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lolabobsNew Story: Liver Lamest title in the world ever.
Fandom: Starsky & Hutch Of Course!
Slash: Of Course!
Rating: They refuse to do rude for me - this will be PG-13 I guess, for swearing.
Word count: Around 7000
Notes: I started this about 18 months ago in response to a challenge on list. I don't even remember the challenge exactly, something to do with Liver is all I know (Hence the title, this has been The Liver Story for so long it stuck.). This was going to be a quick one shot response to the challenge, but the guys just kept on talking. Or rather they didn't, one day they disappeared on me and were gone for a good 9 months. (hmm, what were they doing?). Anyway, they finally came back to me and I finally finished this.
Liver
I’m never gonna drink this stuff…”
ooOoo
“What the hell is this?”
The offending item, a small red squishy ball, slammed into the wall. Hutch waited until it rolled to a halt before bending to pick it up.
“This,” he said, patience painfully obvious in his voice “is a ball.”
He placed it back on the breakfast tray, next to the cold toast and untouched glass of slightly grey milk.
The ball shot past his head again.
“I can see it’s a fucking ball, don’t treat me like an imbecile.”
“Then stop acting like one.” the words shot back at him, but when Hutch stood from retrieving the ball once more his face was still and calm.
“It’s a ball,” he said, as he placed it on the blankets and reached for the tray. “Are you done with this?” He lifted the tray from Starsky’s knees and turned to place it on the dresser. “It’s a ball,” he continued “to help build muscle. You need to get strength back in that arm, I thought it might help.”
Starsky, watching him from the bed, could see Hutch’s muscles tighten as the ball smacked him on the back of the head.
“So, what? I throw and you catch it? You gonna sit here all day and fetch it like a little retriever? Wait for me to pat you on the head and tell you you’re a good boy?”
Hutch didn’t answer, but Starsky could see the clench of his jaw, and recognized the slow deliberate way he moved as he bent once more to claim the spongy globe. Hutch straightened, holding it clenched in his fist.
“You squeeze it.” he demonstrated, knuckles whitening, then relaxed his fingers and tossed it to the bed. Starsky flinched and couldn’t hide it, and ashamed, grasped the ball a final time.
“I don’t need no stinking ball!” he prepared to throw it again, but something in Hutch’s stillness stopped him and he felt his anger drop down a notch, taking him a step further into the darkness that threatened to engulf him.
He laid down his hand. “So what,” he continued after a moment, when he could face the silence no longer. “You want me to sit around here all day playing with your ba…” he faltered, “...this? I really don’t need it.”
“Starsk,” Hutch sounded weary “try it, don’t try it. It was just a thought.” He turned to go, picking up the tray as he went.
“Hutch…”
“I’ll see you tonight Starsky.”
ooOoo
“It’s milk with dead pig in it. Why would I drink that?”
“It’s good for you Starsk, you might just like it – besides it’s not ‘dead pig’ it’s desiccated liver. And you eat meat anyway.”
“Not in milk I don’t.”
“Well, I’ll leave it here in case you change your mind.”
ooOoo
“Hutch… Hutch?”
Although he was calling out, Starsky’s voice was so quiet as to be unnoticed.
“Hutch?”
The water in his bath was getting cold and he couldn’t reach the taps; but he couldn’t quite manage to get himself out either. His insistence on walking to the corner earlier, even after an hour of physical therapy, had left him weak and incapable. He could hear Hutch pottering around in the kitchen as he prepared dinner; cleaning and wiping dishes, singing softly to himself. All it would take was one solid yell and Hutch would be in at his side.
Instead, the call came out as a whisper and he just sat there.
And ten minutes later, all Starsky had managed to do was to pull out the plug with one hairy big toe. Tired muscles which were supposed to be soothed by the warmth of the water had instead begun to seize up and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to move again.
Five more minutes and, at last, there was a brisk rap on the door.
“Soup’s ready Starsk, get a shake on.”
And eventually, finally, a head peered around the door followed by warmth from Hutch’s arms as Starsky was lifted from the tub, followed by the brisk rubbing of the towel, followed by soft, continuous scolding.
All of which combined to crush him.
And he found himself knuckling away tears as he tried to find the words he needed to explain just why he couldn’t do this anymore, why he was just too damned tired and there was no point anyway. Words that he muttered and gasped and choked into a warm collar bone; whilst safe hands stroked through his curls and held him close.
ooOoo
“Why do you keep making that stuff anyway, you know I won’t drink it.”
“You might one day.”
“I’d have thought you’d have given up by now.”
“I’ll never give up on you Starsk, you oughta know that.”
ooOoo
“That can’t be hygienic.”
“What?”
“Eating on the toilet.”
“Starsky, I’m sitting on the lid, eating from a plate. Keeping you company ‘cos you’re lonely and were too impatient to wait ‘till you’d finished your bath to eat.”
“Even so…”
“Starsky - there are more germs on your dish cloth than on your toilet seat.”
Starsky shifted incredulously, splashing water as he prevented his plate from tilting and spilling pasta shells into the tub.
“Wha…? Don’t be ridiculous.”
”It’s true, there are...”
“Phooey. My Aunt Rose would have a conniption to hear you saying such things – and as for eating on the toilet...”
“I don’t suppose she’d be pleased to see you eating in the bath either.”
“At least the bath’s clean… anyway, it’s not my fault I was brought up to respect hygiene and cleanliness.”
Hutch barked out a laugh. “This from a man who used to eat at the filthiest taco stands in the city.”
Too late.
The easy bantering atmosphere froze around them. Starsky snapped his mouth shut and lurched from the bath, sending pasta skittering across the bathroom floor and the untouched glass of off-white milk into the water.
“Whatever you say.”
Hutch watched Starsky walk unsteadily, naked and dripping from the bathroom and contemplated throwing his own uneaten meal after him. Instead he bit his lip and knelt to see to the mess. Why didn’t he think before he spoke?
A few minutes later he walked from the bathroom and piled the dirty dishes into the sink. Starsky was standing in the center of the living room and he swung around to face Hutch.
“I’m not a ‘man who used to’, Hutch.”
Hutch sighed. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“I mean look at me. What do you see, Hutch? What do you see?”
“Starsky, you’re standing there naked, there’s not a lot I don’t see.”
“For fuck’s sake! Hutch.”
Hutch ran his hand across his face. He was tired, tired of the anger and the tension, tired of having to watch everything he said, of walking on fragile ground, scared to take a step. Sometimes he yearned for the old days, for the stupid bickering and competition, for all night stakeouts followed by that one perfect moment of adrenaline. He smiled. An empty, cold smile. He spent every waking moment with this man - and sometimes he missed Starsky so much he wanted to die. He looked up at the man standing before him, shaking with impotent rage – and wondered how much he missed Dave Starsky too.
He spoke to his friend.
“I see you, Starsky, I see my partner, strong and …”
Starsky exploded. “Don’t patronize me, Hutch! What. Do you. See?”
“I see you, Starsky. My Partner.”
“Hutch…” Starsky’s voice was soft but held the familiar edge of anger. Hutch took a step closer to his partner and spoke softly.
“Okay, I see… scars. Red and loud and ugly – and they make me afraid. I see… weakness.” He felt rather than heard Starsky’s intake of breath and put his hand out to raise his chin and force Starsky to continue to look at him. “I see weakness, Starsky, but weakness that’s going to fade away. It’s a work in progress. It takes time.”
“Hutch-” Starsky began to speak, but Hutch ignored him.
“I see power too, and determination. And anger. So much anger, Starsk, that sometimes it blocks out everything else. That scares me too.” He paused, giving Starsky the time to see the truth in his eyes. “But under all that - I see you.”
“My scars are ugly.” Starsky’s voice was quiet; he sounded… resigned, disappointed.
“No.”
“You said.”
Hutch let go of Starsky’s chin and lowered his hand to the other man’s chest. He hovered uncertainly for a tiny moment, and then traced the raised skin with his fingertips, ignoring Starsky’s jagged intake of breath, ignoring his own.
“They’re part of you, that’s all.”
Starsky lifted his arm and caught hold of Hutch’s hand, pressing it flat against his chest, holding it there.
“Like you,” he whispered.
“Like you.”
ooOoo
“What exactly is it you’re afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid – it’s just… It’s meat Hutch, where meat shouldn’t be.”
“You might like it.”
”And I might not.”
“Well, it’s there if you want it. You know that.”
“I know that.”
ooOoo
Starsky wondered if Hutch knew he slept in his bed during the day. The apartment had long ceased to resemble anything he knew, what with the fold down bed behind the sofa, the piles of clean dressings, tape and muscle rub heaped on the chair, canes propped against the wall. Hutch’s clothes laying in a holdall in one corner and shucked off sneakers occupying another. Hutch had moved in when they’d finally discharged Starsky from the hospital and had been his nursemaid ever since.
Starsky appreciated it, truly. It had been weeks before he felt anything other than grateful, and even now he knew he didn’t begrudge the slight bombsite effect on his apartment. True it sometimes made it difficult for him to walk around without tripping, but on a good day he viewed it as an extra layer of challenge to his rehabilitation – and they didn’t talk about the bad day that had seen him stumble over Hutch’s bag, try to kick it, lose a cane in the process and end up falling face first into a heap of (thankfully clean) laundry. Winded from the fall and unable to get up unaided, Starsky had lain fuming for a while, before giving in to the inevitable and falling asleep. Hutch had come home and found him using a pile of his shorts for a pillow and hadn’t known what to think, although a few terse sentences from an even terser Starsky had soon made sure he did know.
After that Hutch had been a whole lot tidier around the place.
And now, Starsky could easily make it back to his room for his afternoon nap, but he somehow only ever made it as far as Hutch’s cot. It felt warmer lying there, snug, and for some reason, when he lay there he didn’t notice so much how quiet it was, didn’t even mind needing a nap in the first place.
ooOoo
“Why do you keep doing that? Every Goddamn day.”
“It’s only a milkshake.”
“I never drink it, why do you bother.”
“I make it for myself too.”
“What makes you think I’ll ever want it?”
“Just keeping the options open Starsk.”
ooOoo
“Stop nannying me Hutch. I’m as strong as you are.”
