Santa, I Can Explain

Concern plowed a new groove in the already prominent furrow on Hutch’s brow. The shooting had compromised Starsky’s lungs, creating a variety of problems for him. Infections could result in serious complications, so Hutch was vigilant in watching out for his partner, who often refused to admit when he wasn’t feeling well. The last week, he’d been concerned about his partner’s cough, but Starsky had assured him it was just irritation from his allergies. ‘Have I been believing him because I wanted to or because it’s true?’ he asked himself.

An errant ray of morning sun made its way annoyingly through a tiny crack in the bedroom curtains. It came to rest on the face of the dark-haired man and perched there, like a bird, peering into his face, willing him to wake up. Subconsciously aware of its presence, he tried to bat it away a couple of times before he succumbed to its insistent nagging. He forced open eyes that were slightly bloodshot and mattered. Fighting away a headache which had been niggling at the back of his skull for the last couple of days, he instinctively centered himself by locating his partner. Once he saw that Hutch was in his rightful place beside him, the sudden burst of achy tension started to ease from his shoulders and back and his face took on a pleasurable glow of anticipation.

Hutch lay on his side, turned away from him, snoring lightly. Normally they started the day as they’d ended the one before, woven tightly together in a bond that would not be broken, but Starsky had slept fitfully and Hutch had unknowingly severed the connection in an attempt to get some rest for himself.

It occurred to Starsky, every morning when he awoke, that there was more to appreciate in life than there had been the day before. Coming so close to death had created in him an almost insatiable zest for living. He wanted to experience everything and nothing looked better to him than the feast before his eyes. Even the occasional day, like this one, when he didn’t feel exactly up-to- par, was to be treasured. He propped himself up on an elbow, reveling in his partner’s beauty.

He studied the myriad subtle tones of gold in his hair where the sun had combed her fiery fingers through its lengths…. The light scattering of freckles on his shoulders…. The strong muscular arms and broad shoulders tapering down to a much trimmer waist than had been there a few months ago. He admired the silky-fine blond hairs which graced Hutch’s arms and legs. The light brown skin that had retained a bit of its summer tan and reminded him of the color of honey. He followed the line of the man’s back as the tan faded and slowly got lighter and lighter,

“Now those are sugar cookies, for sure. Mom’s big puffy ones, good enough to eat.” he muttered.

“Just try it and you’ll find yourself on the floor.” came a voice, muffled by the pillow.

“How’d you know what I was talking about?”

Hutch rolled over onto his back and confronted his partner.

“I’ve heard your cookie theory before,” he said conversationally. “In fact, it seems like just about every part of me reminds you of some kind of food.”

“That’s just not true.”

“How do you explain the blintz nickname? And then there was that thoroughly entertaining dissertation about Polish Kielbasa. And…. Starsk, were you breast fed or bottle fed?”

Starsky flushed. “How should I know? I don’t go around asking my mom things like that.”

“I’ll bet you were breast fed and weaned too soon. You have a major oral fixation going on. Did you know you’ve always got something in your mouth?”

“Maybe I should shove something in yours, Dr. Freud. How long have you been sitting on this particular theory?”

“Don’t you want to know what makes you tick? You could change the course of your life.”

Desperate to quiet him, Starsky covered Hutch’s mouth with his own and shared what he considered a very satisfactory oral experience. Hot, steamy minutes later, their lips parted company, leaving both of them slightly breathless with passion.

Starsky looked deeply into promise-filled, sky-blue eyes which sparkled like a crystal Christmas ornament. He was overwhelmed with a timeless, passionate love for his partner. It was a special moment, one filled with romance and the scent of phantom roses in the air. And then Hutch had to open his mouth.

“And have you heard my opinion about your toilet training experiences?” he asked innocently.

“All right, that’s enough,” Starsky roared. “You’ve had entirely too much time to think lately.”

He pounced on his lover and flipped Hutch over onto his stomach. Pressed tightly against the other man’s back, Starsky knew he was virtually helpless. He attacked a pale pink earlobe and pulled it into his mouth. Ignoring Hutch’s squirming, he sucked hard for several moments and then popped it out to see if it was a suitable shade of red. The other morsel got the same treatment.

“Do you like my oral fixation, Blondie?” Starsky purred in a husky voice.

“I refuse to answer on the grounds that you may tend to dominate me.”

“I’m already doing that. I wanna hear you say it.”

“All right, all right…. I love it,” Hutch gasped, as Starsky began on his neck, sucking and nipping lightly, the way he knew Hutch loved. “But…no hickies.” He tried to squirm out from under the weight of his lover.

