaning the kitchen. He was taking the trash to the dumpster out back when two guys jumped him and dragged him inside. They wore masks and gloves, but ignored everything in the place except Hutch.

One of them, burly and wearing greasy overalls, snapped the handle off the broom in the corner and waved it at Hutch. “We’re here to deliver a message. Listen up!”

The other one interrupted and grabbed at Hutch. “We’re here for more than that. We’re gonna have some fun! Like last time we played messenger.”

“That was you and Dev. Not me.”

“Oh yeah. So you can watch if you don’t wanna join in. It won’t take long. Strip, pervert!”

“No.” Hutch didn’t intend to make it easy.

The burly one hit Hutch from behind. “He said strip!” The command was punctuated with kicks to Hutch’s midsection as he lay on the floor. The sound of ribs cracking egged them on.

Hutch moaned, but didn’t move.

“Shit!” Together, they picked him up, threw him over the stainless-steel counter and tore his clothing away. The burly one picked up the broom handle and beat Hutch with it, while the other opened his fly and pulled out his cock. “We heard you like this kind of thing, so relax and enjoy.” He rammed his cock into Hutch and asked his buddy, “What were we to tell him?”

“Insurance money’s not for his benefit. He leaves town now, or this place burns with what’s left of him in it.”

“Oh yeah…Hell, why wait? Let’s just burn it when we’re finished here… ohmygod, he’s nice and tight! It’s been a while for him. Ya gotta try this! You’re gonna love it!” He came in Hutch, pulled out and grabbed a piece of Hutch’s shirt to clean himself off.

His buddy chuckled, teased Hutch’s hole with the broom handle. “You know we can’t. Not if we wanna get paid. Just don’t mention what we’re doing now. You know the boss don’t like homos.” He pulled his own cock out. “Here ya go, pervert. More than you deserve!” He spread Hutch’s ass cheeks and mounted him slowly. His cock was bigger, and he deliberately took his time, moving in and out of Hutch. “Been awhile for you, too, eh, boy-o? You left his ass nice and juicy.”

“Yeah. Haven’t fucked one of them in ages. Used to do it a lot when the girlfriends got bitchy. Then I hooked up with Lissa. She don’t like sharing.” The guy grabbed Hutch by the hair and lifted his head. “I’ll bet this one likes sucking cock. Look at how pretty that mouth is.”

“You would know.” The one in Hutch grunted and started to fuck in earnest. “But he’d prolly bite ya!”

“I knocked all the teeth outta the last one who bit me. C’mon, we delivered the message. Finish already! Lissa’s waiting!”

He groaned in pleasure and spurted in Hutch. “You were right! This was fun. And he must’ve enjoyed it. His hole doesn’t wanna let go of me!” He pulled out and tucked himself back in his pants. “Remember what that message was? Repeat it to us, bitch!”

“Not my money. Leave town or burn with the diner,” Hutch croaked, suddenly understanding what it meant.

“Yeah, you got it. Let’s go, boy-o. Grab the bag. It smells like he packed dinner to go and I’m hungry.” They left with Starsky’s dinner.

* * * *

“Hutch? What are ya doing, Hutch? Why didn’t you come home?”

He heard the words, but paid no attention. He was almost done here, then he was gone. He’d emptied the bucket and filled it again with clean hot water and bleach. He was wiping the stainless-steel down again when Starsky came through the open back door.

“Hutch?”

Hutch ignored him, sank carefully to his knees and mopped the floor around the island once more. When he was finished, and the place sanitized to his satisfaction, he emptied the bucket and put the cleaning supplies away, threw the rags he’d used into the trash bag with the remnants of his shirt and apron and headed for the alley door.

“Hutch!” Starsky grabbed his arm as he staggered past wearing only torn, bleach-spattered jeans and loafers. “What the hell happened?”

“Get your hands off me! Don’t ever touch me again,” Hutch snarled. When he got to the door, he said, “Lock up, Starsky. If you don’t have a key yet, use mine. I won’t need it anymore.” He dropped a key on the floor, tossed the bag in the dumpster, got into his car and drove home.

He was in the bathroom when Starsky arrived. A duffle bag sat by the dresser; open drawers were rummaged and sweats dumped on the bed. Starsky knocked, but when he got no answer, he burst into the bathroom and found a bruised and battered Hutch semi-conscious on the floor, the shower running.

“Ohmygod!” He turned off the shower and bent to examine Hutch.

Hutch made a feeble attempt to push Starsky away. “I said don’t touch me.” He rolled to his hands and knees and tried but failed to get to his feet. As he collapsed, Starsky caught him and carefully helped him stand.

He hissed and struggled to breathe as Starsky examined his chest.

“Feels like your ribs are cracked. You need a doctor.”

“Don’t touch me! I won’t tell you again.” He turned his back and reached for the shower controls.

“You weren’t just beaten, you were raped, too, weren’t you?” Starsky asked quietly. “Hutch?”

“Step out.” Hutch turned the water back on as hot as he could stand it and reached for the soap. He scrubbed until the water turned cold, then got out, wrapped himself in a towel and staggered into the bedroom. Starsky followed.

He made it to the bed, dropped the towel on floor and slowly dressed in the sweats he’d set out. When he was done, he went to the dresser, stuffed clothes into the bag and zipped it. Wheezing now, he picked it up and headed for the door.

“Where ya going, Hutch?”

“I’m leaving town.”

“What! Why?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You bought the diner, didn’t you? After I asked you not to. You said you’d keep it just between us. But you didn’t, and guess what! Your in-laws know and they object to me having anything to do with the money you used to buy it. They want me gone, or the place burns down with me in it. They were rather emphatic about that, so consider this my resignation, effective immediately.” He grabbed his keychain and removed everything but his car keys. The rejected ones dropped to the counter and floor.

“We created separate lives after I quit the force. Yours was ripped away from you. Then I showed up and unknowingly made things worse. I guess we all grieve in different ways. You decided if your life was ruined, mine should be, too, so you sought me out, fed me a line, and I fell for all your bullshit. It must’ve given you and the partner at your back quite the laugh at my expense.”

Hutch snorted ruefully. “Well, tell him it worked. My life is gone. And so am I.”

He picked up his bag. “I pay rent on this place a month in advance. Stay or go, it’s your decision, but if you stay, a month from now, rent is on you. You can afford it. I can’t anymore. Or don’t pay. It’s my name on the lease, so you won’t be hurt when it goes in arrears. It’ll buy you time to find a place of your own before they come to kick you out. As for what’s here, it didn’t come furnished. Keep what you want. Toss the rest. Or just walk away and let them do it.”

As he staggered to the door, Starsky grabbed his arm and Hutch took a swing at him. He missed and collapsed to the floor unconscious.

* * * *

He woke in a dimly-lit hospital ward with Starsky at his side.

“How ya feeling, Hutch? Doc says you have three cracked ribs, multiple abrasions and some tears from the—” He stopped his low-voiced recitation when Hutch glared at the hand on his arm. “Sorry.” He removed it. “They wanna keep you for a day or so, to make sure you’re okay. Can I bring you anything?”

He didn’t say a word, just turned his head away.

Starsky sighed. “I’ll leave you be then. I have to work, but I’ll stop by afterward to see how you’re doing. Oh! And I can pick you up when they’re ready to release you. Just have them call the station.” He stood to go and waited, but when Hutch ignored him, he left without saying goodbye.

A nurse came by to take his vitals. Hutch ignored her, too. She took them quickly and went away.

He dozed for a time, but when it sounded like the morning routine was beginning and staff was busy with shift change, he removed the IV in his arm and got up. His clothes were in a plastic bag under the bed and he put them on. There was no wallet, no keys. He sighed and left quietly without being noticed.

Outside, he had a decision to make. Things had changed so much since yesterday. Yesterday, he had a name and a job, a car and a place to live. Today, he had only the clothes he wore. Nowhere to go, nothing to do, no way to prove who he was or was supposed to be. Today, he was a ghost.

“You okay, pal?”

He looked up to find a security guard standing in front of him. When he nodded absently, the guard’s attitude shifted from concerned to all-business.

“Move along, then. This is a hospital zone. No loitering, no begging.”

There was no decision to make after all. He just needed to pay attention to how people treated him. It would define him, tell him what was expected of him. If he stuck to that, life would be simple. He faced the direction the guard pointed and walked away.

* * * *

“Blondie, get in here!”

He took the slop bin he was carrying to the kitchen, wiped his hands and hurried to the boss’s office. Paulie Franco’s tone was feisty and he knew what that meant. He just needed to know where and how. Paulie would tell him.

“Close the door, Blondie.”

Here, then. He did as he was told before he realized Paulie wasn’t alone. It didn’t matter, though. He stayed by the door and waited for instructions.

“So you get your fifteen minutes with Blondie, and I get another six months of discount on your overpriced beer?” Paulie tapped his pen on the contract and smirked at the pudgy supplier on the sofa.

“Yeah. But I want his hole this time, not his mouth.” The fat man blatantly played with his zipper.

“His hole is gonna cost you more. Twenty percent discount, not fifteen.”

The supplier growled and rubbed his crotch. “Yeah…yeah, okay. Twenty percent.”

“Done! I’ll wait in the hall, give you some privacy.”

“You didn’t last time. I don’t care if you watch.” He pulled his zipper down and pulled out a cock already hard. “Get over here, Blondie. Let’s see if your ass is as good as your mouth.”

He didn’t hesitate. He toed off his shoes and quickly stripped, then dropped to hands and knees and crawled to the men.

The fat man groaned in anticipation. “C’mon! Lemme see that hole!”

He presented himself and the fat man forced his cock in deep with no preparation. He moaned softly in pain.

Paulie leered. “I love watching cocks get shoved in that ass. But what he can do with that mouth is a sin!” He fondled his own crotch while his visitor fucked.

“Help yourself! I’m not using it! No sense letting it go to waste.” The fat man slid from the couch to his knees and rammed deeper. “God! This bitch’s hole is better than the cunts I’ve had! Any chance he’s for sale? How much do you want for him?”

“Not a chance in hell. He stays with me. I’ll tell you what, though. He’s available for parties, but he doesn’t come cheap.” Paulie took out his cock and grabbed a handful of dull, pale hair. “Suck me, Blondie! You know how I like it! Open your mouth and swallow my cock!”

He did as he was told and serviced them both, rocking between the cock in his ass and the one down his throat. It didn’t take long. It never did. He swallowed Paulie’s cum, then stilled, waiting for the men to remove their cocks. They took their time, but eventually did, chuckling together in satisfaction as they tucked themselves away.

He scooted back to the door, dressed and stepped into his loafers, then waited to be dismissed.

Paulie picked up the pen to sign the agreement. “You can go, Blondie. We’re done with you. Finish bussing the tables, then get yourself cleaned up. It’s been a slow night and I’m closing early.”

He nodded silently and let himself out.

* * * *

Franco’s Bar & Grill

He waited till it was closed and the customers gone before using the sink in the men’s room to bathe. It was the closest he got to a bath anymore. He scrubbed himself the best he could, then used a dab of liquid soap to wash his hair. When he was finished, he carefully dumped a bucket of lukewarm water from the utility sink over his head to rinse off, mopped the wet floor, then dressed.

It wasn’t ideal, but he had no money. Paulie made sure of that. So he pilfered little things, like soap to get clean or rinse out his laundry, and from scrapped leftovers so he didn’t starve. He bartered his labour for other things he needed, like a replacement shirt or pants. He had an agreement with the owner of the thrift shop down the street to pick up the trash in the alley behind it. In return, he got first pick of donations too worn to resell, but still wearable, before they were sent to shelters for the homeless.

He hadn’t spoken in over a year. He’d wandered into Franco’s with enough spare change left from begging to treat himself to a beer. He got turned around coming from the men’s room and ran into Paulie outside his office. Paulie accused him of snooping, not believing the begging sign he carried. To prove he wasn’t an undercover cop, he’d ended up on his knees in the hall, the gun in Paulie’s hand playing with his hair while he sucked Paulie’s cock, titillating passersby.

It satisfied Paulie in more ways than one. To keep him close and available, Paulie gave him a job of sorts. He bussed tables, swept floors and kept the bathrooms presentable. In return, he was allowed to sleep on the floor in a corner of the utility room. He had no bedding, but it was shelter, dry and mostly rodent-free.

No one paid him any attention. Paulie took to calling him ‘Blondie’ and he appeared when Paulie yelled the name. It usually meant sex with Paulie or one of his business associates. Sometimes both, like the session today. It didn’t matter to him. They did what they wanted, then left him alone.

* * * *

It was supposed to be like the other private parties that paid to use him. A handful of men looking to fuck or be sucked while the others watched or did each other. Paulie would negotiate a hefty fee and tag along to collect him when they were done; he didn’t take chances Blondie wouldn’t be returned.

But this time, the guy Paulie negotiated with didn’t show and the party’s host had other ideas. Blondie was taken, stripped and bound for rough sex over Paulie’s objections. Paulie wasn’t concerned over the proposed sex or damage; he cared about the loss of income caused by the recovery time needed for the damage to heal and for paying someone else to do the chores Blondie did for free. He demanded to re-negotiate his price.

The host quieted Paulie’s objections by shooting him. The party continued and lasted most of the night. Blondie was tortured and fucked unconscious, then revived, tortured and fucked some more. His screams excited everyone. When his guests were gone, the host had the bodies dumped in the trunk of Paulie’s car and the car abandoned behind Franco’s Bar & Grill.

It was two days before they were found, Paulie dead and Blondie nearly so.

* * * *

“Mr. Hutchinson, can you hear me?” The no-nonsense voice was female, demanding a response.

He didn’t recognize the voice. And it was a name he hadn’t heard in more than a year. One he’d forgotten because it wasn’t him anymore. He didn’t respond to it, didn’t open his eyes.

“Hutch, please? Look at me, Hutch.” This voice was anxious, the touch delicate, as fingers stroked his face and hair.

He knew this voice and the pain it caused. He flinched and screamed—or tried to. His throat was raw and he dimly recalled sex and pain and somebody screaming. Of money changing hands to make that happen.

But he stopped abruptly, remembering this voice enjoyed inflicting pain for free. It had a history of telling him what to do and expecting his obedience. And his silence.

“Open your eyes, Hutch. Can you see us?”

He did what it told him to do and opened his eyes.

It looked and smelled like the charity ward at the inner-city hospital. He recognized the face leaning over him. Behind it was a tall, plain woman with a fiery red pony tail, a stethoscope draped around her neck. The badge on her lab coat read ‘Dr. Adams’.

“Mr. Hutchinson, you have a broken arm, a number of burns and numerous cuts and abrasions. Your torso looks like someone tried to skin you alive.” The doctor was scribbling on the chart she held, reciting the damage indifferently. “There’s evidence of sexual contact with multiple partners. Considering your other injuries and the lack of clothing when you were found, this was rape?”

He tuned out her inquisition. She wasn’t paying attention anyway. She’d already decided what he was—a whore who’d partied with the wrong crowd—and her bedside manner indicated she felt unfairly tasked with fixing damage she considered his own fault.