”I know you are.”
”Don’t patronize me Hutch. Come on I’ll prove it. Here and now.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous Starsky, I’m not fighting you.”
Starsky stood like a cockerel waiting to fight, chest puffed and glaring at Hutch. He jabbed at Hutch’s shoulder.
“What’s the matter? Can’t take not being in control anymore?” Jab jab.
“Starsky…” There was a tired note to Hutch’s voice.
“What's the matter huh Hutch? Don’t wanna know now I’m not a pushover anymore?”
Jab.
“Starsky.” A hand snaked out and caught the hand goading him. “I am not going to wrestle with you.”
For long moments they stood eye to eye. Starsky rigid with tension, Hutch deceptively still. Then Starsky took a step back and forced a smile, pretending there was humor in the situation.
“What about an arm-wrestle then? We can do that right here at the counter.” He swept the plates out of the way, tipping the coffee dregs and the glass of elixir down the sink to make a space.
Elbow to elbow they took the strain – then Starsky, muscles tight, gripped Hutch’s hand and pushed against an immoveable pressure. He gritted his teeth for one more push and felt an almost imperceptible give. He snapped his head up and met Hutch’s eyes.
“Don’t.”
A second, then Hutch flexed and pushed Starsky’s arm down, hard, onto the counter.
He moved to let go, but Starsky retained his hold.
“I’m sorry.”
They sat. Gladiators after combat, hands entwined and when they eventually rose it was to each other’s arms. Into a silent embrace, which, when finally broken, left Starsky breathless, comforted and – somehow - more confused than before.
ooOoo
“So, when did you first try it?”
“A long while ago.”
“How did you know about it?”
“Oh, I just experimented, found out what worked.”
“Weren’t you nervous?”
“No, it’s only... milk. Not the end of the world if I didn’t like it.”
ooOoo
“Ta daaaaa! No more canes!” The sticks went clattering across the room as Starsky cast them away with a flourish.
“What? What did the doctor say?”
“He said I’m as strong as an ox.”
”Really?”
”Yup! I’m fighting fit and on the mend!”
Hutch swallowed. “That’s great Starsk…”
”Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm Hutch; it might go to my head.”
“It’s just…”
“Just what?” The edge is back in Starsky’s voice and Hutch hates himself for putting it there.
“It’s only been a couple of months, you don’t wanna overdo it.”
Instead of the anger Hutch was expecting Starsky looked…disappointed.
”Screw you Hutch.”
ooOoo
“So, did you ever make it for anyone else?”
“Not for years, it’s hasn’t seemed worth the effort.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t any bother.”
“Ah, well, you’re the exception Starsk. Besides I want you to like it.”
ooOoo
Starsky was startled from his book as a pair of feminine hands covered his eyes from behind.
“Surprise!” a brief second, then his eyes were released and he found himself with an armful of stewardess.
“Kathy…”
“Hey there sugar,” She kissed him “you look good enough to eat.”
Hutch came into the room, He had a massive pizza box in one hand, and his other was draped around Liz? Lesley? She was blonde and pretty and anonymous. Had he dated her? He couldn’t remember.
Hutch gestured towards her with the box.
“Look who I found Starsk, Kathy’s on layover and I persuaded her and Lissie here that a quiet night in with their favorite Bay City policemen was just what they needed.”
Kathy poked Starsky (gently he noticed,) in the ribs.
”But we agreed to settle for you and Ken instead!”
”Hey!” Hutch laughed, mock indignant. “Anyway, we’ve got hot pizza, cold beer and the night is young!”
Kathy slid her arm around Starsky’s waist and bumped his hip.
“Hey Dave, Ken here tells me you haven’t been dancing in an age – I miss seeing you shake that ass of yours. Ken, forget the pizza, put some music on and Dave can show Lissie just how it’s done.”
Hutch put down the pizza, as Lissie slid from beneath his arm. She gave Starsky a knowing look and wiggled toward him.
“Oh I know just how Dave does it.” she smiled.
So, he had dated her then? He truly couldn’t remember and that would make him ashamed if he had the space to think it. Now all he could think about was escape. He disengaged himself from the women who seemed to be all over him and headed toward the door. He brushed past Hutch as he went and felt his blood begin to boil. His voice was bitter as he spoke.
“I’m sorry – I guess I must have a headache.”
He slammed the bedroom door and leant against it, waiting for the shaking to stop. He could hear the whispers from the room beyond, heard Hutch’s muted excuses and Kathy’s plaintive “But I wanted to see him.” as Hutch ushered them out. He knew he’d been rude and, now the girls had gone, was prepared to apologize. He wasn’t ready, however, for the door to slam open, or for Hutch to grip his arms and hiss “What the fuck was that?”
He felt the rage take over again; was used to it, it was easy.
”You pimping for me now as well Hutch, huh? It’s not enough that you do everything else?”
“What!? I bumped into the girls at The Pits, they asked after you and I thought you’d want to see them, I thought it might cheer you up and break you out of this stinking mood.”
”Yeah, ‘cos a pity fuck’s always gonna do that.”
Hutch released his arms and turned away from him “They’re your friends Starsky for Christ’s sake!” He swung back around and glared at Starsky. “I thought maybe if you saw someone other than me it might make you a little less goddamned miserable all the time.”
“If you’re fed up seeing me ‘miserable’ you can always go back home and stop nurse-maiding me. I’m sick of your…your pity. You’re like my social secretary. Keeping the invalid amused. Huggy on Tuesday, Dobey on Thursday and, hey! Now we’ve got fucking on Fridays. For God’s sake Hutch, don’t get your pages mixed up else I might end up trying to screw Dobey into the mattress.”
They stood, toe to toe, brow to brow. Hutch was flushed red around his neck and Starsky could see his fists compulsively clenching.
“I wouldn’t have to arrange things…”
“You don’t have to...”
“I wouldn’t have to arrange things if you ever left the apartment.”
Starsky barked an incredulous laugh.
”If I ever left? I’m never here. I’m at the Doc’s or physical therapy every damn day. Swimming or lifting weights, blowing into bloody tubes and...”
”Yes, and you get driven there and get driven back. Huggy might as well paint his car yellow.”
Starsky felt his face blanch “Well I’m sorry to be so damned inconvenient.”
Hutch let out a shuddering breath.
”You’ve got to start seeing people Starsk; it can’t just be me all the time.”
Starsky reacted without thought.
“I never asked you; Jesus Hutch! If you’ve had enough, then go back home. Leave me and my miserable fucking face in peace.”
Hutch gazed at him, his rage seemed to have dripped from his fingertips and when he spoke it was calmly and without inflection.
“I think I’m gonna have to Starsk. ‘Cos this just isn’t working.”
He walked from the bedroom, and Starsky heard him walking around outside, picking up his coat and gathering his keys. Overcome with nausea and gripped with a screaming panic Starsky burst into the room, then stuck at the doorway.
“Don’t go.”
His voice was quiet, but it froze Hutch in his tracks. He answered without turning to him.
”I won’t. But, Starsk…”
”I know, Hutch. I’m trying.”
“I know.”
Starsky stepped into the room, and carefully, slowly, walked toward Hutch. He stopped behind Hutch and looked at the bowed head. He hesitated and it made him mad. When did he get scared to touch his friend? When did he get so scared of everything? Stupid question, but then everything he did these days was stupid. He reached out, meaning to take the keys from Hutch’s hand, meaning to draw him back into their home, but instead he took another step forward and wrapped his arms tentatively around Hutch’s waist. He stood there, waiting for Hutch to shrug him off, to pull away. Instead he felt Hutch trembling beneath him and suddenly knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Hutch would have gone. Would have walked away from him and left him there. Not from anger or spite, but because he believed it needed to be done. He knew it, and knew it would kill them both. Starsky shivered and wrapped himself completely around his partner.
”Don’t go.”
ooOoo
“What are you staring at?”
“Nothin’, just watching you making that glop”
“It’s the same thing I do every day.”
“I know, I’m just checking out what exactly it is that’s on offer.”
“Same as it ever was Starsk, same as it ever was.”
ooOoo
Starsky was a ball of nervous energy as Hutch prepared breakfast. He watched as, reaching into the refrigerator Hutch pulled out butter, eggs and cheese and started to mix an omelet. Leaving it to rest he headed back to the ‘fridge and took out yesterday’s glass and a carton of milk. His movements were functional and practiced as he tipped away the untouched shake, rinsed out the glass and started over. He sprinkled in the herbs, the dried liver and the various other ingredients, stirring as it turned the bright milk the dingy gray color Starsky was used to. He poured it into two glasses and offered one silently to Starsky. As Starsky ignored the outstretched arm, in a pattern that had fast become a ritual, Hutch shrugged
“No? Well I’ll put in the fridge in case you want it later.” and turned to the hob to cook the omelet, taking sips from his own drink as he did so. He spoke to Starsky, raising his voice over the clatter of cutlery and sizzling egg.
“Are you nervous?”
“Nervous?” Starsky’s voice was slightly higher than normal, belying his words.
“Why would I be? I’m at the peak of physical fitness. Even Ali couldn’t take me. I am the greatest! I… ”
He paused and shot a sheepish look at his partner. “I wish you could come.”
Hutch busied himself with the plates, hiding his inability to make eye contact by serving the eggs.
“I, uh, so do I pal, um, Dobey. I. Huggy’ll be over at 10 to drive you over.”
He knew it was stupid, he knew Starsky was capable, could pass the assessments without difficulty, but he couldn’t be there just in case he didn’t. And what sort of friend did that make him? He pushed the egg around his plate, watching as Starsky, nerves notwithstanding, devoured his in a flash.
Hutch rose from the counter, grabbing his gun and shrugging into his jacket. He paused at the door. “Call me though? When you’re through?”
Starsky smiled at him as he went, and Hutch was out of the door before he heard the muttered “Chicken.” that followed him down the stairwell.
ooOoo
“Some people would say it was wrong.”
“What?”
“Messing with the milk, they’d say it wasn’t natural.”
“Since when have you cared what people think?”
“I don’t it’s just...”