“Oh, don’t worry, your collar will cover ’em up. You’re not a cop anymore, we don’t worry about things like that.”

“I-I-” Hutch gave up and moaned the rest of the sentence.

Starsky’s right hand stole around to Hutch’s nipple and amused itself with torturing the tender nub of flesh. His left trailed down the smooth bare chest and belly to the thinly-furred nest from which his lover’s thick shaft stood straight and solid. As if on cue, there was an sharp intake of breath from each of them. His own thick, rigid organ was in a torment of anticipation from being so tightly restrained between Hutch’s body and his.

“Starsk…”

Aware of all of the implications that one word held, Starsky drew back one hand, and after making himself slick with pre-cum, guided his cock to the one portal of the other’s body where the two could truly be made one. Plunging deeply, he traveled home in one thrust.

The dance began slowly, sensuously, an erotic waltz ripe with beautiful sensations and soulful reminders of who they were with and what they meant to each other. Remembrances of other couplings in romantic places flitted through their senses like brightly-colored butterflies; the rightness of them together becoming almost overpowering.

A staccato Latin disco beat began to intrude; their need became so strong that they ceased to think. There were just mindless motions remaining; both of them working together to scale the mountain and fall exhausted onto the ground. Starsky’s fingers intertwined with Hutch’s, but as the tempo increased, his left hand returned to his partner’s groin, took hold of his shaft and began the ministrations he knew would give the other the most pleasure. Hutch raised himself from the mattress and began to meet Starsky’s thrusts with such intensity that the smaller man had difficulty holding the strong, muscular body in place, and began murmuring mindless soothing love words to calm him. They each were carried on the crescendo of their own symphony now. Hutch’s closing notes came first and Starsky’s followed shortly after, their shouts mingling into one triumphal cry as their bodies collapsed, limp and spent, on the bed.

After a few minutes of trying to catch his breath, which led into a coughing spasm violent enough to alarm Hutch, Starsky speared him with his eyes.

“Hutch.”

Hutch obligingly turned his head toward him.

“Hmmmm?”

“Tell me, all that stuff about being breast-fed was just to get yourself laid, wasn’t it?”

“Worked, didn’t it?” Hutch asked, eying him speculatively.

“You’re manipulative, you know it?”

“And I suppose you aren’t? I could remind you of a time or three…”

“I wouldn’t do that. If I wanted you to make love to me, I’d just ask. I don’t need to resort to underhanded methods like that.”

“And Dobey is skinny, Huggy is fat, the sky is green and the grass is blue and…”

“Okay…okay, I’m headed for the shower. I feel like I’ve been to hell and back.” Starsky slowly dragged himself off of the bed and headed in the direction of the bathroom.

“You’re not very good at pillow talk, you know it?”

The full effect of his words hit him and he turned, disconcerted.

“I didn’t mean that, Hutch. The lovin’ was wonderful. Just feeling older than my age today, I guess.”

He touched Starsky’s face.

“You feel feverish. Are you okay?”

Starsky pulled away from him, chuckling.

“Christ, Blondie, we just had mind-blowing sex. How long do you think it takes Mt. Vesuvius to cool down after erupting?”

“Good, you are, Mt. Vesuvius, you’re not. I’ll fix us something to eat. We’re gonna need it.”

“You planning a return engagement?”

“Not anytime soon. We have to get to work.”

Starsky groaned.

“Now that you mention it, maybe I am feeling a little sick. I don’t know if I can handle another night like the last one.”

“No way…it’s like Hack and Zack. Both of us or nothing. You think I’m enjoying myself? Just remember we’re doing this for Bernie. We owe him one. He’s done this every year since he retired, but this year with Selma in the hospital…”

I know, Hutch…as well as you, maybe even better, just how much we owe Bernie. And I’ll be there tonight, but ya can’t make me like it.”

“It’s almost Christmas, Scrooge. I never thought I’d be the one giving you a pep-talk on the spirit of the season.”

Hutch cupped his partner’s face with his palm, running his thumb over the full lower lip.

“Hey, I’m gonna spend every day celebrating you being alive and twice as much on every holiday. Get used to it.” he whispered, his voice husky at the thought of what he’d almost lost.

The deep blue eyes sparkled and the lop-sided smile slowly slid its way up Starsky’s right cheek.

“With you doing all that celebrating, maybe I can get a little rest, huh?”

” No way…. No man is an island, nor does he celebrate alone, at least not this man. Now, hit the showers, buddy.”

*********************************************************************

Bay City Mall looked like a giant ornament box tipped over by a curious cat. People gathered in small groups, darted here and there on a last-minute errand or strolled leisurely through the stores, thankful to have most of the shopping done. The noise was an overwhelming force, decibels high enough to break the sound barrier.

