The Moon and the Stars

A camping trip and a necklace drive Starsky to tell his partner the truth.

October, 2009

Hutch wearily tossed his jacket across the back of the sofa and turned on the stereo. John Denver wailed forth about achieving a Rocky Mountain High. Starsky kicked Hutch’s door shut behind him and headed straight for the refrigerator for beer.

For the next ten minutes Hutch flopped on his bed and stared at nothing, and Starsky leaned against the wall and stared at Hutch. They drank their beer. The radio station relentlessly played songs of freedom and escape. A Horse With No Name. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

Enough.

Starsky moved into the sleeping alcove, pulled out Hutch’s duffel from the closet, unzipped it, and proceeded to ransack Hutch’s dresser drawers.

When Hutch wearily asked what the fuck he was doing, Starsky told him.

“Taking you camping.”

“You’re taking me camping? After our fun-filled adventure with the wackos-in-red-robes up at Pine Lake, I figured you’d never want to see the inside of a sleeping bag again. So, why?”

“Why? You’re burnt out, Hutch. I can’t stand seeing you like this anymore. Too many cases. Too many dead bodies. Too many kids-” He stopped short, squeezing his eyes shut. “Too many for me, too. We got the time off and we need out of this goddamned city.”

He opened his eyes again when he felt Hutch prod his leg with the toe of his boot.

“Hey. Sit down here a minute.” Hutch shifted over on the bed to give Starsky some room and pulled off his boots, wriggling his toes.

Starsky toed off his own shoes and collapsed next to his partner.

For a few moments they listened as The Hollies warbled “The Air That I Breathe.”

If I could make a wish
I think I’d pass
Can’t think of anything I need
No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound
Nothing to eat, no books to read

Starsky closed his eyes and made a wish anyway.

Hutch finally took a deep breath. “This last case, Starsk…you’re right. It got to me.”

It involved a woman, blonde and blue-eyed. By coincidence, her name had been Karen, same as Hutch’s sister, and within a few years of her age. The night they’d been called to the scene, Hutch had placed a call to Duluth and talked to Karen for a long time.

“She had two little kids, Starsk. She was raped and murdered, and for what? A dare. A damned dare by stupid punks to get another kid to prove his worth and get into their gang. And now all of them are going to be looking at the inside of a cell for most of their lives. What the hell are we doing out there, buddy, that shit like this still goes down? Are we getting anywhere?”

Starsky shook his head. “Sure doesn’t feel like it sometimes. Look, you need to get away. I know I do. I’ve known you long enough, and I know what you need, when you need it. And hey—we’ve gone camping since Pine Lake, and it worked out okay, even if I was grumpy about it at first. It was real peaceful looking up at the night sky, all quiet. Looking for the Big Cup.”

“Big Dipper.”

Starsky grinned. “That’s what I said. And no punks or rapists or radio chatter. So I say, yeah, what you need is clean air and breathing room.”

The Hollies voices swelled to the chorus and Hutch grinned wickedly. “‘All I need is the air that I breathe and to love you?'” Hutch quoted.

Starsky shrugged and nodded once. “Yeah.” If only you’d really love me like that, he thought.

“You’re a pal, Starsk. And you’re right.” His head drooped. “I need out of this town.”

*~*~*

Clear October skies and little traffic made the drive to Joshua Tree National Park pleasant, and had Hutch humming along with the radio by the time they arrived. Parking the Torino where Hutch directed, Starsky thought Hutch had chosen a rather random camping spot, but his partner seemed to know just what he was doing.

They laid out their gear in a wide clearing, circled by trees growing here and there. At an elevation above the smog of the city, the air felt cool and invigorating.

One fire and a beans, franks, and hot chocolate-with-rum dinner later, they banked the coals and crawled into their bags, wearing thermal underwear under flannel shirts and jeans for the cooler October night.