“We can give you something to help with the pain, but before we do, we need to know. Any drug allergies? Are you on anything? Your friend says you drink. How much? Are you an alcoholic?”

He turned his head away and closed his eyes.

“Hutch, look at us!”

It was that voice again. Telling him what to do. He sighed and did it.

“What the hell happened? Where have you been? You were identified when your prints and those of the body in the trunk with you were run. Who was Paulie Franco to you?”

The voice peppered him with questions, but didn’t tell him to answer.

“I won’t prescribe anything until we get some answers. Maybe when he hurts enough, he’ll talk.” The doctor finished making her notes and hung the clipboard at the end of the bed. “The nurses can call me when he does.” She walked away and stopped briefly at the nurses’ station before leaving the ward.

He didn’t bother watching. He just stared at the ceiling, waiting. He didn’t have to wait long.

“She’s gone now, Hutch. Talk to me.” More soft touches smoothed his disheveled hair away from his face. “Who was Paulie Franco to you?”

He kept his eyes on the ceiling and his answer short. “Pimp.”

“Oh.” The fingers stopped touching and left his face. “How long?”

“Long time. He liked watching. Liked getting sucked. Like you do.” His throat hurt. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

“You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you? Want me to call the doctor back?”

“Fuck her. I’ll manage.” He wanted to be left alone. Asleep, he wouldn’t hurt so much. And maybe, just maybe, they’d let him take a real shower when he woke up. “Go away.”

“I’m staying.”

“Then fuck you, too.” He did the only thing he could think of. He started screaming and didn’t stop till they made the voice leave.

* * * *

“Time’s up.”

He knew the routine. He nodded and turned the shower off. The attending orderly handed him a towel and he carefully dried himself. Once he tossed it into the bin with the other used towels, he was handed hospital socks and scrubs, this time in light green. He had no clothes of his own and the scrubs covered more than the hospital gowns he was forced to wear when he first arrived.

When he was dressed, the orderly led him to the day room and locked him in with the other patients. He went to his usual spot in the far corner and sat. He spoke to no one and everyone left him alone.

* * * *

“Mr. Hutchinson, Dr. Stevens wants to see you.”

The orderly was back to escort him from the day room to the office of the attending psychiatrist. He stood, brushed himself off and followed the orderly.

“Have a seat. He’ll be right with you.” The orderly went and stood by the door. A few minutes later, a short, stocky, middle-aged man came into the room.

“Mr. Hutchinson, we’re releasing you.”

He looked up in alarm. It didn’t make sense. He had nothing, no ID, no clothes, no place to live, no money. But they were putting him out on the street anyway. Maybe it was because he couldn’t pay to be here. Maybe they needed the space for someone who could.

In other words, he was disposable. He stood and headed for the door. The orderly stopped him.

“The release papers have already been signed. Your court-appointed guardian is bringing the car around. He’ll meet you downstairs. Scotty here will take you.” Dr. Stevens nodded to the orderly. “Make sure he has the schedule for Mr. Hutchinson’s therapy appointments. Good luck, Mr. Hutchinson.”

The doctor turned his attention to the stack of files on his desk, the people in his office already forgotten.

Court-appointed guardian? Since when? He followed the orderly, still wearing scrubs and hospital socks. Scotty put him in a wheelchair and headed for the elevator.

“Hutch! Over here!” Starsky was leaning against the Torino parked outside the hospital entrance. Scotty wheeled him over and locked the chair, so he could stand and get in the car. “Dr. Stevens said to check and make sure you have his schedule of therapy appointments.”

“I have it. He’ll be there.” Starsky opened the passenger door. “Need help?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t getting into the car, or going anywhere with this man, court-appointed or not.

“Let’s go, Mr. Hutchinson. I have to get back upstairs.”

Starsky reached to help him. “Get in the car, Hutch.”

He glared at the hands, and Starsky stopped before touching him. “Then do it yourself, but get in the car.”

The voice warned him he had no choice. He did as he was told.

* * * *

They pulled up to the apartment he’d been living in when Starsky betrayed him. He shook his head and opened the car door.

“Inside, Hutch. We need to talk.”

That voice again, telling him what to do. But this time, he found the strength to oppose it. “No. I’m not going in there.”

“Then we’ll talk here. Close the door.”

“No.” He got out of the car and walked away.

Starsky followed him. “Hutch—” Starsky made the mistake of grabbing his arm.

He exploded in rage. “Keep your hands off of me!” He punched Starsky over and over. Starsky didn’t fight him, taking punches until he went down in a heap on the sidewalk. Hutch stepped back, panting heavily.

Starsky looked up at him warily. “Feel better now? Give me a minute. When I’m able to stand, you can knock me down again.”

Hutch slowly unclenched his fists. “Don’t ever touch me again. Do you hear me?” He watched Starsky climb to his feet, but didn’t try to help.

Starsky wiped at his bloody nose. “Come back to the apartment with me, so I can clean up this mess. You don’t have to go inside. We can talk on the steps. You don’t have to believe me, but you do need to listen.” He looked at Hutch intently. “It’s important. Please.” He headed for the apartment, hand pressed to his nose.

Hutch sighed in uncertainty, but chose to follow.

* * * *

“Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Soda? Maybe a beer?” Starsky leaned out the door in a clean shirt, his bruised face clear of blood.

He shook his head, already sorry he’d agreed to listen. He’d been waiting a while and was anxious to get going. He just didn’t know where.

Starsky finally joined him on the steps, careful not to touch.

“Why here?” Hutch asked.

“Because it’s still our place. Your—”

Hutch interrupted. “It’s not “our place”. I don’t live here anymore.”

“Your stuff is still inside. Your car is parked in its spot. None of that has changed.” Starsky persisted. “I won’t force you to stay here if you don’t want to. I have your keys and wallet. Your car has a full tank of gas.” Starsky looked at him anxiously. “But I do need you to listen to me.”

“Why ‘court-appointed guardian’? What’s that all about?” He still had his suspicions.

“It was the only way I could get you out of there. You disappeared, then turned up almost a year later as the unidentified, badly injured companion of a corpse. You weren’t making any progress locked up in that ward, so I agreed to be responsible for you. I owed you that.”

It explained why they’d been leaving him alone at the hospital. And it helped that he suddenly had options he didn’t have this morning—his ID, clothes and access to his bank account and car. He sighed. “Say what you need to say.”

Starsky wrapped his arms around his knees and stared at the street. “When you told me you were in love with me, you had the right to say it. But I had the right to tell you no. It wasn’t what either of us wanted, but we both pretended and it worked for a time.” He hugged his knees and rocked. “Then John died and it messed me up bad.”

Hutch remembered. He might still be a cop, they might still be pretending if John hadn’t died and Starsky hadn’t walked in unannounced and shared his orgasm the night he rode Sam’s cock. It united them with an intensity that shocked them both. One he’d craved again ever since, but horrified Starsky, and Starsky ran, determined to destroy the memory and any chance of a repeat.

“There’s no need to beat this to death, Starsky. I get it. We aren’t together. We never will be. I don’t know why you hung onto my crap, but thanks for returning my car and ID. Give me my keys and you’ll never see me again. I’ll make sure I’m never found.” He stood and held out his hand, hoping Starsky had his keys on him, so he could get going.

“No, Hutch. You don’t understand. A lot has happened since that god-awful night at the diner. Listen to me!” Starsky looked at him pleadingly. “Please.”

Hutch sat down again, careful to stay out of reach.

“You were right. I bought the diner. I wanted to help. To give you the chance to run your own business, doing something you enjoyed. I was having the papers drawn up to make it a loan like you wanted.” Starsky paused, hesitant to go on. “I didn’t tell my in-laws, Hutch. I had every intention of keeping this between us. But I confided it to Mickey and he told his wife. That’s how the in-laws found out. Shelly was outraged and called them.” Starsky looked at him apologetically. “I should have kept my mouth shut. I’m so sorry, Hutch.”

He shrugged indifferently. “You gave my life direction. It’s very simple now.”

“Direction?”

“Yeah. I do what’s expected and make no demands. People take what they want, then leave me alone.” They sat in silence for a time, then… “If we’re done here, can I have my keys? I’d like to get to the bank before it closes.”

“Hutch—”

Oh. Asking for his keys sounded like a demand and put him on shaky ground. He didn’t try to apologize. Best to keep his mouth shut. Hutch stopped talking, folded his hands in his lap and shut down. Eventually, Starsky would say what was expected of him.

“Are you hungry?”

He shook his head. Making no demands was safest and food was a demand.

“Well, I am.” Starsky stood up.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move.

“Oh, for crissakes, Hutch. Get inside!”

Starsky was exasperated and Hutch wasn’t sure why, but he got up and followed Starsky. Once inside, he sat in the corner closest to the door and made himself as small as possible. Starsky harrumphed and headed for the kitchen, rummaged in the fridge and came back with a couple of Cokes. He sat on the floor, handed one to Hutch and continued his talk.

“After you collapsed, you were unresponsive and I panicked. I got you to the hospital, and stayed with you while they checked you out and admitted you. I tried to call off, but they wouldn’t approve it. You weren’t family, you weren’t my partner, and when you woke, you wouldn’t speak to me, so I left, and came back after work like I promised. But you were gone.”

Hutch set the can between them unopened, and didn’t say a word.

“I confronted Mickey and his wife, then put in for a transfer.”

Hutch looked up in surprise.

“That night, I confronted the in-laws. Andrew was unapologetic, but I told him if anything happened to you or the diner, I would make him sorry he ever knew my name. Then I went looking for you.”

Starsky paused, fumbled with the can he held, trying to decide whether to open it or not. He set it on the floor next to Hutch’s. “You don’t have to worry about the in-laws anymore. They’re dead. Murder-suicide.”

“What?!” It slipped out in shock.

“You’re right. People grieve in different ways. Andrew was ranting when I left them and never let up. I guess Anika had had enough. About a week later, she took his revolver from the nightstand, shot him point blank several times, then shot herself. The responding cops found him dead and her unresponsive. She was DOA at the hospital. No note.” Starsky sighed heavily. “I wish I could say I was sorry, but God-help-me, I’m not.”

Hutch looked askance at Starsky. “Where are you working now?”

“Precinct near the diner. I’m partnered with Xavier Sanches. Maybe you’ve heard of him, I don’t know. He’s an eighteen-year veteran on the force. Survived a stint as an undercover cop in the barrio his rookie year. He’ll tell ya he makes Black-Latino look good, that he’s bi-lingual in Spanish and street smarts. He has a degree in psychology, been in a committed relationship for the past eleven years, and he’s gay.”

He closed his eyes, could feel Starsky studying him.

Starsky went on. “I’ve met his partner, a young black man about our age, who’s good with his hands. His name’s Gerald, but everyone calls him Harley. It’s a play on Harlem, cuz that’s where he grew up. He designs and builds custom furniture. The headboard in the bedroom is a sample of his work. There’s a king-sized bed in there now. I thought…” Starsky trailed off in dismay at his lack of interest.

He didn’t care. “What do you want from me, Starsky?” he asked apathetically.

“I want you to stay with me. I know you love me—”

“Not anymore.” He didn’t open his eyes. “I don’t love anyone or anything now. You saw to that.”

“Xavi warned me. But I thought if I explained…”

The voice he heard was solemn and sad. And thinking of itself. It always did. “Are you done yet?”

“No. Where were you, Hutch? Where did you live? What did you do?”

“Franco’s Bar & Grill”

“Cooking?”

“As if!” His laughter was muted and hollow. “Toilets, trash and sex. Paulie let me sleep on the floor in a corner of the utility room so I’d be available when he wanted sex.” He opened his eyes and stared at nothing.

“Christ!” Starsky muttered.

“I could have turned it down, but there was nothing else. I had no money, it was free, dry shelter, and the rats and I got used to each other. I only got bit a couple of times.”

“Free my ass.” Starsky was outraged, but Hutch didn’t care. “You can go back to cooking at—”

“NO! No. It’s like being a cop. It’s one of those things I don’t do anymore.”

“Why not, Hutch? You were a good cop. And you enjoyed cooking.”

“You don’t get it, do you? When you like something, it can be taken away or used against you. I told you I liked cock, too, and look what that got me.” He snorted softly to himself. “You asked me once, how many cocks I’d had. At the time, only two—yours and Sam’s—so how could I be gay?” He shook his head. “Because that was my preference, that’s how I saw myself. But I’ve learned it’s how others perceive you that counts. I’ve had dozens of cocks since then, and guess what? They didn’t see me as gay any more than you did. They saw me as a piece of ass. That’s what they wanted, so that’s what they got. I still consider myself gay, but I don’t particularly like cock anymore. Or sex, for that matter. It’s just something that needs doing when I’m told to do it.”

“So what will you do now?”

“Find another pimp, I guess. Unless you want the job. Paulie got discounts from some of his suppliers when he had me service them. Maybe you could, too.”

The look on Starsky’s face was a mixture of horror and disgust.

Hutch shrugged. “No, I guess not. If you’ll give me my keys, I’ll leave now and guarantee you’ll never see me again.” It was the best he could offer. Something for something, and it wouldn’t cost Starsky a cent.

“I’m responsible for you. If you take off, they’ll look for you, because you’re connected to a murder, and when they find you, you’ll end up back in that ward and they’ll never let you out.”

“So I’m your prisoner.” He stopped listening. He knew now what to expect and curled into a tight ball in the corner. “When you want me for sex, let me know where and with whom. Until then, I’ll be here. I won’t cause any trouble.” And he shut down completely.

“Hutch. HUTCH!!”

He didn’t respond. There was no point.

* * * *

“Hutch, open your eyes. There are people here I need you to meet.”

He didn’t want to, but the voice insisted. He did what it ordered and opened his eyes.

Starsky knelt before him. An imposing Latino crouched beside him, a slender black man behind, his hand on the Latino’s shoulder. He sighed and focused his attention on the Latino. “I don’t need to know your names. I just need to know how naked to get. Are you doing me here while the others watch, or somewhere more private?”

He heard a gasp behind the man and fell silent.

“We’re not here to fuck you, Hutch. We’re here because Dave called for help.” He turned to Starsky. “What the hell did you do to him, Dave? I’ve seen this before. He’s been traumatized, and he copes by doing only what he’s told. Meanwhile, he’s buried his true self so deep, you may never get him back. Certainly not with whatever game you’ve been playing.”

“I’m not playing games. I…”

Rejected, he curled back into a ball and waited.

At his movement, Starsky turned back to him. “Look at me, Hutch. This is Xavier Sanches, my partner at work. And this is Harley Jackson.” Starsky jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the slender black man behind them.

He didn’t care, didn’t respond.

“What do you think, Harley? Take him with us? Or would you rather not get involved? I’ll leave it to you.” The Latino stood up and put his arms around Harley. “Do you want to go in the other room and talk?”

“No. There’s been too much talk as it is. I’ve seen enough and I’ll admit, this hurts like hell.”

