The Company You Keep

Summary: A weekend trip with his girlfriend forces Hutch to reassess his relationships.

Author’s Notes: Thanks to Keri T for scanning and proof reading this story so we could post it on the archive.

The Company You Keep by Linda McGee was first published in 1992 in the Starsky and Hutch con zine, Wanna Share #3, and again in 1993 in the mixed gen/slash zine, The Lucky & the Strong, produced by Idiot Triplets Press.

They were driving home from Mitzi and Lisa Graham’s house when Hutch popped the question.

“So, do you want a ‘choo-choo’ for Christmas?”

His partner shifted his attention from the road long enough to slant him a suspicious look. “What’s that mean?”

“Don’t try to snow me, Starsk. You were having more fun with that train set than Lisa was! And I saw you in the toy store, too. Practically knocked that little kid over when he wanted a chance to play!”

Starsky pulled the Torino to a halt at a red light before answering with spurious dignity. “I already have a train set.” In a few seconds he added hopefully, “Could use a new caboose, though.”

Hutch pretended to consider the statement. “Maybe if you’re a good little boy, Santa will…” He paused deliberately, as if weighing the possibility, then shook his head sadly. “Nah. Not a chance. It’ll be lumps of coal and switches for you.”

“Thanks for the support, partner. I’ll split with you, fifty-fifty.”

Hutch grinned as the light changed and the car moved forward again.

“Hey, wanna go bowling tonight?” Starsky asked as they arrived at Venice Place.

Hutch deliberated briefly. The idea was tempting, but somehow he just wasn’t in a social mood. “No, thanks, Starsk. Think I’ll just settle in with the stereo and that new book on World War II.”

His companion winced. “Yech. If you want to feel bad, why don’t you just shove bamboo shoots under your fingernails, instead?”

“To each his own, buddy. To each his own.” As he opened his door, Hutch turned back. “Maybe we can do something over the weekend.”

Starsky nodded, looking more cheerful. “Okay. Well, have fun…”

***

Three hours later Hutch was regretting his choice of entertainment. The book was grimmer than he had foreseen, and he had finally put it down, slipping into gloomy introspection.

Man’s inhumanity to Man. Christ. Years, decades, centuries went by, and nothing changed. Starsky had been right. Didn’t they see enough of it in their job? Why should he seek it out in his free time? He thought of Lisa, an innocent, retarded young woman raped by two pieces of scum who didn’t deserve to walk the planet. He thought of Artie Solkin, exploiter of runaway teenaged boys, and of sad, mad, bad Tommy Marlowe, the deeply disturbed and disturbingly pathetic youth who had killed his own family, and been used as the tool in Solkin’s vendetta against Hutch.

He was well into a full-scale depression when the phone rang.

“Great news, Ken,” a familiar female voice bubbled in his ear. “Carl doesn’t have to work this weekend, after all, and he and Margo have invited us up to Lake Helton.” The speaker’s tone altered suddenly to suspicion. “You are still off, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah…”

“Oh, wonderful. We’ll be casting off about 10:00. We’ll sleep on board, and be back sometime Sunday afternoon. Carl and Joe have all the fishing gear; all you need are your clothes and swim trunks. How does that sound?”

“Well…”

“It’ll be so good, darling, to have you all to myself.” She laughed conspiratorially. “No phones on the boat, so you can’t be called in at an… awkward moment. Listen, why don’t you meet me at the marina restaurant at 9:00? We’ll have breakfast before we go.”

Swept along in the torrent of determined enthusiasm, Hutch found himself agreeing. Hanging up, he sat back on the couch, feeling as if he’d been run over by a velvet steamroller.

Courtney Tibbs modeled very expensive clothing for an exclusive agency, and possessed all the attributes necessary for success in her chosen profession. A 5’9″ frame topped by a mane of fiery chestnut hair. Large, slanted green eyes ringed by thick dark lashes, cheekbones like cliffs, a sensual mouth. Body nicely shaped but not rounded enough to interfere with the hang of the clothes. Intelligence, culture, and a coquettish if undeniable egoism that in some circles passed for charm. They had met at a party given by an old college friend of Hutch’s, recently relocated to L.A. Though he no longer had anything in common with Justin, who was now a corporate lawyer, Hutch had accepted the invitation in a moment of weakness, when he had been feeling particularly depressed about Abby’s defection. Justin’s wife had introduced him to Courtney, and it had been lust at first sight on both their parts.

Their relationship offered a refreshing break from his often jaded daily life. They ate at nice restaurants, attended plays, and went to parties attended by normal, law-abiding people instead of the punks, pimps, pushers, and other refuse of society with whom he and Starsky rubbed elbows daily. When he was in her company he could remember what it was like to live in the real world.