“Feels like this fresh cold air is freezing away all the filth and darkness, Starsk,” Hutch explained, even though Starsky hadn’t made one complaint. “The stars are so bright and clear.”

Starsky stared up at the sky, listening with a hidden smile as Hutch pointed out the same constellations he pointed out every time they stargazed together. It felt good to hear him sound more carefree, his mind on matters beyond the ones they’d left behind.

“I wish I could touch them.” Hutch’s voice had dropped to an awed whisper. Yearning.

Starsky hummed “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

The full moon had already risen over the Sierras, a great glowing disc as the night sky turned above them.

“I wish I could walk on the moon,” Starsky said. “Look, am I holding it?” He held his arm up, his hand curved under the bright satellite.

“A little more up…to the left…back—yeah, there. Right there.”

The moonlight lit Hutch’s face and set his hair glowing.

Starsky wavered in his bravery, then moved his hand to Hutch’s face, cupping it instead.

“You’re like the moon.”

“I am? How?” Hutch whispered, wistful and wide-eyed.

“Big and golden, silent and strong. When things get really rough, you might wane, but you never go away. There’s always an edge of light around you, and even when it dims, eventually, you make your way back to full bright. Work may suck sometimes, and life seems hard, but you shine, Hutch. Always, you shine.” His heart pounded. He felt his hand shake slightly and wished he could say the truer words that lay trapped behind his tongue.

Hutch covered Starsky’s hand with his, and spoke, still in a whisper.

“The moon doesn’t shine, Starsk. It reflects. It reflects the light that shines on it, the light of the sun. And the sun is a star—like all those up there. Like you. I only reflect you.” He squeezed Starsky’s hand. “We’re a team, partner.”

The moment held a bit longer and the need inside Starsky to connect urged him to start the dance he hesitated to begin—but instead, the want and need rushing through his veins left him suddenly trembling.

“You’re cold,” Hutch murmured. “Get further down in your bag and rest. It’ll help you warm up faster. And…hey, partner…thanks for bringing me here, for driving this far. Let the stars drive now. They know where they’re going. Enjoy the ride.”

Starsky obeyed, feeling soft inside, like he’d been tucked in for the night.

“Peace came upon me,” Hutch sang softly, “and it leaves me weak. So sleep, silent angel, go to sleep.”

Starsky drifted towards sleep, the familiar voice warming and loving him. He dreamed of him and Hutch as bright celestial bodies—the moon and a star riding high together in the dark night sky. Dancing an endless dance around each other, never quite sure where they were going, only sure they were going there together. Circling the universe, an arm’s length apart. He felt happy and wistful; joyful to be within the moon’s orbit, but wishing they could touch, just once.

Hutch-as-the-Moon sang him across the sky and when the bright Sun rose, Starsky faded away first, forced to wait until the Moon came back to him.

*~*~*

Months later, Starsky had a moment of déjà vu. The vendors along the beachfront compelled many a tourist to drop their vacation dollars, and the jewelry makers earned a fair portion of those sales.

It was in one of these colorful stalls that a necklace caught Starsky’s eye. The string carried a white, crescent moon-shaped charm, and a little further up the string, a small white star floated above it—not touching, but near. As Starsky dangled the delicate necklace from his fingers, his dream from last October came back to him—him and Hutch, a star and a moon, floating in the sky.

The desire he’d felt then, to take the next step, to tell Hutch how he really felt, had buried itself in the sand of that desert night. When he had awakened the next day, Hutch had seemed more bright and cheerful, and Starsky, still nervous from having dared to say his eloquent words the night before, had found he was not in any hurry to interfere with his partner’s current well-being. Hutch hadn’t mentioned Starsky’s evening revelations either, but instead had meditated in the light of the sunrise and walked a bit among the Joshua trees before it grew too warm. He happily stripped Starsky of his socks and shoes and dragged him to wade in a cold stream they found on the way back home, reveling in the differences between desert and forest.