Hutch scoffed to himself. This Harley guy just needed to kill his feelings and it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

“Then we won’t get involved. I’ll get some recommendations for Dave and…”

“Xavi, we both know the hurt will never go away. But it’s so much better than it was because of you.” Harley looked up at the Latino, and to Hutch’s shock, they kissed in a way that said they genuinely cared about each other. Behind them, Starsky turned away in discomfort.

“I don’t know if we can help, but he won’t have a chance if we leave him here. I’m willing to try.” Harley stepped away and came to his side. “C’mon, Hutch. Go pack a few things. You’re coming home with Xavi and me. No one will touch you and you’ll have your own bed and bath.”

He looked to Starsky, who shrugged. He didn’t seem to want Hutch to go, but wouldn’t stop him and Hutch was surprised to feel relief at the thought. He stood up and went into the bedroom to see if he really did have clothes there.

Starsky followed him and pulled his duffle bag from the closet. “The clothes you packed the day you left are in here. The rest of your stuff in still in the drawers and in the closet. You didn’t have much, but it’s all here.”

Starsky set the bag on the bed while he pulled jeans and a shirt from the dresser and rummaged in the closet for shoes. He stripped unselfconsciously and quickly dressed in his own clothes, feeling better than he had in months.

“Your guitar is still under the bed. Do you want to take it?”

He shook his head, rolled the scrubs into a ball and picked up the duffle bag. He stopped in the kitchen long enough to throw the scrubs into the trash, then joined Xavier and Harley in the living room. Starsky stood by the door.

“Hutch—”

“My keys and ID?” He held out his hand.

Xavi answered. “Harley has your ID. You don’t need your keys. We’ll come back for your car when you’re better. Let’s go.” Xavier took Harley’s hand and headed for the door.

Harley handed Hutch his wallet as they passed. “It’ll be okay, Hutch. C’mon.”

He squeezed his wallet, relishing its familiarity and slipped it into his jeans, then followed them out the door without a word to Starsky.

* * * *

“This’ll be your room while you’re here. It was mine when Xavi and I first got together. We share a room now.” Harley showed him to a tidy, light blue bedroom with a full-sized bed covered by a muted, plaid spread in reds, blues and grays. “Dave told you we were a couple, didn’t he?”

Hutch nodded.

“There’s a bath across the hall. We have an ensuite and we seldom entertain, so it’ll essentially be yours. There’s a bag of toiletries on the counter for you—soap, shampoo, comb, toothbrush, toothpaste and disposable razor. Feel free to spread out.” Harley looked him over. “Do you want some help trimming your hair? Dave showed us a couple of old photos of the two of you. You wore your hair shorter back then.”

“He showed you photos? I thought he didn’t have any of us.” Hutch touched his hair involuntarily. “Yeah, could you? It’d be nice to get some of it hacked off, so it’ll be harder to grab when they…you know…”

“Yeah, I remember.” Harley said cryptically. “You wanna do it now, or after we eat? Xavi’s making an early dinner.”

“It can wait, I guess.”

“If you want to get settled, we can call you when it’s ready.”

“Thanks” He did want some time alone to figure out what was happening, what was expected of him. After Harley left the room, he settled on the floor in a corner and curled into a ball to think.

* * * *

“Hutch…HUTCH!”

A hand grabbed and shook him and he woke with a scream.

It was Harley. “It’s okay, Hutch. I’m sorry I touched you, but we knocked and called and we couldn’t wake you. Dinner’s ready.” Harley let go and backed away.

He shuddered and wiped his face. “Sorry. I didn’t intend to fall asleep.”

“You must be dog-tired. You were out cold.” Harley held out a hand, but didn’t touch. “Need help?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay.”

Harley stood. “You do know you can use the bed? No one will bother you here.”

“I guess I just want to be clean when I use it.” Hutch got up and smoothed his hair back. “I’m ready. What can I do?”

“Come eat.” Xavier’s deep voice came from the doorway.

Hutch followed them out of the bedroom.

* * * *

It was an older house in a working-class neighbourhood and it had a tiny dining room. The table was set with bowls, plates and a platter of grilled cheese sandwiches. Xavier brought out a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup and handed Hutch a ladle.

“Thought we’d keep it simple tonight, till we could get an idea of foods you like. What can we get you to drink?”

“Milk?”

“Grab the milk, Harley.” Xavi yelled at the kitchen. Harley came out with a stack of three plastic glasses and a gallon of milk.

“Let’s eat! I’m hungry!”

Harley laughed. “You’re always hungry, Xavi!”

“Comes from growing up with five brothers and a baby sister who could outeat us all!” Xavi rumbled.

“You’d never know it. She’s skinnier than I am!” Harley giggled.

They ate in silence for a time, then Xavi asked, “So what foods do you like, Hutch? Is it okay to call you Hutch, or would you prefer something else?”

He looked at them and tapped his spoon. “I haven’t been Hutch since I quit being a cop, but that’s all Starsky calls me and I know you’re talking about me, so…”

“Not as much as you seem to think. Would you prefer we call you by your given name?”

“Call me anything you want except ‘Blondie’. That’s what Paulie called me. I never liked it.”

“Paulie was your pimp.” Xavi wasn’t asking.

“Yeah.” Hutch didn’t even try to deny it. “When he said ‘Blondie’, it meant sex. It was my job to be ready.”

“And if you weren’t?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It was expected.”

“That’s enough, Xavi. He isn’t ready for an inquisition.” Harley put his hand on Xavi’s arm to hush him. “I’m just gonna call you Hutch. Are there any foods you won’t eat, Hutch?”

“Meatloaf. Other than that, I learned not to be picky. I never knew when there’d be anything to eat. Or what.”

“I get it. I avoid burgers and fries now. Scrounged from too many fast-food dumpsters when I was working the streets. But it wasn’t garbage to me then. It was food.”

He looked at Harley with new eyes, but didn’t ask any questions.

“If you’re done eating, let’s clean up.” Xavier stood and grabbed the pot and empty platter that had held the sandwiches. Harley stacked the plates, bowls and glasses and followed Xavi into the kitchen. So did Hutch, carrying the milk.

“I can wash the dishes,” Hutch offered.

“No need. We have a dishwasher.” Harley opened it and started loading.

“We work tomorrow. You’ll go to the shop with Harley. You don’t have to do anything, but—”

“But you need to keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t take off.” Hutch interrupted Xavi. “Is it okay to take a shower?”

“Let’s trim your hair first.” Harley finished loading the dishes. “Xavi, where are the scissors?”

Xavier rummaged in a kitchen drawer and pulled out a pair. “Will these do?”

“Yeah. C’mon, Hutch. We’ll do this in the bathroom, then you can shower.” Harley took the scissors from Xavi and grabbed a newspaper from the recycle bin.

In the bathroom, he spread the paper on the floor.

“How do you want to do this?” Hutch asked.

“Just take off your shirt, put the lid down and sit on the toilet. I’ll work around you,” Harley said.

Hutch did as he was told. Harley pulled the new comb from the bag of toiletries and got to work.

“Dave said you had a broken arm and you looked like someone tried to flay you alive when they found you?” He worked carefully, combing the snarls out of Hutch’s unkept hair.

“My right arm had a crack in one of the bones. They didn’t bother with a cast. They had a brace on it for a time. As for the rest of me, I’m almost healed.” Hutch could have been skinned to the bone but wouldn’t have admitted to the pain he’d endured.

“Are you now? More like in total denial. You’ve learned to set it all aside, but you never deal with any of it. And the pain is intense. It’s in your eyes if someone knows to look for it.” Harley finished combing his hair and picked up the scissors.

“And you do?”

“Yes. And I do.” Harley waited with the scissors. “How short?”

“If you’ve seen pictures, can you make it like that? Just below my ears and above my collar.” He sighed. Harley was right about the pain. And Harley carried his own. Hutch could see it buried deep, and Xavi knew to look for it, but Starsky didn’t. “You’re a lucky man, Harley,” he murmured quietly.

“Hmmm.” Harley finished cutting and stepped aside so Hutch could see. “How’s that?”

An older version of the cop Hutch had been looked back at him from the mirror. But the eyes weren’t playful anymore. They saw too much and hid even more. Mostly, the face was tired, of life and the pain he carried. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

Harley’s reflection nodded in the mirror. “Let’s get this cleaned up so you can shower.”

“I’ll do it. Thanks again.”

Harley took the scissors and left him alone.

Hutch crouched down and folded the paper, careful to gather the hair in it, then readied for his shower, pulling everything from the bag on the counter and putting the wrapped up hair into it and tossing it in the wastebasket.

He brushed his teeth and shaved, then took a quick shower, mindful of others in the house who might need it, but relishing the feel of hot water and soap on skin that never felt completely clean anymore. When he was done, he pulled on boxers and a t-shirt, tidied the bath and went to the bedroom across the hall. It was still light out, but he was exhausted and ready for more alone time. He stared at the bed, trying to decide whether to use it or curl up on the floor.

A knock interrupted him. “Yes?”

“Hutch, it’s Harley.”

He opened the door.

“I just wanted to tell you the clock on the nightstand has an alarm if you want to set it. We’ll leave for my shop about 8AM. There’s a coffee shop next to it that sells a decent breakfast sandwich. My treat. I’ll see you in the morning.” He winked at Hutch. “Oh! And use the bed.”

Hutch nodded sheepishly and closed the door. He set the alarm for 7:30AM, then crawled into the bed and passed out.

* * * *

He remembered passing this shop every day when he cooked at the diner. He’d thought it looked interesting, but never considered stopping in. Harley parked and took him to the coffee shop to order breakfast to go. He looked around Harley’s shop while they ate.

“How did you learn to do this?” Hutch was fascinated by the care and detail Harley put into his work.

“Rehab.” Harley took his time eating, more interested in studying Hutch. “A volunteer craftsman took me under his wing. He’d been through the program at one point in his life and decided to try to help others. He certainly helped me.”

“So you were an addict?” Hutch looked up in time to see Harley close down. “Sorry. None of my business. Is there anything I can do around here to help? Or just stay outta the way?”

“You can sweep if you want something to do. There are brooms in the closet by the barrels in the corner.” Harley finished his coffee and headed over to a table in the center of the room. He ran a careful hand over the finish. “Needs another coat of poly,” he murmured to himself.

“It’s beautiful,” Hutch said.

“Thanks. If you’re gonna sweep, I’ll wait till you’re finished and the particles settle before I open the can. The table needs a light sanding anyway.”

They spent the morning together doing separate tasks in the shop, Harley sanding and wiping the table down, Hutch cleaning. Conversation was light, incidental, but they got along well enough.

Come lunchtime, Harley pulled a bag of homemade sandwiches from the fridge in the office. “We have ham and cheese today, Hutch. There’s soda here, too. Help yourself.” He sat at the desk and opened the bag.

As they ate, Harley unexpectedly picked up their conversation from breakfast. “I was born and raised in Harlem. I have an older sister and a fraternal twin brother who is fourteen minutes younger than me. Mom died in childbirth.” He reached into the fridge and pulled out a can of orange soda. “I’ve always been attracted to older men. When I was fifteen, I made the mistake of coming out to my brother. He was horrified and angry. So were my father and sister. Family life got strained, so I began to hang out on the streets.”

Hutch listened intently, but said nothing.

“I was seduced by one of the older guys who hung out on the corner. I was naïve and thought it was love. My father disowned me and threw me out. The guy took me in and we played house for a couple of weeks. He introduced me to drugs and got me hooked, trafficked me to his friends and then to strangers. I dropped out of school, he got a new lover and sent me out to work the streets.” Harley took a long drink of soda before looking at Hutch. “Everything revolved around sex, drugs and money. I got familiar with bathing in sinks in gas station men’s rooms, and eating from fast-food dumpsters.”

“And rats crawling over you when you’re trying to sleep,” Hutch muttered.

“That, too.”

“How did you meet Xavi?”

“I was arrested for prostitution and overdosed in lockup. He happened to be there and he cared more than the desk sergeant did. He got me to the E.R. and kept an eye on me.” Harley reached for another sandwich, but played with it instead of eating it. “It wasn’t easy for either of us, and there were relapses, but eventually, we became friends, then lovers. We’ve been a couple for over a decade now.”

There was silence for a while, then Hutch asked, “Why are you telling me this? It can’t be easy for you.”

“It isn’t. There was a lot of pain involved. Still is. But you remind me of me and Xavi asked me to help. Dave’s in love with you and he doesn’t have a clue about how to handle that.”

“You’ve been misinformed. What he wanted was the friendship we once had, but not the love or sex I offered him. And now that he’s learned I was a whore, he doesn’t even want that. He’s wrapped up in labels and what others think, and homosexuality makes him uncomfortable. Ask him about John Blaine sometime.”

Hutch gathered the remains of his lunch and wrapped it for the trash. “Harley, I would appreciate it if you could take me to the bank so I can get what money I have left and close my account. I’ll be happy to reimburse you and Xavi for the food and toiletries you’ve paid for, but I need to permanently disappear. It’s the only way Starsky will move on with his life.”

“I can’t do that, Hutch. Xavi and I agreed to be responsible for you, and we take that very seriously.”

His options died along with his fledgling friendship with Harley. “I see. Dave has good friends.” He looked around the tiny office. “If it’s okay, I’ll wait here out of the way until you’re ready to leave, and I’ll be careful not to touch anything. Thanks for lunch.” He went to the corner, sat on the floor and closed his eyes.

* * * *

“Dinner’s in thirty minutes, guys.” Xavier was in the kitchen when they got home from Harley’s shop.

“No thanks. I’ll be in the bedroom.” Hutch stopped in the bath and gathered the toiletries, tossing the razor, toothbrush and comb, and putting the rest in a drawer and the towel in the hamper so the room was tidy. Then he went to the bedroom, made sure the bed was neat and packed his duffle bag. When his things were together, he sat in the corner and waited.

* * * *

“What’s going on, Hutch?” Both Xavier and Harley stood over him, wearing frowns.

He put his hand on the duffle bag and said quietly, “I’m ready whenever you are. Take me back to Starsky, or maybe taking me back to the hospital ward is a better solution. There’s nothing for me anywhere else.”

Xavier murmured to Harley. “I’m going to call Dave. Stay with him, babe. I’ll be right back.” He left the room and Harley crouched down next to Hutch.

“I thought we were doing okay this morning. But something I said changed things. What was it, Hutch?”

He didn’t bother to respond. He’d spent the afternoon detaching his feelings to kill the overwhelming pain.

“Hutch?” Harley studied him, shocked at what he saw. “I’ll be back.” He got up and hurried from the room.

He could hear Harley urgently interrupt Xavier’s phone call, but didn’t care what was being said. He closed his eyes and let go of his surroundings.

* * * *

“Look at me, Hutch. HUTCH! Open your eyes!”

There was no need to rush. The only thing he was good for now was sex and no one here wanted that from him. But he opened his eyes. Starsky knelt before him. Xavier and Harley stood behind. He didn’t look at any of them.

