Time Together

The boys spend a long afternoon together.

It had begun as just another Saturday, another blessed day away from the trials and tribulations of work, a day that was theirs and theirs alone, with nothing expected or required of them. Anything goes. But this weekend, they had absolutely no plans, no projects. They were simply going to play it by ear. The day was theirs to do with what they would. Little did they know this Saturday would be more than uneventful…

“C’mon in, Starsk, door’s open!” Hutch shouted over his shoulder from the kitchen where he leaned over the sink finishing up the dishes. He used to keep a spare key over the door, but after one too many break-ins, he made good on his reluctant promise to his partner to change his pattern and forgo leaving the spare key where everyone and their brother could find it and use it to their benefit. Of course, Starsky had his own key to Hutch’s’ place, as Hutch did to Starsky’s’. But Hutch was expecting his partner to stop in for the day, so he’d left his door unlocked.

“What did I tell you about leaving this thing unlocked, huh?!” Starsky admonished him, slamming the door behind him. “I tell ya’, Hutch…” he was cut short by Hutch holding up a soapy hand. “Starsk…” he muttered, threateningly. “It’s Saturday, don’t start, okay?”

Starsky shook his head and sighed deeply. “You’re right. It’s Saturday, no lectures.” he agreed, still wishing Hutch would use his head. And people thought Starsky wasn’t bright…

“So how did that big date go last night?” Hutch asked, coming in from the kitchen, wiping his hands with an already damp towel. Best to change the subject, he thought.

Starsky plopped himself down on the sofa, his arms crossed behind his head, sprawling out so there was no room for his partner to join him. Hutch’s’ house was his and vice versa.

He shrugged noncommittally. “Went okay. Got home late, though.” He yawned deeply as if to prove his statement.

“How late?” Hutch frowned, kicking Starsky’s’ legs off the sofa and sitting down in their place.

“Fourish.” Starsky shrugged, yawning again, stretching out his legs to drape over his friends’ lap.

“FOURISH?!” Hutch shouted, once again pushing Starsky’s’ legs away and bouncing back to his feet. “Do you know what time it is NOW?”

“Quit shouting, will ya’?” Starsky winced. Apparently he’d drunk most of his dinner last night as well. “Of course I know what time it is now. You know how hard it is to tear yourself away from interesting… conversation…” he offered with a typical Starsky grin, his blue eyes flashing mischievously.

“Conversation, my ass…” Hutch shook his head, standing over his partner.

“Funny you should put it that way.” Starsky snickered, trying to avoid the whip of the wet towel Hutch suddenly snapped at him.

Unfortunately, Starsky moved the wrong direction, zigging when he should have zagged, and the towel connected, hitting him in the eye with a sharp cracking sound.

“OW!!!” Starsky cried out, bringing his hands to his face as he turned away from Hutch towards the back of the sofa.

“Starsk… my God, you okay???” Hutch gasped, dropping to his knees in front of his partner. “Lemme’ see…” he ordered, trying to pull Starsky to face him, but his hands were shaking so. Tugging, he pulled at Starsky’s’ arms until he gently forced his hands away from his face.

Hutch frowned. Starsky’s’ eye was red and tearing, a mere slit, looking quite sore as Starsky blinked hard. Tears were running down his cheek.

“Aw, Starsk, I’m sorry…” Hutch apologized over his friends’ moaning. “That was a stupid thing to do,” he berated himself, shaking his head as he used the “weapon” to wipe the tears from his friends’ face.

“Can you see me okay?” Hutch asked, a hitch in his voice. “Need me to take you to the hospital?”

“NO hospital,” Starsky whispered adamantly. “I’ll be fine, just a flesh wound.” he added, waving Hutch away, trying to make light of the situation. He knew Hutch felt terrible and he ventured a weak smile, trying to lighten Hutch’s’ mood.

“Let me get you an icepack.” Hutch said, getting up to make his way back into the kitchen, throwing the towel angrily against the wall as he tugged hard on the freezer handle.

“Hutch, it’s ALL RIGHT!” Starsky shouted after his friend with a frown. His eye burned nearly as bad as any bullet wound he’d incurred in the past, but Hutch felt back enough, he didn’t want to add to his friends’ anguish. So he’d had to make light of it. Accidents DO happen…

Sitting next to Starsky, Hutch gently lay an icepack against the swollen eye.

“Lie your head back and hold onto this.” Hutch ordered, grabbing Starsky’s’ hand to set it on the pack. Starsky could hear the hurt in his friends’ voice and feel Hutch’s’ trembling hand.

Reaching out his free hand, Starsky lay it on Hutch’s’ shoulder and squeezed gently. “Hey, buddy, it was an accident…” He couldn’t see the hurt in Hutch’s’ own eyes as he was lying his head on the back of the sofa, but he could tell the hurt was there, none the less.

