December 15th- Actually, Love Part 2 by Spencer

Click here to read Part 1

This story is inspired by the iconic cue card scene in Love Actually arguably one of the most romantic holiday movies of all time. You can see the clip here.

Starsky had been right. Riding along with Officer Murphy was an eye-opening experience. “Police work is as much intuition as training,” Murphy stated brusquely, echoing what they’d heard from time to time in the preceding months. Even if they’d had time to consult a textbook as they cruised the streets, it didn’t hold all the answers. They had to decide for themselves if the kid loitering outside the convenient store was looking for trouble or just waiting for friends. They had to determine the best way to cool down the hot head whose sports car had just been rear ended by a Buick. How to break up a rumble in the park before it started. How to show compassion to a junkie curled up in an alley.

Hutch loved nearly every minute—loved using not only his knowledge but also his heart.

As the days passed, Hutch’s respect for his senior officers and bond with his fellow trainees grew. He wished he could transmit to Vanessa how important he felt his work was. But she never seemed to understand, or even try.

“Really, Ken? Punks, junkies, and crooks? Is that what your day is made up of?”

Hutch sighed and set his fork down on the Noritake dinner plate, his meal half-eaten. He didn’t want to spend another evening arguing. He desperately wished he could feel at least as close to his wife as he did his coworkers. Maybe it was that police work held an element of danger that caused emotions between partners to be heightened. Loyalty. Trust. Each shift began with the understanding that each officer might come face to face with injury or even death at any time. Hutch had come to realize that they all lived on the edge. It made relationships more precious. Life more meaningful.

Hutch anchored himself in that thought as the Christmas season approached—his and Vanessa’s first away from their families. He hoped that sharing traditions would bring them closer together, even as the commercialism of the holiday had long since diminished its appeal for him. He loathed the image of Santa Claus’ overflowing bag in place of the simple gifts of the Wise Men; the garish lighting displays that overshadowed the one single Star of long ago.

In California, Christmas seemed even more unsettling. At least in December Minnesota’s pristine fields of snow still held a touch of magic, while in L.A., mid-winter didn’t seem much different than April or September.

The ring of the phone interrupted their dinner and Vanessa, having finished the salad that served as her usual meal these days, went to answer it. Hutch listened half-heartedly as he toyed with his potatoes. He rarely got phone calls; they were usually for Van. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll let him know,” she said after a few seconds then hung up.

“That was someone from the captain’s office,” she said, her face gone slightly pale under her tan. “An officer was shot tonight answering a call.”

“Shot?” Hutch’s felt his heart sink.

“Killed, actually,” she clarified carefully. “They were calling to let everyone in the department know before it made the news.” For a minute Van’s cool facade melted. Even she couldn’t help but feel for the fallen man, his wife and family.

“Who . . . Who was it?”

“Stark something, I believe he said.”

Instantly, Hutch’s unease suddenly shifted to sheer terror. His heart thudded in chest and his palm bore down on the table. “Starsky?” He prompted, his voice strangely horse.

“No. It was Stark. Dan Stark. Did you know him?”

Hutch had met Officer Stark but didn’t know him well. He’d been a patrolman for several years. Neither a rookie nor a veteran. But he’d seemed like a good officer. Quiet and conscientious.

Hutch’s fingers relaxed slightly and he felt a huff of air leave his chest. A loss of one was a loss for all. But what if it had been Starsky? For some reason he knew he couldn’t have borne it.

Officer Stark had been responding to a report of a disturbance in the warehouse district where he’d gotten caught in the crossfire of a local gang war that had erupted without warning. As with most police memorials, the street in front of the funeral home was a river of squad cars. Uniforms stood four deep in the line to the coffin. The red-leaved poinsettias that interspersed traditional flower arrangements were reminders that a joyous season had been tinged with tragedy.

Yvonne Stark’s red eyes showed anguish on her otherwise brave face, although the new widow insisted that Dan had died doing what he thought was right. His death was not in vain. Despite these assurances, for the Stark family, Christmas would forever be marred by grief.

Dan’s partner seemed no less distraught. “It was my job to have his back,” he repeated over and over again. “I’d take his place in a heartbeat.”

