Silviabella has written clear instructions with pictures for a fun and simple project — how to make Starsky & Hutch Christmas ornaments. Click on the images below to see larger versions. The images are also in the instructions.
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Starsky likes to stick little notes inside his Christmas cards to personalize them, and here is one that fell out of his card to Hutch.
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Starsky’s Christmas Letter to Hutch, 1977 Word Format
Starsky’s Christmas Letter to Hutch, 1977 PDF Format
Am I gonna sit here all night and wait?
Wait for what, Starsky? If you mean Christmas morning – you’ll be waiting a while.
No dumb head, an answer, Hutch, an answer for God’s sake.
It wasn’t a question. You just pointed out that it’s less than a few days to Christmas, which it is.
Not that. Not the bit about Christmas – but the question, Hutch. I only pointed out the bit about Christmas to drive home the point. The point to the question. The one you didn’t answer.
Oh? I was supposed to answer you? I thought that was a rhetorical question you posed.
Always gotta be the smart ass, Hutch, don’t ya? I don’t even know what ‘rhetorical’ means – well not for sure, anyway. So how would I ask you one of those?
I’m not being a smart ass – just think it’s a question with no answer – or not one meant to be answered – rhetorical – at least not one that I have anyway.
You didn’t even try. You didn’t even give it a moment’s thought. You just plain out ignored me.
Where the hell is that frozen bag of peas I know I had stashed in the back of the freezer box?
Like you just did again – see?
See what, Starsky?
Totally ignored me. Ignored that I said you didn’t even try to answer the question.
No – I believe I said that I had no answer to that question. Besides I didn’t say anything else because I’m looking for the peas – the peas I need right now because my leg is on fire.
You need more than damn peas to help that leg. Have you taken those pain killers the doc gave you yet?
Don’t tell me you used it in your damn pizza sauce last night?
Why would I need frozen peas for pizza sauce, huh? And who puts peas in pizza sauce? Jesus – peas in pizza sauce!
Well they’re not – oh – got ‘em. Stuck to the roof of the freezer – frozen solid. Need to de-frost this hunk of shit some time….
Sit down will ya’, and put that leg up like you were told to do. I’ll get the damn peas out – and I’ll grab the bottle of painkillers. You look fit to drop.
I’m fine. Better than you look after the four beers you threw down in the last twenty minutes.
It’s the only way I could cope. It’s like those psychological things, ya’ know – mechanical things – what are they, Hutch? You know – like the shrink is always talking about in our sessions?
Mechanisms, they’re called Coping Mechanisms, and you’ve got nothing on me where they’re concerned Starsk. I’ve become the master of them all since….
Don’t go there, Hutch.
Go there? Some days I don’t think I ever left there.
Stop it. This is not about me. I’m sitting here in pretty good shape.
Yeah, and it was a long fuckin’ road to get you to that shape.
I’m trying to talk about you.
Thought we were talking about you – you and your coping mechanisms.
Only because of what you keep doin’ to me that makes me need to use ‘em. I’m doin’ just fine – I am just fine until you blow my mind with worry. Just lookin’ at ya’ is still makin’ me nervous.
Then don’t be – it’s over and I’m in one piece.
One piece I nearly had to scrape up off the street. I just keep seein’ ya flyin’ through the air.
Well, I can tell you it was a damn sight better flying through the air compared to when I hit the ground.
I hate your funny-man humor shit more than your smart-ass shit. You know that?
Just trying to diffuse things here, buddy. Have another beer. You’re too wound up.
I’ll be less wound up if you swallow these painkillers and they help to put some color back in ya’ pretty face. You’re whiter than that Minnesota snow ya’ love so much.
Wish I had some of that snow and ice right now to pack around this leg. Where’re my peas?
Stuck solid to the roof of the freezer.
Told you that already.
You need to defrost that piece of junk you call a fridge, Hutch.
Told you that, too. Doesn’t help me with my lack of frozen peas though.
Jeez, will ya’ just forget the goddamn peas. When those painkillers start to work, I’ll run downstairs to the restaurant and ask that nice French lady for a bag of ice. She likes you – I’m sure she’ll give me a whole ice bucket full.
Think she likes me enough to put a bottle of French champagne in with the ice?
Even if she did, you can’t drink it – not with those pills.
So I get pills and you get beer. Hardly fair.
Be serious. You’ve got an injury. You know the rules Blintz, the one with the injury never gets the beers. Anyways – beer hasn’t helped me none.
‘Anyways’?
Here it comes. What did I say now?
Just that ‘anyways’ is not a word, Starsky.
Oh – quit the high-brow shit. You know what I’m askin’ here. You know what I mean. Don’t give me that Hutchinson stuck up act, will ya? Not tonight, not tonight, okay?
Okay. No Hutchison stuck up shit – just for you, Starsky. Promise. Though – I’m not sure what it is you want me to tell you. And, I’m not sure how tonight is any different than any other night.
That’s the whole freakin’ point, Hutch. That’s the problem.
What’s the problem?
The fact that tonight is no different than any other night. Bad things happenin’ to us. Bad things happenin’ to you. Look at you – all banged up, with frozen peas on your leg.
…Actually, I’ve got no peas.
Hutch!
It’s not all that bad. Doc said it would heal over – granulate in. Looks worse than it is. No muscle damage, just skin and maybe a bit of fat – sort of flayed off.
Just skin and fat? Sorta like – what? Flayed off? What are you? A side of beef? A butcher’s carcass?
Human flesh is not much different than another flesh, Starsky – we all bleed.
Oh, that just makes me feel a whole lot better, Blondie.
You heard him, Starsky.
Who? Who’d I hear?
The doc in ER.
Oh, you mean that opinionated, stick-up-his-ass, undergrad?
He was a qualified intern. Has to be to be working in the Emergency Department of a hospital, Starsky.
Sure didn’t look like it to me…
It’s nothing serious.
What’s not serious? The fact that they’ve got adolescents running our hospitals?
You know what I mean. My condition – my leg. Nothing serious.
Says who? What would he know? The kid wasn’t old enough to sweat yet, let alone treat my partner. Telling me it was all right to bring you home when ya’ should’ve been put in a bed for the night, not allowed home to give me misery like you are.
Will you stop being dramatic? It’s the damn beer talking now. You’re just emotional. Two weeks ago this was you – you with that grazed temple from the bullet.
Yeah, but my flesh wasn’t ‘flayed off,’ and I didn’t get tossed up in the air and bounced on the blacktop like you after some hit-and-run driver did a number on you with his front fender.
I’m alive. I’m okay. It’s alright in the end, Starsk.
No, it’s not. In the end, it seems to be getting worse and worse. I’m damn tired of watchin’ bits of you get broken and bent. I’m tired of watchin’ you like this – getting smaller and smaller every week as this job wears ya’ down.
And you don’t think I feel exactly the same way watching you?
I know you do. I know for sure you do, Hutch. But –
But what?