“I know.” Hutch sighed heavily, dropping his head to rest on the back of the sofa as well, draping an arm across his forehead. “But I should have known better, it was a childish thing to do. I’m sorry, Gordo…” he apologized once again, his voice sounding tired. And their weekend was just beginning…

“Hey, do me a favor?” Starsky asked, breaking the silence between them.

“Sure, anything, Starsk.” Hutch sat up quickly, facing his partner, eager to do anything to make it all up to him.

“Get me a couple aspirin, I’m wiped from last night.” Starsky added hastily, knowing Hutch would assume the aspirins were for his eye and the pain that Hutch himself had inflicted. Which they were.

“You got it, babe.” Hutch jumped up and disappeared into his bathroom. Starsky stared one-eyed after him, shaking his head. “Ow…” he muttered quietly to himself, adjusting the ice pack on his eye.

Moments later, Hutch ran back in, nearly tripping over the coffee table in his need to get the aspirins to his friend.

“Here, brought you some water, too.” he offered, holding out the glass.

Starsky could see how shaky Hutch’s’ hand was, the water nearly splashing out of the glass as he leaned over. Starsky set the icepack aside and reached up to hold Hutch’s’ trembling hands with his own. “Easy. Don’t need a shower… already had one this morning.” Starsky shook his head, grasping Hutch’s hands still.

“Sorry.” Hutch whispered.

“Hey, stop apologizing or I’m leaving.” Starsky warned, swallowing the pills with most of the water.

“Sorry ’bout that.” Hutch apologized again, running his hand nervously through his blond hair.

“THAT’S it.” Starsky said determinedly, abruptly rising from the sofa, even though his head was pounding, half from the drinks the night before, half from the towel ambush on his eye today. He began to make his way to the door, pushing past Hutch as he went.

“Starsk! I’m sorry, please don’t leave!!!” Hutch shouted after him, fear in his voice.

Starsky stopped short of the door and turned, still rubbing his sore eye.

“I mean it, Hutch, stop apologizing! It was an ACCIDENT…” Starsky frowned, pointing his finger at his friend. Something he’d learned from his partner a long time ago…

This time, Hutch kept his mouth shut, even though he wanted like hell to apologize over and over again. He knew Starsky was serious, he’d walk out the door without so much as a backwards glance if Hutch apologized even one more time. A moment passed in silence…

“That’s better.” Starsky sighed, turning back to make his way to the sofa, crashing down on it again, picking up the ice pack to lay gingerly on his eye.

Hutch fingered the near empty glass in his hand and cleared his throat before tilting his head back and finishing off the rest of the water. “So, uh, what do you wanna’ do today?” he asked, deciding it best to close the subject of the apologies.

Starsky thought a moment and spoke quietly. “Well, it was starting to rain when I got here, and they’re calling for thunderstorms all day, so looks like we’re stuck inside.”

“No beach?” Hutch ventured, setting the glass on the coffee table.

“No beach.” Starsky smiled.

Hutch nodded, sighing.

“Hey, there’s a Marx Brothers marathon on today!” Starsky offered brightly, lowing the icepack to reveal the sore eye, now red and threatening looking.

“Great…” Hutch deadpanned. “Sure you can SEE to watch it?”

“Hah hah.” Starsky sneered, raising the icepack to his eye once again, snuggling down in the sofa, making himself comfortable. “Turn on the set? Channel 7.” he asked.

Hutch shook his head disgustedly and leaned over to snap on the television. The last thing he had on his mind when he invited his friend over to spend the day off together was watching a God awful Marx Brothers marathon. But he still felt bad about what he’d done to Starsk, and if letting him watch some stupid movie would make him happy, so be it.

“Aren’t you gonna’ sit?” Starsky asked, watching Hutch head towards the kitchen.

“No, I’m not a big Marx Brothers fan.” Hutch said over his shoulder, picking up the glass on his way. “You enjoy, I’ll make you some popcorn. Me tv es su tv…”

Hutch bent over to retrieve the towel he’d thrown against the wall and leaned against the sink, his head bowed as he fingered the towel.

Well, if he was gonna’ be stuck inside, for the most part alone, he’d find something to do, by God. Screw Starsky, he didn’t need him to have a nice day off…

Hutch looked up to see raindrops now flowing down the window above the sink.

“Hey!” he heard Starsky’s’ voice coming from the living room. Hutch raced into the room to see what was the matter. Starsky’s’ eye?

“What, what?!” Hutch asked anxiously. “What’s the matter, what is it?!”

“The Torino!” Starsky shouted, dropping his icepack again. “It’s pouring out there and I left the windows down!”

“Are you SERIOUS?!” Hutch frowned. “You scared the CRAP outta’ me for that stupid striped tomato of yours?!”

“It’s NOT stupid and it AIN’T no tomato!” Starsky countered angrily, rising from the sofa. “Never mind, I’ll take care of it myself.” he began to fish the keys from his pocket.

Hutch shook his head, setting his hand on Starsky’s’ shoulder. “No, let me.” he sighed, holding his other hand out, palm upturned. “Gimme.”