“See what I mean? I don’t know how he did it, but he’s removed every bit of it, Xavi. There’s nothing in his eyes anymore. We’ve lost him.”

“Removed what?” Starsky demanded. “What’s missing?” Starsky looked at him with eyes that didn’t see.

“The pain is gone, Dave.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?”

“No, it’s not. How can you say you love him and not see the pain he’s been carrying all this time? He buried it deep to function, but it’s gone now. He’s been killing parts of himself to make you happy and you haven’t even noticed.”

“What do you mean? I’ve noticed. I offered to get the doctor for him after we found him and he wouldn’t let me.”

“I’m not talking about physical pain from injuries he received. I’m talking about the emotional pain he’s carried for years. Do you listen to him talk? You said you were experimenting with sex with him. That you were learning to enjoy it. Did he?”

“Why, sure. He—”

“Did he initiate the sex, or just follow your lead? Did he come for you?”

“I-I…”

“You don’t know, do you?” Xavi’s deep voice rumbled accusingly.

“I didn’t,” Hutch said unexpectedly. “It wasn’t my place to do that. He wanted to experience the sex, not make love. So he fucked my ass and learned he liked to be sucked. That’s what he wanted, that’s what I did.”

“Did he ever reciprocate?”

Hutch looked at Xavier incredulously. “Why would he? We weren’t lovers. I was there to provide sex on demand. Nothing more. You’ll excuse me.” He stood and pulled his wallet from his pocket, dropped it on the duffle bag. It was of no use to him. It identified someone he wasn’t anymore. He headed for the door.

“Hutch?”

It was Harley calling his name, but he didn’t answer. He went across the hall to the bathroom and closed the door. He could hear his name being said and voices talking, but he didn’t listen, didn’t care. When he was finished, he washed his hands and left the room, but instead of going back across the hall, he quietly left the house.

Harley was sitting on the front steps. “Talk to me, Hutch. How did you do it?” he asked, concerned.

“Do what?”

“Lose the pain. What did you do?”

“I turned off the feelings.”

“Can you turn them back on?”

“Why would I want to? They’re of no use to me.” He had no interest in continuing the conversation and turned his attention to the street.

“Why did you approach your partner with your feelings for him? What changed?”

“It doesn’t matter, Harley.”

“But it does matter, Hutch. Why did you do it? I really want to know.”

“Starsky helped me out of a jam. I was hiding a friend from her savage ex-boyfriend. The guy had me kidnapped, and when I wouldn’t tell him where she was, he forcibly addicted me to heroin. He kept me high for a while, then withheld it. Next thing I know, I’m on my hands and knees begging to tell him where she was in exchange for a fix. He showed me off to her and trafficked her to his friends. His men kept me high to make me manageable when they were taking me out to kill me, but I got away. Starsky found me first.”

Harley listened silently.

“He locked us away together and went through withdrawal with me, turning what was an intensely painful, personal experience into a shared sensual affair. He whispered encouragement in my ear that kept me focused on him. His hands were all over me, his body was constantly pressed against mine. He got me clean, we got the bad guys and he gave me the chance to see the friend we rescued. She and I weren’t looking to become a couple. We were looking to apologize for the pain we caused each another and once we got that out of the way, she and I went our separate ways. Starsky and I stayed together and got closer.”

He could see Harley nodding in the dark.

“Is that when you realized—?”

“Yeah. He’d always done the touching and it seemed to escalate after I got clean.”

“What did you do that was so horrible?”

Hutch was silent for a long time, then he shrugged and said, “I told him I loved him.”

More silence while Harley thought it over. Then— “That’s not what I heard.”

“Which was?”

“I heard you tried to rape him and he had to fight you off.”

“You aren’t alone. I found out later a lot of people heard that. And most of them believed it.”

“What really happened?”

“Why?”

“What really happened, Hutch?”

“I kissed him and asked if I could make love to him.” Hutch recited matter-of-factly. “First reactions say a lot. He punched me in the mouth and called me a pervert. I backed off quick.”

He exhaled sharply. “I should have kept my mouth shut. I completely misread our friendship. I made a total ass of myself and he began to question his self-image. It caused on-going problems with his girlfriend and her family and friends. They wanted him to be “normal” and they blamed me for his questions.” Hutch was silent for a moment, then nodded to himself. “They were right to do that. I deserved everything that happened to me, but maybe I’ve finally been punished enough.”

“Hutch, nobody deserves what you’ve been through. All you did was love someone.”

The front door opened and Starsky came out on the porch. “Harley, Xavi would like a word with you.”

“I’ll be back, Hutch.” He got up and went inside.

“I’m ready to go when you are, Hutch.” Starsky came down several steps and sat next to him.

“Go where?”

“Back to the apartment. Your gun is still in the lockbox, unless you plan to use a knife. I’m giving you options.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Xavi says you’ve been killing yourself off a piece at a time. But I’m tired of being without you.”

“That was your choice.”

“And a bad one. But it’s one I can fix. You can’t stop me. I can go first or I can follow, but if you’re so determined to kill yourself off, let’s just get it done and over with. Consider it a suicide pact.”

“And if I just disappear?”

“It doesn’t matter where you do it. I’ll find you and join you.”

They sat together in silence a long time.

“What brought this on, Starsky?”

“Let’s go to the apartment and talk.”

“Let’s talk now. What brought this on?”

“Anika Manning’s choice of murder-suicide. Maggie Blaine’s decision not to, and a whole lot of thinking on my part when I learned what you went through because of my original views on homosexuality.”

“And what have you decided?”

Starsky hesitated. “I don’t know, Hutch. It’s not the idea that bothers me. The public displays of affection used to make me uncomfortable. But I do know that I’m better now that Laura and Mickey and Shelly aren’t harping at me day and night about how ‘unnatural’ it is. I know I’ve become more accepting since Xavier and Harley came into my life. I have people to talk to, who’ll answer my questions.” He leaned against Hutch, unable to help himself. “When I see them together, I’m jealous of what they have. What we could have had if I hadn’t been so wrapped up with labels and what other people thought of me.”

Hutch stood and walked to the bottom of the steps to put space between them. He’d heard some of this before and he didn’t want to hear it again.

But Starsky continued. “I heard what you told Harley about why you said you loved me. I wish you’d told me that. It might have saved us so much pain.”

“I doubt it, Starsk. ‘Normal’ was all-important to you and I wasn’t. Your first reaction was to punch me in the mouth and label me a pervert. Kinda discouraged conversation.”

“My hands weren’t all over anyone else. And after pressing my body to yours, I began to fantasize doing that more. It had nothing to do with homosexual urges and everything to do with you. I didn’t want anyone else. Not even Laura. We might have become lovers on our own eventually, but John died and I walked in on you that night…” His voice trailed off and Starsky breathed heavily.

“I still don’t understand how it happened, but I was part of you when your orgasm hit. I never came so hard in my life and you never even touched me. It scared the hell outta me and there was no one to talk to about it.” He went silent for a time. “I turned on you. I called you names and you quit. I was angry that you did and caved to pressure to let you go.”

“I didn’t quit because of the name-calling. It was the hate in your voice when you did it. But I’m over it now. It doesn’t hurt anymore. None of it hurts.” Hutch had heard enough. He was tired and it was time to end this. “Forget the suicide pact, Starsky. I’m killing my feelings, not taking my life. Take me back to the hospital ward and get on with yours. You, Xavi and Harley don’t need to be responsible for me. I won’t get into any trouble there, and you’ll always know where I am.” He snorted softly and invited, “If it’ll make you feel better, come visit me once a year, maybe first day of summer, if it doesn’t impede work or your family life.”

“I have no family anymore, Hutch.”

“You will. You miss your kids and you’ll want more. If you ever do visit, bring pictures to show Uncle Hutch. You don’t have to tell them about me. But pictures will give us something to talk about. We won’t have anything else.” He yawned in the dark. “Time to go. It’s getting late and you have to work tomorrow.”

“I’ll get your stuff.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t need it. They’ll give me scrubs and hospital socks anyway.” He wasn’t surprised when Starsky ignored him and headed for the door.

“We need to say goodbye, Hutch.”

He shrugged. “They’re your friends.”

But a few minutes later, when Starsky came out with his duffle bag, Hutch was gone.

* * * *

He slept sitting up to discourage rats from crawling on his face. There were more of them now, but the floor was still mostly dry in the old utility room in what had been Franco’s Bar & Grill. It was abandoned now, no water, no electricity, but there were several homeless men squatting in the ruins of the bar. No one bothered him when Hutch showed up and claimed the space he was using as his own. He wanted no companionship and they didn’t want his.

He’d been back on his own a couple of weeks now. The area had decayed rapidly with Franco’s gone, little foot traffic and no fast food. He struggled to sell the occasional blow job to pay for gas station hot dogs, and he used its men’s room sink to clean up late at night.

He knew he’d have better luck elsewhere, maybe even find a job scrubbing toilets for minimum wage, but the truth was, he didn’t care. He was killing time. ‘Fag’, ‘gay fry cook’, ‘whore’—all labels pasted on him by Starsky, who’d made it very clear their relationship wasn’t worth saving in this life, and death was the only solution. So he was dying by inches, hoping Starsky would give up, move on with his life and make more of the babies he wanted so badly, and Hutch’s could end without taking Starsky with him.

He headed back to Franco’s, hoping sleep would kill the hunger pangs for a little while. It was days since he’d last eaten. He made his way into the utility room, shooed the rats from the corner, curled up and leaned against the wall. Eventually, he fell asleep.

“Hutch?” The voice was soft, its owner holding a flashlight, pointed at the ceiling. “Hutch, wake up.” It was Harley. “Thank God I found you. I’ve been worried sick.”

“Who asked you to look? Leave me alone, Harley. I don’t want your help.” Hutch brushed off the rats crawling on his lap and turned his face to the wall.

“Maybe not, but you need it. I’ve seen this before.” Harley crouched down and laid a gentle hand on Hutch’s arm. “When was the last time you had anything to eat? Days, I’ll bet. Come with me, Hutch. Nobody knows I’ve been looking for you.”

“They will when you take me home.”

“Not taking you home. Taking you to my shop. I’ve got a cot and a sleeping bag in the trunk of my car. I’ll get you something to eat and hide you there for now.”

Hutch looked him warily. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you need help. And you need time. Both are vital. I know they were for me.”

It was a gentle reminder that he and Harley carried scars from similar ugly experiences. He took a chance and let the man help him to his feet and lead him to a car parked out front.

* * * *

Harley unlocked the shop door, turned on a light and shut off the alarm. “Take the food into the office and eat, Hutch. Then you can take a shower while I set up the cot. I bought you sweats at K-marts. They’re in the trunk with the cot.” He went back out to the car.

Hutch stumbled to the office with the sub and large coffee Harley bought him. He was hungry, but grubby and exhausted and confused about where his life was headed. He sat at the desk and rested his head on his arms.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?” Harley came in carrying the cot, a sleeping bag and a bag from K-mart.

“Couple of days,” Hutch mumbled.

“I had them cut the sub into sections. Eat at least half of it and drink the coffee.” Harley set everything down in the corner and sat at the desk across from Hutch. He unwrapped the sub and added sugar to the coffee. “One sugar, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Hutch sat up and reached for a section of sub. It was roast beef and provolone with a selection of veggies—lettuce, tomato, green peppers and olives. He nibbled at it carefully and washed it down with coffee while Harley watched, but one section was all he could manage. “Do you want some of this?” Hutch offered.

“No thanks. Go shower while I set up the cot and we’ll get you bedded down. Do you have any rat bites?” Harley stood and retrieved the K-mart bag, handed it to Hutch, then re-wrapped the sub and put it in the mini fridge.

“No.”

“I seldom use the shower here. There’s soap and travel shampoo, and the towels should be clean. Call if you need help. You look a bit wobbly.” Harley picked up the cot and started putting it together.

It was a relief to be clean again. Hutch wished he could brush his teeth, but he used his finger and it helped a little. He took the tags off the pair of sweats in the bag and put them on, tidied the bathroom and went back to the office. Harley had the cot set up and a sleeping bag laid out on it.

“I can bring you a pillow tomorrow.” Harley was apologetic.

“Not necessary. This is more than I ever expected.” Hutch sat down on the cot and sighed.

“Why did you take off, Hutch?”

“I needed options other than Starsky’s suicide pact.”

“What?!”

“You and Xavi were right. I was killing off my emotions to eliminate the pain. I asked him to take me back to the hospital and get on with his life. Starsky decided suicide was a better option, that we should just get it over with and he wanted us to go together.” Hutch shrugged and laid down on the cot.

“Will you be here when I come back in the morning?”

“Will you come alone?”

“Yeah. And I’ll bring coffee.” Harley looked at him intently. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here, Hutch. Not even Xavi.”

“I don’t want to cause problems for you. Tell him if you have to and I’ll clear out.” Hutch yawned and closed his eyes.

“Get some rest, Hutch. I’ll see you in the morning.” Harley stood to go. “I’ll leave the bathroom light on in case you need to get up and move around the shop.”

Hutch didn’t say anything, already almost asleep.

* * * *

Hutch was sweeping the shop when Harley arrived with coffee the next morning.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Not yet. Was waiting for you. What day is it?” Hutch set the broom aside and followed Harley to the office.

“Sunday.” Harley set two cups of coffee and a packet of sugar on the desk and pulled the leftover sub out of the fridge. “Is this okay, or would you like something else?”

“This is fine. Share it with me?” Hutch unwrapped it and offered some to Harley.

Harley took a section. “Thanks. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” Hutch watched Harley take a bite, then reach for his coffee. “What did you do to your hand?”

“Huh? Oh, it’s okay. I hit it on something.”

“More like you hit it on someone. I recognize the signs.” Hutch added the sugar packet to the other cup of coffee. “You left here angry. Who did you hit?”

“I thought you were…never mind. I should have known.” Harley fumbled with his coffee cup. “I hit Starsky.”

“Hmmm…the suicide pact.” Hutch nodded and took a drink of his coffee.

“He was talking to Xavi in the kitchen when I got home. His choice of death as the only option for the two of you pissed me off and I was livid when I walked in. He said hi, I punched him in the mouth and went to bed.”

“What did Xavi say?”

“Nothing. I-I’ve gone off the rails like this before. He left me alone and dealt with Starsky. When he finally came to bed, he didn’t ask any questions. He just…he didn’t ask any questions.”

Hutch could see the love in Harley’s eyes and didn’t ask anything else. “Like I said, you’re a lucky man.”

“Eat some of this, Hutch,” Harley insisted.

He picked up a section and reluctantly nibbled at it.

“Come home with me, Hutch. Xavi won’t ask any questions and we’ll keep Starsky away.”

“No thanks, Harley. You and Xavi have what Starsky and I never will and being around it tells me maybe Starsky’s solution is best for us after all.”

Harley stood, appalled. “Let’s go, Hutch. I’m taking you back to the hospital. Maybe Xavi can talk to the courts about rescinding the guardianship. We need to keep you two apart.”

“Just take me to Starsky and let us go.”