Hutch couldn’t help but be touched by the man’s devotion to his partner. That’s what it was all about, he thought as he paid his respects. People who’d stand up for each against the darkness in the world. Who fought to make their communities better. Despite the tragedy, Hutch was gripped with the hope that he’d have a partnership like theirs someday.

Afterward, many of the mourners gathered at Huggy Bear’s, not yet ready to go home to their ordinary lives. They looked to the support of their police family instead. Huggy seemed to be everywhere as he kept the drinks flowing while not saying anything about the accumulating tabs. His typical bubbly personality had turned calm and quiet, as if it was his friend who had died as well. Hutch appreciated that and wondered once again about the enigmatic man. What was his history? His connection to the neighborhood? Yet at the moment it really didn’t matter. All he knew was that the man could be trusted. Perhaps even with all their lives.

“I went to Dan and Yvonne’s wedding,” one man was saying. “They made such a great couple.”

“His daughter is the same age as mine,” another one added.

Like pebbles piled one atop the other, the mourners contributed their stories to the memories of the man. The time Dan fell and broke his ankle when running down a robbery suspect, the practical joke he’d played on Ernie in Records, the drive for school supplies he’d started for a group of foster kids. The memories built a monument to a well-lived life.

Hutch looked around the room as he listened to the stories, drinking in the sincerity of the emotions along with his beer. Then his eyes came to rest on Starsky slumped in a corner. The man had never been known for his grooming—his close-cropped hair his only concession to their profession’s conservative dress code—but that day Starsky looked downright slovenly. His uniform was wrinkled, his shadowed jaw looked like it hadn’t seen a razor in days, and his usually bright eyes had gone dark. It was clear Starsky had been drinking for some time. The man was clearly in pain and Hutch’s heart went out to him.

Hutch tipped his bottle in Starsky’s direction. “I didn’t realize Starsky and Dan Stark had been close,” Hutch said to Colby who was sitting next him.

Colby turned his head to Starsky’s solitary figure. “They weren’t that I know of.”

“Maybe he’s taking it so hard because his dad was a cop,” someone else at their table said.

“Yeah, maybe that’s it. I think I remember him telling me that his dad was killed when he was just a kid,” said John.

“In the line of duty, you mean?” Hutch asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, yeah that’s it.” Colby waved a hand at Huggy who went off to get him another drink.

Hutch looked at John Colby as if he’d never seen him before. How could he gloss over something as important as that? It wasn’t as if it was some small detail, like he didn’t care for anchovies on his pizza. No doubt the death of his father had colored the man’s whole world. And here Starsky was, wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps despite everything. Fuck!

Hutch got up and went over to Starsky’s table. No one else was sitting with him. Perhaps he’d chased them all off. Perhaps he purposefully wanted to be alone, just not by himself. Despite the choice of several empty chairs, Hutch took the seat beside him.

“How’re you doing?” Hutch asked.

“I’m doin’.” Starsky’s words were slurred, his fingers slack on a half-full bottle of beer. A few empties had gathered faster that Huggy could clear them away.

The silence that followed was awkward.

“I heard about your father,” Hutch started in quietly after a few minutes. “This has got to be tough on you.” He felt uncomfortable yet somehow wanted Starsky to know that he knew how much Officer Stark’s death must have hit home. That he was there if Starsky needed to talk.

Starsky looked up at him, eyes bleary. But even bleary they were . . . beautiful, Hutch thought. The most amazing shade of blue. “Life’s tough all around,” he said. “At least pop died doing what he loved. That’s the best thing, ya know. Love.”

“Sure, Starsk,” the nickname came out unexpectedly, yet as easily as coming home. “The world could always use a little more love.”

“There’s all kinds of love, you know, Husch. Between huzbands and wives, parens and kids, friends . . . Love is all around us. You juz have ta look for it.” Starsky’s words were slurred, yet Hutch was amazed at his eloquence.

Hutch put his hand over the top of Starsky’s beer. “Maybe I should take you home. You can’t drive like this. You’re going to get someone killed,” he said gently, and was surprised that Starsky agreed with a somber nod of his head. Maybe it was the cop in Starsky that knew instinctively when he’d crossed a line. Even stone drunk and hurting, Dave Starsky wasn’t about to endanger anyone else.