You just don’t ever seem to be able to ask the question. The one you said had no answer. The one you won’t ask me because you’re too afraid.
Too afraid of what, Starsky?
Too afraid of asking me what you’ve wanted to ask me for the entire past year since I came back on the force.
If you know the question then why do I need to ask it?
Because, Hutch, because if you ask it out loud, look me straight in the eye when you finally do, I’ll have to give you an answer.
It’s a hard question, Starsky. Even harder to ask. I don’t want to hurt you anymore than you’ve already been hurt. You deserve so much more than you’ve had in the last eighteen months.
And you deserve to finally leave the place you haven’t left in the last eighteen months. You’re never gonna stop worryin’ about me are you, Blondie? Not while we do what we do.
No. No, I won’t. But here’s the thing, Starsk. You’re really no different than me. You worry about me just the same.
And if we stopped this? Stopped this life where you get tossed in the air and pounded into the blacktop by a hit-and-run car.
– A life where you get taken down in a spray of bullets and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it?
Well, yeah – the same I guess. What then? What then, Hutch?
I know I’d still worry. Every day, every hour, every minute. Seems to me that every waking moment I’m quietly terrified of losing you. Cop or not. For me, the fear of losing you is always there.
So, if you asked me to give up being a cop? If I said yes, that I’d do it for you – then what, Hutch?
Then I’d stop worrying about you being a cop, but I’d still worry – in different ways – but just as much.
Just like if your flayed skin and torn muscles get put back together, I’ll still worry about you, too.
Yep. I’m sure you would. Face it, Starsk, we’re a hopeless pair.
No hope for us at all, Blondie?
Nope. Not one bit. Not while we keep loving each other the way we do. Not when I wake up beside you every morning and remember how much I love you all over again.
…Hutch – hell…
Not like right now when I’m sitting here with my leg all banged up and all I can think of is showing you how much I love you….
Christ, Hutch, you’re making me all misty-eyed here. You know when you start up that romantic talk you turn me into soft mush…
I like you soft and mushy just as much as I like you hard and tough.
Hard?
You heard me.
Hey, cut it out. You keep that talk up and I won’t be fit to go downstairs to get your ice.
Maybe if you get over here just a little closer I won’t need that ice.
Like this ya’ mean?
Like that.
Close enough?
Not quite close enough, but getting there – just let me….
Hey Hutch….
Hmnn…what, babe?
Maybe I’ll make sure that nice French lady downstairs puts a bottle of champagne in the bucket of ice after all.
Oh?
Yeah – because – Oh God, that’s good, Hutch…. Umm – we’ve got something to celebrate.
We do? Starsky, just let me…there….oh Christ…ahh, we do?
Yep. We can celebrate that I’ve still got you – a bit flayed up and all – but still got you. And, you’ve still got me. Patched and rebuilt – but still here. Still here for another Christmas. Together.
I’ll toast to that – when we get the bubbly. In the meantime, David Starsky – I’ll just have to find something else to toast with –
Like…like what?
Like this damp, very damp, succulent moist flesh under my tongue. Who needs champagne when I’ve got you, Starsk?
Hutch?
Hmmm? What, Starsk?
From now on, I’m gonna be asking you a lot more rhetorical questions.
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“This is all your fault, you know.” Starsky broke the silence in the car.
“What’s that?” Hutch surreptitiously tried to ease the cramp in his leg. His car seat was jammed, so he couldn’t move it back any further, but he knew better than to complain about it to Starsky.
“That we’re on a stakeout. On Christmas Eve.”
“Starsky, you don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“That’s exactly my point! If I was partners with any other guy, I’d get Christmas Eve off. But no, they know that I don’t celebrate and you’re an old Scrooge.”
“I am not a Scrooge. I just think Christmas has gotten so commercialized it’s lost all meaning. What’s the point? We might as well be working.”
“See?” Starsky waved his hand. “That’s what I’m talking about. Scrooge.”
Hutch smiled a little and shook his head. “That’s as may be, but it’s not my fault we’re on a stakeout. That’s all down to you.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“I wasn’t the one complaining to everyone at headquarters. They couldn’t get rid of us fast enough.” Hutch gestured towards the house about a half block away. “How likely is it that Martinelli is going to make a beeline for his girlfriend after jumping bail? He’s long gone by now. But we’re stuck here waiting for him because of you.”
“Well, he might show.” Starsky sounded subdued.
Hutch stretched. “Anyway, it’s not so bad, is it? Nice and peaceful out.” He winced a little as his leg cramped again.
“If you don’t mind being a sardine. We’d be a lot more comfortable in my car.”
“Martinelli knows your car. He’d see it and be out of here before—”
“You just said he’s long gone.”
“Well—ow—if he is idiotic enough to show up tonight, I don’t want to miss him.”
“Me neither. But I’d rather be at home eating and drinking… What do you drink on Christmas Eve?”
“Eggnog.” Hutch glanced at Starsky and was rewarded with a grimace and a shudder. “It helps if there’s a high alcohol content.”
“People get plastered on Christmas Eve?”
Hutch widened his eyes and nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
“Huh. Well, okay then, what do you eat?
“Starsk—”
“Go on, tell me about a traditional Hutchinson Christmas Eve.”
“Which part? The arguments? The gifts nobody wanted? The silent dinners?” Hutch looked out the windshield, well aware of Starsky’s quiet presence beside him. He sighed and gave in. “It wasn’t always bad. The last years…well, I think they were just worn out pretending they were living the American dream.”
“In Florida?”
“Yeah.”
“What about Duluth?”
“That was where all the arguments started.” But Hutch found himself smiling a little as he thought back. “It wasn’t so bad when I was a kid, though. We’d have a tree and there was always snow.”
“I thought you didn’t like snow.”
“I do at Christmas. Who doesn’t like snow at Christmas?”
“It makes it easier for the sleigh and reindeer, huh?”
Hutch laughed. “My grandfather used to make tracks in the snow—he’d show them to me on Christmas day. ‘You’ve got to believe, Kenny,’ he’d say.”
“Sounds like a great guy.”
“Yeah.” Hutch looked away, out the side window. It still hurt to think about him, even after all these years.
“So, you’d spend Christmas Eve waiting on Santa?”
He glanced again at Starsky, and couldn’t help but smile at his evident enthusiasm. Starsky always did like to hear stories about Hutch’s childhood. Hutch couldn’t really imagine why. “Uh…no. My mother’s family was German, so we celebrated on Christmas Eve. We’d eat dinner, then open all the presents.” Hutch shifted in his seat. “That was one of the few things Van liked about my family. She liked to sleep in on Christmas morning.”
“Hmm. Must’ve been hard to go to sleep after all that, though, when you were a kid.”
Hutch shrugged. “I don’t suppose it was any different for kids waiting for Christmas morning. Worse, probably.”
“I kind of like anticipation.”