Harley came around the desk and dared to take Hutch’s face in his hands. “Look at me, Hutch.”

He looked at Harley with tired eyes.

“You still love him.”

“Not anymore. I—”

“You’ve turned off your feelings, but you love him so much, you’ll follow him into death if that’s the only way you can have him.” Harley ran his fingers through Hutch’s hair, in an effort to comfort him.

“How did you do it, Harley? You were an addict and a whore like me, yet your cop is unashamed to make a life with you.” Hutch closed his eyes and whispered, “Mine doesn’t want anyone to know about us, and is only willing to die with me.”

After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Okay. We’ll do it your way. Take me back to the hospital. Tell Xavi whatever you want.” He turned away from Harley and gathered the sub leftovers. “Do you want any more of this?”

“No thanks, Hutch. You should eat more than you have.”

“I can eat at the hospital.” He wrapped the sub remains, gathered the empty coffee cups and tossed everything in the trash, then stood by the office door. “I’m ready.”

The door opened and Xavi strode in. “Harley, what happened last night? What are you doing at the shop?” He stopped short when he noticed Hutch in the room. “How long has he been here?”

Hutch responded. “Just since last night. He—”

“Am I talking to you?” Xavi scowled.

Hutch recognized the dismissive tone. Hell, he’d used it himself when he was a cop. It had been used on him frequently in recent years, and he shut down. “My apologies.” He nodded to Harley. “I’ll wait outside while you make your report.” He left the office and closed the door behind him.

Thirty minutes passed before a contrite Xavi found Hutch half-asleep on the sidewalk by the shop door. “I’m sorry, Hutch. Harley doesn’t ‘report’ to me. We’re partners. I’d marry him legally if I could. He explained what he did and why he did it. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like I did.” Xavi sighed and crouched down to sit next to Hutch. “Come home with us for the afternoon. We can talk, have dinner, then we’ll take you to the hospital if you still want to go.” He patted Hutch’s arm. “Humour me, Hutch. It’s just a couple of hours.”

He nodded absently.

“Do you want to go with Harley or ride with me?” Xavi stood as the shop door opened and his lover came out and locked up. They exchanged glances. “I think you’d rather go with Harley.” He headed for his car.

Harley reached down for Hutch and helped him up. “C’mon, Hutch.”

* * * *

“We dated.” Xavi’s deep voice made conversation as he handed Hutch a beer. “You wanted to know how we did it. That’s how. I was fascinated by him, but he didn’t trust me. So we got to know each other better over time. Talked families and friends, educations, likes, dislikes, dreams, desires—you know, the things you learn when you date someone and it gets serious. I learned he has very few friends, but he has a deep strength that allows him to survive enormous hardship. He doesn’t give up.”

“But when did you know?”

“The first time he kissed me.”

Hutch looked at Harley to see if Xavi was breaking confidences, but Harley seemed comfortable with what Xavi was saying, even picked up the conversation.

“Have you always thought of yourself as gay, Hutch? I did, but Xavi didn’t. I’m a virgin where women are concerned. I’ve never had the slightest desire to even kiss one, but Xavi almost married one.”

That surprised Hutch. Starsky had said his partner was gay, wondered what Starsky really knew, what he had told Xavi and Harley about him. “I was married for a short time; we came to California and it ended not long after I became a cop.”

Apparently, Starsky hadn’t said much about him. Both men were startled to hear about his past.

“What happened? Unless you’d rather not say…” Harley asked.

“I came from money. Not multi-millionaire, but very wealthy upper class. She expected a classy lifestyle, my father wanted a high-power business attorney to kick the family finances up a couple of notches, and they got saddled with a street cop instead. He cut me off and she left me. Then Starsky happened, the touching started and I started re-thinking my sexual preference.” Hutch paused for a moment, then admitted. “It was almost worth the pain of withdrawal to feel his body pressed against mine. I wanted him. And when I couldn’t have him, I sought other male companionship. It wasn’t the same, but I learned it was what I wanted. I liked men.”

“Liked?” Xavi asked quietly.

“Things changed.” Hutch stopped talking.

They sat together in silence, finishing their beers. Then—

“If you could do any job, anywhere in the world, Hutch, what would it be?” Xavi wanted to know.

“What I was doing, I guess. Toilets, trash and sex. Doesn’t matter where.”

“Seriously? Why?” Xavi didn’t believe him.

“Because I know how and nobody gets hurt.” Hutch said matter-of-factly. “Because once they’re done, I get left alone.” He looked at the partners studying him. “I think I’ve let you down because I have no grandiose dreams. Maybe I was like everyone else once. Things I wanted to be when I grew up, but I surrendered them a long time ago. There’s not much left of me anymore.”

“What dreams, Hutch?” Harley asked softly.

“The unattainable kind. Not even worth recounting.” He shrugged. “Maybe we should go now. I’m not really hungry and I think you’ve got your answers.” He collected the empty beer bottles and took them to the kitchen.

They had no other solutions, so they reluctantly stood to take Hutch back to the hospital as agreed, but when they opened the door, Starsky was standing there.

* * * *

“Where did you go, Hutch? Why did you leave me?”

“He wanted an option other than suicide.” It was Harley who spoke, when Hutch said nothing.

“He wanted an option other than my suicide. He’s been dying by inches since I fucked up and rejected him years ago.”

The three of them watched as Hutch settled silently in a corner of the room, to exclude himself from unwanted conversation.

“Get up off the floor and talk to me, Hutch!” Starsky ordered angrily.

He closed his eyes and ignored them all.

“Where did you find him?” Starsky demanded of Harley.

“Covered in rats in the utility room in what was left of that bar where his body was dumped. He hadn’t eaten in days and refused to come with me if I was bringing him to you.” Harley held Xavi’s hand when he answered.

“Christ! Why?”

“Because he was back working the streets and didn’t want you to know.”

“Know what? That he was deliberately starving himself to death?”

“That I couldn’t even suck enough cock where I was to pay for a gas station hot dog.” Hutch said suddenly. “What more do you want from me, Starsky? I’ve surrendered so much of myself to you, there’s almost nothing left. You threw it away and I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Dave?” Xavi watched as Starsky went over, slipped to the floor and leaned against Hutch.

“I didn’t throw it away, babe. I kept it. All of it. Your likes, your dreams, the intense love you carried. You loved being a cop. Caring for people, helping kids. You were kind to those struggling to rebuild their lives. I took that away from you when you tried to love me and you quit to protect me.”

Starsky looked at Xavi and Harley in shame. “He drank for a time, then created a new life for himself. He found he liked to cook and he ran the kitchen in a family diner in town. He started daily specials and one of them was a favourite of mine.”

“Let me guess. Meatloaf.” It was Harley talking.

“Yeah. How did you know?” Starsky asked.

“It was the one food he said he wouldn’t eat now that he wasn’t scrounging for food.”

“He makes a terrific one.” Starsky said. “Or he did. He won’t cook anything now. He wanted to open a little place of his own, but he didn’t have the money to do it. I did and I butted in and bought the place where he worked. It was meant to be a present, but it backfired. It got him beaten and raped and he disappeared.”

“You can’t blame yourself for—”

“Yes, I can. He’d already given up his independence, his love of cooking and his self-respect. He was living the life I decreed for us and he did what I told him to do. We were living together, but I was hiding it. He fed me, sucked me and waited for me to pay him any attention at all. The men who raped and beat him knew about us and made death threats, and he disappeared to protect me.”

“That’s why he shuts down and doesn’t speak.” Xavi nodded. “It makes sense now.”

“How do I get him back, Xavi? If he goes back to that hospital, he’ll never come out again. I love him as much as he loves me. Maybe even more.”

“Not possible.” It was a breath with shades of despair, for his ears alone.

“Take him home, Dave. He responds to you. The best advice I can give you is to use that. Forget sex. Forget declarations of love and remorse. Go back to a time that worked for you both, where you needed each other unconditionally. Start there. Take it slow and don’t overthink it. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. If it isn’t, maybe the two of you can say goodbye and walk away. A suicide pact isn’t the answer.”

Starsky looked longingly at Xavi and Harley sitting across from him and nodded. “C’mon, Hutch,” he urged softly. “We’re going home.”

* * * *

It was a quiet drive to the apartment they’d shared for a time. But once there, Hutch refused to get out of the car.

“Take me back to the hospital, Starsky.”

“Why?”

“Cuz this isn’t home and I don’t wanna talk about what we don’t have and never will.”

Starsky turned the Torino off. “Inside, Hutch. We’re going to talk.”

Hutch sighed and got out of the car. Once inside, Hutch took to the corner and sat on the floor.

Starsky objected. “No, Hutch. Come over here and talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About what you’re thinking. Tell me about it.”

Hutch struggled to say anything. “If I don’t go back, I’ll end up on the streets again. Or dead. It’s just a matter of time.”

“You make it sound like it’s all about the sex, Hutch—”

“You told me it was whenever we talked, Starsk. ‘My kind of love’ you said. And you were right. It was the focus of my entire life for almost a year. Sex is what I’m good at now. I was fucked by anyone who paid to use me. I sucked anyone who shoved his cock in my mouth. Even you enjoyed it when you ordered me to suck you, and you didn’t want or need love to do it.”

He got up, disgusted with himself. “Listen to me. Bragging about what a good whore I am. I need to shut up so we can go.”

“Hutch, look at me.” Starsky came over and turned him around. “What is it you really want?”

“I…” Hutch closed his eyes and muttered. “I want my life back, but that’s not gonna happen. I wanted to be able to work a job I like. I wanted to be able to enjoy sex without censure. And I wanted to be able to love someone and maybe earn his love in return.”

“But I’m here, Hutch. We—”

“NO!” Hutch stepped away. “I wanted my life back, not the one you picked for me. I left a job I loved so you could live yours and found a different one I learned to be good at. I had my own place…” he looked around at the space that was once his, “…and I was living my life my way.”

“You lived like a monk, you drank and you…”

“And I was lucky enough to have you find and tell me I was doing it wrong.”

Hutch spoke indifferently, not really caring if Starsky understood or not. “In therapy, I learned that life needs purpose and relationships need trust. That’s what Paulie Franco gave me.”

“But he was a pimp!” Starsky said angrily.

“Yeah, he was,” Hutch agreed. “He gave me a reason to live and I trusted him to keep me alive to do it. Now he’s gone and the courts have given me to you. But life with Paulie gave me a past that’s unacceptable to you, and there’s no way to expunge it. So you’ve decided suicide is the answer, and you’re tagging along to make sure I get it right.”

“Dammit, Hutch! Come in the bedroom. I can’t talk to you here.”

Hutch shook his head. “Not a good idea, Starsk.”

“I’m not suggesting sex, Hutch. Just let me hold you like I did when you were recovering.”

Hutch sighed and slowly followed Starsky to the bedroom. The headboard Harley had made was beautiful; dark, hand-carved wood gleamed in the low light. Hutch touched it gently, then stretched out on the bed. “I know things are different, Starsk. I won’t pretend they aren’t. But if you expect me to be here, tell me I’m still worth something to you, even if it isn’t much.”

Starsky sat against the headboard and gathered Hutch into his arms. “You are everything to me,” he whispered. He stroked Hutch’s hair and face like he did when Hutch was in withdrawal. The touches reminded them of a time when they were close and wanted to be closer.

“Press your body against mine, like you did before,” Hutch murmured. “It kept me focused on you and made me want to please you.”

He felt bereft when Starsky let go of him and stood up without a word. But he gasped in anticipation as Starsky took off his flannel shirt to reveal nipples rock hard against his t-shirt and he lay next to Hutch, then suddenly rolled on top and pressed his face into Hutch’s neck. “My turn to please you, babe. Put your hands wherever you want them.”

He moaned when Hutch pinched his nipples and whispered, “Move, Starsk. Rub your body against mine. I’m not asking you for sex. I just want to feel…” He sensed Starsky’s sudden hesitation and stilled his hands. “Never mind. It’s okay. This is more than I deserve.” He lay quietly under Starsky.

“No, love, no. It’s not like that.” Starsky lifted his head and gazed into Hutch’s eyes. “Come back to me, Hutch.”

He’d come into this room remembering a time when he and this man had a shared something to protect. They didn’t now, and here he was pretending they still did. He smiled sadly up at Starsky and clamped down hard against feeling anything more. “I’m here, Starsk, but I have nothing to offer. Let’s just take a nap. One last thing to share before I go back to the hospital ward.”

Unexpectedly, Starsky’s mouth came down on his and Hutch tasted desperation in the kiss. And for the very first time, love. The kiss deepened. So did the love. When it ended, he whispered, “Starsk?”

“Come back to me, Hutch. Please…” Another kiss.

His feelings suddenly re-connected and the pain burst free, out of his control. Hutch gasped in shock and tried to break free from Starsky’s grasp.

“Babe?” Their eyes met and Starsky’s widened in horror. “Ohmygod, Hutch! Did I cause that?”

It rolled over them both and Hutch couldn’t stop it. “Some of it,” he panted. “Let me go, Starsk. I can’t suppress it with you holding me.”

“Don’t suppress it. Let it out. We’ll deal with it together.” He didn’t try to kiss again, but gathered Hutch closer and held on tight.

Hutch shuddered uncontrollably. He’d suppressed the pain for years, even denied it existed in order to function and make a life for himself. This time, he’d detached his feelings to rid himself of the pain entirely. But it was back now in force and it was excruciating. He panted, overwhelmed, on the verge of hysteria when suddenly, Starsky’s voice was in his ear, whispering quietly, “I’ve got ya, babe. Focus on me, on the sound of my voice. Feel my body pressed against yours. We’ll get through this. You’re not alone.”

He remembered going through withdrawal by doing what this voice told him to do. He focused on it now. The pain didn’t go away, but it receded, and he could breathe again.

Starsky’s hands gently stroked his face and touched his hair. As Hutch’s breathing slowed, Starsky checked his eyes. “That’s it, babe. Let go. I’ve got ya. I’ve got ya,” and he kissed Hutch again.

The love was even deeper than last time, and Hutch kissed back hungrily, pulling Starsky’s body closer. “Don’t leave me tonight, Starsk.”

“I’m not going anywhere, love. Rest now. Let me handle the burden for a while.” Starsky nuzzled his throat and he dared to relax in Starsky’s arms.

* * * *

He slept for a long time, and woke to Starsky standing guard, his face etched with shame. Hutch reached up to touch. “Starsk?”

Starsky blinked and admitted, “I did this to you, to us. No wonder you ran. This pain is like the weight of the world weighing you down and you can’t escape it.”

“No, I can’t. But I can keep it away from you.” He took a breath and centered himself. And slowly, pain became something they no longer shared.

“Hutch?”

“It only happened because I lost control and you were touching me. I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

“Hutch, look at me!”

He sighed, but did as the voice ordered him to do.

Starsky studied him intently and for the first time saw the pain Hutch buried deep. “Oh love…”

“You said you fantasized about me. How so?”