Hutch had to listen closely to the shy voice of the chubby six- year-old on his lap. His leg was cramping and his neck had gone numb from having to bend over to listen. Thankfully, they only had an hour-and-a-half left to go. He was beginning to regret making his partner come tonight. If Starsky had stayed home, Hutch would have had an excuse to remain with him.

Playing Santa had been a kick the first couple of nights, but the unruly kids and their interminable lists had begun to get to him. He loved children, but preferred to take them on one at a time, rather than a whole gang of them. ‘Big. strong ex-cop you are, Hutchinson, you’d take on the bad guys before having to deal with a few little kids.’ His cynical side jumped up and hollered back…. ‘At least you can shoot the bad guys.’ That really alarmed him. He remembered the Christmas a few years ago when he’d dug in his heels and made everyone else miserable with his attitude. He hoped this Christmas would be a good one for his partner. Last year, he’d been out of the hospital, but still convalescing and it hadn’t gone very well.

“Santa, I can explain…are you listening to me?”

Hutch scratched his chin where the fake beard was chafing him and turned his attention back to the boy.

“Sure, Tommy…I mean Timmy. Santa heard every word you said.”

“I just wanted to make sure you understood about the cat.”

“The cat?”

The child was getting impatient.

“What I did to the cat. I wanted to make sure you knew I was sorry, ’cause I don’t want coal in my stocking like my teacher said you used to leave.”

“What did you do to the cat? Never mind, Santa doesn’t want to know. Just don’t do it again, okay? And try hard to be good next year, huh?”

“I will…. I really will. Thanks, Santa.”

“Yeah, right,” Hutch thought cynically as the boy skipped down the steps and re-joined his parents, happy to have gotten redemption for a particularly heinous crime. He was happy to see that there was no line of children for the first time that night.

He signaled to the photographer that he wanted to take a break and she put up a sign saying they would be back in fifteen minutes. It worried him that he hadn’t seen Starsky for awhile, and he winced as he craned his neck to look over crowds that were beginning to thin out a little now.

‘He’s probably so embarrassed he found a place to hide.’ Hutch thought. He knew Starsky had gotten the short end of the stick on this gig. Playing Santa was bad enough, but running around in an elf suit was not exactly making a happy camper out of the former detective. He was dressed in a green tunic top reminiscent of Robin Hood, green tights, a long-tailed cap, which he had to constantly re- adjust because it wouldn’t settle on his springy curls and soft shoes with curled up toes and bells on them. Hutch had been fascinated by the tights. It had kept him so pre-occupied watching Starsky moving around in those damn things that he feared he hadn’t been attentive enough to the job at hand. It was all his childhood fantasies come to life in a real grown-up way. Hutch smiled. He’d kept a close eye on his partner and he also had more than a sneaking suspicion that for every child who wanted to sit on Santa’s lap, there was a mother standing in line who would have loved to perch on Starsky’s knee

He squeezed, with some difficulty, into the little gingerbread cottage that served as their headquarters. Starsky was sitting on a chair too small for him, looking haggard and worn out. He still managed a big grin for Hutch.

“Hey, is it my turn to sit on your lap yet?”

“I have it on good authority that you’re getting nothing but coal in your stocking.”

“At least I don’t torture cats.”

“You were eavesdropping.”

“Nah, just passing by. You oughta have kids of your own, Hutch. You’re really good with ’em.”

“I do have one of my own, meathead. A big kid who’ll never grow up and leave home. What could be better than that?” Hutch pulled the heavy red material on his legs away from his skin. “Jeez, I swear they must have run out of Pampers in this town.”

“What are you griping about? I got thrown up on. And that kid that was telling you his sob story kicked me in the shin.” Starsky sat up a little straighter and the light caught his face.

“You’re really sick, aren’t you?” Hutch, alarmed, leaned over and felt his cheek. “Christ, you’re burning up.”

“I’m okay, we don’t have much longer to work. I don’t feel great, but I can make it.”

Hutch pulled him up and into what dim light there was coming from outside the little house and studied him closely.

“How long, Starsky?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you been feeling sick?”

“It’s just allergies. You know they’ve been bothering me.”

Hutch’s index finger stopped just short of his partner’s nose.

“Allergies do not cause a fever. We’re going home.”

“I’m okay, Hutch. I just needed to sit down for a little bit. I’m ready to go back out there now.” Starsky started to push himself up from the table. Hutch stopped him with a firm hand on his chest.