Starsky turned his trademark innocent look on his friend.

“C’mon, give.” Hutch directed again, trying to smile.

Silently, Starsky handed him the keys, touching Hutch’s’ palm softly before drawing his hand away. “Thanks.” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Hutch countered, tapping Starsky on his shoulder before making his way out into the rain.

Starsky was back on the sofa by the time Hutch returned, soaking wet. By this time, though, Starsky was lying across the entire sofa, his head resting on a pillow on the cushion of the sofa arm, with the icepack once again covering his sore eye.

Hutch came close to tossing the keys back to Starsk, but thought better of it (no sense putting out his OTHER eye, Hutch didn’t think he had that much ice on hand). He leaned over and set the keys on the coffee table, his blond hair dripping as he did so.

“All secure.” he announced. “Now I’m gonna’ go change into some dry clothes.”

“Hutch?” Starsky called out meekly.

“Yeah?” Hutch asked, turning around to face Starsky peering one-eyed over the back of the sofa.

“Thank you.” It sounded sincere to Hutch.

Smiling, Hutch merely nodded as he turned to make his way to the bedroom.

Thunder was now shaking the house as Hutch emerged from the bedroom, now in dry clothes, his hair just on the damp side.

“Hey, you hungry, Starsk?” he asked, coming around to the front side of the sofa. “I can whip us up some lunch…”

But he may as well been talking to a brick wall; Starsky was now fast asleep, curled up on the sofa, the icepack lying on the floor, his arm hanging off the edge of the couch. His eye looked even worse, if that were possible, a reddened welt coming up where the towel hit. But he was breathing slow and even, no doubt due to a very late night of too much woman and booze and too little sleep. Hutch almost felt a twinge of jealousy, here he wanted to share a day with his best friend, and all Starsky could do was sleep. No doubt he was wide awake for the date last night, he thought bitterly.

Hutch shook his head, staring down at his sleeping friend with the television on behind him. What was wrong with him? What did it matter if Starsky was sound asleep or giving Hutch his full attention? What mattered was they were spending time together, away from the grind of work, riding the streets, chasing down perps, trying to stay alive just to come back and do it all over again one more day. Hutch knew they’d come too close too many times, and one day, God forbid, one or both of them may not be coming back ever again. He shuddered at the thought and leaned over to shut the tv set off, silence except for the sound of the rain hitting the roof mixed with the rumbling thunder in the distance. Hutch sighed, kneeling down to pick up the icepack, gently touching Starsky’s’ hair as he knelt and set the pack on the coffee table.

“Go ahead and sleep, buddy.” he whispered quietly so as not to wake Starsky as he pulled an afghan from a chair and draped it carefully over his sleeping friend.

Hutch found things to do by himself to pass the next couple of hours, cleaning up in the kitchen, writing out checks to pay the bills at his desk, even reorganizing his record collection. All quietly, of course, as Starsky was still fast asleep, moving only to turn over every once in a while.

But Hutch was actually beginning to feel lonely, his best friend was here, but he felt like he was all alone. This wasn’t anything new, though, as there were plenty of times in the past when Starsky was injured or sick, when Hutch spent time feeling alone even with Starsky there with him, in another room, asleep.

But this was different. Hutch had looked forward all week to spending free time with his best friend, it had been a lousy week at work and before he knew it, they’d be back at work for another crummy week. And this day wasn’t shaping up to be at all what he had expected it to be.

Hutch’s’ eyes wandered the house; maybe he’d tend to the plants in his greenhouse. He’d been so busy at work all week, and so wasted by the time he’d gotten home each night that he’d been neglecting his poor plants, and it showed.

Hutch grabbed a beer from the fridge, momentarily eyeing the contents – he was still hungry, not having had lunch yet. Quickly and quietly, he made himself a sandwich, standing over the sink to eat it. Not quite the relaxing lunch he was planning for the two of them…

Picking up a second beer, Hutch made his way into the greenhouse, leaving the door open behind him just in case the phone rang, so he could hear it and grab it before the ringing woke his partner.

He couldn’t believe Starsky was sleeping so soundly. He knew that part of it was because of the accident earlier. The other part from the night before. He always envied his partners’ ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, through any situation. It took Hutch forever to fall asleep, and as for WHERE he could crash… Hutch shook his head as he sat the beer bottle down and turned his attention to the wilted plants, humming absently to tunes in his head. He repotted some overgrown plants that were ignored for too long and watered others too dry. Hutch even tried to repair a leak in the greenhouse roof before the building storms flooded the room, working as quietly as possible on the ladder. Thunder shook the house, the lights flickering…

Starsky woke out of a sound sleep with a start. At first he was confused, what was happening? He was lying in his bed one moment, falling out hard onto the floor with a thud the next, the house shaking, rumbling. In the distance, he heard glass breaking, voice shouting, tires screeching…

What the hell was going on? Crawling across the floor on his hands and knees, he made his way to the window, broken by now, glass scattered on the floor cutting his skin as sweat poured down his face, blinding his vision.