Some other time, another opportunity would present itself, Starsky had told himself, as he kicked water at Hutch, pleased by the sound of his partner’s relaxed laughter.

Some other time.

Now, staring at the necklace, he thought maybe this was a sign.

“How much?” he asked, and didn’t blink when the jeweler, probably noticing his distraction, named a price twice its worth. Starsky handed over the cash.

After the vendor put the necklace in a small cardboard box, Starsky strode back up the beach, prize clutched in his hand.

He drove home, hands alternately clutching the wheel and tapping to the music from the radio.

“All I need is the air that I breathe, and to love you,” The Hollies sang, and Starsky remembered making his wish in Hutch’s apartment, and how Hutch sang to him the night they camped. How Hutch had not shied away from Starsky’s touch to his face. How Hutch had pressed Starsky’s hand and held it there.

Had Hutch wanted to say something more, too? And Starsky had overlooked it, too caught up in his own emotions to hear what Hutch didn’t say?

His adrenaline surged and he gripped the wheel tighter to keep his hands from shaking.

Once home, he set the box on the coffee table and then showered, thinking and planning what he’d say to Hutch, and how. He would come across as nervous, but that was good, because Hutch would want to draw him out, get him to talk, in the solicitous way that he did when Starsky had something to get off his chest.

And then Hutch would share that he felt the same way about Starsky and had for some time. And then they’d touch. And kiss. And…

Starsky had to lean against the shower wall and bring himself off once that train of thought carried him away.

*~*~*

Shaved, combed, and cologned, he chose a blue shirt that really brought out the color of his eyes, and his corduroy sport jacket. He put on a newer pair of jeans—tight enough to draw the eye—and his soft brown shoes rather than his blue Adidas.

Tucking the box into his inside jacket pocket, he took one last look in the mirror before dancing down the steps.

Clouds roiled overhead, obscuring what night sky the light pollution allowed. As he pulled up in front of Venice Place, rain was just beginning to spatter his windshield. He ran up the stairs and knocked on Hutch’s door with his usual rap before letting himself in.

A tall brunette woman with a model’s face and long, curly hair sat on Hutch’s couch. She gave a sharp, short scream, startled by his sudden entrance. Hutch emerged from the bathroom at that moment, drying his hands, a surprised smile on his face.

“Starsk! I wasn’t expecting you. Did you try to call?”

Starsky’s heart dropped to his stomach as he realized Hutch had a date, and he felt a little sick. “No, no…I just thought I’d drop by. Didn’t know you had plans.”

“Starsky, this is Sunni Bennett, the lady I told you about a few days ago. Sunni, this is my partner, Dave Starsky.”

Starsky composed himself and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Sunni answered. “Sorry about my reaction, but you startled me, coming in the door like that.”

Starsky ducked his head, embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that—I didn’t realize anyone else was here. Hutch is used to me barging in.”

“Sunni and I have a date tonight, Starsk,” Hutch said. “I guess I forgot to tell you, huh?”

Starsky cast his mind back and remembered Hutch saying something about a lady he had met.

“Oh! You rescue birds, right?”

Sunni beamed. “Yes, that’s right, birds of prey that need rehabilitation.”

“That’s really interesting, I bet you really love it.” He stood there, glancing between Hutch and Sunni, and wondered how he could leave gracefully. He hadn’t planned for small talk with anyone, just a big talk with Hutch.

Hutch put his hand on Sunni’s shoulder, his smile full of affection as she answered Starsky.

“I do. It’s nice to finally meet a man who appreciates what I do.” She glanced at Hutch with open adoration, who smiled back down at her.

Starsky swallowed down a lump of disappointment in his throat. “He’s a nature boy, all right.”

Sunni excused herself and headed for the bathroom as Starsky turned to leave.

Hutch reached out and touched Starsky’s arm. “Hey, where you going? Come sit and talk with us a while.”

Starsky put his hand on the doorknob. “Nah. You two have a good time.”