Starsky had to answer. “I couldn’t forget walking in on you and sharing your orgasm. I found myself wanting to cup your balls, feel them pulse when I touch you there. Sometimes I want to watch up close while your cock spurts. Sometimes I want you to come in my mouth. But I want to fondle your balls while you do it. I dunno. There’s something intensely erotic to me about wanting to feel them throb in my hand.”

“Ohmygod, this is my fault. All of it. Everything.” Hutch whispered. He rolled away from Starsky’s touch and got out of bed. “I can’t even begin to say I’m sorry, Starsk. But I can say that you’re 100% normal. Find a good woman, make more babies and live your life. You won’t be troubled by unnatural cravings anymore.”

“What are you talking about, Hutch?”

“The touching. The fantasies. The confusion you felt after John died. The shame you struggled with when we experimented, because you weren’t attracted to men. You channeled my cravings, my desires, not your own. I convinced myself after I got clean that you really wanted more and I refused to accept that you didn’t.”

Starsky looked at him dumbfounded. “That’s not true, Hutch. I—”

“Those fantasies stopped when I disappeared, didn’t they?”

“They…” Starsky frowned and absently pulled at his lower lip. “Yeah, they did…”

“That’s when sex changed for me. I have a whore’s mentality now where sex is concerned. It’s like scrubbing toilets or mopping floors. There’s no love involved. No desire. Sex is just another task to be done when I’m told to do it.” Hutch stroked the headboard once more. “Harley did a really fine job on this. Be sure to tell your ladies how special it is. And when you’re ready, you can make babies here without feeling dirty. We didn’t fuck on it.” He turned his back and left the room.

“Hutch—” Starsky followed him out and tried to hold him.

“Don’t, Starsk. My control is still a little shaky.” Hutch deliberately stepped out of reach. He glanced at the floor in the corner, then opted to sit in the chair across from the sofa. “Is there anything else you want to ask before we say our goodbyes?”

Starsky sat down and studied his ex-partner, trying to decide how to phrase his question. Finally— “Why won’t you let me love you, Hutch?”

“Because they aren’t your feelings…”

“Bullshit! It may have started out that way, but I’ve been without you for more than a year now. Without your fantasies, your needs, the love you denied you had for me influencing how I feel. I don’t want another wife. I loved my sons, but I don’t want more children. I want you. I need you. I meant what I said when I told you I felt safe and supported around you, that you know me like no one else does. But I know you, too, Hutch, and I’ve learned to love you on my own. Come back to our bed and let me prove it.”

“Our bed,” Hutch mumbled, wishing it was true.

Starsky stood and came to him, held out his hand. “C’mon, babe. We’ll keep it simple. Let me touch you like the fantasy we shared.”

Hutch listened to the voice and took Starsky’s hand.

* * * *

He stood quietly by the bed while Starsky undressed him, then lay down at his direction and closed his eyes. Starsky’s fingers stroked him gently, touched deep scars on his chest that Starsky had never seen. Soft kisses pressed to the worst of them surprised Hutch, eased memories of the incredible pain that had inflicted them. The fingers moved lower and he heard Starsky moan as his fingers cupped Hutch’s balls.

“I didn’t expect them to be so heavy…” Starsky whispered, as they throbbed in his hand.

Hutch didn’t expect his body to respond. It hadn’t in a very long time, but this was Starsky’s touch, and it was warm and demanding. He opened his eyes in time to see Starsky’s mouth come down on his cock and arousal tore through Hutch, then orgasm hit without warning.

He came hard.

Hutch poured down his throat, and Starsky swallowed frantically. As he finished, Hutch remembered Starsky had never done this before. “Ohmygod, Starsk. I’m so sorry,” he murmured in shame.

Starsky swallowed one last time and kissed Hutch’s cock as he pulled off. “Don’t be. As soon as I can move, I’ll clean up and join you.” He lay his head on Hutch’s leg and sighed.

“Clean up?”

“We seem to respond to each other in unexpected ways. When you came, I came. I’m a bit of a mess.” Starsky slipped off the bed and rummaged in the dresser for a change of clothes. “Rest here while I rinse off. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Starsky headed for the bathroom.

Starsky was rinsing soap out of his eyes when Hutch joined him in the shower. He scrubbed Starsky’s back, then turned him and ran his fingers through the soapy curls on Starsky’s chest and washed his genitals. Starsky stood still watching, then he kissed Hutch.

“Do you want to fuck me, Starsk? You can if you want to.”

Starsky kissed him again. “I don’t want to fuck you. I want us to make love and I want you deep in my body first, but we’re not ready for that yet. We shouldn’t have done what we did, but we needed the intimacy.” He cupped Hutch’s balls again. “God, I love doing this to you. I love the way it makes me feel.”

Hutch let him touch, but this time, there was no arousal.

They turned off the shower, grabbed towels and dried off. Starsky got dressed while Hutch wandered into the bedroom to retrieve his own clothes.

Starsky found him in the kitchen rummaging through the cabinets. In one of them was the half-empty whiskey bottle he’d abandoned when he’d agreed to live his life on Starsky’s terms before his disappearance and life as a whore. He pulled it out, dumped it in the sink and tossed the empty bottle, then moved on to the refrigerator.

“Do you want me to fix you something to eat before you take me back to the hospital?”

“Hutch, I don’t wanna take you back there. We’re home. We’ll take our time and work it out.”

“I was supposed to see some therapist before I took off again. I missed those appointments.”

“I kept them. Xavi said I needed to talk to someone. He was right. My head’s been a mess.” Starsky watched him look through the fridge. “We’ll set something up for you. Would you mind fixing something for us? Maybe scramble some eggs?”

“I’m not very…” he said reluctantly.

“Please, Hutch. It’s just some eggs.”

He shrugged and looked for a bowl and a pan. “Get the eggs.”

Starsky did, and watched Hutch cook for the first time in more than a year. He prep’d conscientiously, cleaning as he went, but Starsky couldn’t tell if Hutch enjoyed what he was doing. Starsky got two plates from the cupboard and two forks from the drawer. “I think there’s enough juice left for a couple of glasses.” He pulled it from the fridge and showed it to Hutch.

“Just pour yourself a glass, Starsk. I only made enough eggs for you. I’m not hungry.” Hutch filled a plate with the eggs he’d cooked and set it on the counter, then put the other plate and fork away and went to the sink to wash the bowl and pan he’d used. When he was finished, he went to the living room and sat in the chair while Starsky ate.

“You work tomorrow, yes?” he said when Starsky joined him.

“I thought I’d call off.” Starsky replied.

“Don’t. I need some alone time to think.” Hutch looked at him. “I’ll be here when you get home. I won’t take off.”

Starsky nodded. “All right. I’ll leave you be then. It’s getting late and I’m tired.” He stood and stopped by Hutch long enough to stroke Hutch’s cheek. “Come to bed when you’re ready, love.”

Hutch watched Starsky go into the bedroom and close the door. He sat in the darkening room for a while, then went into the kitchen and washed Starsky’s dishes. When he decided Starsky had settled, Hutch went to the bathroom, stripped down to his underwear, then entered the bedroom and climbed into bed. As Hutch drifted, Starsky reached out sleepily and tucked an arm around him.

He lay quietly, trying to understand why he responded in part to Starsky, but no longer cared to initiate intimacy on his own.

* * * *

He woke alone, shocked to find he’d slept till mid-morning. He dressed and wandered out to the kitchen, where coffee was waiting. As he poured a cup and added sugar, Hutch turned and found his wallet and car keys sitting on the counter. Under them was a note: See ya tonight. Love, Starsky.

The implicit trust was unexpected. Hutch thought he’d have to work hard to earn any of it back, and Starsky was handing it to him unasked for. He played with the note while he drank his coffee and planned his day.

He went to the bank first. He didn’t close his account, but Hutch pulled most of the small balance out so he’d have ready money for the first time in years. Then he went to see Harley.

Harley was in the tiny showroom, selling a bedroom set he’d designed and built. It was gorgeous and the buyers were willing to pay extra to have it delivered that evening. Hutch wasn’t surprised when Harley agreed. He waited in the workroom while the sale was completed and arrangements were made. After they left, Harley joined him.

“The pain is back.” Harley was blunt in his assessment of Hutch. “Does Starsky know?”

“He knows.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Would you answer a very personal question? I don’t have anyone else to ask.” Hutch tried to keep it matter-of-fact, unsure if Harley would be willing.

“Ask it.”

“Being a whore drastically changed my perceptions of sex and love.” Hutch studied his hands. “I’m thinking working the streets changed you, too, Harley. How did you learn to initiate sex and enjoy it again? When did it stop being a chore to be done because Xavi wanted it?”

Harley was silent long enough that Hutch was sure he’d offended him. “Never mind, Harley. I was wrong to ask. It’s none of my business.” A bell dinged, indicating a customer was coming in the front. Hutch quickly headed for the back door. “I’ll see ya around.”

“Hutch, wait!”

But he was gone.

Hutch skipped the rest of the errands he’d planned, and returned to the apartment. He started a load of laundry, then made sure the bed was made and the place was tidy. He was folding clothes when Starsky got home.

“How was your day?” Starsky asked.

“The laundry’s done. I’ll put it away.” Hutch picked up two of the three piles of clothes and headed for the bedroom. Starsky grabbed the third one and followed.

“Anything sound good for dinner, Hutch?”

“I have no preference, Starsk. We can go out or pick something up. I’ll cook if that’s what you want. I’ll even make you meatloaf, but we’ll need to buy the ingredients.” Hutch put the clothes away and headed for the bathroom with the stack of towels he’d washed.

“Hutch?”

He stopped when Starsky touched his arm. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. It’s all good.” Starsky let go and he continued into the bathroom and put the towels in the cabinet, then went into the living room and sat in the chair. “So what do you want to do about supper?”

“Subs, I guess. There’s a new shop three block over I’ve been meaning to try.”

“I can go. It’ll give you a chance to take your shower. You always took one after work.” Hutch stood and slipped on his shoes. “What kind do you want?”

“Whatever passes for Italian. Let me give you some money.”

“I’ve got it. I went to the bank earlier.” Hutch grabbed his keys off the counter and headed for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

* * * *

Harley was there when he got back. Hutch set the bag on the counter and headed for the fridge. “What do you want to drink, Starsk?”

“Is there any Coke left?”

“Yeah. Harley?”

“No thanks.”

Hutch pulled out a can and set it next to the bag.

“Harley’s here to see you, babe. He has a favour to ask.”

“Uh, yeah. I have a delivery to make and I could use a hand. I’d be willing to pay you for your time. Are you interested?” Harley looked at Hutch, silently offering the chance to talk privately.

“Thanks, but no thanks. It’s been a long day and I’m going to bed.” He slipped off his shoes and headed for the bedroom.

“Aren’t you gonna eat, Hutch?”

“Not hungry. ‘night, Starsky, Harley.” He went into the bedroom and closed the door.

* * * *

It was late when Starsky came to bed. “Are you asleep, Hutch?” he whispered.

“No,” but Hutch didn’t turn.

“I went with Harley to help him out. You didn’t buy yourself a sub. Why not?”

“Wasn’t hungry.”

“When was the last time you ate anything, Hutch? Hutch?”

“I had a sub at Harley’s shop.”

“That was two days ago and he said you only ate a piece of it.”

Hutch didn’t argue, didn’t make excuses.

“Listen to me, Hutch. I want you to start eating regularly again. It doesn’t have to be anything elaborate, but you’re starving yourself and that has to stop. Understand?”

That voice again. Telling him what to do. And he found himself listening. That, too, had to stop, but he didn’t want to argue tonight. “All right, Starsky.” Hutch felt hands gently stroking his back and he offered sex. “If you want, I can suck you off. Help you relax so you can sleep.”

The touching stopped. “No thanks. Get some rest.”

There was distance between them now and both tried to sleep.

* * * *

They got up together the next morning. Hutch made a quick breakfast while Starsky got ready for work. He ate under Starsky’s watchful eye.

“This is the last of the eggs and bread. I’ll have to get groceries. What do you want for supper?” Hutch asked.

“Keep it simple. Maybe cheeseburgers and chips? I’ll get you some money.”

“I’ve got it if we go easy. You won’t be eating steak, but you won’t starve.” Hutch checked the fridge again and looked in the cupboard where Starsky kept his canned goods.

“I’ll see ya tonight, babe.”

He waved at Starsky without looking and Starsky left for work. He didn’t bother with the dishes. Hutch picked up his keys and headed for the market.

He spent most of what he had left after buying Starsky’s sub the night before. He brought the groceries home and put them away, cleaned the kitchen, then retired to the corner of the living room and sat on the floor to wait for Starsky to get home.

That’s where Starsky found him.

“Are you okay, Hutch? What are ya doing on the floor?”

“Thinking. Are you hungry? I’ll fix the burgers while you shower.” Hutch got up and headed for the kitchen. Starsky let him go and headed for the bathroom.

The burgers were almost done when Starsky came into the kitchen. “Pull out whatever condiments you want to add. I didn’t know if you’d want them, but I got a tomato and an onion, too. They’re by the sink,” Hutch said as he added cheese to the burgers in the skillet.

Starsky pulled plates from the cupboard and added a grilled bun to each. He spread mustard and ketchup on his bun, then washed and cut the tomato into slices and added one. “I’ll skip the onion. Did you get chips?”

“In the cupboard. Grab a couple of cans of soda from the fridge.” Hutch set a burger on each of the buns, then got busy doctoring his.

They ate in silence, then Hutch started to clean up, but Starsky stopped him. “Clean up can wait. Let’s talk.”

Hutch sat back down on his bar stool. “Let me guess. You and Harley talked and he gave you advice on how to deal with me.”

“No. We talked about me. Harley said I need to shut up and start listening.” Starsky looked at Hutch. “You want something. I can tell. So what can I do?”

Hutch said nothing, trying to decide how serious Starsky was. “Can I suck you?”

Starsky hesitated. “Hutch, I think—”

The tiny flare of hope Hutch had been nursing all day died and he reached for his keys. “Never mind. I had no right to ask and I never will again. I’ll see ya later, Starsk. Don’t wait up.” He was out the door before Starsky could stop him.

He didn’t have the money or inclination to go anywhere or talk to anyone. He drove two blocks over and parked, then settled in the back seat and slept.

When he woke in the morning, he used the last of his cash to buy coffee and a newspaper before going back to the empty apartment. He settled at the counter with his coffee to check the want ads for jobs, then cleaned the kitchen and showered. He made a sandwich to take with him and headed out to find work.

It took most of the afternoon, but he got two full-time jobs that paid more than minimum wage. One was an afternoon shift in a large hardware store, stocking and doing whatever else was needed. The other was a night job in a warehouse, unloading merchandise and stocking shelves. He could start both the next day and he figured if he was careful and saved every penny he could, in a couple of months, he could afford a small studio apartment in one of the rougher neighbourhoods on the edge of the city where rents were supposedly cheaper.

Hutch drove back to his old apartment, but Starsky was already there, so he didn’t go in. He did the same as the night before, driving a few blocks over and sleeping in his car.

