December, 1979. Starsky’s apartment. Hutch.
We’d just celebrated a small Christmas party at Starsky’s apartment, with the people we are close to: Dobey and his family, Huggy, Minnie, and a couple of others from the precinct. Starsky’s mother and Nicky didn’t come because they had already visited Starsky two months ago. My family has never made it to Bay City for celebrations.
We had so much to be thankful for and celebrate: good friends, Starsky’s recovery, which was moving forward beautifully, and our new jobs with the police department as cold case investigators. Dobey pulled his weight and set the transfer up when Starsky and I decided to quit the Force. Now, Starsky works only a couple of hours each week, but he’ll soon be capable enough to handle most of his activities, driving included.
I sat near the Christmas tree in Starsky’s apartment, which Huggy helped to put up, and started removing the torn bits of wrapping paper around it. It was a good day and Starsky was all smiles.
We hadn’t bought anything for each other for Christmas. Starsky had asked me to not to. Said he had everything he needed, and that I had given him enough gifts to last a lifetime of Christmases. Who would’ve thought Starsky would refuse gifts for Christmas? We bought gifts for all our friends who had supported us during our darkest times, and hand delivered gift baskets to the hospital staff of every ward Starsky stayed at, as well as Starsky’s physical therapy group.
We never talked about our relationship. I think he knows how I feel. I think he feels the same, but what if he doesn’t? What if it’s just an illusion or a coping mechanism I’ve created for myself like everything else? That’s why, I’ve decided to move back to my apartment. At least… that’d give him time to think things over and move on in a direction that’s suitable for him. I’d promised myself that I’d never come between him and any of his decisions. All I have to do now is tell him my decision and talk with him about when I should move out. It’s not Starsky who depends on me, it’s me who depends on him, now. He doesn’t see it, though.
Something is different now in Starsky’s demeanor. He’s at peace with everything. I started to notice it a couple of weeks ago. Something had changed for the better, but I couldn’t fathom what or when or why. On the other hand, I seem to be stuck on the day that changed our lives forever. Seems like it all happened just a few seconds ago. The hail of gun fire, bullets flying all over the place, shattering of glass and the feel of the heat of the floor when I got down beside the car. While I was saved by the Torino, Starsky drew fire on to himself and was gunned down on the other side. The Torino stood between us… protecting me and sacrificing Starsky.
Why– Why did it have to be him?
Starsky on the ground, his head on a rim of the tire, blood pooling around him as his life leaked away; it’s my hell that I’d have to live with every day. My punishment for not doing what a partner should’ve done. I didn’t save him.
I see him and I can touch him, sense him, smell him right here with me, but… I can’t shake the feeling that I will lose him, eventually.
“Hey,” Starsky sat beside me at the Christmas tree. “Why don’t we call it a day and get some shut eye? I’m tired, and so are you,” he said, yawning.
“You don’t want to be awake to catch Santa?”
“Santa came early this year.” Starsky smiled. “Looks like you don’t wanna go to bed quite yet? Expecting someone other than Santa to come down the chimney?”
“You don’t have a chimney, Starsk.”
“You mean my house doesn’t have one,” Starsky said, pulling himself up a bit and kneeling behind me. “I don’t think my body can hold any chimneys.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, feeling Starsky’s arms on my back.
“You’ve been workin’ too much. I think you need a good shoulder rub.”
I groaned as Starsky started to massage my neck and shoulders. His hands could do wonders. And I’m not kidding. Not a single massage therapist in Bay City can do what Starsky does to me.
“You are not going to relax, sitting like this on the floor. Get up,” said Starsky as he stood.
“You’re more tired and worn out than me, Starsk. You are not in any condition to give massages.”
“Will you just shut up and come with me.”
Good luck with getting into a conversation about moving out when he’s planning to give me a massage. He’s going to turn me into a pile of jelly with those hands and I’d fall asleep in no time; I didn’t have to do mathematical calculations to figure out that one.