“Starsk? You okay? Did you want to talk about something? You’re kind of dressed up…” Hutch trailed off. “Were we supposed to do something that I’ve forgotten about?”

“No, no. I just…nah. It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll talk to you tomorrow or something.” He opened the door, stepped through and closed it behind him quickly, before he could be lured into staying longer.

The box weighed heavily in his pocket.

*~*~*

For once, Hutch met a girl who didn’t mind his working hours; her hours were often as random, depending on the shelter’s needs. Starsky actually felt a little jealous, even though he was happy for Hutch. Still, it seemed unfair that now he had finally decided he wanted Hutch, a pretty lady had Hutch’s attention. Named Sunni, of all things, which only fed his moon-and-star thoughts.

Besides, Hutch obviously liked women. Admittedly, so did Starsky, and, as they had done in the past, their double dates grew common in the weeks following Sunni’s appearance. During those dates, Starsky watched the other couple, often ignoring his own lady, as he was told more than once. Their annoyance with him left him to beat off alone in his apartment, drinking a bottle of wine meant for two.

When Sunni grew possessive, though, Hutch didn’t seem to notice. He considered her the “sunshine of my life.”

Starsky would shift uncomfortably in the driver’s seat when Hutch’s quoting that lyric reminded him of Hutch’s song that fall night. But this was another song, for another person.

After two months, Sunni began to wear on Starsky’s nerves. August raged around them, the heat making criminals and good citizens alike prone to flaring at the slightest provocation.

One especially hot night at Huggy’s, after listening to Sunni laugh yet again at one of Hutch’s pathetic jokes, Starsky snapped, “It wasn’t that funny.”

Sunni blinked at him. “To me, it was! And that’s what matters. Right, Ken?”

Hutch, caught by surprise between his bedmate and his partner, responded with the ever intelligent, “Uh…”

Starsky threw some bills on the table for his food, muttered about being the third wheel, and stormed out of Huggy’s, banging the door behind him.

He blinked in the late afternoon sunshine, instantly missing the bar’s cooler temperature. In his shorts, the black leather seats were like fire against his bare thighs and denim-covered ass, and his palms felt scorched by the steering wheel. All of this combined to piss him off even more than he already was, and it wasn’t until he nearly took out an elderly lady crossing at the light that he realized how out of control he felt.

He turned for the beach, close to Hutch’s place, feeding a jealous need to be near his partner in some way.

*~*~*

Starsky’s bare feet were bathed by the incoming tide, but the gentle caresses did not assuage his envy. Wriggling his toes, he thought idly that he should shift backwards or face sitting in damp, sandy cutoffs all the way home.

Summer’s late sunset had just begun to paint the sky in oranges and reds. The moon, meanwhile, had risen behind him, following the sun. He thought of the necklace, of the moon always separated from the star. Forever following, but never touching in romantic love. He closed his eyes and thought of Hutch’s smile.

“You’re going to get wet, mushbrain.” Somehow, Hutch’s voice didn’t surprise him.

“I’ll dry.”

“Hey. What’s going on with you?”

Starsky turned just enough to note that his partner stood alone.

“Where’s the sunshine of your life?”

Hutch sighed and lowered himself to the sand. “I took her home.”

“You’re gonna get wet.”

Hutch grunted. “I’ll dry, same as you.”

Starsky, mollified by the fact that Hutch had given up his date to be with him, moved a little closer, and Hutch matched it until their shoulders touched. Silently, they shared the sunset as the waves kissed their feet.

When the last sliver of sun disappeared, Hutch spoke again. “Are you angry with me?”

Starsky sighed, and finally shifted his body back from the advancing waves. “No. Not really.”

Hutch followed, keeping their positions close. “Not really? What does that mean, partner?”

Partner. Starsky felt emotion prickle beneath his eyelids and blessed the darkness.

“Starsk?”

