December 18th- White Christmas: A Starsky and Hutch Christmas Card Part 1 by Mvernet and Spencer5460

Special thanks to Flamingo for going above and beyond.

Author Notes: The classic movie “White Christmas” was the inspiration for this fanfiction, which takes place Post-Series. The authors wish to acknowledge Irving Berlin for his heartwarming songs and Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye for their stellar performances that forever live in the collective American heart and come back to life each Christmas. We don’t own them or Starsky and Hutch, but we love them and will love them for many White Christmases to come.

Some song lyrics have been respectfully changed to be gender non-specific or to match the story’s intent. The authors do not mean this to be a parody of Irving Berlin’s songs.

Shameless Romanticism follows:

Overture

The gathering at Huggy’s bar was bittersweet, as much as it was filled with profanity-laced jokes, backhanded tributes, and plenty of alcohol to numb the unspoken sadness. Everyone, from “Biggy” Bigalow in Requisition to Simonetti in Internal Affairs, knew they were witnessing the end of an era. The end of Starsky-and-Hutch, as they had been so affectionately known.

As hard as Starsky had worked to get reinstated after Gunther’s goons and their high-powered guns had nearly torn his body in half, no doctor in the city would clear him to go back on the streets with only one lung. After all the painful rehab he went through, sometimes Starsky thought he might have been better off if he would have died that day last Spring rather than spend the rest of his life chained to a desk. But then he’d look at Hutch—remember how he’d been with him each agonizing step of the way, see the devotion shining from his eyes—and realize he was the luckiest man in the world.

They’d talked long into the night about Starsky’s idea of leaving the force until, by the first streaks of dawn, they’d both agreed it was the right choice. But Starsky only had a few months left of disability payments and still hadn’t figured out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to convince Hutch not to worry about him – that he had plenty of money-making schemes spinning through his head.

Still, he could tell Hutch was less than convinced. If he knew Hutch at all – and he knew him inside out and upside down – he knew his soon-to-be former partner was more interested in Starsky having the best possible quality of life than he was in anything else. All they both knew for sure was that, whatever path they traveled, they never wanted to be far from each other.

Almost as hard as discussing his future with Hutch had been turning in his resignation to Captain Dobey, who’d been like a father to them. Predictably, Dobey had erupted like a not-so-small volcano and shouted that Starsky was out of his mind. Demanded that Hutch talk some sense into him. Insisted that Starsky was a better cop behind a desk that most were on the street. But it had been a losing battle.

Even now, they could tell Dobey was fighting to put on a brave face as he hoisted a glass in toast after bawdy toast—he was looking old and tired beyond his years. Starsky and Hutch weren’t the only ones who’d been ravaged by Starsky’s brush with death.

Starsky worked on another of the many beers that his brothers in blue continued to buy as the evening wore on, half listening to Lt. Babcock’s story of how his latest bust of Orphan Annie had gone terribly wrong when her dog, Sandy, had peed on his partner’s shoe. Christmas was only a few weeks away and usually Starsky was the one to force cheer into his holiday-impaired partner, like blowing air into a balloon.

He’d done his best this year to point out the tinsel sagging off the Hotel Bremin’s marquee or Eddie in his thread-bare Santa suit collecting for Salvation Army on the corner of 5th and Wilson, but his newly repaired heart wasn’t it in. This season more than others he longed for the snow that glistened under the Eighty-Fourth Street lamp post as it fell, then built up along the sides of the street like miniature Alps.

Maybe his close call with death had made him more nostalgic than usual. Starsky wondered if perhaps he wasn’t far from sitting with the old men in the Venice coffee shop grumbling about the rising price of gas and how kids had no respect these days.

Just as Babcock’s yarn was ending, a clear and sweet tenor accompanied by a mellow guitar broke through to silence the guffaws.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know.”

Starsky knew he’d recognize that sound in his sleep. The sound that could rouse him from his deepest nightmares.

Hutch.

“Where the treetops glisten, and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow.”

Their eyes met across the tables. So Starsky hadn’t been able to hide his feelings after all. He wasn’t surprised. Hutch had always seemed to know exactly the right things to do or say to pick him up from wherever he fell. From cooking his favorite meal (courtesy of his mother’s recipe) when he was grieving a lost love, to reading him the riot act when he was feeling guilty about causing a young woman temporary blindness.