“Besides, everything I’m offering you *is* natural. Just different than you're used to.”
ooOoo
Starsky walked along with a bounce in his step and shining eyes. Carrying a large box in his arms, he struggled when he reached the door, but managed to let himself in without tilting it.
“Huuuutch! You’ll never guess what.”
He yelled through to the kitchen, knowing Hutch was home because of the car on the street and jacket he could see strewn over the couch.
“Where the fuck have you been?” The words were bellowed at him as Hutch marched in from the kitchen and turned to face him, glaring and jabbing a finger at him.
“Downstairs – Hutch, you’ll never guess who I…”
“Downstairs?” Hutch interrupted him, incredulous. “I’ve been here nearly an hour.”
“It’s only – oh,” Starsky glanced at the clock sheepishly “4.30! Oops! I’m only a bit late, Hutch. I got cheesecake, and I met -.”
He stopped abruptly when the cheesecake box was knocked from his hands as Hutch gripped his shoulders.
“Goddamn it Starsk… you can’t just disappear like that. What happened here? Have you seen this place? “
Starsky was bewildered. “This place is the way you left it this morning when you couldn’t find your keys remember? I decided I wasn’t gonna clear up after you for once.” He glanced up at Hutch, recognizing the look in his eyes for the panic it was. He rested his hands lightly at his friend’s waist.
“I popped downstairs; in the box” he grimaced at the battered carton upside down on the floor “was a cheesecake, for after dinner. I have something to tell you.”
“What?” Hutch started to back away but Starsky’s hands at his waist effectively pinned him to the spot.
Starsky waited ‘till he had Hutch’s attention, then spoke softly.
”It’s over Hutch,” he raised one hand up to cup a cheek. “You’ve gotta let go. I’ve been cleared and I’m coming back to work. You’ve gotta step back.” He paused, feeling Hutch trembling beneath his hands.
“You’ve gotta let me come back Hutch.”
ooOoo
“What’s it taste like anyway?”
“There’s one way to find out...”
“No, I, I was just wondering.”
“It tastes like milk Starsky, just like milk.”
“But there’s...”
“There’s ... an extra tang. It’s all good Starsk. Trust me.”
ooOoo
So, it was his First Day Back, and despite all his calm, cool words to Hutch on the subject, Starsky felt his stomach rolling over and skipping every time he thought of walking through the Department doors again. Which probably explained why he was still in the bathroom, staring at scarred skin through a steam shrouded looking -glass, instead of ready and waiting for his ride.
The apartment was quiet, empty, and he was alone. He’d become obsessed that it had to be this way, convinced that something would go wrong if it wasn’t. He knew Hutch hadn’t really seen it at first and Starsky wasn’t sure he understood even now, but, having recognized this as something Starsky wanted, Hutch had taken himself off home late last evening so that Starsky could spend the preceding night alone.
Starsky knew it was stupid, but it had taken on a superstitious importance and in the end he’d had to bite the bullet and ask Hutch to go, even if just for that night.
“I just think it’ll be bad luck if we see each other before…”
”We’re going to work Starsk, not getting married.”
And if, Starsky thought defensively, he’d decided to blame the judder in his stomach at that thought on pre work nerves and nothing more confusing, then who could blame him?
He didn’t need any more confusion anyway. He’d spent what seemed like years working towards this day; yearning to go back to work, fully fit and signed off from all doctors, physical therapists and shrinks. To be ready to leap straight back into it with his head raised high. To give a clear signal to Günther and those like him who thought they could rule by fear and violence and intimidation. It had been his one and only focus through sweat soaked nights and those quiet moments of desperation when only Hutch’s hand on his shoulder had held him together. It had been a challenge which he’d accepted fully and with his usual determination.
So he couldn’t understand why the thought of going back made his heart sink. He wasn’t scared. He never had been scared for himself anyway; he knew, even now, that nothing could hurt as much as losing those he loved. Prudholm’s murder of Terry had shown him that. And last night, alone and pensive, he’d examined his conscience fully and known that he truly wasn’t afraid.
At least; not of injury.
He swallowed and gazed once more at his reflection. He’d grown accustomed to his scars. His anxiety at the look of them had passed once his anger began to fade. Now they were, well, like Hutch said, part of who he was, a part of his history. Nothing about his physicality mattered to him. Not really. He was still in trim, the towel tucked around his hips and highlighting his abdominal muscles showed him that. The hairs on his chest showed no trace of gray, and the hours of therapy had left his shoulders and arms well defined despite his injury. The same as before? Of course not, but it didn’t matter. His body was there, as it should be, and it was what it was.
He’d always known he was good looking. His Momma had told him so from an early age and he’d accepted it without vanity. And the women he met, who told him so in their own, very different, way – well that was all to the good, but it never dominated who he was. He didn’t have Hutch’s beauty, but he knew his strengths and assessed them honestly.
So when he gazed at his reflection it wasn’t his body that caught his attention it was the man inside – and now he knew he had spent too long with Hutch, because that was absolutely the sort of thing he’d say, and it made about as much sense.
So he huffed at the glass and scrubbed a towel roughly across his curls. He was going to work and Hutch was gonna skin him alive if he didn’t get a move on.
Uncertainty could wait for another day.
ooOoo
“See the thing is I really like milk.”
“This *is* milk.”
“This is milk… with extras.”
“It’s all good stuff Starsk, the extras are all good.”
“But what if I don’t like it?”
“Huh?”
“What if I don’t like the extra stuff? The milk’ll be ruined then.”
“Well then you can pour another glass. Starsky, there’ll always be milk.”
ooOoo
Starsky heard his front door slam, followed by Hutch’s exasperated voice.
”Starsky! I thought you wanted to swing by Huggy’s on the way in?”
It was true, Starsky had been anticipating a ‘surprise’ breakfast celebration all week, recognizing that Huggy would break his anti-morning habit for only special occasions; knowing that today met that criteria. And knowing that, at that moment, he could think of nothing worse.
“Yeah, well I guess it took me longer to wake up without you clumping around out here.” He grinned to cover his lack of enthusiasm, “I’ll grab some candy from the machine at work.”
“Yeah sure, candy’s a real healthy start to the day. Come on Starsk, you gotta…”
“Lay off Hutch, alright? I’ll eat some yoghurt or something later; I’m just running late that’s all.” Starsky tried to soften the bite in his voice. “Go grab yourself a coffee, I’ll be ready soon.”
Listening from the bedroom, as he buttoned his shirt, Starsky heard the rattle of mugs on the counter and the clink of glass as his ‘fridge door opened. Stepping out as he zipped his pants, he walked into the kitchen and stopped as he caught Hutch in the act of emptying out the glass tumbler.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving you from a bout of food poisoning. You’ll have to clear out your fridge now and then Starsk now I’m not always going to be around to do it.” He put the rinsed out glass on the drainer and dried his hands. “You ready to go?”
Starsky watched the thick and now somewhat globular liquid as it washed down the drain and again swallowed his doubts. He raised his voice as he issued a challenge.
“Sure thing Hutch, question is, are you? Can you cope with the pace now I’m back in the saddle? I won’t tolerate any slacking off you know, no passengers.”
Hutch grinned, “Okay Tonto, whatever you say.”
“Heyy!! Tonto was the horse! I’m the Lone Ranger.”
“Tonto wasn’t the horse, idiot! That was Silver. Tonto was the loyal sidekick.” Hutch strode to the door, holding it open impatiently “Now come on!”
Starsky swallowed, then took a deep breath and charged from the apartment, yelling as he did so.
“Hi Ho Silver, Away!”
ooOoo
“What? Hutch where’s the shake?”
“You mean the bacteria in a glass?”
“The shake... it was there, waiting.”
“It had gone off, Starsk, I poured it away.”
“I was gonna... Hutch... I was gonna...”
“Looks like I saved you from a big mistake there buddy – you left it too long.”
“I’m... too late?”
ooOoo
Driving in the car to work and Starsky still wasn’t sure how come he ended up riding shotgun in Hutch’s beat up piece of shit of a car on his first day back.
“I miss the Torino.”
“Yeah, well, Günther’s goons didn’t.”
And that was another thing, where did Hutch get off thinking he could make a joke about something so serious? He did miss the Torino. He missed the feeling of invincibility the car had always given him. Now? Now he felt vulnerable and he hated it. Hated the confusion, hated feeling uncertain, and hated the doubt that currently made up his life.
He scooted round in his seat to catch Hutch looking at him anxiously. He did that all the time now. Last night, before he’d left, he’d started talking about being safe, about taking risks, about tempting the fates, taunting Dame Fortune. At first Starsky had thought he was doing it on purpose, trying to wind him up with tales of superstition and woe – until that is, Hutch had bought out a vest and suggested they start wearing them on the job.
“I’ll wear one too… it’s not about you… it’s just, it’s getting dangerous out there Starsk and…”
That had ended when Starsk had taken the vest from Hutch under the guise of trying it on, walked to the door and thrown it down the steps into the street. As Hutch had gone to retrieve it, Starsky had put a playful boot to his behind and closed the door behind him, calling out an instruction that he be on time in the morning to pick him up.
And with Hutch gone, Starsky had sat on the couch all evening, going over the next day in his head. He’d be damned if he’d wear a vest. Günther’s bullets had failed to kill him once; he wouldn’t let them do it now. His body had survived, and so would his spirit. David Starsky didn’t wear bullet proof vests.
Now, if he could get himself a Hutch-proof one….
Starsky looked across at the man in question and realized that his protracted silence wasn’t helping to dispel any idea that he was nervous about the day ahead. He searched around for something to say that would get them through the awkwardness.
And instead found himself telling the truth.
“I missed you.”
Hutch looked at him curiously.
“I only moved out last night”
”Yeah well, you make too much noise.”
“Huh?” Hutch raised an eyebrow at him.
“It was too quiet without you. I couldn’t sleep.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I’m used to,” he paused, and the little niggle of doubt he pretended wasn’t there, won. He took a breath then went on, “I’m used to your snoring.”
Hutch reacted as expected.
“I do not snore!”
“You do too! I heard you!”
“Through solid walls Starsk?”
“I know!” he grinned, all eyebrows and mischief. “I could hardly believe it!”