The next morning, he waited until Starsky left before going in, cleaning up and doing laundry to pay for the sandwiches he made for lunches on his shifts. He didn’t bother snagging soda; he had no way to keep it cold and no money to buy it on site. It was better to save the money anyway. He could drink water.

Weeks passed, and that was the routine he settled on, except he returned to the empty apartment after his night shifts ended, showered, did chores and slept on the couch. Starsky knew he came and went, but they never saw each other. Their only communication was the coffee, lunchmeat and bread Starsky provided and the laundry Hutch did to pay for it.

* * * *

“Hutch? Wake up!”

He woke to Starsky’s hand on his shoulder. “Huh? What are you doing here?”

“I think I caught something from a guy we arrested yesterday. I came home sick.”

“Then get away from me and go to bed. I don’t have sick time where I work. I’m still on probation.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t. I have a long day ahead and I need sleep.” Hutch laid his head back down on the sofa and tried to go back to sleep.

“Hutch—”

“Look, I’ve been working two jobs, saving everything I can and I’ve almost got enough. A couple more weeks and I’ll be able to get my own place and be out of your way. Now please. Let me sleep.”

“You’re moving out?”

He sighed and got up, went to the bathroom and grabbed his shoes on the way out the door. “Feel better, Starsky.” He went to his car, pulled around the corner, got in the back seat and slept.

* * * *

He didn’t return to the apartment. He bought himself two spare outfits at the department store, worked hard, splurged on a takeout burger and coffee every other day and slept in his car. Once a week, he paid for a couple of hours at a cheap motel to use the shower and he washed his clothes in the laundromat across the street.

The added expenses set him back a couple of weeks, but eventually, he had enough saved and found himself a studio apartment. It was shabby, but affordable and he arranged to move in on his next day off.

Time to get his things at Starsky’s place. He chose a time Starsky wouldn’t be there and made sure the Torino wasn’t in sight when he pulled up. He let himself in and went to the bedroom to collect his clothes, guitar and his gun from the lockbox in the closet.

Starsky was there and he wasn’t alone.

The young lady under him screamed softly at his intrusion and he stopped in the doorway and apologized.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. I came for my things. I’ll go now.” He spoke to the man on the bed. “Just put everything in trash bags and dump them on the porch. I’ll pick them up tomorrow.”

The curly head shushed his lover, then looked up and glared at him. It wasn’t Starsky. “Ken, right? There’s a letter for you on the counter. Leave your key and get the hell out!” He comforted his lady. “I’m sorry, honey. They’re coming to change the locks tomorrow. I was told this yahoo might stop by, but I wasn’t expecting him to just walk in on us. I thought he’d knock first.”

“I’m very sorry. I had no idea.” Hutch left the room quickly, dropped his key on the counter and walked out the door without the letter.

* * * *

Another anniversary of the deaths of Starsky’s family. He didn’t know which one. But it fell on one of his days off and Hutch wondered if he should do something to honour them.

He still worked two jobs, living the solitary life he’d cultivated before, but this time in his shabby apartment. He kept to himself, spoke only when spoken to and drank on his days off. He had no phone, no television, no friends, no hobbies.

But honouring Starsky’s family called to him. Maybe not the wife, who’d disliked him intensely and maligned him behind his back, but the sons he never knew, who meant so much to Starsky.

On his way home from work, he stopped and instead of the usual bottle of whiskey, he bought two ceramic teddy bears to leave at their gravesite, and a single white rose to leave at hers. The next day, he took a chance and visited the graves he’d never been to. He left the rose on Laura’s grave and turned to the twins’. They shared a marker—John and Andrew Starsky, with tiny teddy bears etched next to the dates of birth and death.

Hutch hesitated leaving his offerings next to the tombstone. They seemed redundant and cheesy next to the elegant inscriptions on the marker. He decided not to, picked them up and tucked them back into the bag. He’d toss it into the trash as he left the cemetery.

“No. Leave them, please. They’re wonderful. Thank you.”

It was Starsky.

Hutch froze. They’d had no contact in over a year, and he didn’t want the pain that contact now would bring. He stood and handed Starsky the bag. “Do whatever you want with them. I was just going to toss them in the trash on my way out.” He walked away from the graves. “Goodbye, Starsky.”

“Hutch, wait! Please. Just sit with me for a few minutes. We don’t have to talk. I just…I would really like the company.”

He kept walking up the hill toward where he’d parked his car. At the top, he looked back and saw Starsky sitting in front of his sons’ tombstone, head bent. He seemed to be crying as Hutch watched and he sighed, unable to just get in his car and leave.

True to his word, Starsky said nothing as Hutch returned and sat next to him. He sniffed quietly and wiped his face on his sleeve, then reached into the paper bag Hutch had given him and pulled out the little teddy bears. They weren’t quite identical; one had a green bow, the other a bright yellow one. Starsky stroked each one and gently placed it on the narrow ledge on each side of the stone.

Not yet ready to leave, he wadded up the bag and sat quietly with Hutch at his side.

It was late in the afternoon when Hutch ventured, “Are you okay? Anything I can do?”

“You did it. You sat with me. Thanks.” Starsky wiped his face on his sleeve again, hesitant to say anything more.

“I came because something reminded me it was the anniversary of your family’s deaths. I didn’t realize it had been three years. How often do you come here?” Hutch asked.

“I started coming when I needed to talk. I pretend the boys listen. I’ve become something of a pariah at work and Harley hasn’t spoken to me in months.”

“Why? What happened?”

Starsky stared at the marker for a long time, but Hutch was patient. “I’ve nearly gotten Xavi shot on the job twice in the past year, but he won’t drop me as his partner and Harley is angry that he won’t. I can’t focus anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been obsessed with finding you ever since you refused my letter when you came for your things. It had my change of address. I didn’t have yours. Didn’t know where you worked. You contacted no one.”

“No reason to.”

“I still have your…”

“If you’re gonna tell me you have my things, don’t bother. Toss them. I don’t want or need them. You wanted to find me, okay, you found me. I don’t want to know where you live. I don’t want you to know where I live or work. We’ve been done a long time now. If you can’t back up your partner, quit. Or consider suicide. You were big on that as the ultimate solution for our problems if we stayed together. That’s why we didn’t.”

“You didn’t need anyone. Still don’t, I’ll bet. You’re back to a bottle and a lock on the door on your days off.”

“It works for me. I’ve been forced to make another life for myself, Starsky, one that doesn’t include you. Man up and move on.” Hutch stood and brushed himself off. “I don’t even know why I came here. I won’t come again. From now on, I’ll be careful not to infringe on your life in any way.” He glanced back up the hill toward his car. “But I’m glad you have people to talk at whenever you need to talk. People who won’t disagree with anything you say.” Hutch gently touched the twins’ marker and headed up the hill.

He deliberately didn’t look back. He got in his car and drove away.

* * * *

He was off the next day, too, had errands to run and laundry to do, but he stopped at the liquor store on his way home from the cemetery to buy a bottle of whiskey, and walked into a robbery. The latent cop inside him instinctively responded and Hutch thwarted it, but not before taking a bullet. It lodged in his chest and he blacked out while the ambulance attendants were loading the gurney.

* * * *

“Mr. Hutchison? Can you hear me?”

The voice was muffled by the mask the face leaning over him was wearing, and he didn’t pay it much attention.

“Mr. Hutchison? We’re taking you up to surgery in a minute. Any drug allergies? I need an answer, sir.”

“No, none,” he whispered.

“Is there anyone we should notify?”

The idea was preposterous. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

* * * *

He dreamed of Starsky softly humming to him, the way he used to hum to his sons. Starsky’s love for his lost sons reminded Hutch of his love for Starsky, denied and buried so long ago. “I wish things had been different, Starsk,” he whispered. “We could have made a good life together.”

* * * *

“Hutch.”

He hadn’t heard it in a long time, but he knew this resonating voice. Xavier Sanches. Hutch opened his eyes to find Xavi looming over the end of his bed in the charity ward and he wondered how the Latino knew he was here. He shifted and clenched his teeth against the moan that tried to escape.

“How did you know…”

“Harley saw an article in the paper about an ex-cop who got shot stopping a robbery. I checked and found out it was you.”

“Does Starsky know?”

“We didn’t tell him. Doc said you’re doing better. The original wound wasn’t bad, but that abscess you developed caused complications that are finally clearing. It’ll be another week before he’ll release you, but you’re gonna need help. We want to take you home with us.”

“No. Thanks anyway.”

Xavi didn’t argue. “Does your boss know?”

“Yeah.” Hutch didn’t say anything more. He’d called both employers as soon as he was able. Both were sympathetic, but he was no longer employed at either place. It meant he could no longer afford his tiny apartment; another rent payment was due next week and he didn’t have the money to make it. His landlord had made it clear when he moved in, that non-payment meant immediate eviction, regardless of the legalities. He couldn’t pay his medical bills either and wondered if he could sell his car for enough to make a token payment on them till he found another job. It was still parked outside the liquor store. Maybe he could put a For Sale sign on it and they could note any interest and contact information since he didn’t have a phone. Until he sold it, he could live in it. But the idea of starting over yet again was demoralizing.

“Don’t worry about me, Xavi. I’ll be fine.”

Xavi shook his head. “No, you won’t. Think about it, Hutch.” He turned to leave. “I’ll leave our number with the nurses in case you change your mind. You need to let people help.”

Hutch choked back pain and watched him go. It seemed a lifetime before he slept again.

* * * *

“Are you ready?” A nurse with a clipboard stood before him, waiting while he stepped into his loafers, but it was Starsky’s voice he heard.

Another hallucination. First the humming, now this. He sighed.

“C’mon, let’s get you outta here. The Torino’s downstairs.” Starsky came around the nurse with an orderly pushing a wheelchair.

Hutch frowned. “I—”

“I’m not taking over. You have options. I’ll explain downstairs. Let’s go.”

Hutch sat in the wheelchair and signed the form the nurse thrust at him, then the orderly pushed him to the elevator. Starsky followed.

In the Torino, Hutch asked, “How did you know?”

“Police report. Shooting at a liquor store. Didn’t pay too much attention until someone mentioned an ex-cop took a bullet. Found out it was you.” Starsky started the car and pulled away from the entrance, drove a couple of blocks over and parked so they could talk. “I spent a lot of nights at the hospital keeping watch over you. The complications scared me to death.”

The humming. So, they weren’t hallucinations. Starsky had been there with him. An echo of his love for Starsky reverberated through Hutch, but he didn’t mention it. “You said I had options?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, “I was hoping you’d come home with me while you recovered. You’d have your own bed and bath, but I could help if you need anything.”

“Starsk, I—”

“Or I could take you back to your place and check on you every day. I know you don’t have a phone.” Starsky glanced at him in embarrassment. “I got your address off your ID at the nurses’ station and went over there. The landlord came by to collect the rent.”

“I don’t have it, which means he’ll evict me. Being in the hospital, I lost my jobs. Maybe you can take me by the liquor store. My car is there. I can live in that until I can sell it. I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not putting you out.”

“Sell it if you want to, but you’re not living in your car. I told your landlord to come back tomorrow, that you were in the hospital and being released. If you won’t stay with me, let me loan you next month’s rent.”

It was too much. Hutch collapsed against the seat and exhaled shakily, absently reaching for Starsky’s leg like he did so long ago. “I wish things were different, Starsk,” he whispered.

“They are.” Starsky laid his hand over Hutch’s and squeezed. “Come home with me, babe. Let me take care of you.”

Hutch nodded. Starsky shifted out of park and held his hand as he drove home.

* * * *

To everyone’s relief, Hutch moved in with Starsky and began accepting help. Harley got him settled in Starsky’s guest room and bath, while Starsky and Xavi retrieved his meager belongings from the studio apartment and returned his key, then picked up his car from the liquor store parking lot.

Hutch said very little beyond ‘thanks’, but he did make the effort to join them for the pizzas Starsky collected to feed the four of them. He nibbled on a piece, then went to bed. Starsky tucked him in, then went back to the others.

He woke in pain hours later, but he wasn’t alone. Starsky sat next to him, humming John’s favourite lullaby, which gave comfort to them both and he went back to sleep with Starsky’s hand stroking his hair.

* * * *

They settled on a routine that allowed the others to work and Hutch to be monitored but not feel a burden. He got up with Starsky, took his meds and ate a light breakfast while Starsky got ready for work and made sure there was soup or sandwich fixings for lunch since Hutch wasn’t allowed to drive yet. Harley called him at lunch to see how he was doing. Hutch did laundry and other light chores and took naps till Starsky got home with dinner.

He got better, stronger, and he began to take an interest in life again, mostly due to the lullabies, though he wasn’t ready to tell Starsky yet.

When Hutch was able to drive again, he packed sandwiches to surprise Harley with lunch and headed out. On the way, he passed the diner where he used to work, but it had changed. It wasn’t the thriving business it had been the last time he’d seen it; it was a shabby version of the struggling place it had been when he took the job. He pulled into a parking spot and entered through the kitchen where he’d been beaten and raped.

It was a mess.

“What are you doing in here? Get out!” The cook was as ill-kept as the kitchen and storeroom were.

“Where’s Nate?”

“He works weekends. This is my kitchen.”

“Well, it sucks. Is Charlie here?” Hutch headed for the dining room.

Charlie was at the counter, playing indifferently with the coffeemaker in the nearly empty diner. “Ken? When did you get back? Starsky didn’t say anything.”

“He didn’t know. What happened here?”

“You left. Starsky stopped coming by, Nate went back to school.” Charlie picked up a rag and wiped the counter around the coffeemaker. “I think the place will be closing soon if the health department doesn’t do it first. I can’t keep a decent cook.”

“I saw. What’s the menu like these days?” Hutch reached for one off the stack on the counter.

“Marginal. Weekdays, we’re only open breakfast and lunch now. Dinners on the weekends when Nate is here.”

“Starsky still own the place?” Hutch set the menu back on the pile.

“Yeah.” Charlie frowned as Hutch headed back to the kitchen.

Once there, Hutch found a clean apron in the mess in the storeroom. “You! Wash your hands, get in here and start cleaning!” he pointed to the cook gaping at him.

“Like hell! Who do you think you are?”

“Your boss. Either do what I tell you or get out!” Hutch washed his own hands, went to the stove and started cleaning the grill. Behind him, the cook dropped his apron and key on the floor and left.

Hutch worked the rest of the day, cooking the few orders that came in before the diner closed and scouring the kitchen. Up front, Charlie and the lone waitress saw what he was doing and worked on the dining room, deep cleaning the booths and tables and chairs. Charlie arranged for a service to clean the filthy windows, and another to sanitize the rest rooms and the floors in the place.

He was checking stock in the storeroom when Charlie found him.

“Are you okay, Ken? You look exhausted, but the kitchen shines.” Charlie clutched the broom handle tighter, remembering his cook didn’t like to be touched.

“I’m tired. I need to go.” Hutch took off his apron and rolled it up.

“Will you be back?” Charlie asked hesitatingly.