With sudden alarm, Starsky realized what was happening. – how could he not know? It was an earthquake, in the middle of the night, and judging from the way his house was falling in around him, he knew it was a bad one. A real bad one, and California couldn’t afford any more bad earthquakes,

Coughing from the dust now spreading around him, he made it clumsily to his feet, trying desperately to keep his balance as frames from the walls fell crashing around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied his jeans, which he grabbed and pulled on, trying to keep his balance as best as possible.

The screaming outside rose in volume, and Starsky knew there was pandemonium in the streets. He didn’t even want to consider the fatalities… trying to think straight with his home falling in around him, he noticed a glint of light on the floor – his car keys! Leaning over, he snatched them up, knowing what had to be done.

He was no judge of earthquakes, no seismologist, but even Starsky knew what an earthquake of this magnitude must be doing up and down the coastline. He also knew his house was turning into a total loss, once glance around him told him that.

He also knew one more, very important thing. Chances were, he would end up as one of the fatalities, as much as he hated to face that possibility. Oh, he wouldn’t give up easily, he’d fight to the end to survive. He didn’t come all this way as a cop to surrender to Mother Natures’ fury. But if he was going to die, he needed to reach Hutch first to know he was safe, alive. To see him, touch him, tell him how much he loved him…

Starsky knew he was crazy as he bounded down the stairs from his house, seeing firsthand the destruction around him – building he saw every day near his home were now piles of burning, smoking rubble. Bodies lie everywhere, people buried under the debris, screaming for help… he knew as a policeman, and fellow human being, he should be helping to pull them free. But he knew in his heart what he had to do, what might be his last gesture in this lifetime, so avoiding the begging, pleading eyes all around him, he ran to his car, sweeping off the debris and broken glass of what once was his windshield to race off to what may be his final destination. Glancing back one last time through tear filled eyes at what once his home, his heart breaking, he wound his way through demolished streets that were, once upon a time, only minutes ago, so clean and quiet…

It seemed to take hours to reach Venice Place… there was so much destruction around him. He shook his head, wondering how a God, any God, could allow something so horrible, so devastating. There was panic in the streets, people, children, animals running every which way to escape. But there was no escape, the earth was opening up and savagely swallowing anything and everything in its’ path. It was everything he could do to keep driving to his destination, avoiding pieces of building that had fallen into the street in front of him, hoping, praying he wouldn’t be one of the unlucky swallowed into the caverns in the ground before making it to his destination…

But there it was, Venice Place… or at least the remnants of what once was Venice Place. It, too, was now a pile of smoking rubble, people running, screaming, crying out for friends, relatives, that were once in the building when it stood, now most likely crushed in the mass of stone and brick, killed as they slept. Not even knowing what hit them.

Starsky screeched the Torino to a halt in front of the… well, technically it wasn’t a building anymore. The rubble now covered the spot where Hutch always parked that beat up old tub of his… how Starsky wished now that he could see that rusted pile of junk one more time, with Hutch behind the wheel, on his way to check on Starsky. How he wished for that. He could picture it…

But he also saw the very real devastation in front of him. His heart began to race when he suddenly realized that Hutch must be in that pile of rubble. He tried to recall their last conversation, he’d called Hutch only a few hours ago, before he’d gotten into bed; he knew Hutch must’ve been sleeping when the earthquake hit, there was no way he could’ve gotten out and down the stairs in time, was there? Starsky knew if there was some way his partner could get out, he would.

Swinging his head wildly back and forth, looking up the street, he began to call out for his friend, his screams mingling with the rest of the panicked crowd. But he couldn’t find that blond head of hair, it was so dark and smoky out. California had had it, he feared, this was the biggie that was bound to destroy most of the state…

Sirens now screamed in the distance, giving Starsky a sense of hope. Help was on its’ way, he thought, a goofy grin on his face. But as soon as it appeared, it was replaced by a frown; if Hutch wasn’t out here on the street, wandering around helping injured people as Starsky knew he would be, he must still be in the pile of ruins. And all the sirens in the WORLD couldn’t help him then…

Starsky ran towards the rubble, beginning to climb it, his hands quickly torn and bleeding as he screamed over and over for Hutch, to no avail. Sweat poured down his face, blinding his eyes as fires now began to spread everywhere around him, and he coughed, choking on the smoke rising from under him. He had to find Hutch and get him out. They’d be okay, once they found each other, they’d survive all this and leave, just leave what was left of California, go somewhere safe. His thoughts strayed momentarily to Dobey and Huggy, were they still alive? Would they survive this? Most likely by now, Dobey was dead from a heart attack, and Huggy, my God…

Tears were now blinding his vision, running to mix with the sweat on his face as he pulled and tugged angrily at the bricks and stones, he knew Hutch was under all of this, he could sense it like the bond they always shared… share, he meant to think share, present tense. He couldn’t give up now, Hutch was depending on him. Had to save him. It would mean another hospital visit, another in a series in their lives. But they’d be alive. He had to find Hutch. He screamed his name over and over until he was hoarse. But so far, no Hutch.