He grinned, hitched his feet up onto the dash and settled in for the ride.
He could do this.
ooOoo
“I miss your glop too.”
“You never drank it.”
“I liked knowing it was there for me.”
“S’always there for you Starsk – all you gotta do is...”
”I liked having it there all the time. Now it’s gone, and the fridge is kinda empty... ya know?”
ooOoo
“What do you want, a medal?” Dobey was glaring at them across his desk top – the full on, patented Dobey glower, which he accentuated by waving a fist full of paperwork at them.
“I don’t know Cap’n.” Hutch grinned at his partner “I think we deserve one don’t you Starsk?”
“You deserve a week in traffic, is what you deserve, what’ve I told you about sticking to the rules?”
Dobey started ruffling through the complaints in front of him; everything was as it had been before.
“Oh C’mon Cap’n, Starsk and I might not follow the rules, but we get results.” Hutch nudged Starsky, still high on the adrenalin from their latest bust. “Ain’t that right Buddy?”
And then suddenly Starsky knew.
No, not suddenly, anything but suddenly in fact. Now the early morning navel gazing; the stupid self-motivating pep talks he had to give himself every day, the boredom, all came together in one bright, terrifying picture.
“Hutch, I...” he rose, looked from Hutch to Dobey and back again. Sat down, looked at his hands, and then rose again. “I don’t wanna do this no more.”
Three big busts in as many weeks; including one case that had been lingering for months. He and Hutch in complete tune with one another. One goes high, one goes low. He’s Starsky, I’m Hutch. Recognition from old faces, growing trepidation from new. A reputation only enhanced by his taking Günther’s bullets and fighting on another day. Harder, quicker, tougher, faster.
Hollow.
Months of not knowing who he was, of nothing making sense, of understanding nothing other than “I’m a cop, and I’m going back.”
Everything else was confusing and overwhelming. Anger and doubt and loss. And one focus. Just one. Get back and it would all be alright. David Starsky would be who he was again, and the nightmares and the doubts would dissolve. Hutch would be just Hutch again and together they’d work it out. There’d be no more questioning, no more rage, no more emptiness.
And he couldn’t do it. No, not couldn’t, didn’t want to. Today’s bust showed that he could do it, perfectly well in fact, the flash of instinct he’d had proving the key to the whole mystery; he and Hutch flying into action, seamless and smooth.
He looked at his partner, at his boss and wanted to laugh. Or cry. The look of dismay on Hutch’s face was comical, more so when partnered with the understanding smile worn by Dobey. And that was unfair. It wasn’t funny, he knew that; he knew he didn’t want to think of Hutch out there alone, but he also knew he couldn’t be out there with him anymore.
“Hutch... I...”
How could he explain? That it wasn’t about fear or inability or self doubt. It wasn’t about trust or working with the man he loved, or loving the man he worked with. How could he explain that the fire had gone? Why would Hutch ever believe that the man who punched walls in anger, who raged against injustice and fought every step of the way no longer felt the passion? How could he believe it was anything other than a hangover from the shooting? How could he explain it when he didn’t understand why himself?
All he knew was that it didn’t fulfill him anymore. That what he did between 9 and 5 now was just a job. And when was he a man who ever just did a job?
He felt a finger catch his chin and raised his face to meet Hutch’s steady gaze, felt the blue eyes scan his own, reading him. Knowing him.
“Time to break out those want ads, eh Starsk?”
Knowing him.
ooOoo
“I could give you the recipe.”
“It tastes better when you do it.”
“You never drank it!”
”I thought about it. A lot.”
“You did?”
“All the time, lately.”
ooOoo
“I used to … I used to be a cop…” Starsky glanced up at Hutch, “Don’t know if I’m gonna like saying that.”
Starsky was standing at the door, watching Hutch comb his hair in front of the mirror in the hallway.
“Then don’t. Why focus on the past? What you’ve lost? Focus on what’s here and now.” Hutch was running late.
“’Cos ‘I used to be a cop’ sounds a lot more impressive than ‘I’m a youth worker.”
“Well who exactly are you trying to impress here?”
“Huh?” Starsky raised his eyes to meet Hutch’s in the reflection.
“You said it sounds more impressive – who’re you trying to impress?”
“No-one, but…”
“So, it doesn’t matter.” Hutch pushed past him, straightening his collar.
”It doesn’t matter?” Starsky queried.
“Not like...”
“It doesn’t matter?” Starsky’s tone matched his eyebrows, high and raised, and was enough to stop Hutch in his tracks.
“Not in the sense of…”
“Being a cop was my whole life Hutch. It kinda matters to me.”
“I didn’t mean it like tha…” Hutch paused, and then queried, “Your whole life?”
“Well…” Starsky looked serious.
“So – what… what’s left?”
“That’s what I had to find out Hutch, I think that’s why, well, part of why…”
“Why…?”
“Why I’ve been such an asshole for so long.”
Hutch opened his mouth to speak, but Starsky continued.
“See, I’m better now. I’ve got the all clear you know, no more docs, no more physical therapy, no more shrink…”
”No more me?” Hutch’s voice was quiet, successfully hiding, he hoped, his sinking heart.
Starsky appeared not to have heard him.
“’Cos you’ve been looking after me so good, for month and months and, well, I’m not your partner no more, and I don’t need a nurse no more.” he paused.
“And?” Hutch urged him on.
“And well, I’m all better now.”
“Oh.”
“But…” Starsky looked at the floor rather than meet Hutch’s eyes, and paused once more.
Hutch wanted to run, wanted to leave, anything to avoid this conversation ending the way it had to. Instead, masochist that he was, he prodded it along further.
“What?”
Starsky shuffled his feet a little, still refusing to look directly at Hutch. “Now I’m a ‘Youth Worker’,” he continued “it’s not very impressive, it’s not…” the last few words stumbled from his mouth, “s’not gonna need a lot of back up is it?”
Hutch felt his stomach lurch.
“Oh. So you don’t need… is that what you’re saying?”
”So it’s not…”
”Is that why?”
They spoke together in a jumble of words, before Starsky went on
“And you’ve been talking about leaving, and the shrink says I’m fine and so I guess you could go.” He raised his head at last and met Hutch’s eyes, and then it was Hutch who looked away. Unable to bear the embarrassment he saw there. Why was he making his friend say these things? He should have realized.
”Well, if you don’t need m... but. Well, um” Hutch stammered, annoyed with himself.
“Thing is…” Starsky pushed on. “‘I used to be a cop’ means I used to have a partner and…”
“Yeah I heard you.” Hutch interrupted, annoyed too with Starsky now “I’m not your partner anymore and you don’t need a nursemaid. I heard you the first time Starsk, no need to go over it. I’m... “he muttered the last words. “I guess I used to be a friend.”
“But I don’t wanna used to…” Starsky stopped mid sentence. “What?”
“I heard ya Starsky, being a cop was your whole life. That’s over. I’m not needed anymore; nursemaid, partner – all done with. Time to move on.” His voice was bitter, “Time to impress.”
Starsky looked at him, managing to look injured and incredulous when he was the one ruining Hutch’s life.
“I’m try’na say something here Hutch and you’re…”
Hutch glared, beginning to understand why Starsky had found anger so much easier to deal with than weakness.
“I think you’ve said it pretty plain don’t you think?”
“Yeah, well if I have I don’t think you’ve been listening.” Starsky snapped back.
“Yeah? Well maybe it’s not what I want to hear? Maybe... Jesus Starsk, how long have we…? I thought… So long and sayonara? Really?”
“What? Have you got rocks in your head?”
Hutch was speechless. Starsky continued exasperation in his voice.
“Jeeze, no wonder I hate soapy scenes.”
“Starsky? What? Soapy scenes?” Hutch felt completely wrong footed. “Just what are you trying to say to me? ‘Cos it hasn’t sounded very soapy to me so far.”
Starsky hesitated, but then continued, quieter now, but clearly determined to finish.
“I’m not – I’m not the same as I was no more Hutch, not a cop, not your partner - but I’m still me. I guess I’m trying to ask if you’re still…”
“Thee?” Hutch murmured.
“Well, kinda. It’s just… I’ve been a fucking invalid for so long, and you, well…” he sighed, “I don’t got no bandages to change no more Hutch, I’ve got no cane but I still” he swallowed, “I still need you to lean on.”
Hutch breathed out, incredulous “And you get that by saying goodbye? I think you’re the one with rocks in your head!”
“It’s not easy for me Hutch! I’m...” Starsky mumbled the words, “I got nothing to offer any more.”
”Starsk?” Hutch nudged Starsky’s face upwards with a finger under his chin.
“It’s always been us as cops, me backing you up…” Starsky smiled weakly, “my brain and your brawn! It’s just, now I’m not.” He paused again, then burst out “It’s stupid, when you were nursing me it made me so mad but. You, I, I mean, we had a reason. Now there’s no reas…“
“You” Hutch cut across him.
“What?”
“You’re the reason. Dumbass.”
Starsky looked up at him, and Hutch raised his hand to cup his cheek, and then continued.
“It’ll change. I’ll miss working with you but… I can cope without Cop Starsky or Sick Starsky; I could do with a little less Dumbass Starsky, but No Starsky? It’s not negotiable.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Jesus.”
“Hutch.” Starsky started to speak, but Hutch cut across him.
“You used to be a cop. You used to be my partner. You’re still my Starsky, my friend, my…”
Now it was Starsky’s turn to interrupt.
“Your what?”
“My,” Hutch took a breath, then released it and stroked Starsky’s cheek, gently, softly before he continued, “You’re Mine. Just - Mine.”
ooOoo
“Do I gotta drink it every day?”
“No, not if you don’t want to.”
“What if I do want to?”
“It’ll always be there for you if you want it.”
”What if I can’t live without it?”
“We’ll manage that too.”
ooOoo
And it seemed nothing more than natural than to whisper their lips together. Hutch’s hand cupping his cheek, his fingertips in Starsky’s hair, holding him anchored, making him safe. Natural to edge forward till his forehead rested gently on Hutch’s to softly continue the kiss. Natural to close his eyes and forget the rules, forget his fears and just meet the soft lips. Natural to realize that a kiss he thought would shatter him was instead healing him.