“You would’ve been up every five minutes asking if Santa had come.”
“So, what were the tracks for, then, If Santa didn’t come overnight?”
“Well, you see, Grandpa would take me out for a drive to look at the Christmas lights. And, miraculously, Santa would arrive while we were out. The tracks were there the next morning to prove it. Even when I knew it was my folks putting the presents out, I liked going out for the drive with Grandpa. We’d bundle up against the cold and drive through the neighborhoods. It was quiet on the streets and the Christmas lights would be on and you could see people gathering in their homes. You could believe in the magic, you know? Even when I said I didn’t anymore. And anyway—” He broke off, looked down.
“What?”
It was our time together, he was going to say, which was true enough. But there in the dark car on Christmas Eve, with Starsky’s warm presence next to him, he found himself telling the whole truth: “There was magic. Because every Christmas morning I’d wake up, and there’d be a present on the end of the bed. It was always the best present, too—Captain America, maybe, or Cracker Jacks and a Baby Ruth bar, or, one year, a Cubs baseball hat.”
“Your grandpa?” Starsky’s voice was quiet.
Hutch nodded. “Yeah. I never caught him, though.” He glanced at Starsky. “He’d always look at me on Christmas morning as if to say: ‘See? You’ve gotta believe’.” He looked down again at his hands.
“What happened?”
Trust Starsky to guess it wasn’t all a happy memory. “He had a stroke just before Christmas when I was thirteen. In those days they restricted visitors, you know, especially kids. But I got to see him on Christmas Eve morning. He was in bad shape—I don’t know if he even knew we were there.”
“I bet he knew.”
“Maybe. He died two days later.” Hutch drew in a breath. “After that, Christmas was just…” He shrugged.
“I’m glad you had him for a time then, at least.” Hutch felt Starsky’s hand on his thigh as he rubbed and patted it gently.
“Yeah, well, we all grow up, right?” Hutch smiled at Starsky, then turned his head quickly to look out the window. He’d never told anyone about his grandfather, or his Christmas morning gifts, not even his parents. Most especially not his parents. Suddenly, Hutch frowned as he caught movement near Mary Franklin’s dark house. “I don’t believe it.”
“What?” Starsky’s tone of voice told Hutch he’d snapped into working mode.
“By the tree there—see that shadow?”
“Martinelli?” Starsky was already reaching for the door.
“How stupid can he—? Come on.” They climbed out of the car. Starsky moved swiftly forward on their side of the street. Hutch circled around the car to give Starsky time to get into position. He crossed the street, his eyes on Martinelli who was at the house now, hunched over the front door knob. Was he picking the lock? Hutch frowned, hurrying forward. “Martinelli!”
Martinelli straightened and turned at the same time. Hutch caught a gleam of light on metal in Martinelli’s hand, then heard Starsky’s shout: “Hutch! Gun!” He dropped to the ground and rolled just as he heard a gun shot. He looked up in time to see Starsky barreling into Martinelli, taking him to the ground in a bear hug.
“Starsky!” Hutch lunged to his feet. He heard a muffled gun shot and for a moment he froze, as if ice had suddenly solidified within his veins, then he ran towards the two men on the ground. They moved as he reached them, separating a little. Hutch got a hand on Starsky’s upper arm and hauled him to his feet. “Are you okay? Starsk?”
“Don’t let him—” Starsky had a similar hold on Martinelli’s arm as he got to his feet. “Grab him!”
Hutch automatically obeyed, but his kept his hold on Starsky as well. “Are you hurt?” Martinelli seemed dazed as he stood beside them.
“No.” Starsky swayed a little and Hutch tightened his grip. “Just hit my head. The shot—” He broke off, looked around, then at Martinelli. “Missed us both, I guess. Huh.”
“You idiot! Why the hell—” But he was interrupted as the porch light came on and the front door opened to reveal an irate Mary Franklin.
“What is all this? Why are you—” She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of Martinelli. “Vinnie!”
“Mary!” Martinelli started forward, but Hutch and Starsky both halted him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had to see you. I had to see—” He stopped speaking as a man appeared behind Mary and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s true. You…bitch!” Martinelli lunged towards the couple, pulling Hutch and Starsky with him, but they hauled him back.
“I told you I was through with you, Vinnie, if you got in trouble one more time!”
“I’m going to kill you, I’m going to kill you both!” Martinelli struggled against their holds on him.
“Settle down, Martinelli!” Hutch maneuvered Martinelli into the side of house. “Starsk, you got cuffs?”
Mary glared at Martinelli. “Don’t you threaten me, you little—”
“When I get out, I’m going—” Martinelli tried to break Hutch’s hold without success.
“You’re not getting out, you stupid jerk, not for years.”
“All right!” Starsky shouted. “Enough out of both of you!” He cuffed Martinelli while Hutch held him still. Starsky looked at Mary. “The sooner you go inside, the sooner we can get him out of here.”
“Good!” Mary turned to go back in her house, but then she discovered the lock pick that Martinelli had apparently dropped. “You were going to sneak up on us while we slept? You bastard! You utter ass—”
“Shut up!” Starsky yelled. “You,” he pointed at Mary, “go inside. You,” he grabbed the cuffed Martinelli, “come with me.” He dragged Martinelli away towards the car.
Hutch retrieved Martinelli’s gun and the lock pick. “Good night,” he said to Mary who was inside the house once again. He glanced at the silent blond man behind her. “Merry Christmas.” He turned and headed for the car.
By the time they drove Martinelli to Metro, booked him, and wrote their report, their shift was over. They walked to the parking lot together, where Starsky had left his car. It was a cloudy night, and smelled like it was going to rain, although none had fallen so far. It reminded him of Christmas in Florida. Perhaps it was the memory of loneliness that prompted it, but he found himself asking what he had decided only yesterday not to ask: “Come on over to my house? I’ll feed you breakfast.”
Starsky stopped walking and looked at him, not hiding either his pleasure or suspicion. “Feed me what for breakfast?”
“Bacon and eggs.”
“Since when do you have bacon?”
“Since I knew we’d be working Christmas Eve.” It was the truth, even if he had changed his mind about inviting Starsky over.
Starsky smiled. “Yeah? All right, then.” His smile dimmed a little as he looked away. “I’ll, um, meet you there, okay?”
Hutch shrugged. “Yeah, good idea.” He thought his voice sounded normal, but his stomach and throat both felt tight. Starsky, he thought, wanted his car at the ready in case it got…awkward. And that was exactly why Hutch had changed his mind, dammit. He got into his car, shut the door, and hit the steering wheel. “Fuck.” He closed his eyes. He had promised nothing would change, and he’d keep that promise. If Starsky didn’t trust him— No, he wouldn’t go down that road. Starsky was coming over, just as he always would have done. Leave it at that. Opening his eyes, he started the car and headed for home. It had been a month—a little over a month, since he’d—they’d—had sex with each other.