Hutch called Huggy over to their table to settle their bills. “I was wondering if I was going to have to call Starsky here a cab,” the barkeep noted as he collected the money Hutch handed him.

“Okay, you’re a cab,” Starsky mumbled, bungling the punch line of the corny joke.

Huggy just gave Starsky a look that Hutch could have sworn held a touch of tenderness. “Hand Goldilocks here the keys. I’ll make sure no one messes with your car,” he assured Starsky as he pocketed the change. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with a patron who’d had one too many.

Hutch took the ring of keys Starsky pulled out of his pocket. Then he hefted him clumsily until he was able to wrap an arm securely around his waist. He could smell the alcohol on the breath that brushed his ear as he helped Starsky walk out.

Chapter Four

I see your face before me
As I lay on my bed
I cannot get to thinking
Of all the things you said*

Starsky’s apartment was in a big white house that sat on the curve of the road in a quiet neighborhood. He hadn’t said anything on the twenty-minute ride home other than to offer enough directions to get them there. Hutch parked his Chrysler by the curb and helped Starsky out of the passenger side and up to the entrance of his unit. He unlocked the door with a key from Starsky’s ring.

The place was bigger than it looked from the outside. It wasn’t messy, but not immaculate, either. It just looked lived in. A newspaper was open on the dinette table to the sports section. Several books and magazines dedicated to photography and cars were stacked on an end table. The furniture worn but comfortable. So different than Vanessa’s high-brow style.

Starsky hadn’t sobered up any on the ride. In a way, he seemed even more muddled when they arrived. Lost, even. Hutch had meant to leave him on the couch but decided to settle him in his bed instead. He maneuvered him into the bedroom where Starsky fell easily into the crisply made bed. A holdover from his army days perhaps, Hutch mused.

“You going to be okay, now?” Hutch asked, with the distinct feeling that he was trespassing into Starsky’s private turf.

“Sure,” Starsky mumbled. “You can go now.” He rolled over, pulling the covers along with him as if to wrap himself in a cocoon. What did he want the fabric to shield him from? Hutch wondered.

“Okay then.” Hutch looked at Starsky for a minute, then sighed. In his current condition, Starsky didn’t look so formidable. He looked almost . . . innocent. A surge of protectiveness came over Hutch. As if he were somehow responsible for the gruff New Yorker. As if they belonged together in some indefinable way.

Hutch shook his head in self-recrimination. Tomorrow Starsky would wake up back to normal. His barriers would be locked back in place. He doubtless wouldn’t even thank Hutch for the ride. More likely, Starsky would be incensed that Hutch had dared to invade his privacy.

Hutch stepped away to set Starsky’s keys on the nearby dresser. Along with a comb and a handful of pennies, an array of black and white photographs lay scattered across its top. Realizing they must some of Starsky’s own work, Hutch’s interest piqued. He began to look through them but then stopped, stunned.

Most of them were of . . . him.

Hutch in profile at the target practice, gun in hand and gaze intent; Hutch gathered with a couple other cadets in a hallway, his head thrown back in a laugh; Hutch relaxing at a picnic table in the park, his hair ruffled by the wind. Each shot was well constructed and showed off Hutch’s fine features to their best advantage. In fact, Hutch had to admit to himself, he’d never looked so good.

Starsky gave a small groan and Hutch turned back to him, one of the pictures still in his hand. Based on its angle, Hutch figured it must have been taken from the street in front of Huggy Bear’s. Through the window, Hutch sipped a beer pensively, the reflection of the glass creating an almost ethereal double-exposure.

“They’re all of me,” Hutch said with a touch of wonder. He thought he should have been bothered by the revelation that the man had been practically stalking him, but oddly enough, he wasn’t. He was touched.

Starsky struggled to a sitting position. He looked at the picture dangling from Hutch’s fingers then slowly up to his face. His eyes held a profusion of emotions—anguish, embarrassment, heartache, longing—combined into a reality he didn’t dare speak.

“But you don’t even like me. You . . . you never talk to me . . . .” Hutch stammered, confused. Although the images told a different story, one he couldn’t quite grasp. He looked to Starsky for clarification.