Suddenly, a tired looking man, bleeding and bruised about Starsky’s’ age, his clothes torn and blood and dust covered appeared at Starsky’s’ side, his trembling hand on Starsky’s’ back. Starsky turned to hopefully see Hutch… but it wasn’t Hutch at all, a total stranger.

“It’s no use, mister.” he said through tears, shaking his head. “Anyone in that building is gone, under the rubble. There’s no way they could have survived, there was no warning… I’m sorry…”

Starsky looked into the man’s eyes and knew he, too, had someone dear to him in that building before it fell. A wife? Children? Maybe his best friend, like Starsky…

Starsky shook his head. “No…” he moaned, falling hard to his knees on top of the rubble. “No, he can’t be…”

“I’m sorry, fella,” the man once again apologized, tears falling down his face freely now. “I’m so sorry…”

Starsky stared off into the flames growing around them. “Hutch is gone?” he asked quietly to no one in particular. “He’s gone?” Holding his face in his bleeding hands, he sobbed, not believing but knowing in his heart. His partner, the best friend he’d ever had, was gone. He couldn’t even bring himself to utter the words he knew to be true, Hutch was dead… Hutch was dead…

Hutch’s’ mind was miles away, on what he was doing, puttering around the greenhouse, when he thought he’d heard a voice, Starsky’s’ voice, coming from the living room.

Hutch stopped pulling dead leaves from the wilted philodendron in front of him and stood very still, his head tilted to the side… there it was again! It was hard to hear anything in the greenhouse with the rain hitting the roof, the thunder crashing, everything sounding ten times louder in the small enclosure. But if he stood very still, he could hear Starsky’s’ voice from the living room.

“Starsk?” he asked quietly, coming around the corner as he headed towards the sofa. Maybe he was hearing things, for all he knew his friend was still sound asleep and hadn’t called out at all.

But as soon as he came around the front of the sofa, he knew he wasn’t hearing things. Starsky was thrashing around on the couch under the afghan, moaning and calling out for Hutch, slurring his name.

“Hush…” he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut as he tossed and turned violently.

“Starsk? Wake up!” Hutch knelt down and grabbed his friends’ flailing arms, trying to shake him awake. Starsky must be having a nightmare, one that Hutch needed to wake him from.

Starsky inhaled sharply, grabbing Hutch’s’ arms in return, his eyes fluttering wide open – well, at least his good eye, the injured eye was still a bit swollen, although if had shrunk a bit in size and wasn’t as red as it had been hours earlier. Tears were rolling down his face as though he’d been sobbing in his sleep.

He sat up, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. “Hutch… earthquake…” he whispered, trying to catch his breath. Sweat had broken out on his face to mix with the tears as he licked his dry lips and tightened his grip on Hutch’s’ arms.

Hutch ran off to the kitchen to get another glass of water, coming back to help his partner drink from it. “Slow down…” he ordered, pulling the glass away from Starsky who drank greedily, water dripping down his chin.

“You okay?” Hutch asked, sitting on the sofa next to his partner, eyeing him closely. “What happened, you have a nightmare?” he went on, rubbing Starsky’s’ arm.

Starsky’s’ breathing had evened out, but he was shaking. “Yeah, guess so…” he nodded.

“I heard you from the greenhouse,” Hutch frowned. “It must’ve been bad, wanna’ talk about it?”

Starsky rubbed his good eye with one curled fist while clasping Hutch’s’ shirt with the other, hanging on for dear life. He shook his head, avoiding Hutch’s’ worried gaze.

“I… I can’t even remember most of it.” he lied. “All I know is, it was bad… and so real…” he shuddered. He’d never lied to Hutch before, but this was different. He didn’t WANT to remember the nightmare, much less tell Hutch about it. No. Let it be, Starsk, he told himself. Hutch was all right, it was just a nightmare…

“Hey, buddy, it’s the weekend.” Hutch smiled through his concern. “No nightmares allowed.”

Starsky smiled back weakly, peering up at his friend through dark lashes. “‘kay.” he nodded. “I’ll try. Sorry, Hutch…”

“For what?” Hutch asked, frowning. “For having a nightmare?” Hutch waved him away. “Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t think I wanna’…” Starsky frowned.

“That bad, huh?”

“Got the feeling it ended up that way.” Starsky sighed, sitting up. Best to drop the subject. “Hey, I’m hungry, what’s for lunch?” Hutch was amazed how his partner could switch gears so easily…

“Lunch?” Hutch chuckled. “Try dinner, buddy.”

“Dinner?” Starsky frowned, rubbing the sleep out of his one good eye as he checked his watch.

“Yep. You slept most of the day, partner.”

“Aw, Hutch…” Starsky sighed. “I slept through our day together?”