It hadn’t happened as he’d wanted or dreamed it would be. He hadn’t taken Starsky to his bed and shown him what love could mean between them. Instead, it had happened in a grimy, abandoned apartment building where he had nearly died, and Starsky had been shaking with adrenaline and fear and need. He’d grabbed Hutch in his arms and they’d held on to each other until Starsky had suddenly tried to pull back.
“Sorry,” Starsky had mumbled.
“No, there’s no need.” He didn’t know why he had lost the control he had maintained for years, why he’d blurted out, finally: “Let me help you.” Maybe it had been because he was still shocked by the way the floor had collapsed on him, his only line to safety the grip Starsky had had on him. It had been some time since he’d feared death, but he had been scared then—scared of pulling Starsky in with him. Whatever the reason, he’d pressed against Starsky, shown him his own arousal and how they might help each other. Starsky had stared at him, his expression shocked, his mouth open, but then he’d taken Hutch’s mouth with his own.
It had been fast, and hard, but he had gloried in it nevertheless. They had kissed voraciously, and he had taken Starsky’s cock into his hands and stroked him to release. He had taken Starsky’s cry into his mouth as well, and then he’d come himself with very little more than pressure. Afterwards, they had clung to each other again, breathing heavily. “Hutch,” Starsky had said, and then nothing more.
Cold reality, finally, had squeezed the bubble of joy that had been rising within him. “It’s okay.” He had gently disengaged from Starsky.
“I can’t,” Starsky had whispered, eyes on the floor.
Oh God, he knows. The pain he’d felt inside had been fierce. He hadn’t expected Starsky to want sex with him, but he had hoped to hide how much it had meant to him. Fool. But he’d smiled because what else could he have done? Maybe he couldn’t hide his need from Starsky, but he could hide his pain. “You know it won’t matter. This was just…special circumstances. Nothing’s changed.”
He had done his best since then to prove that, and Starsky had played along. Hutch was a master at pretending—he’d had practice at it for most of his life. It had worked, they were back to normal—until tonight, when they had suddenly both been self-conscious. Dammit. Hutch hit the steering wheel. He should’ve just invited Starsky over in the first place, kept it casual, so Starsky wouldn’t have thought about it. But Christmas always put him on edge. There had been too many disappointments at Christmas time. Well. He had learned to master that pain long ago, he would do it again for Starsky’s sake.
There were Christmas lights strung on many of the houses in Venice, but few lights were showing in the homes. Hutch supposed there were children trying to sleep, and adults snatching what sleep they could before their children would wake. The breeze was cool, and the rain arrived at last as he made his way to his own home. It was nothing like real Christmas, and that somehow cheered him.
“About time you showed up,” Starsky grumbled as Hutch let himself into the apartment.
Hutch shut the door. “Well, we’re not all trying to drive like Mario Andretti.”
“That’s a good thing in your car.” Starsky gestured towards the kitchen. “Come on, I got the bacon out and turned on the stove.”
Hutch followed him into the kitchen. “You didn’t believe I had any, did you?”
“Would I disbelieve you?” Starsky grinned.
“Did you notice it’s fake bacon?”
“Wha—?”
Hutch couldn’t help but laugh at Starsky’s horrified expression. “Would I do that to you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you would.”
“Well, it’s real bacon and eggs tonight.” Hutch separated the bacon strips and put them in the frying pan.
Starsky retrieved two bottles of beer from the fridge. “It’s really more ‘today’.”
Hutch felt the tightness of his own smile. “It’s still dark, so it’s still Christmas Eve in my book.”
“Okay. Christmas Eve it is.” Starsky popped off the bottle caps and handed one of the bottles to Hutch. “Happy Christmas Eve.” He clinked his bottle against Hutch’s.
They ate quickly, then Starsky volunteered to clean up and Hutch left him to it. He wandered into the darkened greenhouse, breathing in the comforting aroma of vegetation. The rain had continued while they ate. He didn’t miss snow, he told himself. It was cold and a pain to deal with. He liked California, where Christmas was like every other day. No buildup, no disappointment. No hope for miracles. The light in the kitchen area switched off and was replaced by the soft glow of a lamp, but Hutch lingered in the eternal summer he’d created in his greenhouse. You’ve got to believe, Kenny. But wishes couldn’t change reality, not even on Christmas.
“Hey.” Starsky’s voice was quiet behind him.
“Finished?” Hutch stood a moment longer, gathering himself before he turned and found Starsky very close. He caught his breath briefly in surprise.
Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “You seem…sad.” Starsky’s grip tightened. “That’s not right.”
Hutch wanted to shrug, tell him it had been a long night, make a joke, but there was something in the way Starsky was standing with him that held him still. He was grateful that the shadows in the greenhouse hid his expression. It wasn’t fair to foist his yearning on to Starsky. He knew that. But he loved him so—all the enthusiasm and loyalty and bedrock certainty that was Starsky.
“Ah, Hutch.”
And suddenly, shockingly, he was kissing Starsky. He didn’t know how it had happened—who had made the move—but when he tried to pull back, he felt Starsky resist the move. So Hutch gave in to his need. He cupped Starsky’s head in his hands, kissed him deeply, and felt Starsky’s hands on his back, pulling him even closer. Still, he had to know, had to be certain. He broke the kiss, rested his forehead against Starsky’s, mastered his fear enough to speak. “Is this okay? Is it?” He kept his eyes closed, but he couldn’t help but kiss the skin so close to his mouth.
“Bed.” Starsky’s voice was deep, and a little rough. “Let’s do this properly.”
Starsky tugged at him and Hutch finally opened his eyes. He didn’t want to move, irrationally afraid, somehow, that Starsky would change his mind. But Starsky just smiled and kissed him and moved backwards, pulling Hutch along with him. They made slow progress towards the bed, stopping to kiss and taste each other. He began to believe in the welcome he found in Starsky’s mouth, that they would ‘do this properly,’ as Starsky had said. But there was a small gift of his own he could offer. “Wait here,” he said softly, as he broke free of Starsky’s hold.
“Hutch.”
He brushed a hand over Starsky’s face. “Only a moment.” He walked to the lamp and switched it off, leaving only the city lights outside to illuminate the room. It seemed safer that way, and Starsky didn’t object when he returned to him, just took hold of his hand and pulled him the rest of the way to the bed. Hutch unbuttoned Starsky’s shirt and pulled his t-shirt out of his jeans so he could, at last, touch skin. He heard Starsky’s sharp intake of breath as his stomach muscles quivered under Hutch’s hand. He pulled the t-shirt up and over Starsky’s head, and then swiftly took off his own shirt. They came together, skin against skin, and his hands roamed freely over Starsky’s back as he held him close. He breathed in the scent of Starsky’s skin, and felt the unmistakable evidence of Starsky’s arousal. Delight surged through him. “Starsk,” he whispered, eyes closed. Then he kissed Starsky’s neck, and collar bone, chest, and stomach, as he went down on his knees in front of him.