Maybe this weekend trip could be good, would be just what he needed. To take a little time off, get away from it all…

He had just finished packing his bag when the phone rang again. It was Starsky, this time. In the background Hutch could hear music and barroom noises.

“Hi, how’s World War II?”

“Who cares?” he asked, feeling much more light-hearted than he had before Courtney’s call. “It’ll have to get along without me.”

A knowing chuckle answered the statement. “See, you should listen to your partner. Remember, Starsky knows best.”

“Give me a break, will you? What’s up?”

“Wanna go to the ball game? Dodgers against the Reds. I got us great seats—field level, right behind the dugout.” He could hear the enthusiasm in his best friend’s voice, almost see the spark of anticipation glittering in his eyes. Mitzi had been right. Starsky was like a little kid at times.

“How did you manage that?”

Starsky chuckled again. “Won ’em off a guy, shooting pool. So how about it?”

“Sounds great. When?”

“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock.”

Anticipation turned to regret. “Dammit, I’m sorry, Starsk. Courtney and I are going up to Lake Helton for the weekend.”

Silence echoed down the line, followed by an aborted protest. “But you said…”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “This just came up tonight. What about Terry?”

More silence, then, “She’s at the C.E.C. convention.”

“C.E.C.?”

“Council for Exceptional Children. In Atlanta. Remember, I told you…”

Well, he was batting zero tonight. “Oh, yeah, I forgot.”

“No problem. Some other time.” His partner’s voice had taken on a slightly formal tone that was intended to conceal his disappointment, but to Hutch, who knew him so well, only underlined it. “You two have a good time.” Hutch was searching for a reply when Starsky ended the conversation. “Gotta go now. See you Monday.”

“Okay. Thanks, anyway.” The line went dead.

***

Hutch lay sprawled in a lounge chair in the stern of the Lucky Gull, facing up to the fact that he was not having a good time. Oh, his companions were a congenial enough bunch, if a little on the banal side. Carl and Joe had included him in their good-natured horsing around. Margo and Tammy were attractive and agreeable, and flirted with him in a superficial way. The weather was perfect, the breeze across the lake balmy, and the water inviting. Courtney was as always—beautiful, sexy, and attentive. All in all, the perfect ingredients for a relaxing, enjoyable weekend. But something was missing.

His date approached from the direction of the bow. The white bikini somehow managed to be virginal and extremely erotic at the same time. Yeah, Court sure knows how to keep a man happy. He felt a bit ashamed of the chauvinistic thought.

She plopped herself gracefully into his lap and lowered her face for a kiss. “Darling, what are you doing back here all by yourself? We’re all having brunch up on the bow.” Before he could answer, she wriggled sensuously against him and bent to whisper in his ear. “That was great last night, lover.”

He and the beautiful redhead had shared a too-narrow bunk in the cabin with the other two couples. They had made silent, passionate love while their companions slept.

And now it was midmorning Sunday, and he was aching to get back to L.A.

He smiled at her. “You’re pretty terrific yourself, beautiful.”

A few minutes later Carl was hailing them from the bow. “Hey, are you two fasting this morning?”

“You go ahead. I’ll be up in a minute.”

“All right, darling.” Courtney paused in the act of leaving, her face taking on a pouting expression. “Oh, and Ken…”

“Hmm?”

“No more shop talk, please?” She grimaced prettily. “It’s so depressing!” She blew him a kiss and went to join her friends, leaving Hutch gritting his teeth. Courtney seemed determined to ignore what he did with seventy-five percent of his waking life.

Thoughts of the job led naturally into thoughts of Starsky, and he was troubled by a nagging guilt. In spite of his previous commitment, turning down Starsky’s invitation felt, in retrospect, somehow wrong. He knew his partner had been disappointed. He just hadn’t wanted to take the flak from Courtney. His job had already necessitated enough last-minute cancellations.

Besides, it was just a couple of days. A day and a half, really. With luck they’d be back early. Maybe he and Starsk could get together and take in a movie. Or maybe just go to the park. Or the Botanical Garden. Starsky had discovered it recently and was eagerly planning to show it to Hutch, who had already seen it but hadn’t said so. He found himself smiling.

A frown creased his brow when he remembered he ought to go forward and rejoin his companions. Putting off the moment, he went below to get a beer.

Through the cabin’s open window he could overhear snatches of the group’s desultory conversation. His own name caught his ear.

“Ken’s really wrapped up in this police business, isn’t he?” That was Joe.

“Well, maybe for now. But I have plans for the future…” Laughter.