Hutch’s gentle voice cut a groove into his heart. His jealous, childish heart.

“It’s okay, Hutch. Just the heat.”

Hutch’s sigh told Starsky he didn’t believe him. “It’s Sunni, isn’t it?”

Reluctant to lie, Starsky said nothing, and simply counted the waves. One, two, three, four…

“I broke up with her.”

Startled, Starsky turned. “Why?”

“Let’s just say, we had a disagreement and I wouldn’t back down.”

Hutch held Starsky’s gaze, until Starsky asked, “Me?”

Hutch nodded.

A rush of warmth flowed through him just as one wicked wave finally snuck up on them. They jumped to their feet, making noises of disgust while wringing out the edges of their dripping shorts and shirts.

“C’mon,” Hutch invited. “Drive your car to my place and we’ll talk.”

Starsky’s heart began to pound, hope warring with anxiety, as he followed Hutch up the beach.

*~*~*

Hutch pulled the damp blanket from the front seat of the Torino. “I’ll wash this for you; I’m doing laundry tomorrow anyway. You want to use the shower?”

Sweat, sand and saltwater began to itch on Starsky’s skin. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll grab a pair of shorts, if that’s okay.”

“Whatever you need, buddy.”

Starsky pondered that as he rifled Hutch’s dresser and showered. Whatever you need.

He’d always given Hutch a physical assurance of their friendship, like when Starsky had held him through heroin withdrawal, and then had rescued a still-recovering Hutch from Monk. Once off that fence, Hutch had fallen into Starsky’s arms, needing and wanting the reassurance of a simple hug.

And when Gillian died, Hutch had collapsed, sobbing, into Starsky’s embrace.

But Hutch also touched him all the time, without need of a prompt. Patting his belly, laying a hand on his shoulder—even an affectionate smile from Hutch touched Starsky like no one else’s smile could.

Starsky knew he was loved. Simple as that.

Would Hutch ever want to take that love to a new level, though?

I broke up with her.

Starsky ran his hand over his face, wiping away the remaining suds with cool water.

Broke up with her because of Starsky.

In his mind’s eye, he recalled Hutch, eyes soft and smile gentle, holding Starsky in his lap in the dirty office of an Italian restaurant. Starsky had never told Hutch, but he could see the fear hiding behind the confidence. But, if the worst were to happen that night, Starsky would go out wrapped in Hutch’s love, and, Starsky knew, if there was any way Hutch could help it, his arms.

What was love, anyway?

“You about done in there?” Hutch’s voice held a smile.

“Yep.” Starsky drew back the curtain. “Be out in a sec.”

*~*~*

Hutch had set the table with two bottles of beer and cold roast beef sandwiches. “You want some leftover potato salad, too?”

Starsky shook his head. “Nah, thanks.”

Hutch put it back in the fridge. “Sunni made it. I’m not really in a mind to eat it now, either, but since you left Huggy’s before your food came, I thought you might be hungry.” He moved to the stereo and tuned it to Starsky’s favorite station. As they sat down to eat, one song ended and another began.

“When a man loves a woman, he can’t keep his mind on nothing else
He’ll trade the world for the good thing he’s found
If she is bad, he can’t see it, she can do no wrong
Turn his back on his best friend if he put her down.”

Starsky dropped his sandwich and pulled a long drink from the bottle. “Why did you break up with her?”

Hutch licked his lower lip. “Starsk, Percy Sledge doesn’t know shit about us. You’re my best friend. She was my girl. I thought maybe there was something there, but too many things weren’t clicking. This evening just finally crystallized it all for me. It’s over, and that’s it. You’re more important.”

Starsky felt hope surge, warring with guilt for perhaps being the catalyst. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Starsky lifted one shoulder. “I feel kinda guilty about tonight. I got mad at her and now you and she are split.” The guilt was easily buried under hope.

Hutch leaned across the table and squeezed Starsky’s wrist. “Well, stop it. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. It just is what it is.”