“God… Hutch.” Starsky gasped. “Oh, don’t stop.”
Hutch grinned. “Gotta get you free, then.” He batted Starsky’s hands away from his belt, and undid it himself. They worked together to get Starsky’s jeans and underwear off. He stroked Starsky’s cock, loving the hiss is elicited from Starsky. “Easy. Want me to suck you off here?”
“Yes. No.” Starsky’s voice was strained.
Hutch grinned again. “Decisive as usual.”
“Shut up.” Starsky gripped Hutch’s shoulder. “I’m not doing this alone.”
“I should hope not.”
“Get your pants off, Hutch.”
“Yes, sir.” Hutch stood, but not before he placed a kiss on Starsky’s cock that elicited a very satisfying moan. He finished undressing, then let Starsky tug him down onto the bed. It was right, so exquisitely right to be lying there with Starsky, free at last to not only touch, as they had always done, but to caress, explore, arouse. He had imagined what it would be like to rub his face against Starsky’s chest, tongue the line of hair that led from chest to groin, but he hadn’t thought of the shudders that went through Starsky’s body, or the way he writhed under Hutch’s hands. And when he finally took Starsky’s heavy cock in his mouth, the ragged sound in Starsky’s voice as he cried out Hutch’s name, was nearly enough to cause him to come then and there.
He got control of himself by concentrating on Starsky’s pleasure. He used his hands and mouth and teeth to drive Starsky right to the brink of orgasm, then held him there while he played with him, just a little, just enough to make Starsky curse and beg. When he let him come, he took all that Starsky had to give into himself. Afterwards, he lay with his cheek on Starsky’s stomach, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“What, you think that was funny?” Starsky still sounded a little breathless.
“Yeah.” Hutch lazily licked around Starsky’s belly button.
Starsky’s hand touched Hutch’s head, stroked his hair. “You like turning me into lasagna?”
“Lasagna?”
“Flat and wiggly and coming apart at the seams.”
Hutch let out his breath in a huff, and smiled. “Oh.” He buried his face against Starsky’s skin.
“Come on.” Starsky’s hand slid to Hutch’s shoulder. “Come up here.”
“Why don’t you come down here?”
“Because I don’t think I can move yet. Come on.”
Hutch felt the smirk on his face as he shifted up, and then Starsky’s mouth was on his, tasting him—tasting himself—and lust drove every other thought out of Hutch’s mind. Before he knew it, he was on his back and Starsky was repeating on him everything he had done to Starsky. “Copy cat,” he gasped out as Starsky moved down his body.
“Always been a fast learner.”
Hutch couldn’t help but thrust as Starsky’s hand closed around his cock, it felt so good held in that warm, hard hand. There was a pause and Hutch suddenly realized what Starsky was going to do next. “Starsk, you don’t— Ah! Shit!” Starsky’s mouth engulfed his cock. Hutch tried to hold back, give him time to adjust, but the very idea that he was fucking Starsky’s mouth—that Starsky was the one responsible for that hot pressure moving on his cock, was enough to send him right to the edge, needing completion now. He groaned and pumped, undone by a combination of passion, love and fear. When he came, it seemed to last forever, and yet was over far too soon. He lay gasping until he felt Starsky move. He reached down to him, running a hand over his shoulder to his neck. “You okay?”
He felt as well as heard the rumble of Starsky’s laugh. “Stupid question.” Starsky crawled up the bed towards him, and Hutch wrapped his arms around him. He wanted him close, wanted to hold him for as long as he would allow it. Starsky seemed to understand, because he relaxed against him, face buried in Hutch’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” Hutch whispered.
“I love you, Hutch.” Starsky’s voice was soft, as if he was already drifting towards sleep.
Hutch smiled. “Me, too.” He moved just enough to grab the sheet to pull over them before settling next to Starsky again. He knew Starsky loved him. Why else would he have given this gift? He must have seen the yearning Hutch had tried to hide—understood Hutch’s need, as he understood him in everything else. Hutch held on a little tighter, a bittersweet ache growing inside him. Starsky’s gift wasn’t—couldn’t be—permanent, and Hutch would never demand that of him. But, oh, he would savor this one moment. He closed his eyes, breathed in Starsky’s scent, felt the hard muscle of the man who watched his back every day. All he ever wanted was here in his arms. It was enough—more than enough—to have had just this night. In the morning, when the sun brought a new day, he’d set Starsky’s free, with no recriminations. A Christmas day gift.
He didn’t want to sleep, he wanted to absorb every minute that passed. But he felt Starsky relax into sleep, and the steady breathing soothed him like a drug. Safe, here in my arms. He closed his eyes. It was more than he had ever expected, though he knew the boundless generosity that Starsky had within him. Sleep was claiming him, he could feel it pulling him down to dreams that wouldn’t match the pleasure of this fleeting reality. If only it could go on. If only. If… And despite all that life had taught him, he found himself wishing for the impossible. “Believe,” he murmured, as he slipped into sleep.
A shaft of sunlight woke Hutch as he lay on his back. It must be late morning. He felt rested, better than he’d felt in weeks. He wanted to stay in bed, but— Movement next to him suddenly brought memories of the night before flooding into his brain. Starsky! He opened his eyes, turned his head, and there was Starsky still next to him, although further away than when they had fallen asleep. His stomach contracted, feeling a mixture of joy and regret. He smiled, though, as Starsky opened his eyes. “Morning,” he said softly, feeling a faint trace of fear.
“Yeah.” Starsky blinked a few times, then smiled. “Good morning.”
He resisted the urge to touch Starsky, and rested his arm above his own head instead.
Starsky sat up, rubbed his face with his hands. “It’s Christmas morning, huh?”
“Yeah. Well, afternoon, probably.”
“Does that still count?”
Hutch frowned. “For what?”
Starsky looked him, his face serious. Hutch did his best to meet the steady gaze, but finally he lowered his eyes. “Hey.” Starsky turned towards Hutch, propped himself on one elbow as he brought his face close to Hutch’s. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Hutch froze. He stared at Starsky.
“Yeah, thought so.” Starsky brought his other hand up and cupped Hutch’s face. “Not ever. D’you understand?”
“I—” He broke off. It felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Starsky sighed. “I just needed time to think. It’s new to me.” His gaze was steady. “But I figured it out. It’s you, and me. We don’t need no one else. Never have.” His fingers stroked Hutch’s cheek. “Never will. Okay?”
Hutch covered Starsky’s hand with his own. “You already know what I want.”
“Yeah, but do you believe me?”
It was Christmas morning, and the gift most dear to his heart was waiting for him, just as it should be. Astonished joy filled him, chasing away shadows and doubts. “Well, you could always prove it to me by eating properly—you know, raw egg, wheat germ—” He broke off as Starsky slid on top of him.
“Dream on, Hutchinson.” Starsky kissed him.