He recognized Margo’s voice. “Have you told him that, Courtney? Seems that he’s one man you’re going to have trouble leading around by the nose.”

“Oh, I can handle Ken. He’s an intelligent man. He’ll soon wake up and realize he’s too good to spend his days with pushers and prostitutes…. But that partner of his! From all I can tell he belongs in a lunatic asylum. He looks like he ought to be panhandling for spare change down on the Strip. And he acts like a retarded ten-year-old. What Ken sees in him is beyond me.”

Hutch stood frozen, poised with his hand on the refrigerator door. He felt his cheeks burning and knew he must be flushed with shock. Then his whole body went ice cold, and he stood with fists clenched, muscles rigid with outrage. The contempt behind the casually uttered words stunned him. His first impulse, to storm up the stairs and confront the group, was discarded immediately.

Causing a scene will only make it worse. They don’t even know Starsky! But Courtney… she should know better… That goddamn bitch! The depth of his animosity surprised him. So what the hell do I do?

His dilemma was solved when footsteps descended the stairs, and his date appeared. “Here you are! If you don’t hurry, the hors d’oeuvres will all be…” Her voice trailed off at the expression on his face. “Ken? What’s the matter?”

Hutch had thought he had his anger under control, but it came through clearly in his voice. “What the hell did you think you were doing, badmouthing Starsky to those people?”

She had the grace to look embarrassed. “Ken, I’m sorry.” She stretched a slender hand out to touch his arm. He drew back from the contact.

“It was just a joke,” she continued defensively. “I don’t see why you’re getting so upset about it.”

Hutch’s teeth were clenched so tightly his jaws ached. “A joke?” he ground out. “Starsky is the finest man I know, and he’s never been anything but nice to you. He deserves better than that kind of casual backbiting.”

Courtney flushed. Hutch could tell she was getting angry, but she made a noble effort at reasonableness and rationality that made him want to backhand her. Placatingly: “Aren’t you making a mountain out of a molehill? It’s not that serious, darling.”

“Lady, you just slandered my best friend to a bunch of people who don’t even know him. I call that damned serious. For God’s sake, don’t you have any loyalty to your friends?”

“What?! Of course I’m loyal to my friends! But I don’t choose them over my lover! I don’t know what you see in that Starsky anyway. He has none of your intelligence or breeding. He’s… common!”

He couldn’t believe how completely she’d misread his partner’s character. She’d obviously responded, as so many people did, only to the surface. Seen only the untamed hair and shabby clothes, accepted the boisterous, offbeat persona at face value. She’d completely overlooked the intelligence, honesty, loyalty, warmth and humor that earned love and respect from those who took the trouble to see beyond the façade.

Wanting her to see his friend as he did, he tried to explain. “You just don’t understand him. He’s… he’s more good things than I could tell you in a year. He understands me better than anyone in the world. He’s saved my life, cleaned up my mistakes, picked me up when I was down, and backed me up, even when he was sure I was wrong.”

Courtney was getting impatient, and was not concealing it well. “Well, that’s very nice. I know you like the man and since he’s your partner I’m glad he’s a good cop. But keep things in perspective, darling. This Starsky is just someone you work with, for now. You won’t always be a cop. Someday soon you’ll realize you’re meant for better things. You’re going places where David Starsky could never fit in in a million years.”

Speechless with disbelief, Hutch could only stare at her. Misinterpreting his silence, she continued. “Your loyalty is commendable, but be honest, can’t you? You can’t deny that what I said is true! …Ken…” She reached out to him again. “Can’t we drop it? I’m sorry for what I said, but I can’t change the way I feel.” Her smile was tender, coaxing. “It’s us that’s important. You and me. I think I could fall in love with you. Do I have to love your partner, too?”

She doesn’t know me at all!

Hutch didn’t pull away from her touch, but he didn’t respond, either. Looking directly into the feline eyes, he answered levelly: “Yes. I guess you do.”

That answer seemed to dismay her. Hutch had momentarily set aside his anger in the effort at conciliation. Now it returned in force. “You haven’t understood a word I’ve said, have you? Well, understand this: Starsky is an important part of my life, and he always will be. And any woman I have a relationship with had damned well better be able to get along with him!”

Courtney’s cheeks were two bright red spots of anger and humiliation. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing. You sound as if… as if you’d choose him over me!”

Hutch rubbed his face wearily, accepting the futility of the discussion. Impatiently: “That’s not the point.”