And natural to pull apart and gaze, not in wonder at each other, but with sheepish grins; smiles that wouldn’t stay hidden and affection that wouldn’t disappear.
“Yours, huh?”
“Mine.”
Fandom: Starsky & Hutch Of Course!
Slash: Of Course!
Rating: They refuse to do rude for me - this will be PG-13 I guess, for swearing.
Word count: Around 7000
Notes: I started this about 18 months ago in response to a challenge on list. I don't even remember the challenge exactly, something to do with Liver is all I know (Hence the title, this has been The Liver Story for so long it stuck.). This was going to be a quick one shot response to the challenge, but the guys just kept on talking. Or rather they didn't, one day they disappeared on me and were gone for a good 9 months. (hmm, what were they doing?). Anyway, they finally came back to me and I finally finished this.
I’m never gonna drink this stuff…”
“What the hell is this?”
The offending item, a small red squishy ball, slammed into the wall. Hutch waited until it rolled to a halt before bending to pick it up.
“This,” he said, patience painfully obvious in his voice “is a ball.”
He placed it back on the breakfast tray, next to the cold toast and untouched glass of slightly grey milk.
The ball shot past his head again.
“I can see it’s a fucking ball, don’t treat me like an imbecile.”
“Then stop acting like one.” the words shot back at him, but when Hutch stood from retrieving the ball once more his face was still and calm.
“It’s a ball,” he said, as he placed it on the blankets and reached for the tray. “Are you done with this?” He lifted the tray from Starsky’s knees and turned to place it on the dresser. “It’s a ball,” he continued “to help build muscle. You need to get strength back in that arm, I thought it might help.”
Starsky, watching him from the bed, could see Hutch’s muscles tighten as the ball smacked him on the back of the head.
“So, what? I throw and you catch it? You gonna sit here all day and fetch it like a little retriever? Wait for me to pat you on the head and tell you you’re a good boy?”
Hutch didn’t answer, but Starsky could see the clench of his jaw, and recognized the slow deliberate way he moved as he bent once more to claim the spongy globe. Hutch straightened, holding it clenched in his fist.
“You squeeze it.” he demonstrated, knuckles whitening, then relaxed his fingers and tossed it to the bed. Starsky flinched and couldn’t hide it, and ashamed, grasped the ball a final time.
“I don’t need no stinking ball!” he prepared to throw it again, but something in Hutch’s stillness stopped him and he felt his anger drop down a notch, taking him a step further into the darkness that threatened to engulf him.
He laid down his hand. “So what,” he continued after a moment, when he could face the silence no longer. “You want me to sit around here all day playing with your ba…” he faltered, “...this? I really don’t need it.”
“Starsk,” Hutch sounded weary “try it, don’t try it. It was just a thought.” He turned to go, picking up the tray as he went.
“Hutch…”
“I’ll see you tonight Starsky.”
“It’s milk with dead pig in it. Why would I drink that?”
“It’s good for you Starsk, you might just like it – besides it’s not ‘dead pig’ it’s desiccated liver. And you eat meat anyway.”
“Not in milk I don’t.”
“Well, I’ll leave it here in case you change your mind.”
“Hutch… Hutch?”
Although he was calling out, Starsky’s voice was so quiet as to be unnoticed.
“Hutch?”
The water in his bath was getting cold and he couldn’t reach the taps; but he couldn’t quite manage to get himself out either. His insistence on walking to the corner earlier, even after an hour of physical therapy, had left him weak and incapable. He could hear Hutch pottering around in the kitchen as he prepared dinner; cleaning and wiping dishes, singing softly to himself. All it would take was one solid yell and Hutch would be in at his side.
Instead, the call came out as a whisper and he just sat there.
And ten minutes later, all Starsky had managed to do was to pull out the plug with one hairy big toe. Tired muscles which were supposed to be soothed by the warmth of the water had instead begun to seize up and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to move again.
Five more minutes and, at last, there was a brisk rap on the door.
“Soup’s ready Starsk, get a shake on.”
And eventually, finally, a head peered around the door followed by warmth from Hutch’s arms as Starsky was lifted from the tub, followed by the brisk rubbing of the towel, followed by soft, continuous scolding.
All of which combined to crush him.
And he found himself knuckling away tears as he tried to find the words he needed to explain just why he couldn’t do this anymore, why he was just too damned tired and there was no point anyway. Words that he muttered and gasped and choked into a warm collar bone; whilst safe hands stroked through his curls and held him close.
“Why do you keep making that stuff anyway, you know I won’t drink it.”
“You might one day.”
“I’d have thought you’d have given up by now.”
“I’ll never give up on you Starsk, you oughta know that.”
“That can’t be hygienic.”
“What?”
“Eating on the toilet.”
“Starsky, I’m sitting on the lid, eating from a plate. Keeping you company ‘cos you’re lonely and were too impatient to wait ‘till you’d finished your bath to eat.”
“Even so…”
“Starsky - there are more germs on your dish cloth than on your toilet seat.”
Starsky shifted incredulously, splashing water as he prevented his plate from tilting and spilling pasta shells into the tub.
“Wha…? Don’t be ridiculous.”
”It’s true, there are...”
“Phooey. My Aunt Rose would have a conniption to hear you saying such things – and as for eating on the toilet...”
“I don’t suppose she’d be pleased to see you eating in the bath either.”
“At least the bath’s clean… anyway, it’s not my fault I was brought up to respect hygiene and cleanliness.”
Hutch barked out a laugh. “This from a man who used to eat at the filthiest taco stands in the city.”
Too late.
The easy bantering atmosphere froze around them. Starsky snapped his mouth shut and lurched from the bath, sending pasta skittering across the bathroom floor and the untouched glass of off-white milk into the water.
“Whatever you say.”
Hutch watched Starsky walk unsteadily, naked and dripping from the bathroom and contemplated throwing his own uneaten meal after him. Instead he bit his lip and knelt to see to the mess. Why didn’t he think before he spoke?
A few minutes later he walked from the bathroom and piled the dirty dishes into the sink. Starsky was standing in the center of the living room and he swung around to face Hutch.
“I’m not a ‘man who used to’, Hutch.”
Hutch sighed. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“I mean look at me. What do you see, Hutch? What do you see?”
“Starsky, you’re standing there naked, there’s not a lot I don’t see.”
“For fuck’s sake! Hutch.”
Hutch ran his hand across his face. He was tired, tired of the anger and the tension, tired of having to watch everything he said, of walking on fragile ground, scared to take a step. Sometimes he yearned for the old days, for the stupid bickering and competition, for all night stakeouts followed by that one perfect moment of adrenaline. He smiled. An empty, cold smile. He spent every waking moment with this man - and sometimes he missed Starsky so much he wanted to die. He looked up at the man standing before him, shaking with impotent rage – and wondered how much he missed Dave Starsky too.
He spoke to his friend.
“I see you, Starsky, I see my partner, strong and …”
Starsky exploded. “Don’t patronize me, Hutch! What. Do you. See?”
“I see you, Starsky. My Partner.”
“Hutch…” Starsky’s voice was soft but held the familiar edge of anger. Hutch took a step closer to his partner and spoke softly.
“Okay, I see… scars. Red and loud and ugly – and they make me afraid. I see… weakness.” He felt rather than heard Starsky’s intake of breath and put his hand out to raise his chin and force Starsky to continue to look at him. “I see weakness, Starsky, but weakness that’s going to fade away. It’s a work in progress. It takes time.”
“Hutch-” Starsky began to speak, but Hutch ignored him.
“I see power too, and determination. And anger. So much anger, Starsk, that sometimes it blocks out everything else. That scares me too.” He paused, giving Starsky the time to see the truth in his eyes. “But under all that - I see you.”
“My scars are ugly.” Starsky’s voice was quiet; he sounded… resigned, disappointed.
“No.”
“You said.”
Hutch let go of Starsky’s chin and lowered his hand to the other man’s chest. He hovered uncertainly for a tiny moment, and then traced the raised skin with his fingertips, ignoring Starsky’s jagged intake of breath, ignoring his own.
“They’re part of you, that’s all.”
Starsky lifted his arm and caught hold of Hutch’s hand, pressing it flat against his chest, holding it there.
“Like you,” he whispered.
“Like you.”
“What exactly is it you’re afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid – it’s just… It’s meat Hutch, where meat shouldn’t be.”
“You might like it.”
”And I might not.”
“Well, it’s there if you want it. You know that.”
“I know that.”
Starsky wondered if Hutch knew he slept in his bed during the day. The apartment had long ceased to resemble anything he knew, what with the fold down bed behind the sofa, the piles of clean dressings, tape and muscle rub heaped on the chair, canes propped against the wall. Hutch’s clothes laying in a holdall in one corner and shucked off sneakers occupying another. Hutch had moved in when they’d finally discharged Starsky from the hospital and had been his nursemaid ever since.
Starsky appreciated it, truly. It had been weeks before he felt anything other than grateful, and even now he knew he didn’t begrudge the slight bombsite effect on his apartment. True it sometimes made it difficult for him to walk around without tripping, but on a good day he viewed it as an extra layer of challenge to his rehabilitation – and they didn’t talk about the bad day that had seen him stumble over Hutch’s bag, try to kick it, lose a cane in the process and end up falling face first into a heap of (thankfully clean) laundry. Winded from the fall and unable to get up unaided, Starsky had lain fuming for a while, before giving in to the inevitable and falling asleep. Hutch had come home and found him using a pile of his shorts for a pillow and hadn’t known what to think, although a few terse sentences from an even terser Starsky had soon made sure he did know.
After that Hutch had been a whole lot tidier around the place.
And now, Starsky could easily make it back to his room for his afternoon nap, but he somehow only ever made it as far as Hutch’s cot. It felt warmer lying there, snug, and for some reason, when he lay there he didn’t notice so much how quiet it was, didn’t even mind needing a nap in the first place.
“Why do you keep doing that? Every Goddamn day.”
“It’s only a milkshake.”
“I never drink it, why do you bother.”
“I make it for myself too.”
“What makes you think I’ll ever want it?”