Hutch gave in to him, reveled in the kiss, entwined his fingers in Starsky’s hair. There was always next year for another Christmas miracle.
END
Starsky had surfaced from his coma days ago, but had yet to offer much more than an occasional blink and smile. No words, no movement, no strength for it at all. Not out of the ordinary for the trauma he’s suffered his doctors assured, normal for his condition the nurses concurred. But the doctors and nurses didn’t know Starsky, did they?
The unnaturalness of so still and quiet a Starsky was unnerving. Even in his sleep Starsky had always been a symphony of moans and groans conducted by flailing limbs and twitching muscles. Many a stakeout threatened the peace of their relationship as Hutch battled endless prattling and perpetual energy bottled up inside a car.
Now, though, Hutch would gladly take an elbow in the head or a foot to the ribs. He’d give just about anything for a discussion. Even an argument would be just fine. But another night had passed without sound or stirring, not even the tiniest sign Starsky was really coming back to him.
A quick warning tap and rubber–soled footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Hutch didn’t have to look up; he knew the morning drill by heart. Bandages changed, tubing checked, vitals taken, and best friends asked to step out for a while.
Hutch held Starsky’s hand, too warm, in his opinion, for the fever to be going down, and that was worrisome, as well. He rose from the chair, speaking softly in tones reserved just for Starsky, “They want me to go for a little while, Starsk, but I’ll be back, soon as they let me.”
Hutch gave the nurse a nod in greeting. He reluctantly let go of Starsky’s hand and brushed the back of his fingers on Starsky’s cheek, hoping for his eyes to open, for just a moment, to connect, to confirm, to share. But Starsky didn’t respond.
Dobey was waiting outside the room. “How’s he doing?”
“Still sleeping, still feverish, still critical. But no worse. Doctors say that’s good.” As the days wore on, Hutch’s initial euphoria after Starsky’s phoenix–rising awakening faded in the face of complications and infections. Weariness chipped away at his optimism.
At a loss for anything more to say, Hutch turned and stared back into the room as several nurses now attended to Starsky.
“Got something for you,” Dobey said to his back. “Thought you’d want to handle this one yourself.”
Now that Gunther was in custody and his second–in–command dead, various levels of his operation were quickly crumbling from the top down. A lot had happened in the past week, with new avenues to investigate and several arrests. Leads were followed by all available detectives. Hutch dug through as much of it as he could himself, building a case with which the district attorney couldn’t fail.
Dobey continued. “A tip came in early this morning; coupla hikers found an abandoned police car in a gully in a vacant old campground. Patrolmen are there now, confirmed the find. It’s the one. I told ’em not to touch it. Forensics is on the way. They’re waiting for you if you want it.”
Gunther was locked up. That was certainly satisfying, but the triggermen themselves had evaded the police so far. Jenny Brown’s new lawyer had wisely advised her that two charges of conspiracy to commit murder of a police officer were serious. Cooperating with the police after the fact may buy her a little leniency in sentencing. Unfortunately, she did not know the names of the men she paid for the hit, nor did she have any luck with the mug books. The car was a big piece of the puzzle. It disappeared after the shooting, but they’d been searching for it. The car might have prints, might have links, might have some evidence to tie it to the men who actually pulled the trigger. Of course he wanted it.
Hutch turned around to face Dobey. “Yeah, I want it. Let’s go.”
Hutch took a minute to go back into Starsky’s room, leaving instructions to tell Starsky, if he woke, that he’d be back as soon as possible, and reminding the nurses to call the department and have him paged if anything came up or there were changes in Starsky’s condition. Leaving Starsky was always so hard. Hutch lived in fear he’d take a turn for the worse while he was gone. It had happened before.
During the ride up to the campground, Dobey radioed the forensics team, letting them know Hutch was on the way. Meanwhile, Hutch readied himself in anticipation of what he’d be facing. He was no novice to crime scenes, but found he was unprepared for his own reaction when he’d gone back to see the Torino. It wasn’t just blood. It was Starsky’s blood. It wasn’t just bullets and bullet holes. Some of the bullets recovered had actually sped through Starsky’s body before embedding into the heavy metal of the car. Hutch had vomited at the thought and had to turn away. Seasoned cop or not, it was Starsky, and it was too much to bear.
There were, in fact, a lot of people waiting when they pulled up. Not only cops, but the hikers who found the car as well as the owner of the defunct campground. The forensics team was already at work looking for prints. The car itself was left in a gully off the campground’s dirt road entrance. Judging by the weeds and grass growing in the middle of it, the road didn’t see many cars.
Hutch decided they’d better take statements first. While Dobey talked to the owner, Hutch started with the hikers, a young couple dressed in full outdoor gear, backpacks and all. They probably meant to spend all day or longer in the woods.
Hutch approached them, pulled out his badge, and introduced himself. “I’m Detective Hutchinson. Thank you for waiting for me.” he said. “You folks hike here often?” He tucked his badge into one pocket and retrieved his notebook from another.
“Yeah, we do come up here a lot,” the man answered, “There’s trails leftover from when it used to be a campground. There’s a fishing lake through the trees that way.” He pointed in the direction of a woodsy area the road obviously led to.
“When’s the last time you were up here?” Hutch asked.
“Couple weeks go,” the woman answered this time. “The owner’s a friend of ours, works with my husband here. He inherited this place from his grandfather. He lets us come here to hike and camp. Some of our other friends come up here, too. Far as I know, none of them have been in a while.”
“That’s the owner over there?” Hutch pointed to the man talking to Dobey. He had on a suit and tie, clearly not dressed for the place.
“That’s him,” she answered. “We called him before we called the police. You know, to ask him if he knew about the police car. We thought maybe he called them here for some reason. We thought something could have happened to the cops who were in the car. So we called the police, too.”
“Then the car was definitely not here the last time you were, correct?” Hutch continued questioning. “And you’ve never seen it before?”
The man answered. “It definitely wasn’t here before. We thought it was really strange.”
“We’ve been looking for it. We’re grateful that you called.” Hutch thanked them for their help. Before leaving them, he took their full names and phone numbers and advised them to find another hiking spot for a while, just in case.
Hutch then headed to the gully. Approaching the car was as difficult as he’d expected. Seeing it again brought the shooting right back, and it took everything he had to keep walking. He saw the grill as he stepped down into the gully. In his mind it was speeding toward him. He felt his heart pound with the adrenaline rush. He heard the burst of gunfire and the shattering of glass, but above it all, his partner’s last word. The cut off version of his name was the last thing Starsky ever said. And that was a week ago now. Hutch felt the now familiar sting in his throat and behind his eyes thinking about it. Starsky had called his name, the last thing he could say before the bullets stole his strength and consciousness completely. His name. Starsky needed him, counted on him, called for him. And he’d failed. Failed to stop the bullets, failed to stop the bleeding, and so far failed to bring justice to the men who shot him.