“Yeah. I’ll be back in the morning. The storeroom needs a good cleaning, but we’ll go over the menu first. Maybe we can resume a daily special, re-open for dinner with a limited menu.”

“I should contact Starsky.”

“Leave him to me.” Hutch headed for the kitchen exit and his car.

He made it back to Starsky’s place but not inside. Starsky found him passed out in his car, a bag of uneaten sandwiches beside him on the passenger’s seat.

“Hutch? What happened? Are you all right?” Starsky opened the car door to check Hutch’s pulse.

The sudden breeze woke him. “I’m okay. Just tired.” He brushed Starsky’s hand away and got out of the car. He went inside, took a shower and crawled into bed, asleep before Starsky could offer him dinner.

Morning found him sore and tired, but he got up with Starsky, took the last of his meds and ate breakfast.

“What are you planning to do today?”

“I dunno, Starsk. Right now, I just wanna go back to bed.”

Starsky nodded in approval. “That’s an excellent idea, babe. You look like you really need it.” He stroked Hutch’s back. “Just remember to check in with Harley at lunchtime. He went a little crazy yesterday when he couldn’t get hold of you.”

“I will.” But before Starsky could turn away and head out for work, Hutch pulled him down and kissed him. “Have a good day, Starsk,” he murmured. “I’ll see ya tonight.”

Starsky smiled and left.

After the Torino pulled away, Hutch rinsed his breakfast dishes, put on his shoes and headed for the diner.

Another long day. He and Charlie went over the menu, discussing potential specials while the services Charlie called washed the windows and sanitized the rest rooms. Afterward, Hutch tackled the storeroom.

The sudden work being done generated interest in the neighbourhood. Locals stopped by to check it out and stayed for lunch at Charlie’s urging. It kept Hutch busy, but he remembered to call Harley as promised.

When the diner closed, Hutch finished the storeroom, then headed back to Starsky’s. He took a shower and crawled into bed; Starsky found Hutch out cold when he got home from work.

“Hutch? You okay? Xavi and Harley will be here soon. They’re bringing dinner.”

Starsky’s hand on his head felt good and he wanted more. “You can touch me if you want to,” he whispered. What he got was another pat, mussing his hair like a dog in training who’d done something good for the very first time.

The doorbell rang.

“That’s Xavi and Harley with dinner. Take your time. Come out when you’re ready.” Starsky went to answer the door as the bell rang again.

It reminded him of his unsavory past and that these were Starsky’s friends, not his. He got up, put on sweats and joined everyone at the table. He said almost nothing, ate a few bites to be polite, then excused himself and returned to his room. He put the chair in front of the door to discourage entry and went back to bed.

The next morning, Hutch was up and out before Starsky. The diner was busier as the locals rediscovered it and Hutch cooked and handled the delivery Charlie arranged. On his way back to Starsky’s place, he stopped at the hardware store and bought a chain for his bedroom door. He got it installed before Starsky got home and locked himself in for the evening.

They barely acknowledged each other the rest of the week. Hutch ate at the diner and did his laundry before Starsky got home. He folded it in his bedroom, took a shower, then went to bed.

On Friday, Charlie gave Hutch a paycheck, and they agreed to try a limited dinner menu featuring a daily special the following week. Hutch set aside five dollars for gas, spent the majority of his check on a money order for an installment on his medical bills and the rest on a bottle of whiskey. He mailed the payment and locked himself in his room for the weekend.

Starsky was furious, but he didn’t care.

They ran into each other on Monday as they were leaving, but didn’t say anything. Hutch got into his car and drove away as Starsky watched, troubled.

It was a very long day. The special was beef stew. It was easy to make and keep warm, and it went over well with the locals rejoicing over the restored hours even with the limited menu.

Starsky was waiting when Hutch got home. “Where have you been?”

“Working. I have bills to pay.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” Hutch headed for his bedroom.

Starsky stepped in front of him. “Hutch, we need to talk.”

“About what? I’m trying to stay out of your way and not cost you anything. Do you need money? If you’re asking for rent now, tell me how much and when it’s due. If my budget can’t handle it, I’ll move out.”

“I’m not asking for rent. You’re drinking again. You won’t let me near you. Why can’t I touch you?”

Hutch looked at him, bewildered. “I let you touch. But you act like I’m some dog in heat trying to hump your leg. If you want sex, just say so. I’ll make time. We can do it in your room or on the couch. Just not in my room. I need someplace where I can pretend to get clean until next time.”

“Hutch—” Starsky reached for him. “Don’t do this to us.” He held Hutch close and kissed him.

Hutch rested against Starsky, not knowing what to do. He didn’t want random sex, he wanted love, but knew better than to ask. He waited, but Starsky said nothing more and Hutch pulled away. “I have an early shift tomorrow, Starsk. I need to get some sleep. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He went to his bedroom and closed the door.

* * * *

He worked long hours and Starsky never once asked where. The diner began to flourish again, but his relationship with Starsky didn’t. It stalled at careful hugs and occasional kisses when they crossed paths coming and going.

Hutch continued to lock himself away with a bottle on weekends, but found himself drinking less and less. He wanted sex and love with Starsky, and he decided to risk telling him. If Starsky rejected him again, he would do them both a favour and disappear for good.

It was still dark the next Saturday morning when he let himself into Starsky’s room and stood by the headboard Harley had made. “Starsk?”

“Huh?” he answered groggily. “Hutch, is that you?”

“Make love to me, Starsky.”

“Oh thank God!” He raised the blankets, naked underneath. “Get in here, babe! I’ve wanted you so much…”

Hutch crawled into bed with Starsky. “Why didn’t you—”

“Harley said to wait, that it should come from you so you wouldn’t feel pressured into sex with me.” Starsky pulled Hutch into his arms and held him close. “He wanted you to enjoy it, not perform on command. But you didn’t ask.”

Hutch nestled against him. “I was afraid you’d reject me again.” He took one of Starsky’s hands. “Touch me, Starsk. I don’t care where. I need your hands on me.”

He moaned as Starsky removed his boxers and cupped his balls. Arousal flashed through both of them. Starsky whispered in his ear, “I want to bury myself in your body, Hutch, but I can’t wait. Come for me.” And he squeezed Hutch’s balls.

Hutch came.

Starsky quickly rolled on top of him and came too, fusing their bodies together. “God, I want to be in you, but you feel so damn good…”

“Next time.” Hutch kissed his lover’s neck as Starsky collapsed against him.

“I like the sound of that.” Starsky murmured. “Let’s clean up and I’ll buy you breakfast. I’ll have Nate fix you anything you want.”

Hutch froze. “How did you…”

“My precinct is in the neighbourhood. Word got around that the diner was making a comeback. I drove by and saw your car parked behind it, but I didn’t dare stop. Figured if you wanted me to know, you’d say something.” Starsky rolled off, but didn’t let go. “After what happened, I didn’t think you’d ever want to see the place again.”

“I was on my way to Harley’s and drove past it. Its condition was appalling after all the work I put into it.”

“The day I found you passed out in your car with that bag of sandwiches.”

“Yeah.” It was a relief to talk to Starsky about it. “I stopped and went in. The kitchen was disgusting and I…well, I had an unsatisfying talk with Charlie, then just took over without asking. The cook walked out, I cleaned the kitchen and Charlie and Maura started deep-cleaning the dining room. It went from there.”

Hutch looked at Starsky anxiously. “Charlie wanted to call you to discuss what was happening, but I told him I would handle it. It’s just taken me awhile to do that.”

“You’re working long hours turning this business around again. But I need to know—are you enjoying it, or is this a task you feel obligated to do? Some kind of penance you think you need to pay?”

Hutch closed his eyes. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

They lay entwined, taking comfort from each other. Finally, Starsky hugged him and said, “C’mon, love. Let’s get cleaned up while you think about it. But I’d really like an answer. It’s important.”

They took a shower together, enjoying the hot water, and playing with the soapy bubbles they spread on each other, rinsing off, then soaping again. When the hot water turned cold, they got out and toweled off, then headed for their bedrooms for clean clothes.

They met in the living room.

“Starsk? I-I actually like what I’m doing at the diner. I walked in, asked if you still owned it and when I found out you did, I just…took over. I didn’t ask your permission, and I’m not sorry I didn’t. I took a rundown business on the brink of failure and I’m building it back up.” Hutch stopped for a moment, expecting Starsky to bitch him out, but Starsky stayed silent and Hutch continued. “It’s damn hard work, but Charlie and Maura are helping. She’s been his lady for a while now, and when he retires, he’ll have someone to share it with. Meanwhile, he’s willing to teach me more of the day-to-day business, now that there’s something to save.”

“So, this isn’t punishment.” Starsky seemed relieved.

“No. I feel really good about what I’m doing, Starsk. Don’t take it away.”

“Take it—? Listen to me, babe!” Starsky pulled Hutch into his arms and hugged him hard. “The diner is yours. I’m not talking some damn loan. I’m saying it’s yours outright. I re-did the paperwork after you took off. I just didn’t expect you to disappear like you did. I should have paid more attention to it, but things were such a mess and I was so angry for so long… I’m sorry. I had no idea it was on the verge of ruin.”

The news was a surprise to Hutch, but it pleased him. “It’s mine? I’m doing something worthwhile for me? I’m glad.” He kissed Starsky. “C’mon. Let me show off the progress we’ve made and cook you breakfast.”

* * * *

Life changed dramatically for Hutch. He worked long hours, but he was no longer overwhelmed by the exhaustion that had dogged him before. Knowing the diner was his gave him new energy and drive. He added staff as the clientele grew, and he kept the dinner menu simple, but the daily specials were popular again and when he resumed the much-requested meatloaf, his success was assured.

Starsky was proud of him. They spent more time together at home, still occupying separate bedrooms, but comfortable in their growing intimacy, touching, fondling and occasionally sucking each other. And Hutch recovered his sense of self-worth, re-learning how to be confident, trusting and forgiving of past mistakes.

He was finally ready. “Starsky?” Hutch found him in the kitchen, kissed him and handed him a small box. “Let me penetrate you. I want to bury myself deep in your body and make you mine.”

Starsky opened the box and removed the tube of lubricant as Hutch held his breath. “I’m willing to give myself to you, but I need to ask… Is this a one and done deal? Something to check off a bucket list, while you’re deciding whether to move on or stay? Or is there a chance we can become a couple, share a life, and maybe even a bedroom in time?”

Hutch pulled him into another kiss, deeper this time. “I love you, Starsky. I’m not going anywhere unless you throw me out.”

“Not a chance. I learned that lesson the hard way and nearly killed us both.” Starsky tossed the empty box, took Hutch by the hand and led him to the bedroom. “How do you want to do this?”

Hutch stripped quickly, then took his time undressing Starsky, touching him intimately, arousing them both.

Starsky fumbled with the lubricant. “Let me put this on you.”

“No.” Hutch took a step back. “I’m too close. Touch me and I’ll go off like a rocket.” He panted heavily and pushed Starsky back on the bed. “Let me suck you, babe. It’ll relax you and make it easier on both of us when I mount you.” He dropped to his knees, took Starsky’s cock into his mouth and sucked gently.

Starsky moaned. “God, Hutch! You can do better than that! You can make me forget my name when you go down on me!” He twisted his fingers into Hutch’s hair and shoved himself down Hutch’s throat.

Elated, Hutch took over and worked the cock he sucked.

Starsky was ecstatic. “Yeah…yeah…like that…” He came almost violently and collapsed on the bed.

Hutch swallowed and stood carefully, aroused almost beyond restraint. He took the lube from Starsky’s hand and urged him over. “Hurry, Starsk! Hands and knees! It’ll be easier on you and I’ll have more control.”

He didn’t trust himself to apply it to his cock. Instead, he drizzled some of the lube along the crack of Starsky’s ass and carefully rubbed his cock in it. Starsky’s groan excited him further, and he slid the head of his cock into Starsky.

“Hutch!” Starsky gasped and tightened in surprise. Hutch froze.

“Don’t fight me, Starsk! Just relax! I don’t wanna hurt you.” Hutch stroked Starsky’s ass and dared to push deeper into him. Starsky moaned in pain and tightened up again.

“I’m sorry, babe. We’ll try again another time.” Hutch started to pull out.

“No!” Starsky took a breath and pushed himself onto Hutch’s cock, forcing it deep. He shuddered and froze.

But Hutch didn’t. Starsky’s willingness and his own wild need overpowered his control. He took hold of Starsky’s hips and shoved as deep as he could, growling in satisfaction, moving in and out with growing enthusiasm.

Starsky’s pain morphed to pleasure, had him begging for everything Hutch could give.

Hutch obliged. “Feels good, doesn’t it, babe…” He rammed as deeply as he could and ordered, “Come with me, Starsk. I want to feel you throb on my cock…”

Starsky screamed into the mattress and came again.

Hutch convulsed and poured into Starsky, declaring, “Mine,” under his breath. Unwilling to uncouple, he lay against Starsky’s back.

“How do you do that?” Starsky whispered.

“Do what?” Hutch stroked his lover.

“Make me part of you when you’re most intimate. You don’t even have to touch me to do it.”

“I don’t know, Starsk. It’s not a conscious thing. I’m not trying to manipulate you. I just know I’ve loved you for a long time and if I’m not very careful, my need for you takes over.” He carefully uncoupled and winced when Starsky moaned. “Let it go. If I try to explain, I’ll only offend you. Let’s get you into the shower. The hot water will help you feel better.”

He helped Starsky up and led him into the bathroom, got him into the shower and handed him the soap. “Scrub up. I’ll get you something clean to wear.” Hutch returned to the bedroom to get Starsky clothes.

Starsky was drying off when he leaned in with clean undergarments. “I’ll be back to tuck you in after I get clean and dressed.” Hutch left for his own bathroom before Starsky could speak.

He took his time in his own shower, thinking about how he felt about what just happened. He was honest enough to admit he wasn’t quite ready to share a bedroom yet, but he was overjoyed that his time with Starsky was love and not just empty sex.

And he wanted more.

Maybe a life with Starsky—a real partnership, like Xavi and Harley had—was possible. He was willing to try. He turned off his shower, dried off and dressed, and went to tuck Starsky in as promised.

“Sleep with me?” Starsky mumbled groggily, already half asleep.

“Not tonight, babe. Get some rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” Hutch kissed him and returned to his own room.

* * * *

He’d been a cop once. One who loved his job, loved his partner. Was in love with his partner, but the timing was all wrong and it nearly destroyed them both. He left to find other ways to make a life for himself, struggling with incredible pain and barely surviving.

It wasn’t easy and it took years, but they found each other again, this time creating a life together. Starsky was still a cop, with a partner who wasn’t Hutch, but one he learned to trust with his life. Hutch had a successful business he worked hard at, but enjoyed tremendously. He had few friends, but he cherished them and learned to ask for help when he needed it.

Life for them was changing again. They were formally a couple now, sharing a bedroom. The dinner tonight was to let Xavi and Harley know and the other couple was thrilled for them.

They didn’t flaunt their affection for each other, but they didn’t hide it either. And each kiss they shared now left them feeling they finally got it right.