Waiting to Inhale

In matters of the heart, Starsky is nothing if not creative.

Written for Romankate, to her prompt “an unlikely celebration.”

In matters of the heart, Starsky is nothing if not creative.

Take anniversaries. Ever since they symbolically plighted their troth, Starsky faithfully bestowed upon Hutch a special present to mark the passing of each year, in strict adherence to the time-honored list of traditional anniversary gifts. Well, “traditional,” Starsky-style. Leave it to his partner to put his own spin on Emily Post.

First year: Paper. Starsky gave him a ticket for indecent exposure and disorderly conduct. The location of the infraction: their bedroom. The citation was issued to “the best piece of ass in the Greater Los Angeles area” and signed by “David ‘The Nightstick’ Starsky.” Hutch pretended he didn’t think that was funny.

Second year: Cotton. He got a gross of socks from his beloved (really, who sold anything by the gross anymore?), and a card saying something lewd about the size of his feet and… other parts of his anatomy.

Third year: Leather. It took Hutch almost three minutes to realize what it was, another five to figure out how it worked, and a half-hour before he stopped blushing. That particular present really got a lot of use, though….

And so it went. With each passing year, Hutch had learned to expect the unexpected.

*****

On this, their tenth year, Starsky tosses something in his lap. “Happy anniversary, Blondie.”

It is small and light, covered in what turns out to be leftover Christmas wrapping paper used wrong-side out. Hutch rips it open to find—

“Starsk?”

“I don’t think they make ’em out of actual tin anymore,” Starsky says apologetically, his expression solemn but not sad. “But it’s the thought that counts, ri—”

“Shut up. Does this mean what I think it means?”

Starsky nods and plucks the badge out of Hutch’s unresisting fingers. He rubs the still mostly-shiny surface gently with his thumb.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

Hutch closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, deeper than any he’s taken for a long time. As though he’d forgotten how and only now remembers the knack. He exhales slowly, feeling lighter than he has in a long time, too.

When he opens his eyes, Starsky is sad.

“I’m sorry.”

A wave of fear freezes Hutch’s chest. “F-For what?”

“You were ready a long time ago, weren’t you?” Starsky lays down the shield and cups his hand along the side of Hutch’s face. He rubs his thumb over Hutch’s cheek just as he did to the badge: with the same soft strokes, with wonder and a little awe, even after all this time. “I made you wait for me.”

Oh. Relief washes through Hutch, melting the ice.

Sure, he’d been ready to hang it up and walk away from the force years ago. But he would never, could never, walk away from Starsky. In truth, he’d have waited to his dying day and done it gladly, without regret. But waiting for Starsky’s dying day—waiting, wondering each day if today the job would take Starsky away—that was a different matter entirely. That had made breathing shallow a way of life. But if Starsky was serious, and he hadn’t changed his mind….

Hutch inhales again, a sweet, cleansing breath.

“You’re worth it,” Hutch says simply, and is rewarded with a smile that lights up half of Bay City. Or would, if Hutch had any intention of sharing it—which he does not.

“Wanna go down to the beach and toss ’em again?”

“No.”

Not this one. He doesn’t give a shit about his own piece of faux tin, but he’s not throwing away Starsky’s. This one was paid for in blood and sweat and determination the likes of which Hutch has never seen and is still profoundly humbled by. He quickly picks up the badge and pockets it away for safekeeping.

It is the best anniversary present he’s ever gotten, and Hutch thanks Starsky the best way he knows how.

*****

Later, Starsky leans back against the headboard and laces his fingers behind his head. “Just think, babe,” he says thoughtfully. “After our resignations go through, we’ll have a lot of time on our hands. What are we going to do?”

Hutch smiles indulgently and doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. Starsky will figure something out.

His Starsky is nothing if not creative.