Dobey caught up and put his hand on Hutch’s back before he had a chance to fall too deeply into the nightmare. “Hutch, you okay?”
The sound of Dobey’s voice startled him. “I’m okay, Captain,” he lied. While the guilt and pain were overwhelming, they were also strengthening his resolve and fueling his anger. He wasn’t about to lose the chance to take a look at this car now that they had it. “What’d the property owner have to say?”
“Nothing much,” Dobey answered. “Says he didn’t know the car was here. He never comes up here. Investment property only. Lets his friends use it, but he hasn’t been here himself in a year or more. City guy, suit and tie. Nature not his thing. His coworker over there, the guy you talked to, called him. He knew the police were coming so he came up to check it out. Seems like he’s tellin’ the truth, but we’ll look into him anyway. Maybe he knows the shooters and let ’em hide the car here.”
Hutch doubted it. The guy knew his friends frequented the place and would find it. But he agreed everyone needed to be looked at more closely.
“Okay, “one of the forensics guys said as he moved toward them, “the car’s clean. We didn’t find a single print. Wiped like new. Car has been stripped of everything. Not a hair, not a fiber, not a thing. I’m sorry, Hutch.”
Hutch couldn’t believe that was possible. He needed to look for himself. “You guys done? Can we take a look now?”
“It’s all yours. I hope you find something.” Everyone wanted these men found. The past week had brought all areas of crime investigation together. The shooting in the police parking lot set in motion a level of camaraderie and dedication the department had rarely seen before, especially among those who knew Starsky and Hutch.
Dobey and Hutch took their time thoroughly searching the car themselves. But they found nothing either. Hutch slammed the passenger door in frustration. “Dammit!” He shouted. “Why couldn’t there be something here?” An image flashed in his memory. Starsky in Prudholm’s apartment, throwing the lamp and screaming almost the same thing.
“We’ll get ’em, Hutch. They’ll slip up somewhere. We’ll get ’em,” Dobey tried to reason.
Hutch wasn’t having it, however. He was angry. He was disappointed. He missed Starsky so much it hurt. It was so hard to do all this without him.
He snapped at Dobey. “Captain, they used an automatic weapon at close range. They tore Starsky apart. He may never be okay again.”
“You think I don’t know that, Hutch? I’m on your side, remember?”
Once again, an image of Starsky. “Don’t antagonize the people I need.” Hutch heard it plain as day in his mind and it calmed him down. Starsky always calmed him down.
“Sorry, Captain. It’s just this car. This was the lead we needed and we found it and we still got nothing. How are we going to find them now?” Hutch let out an exasperated sigh and started to climb out of the gully to the road. Dobey joined him without ever answering the question.
The few yards they needed to go to get to Dobey’s car felt like a mile to Hutch. He’d had such high expectations only to have them crushed. What was he going to tell Starsky when the time came? How could he let his partner, his best friend, lie in pain in a hospital bed, and tell him he has no idea where the men who shot him are?
As they pulled out of the campground, the impound tow truck was pulling in. Adding to Hutch’s already brimming anger and frustration was the finality the truck represented. When it had come for the Torino, it had meant the end of the life he knew with the person he loved. Seeing it come for the police car felt like the end of finding out who’d caused it. Hutch closed his eyes, as if that might shut out the thought.
Dobey dropped Hutch at the hospital and headed to Metro to file a report on the campground interviews. Hutch agreed to meet him in his office later on to help. But first, he needed to see Starsky. It’d been several hours now and anything could have happened in that time. Hutch beat down his anxiety over this fact as he maneuvered the maze of hospital corridors to the ICU.
When he arrived, he was surprised to find Starsky awake. As Hutch reached the bed, he noticed the sheen of perspiration on Starsky’s face and the pain in his eyes. He immediately felt guilty he hadn’t been there when Starsky woke, especially since it turned out he left for nothing.
“Starsk, I’m here… I’m here… I’m so sorry. I came back soon as I could.” He wanted to explain why he was gone, but knew Starsky was in no position to understand what was going on. He’d fallen asleep right in the middle of Hutch’s explanation of how Gunther was responsible for it all. Starsky’s continued silence had left Hutch unsure just how much Starsky even understood about what had happened to him.
Hutch picked up Starsky’s hand, gently rubbing the back with his thumb. He continued to soothingly reassure him while, with his other hand, he grabbed a cool washcloth from a basin on the bedside stand and wiped his forehead. Starsky smiled in response and visibly relaxed with Hutch’s touch. Moments later Starsky was asleep. Hutch felt good that he could at least bring some comfort in the brief time they had but his heart sank at a missed opportunity for communication.
He sat down next to Starsky’s bed, never letting go of his hand. He was zero for zero for the day, missing a rare awake Starsky and still having no leads on the actual hit men. Heartsick, disappointed, exhausted, he put his head back and drifted off himself.
Hutch woke hours later to a nurse nudging him. He jumped up, alarmed at first, and then realized she was pointing through the glass. Captain Dobey stood there holding up file folders and trying to grab Hutch’s attention. Once the nurse confirmed there was no change in Starsky’s condition, Hutch joined Dobey outside the room.
“Captain, what are you doing here? What happened?” Dobey wore a slight smile and Hutch couldn’t imagine what there was to be smiling about.
“Hutch, we got lucky. Apparently after we left, the car was hoisted up on the tow truck. It took a while, winching it out of the gully and all. Once they did, they found something under the car.”
“What? Wait… who found something? What did they find? I’m not following…”
“The forensics guys, they were still there after we left, packing up all their supplies, writing their report. Fortunately, they were still there because when the car was lifted, the truck driver spotted something in the grass.”
“Captain, what was it?”
“Sunglasses. Call came in to me just after I dropped you off. I didn’t want to get your hopes up again, so I figured I’d let you stay with Starsky and I’d get word to you once I knew something. Well, I know something. And it’s good news, Hutch; prints on the sunglasses came back with a positive ID. Got a name. Got an address. List of priors a mile long. And you’re not going to believe this, but last time he was busted, guess who his lawyer was, guess who posted bail?”
“Jonathan Wells,” Hutch immediately answered.
“You got it. Same as Jenny Brown. With the priors and the car, that’s no coincidence. Got to be who we’re looking for. We put this in high gear. Got everyone we can spare on it. We bring this guy in and hold him a while–”
Hutch cut him off and finished the sentence “–Jenny Brown gives a positive ID he’s one of the ones she paid for the hit and we got him.”
“Right!” Dobey said. “Maybe we can even get him to give up his partner, too.”
“That was fast. How’d you get all that so fast?” Hutch was amazed they had this much already.
“Hutch, you know everyone at the department is rooting for you… and for Starsky. Evidence like this comes in, it’s top priority. I didn’t even have to ask. Judge even signed the warrant on the spot, no questions.”
“You should have called me, Captain. I would have come in,” Hutch said.