Hutch shrugged, getting up. “No problem. You were tired.”

“Guess it’s the rain.” Starsky ventured.

“Not to mention your date…” Hutch muttered under his breath.

“Plus your eye still hurts?” Hutch asked louder. “Gave you a headache?”

Starsky smiled sheepishly as he nodded. He knew Hutch would feel guilty for days to come and didn’t want to add to his feelings of self-reproach.

“Aah, it’s okay.” Hutch waved him away again. “It’s still nice having you around, awake or asleep.”

Starsky grinned. “Betcha’ prefer me asleep.”

Hutch laughed aloud. “Well, it IS quieter that way!”

The sounds of Starsky’s’ rumbling stomach broke through the sounds of thunder, bringing smiles to both their faces.

C’mon, turkey, let me feed you before you break the sound barrier!” Hutch laughed, pulling on Starsky’s’ arm.

A relaxing dinner later, both detectives sat back on the sofa in the living room, revelling in the quiet. The slow moving storm was still going on, but was quieter – for the moment. Starsky’s’ stomach was finally sated and once again silent.

“If you ever give up your day job, you could be a chef, Hutch.” Starsky sighed, satisfied as he rubbed his stomach. “That was great, thanks.”

“Welcome, partner, but I think I’d rather keep doing what we’re doing, if it’s all the same to you. Much more interesting.” Hutch looked over to find Starsky scratching his stomach. “For the life of me, I cannot understand WHY you’re not married, dirtball.”

Starsky peered at Hutch through a slitted eye. “I could say the same for you, klutz.”

His eyes shut, Hutch lie his head back on the sofa. Both friend were quite contented to remain there for the rest of the night.

“Sorry I ruined the day.” Starsky apologized quietly once again.

“Hey, who’s the one with the thing about too much apologizing? I told you, it’s okay, no sweat.” Hutch admonished.

“Ow, damn!” Starsky sucked in through his clenched teeth after accidentally rubbing his sore eye.

“Isn’t that eye feeling better yet?” Hutch asked worriedly, sitting up to face his partner. “Lemme’ see again.” he ordered.

“It’s better, Hutch, really.” Starsky waved his friend away. “I just rubbed it too hard.” Suddenly something occurred to Starsky as he sat up with a bolt. “Oh no! I just realized something!”

“What, what?!” Hutch shouted, also sitting up straight on the sofa. “What is it?!”

“I missed the Marx Brothers marathon! Damn!”

Hutch shook his head in amazement as he stared at his partner. “I’m touched, Starsk.” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Long as you didn’t miss spending time with ME…”

Getting up, Hutch made his way around the house, angrily drawing the blinds as it was now dark out, and not just from the storm. Checking his watch, Hutch realized it was past 8:00 in the evening. Starsky, feeling guilty about messing up Hutch’s’ plans for the day, stared after him, mouth agape, ready to say something, anything. But he knew Hutch was mad and anything he could say would be taken the wrong way, so he was better off to keep silent.

Hutch snapped on a light, grabbing up a book from the end table and plopped down angrily into the chair in the corner, as far away from Starsky as he could get without actually being in a separate room.

“Hutch?” Starsky asked, barely above a whisper as he peered over the back of the couch.

“What?!” Hutch shouted through clenched teeth, hiding his face behind the book, trying to ignore his partner.

Starsky stared longingly towards his friend in the corner. A minute went by before he sighed. “Nothin’…” he muttered, turning over to lie back down on the sofa once again, pulling the pillow under his head and the afghan over his shoulders. He felt a sudden chill in the air, but he knew it wasn’t just from the temperature in the room itself. Slowly rubbing his sore eye, he chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. He was still exhausted from the night before, though, not to mention the hard week he and Hutch had on the streets, and it wasn’t long before he fell into another deep, albeit restless sleep.

Hutch slowly lowered the book in his hand, and realized that Starsky was once again lying down on the sofa as he couldn’t see his friend anymore and knew he hadn’t left the room. He could hear the even breathing of his partner in the quietness of the room.

“Starsk?” he called in as small a voice as Starsky had called Hutch’s’ name earlier. Hutch, too, was met with silence. Closing the book and lying it in his lap, he sighed. He knew he was acting like an ass. Why did he insist on Starsky’s’ full attention today? What did it matter, as long as they were together? Hutch treasured the time he and his best friend always spent together, on the job or off, but mainly in the free time that they spent together voluntarily. And he felt today was a wasted day they could have spent “together”. Why was Hutch acting so jealous, jealous of what? That Starsky chose sleep over Hutch’s’ attention?

Hutch frowned as he set the book down. Quietly he got up and made his way to the sofa, leaning over it, gently placing his hand on Starsky’s’ forehead.