“Well, I think it is the point! For God’s sake, Ken! You sound as if you’re talking about a lover, not your partner!” The cat-eyes narrowed speculatively. “Is that how it is? ‘Closer than brothers’—isn’t that what you said once? Is there a little incest in your ‘family,’ Ken? Maybe you need Starsky more than you need me!”

Oh, Jesus, Not that again!

The insinuation of a sexual element to his relationship with Starsky had been made before. Something about their mode of interaction seemed to invite this type of speculation. Hutch didn’t understand it, but the suggestion didn’t threaten him. He and his partner shared a special rapport, an electric chemistry unique in his experience. They went their own way, and anyone who didn’t like it could do the other thing.

At that instant, all feeling for Courtney died in his heart, leaving only disgust. At her, for her refusal to understand and her willingness to dirty what she couldn’t comprehend. And at himself, for being blinded by her beauty and charm, and never seeing the ugliness underneath. He had done what he had accused her of: made a judgment based on surface appearance rather than the heart. And now he was just tired, and all he wanted was to go home.

His voice sounded as defeated as he felt. “That’s a crock of shit and you know it.” He held up his hand to forestall further discussion. “And there’s no point in continuing this conversation.” He left her standing there and headed for fresh air.

Her parting shot followed him clearly. “Bastard!”

***

She didn’t speak to him again, just coldly ignored him while she asked Carl to please take them back to the marina. He left her on the dock without a backward glance.

Another one bites the dust. Self-mockery was his companion as he drove toward Venice. Another relationship in the dumper. Why does it always go sour?

How did he always seem to wind up with women who either didn’t give a damn about what was important to him, or who expected to change him into someone else? He acknowledged, as he had before, that a very large part of his problem finding a life mate was his job.

Being a cop satisfied a deep-seated psychological need to do something worthwhile, to make a difference somehow. And police work had brought him the one-in-ten-thousand friendship with Starsky. Their joint victories over creeps like Nick Manning and Mousy Loomis demonstrated just how much difference one man—no, two men—could make.

But any woman with any sensitivity was freaked out by the job—just couldn’t deal on a long-term basis with the all-night stakeouts, days or weeks undercover, and the terrifying uncertainty of knowing it could all end so suddenly. One unguarded instant, a back-up too slow, a careless moment. It wouldn’t even take that—a crazy with a grudge against cops could blow an unsuspecting officer away before he even had an inkling of danger.

The job had cost him Abby in an incident that battered him with guilt whenever he thought of it.

So that seemed to leave forgettable kewpie dolls eager to warm his bed or self-centered mannequins who were attracted by his appearance but had no use for the man underneath.

Maybe I need to start dating policewomen. Find someone who understands what we do and why we do it. Someone to share all the shitty parts of this job, who’ll listen and be supportive. …Someone I don’t have to protect from that side of my life. A man needs a partner, not a child. Someone who accepts him like he is and believes in the things that are important to him. But where do you find that kind of loyalty?

Based on his own experiences, that seemed like an impossible dream.

I need someone like… Starsky.

His fertile brain supplied a lunatic image of the woman of his dreams, swaggering down the street in ragged jeans and blue Adidas, offering to share a sloppy burrito.

No, not like that! Just someone with his soul…

Hutch recalled the day Courtney must have formed such a negative, impression of his partner. The two detectives had been in the middle of a nightmare of a case—someone was murdering teenaged prostitutes in a particularly grisly manner. The outing to Disneyland had been prearranged, and neither cop had wanted to alienate his girlfriend by cancelling yet another date. So they had gone—he and Courtney, Starsky and Terry. But Hutch had been in a black mood, nerves stretched taut by the brutality of the murders and the frustration of repeated dead ends. And of course, Starsky had picked up on it without the necessity of words.

Never need to tell Starsk anything! He just knows…

And he had known what to do about it, too. His outrageous jokes and uninhibited clowning had at last dragged Hutch out of his depression, and the day that had gotten off to such a bad start had ended with Hutch in a much-improved mood. Sure, Starsky had acted like a fool, but it had all been for his partner’s benefit.

He realized that, after that day, he and Courtney had not double-dated with Starsky again. It seemed an unspoken agreement had been made at that point to keep the two parts of his life separate. Courtney reinforced the situation subtly. Suggestions that the four of them get together were evaded tactfully until the subject was eventually dropped.

Why had he let it happen?

In a flash of insight he admitted that Courtney had been a refuge from the job, time spent with her an escape from the dirty side of his life. With her, he’d been able to forget about death and suffering and deceit and betrayal and despair. Forget the job that someone had to do to keep the wolves at bay. Forget the world whose existence she chose not to acknowledge.

Which is the “real” world?