“Look, I knew you were on the edge after this morning. I didn’t want you to have to go through that again if this was just another dead end. Besides, you needed to see Starsky. He needs you, too.” Dobey hesitated for just a second, looked in at Starsky then back to Hutch. “How’s he doin’ anyway? Any changes?”
“He was awake when I got here, but not for long. I could tell he was in a lot of pain. He’s just so weak…” He trailed off in a whisper of sadness as he spoke, then shook it off quickly and changed the subject. He couldn’t afford to go there now. He had to focus. Determination came to his face and voice. “Let’s go do this. I want to be able to tell him the men who shot him are locked up.”
This was the arrest he needed most. This would change everything, Hutch thought, as he whispered to a sleeping Starsky that he had to leave again.
Dobey filled Hutch in on the plan as they drove. Marked and unmarked police cars had all the streets around the house covered. Detective teams were in place covering the front and back entrances to the house. They’d already been watching and someone was definitely inside. When Hutch and Dobey pulled up and parked across the street, everyone was ready.
“Sure you’re okay to do this, Hutch?’ Dobey asked.
“I need to do this,” Hutch answered. “I have to get this guy.” He knew he couldn’t fail Starsky again.
“Alright then. You know the plan. You knock. If he tries to run, we got him covered every way till Sunday. Go easy, Hutch, we need him.”
“You don’t have to tell me that, Captain.” Hutch got out of the car and headed up the walkway. He didn’t really blame Dobey for his warning. He knew his outburst at the campground revealed much about his frame of mind. He understood that even though Dobey wouldn’t deny him the arrest, he was worried about how Hutch would handle it. Deep down, Hutch was worried, too. He remembered the rage when he had Gunther in front of him.
The little one–floor ranch–style house was situated on a postage–stamp–sized piece of sod overrun with weeds. The walkway was crumbling and the stucco siding was in dire need of paint. The rusty screen door screeched when Hutch opened it. He used his gun to tap on the inside door.
“Who is it?” came an annoyed voice, but the door didn’t open.
Hutch could hear a ballgame on the TV inside. “Police, we need to talk to you!” He was acutely aware of the empty space next to him where his partner should be. He tightened the grip on his gun.
No answer came back except banging and scuffling about.
He tapped the door again. “I said police, open up!” Hutch shouted this time.
Again, no answer. Then Hutch recognized the sounds of the back door being slammed. Knowing there was a team backing him up in front, he ran to the back of the house. As expected, the guy had tried to sneak out the back but the detectives in the back yard were ready. He didn’t even get to the edge of the property before they had him face down in the weeds. Hutch caught up with them. One held the suspect down with his knee while handing Hutch the cuffs.
“Here, Hutch,” he said, “you do the honors. For Starsky.”
Hutch holstered his gun and took the cuffs. Dobey came up behind him. Everyone grew silent. Starsky’s absence was never more obvious than at this moment. Seemed like everyone felt it, too. Not just because Starsky wasn’t there, but because he may never be again, because Starsky was one of their own, and a hit on one was a hit on everyone. And because the man in front of them was responsible.
Everything he and Starsky had been through in the last week burned inside Hutch, boiling in the depths of his being, threatening to erupt as he cuffed the guy and yanked him up onto his feet. Hutch struggled for control but felt it slipping.
“Why’d you try to run?” he demanded, locking eyes with his prisoner. As he did so, Hutch realized he recognized the man. He had seen his face in that car that day. He didn’t think so before now, it had all happened so fast, but he had. And all at once it hit him, powerful, undeniable. This was the man firing the gun out the car window, the one who actually pulled the trigger.
This was the man who had tried to take everything from him. This was the man who tried to kill Starsky. Hutch saw the truth in his eyes. It was solid. It was real. He was choking so hard on the anger he could hardly breathe.
And then, without warning, everything shifted, everything changed. Because this man tried to kill Starsky, but he didn’t. Starsky was still alive. Starsky should have died, but he hadn’t. Starsky was here. And Hutch still had everything. The anger that had been building suddenly dissipated as he appreciated that fact. He…still…had…everything. And that was really the only thing that mattered.
Without another word, Hutch handed the guy over to Dobey and turned away. He heard Dobey read him his rights as he walked slowly back to the car.
Apprehending Starsky’s would–be killer changed Hutch’s perspective entirely. During the hours of processing and paperwork following the arrest, Hutch pondered his unexpected reaction.
Hutch knew there was a very thin line between revenge and justice. Despite nearly uncontrollable surges of rage in the hospital garage and in arresting Gunther, he’d teetered, but managed not to cross it. He didn’t this time, either. The reason was completely different though. The control came not from some deep moral sense of right and wrong. It came simply from the knowledge that Starsky’s being alive gave him too much to be thankful for to be consumed by rage over what he’d only almost lost. He still had what was most important to him. He still had Starsky. It didn’t make sense to go and lose himself.
He needed to get back to Starsky. And he knew he was going to stay.
It was late evening by the time Hutch reached the hospital again. Starsky’s room was dark and quiet. Hutch stood looking at Starsky a long while as he slept. Letting go of the destructive emotions he’d been carrying all week allowed him see Starsky more clearly. Sleeping and not moving weren’t negatives at all. Every hour Starsky was still and quiet was another hour his body could heal. And it was comforting to know that if he was sleeping there was no pain.
He sat down and began to talk. He wanted to tell Starsky everything. He decided it didn’t matter if Starsky heard or understood. He would tell him anyway. What happened was too important to them both. Besides, no matter what, Starsky was still his partner. Always would be.
He’d gotten only a few sentences into the story when he heard the most beautiful sound ever.
“…utch.”
Barely audible, but it was there, the first word Starsky had said in a week and, again, it was his name. Only this time, it wasn’t said with the fear and desperation of a man about to die. This time, it was said with the relief and love of a man who would survive. It was, next to Starsky emerging from the coma, the happiest moment of Hutch’s life.
“Hey, I’m here. Oh, God, it’s so good to hear your voice, Starsk.”
This time Starsky stayed awake. He raised his own hand asking for Hutch’s. Hutch gave it to him and began the gentle caress of his thumb on the back of Starsky’s hand. They had an entire conversation with their eyes. Hutch noticed Starsky’s hand was cooler, the relentless fever was finally lowering and the look in Starsky’s eyes was not pain… for the moment, anyway. There’d be a long road of recovery ahead and things wouldn’t be easy, but Starsky was here.
“I was hoping to get to talk to you,” Hutch said. “I have so much to tell you, Starsk.”
Starsky was alive and that was all that mattered. Letting go of everything else let the warmth of that sink in.
Click on the image to see it full size.
We reached into the vaults to find these pics! Paul’s images were scanned from old grainy magazines, while David’s came from commercially available photos. The full body b&w image of David was used, I believe, on the sleeve of his first record. (Anyone care to correct me on that?) But we can look at these pictures and imagine our guys thinking about their futures and trying to decide on a career.
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