They both grinned at the use of Huggy’s favorite phrase.

Starsky finally took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay. Fair enough. I’m still sorry, though. I know you liked her.”

He carried the remains of his late supper to the sink, and when the radio began to play “The Air That I Breathe”, he braced his arms against the counter. Another sign? He wanted Hutch. So much. And now that Sunni was out of the way…could he say it? Could he say, “Hutch, I love you”?

He was startled when Hutch’s arm slid around his waist, warm and strong.

“Let’s go,” Hutch murmured.

“Go where?”

“Camping. I’m taking you camping this time. Getting you out of this city, first thing in the morning. Right now, go home and go to bed. I’ll be at your door bright and early.”

He leaned close, and said softly into Starsky’s ear, “You know I love you best.” The words sent Starsky’s heart pounding.

One last squeeze and then Hutch released him and tugged at his arm, pointing to the door.

“Tomorrow.”

Starsky couldn’t help but smile back at Hutch’s affectionate grin. He ducked his head, and left.

*~*~*

Starsky didn’t sleep, but dozed. Shutting off his brain wasn’t as simple as turning out the lamp, and the darkness made an effective movie screen for the scenes he envisioned. Some of the scenarios ended in a kiss; others ended in a punch to his jaw.

At two in the morning, he got up and dug through his jeans drawer, pulling out the hidden jewelry box.

He felt hope rekindle as he remembered Hutch’s words that autumn night, and he melded it with what Hutch had said just a few hours ago.

“You know I love you best.”

Unable to sleep, he pulled out his bag and packed. When Hutch arrived at seven, Starsky met him at the door with a cup of coffee made just the way Hutch liked it, and a secret zipped into a side pocket of his red-and-white duffel.

*~*~*

The summer heat shimmered like mirages on the desert floor as Hutch drove them to the same spot where they’d stayed in October. They’d stopped for a few supplies, bottles of water, and a cooler full of ice, crossing their fingers it wouldn’t melt too fast.

The further the city fell behind them, the more relaxed Starsky felt. He fell asleep, warmed by the sunshine and lulled by the soothing sound of Hutch’s voice singing along with the radio.

Once they arrived, they explored the park. Starsky, mellowed by his nap, indulged Hutch’s need to lecture on the various desert plant life versus that found in a forest. Starsky was with Hutch, alone, and that was all that mattered.

As twilight darkened the park, Starsky cut some hot dogs up into a saucepan of beans balanced over a small fire. Hutch dropped an ice cube down his back.

“Hey!”

“Feel cooler now? You’re sweating over that fire.”

Starsky had to chuckle. “Yeah, I do. Hey, the ice held up, huh?”

“Yep.” Hutch handed him a bottle of beer. “Kept this nice and chilled.”

Starsky took a drink and realized Hutch was watching him. “What?”

Hutch smiled and picked up a loaf of bread, tearing it into hunks. “Nothing. Just enjoying seeing you relaxed. You haven’t seemed to be really happy the last few weeks, so this is nice.”

“Ah, just being with you usually helps. And, yeah, being out here and away.” He stirred the pot and then handed Hutch another spoon. “Dig in.”

They took turns eating directly from the pot and munching on the bread, sitting close as the sunset painted the desert. So different from the ocean sunset the night before, Starsky thought, and yet not so much. The end of a day; a time for contemplation while appreciating the beauty of the oncoming night.

Beauty. He turned to Hutch.

Hutch’s jaw worked as he ate, a slight smile on his face as he surveyed the vista before them. He seemed to realize when Starsky was looking at him, for he turned as well, but said nothing.

Starsky’s heart thumped hard in his chest.

Hutch leaned closer and bumped their foreheads together. For one wild moment, Starsky thought Hutch was going to kiss him, but after a few seconds, Hutch withdrew, moving to clean up their dinner.