I got up and followed Starsky to the bedroom. I stripped down to my boxers, got into the bed and lay on my stomach. Starsky applied a generous amount of massage oil between his palms and started his magic on me. I couldn’t help moaning and groaning. It was too good to be true. This was better than any he’d done before. “Looks like you’ve picked up a trick or two in therapy.”
“I just know what worked on me.” Starsky chuckled. “Kevin talked about trigger points and stuff. I dunno where they are exactly, but I know how and what made me feel good.”
“Kevin taught you how to do massages?” I couldn’t help resenting Kevin. He’d been Starsky’s physical therapist for a long time. The man also specialized in massages. “How long has that been going?”
“Ken Hutchinson!” Starsky gasped. I knew that tone. He was making fun of me. “Are you jealous?”
My mouth dried up instantly. If I didn’t get something to drink, my tongue would stick to my palate permanently. I was afraid to say anything in return. Wasn’t even sure what I should say, anyway. Of course I was jealous. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“What now–? Cat got your tongue?” asked Starsky. “Kevin may know all the rehabilitation-related medical massages, but the ones that worked best were the ones you did for me.”
Starsky wasn’t helping! My throat was getting tighter and tighter. I’d have to gasp for air if this continued.
I may have given Starsky a thousand or more little massages during his recovery. He’d wake up in the middle of the night with pains, feeling uncomfortable. He would only go back to sleep when I’d come lay beside him and rub his back or his chest. Before long, both of us realized that being together was the only solution for both of us getting some sleep at night. For me, feeling his heart beat against my palm, and his warm body next to me, lulled me to sleep instantly. For him… I’m not sure what it was. He wanted me next to him even when he didn’t want any massages.
Moving out of Starsky’s apartment didn’t seem like a good idea anymore. How on earth was I ever going to sleep peacefully when he wasn’t by my side?
Starsky’s skilled fingers moved from my neck to my shoulder blades and all over my back. This is what heaven was for me. “Don’t stop,” I mumbled, finally.
Waking up beside Starsky had become the best part of the whole day. Today… I wasn’t just waking up beside him, I was all over him. My face was buried in the curve of Starsky’s neck, his arm around my head, holding me in place, my arm around his hip, and one of my legs had settled between Starsky’s legs. I was all wrapped up with Starsky. Sometime in my sleep, I had reached out to him, and as usual, Starsky had given himself and his comfort to me, with no questions asked.
I left Starsky’s embrace, slowly and quietly as possible, not wanting him to find out how I had ended snuggling up to him. I was afraid that seeing how we were would not help with the conversation I was planning on having later today. It sure wasn’t helping me. Maybe I should wait for another day or two until Christmas was over.
I got the coffee brewing and finished up my morning bathroom routine. By the time I’d finished watering Starsky’s plants as well as my own that I’d moved from Venice Place to Starsky’s balcony, he had showered and poured himself a cup of coffee as well.
“We should go for a walk later,” Starsky said, leaning against the wooden table he had on the balcony. He had his favorite white Peruvian wool sweater wrapped around his shoulders. Starsky left his mug on the table and rubbed his palms together, while blowing onto his palms to warm them up. The morning was a bit chilly but comfortable.
Wiping my hands on my pants, I walked up to him, removed the sweater, held it around him until he pushed his arms in and wiggled into it properly. “Feeling cold?”
“Not anymore.” Starsky grinned like a cat who had found a room full of catnip cookies.
This was another one of those things he had gotten me to do nowadays. He’d wear something half-way or just throw his shirts, tees, or sweaters over his shoulders. I started to ‘dress’ him – and now, it had become a routine. It really started as something I had to do for Starsky because it was painful for him to move around and dress himself, but now, though he was totally capable of wearing any damn thing, he made me do it, and I wasn’t going to complain. I loved it.
Damn! And I’ve been thinking of moving out. This isn’t working.
“I need to talk to you about somethin’,” said Starsky.
I took a sip out of Starsky’s coffee. “What?” I handed the mug over to him.
“My lease on this place will end in two months.”