“Just keeping the options open Starsk.”
“Stop nannying me Hutch. I’m as strong as you are.”
”I know you are.”
”Don’t patronize me Hutch. Come on I’ll prove it. Here and now.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous Starsky, I’m not fighting you.”
Starsky stood like a cockerel waiting to fight, chest puffed and glaring at Hutch. He jabbed at Hutch’s shoulder.
“What’s the matter? Can’t take not being in control anymore?” Jab jab.
“Starsky…” There was a tired note to Hutch’s voice.
“What's the matter huh Hutch? Don’t wanna know now I’m not a pushover anymore?”
Jab.
“Starsky.” A hand snaked out and caught the hand goading him. “I am not going to wrestle with you.”
For long moments they stood eye to eye. Starsky rigid with tension, Hutch deceptively still. Then Starsky took a step back and forced a smile, pretending there was humor in the situation.
“What about an arm-wrestle then? We can do that right here at the counter.” He swept the plates out of the way, tipping the coffee dregs and the glass of elixir down the sink to make a space.
Elbow to elbow they took the strain – then Starsky, muscles tight, gripped Hutch’s hand and pushed against an immoveable pressure. He gritted his teeth for one more push and felt an almost imperceptible give. He snapped his head up and met Hutch’s eyes.
“Don’t.”
A second, then Hutch flexed and pushed Starsky’s arm down, hard, onto the counter.
He moved to let go, but Starsky retained his hold.
“I’m sorry.”
They sat. Gladiators after combat, hands entwined and when they eventually rose it was to each other’s arms. Into a silent embrace, which, when finally broken, left Starsky breathless, comforted and – somehow - more confused than before.
“So, when did you first try it?”
“A long while ago.”
“How did you know about it?”
“Oh, I just experimented, found out what worked.”
“Weren’t you nervous?”
“No, it’s only... milk. Not the end of the world if I didn’t like it.”
“Ta daaaaa! No more canes!” The sticks went clattering across the room as Starsky cast them away with a flourish.
“What? What did the doctor say?”
“He said I’m as strong as an ox.”
”Really?”
”Yup! I’m fighting fit and on the mend!”
Hutch swallowed. “That’s great Starsk…”
”Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm Hutch; it might go to my head.”
“It’s just…”
“Just what?” The edge is back in Starsky’s voice and Hutch hates himself for putting it there.
“It’s only been a couple of months, you don’t wanna overdo it.”
Instead of the anger Hutch was expecting Starsky looked…disappointed.
”Screw you Hutch.”
“So, did you ever make it for anyone else?”
“Not for years, it’s hasn’t seemed worth the effort.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t any bother.”
“Ah, well, you’re the exception Starsk. Besides I want you to like it.”
Starsky was startled from his book as a pair of feminine hands covered his eyes from behind.
“Surprise!” a brief second, then his eyes were released and he found himself with an armful of stewardess.
“Kathy…”
“Hey there sugar,” She kissed him “you look good enough to eat.”
Hutch came into the room, He had a massive pizza box in one hand, and his other was draped around Liz? Lesley? She was blonde and pretty and anonymous. Had he dated her? He couldn’t remember.
Hutch gestured towards her with the box.
“Look who I found Starsk, Kathy’s on layover and I persuaded her and Lissie here that a quiet night in with their favorite Bay City policemen was just what they needed.”
Kathy poked Starsky (gently he noticed,) in the ribs.
”But we agreed to settle for you and Ken instead!”
”Hey!” Hutch laughed, mock indignant. “Anyway, we’ve got hot pizza, cold beer and the night is young!”
Kathy slid her arm around Starsky’s waist and bumped his hip.
“Hey Dave, Ken here tells me you haven’t been dancing in an age – I miss seeing you shake that ass of yours. Ken, forget the pizza, put some music on and Dave can show Lissie just how it’s done.”
Hutch put down the pizza, as Lissie slid from beneath his arm. She gave Starsky a knowing look and wiggled toward him.
“Oh I know just how Dave does it.” she smiled.
So, he had dated her then? He truly couldn’t remember and that would make him ashamed if he had the space to think it. Now all he could think about was escape. He disengaged himself from the women who seemed to be all over him and headed toward the door. He brushed past Hutch as he went and felt his blood begin to boil. His voice was bitter as he spoke.
“I’m sorry – I guess I must have a headache.”
He slammed the bedroom door and leant against it, waiting for the shaking to stop. He could hear the whispers from the room beyond, heard Hutch’s muted excuses and Kathy’s plaintive “But I wanted to see him.” as Hutch ushered them out. He knew he’d been rude and, now the girls had gone, was prepared to apologize. He wasn’t ready, however, for the door to slam open, or for Hutch to grip his arms and hiss “What the fuck was that?”
He felt the rage take over again; was used to it, it was easy.
”You pimping for me now as well Hutch, huh? It’s not enough that you do everything else?”
“What!? I bumped into the girls at The Pits, they asked after you and I thought you’d want to see them, I thought it might cheer you up and break you out of this stinking mood.”
”Yeah, ‘cos a pity fuck’s always gonna do that.”
Hutch released his arms and turned away from him “They’re your friends Starsky for Christ’s sake!” He swung back around and glared at Starsky. “I thought maybe if you saw someone other than me it might make you a little less goddamned miserable all the time.”
“If you’re fed up seeing me ‘miserable’ you can always go back home and stop nurse-maiding me. I’m sick of your…your pity. You’re like my social secretary. Keeping the invalid amused. Huggy on Tuesday, Dobey on Thursday and, hey! Now we’ve got fucking on Fridays. For God’s sake Hutch, don’t get your pages mixed up else I might end up trying to screw Dobey into the mattress.”
They stood, toe to toe, brow to brow. Hutch was flushed red around his neck and Starsky could see his fists compulsively clenching.
“I wouldn’t have to arrange things…”
“You don’t have to...”
“I wouldn’t have to arrange things if you ever left the apartment.”
Starsky barked an incredulous laugh.
”If I ever left? I’m never here. I’m at the Doc’s or physical therapy every damn day. Swimming or lifting weights, blowing into bloody tubes and...”
”Yes, and you get driven there and get driven back. Huggy might as well paint his car yellow.”
Starsky felt his face blanch “Well I’m sorry to be so damned inconvenient.”
Hutch let out a shuddering breath.
”You’ve got to start seeing people Starsk; it can’t just be me all the time.”
Starsky reacted without thought.
“I never asked you; Jesus Hutch! If you’ve had enough, then go back home. Leave me and my miserable fucking face in peace.”
Hutch gazed at him, his rage seemed to have dripped from his fingertips and when he spoke it was calmly and without inflection.
“I think I’m gonna have to Starsk. ‘Cos this just isn’t working.”
He walked from the bedroom, and Starsky heard him walking around outside, picking up his coat and gathering his keys. Overcome with nausea and gripped with a screaming panic Starsky burst into the room, then stuck at the doorway.
“Don’t go.”
His voice was quiet, but it froze Hutch in his tracks. He answered without turning to him.
”I won’t. But, Starsk…”
”I know, Hutch. I’m trying.”
“I know.”
Starsky stepped into the room, and carefully, slowly, walked toward Hutch. He stopped behind Hutch and looked at the bowed head. He hesitated and it made him mad. When did he get scared to touch his friend? When did he get so scared of everything? Stupid question, but then everything he did these days was stupid. He reached out, meaning to take the keys from Hutch’s hand, meaning to draw him back into their home, but instead he took another step forward and wrapped his arms tentatively around Hutch’s waist. He stood there, waiting for Hutch to shrug him off, to pull away. Instead he felt Hutch trembling beneath him and suddenly knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Hutch would have gone. Would have walked away from him and left him there. Not from anger or spite, but because he believed it needed to be done. He knew it, and knew it would kill them both. Starsky shivered and wrapped himself completely around his partner.
”Don’t go.”
“What are you staring at?”
“Nothin’, just watching you making that glop”
“It’s the same thing I do every day.”
“I know, I’m just checking out what exactly it is that’s on offer.”
“Same as it ever was Starsk, same as it ever was.”
Starsky was a ball of nervous energy as Hutch prepared breakfast. He watched as, reaching into the refrigerator Hutch pulled out butter, eggs and cheese and started to mix an omelet. Leaving it to rest he headed back to the ‘fridge and took out yesterday’s glass and a carton of milk. His movements were functional and practiced as he tipped away the untouched shake, rinsed out the glass and started over. He sprinkled in the herbs, the dried liver and the various other ingredients, stirring as it turned the bright milk the dingy gray color Starsky was used to. He poured it into two glasses and offered one silently to Starsky. As Starsky ignored the outstretched arm, in a pattern that had fast become a ritual, Hutch shrugged
“No? Well I’ll put in the fridge in case you want it later.” and turned to the hob to cook the omelet, taking sips from his own drink as he did so. He spoke to Starsky, raising his voice over the clatter of cutlery and sizzling egg.
“Are you nervous?”
“Nervous?” Starsky’s voice was slightly higher than normal, belying his words.
“Why would I be? I’m at the peak of physical fitness. Even Ali couldn’t take me. I am the greatest! I… ”
He paused and shot a sheepish look at his partner. “I wish you could come.”
Hutch busied himself with the plates, hiding his inability to make eye contact by serving the eggs.
“I, uh, so do I pal, um, Dobey. I. Huggy’ll be over at 10 to drive you over.”
He knew it was stupid, he knew Starsky was capable, could pass the assessments without difficulty, but he couldn’t be there just in case he didn’t. And what sort of friend did that make him? He pushed the egg around his plate, watching as Starsky, nerves notwithstanding, devoured his in a flash.
Hutch rose from the counter, grabbing his gun and shrugging into his jacket. He paused at the door. “Call me though? When you’re through?”
Starsky smiled at him as he went, and Hutch was out of the door before he heard the muttered “Chicken.” that followed him down the stairwell.
“Some people would say it was wrong.”
“What?”
“Messing with the milk, they’d say it wasn’t natural.”
“Since when have you cared what people think?”
“I don’t it’s just...”
“Besides, everything I’m offering you *is* natural. Just different than you're used to.”