Hmm. A bit warm, but no real fever, he frowned. Hutch had thought maybe Starsky wasn’t feeling well, not just from his sore eye. Apology or no, Hutch could STILL kick himself for that. It was a stupid a immature thing to have done. It was… was something STARSKY would have done…

Sighing, Hutch leaned his chin on his crossed arms on the back of the couch and spent the next few minutes watching his friend sleep, his hardened heart softening.

Hutch quietly grabbed up his guitar in the corner and, sitting back down in the chair he had occupied, set the guitar in his lap and began to strum it softly, humming a tune as low as he could. He didn’t want to wake his friend.

Hutch went on that way, humming and singing, the storm once again growing outside, for the next couple of hours.

It was around 10:30 or so when Hutch was singing, his soft voice echoing through the room as he concentrated on his guitar playing. Starsky was still asleep, having turned over numerous times, kicking the afghan off him and absently pushing the pillow onto the floor in his sleep. He was chilled as the house was gradually getting colder as the evening went on.

Starsky could swear he heard music, as he hovered between being asleep and awake. What was that? Was that Hutch? Starsky groaned as he slowly woke, is body was stiff and he was cold.

“Hutch?” he mumbled sleepily, looking around him. That’s right.. he was at Hutch’s’ place for the day. Slowly, the events of the day came back to him. His eye, that dream, the storm… ironically, thunder struck just at that moment, bringing him out of his reverie. “Hutch?” he called out again, sitting up unsteadily on the couch.

In a flash, Hutch came around the corner of the sofa, holding his guitar, a look of concern on his face.

“Starsk?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the cushion. “What is it, what’s wrong? Another nightmare?” he tenderly grasped his friends’ arm.

“Naw,” Starsky yawned. “Heard you singing, sounds nice…” Hutch could feel Starsky shivering next to him.

“Here.” he offered, picking up the pillow to hand to his friend, and tossing the afghan one-handed over Starsky, still holding onto the guitar with his other hand.

“Thanks.” Starsky yawned again. Grabbing Hutch’s’ wrist, Starsky looked him deep in his eyes. “Hutch, I really AM sorry about today.”

Hutch could see sincerity in Starsky’s’ tired baby blues. Smiling, he patted his friends’ hand. “‘s okay, buddy. You were tired today. I should’ve let you stay home instead of dragging to out in the rain like this just to keep me company.”

Starsky shook his head. “Naw, I WANTED to spend the day with you. I screwed up. Sorry I took up the sofa all day…”

“‘s okay, I’m just glad you feel comfortable enough in my house to…”

“Nuh uh,” Starsky interrupted with a sleepy frown, shaking his head. “You have a HOME, Hutch. I feel more comfortable here than in my OWN place. I always have. I feel comfortable WHEREVER you are…” he sighed.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. But Hutch wasn’t ready for the sincere compliment, and didn’t know what to say in return. Hutch averted his eyes as Starsky trained his best puppy dog look on his friend.

Hutch cleared his throat. “It’s really getting late and I think the storm’s getting worse.” he offered, checking his watch and peering towards the window.

“Mind if I stay overnight?” Starsky asked meekly. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“Of course I don’t mind, it’ll be nice to have you here tomorrow. If you don’t have any other plans, maybe if it clears up enough we can go to the beach. Can’t rain forever.” Hutch smiled with a shrug.

“Tell that to Noah!” Starsky grinned back.

“True.” Hutch began to get up from the sofa, carrying his guitar. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“Hutch?” Starsky called, reaching out for his friends’ wrist but just missing it, his hand grasping only air.

“Hmm?” Hutch turned as he stood next to the sofa.

“It’s not all that late.” Starsky sighed. “Would you… please keep playing your guitar?”

“Are you sure?” Hutch frowned. “You’ve been pretty tired today. I think you could still use some sleep, buddy.”

“Please, Hutch?” he pleaded, like a child begging to be allowed to stay just a few minutes longer. “I love hearing you sing. I promise I’ll be quiet.”

Hutch chuckled. “Don’t make promises we BOTH know you can’t keep, partner!”

Starsky did his best to look hurt, but he knew Hutch wasn’t buying the act.

“Shove over.” Hutch relented, plopping down on the couch next to Starsky. “Any requests?”

“What was that song you were just humming when I woke up?” Starsky asked with a yawn.

Hutch turned away, embarrassed, and shrugged. “Just a song I wrote…” he nearly whispered shyly.

“‘ was pretty. Sing it?” Starsky repeated, snuggling down under the afghan, close to his partner.

Hutch set the guitar on his lap once again, drawing his feet up to rest on the edge of the coffee table, and began to strum quietly as before, the soft music echoing through the room…

“There have been times when it’s been raining, when Lord, I swear, I’ve never been touched, Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, it’s just that I always seem to miss so much…

There have been times when I’ve been searching, searching in the darkness for someone to touch, Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hurting, it’s just that I always seem to miss so much…

When looking up, I find I’m one step ahead and two behind, When looking down, I see one small shadow, looks a lot like me…

There will come a time, when it’s all over, when my goodbyes become a must, No I won’t cry because I’m sorry, it’s just that I always seem to miss so much…

I’m one step ahead and two behind…”

Starsky glanced up through tired, bloodshot eyes. The night before was finally catching up with him, along with his sore, throbbing eye that was bringing on a small but building headache. Can’t tell Hutch about that, he surmised, trying to ignore the pain and enjoy Hutch’s’ song.