Starsky felt the loss, and hung his head as he worked to control both his breathing and his heart. Hutch was being so…sweet…both the night before and today, and Starsky wanted very much to pull Hutch into his arms, and show him just how much he loved him.

Loved him. He did. It was true.

Starsky was in love with Hutch.

Rather than making him feel fearful or helpless or scared, the full acknowledgment bolstered him.

He felt strong.

Walking to the car, he grabbed his duffel, touching the box through the thin fabric that enclosed it. Overhead, a crescent moon hung, stars beginning to wink in around it as the sun’s rays shone their last.

He pulled out the box and put it in his pocket.

Grabbing their sleeping bags, he laid them out near the fire, just as they had in October. The night was warmer; no thermal needed now.

Hutch brought him another beer. “Feeling okay?” he asked. “You look a little stressed all of a sudden.”

Starsky shook his head. “No…just…” he trailed off, unsure how to proceed. He drank some of his beer, then tipped his head to look up at the stars. “They’ll be in a different place now than they were in October, right?”

“Right. We’re in a different place in our orbit around the sun.” Hutch lit the lantern to aid them in their final clean-up, and when they finally slid into their bags, he turned it down.

This time, Starsky pointed out some of the constellations on his own, and felt more than saw Hutch’s amused smile. They discussed childhood memories of backyard nighttime sleeping—Hutch with the emptiness of the Minnesota countryside around him, and Starsky with the noise of a city that never slept. This led to what school was like, sibling rivalry, parents, and ultimately, leaving home.

It was nearly two in the morning when Starsky felt the edges of drowsiness begin to creep up on him. Hutch sighed deeply and then the desert wrapped them in its quiet.

The moon had traveled across the night and now hung in the western sky. The box in Starsky’s pocket seemed to bounce like a Mexican jumping bean, wanting attention.

“Moon’s gonna set soon,” Starsky murmured, hoping Hutch hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

“Mmhm,” Hutch answered. He was lying on his back, arms under his head, watching the sky.

“Hutch? What is love, anyway?”

The question slipped out before Starsky realized it was on his tongue.

“Seems like that would be so simple to know, doesn’t it?” Hutch answered, as if he’d known Starsky would ask. “It’s a very individual concept.”

“What is love to you, then?”

Hutch turned over to face Starsky. “I thought I knew what it was when I married Van. I really did. I wanted to be with her all the time, touch her, make love to her. No one else held my attention the way she did. Thing is, she didn’t have that same feeling for me. She played at it, until she had the ring on her finger, but as our married lives went on, she wanted more, beyond what I could do for her.” He sighed. “I’ve been with a lot of people since then, and those I thought I loved…they always disappointed me in the end. I’m beginning to think I’m simply unlovable.”

“That’s not true,” Starsky blurted. “I mean—I love ya.”

“I love you, too, Starsk. But is that the sort of love you were talking about?”

Starsky gulped, feeling vulnerable under that direct, warm gaze. Now. Say it now.

He looked back up at the sky. One, two, three.

“Hey, am I holding the moon?” He held his arm up over his head, and Hutch chuckled, but played along.

“A little to the left…now up…up…there. Cupped in your hand, as if you were a god and had it all under control.”

Starsky rolled to his side and cupped Hutch’s face instead. “You’re still the moon, Hutch.”

Hutch nodded slowly, nearly caressing his own cheek with Starsky’s hand. “You’re still a star, Star-sky.”

The moment held…and held. Hutch seemed to be waiting for him to do whatever it was he needed to do. Recognizing that, Starsky felt another surge of love.

Now.

He pulled the box from his pocket, opened it, and cradled the necklace in his hand for a moment. “I found this a couple of months ago,” he confessed. “It made me think of the last time we camped here…and talked about our own moon and stars.” He dangled it out to Hutch.

Hutch didn’t reach for it immediately. The charms swayed in the moonlight and Starsky marveled at how closely they matched the color of Hutch’s hair. Finally, Hutch’s hesitant fingertip touched it.