“Oh.” What was he going to talk to me about now? It was like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Suddenly I felt my ears burning, as if flames were slapping against my face. “So… what’s there to think about it? You have to extend it, right?”
“I’m thinking of moving.”
Moving? Moving where? What was he talking about? Where was he going to move to?
I was too afraid to ask. Didn’t he like being a cold-case investigator? Did he want to move to New York? It had to be New York!
God!
No!
I was only thinking of moving back to Venice Place to give Starsky some space. To make sure that what he wants in life is what I think he wants. But… does this mean that he wants to move away across the country?
“Hutch?”
I turned around and went back and picked up the watering can. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t let him see how much I was shaking inside. “Yes, sure,” I said. Sure, he can move out. Sure, he can go away.
And I was sure I wouldn’t be able to go on living if he did.
To be continued…
Oh man, that was so warm and cuddly and wonderful, and THEN. What a place to stop! Poor Hutch really doesn’t have it easy in this fic. But I expect it’ll all be worth it in the end – can’t wait for the final part!
I’m sorry about Hutch, too. It hasn’t been easy on him at all. Losing the one thing that matters to him isn’t easy to recover from. I’m hoping for a good ending, too 😀
That is so unfair! I agree, it was all warm and cuddly…until you slap us across the face and tell us to wait!
Hey! Blame it on Hutch! He’s the one who’s tortuting himself.
Come on! More! I cannot wait for the rest!!! Love it!!!
Soon, soon, Penny! 🙂 maybe a day or two.
This was so packed with good stuff. “It’s not Starsky who depends on me, it’s me who depends on him, now.” “Not a single massage therapist in Bay City can do what Starsky does to me.” Hutch waking up all tangled in Starsky. Oh man – you’re killing me!
Mmmmm… I like the good stuff, too. Specially the two of them ending up all tangled together.
A twist in the story and an emotional cliffhanger. Can’t wait until the next part is posted. And I like how you wrote about Starsky in a sweater. That man does like his sweaters.
‘That man does like his sweaters’ — I just love that thought. You put a smile on my face. I’ve been thinking about that all day- it just made me really happy. 🙂
I loved this part 3 a lot, Sammy!!! But what a wrenching cliffhanger (and God knows I hate those!). We all trust you to make things right in Part 4. As I said earlier, ‘baited breath, Sam’. Don’t keep us hanging too long please, Flamingo.
One or two days more- I guess 🙂
Thank you for your loving words, Pat! I hope you’ll like the ending.
Very poignant and romantic story
Thank you, Dawn. 🙂
Aw…I love this and can’t wait to read further!!!
;D
🙂 🙂 just one more to go.
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Aww, poor Hutch! He’s really trying his best, and still… I dearly hope he’ll be okay soon. That they both will, actually. This is very emotional, and I’m with everyone else in saying that I can’t wait!
Thank you for being such s sport all through, tsilvy. Appreciate so much your encouragement and thoughts.
Oh well done. You sucked me in with the niceness going on and then, slap. I’m waiting impatiently to see what Starsky says next!
Ha ha! I’m glad there’s only one part left — or some one would shoot me for sure. 🙂
So cute, the dressing bit (remember the talk of the unnecessary bathing our guys are always doing?). I’m thinking Blondie is a little slow on the pick up here. I am enjoying this story!
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, Elaine! Agree with you, totally, about Hutch 😀 always always … Hutch needs to be told word to word — he’s just afraid to believe anything! 🙂
Sweet, then bam. What are you doing to us, and Hutch, Sammy? Not that I have a problem with Hutch suffering-lol. Looking forward to the next part.
Hutch decided to go on that route, WF! 🙂 I think Hutch will finally feel happy at the end.
OH wow. It just keeps getting better and better! Thank you!
Forgive my late posting. I fianally got a few days off together, so am trying to catch up.
Sammy, this has been quite a ride, can’t wait for the last piece. Loved, “It’s not Starsky who depends on me, it’s me who depends on him, now. He doesn’t see it, though.”. So Hutch. Such a sweet story and keeps you guessing. Oh, and nice to see the sweater reappear.