“That’s pretty, Hutch, ” he smiled. “What’s it called?”

“Seem To Miss So Much…” Hutch answered with a sigh. “You really like it? You’re not just being polite, are you?” he asked shyly, avoiding direct eye contact with Starsky.

Starsky feigned a dramatic gasp. “ME???” he asked, wide eyed (or at least a wide as ONE eye could be). “Moi?”

“Yeah, YOU.” Hutch laughed. “You’re my best friend, I could sing TOTALLY off key and you’d STILL tell me you loved it.”

“How will I know the difference?” Starsky grinned mischievously, his one good eye twinkling, though bloodshot.

“If you didn’t have a headache, I’d belt you one for that comment, mushmouth.” Hutch frowned.

“How’d you know…?” Starsky stammered.

“C’mon, Starsk.” Hutch sighed. “How long we’ve known each other? I can always tell when you have a headache, it’s in your eyes. Or in this case, ONE eye…” his voice drifted off, a note of guilt in it.

“Hey, we covered all this already.” Starsky admonished as he snuggled closer to his friend. “I’ll live. Jeex, I’ve been poisoned, shot…”

“Starsk, no…” Hutch shook his head with a tremble. “Don’t go there.”

“‘kay.” Starsky smiled knowingly. Had it been the other way around, he knew he’d feel the same way.

“C’mon, sing something else for me.” Starsky prodded, poking Hutch in his ribs. “Headache or not, I want entertainment.” Waiting a beat, he added, “… and you’re the best thing we got tonight.”

‘Headache or not, buddy, you’re cruisin’…”

“Yeah, yeah, for a bruisin’…” Starsky finished, waving Hutch away with a yawn. “C’mon. Blintz, sing already afore I fall asleep again…”

Hutch thought for a minute, frowning, trying to recall the ages old song he wanted to sing for his friend. It came rushing back to him, filling his head and he fingered the chords on the guitar, anxious to play it right, hoping the words came back to him. It’d been YEARS since he sang it aloud…

“Oh Danny Boy…” he began softly, the room echoing Hutch’s’ soft, lilting voice.

“The pipes, the pipes are calling, from glen to glen and down the mountainside…”

“HEY!” Starsky interjected, not really meaning to interrupt his friends’ singing. But he looked up tiredly at Hutch’s’ face.

“I love that song!” he grinned his thousand watt grin. Even as he spoke, though, his face fell somewhat. “That was pops’ favorite song…” his voice drifted off as he stared out into the dark.

“Want I should stop?” Hutch asked quietly. He didn’t mean to make his friend sad, he just loved that song and always wanted to sing it for Starsk to see how he liked it. But never had, until now.

“No,” Starsky smiled, looking back up into Hutch’s’ face. “It’s my favorite, too.” he admitted, rather shyly as though it were the worlds’ best kept secret.

Hutch’s’ eyebrows lifted questioningly. He knew Starsk could be sentimental, even an old softy, but such an old song being his favorite?

“O’Starsky?” Hutch ventured, referring to the Irish background of the tune.

Starsky burst out laughing, grabbing Hutch’s’ arm to steady himself.

“You goofball, Blondie…” he laughed.

It was good to see Starsky smile and laugh like that, Hutch thought with a grin, especially when Starsky referred to his father. Hutch knew Starsky missed his dad something terrible, and knew that would be a part of his friends’ life he may never completely understand, as Starsk never really talked much about his father. When he did, it looked as though it hurt too much, so Hutch usually changed the subject. But that was a part of Starsky’s’ life that Hutch accepted as Starsky’s’ and Starsky’s’ alone. He never questioned his partner about his dad. He knew, even as proud as Starsky was of his “pop”, it simply hurt too much to speak of him. So that was that. Case closed. End of story.

“Hutch?” Starsky asked, frowning, bringing Hutch from his thoughts.

“Hmm?” he asked, once again fingering chords softly.

“Please?” was all Starsky asked.

And once again, the strains of “Danny Boy” echoed through the quiet room, Hutch’s’ soft, clear voice singing the lyrics until he could feel the limp body of his best friend settled next to him, Starsky’s’ head falling to rest on Hutch’s’ shoulder, his dark curls tickling Hutch’s’ ear. Starsky’s’ breathing was soft and even, he was once again sound asleep. Hutch stopped singing and leaned into the soft curls…

And that was okay with Hutch, awake or asleep, having his best friend here to spend the day with him was simply the best. Once again, he silently thanked God for one more day, grateful for life ad the love of his friend.

Hutch picked up where he’d left off, humming Starsky’s’ favorite song into the night…

THE END