Starsky walked along with a bounce in his step and shining eyes. Carrying a large box in his arms, he struggled when he reached the door, but managed to let himself in without tilting it.
“Huuuutch! You’ll never guess what.”
He yelled through to the kitchen, knowing Hutch was home because of the car on the street and jacket he could see strewn over the couch.
“Where the fuck have you been?” The words were bellowed at him as Hutch marched in from the kitchen and turned to face him, glaring and jabbing a finger at him.
“Downstairs – Hutch, you’ll never guess who I…”
“Downstairs?” Hutch interrupted him, incredulous. “I’ve been here nearly an hour.”
“It’s only – oh,” Starsky glanced at the clock sheepishly “4.30! Oops! I’m only a bit late, Hutch. I got cheesecake, and I met -.”
He stopped abruptly when the cheesecake box was knocked from his hands as Hutch gripped his shoulders.
“Goddamn it Starsk… you can’t just disappear like that. What happened here? Have you seen this place? “
Starsky was bewildered. “This place is the way you left it this morning when you couldn’t find your keys remember? I decided I wasn’t gonna clear up after you for once.” He glanced up at Hutch, recognizing the look in his eyes for the panic it was. He rested his hands lightly at his friend’s waist.
“I popped downstairs; in the box” he grimaced at the battered carton upside down on the floor “was a cheesecake, for after dinner. I have something to tell you.”
“What?” Hutch started to back away but Starsky’s hands at his waist effectively pinned him to the spot.
Starsky waited ‘till he had Hutch’s attention, then spoke softly.
”It’s over Hutch,” he raised one hand up to cup a cheek. “You’ve gotta let go. I’ve been cleared and I’m coming back to work. You’ve gotta step back.” He paused, feeling Hutch trembling beneath his hands.
“You’ve gotta let me come back Hutch.”
“What’s it taste like anyway?”
“There’s one way to find out...”
“No, I, I was just wondering.”
“It tastes like milk Starsky, just like milk.”
“But there’s...”
“There’s ... an extra tang. It’s all good Starsk. Trust me.”
So, it was his First Day Back, and despite all his calm, cool words to Hutch on the subject, Starsky felt his stomach rolling over and skipping every time he thought of walking through the Department doors again. Which probably explained why he was still in the bathroom, staring at scarred skin through a steam shrouded looking -glass, instead of ready and waiting for his ride.
The apartment was quiet, empty, and he was alone. He’d become obsessed that it had to be this way, convinced that something would go wrong if it wasn’t. He knew Hutch hadn’t really seen it at first and Starsky wasn’t sure he understood even now, but, having recognized this as something Starsky wanted, Hutch had taken himself off home late last evening so that Starsky could spend the preceding night alone.
Starsky knew it was stupid, but it had taken on a superstitious importance and in the end he’d had to bite the bullet and ask Hutch to go, even if just for that night.
“I just think it’ll be bad luck if we see each other before…”
”We’re going to work Starsk, not getting married.”
And if, Starsky thought defensively, he’d decided to blame the judder in his stomach at that thought on pre work nerves and nothing more confusing, then who could blame him?
He didn’t need any more confusion anyway. He’d spent what seemed like years working towards this day; yearning to go back to work, fully fit and signed off from all doctors, physical therapists and shrinks. To be ready to leap straight back into it with his head raised high. To give a clear signal to Günther and those like him who thought they could rule by fear and violence and intimidation. It had been his one and only focus through sweat soaked nights and those quiet moments of desperation when only Hutch’s hand on his shoulder had held him together. It had been a challenge which he’d accepted fully and with his usual determination.
So he couldn’t understand why the thought of going back made his heart sink. He wasn’t scared. He never had been scared for himself anyway; he knew, even now, that nothing could hurt as much as losing those he loved. Prudholm’s murder of Terry had shown him that. And last night, alone and pensive, he’d examined his conscience fully and known that he truly wasn’t afraid.
At least; not of injury.
He swallowed and gazed once more at his reflection. He’d grown accustomed to his scars. His anxiety at the look of them had passed once his anger began to fade. Now they were, well, like Hutch said, part of who he was, a part of his history. Nothing about his physicality mattered to him. Not really. He was still in trim, the towel tucked around his hips and highlighting his abdominal muscles showed him that. The hairs on his chest showed no trace of gray, and the hours of therapy had left his shoulders and arms well defined despite his injury. The same as before? Of course not, but it didn’t matter. His body was there, as it should be, and it was what it was.
He’d always known he was good looking. His Momma had told him so from an early age and he’d accepted it without vanity. And the women he met, who told him so in their own, very different, way – well that was all to the good, but it never dominated who he was. He didn’t have Hutch’s beauty, but he knew his strengths and assessed them honestly.
So when he gazed at his reflection it wasn’t his body that caught his attention it was the man inside – and now he knew he had spent too long with Hutch, because that was absolutely the sort of thing he’d say, and it made about as much sense.
So he huffed at the glass and scrubbed a towel roughly across his curls. He was going to work and Hutch was gonna skin him alive if he didn’t get a move on.
Uncertainty could wait for another day.
“See the thing is I really like milk.”
“This *is* milk.”
“This is milk… with extras.”
“It’s all good stuff Starsk, the extras are all good.”
“But what if I don’t like it?”
“Huh?”
“What if I don’t like the extra stuff? The milk’ll be ruined then.”
“Well then you can pour another glass. Starsky, there’ll always be milk.”
Starsky heard his front door slam, followed by Hutch’s exasperated voice.
”Starsky! I thought you wanted to swing by Huggy’s on the way in?”
It was true, Starsky had been anticipating a ‘surprise’ breakfast celebration all week, recognizing that Huggy would break his anti-morning habit for only special occasions; knowing that today met that criteria. And knowing that, at that moment, he could think of nothing worse.
“Yeah, well I guess it took me longer to wake up without you clumping around out here.” He grinned to cover his lack of enthusiasm, “I’ll grab some candy from the machine at work.”
“Yeah sure, candy’s a real healthy start to the day. Come on Starsk, you gotta…”
“Lay off Hutch, alright? I’ll eat some yoghurt or something later; I’m just running late that’s all.” Starsky tried to soften the bite in his voice. “Go grab yourself a coffee, I’ll be ready soon.”
Listening from the bedroom, as he buttoned his shirt, Starsky heard the rattle of mugs on the counter and the clink of glass as his ‘fridge door opened. Stepping out as he zipped his pants, he walked into the kitchen and stopped as he caught Hutch in the act of emptying out the glass tumbler.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving you from a bout of food poisoning. You’ll have to clear out your fridge now and then Starsk now I’m not always going to be around to do it.” He put the rinsed out glass on the drainer and dried his hands. “You ready to go?”
Starsky watched the thick and now somewhat globular liquid as it washed down the drain and again swallowed his doubts. He raised his voice as he issued a challenge.
“Sure thing Hutch, question is, are you? Can you cope with the pace now I’m back in the saddle? I won’t tolerate any slacking off you know, no passengers.”
Hutch grinned, “Okay Tonto, whatever you say.”
“Heyy!! Tonto was the horse! I’m the Lone Ranger.”
“Tonto wasn’t the horse, idiot! That was Silver. Tonto was the loyal sidekick.” Hutch strode to the door, holding it open impatiently “Now come on!”
Starsky swallowed, then took a deep breath and charged from the apartment, yelling as he did so.
“Hi Ho Silver, Away!”
“What? Hutch where’s the shake?”
“You mean the bacteria in a glass?”
“The shake... it was there, waiting.”
“It had gone off, Starsk, I poured it away.”
“I was gonna... Hutch... I was gonna...”
“Looks like I saved you from a big mistake there buddy – you left it too long.”
“I’m... too late?”
Driving in the car to work and Starsky still wasn’t sure how come he ended up riding shotgun in Hutch’s beat up piece of shit of a car on his first day back.
“I miss the Torino.”
“Yeah, well, Günther’s goons didn’t.”
And that was another thing, where did Hutch get off thinking he could make a joke about something so serious? He did miss the Torino. He missed the feeling of invincibility the car had always given him. Now? Now he felt vulnerable and he hated it. Hated the confusion, hated feeling uncertain, and hated the doubt that currently made up his life.
He scooted round in his seat to catch Hutch looking at him anxiously. He did that all the time now. Last night, before he’d left, he’d started talking about being safe, about taking risks, about tempting the fates, taunting Dame Fortune. At first Starsky had thought he was doing it on purpose, trying to wind him up with tales of superstition and woe – until that is, Hutch had bought out a vest and suggested they start wearing them on the job.
“I’ll wear one too… it’s not about you… it’s just, it’s getting dangerous out there Starsk and…”
That had ended when Starsk had taken the vest from Hutch under the guise of trying it on, walked to the door and thrown it down the steps into the street. As Hutch had gone to retrieve it, Starsky had put a playful boot to his behind and closed the door behind him, calling out an instruction that he be on time in the morning to pick him up.
And with Hutch gone, Starsky had sat on the couch all evening, going over the next day in his head. He’d be damned if he’d wear a vest. Günther’s bullets had failed to kill him once; he wouldn’t let them do it now. His body had survived, and so would his spirit. David Starsky didn’t wear bullet proof vests.
Now, if he could get himself a Hutch-proof one….
Starsky looked across at the man in question and realized that his protracted silence wasn’t helping to dispel any idea that he was nervous about the day ahead. He searched around for something to say that would get them through the awkwardness.
And instead found himself telling the truth.
“I missed you.”
Hutch looked at him curiously.
“I only moved out last night”
”Yeah well, you make too much noise.”
“Huh?” Hutch raised an eyebrow at him.
“It was too quiet without you. I couldn’t sleep.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I’m used to,” he paused, and the little niggle of doubt he pretended wasn’t there, won. He took a breath then went on, “I’m used to your snoring.”
Hutch reacted as expected.
“I do not snore!”
“You do too! I heard you!”
“Through solid walls Starsk?”
“I know!” he grinned, all eyebrows and mischief. “I could hardly believe it!”
He grinned, hitched his feet up onto the dash and settled in for the ride.
He could do this.
“I miss your glop too.”
“You never drank it.”
“I liked knowing it was there for me.”