“Self-preservation,” Starsky responded quietly. “I guess it’s because . . . I like you too much. I’ve lost so many people I’ve cared about. Pop was just the first. Then there was ‘Nam. . . ” Starsky’s voice faltered and his attention drifted away, as if he were reliving a hundred nightmares. “Since then, I’ve never let myself get close to anyone. But I knew somehow—with you—if we ever did get close, I mean, it would be different.”

“What do you mean . . . different?” asked Hutch.

“I don’t know. Just different.” Suddenly Starsky lurched to his feet. “I have to use the bathroom,” he mumbled, then he rushed past Hutch and out the bedroom door.

Hutch looked after him wondering if he should see if he needed help, but Starsky quickly closed the door to the bathroom behind him. That answered that. Then Hutch heard the sound of water running. Apparently, Starsky could take care of himself. Besides, what could Hutch do or say that would smooth over the awkwardness of the moment? He’d just found out that everything he had believed about the man, including his opinion of Hutch himself, was completely wrong. Hutch felt as if up and down and down was up. None of it made sense and he didn’t know where he stood.

Vanessa would be waiting for Hutch at home. She hadn’t wanted to come to the funeral—funerals just depressed her, she’d said. Now he’d be late getting back. She wouldn’t be happy to find out he’d stopped by Huggy’s. Hutch had already anticipated her ire when he walked in. Love may be all around, as Starsky had said, but it seemed to be hiding from him these days. Maybe he needed to look a little harder.

Christmas Eve dawned disconcertedly clear and mild and Hutch reminded himself how he needed to get used to the Southern California winters. As a lowly cadet, Hutch was scheduled to work on Christmas the next day. He didn’t mind. He’d rather spend the day doing something useful rather than sitting at home opening pointless presents and eating tofu turkey. Vanessa didn’t seem to mind either. She’d made last minute plans to fly back to Minnesota, although he didn’t know why she needed three suitcases for the short trip.

He and Vanessa set up a small white aluminum tree for Christmas—a real pine would only have left a mess of needles to clean up. In order to salvage at least some remnant of the holiday spirit, that evening Hutch talked Vanessa into watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” with him. She merely shrugged and poured herself another glass of wine. The scenes of softly falling snow on the TV screen inexplicably made Hutch miss Duluth. He must be getting sentimental as he aged, he mused.

Just as the gym floor began to move, about to drop the happily dancing couples into the pool below, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Hutch said, unfolding himself from the sofa. Vanessa merely nodded, distractedly. He knew she wasn’t all that interested in the movie. He wondered where her thoughts were.

When Hutch opened the door, he was shocked to see Starsky standing in front of him. He was holding several cardboard posters in one hand and a boom box in the other. Hutch hadn’t seen Starsky since the day of the funeral and was surprised at how much he’d missed him, even from a distance. But it was just as well, Hutch had thought. He had no idea what to say to him.

Hutch glanced behind him, reflexively checking on Vanessa. Her dislike of unexpected company was legendary, especially any of his friends from the academy. But Starsky held up a finger in front of his lips and lifted the top poster. Tell her it’s carol singers was spelled out in big letters across the cardboard.

Hutch suppressed a smile. Starsky had done his research well. Damn, if he wasn’t going to make a spectacular cop. A great partner. He’d do his old man proud soon enough.

“Who is it?” Vanessa called out, a touch of irritation in her voice.

“It’s carolers,” Hutch answered over his shoulder. Starsky switched on the boom box and immediately the sound of a choir singing “Silent Night” began to play. Hutch and Starsky exchanged a conspiratorial look.

Starsky slipped the cardboard to the back of the stack and displayed the next one in order. It read, With any luck, by next year. . .

And the next, I’ll be with partnered with one of these guys.

The following card Starsky held up had several paper Clint Eastwood cutouts from his role in ‘Dirty Harry,’ and Magnum Force’ stuck on it like a collage.

Hutch nearly laughed aloud, thinking how all his buddies at the academy thought of Eastwood as the ultimate super cop.

Starsky grinned back then continued to lift up the cards one by one, revealing to Hutch what each had scrawled on them.

But for now let me say. . .

Without hope or agenda. . .

Just because it’s Christmas . . .