“If you won’t take care of yourself, then I will. Be reasonable, Starsk, let’s just go home, get you into bed, take your temperature and see what we’re dealing with. Maybe all you need is some Mother Campbell’s chicken soup.” Hutch flashed a smile for his partner’s benefit.

“But what about the kids, Hutch? They came to see Santa. I don’t want them to go away disappointed.”

“I know,” Hutch said softly. “But we have no idea what’s wrong with you. What if it’s something contagious?”

“But…”

“No buts. I’m gonna go arrange things. If you’d rather, we’ll just stop at the hospital. You’ll make quite a sensation dressed like that.”

********************************************************************* *

From behind the wheel of the big car, Hutch snuck furtive glances at his partner. Starsky had ceased protesting the trip home and was silently staring out the window. Hutch wanted nothing more than to rush him into the ER, but knowing how his partner felt about hospitals, his instinct was to proceed slowly and calmly, without alarming Starsky unduly or giving him a chance to dig his heels in.

Once at home, he got his unresisting partner undressed and into the same crumpled bed they hadn’t bothered to make since they’d gotten up several hours ago. ‘Had he felt sick even while he made love to me?’ Hutch wondered. ‘And if so, why didn’t I see it?’

He left him with a thermometer in his mouth and went to call the hospital to see who was on duty in the ER. He was reassured to hear that it was Carol Jenkins, who’d treated Starsky in the past, was on a 24-hour rotation and would be there until late the next night. He asked to have her call him and went back to his patient. He tried not to panic when he read the thermometer. And, of course, Starsky was watching his face closely for his reaction.

He sat down on the floor, his face on a level with the dark-haired man, their foreheads almost touching.

“Hey…it’s gonna be okay. Have I ever lied to you?” Seeing a ghost of a smile, he felt better. “Okay, I’ll retract that question, but everything’s still all right. I promise. Okay?”

“What is it?”

“Almost a hundred and three. You probably have some kind of fast-progressing infection, possibly pneumonia, from the way you’re starting to wheeze. I really think the hospital’s our best bet…”

“Try and get it down first, Hutch. Just a little more time. It could just be some kinda virus or something. I’ve been around a lot of kids.”

“Just until Carol calls and then we do whatever she says, okay? In the meantime, I’ll get you some Tylenol and a cool cloth to put on your forehead. Deal?”

“Deal.” Starsky looked at him with that smile that always stabbed right through his chest wall, grabbed hold of his heart and molded it into an acceptable form, very much like a child with a piece of clay.

Hutch got to his feet.

“Don’t go away.”

“I’m not movin’ from this spot,” Starsky promised.

With the Tylenol inside him, a cold washcloth on his forehead and Hutch rubbing his chest with Vicks, Starsky began to feel a little better.

“I love all this fuzz, buddy, but it doesn’t make it easy to rub this stuff in. That must be Carol.” He grimaced as the phone rang, holding his grease-covered hands out in a helpless gesture that made Starsky laugh.

He came back, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Suit up, partner…the lady doesn’t feel comfortable with you here at home. My personal opinion is that she’s got the hots for you, but she says she wants to look you over.”

Between the two of them, they got Starsky dressed and out to the car. He collapsed against the seat with a sigh.

“I know, Starsk, but if you do this for me, I promise I’ll tell you whenever I want you to make love to me. How does that sound?”

Starsky managed a wan smile.

“Sounds okay to me.”

Something suddenly occurred to Hutch.

“Tell me…was there any good reason why you didn’t wear underwear with those tights last night?”

Starsky started to chuckle, but it turned into a strangled, wheezing sound that prompted Hutch to floor the accelerator.

Hutch had told Carol to expect them and she appeared, along with an orderly and a gurney, as they pulled up. One look at Starsky and she was instantly alarmed. Feeling his skin, she barked orders at her co-workers.

“Temp’s way up there. Let’s get him in and get it down…stat!”

Hutch once again felt the emptiness of surrendering his most precious “possession” into the control of someone else. He felt like he’d failed; obviously his vigilance hadn’t been enough to stop Starsky from getting sick, as he’d hoped. He wandered into the waiting room. He knew it was useless to fight the rules. They’d know he was there and would be until they brought him some news.

It was almost two hours before Carol came out to talk to him.

“Looks like pneumonia. He probably caught a cold, ignored the warning signs and it suddenly got away from him. Unfortunately, that’s going to be an on-going problem with his lung complications, so you’d both better get more efficient at recognizing the symptoms.”

“I noticed him hacking, but he convinced me it was his allergies. I should have known…”

“There’s no way you could have. Don’t beat yourself up over this, Hutch. Chalk it up as a wake-up call. Now we know how fragile his system really is.”