And all the time she had hated Starsky. Well, maybe “hated” was too strong a word. Regarded with contempt. Resented. Definitely resented, he could see it clearly now.

Why didn’t I see it then? Four months we dated each other. Slept together. And I never saw what she was really like… Didn’t want to see.

He felt as if he had betrayed Starsky.

Oh, come on, Hutchinson—get off the guilt trip. Water under the bridge. Hell, Starsky would have a fit if he knew you were worrying about this. He’d probably just grin and make some crack about good taste triumphing in the end.

The thought of his partner made him smile, and he dismissed Courtney Tibbs and the distasteful trip from his mind, turning his thoughts instead to the remainder of the day.

Maybe he’s at home. On impulse, he turned his car towards Starsky’s apartment.

As he drove into the parking lot, his heart lifted at the sight of his partner, midway through the process of washing the Torino. Clad in a red T-shirt, cut-off jeans, and ragged sneakers, the dark-haired cop was dipping a large sponge into a tub of soapy water. He glanced up as Hutch pulled into a nearby space, face revealing surprise and pleasure.

“Yo-ho-ho, it’s Captain Ahab. Did the boat sink?”

Hutch got out of his car. Reluctant to report on the events of his trip or the finish of his relationship with Courtney, he limited his response to a terse, “Torpedoed at dawn.”

Starsky cocked his head, keen eyes examining his face carefully—reading, Hutch was sure, far more than he intended to reveal. But his companion made no comment as he began soaping the Torino’s rear windshield.

“Need some help?”

“Absolutely. There’s a rag somewhere in the tub. Dredge it out and start on the hubcaps, okay?”

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“So, who won the game?”

Starsky scrubbed at a spot on the rear fender, avoiding Hutch’s gaze. “Not sure. The Dodgers, I think.”

“Didn’t you go?”

“Nah.” He moved to the other side of the vehicle. “I gave the tickets to Babcock.”

Wouldn’t have been any fun without me? Hutch wondered if he was merely flattering himself with the thought.

Finished with the hubcaps and tires, he went to turn on the hose, realizing with a sense of irony that he was finding sharing this chore with Starsky far more relaxing and enjoyable than his supposed “vacation” with Courtney’s group.

“Hey, Hutch…”

He paused in the act of rinsing, knowing by Starsky’s mischievous expression that something was coming. “What?”

“How do scientists discover the weight of a whale?”

Hutch assumed a long-suffering look. “I don’t know, Starsk. How do they discover the weight of a whale?”

“They take it to a ‘whale-weigh’ station.”

The stream of water from the hose caught the unsuspecting jokester full in the face. Spluttering, Starsky charged. Hutch danced away, laughing, alternately directing the water at Starsky and evading the capture of his weapon.

Ignoring the spray, Starsky pounced, achieved an arm lock around his partner’s neck, and squeezed dirty water from the sponge over his head. Then he grabbed for the hose nozzle, and the fight was on in earnest.

Both men were soaked to the skin and breathless with laughter before a truce was called.

Starsky shook his head vigorously, scattering sun-sparkled droplets of water from his dripping curls. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“I love you, too,” Hutch replied, and realized that his comeback, though spoken in jest, was nonetheless true.

Starsky grinned at him before returning to his car, quickly completing the rinse job. Soon the red and white vehicle, all pristine perfection, was returned to its usual space, and Starsky was eyeing Hutch assessingly.

“Too bad you’re all wet.”

“Oh? Why?”

“‘Cause I was gonna order pizza for dinner.”

“So?” Hutch replied carelessly, willing to go along with whatever game his friend was playing.

“So you could eat with me, except I’m not gonna have you dripping all over my furniture.”

“I’ve got other clothes in the car,” he countered.

“Well, then…” Starsky rolled up the hose and returned it to its hook before turning twinkling eyes to his partner. “Wanna share?”

For about five seconds, Hutch pretended to consider. “Well… Okay.” He retrieved his overnight bag while Starsky emptied the water from the tub. At the foot of the apartment steps, acting on a sudden impulse, he grasped his companion’s elbow. “Starsk…”

The other man turned to him questioningly. Hutch looked into the trusted face, examining the familiar, completely unique features. “I’m glad you’re my partner.”

Starsky blinked at him, expression a combination of pleased surprise and endearing shyness. “Me, too, blintz.”

Perfectly in synch, they slung their arms around each other’s necks and ascended the steps together.

Tell me the company you keep, and I’ll tell you who you are.
–Proverb

Chapter End Notes: The scenes with Hutch on the boat with Courtney (originally Caroline), were adapted from a segment cut from the first draft of “Risk” (Nightlight #1). The rest of the story was woven around those events.