“S’always there for you Starsk – all you gotta do is...”
”I liked having it there all the time. Now it’s gone, and the fridge is kinda empty... ya know?”
“What do you want, a medal?” Dobey was glaring at them across his desk top – the full on, patented Dobey glower, which he accentuated by waving a fist full of paperwork at them.
“I don’t know Cap’n.” Hutch grinned at his partner “I think we deserve one don’t you Starsk?”
“You deserve a week in traffic, is what you deserve, what’ve I told you about sticking to the rules?”
Dobey started ruffling through the complaints in front of him; everything was as it had been before.
“Oh C’mon Cap’n, Starsk and I might not follow the rules, but we get results.” Hutch nudged Starsky, still high on the adrenalin from their latest bust. “Ain’t that right Buddy?”
And then suddenly Starsky knew.
No, not suddenly, anything but suddenly in fact. Now the early morning navel gazing; the stupid self-motivating pep talks he had to give himself every day, the boredom, all came together in one bright, terrifying picture.
“Hutch, I...” he rose, looked from Hutch to Dobey and back again. Sat down, looked at his hands, and then rose again. “I don’t wanna do this no more.”
Three big busts in as many weeks; including one case that had been lingering for months. He and Hutch in complete tune with one another. One goes high, one goes low. He’s Starsky, I’m Hutch. Recognition from old faces, growing trepidation from new. A reputation only enhanced by his taking Günther’s bullets and fighting on another day. Harder, quicker, tougher, faster.
Hollow.
Months of not knowing who he was, of nothing making sense, of understanding nothing other than “I’m a cop, and I’m going back.”
Everything else was confusing and overwhelming. Anger and doubt and loss. And one focus. Just one. Get back and it would all be alright. David Starsky would be who he was again, and the nightmares and the doubts would dissolve. Hutch would be just Hutch again and together they’d work it out. There’d be no more questioning, no more rage, no more emptiness.
And he couldn’t do it. No, not couldn’t, didn’t want to. Today’s bust showed that he could do it, perfectly well in fact, the flash of instinct he’d had proving the key to the whole mystery; he and Hutch flying into action, seamless and smooth.
He looked at his partner, at his boss and wanted to laugh. Or cry. The look of dismay on Hutch’s face was comical, more so when partnered with the understanding smile worn by Dobey. And that was unfair. It wasn’t funny, he knew that; he knew he didn’t want to think of Hutch out there alone, but he also knew he couldn’t be out there with him anymore.
“Hutch... I...”
How could he explain? That it wasn’t about fear or inability or self doubt. It wasn’t about trust or working with the man he loved, or loving the man he worked with. How could he explain that the fire had gone? Why would Hutch ever believe that the man who punched walls in anger, who raged against injustice and fought every step of the way no longer felt the passion? How could he believe it was anything other than a hangover from the shooting? How could he explain it when he didn’t understand why himself?
All he knew was that it didn’t fulfill him anymore. That what he did between 9 and 5 now was just a job. And when was he a man who ever just did a job?
He felt a finger catch his chin and raised his face to meet Hutch’s steady gaze, felt the blue eyes scan his own, reading him. Knowing him.
“Time to break out those want ads, eh Starsk?”
Knowing him.
“I could give you the recipe.”
“It tastes better when you do it.”
“You never drank it!”
”I thought about it. A lot.”
“You did?”
“All the time, lately.”
“I used to … I used to be a cop…” Starsky glanced up at Hutch, “Don’t know if I’m gonna like saying that.”
Starsky was standing at the door, watching Hutch comb his hair in front of the mirror in the hallway.
“Then don’t. Why focus on the past? What you’ve lost? Focus on what’s here and now.” Hutch was running late.
“’Cos ‘I used to be a cop’ sounds a lot more impressive than ‘I’m a youth worker.”
“Well who exactly are you trying to impress here?”
“Huh?” Starsky raised his eyes to meet Hutch’s in the reflection.
“You said it sounds more impressive – who’re you trying to impress?”
“No-one, but…”
“So, it doesn’t matter.” Hutch pushed past him, straightening his collar.
”It doesn’t matter?” Starsky queried.
“Not like...”
“It doesn’t matter?” Starsky’s tone matched his eyebrows, high and raised, and was enough to stop Hutch in his tracks.
“Not in the sense of…”
“Being a cop was my whole life Hutch. It kinda matters to me.”
“I didn’t mean it like tha…” Hutch paused, and then queried, “Your whole life?”
“Well…” Starsky looked serious.
“So – what… what’s left?”
“That’s what I had to find out Hutch, I think that’s why, well, part of why…”
“Why…?”
“Why I’ve been such an asshole for so long.”
Hutch opened his mouth to speak, but Starsky continued.
“See, I’m better now. I’ve got the all clear you know, no more docs, no more physical therapy, no more shrink…”
”No more me?” Hutch’s voice was quiet, successfully hiding, he hoped, his sinking heart.
Starsky appeared not to have heard him.
“’Cos you’ve been looking after me so good, for month and months and, well, I’m not your partner no more, and I don’t need a nurse no more.” he paused.
“And?” Hutch urged him on.
“And well, I’m all better now.”
“Oh.”
“But…” Starsky looked at the floor rather than meet Hutch’s eyes, and paused once more.
Hutch wanted to run, wanted to leave, anything to avoid this conversation ending the way it had to. Instead, masochist that he was, he prodded it along further.
“What?”
Starsky shuffled his feet a little, still refusing to look directly at Hutch. “Now I’m a ‘Youth Worker’,” he continued “it’s not very impressive, it’s not…” the last few words stumbled from his mouth, “s’not gonna need a lot of back up is it?”
Hutch felt his stomach lurch.
“Oh. So you don’t need… is that what you’re saying?”
”So it’s not…”
”Is that why?”
They spoke together in a jumble of words, before Starsky went on
“And you’ve been talking about leaving, and the shrink says I’m fine and so I guess you could go.” He raised his head at last and met Hutch’s eyes, and then it was Hutch who looked away. Unable to bear the embarrassment he saw there. Why was he making his friend say these things? He should have realized.
”Well, if you don’t need m... but. Well, um” Hutch stammered, annoyed with himself.
“Thing is…” Starsky pushed on. “‘I used to be a cop’ means I used to have a partner and…”
“Yeah I heard you.” Hutch interrupted, annoyed too with Starsky now “I’m not your partner anymore and you don’t need a nursemaid. I heard you the first time Starsk, no need to go over it. I’m... “he muttered the last words. “I guess I used to be a friend.”
“But I don’t wanna used to…” Starsky stopped mid sentence. “What?”
“I heard ya Starsky, being a cop was your whole life. That’s over. I’m not needed anymore; nursemaid, partner – all done with. Time to move on.” His voice was bitter, “Time to impress.”
Starsky looked at him, managing to look injured and incredulous when he was the one ruining Hutch’s life.
“I’m try’na say something here Hutch and you’re…”
Hutch glared, beginning to understand why Starsky had found anger so much easier to deal with than weakness.
“I think you’ve said it pretty plain don’t you think?”
“Yeah, well if I have I don’t think you’ve been listening.” Starsky snapped back.
“Yeah? Well maybe it’s not what I want to hear? Maybe... Jesus Starsk, how long have we…? I thought… So long and sayonara? Really?”
“What? Have you got rocks in your head?”
Hutch was speechless. Starsky continued exasperation in his voice.
“Jeeze, no wonder I hate soapy scenes.”
“Starsky? What? Soapy scenes?” Hutch felt completely wrong footed. “Just what are you trying to say to me? ‘Cos it hasn’t sounded very soapy to me so far.”
Starsky hesitated, but then continued, quieter now, but clearly determined to finish.
“I’m not – I’m not the same as I was no more Hutch, not a cop, not your partner - but I’m still me. I guess I’m trying to ask if you’re still…”
“Thee?” Hutch murmured.
“Well, kinda. It’s just… I’ve been a fucking invalid for so long, and you, well…” he sighed, “I don’t got no bandages to change no more Hutch, I’ve got no cane but I still” he swallowed, “I still need you to lean on.”
Hutch breathed out, incredulous “And you get that by saying goodbye? I think you’re the one with rocks in your head!”
“It’s not easy for me Hutch! I’m...” Starsky mumbled the words, “I got nothing to offer any more.”
”Starsk?” Hutch nudged Starsky’s face upwards with a finger under his chin.
“It’s always been us as cops, me backing you up…” Starsky smiled weakly, “my brain and your brawn! It’s just, now I’m not.” He paused again, then burst out “It’s stupid, when you were nursing me it made me so mad but. You, I, I mean, we had a reason. Now there’s no reas…“
“You” Hutch cut across him.
“What?”
“You’re the reason. Dumbass.”
Starsky looked up at him, and Hutch raised his hand to cup his cheek, and then continued.
“It’ll change. I’ll miss working with you but… I can cope without Cop Starsky or Sick Starsky; I could do with a little less Dumbass Starsky, but No Starsky? It’s not negotiable.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Jesus.”
“Hutch.” Starsky started to speak, but Hutch cut across him.
“You used to be a cop. You used to be my partner. You’re still my Starsky, my friend, my…”
Now it was Starsky’s turn to interrupt.
“Your what?”
“My,” Hutch took a breath, then released it and stroked Starsky’s cheek, gently, softly before he continued, “You’re Mine. Just - Mine.”
“Do I gotta drink it every day?”
“No, not if you don’t want to.”
“What if I do want to?”
“It’ll always be there for you if you want it.”
”What if I can’t live without it?”
“We’ll manage that too.”
And it seemed nothing more than natural than to whisper their lips together. Hutch’s hand cupping his cheek, his fingertips in Starsky’s hair, holding him anchored, making him safe. Natural to edge forward till his forehead rested gently on Hutch’s to softly continue the kiss. Natural to close his eyes and forget the rules, forget his fears and just meet the soft lips. Natural to realize that a kiss he thought would shatter him was instead healing him.
And natural to pull apart and gaze, not in wonder at each other, but with sheepish grins; smiles that wouldn’t stay hidden and affection that wouldn’t disappear.
“Yours, huh?”
“Mine.”