“Starsk?”

In for a penny…

“I love you, Hutch. Not just as my best friend. I can’t really explain why, except that it just is. I love you. In the ‘I want to kiss you’ kind of way.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?” Starsky wasn’t sure if it was a question or an invitation.

“Kiss me.”

In the middle of the desert, surrounded by warm air, stars, and lit by the moon, Starsky leaned close and pressed his mouth to his partner’s. To his surprise and delight, Hutch didn’t jerk away or make a noise. Instead, he responded, moving his mouth against Starsky’s.

It was the sweetest of kisses, gentle and without demand.

When they broke apart, it was Hutch’s hand that found Starsky’s cheek.

“That was nice. I never thought kissing a guy could be that nice.”

“Will you wear it, Hutch?” Starsky lifted the necklace again. Hutch took it, laid the charms in his palm and stroked them.

“I’m the moon, huh? And here you are, a star shining on me.” He lifted it and rose to his knees. “Help me fasten it?”

Starsky knelt as Hutch turned, and with trembling hands worked the tiny latch. He rested his hands on Hutch’s shoulders afterwards, working his thumbs into the soft fringe of hair at Hutch’s nape.

Hutch groaned and tipped his head back. “That feels good.”

Starsky continued to rub, working deeper and broader, happy to touch, until Hutch finally turned to face him.

“Thanks.” He leaned in and kissed Starsky again. “So…where do we go from here?”

Starsky grinned shyly, but his heart was full of joy and relief. He was finally where he wanted to be, being touched and loved by Hutch, and he wanted to be sure they stayed that way. “Well, we got our sleeping bags. How comfortable would you feel with zipping them together into one bag and letting me hold you?”

Hutch smiled broadly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

As they held each other under the moon and stars, Hutch sang softly.

“Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you.
All I need is the air that I breathe,
Yes, to love you…”

Tomorrow, they’d figure out how to manage love and work and life. For now, Starsky was content–more than content—to simply hold the man he loved in his arms.

EPILOGUE

He felt as though he’d been sleeping a long time. He tried to move his arms and legs, but he felt too weak.

He could hear a voice near him, muttering. “What if?”

Hutch. It was Hutch.

There was a creaking sound, and then footsteps walking away.

He forced his eyes to open. Hutch stood beyond the foot of the bed, looking broken and sad.

Turn around, Starsky thought.

When Hutch finally did, the first thing Starsky noticed was the necklace, secure around Hutch’s neck. The next thing he noticed was Hutch’s expression changing to one of surprise and joy.

After the swarm of excited medical personnel left them alone again, Hutch collapsed with an exhausted sigh into the chair by Starsky’s bed. Leaning towards the bed, he rested his elbows on the mattress.

“How you doing?”

Starsky blinked, still fuzzy. “Okay. Gonna fall back asleep, I think.” Slowly he raised one arm, reaching for the moon. Hutch leaned closer, enough for Starsky’s hand to graze the charm, and then Hutch pressed Starsky’s hand against his cheek.

Starsky tried to smile, but it felt wobbly.

“We still shinin’, Hutch?”

“You better believe it, lover-boy. Brighter than ever.”

Starsky drifted then. Just before he slipped into oblivion, he felt a kiss on his lips.

“Love you,” he whispered to Hutch.

“Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak,
So sleep, silent angel, go to sleep,” Hutch sang, and Starsky did.

~end

Chapter End Notes:

Originally appeared in the 2009 VegaSHcon zine.

I’ve loved Hutch’s necklace since the first time I saw it, but only recently did I begin to wonder where he got it. My slashy mind being what it is, of course I decided Starsky gave it to him, but why, under what circumstances? This is what I came up with.

Much thanks to Flamingo, who spent far too much of her own time helping me fill the holes that I could feel but not see, and to Nik and Kat, who helped shape it on the page.