(And at Christmas you tell the truth) . . .

Here, Starsky paused as if gathering his courage to show the next card, and when he did, Hutch felt his knees grow weak.

To me you are perfect.

A soft, wistful expression came over Starsky’s face.  He continued to lift each card up in turn. And I’d want you for a partner . . .

Until you look like this . . .

Starsky held up a picture of a decrepit mummy that had Hutch stifling a giggle, then smiling from ear to ear.

Finally, Starsky had reached the last card. It simply read Merry Christmas.

Starsky and Hutch stood for a minute looking mutely at each other. Something indefinable passed between them. Hutch mouthed “Merry Christmas” and Starsky responded with a little ‘thumbs up’ gesture. Then Starsky turned and walked resolutely away. Hutch thought back to that first day in self-defense class. How the surly New Yorker called him blondie and teased him about his prep school bearing. He knew now it had all been an act. Self-preservation, Starsky had called it, after all he’d been through. In anticipation of the journey they, as rookies, were about to embark on.

Realization dawned. An inescapable truth Hutch had probably known all along. The reason he’d been so troubled by Starsky’s cold-shoulder treatment, yet not by the photographs—a bold invasion of his personal space.

Hutch went after Starsky then, forgetting about Van for the time being. He ran out the door of his apartment building and down to the street. It was dark and unusually deserted. Hutch figured everyone else must be celebrating the holiday with friends and family. Then he saw a lone figure crossing the road with a gait he’d recognize anywhere.

“Starsky,” Hutch called out, the name echoing off the buildings.

Starsky paused, allowing Hutch to catch up with him before he got to his car. Hutch grasped Starsky’s arm and turned him around. As he did, he felt a coil of tension deep within the other man.

“You don’t have to be afraid of being friends with me,” Hutch said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen down the road—we’ll get knocked around, sure. It’s part of the job. Maybe even killed. Heck, we’re all going to die someday. But I think the two of us are meant to be in this thing together. Don’t you think we should give us a chance?”

As the two men faced each other they finally allowed themselves to feel the connection they could no longer deny. An awareness that something bigger than both of them was on the horizon. They just had to reach for it. Take a leap into the unknown. It was frightening, yes, but thrilling, too. And neither were cowards.

Starsky paused, as if thinking through what Hutch had said. Then, after a few minutes, he gave him the faintest of nods and the corners of his mouth drew up in what Hutch took for a smile.

Hutch thought it might possibly be the best gift he’d ever received. He smiled back. “See you in class,” he said, then turned back toward his apartment.

EPILOGUE

Vanessa never came back from Minnesota. Hutch figured out later—the same time as he discovered that their joint bank accounts had been drained—that she’d been planning her move for weeks. She called him on New Year’s Day. Being married to a cop held no future, she’d told him. When Starsky showed up at his door a short time later, pizza and six-pack in hand, Hutch had to disagree.

Weeks later, despite having been served with final divorce papers, academy graduation day was a jubilant occasion. The newly minted officers were handed their diplomas with full pomp and circumstance. Afterward, Hutch gathered with Starsky and the other graduates at Huggy Bear’s where the barkeep declared drinks were on the house.

“I see you two have mended fences,” John Colby noted, as Starsky and Hutch sat squashed together in a crowded booth. Hutch thought his tone held a hint of jealousy. While Hutch had learned that he could read Starsky like a book, Colby, he’d decided, was a mystery. He shrugged his shoulders with careful nonchalance and took another swig of beer.

Meanwhile, Starsky’s sullen demeanor had been replaced with an exuberance that seemed unending. “Yep. We’re both been accepted by the Bay City PD. How about you?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Colby admitted. “I don’t know if I’m ready to sign on anywhere. I think I might hit the road for a bit.”

Hutch thought he heard of touch of guardedness in John Colby’s tone, but brushed any momentary unease aside. Then he and Starsky traded glances that were flooded with warmth. The roads they’d been on had already led them home.

You gave your promise to me and I gave mine to you
I need someone beside me in everything I do

 You know I love you, I always will
My mind’s made up by the way that I feel
There’s no beginning, there’ll be no end
‘Cause on my love you can depend.

*Love is All Around, Lyrics by Wes Presley