Frustrated, Hutch threw up his hands.

“What do I do, Carol, stick a thermometer in his mouth every time he coughs?”

“Ridiculous as that sounds, that’s about it. Fever will be the main indicator that something’s going on. If he complains about his allergies or you notice him coughing or sneezing more often than usual, lay down the law. That and a physical every three months for awhile. I’ll give him a good talking-to before he leaves the hospital.”

“Read him the riot act, Doc. Look in the dictionary under stubborn and you’ll find his picture. When do you think he’ll be able to come home?”

“We’ve got him on broad-spectrum antibiotics, but I’d like to have him stay for a couple days at least, depending on how he responds.”

“Can I see him?” The relief was apparent in his voice.

“Soon, Hutch. The meds are knocking him out right now and I want him to do nothing but rest for a little while.”

He was almost done flipping through the last of the magazine, which he could swear had been there over a year ago when Starsky had gotten shot, when someone clasped his shoulder and then sat down heavily beside him.

“Cap’n Dobey? Wha-What are you doing here? It’s Christmas morning. Why aren’t you home with your family?”

“They kicked me out of the house, Hutchinson. Said they’d open presents when I got home. Told me this was more important.”

“But how did you find out?”

“Edith has a cousin who works in Admissions. She recognized the name and called me.”

“Thanks for coming down, Cap’n. You know it’s really good to see you.”

“Are you two any closer to figuring out what you’re going to do with your lives?”

Hutch shook his head.

“We were just trying to get past the holidays before we did anything about it. We both agree that we’d like to do something to help people, though.”

“It would take some prep classes, but I have it on good authority that there will be some openings coming up at the Academy for instructors.”

“I’ll let Starsky know that.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Brain damage,” Hutch said absently. He looked up to see that Dabey was taking him seriously. “But no more than he already had.”

The laughter and the release that it brought him carried some of the tension from his body. He urged Dobey to go back and spend time with his family. Hutch was more than ready to be with his. Separation from Starsky was not something he tolerated well.

“We’ll be back to see him tomorrow, when he’s feeling better. Merry Christmas, Hutch, and if there’s anything we can do…”

It didn’t occur to him until he was gone that Dobey had called him Hutch rather than Hutchinson for the first time.

He was still mulling that over when a candy striper came to show him to Starsky’s room.

As often as Starsky had been hospitalized, he was one of the most intense and vital people Hutch had ever know and to see him so pale and still against the white sheets was shocking. He reached over and brushed back one of the wayward curls which had fallen onto his partner’s forehead.

The deep blue eyes opened.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Oh yeah, what if I hadn’t come.”

“Couldn’t happen. You love me too much, even if I am a pain in the ass.”

“Just a mild ache at times. How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a truck. Did I?”

Hutch laughed. “No, you just got flattened by a bug.”

“Did you get his license?”

“Buddy, they must be giving you the good stuff. You’re liable to sleep for a week.”

“I’m gonna miss Christmas.”

“We’ll have it after Christmas. It won’t make any difference.”

“You gonna wear the Santa suit?”

“I’d imagine the store would want that back for next year, along with the elf costume.”

“You looked so sexy in that Santa suit. It really turned me on…did I tell you that?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You know how it turns me on when you wear red. S’my favorite color, ‘sides skin if that’s really a color.”

“Does the name Pavlov ring any bells, pal? We really have to work on some of your fixations.”

Silence. “Starsky?”

“Hm-m-m?”

“You never answered me. Why didn’t you wear any underwear the other night. Wouldn’t be because you wanted to get laid, would it?”

There was no answer.

“Starsky!”

“Wha-t?” His partner startled into wakefulness.

“You heard me. You wanted me to make love to you and that was your sneaky, underhanded, conniving…”

The pale shade of a grin crept over his face.

“Santa…. I can explain.” A paroxysm of giggles erupted, turned into a coughing fit and then trailed off slowly. “Woulda worked, too.” He fell asleep with a grin still plastered on his face.

Hutch chuckled and shook his head. Tiredly he rose and went to the window. It was Christmas. It wasn’t going to be a great Christmas, but there would be others, at least if he had his way. He’d already gotten the only present he wanted. Starsky had walked through that dark place yet again and come out the other side. And if another day would see him back in the hospital, Hutch meant to be there to make sure that he recovered from that, too.

‘If there ever was a love written in the stars, ordained by the gods, capable of overcoming so many obstacles….’ he thought poetically. ‘But it was true. They’d come so far, broken down so many barriers. They’d face the future and whatever came their way, they’d handle it the way they always had. Together.’

THE END