From all corners of the bar everyone stopped to listen as Hutch serenaded them with the Christmas classic, aimed directly at Starsky. Starsky set down his beer, too choked up to take another sip.

“Damn, Hutchinson. You should have gone into showbiz. You’re wastin’ that pretty voice and face of yours on the street,” someone called out from the back. Grunts of agreement echoed from every corner of the bar.

They’d heard the compliments often enough but had never really taken them seriously. Hutch had sung in some coffee shops while he was in college, but natural shyness had kept him from being interested in performing before larger crowds. He’d been a popular attraction at department picnics and community charity events. But while working a case, when he’d been called on to sing with Sue Ann Grainger, a well-known country singer, he’d nearly fallen apart.

But Starsky and Hutch had both changed over the years. Facing their ultimate fear had made them stronger, if not physically, then mentally and emotionally.

Suddenly, Starsky got an idea and he went to use the phone in the back hall.

Chapter One

Seven Years Later

Starsky looked out over at the large audience, grateful once again that, for the most part, the floodlights blinded Hutch from seeing exactly how large the crowd was. Hutch had lost the worse of his stage fright over the years, but as Hutch’s manager – and best friend—he wanted to ensure that Hutch had as little to worry about as possible.

The idea to call Sue Ann Grainger that night at Huggy’s years ago had been one of his craziest, but ultimately best, ideas. Not only had Sue Ann remembered Hutch’s golden voice, she’d been happy to reciprocate for how they’d handed her case. Once Starsky had explained his idea of getting Hutch into the music business, she was gracious enough to introduce them to the right people.

Hutch had been reluctant at first to pursue this new venture, but he’d never been able to turn Starsky down once his partner really had his mind set. Once he’d even talked Hutch into investing in a ramshackle building that could only be called a house by a stretch of imagination. Something Starsky never lacked. The loss of their money was nothing compared to the thought of losing Starsky. He couldn’t have borne that.

So, shortly after Starsky resigned from the force, Hutch left as well, resigned to follow Starsky wherever their intertwined destinies led.

With Starsky’s enthusiastic salesmanship and Hutch’s talent, it didn’t take long for Hutch to pick up enough gigs to make some real money. More than they ever had as detectives, anyway. And they grew more successful over the years. Once more, they found themselves to be a formidable team.

After the final encore of the evening, Starsky was there at foot of the stage, first in line as always to give Hutch a pat on the back and a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

“Great show, Hutch. You had ’em eatin’ outta your hand.”

“Better my hand than yours, burrito breath,” Hutch tossed back affectionately as he handed his guitar to a member of the crew to pack away with the rest of the equipment.

“Speakin’ of burritos, I had some sandwiches sent to your dressing room. I know that sound check glitch didn’t leave you much time to eat something decent before the show.”

“Thanks, Mom, but I’m fine. I had an energy bar and an apple during intermission.” He wiped his forehead with the soft towel without taking his eyes off Starsky. “What about you?”

The truth was, Starsky hadn’t swallowed more than a candy bar since their tour bus had pulled into the parking lot hours ago. Starsky gave a noncommittal shrug then bounded off to congratulate members of Hutch’s backup band straggling off the stage as the house lights rose. Calling out directions to the roadies and gesturing to the crew on the scaffolding all the while, Starsky felt as energetic as a Shetland sheepdog herding cats.

Hutch shook his head.

As hectic as performance nights where for Hutch, he knew they were twice as hard on Starsky. They might not be dodging bullets in dark alleys but some days Hutch thought that ducking over-eager fans, late night practice sessions, pushy interviewers, and the inevitable brutal review, had tossed them from the frying pan into the fire without the proper protective gear.

When they’d been detectives, their moves had come naturally -—being able to tell when a stoolie had something to hide, knowing when to turn push into shove, going high when the other went low. A crude but effective dance. This leap of faith at first had been something completely unfamiliar, even though they’d become more successful than they had ever planned or imagined. But through it all, one thing that remained constant was their instincts for each other.

“Hey, gordo,” Hutch yelled to Starsky. “They’ve all done this gig a thousand times. Come back and grab a bite with me.” Starsky may have had nine lives but Hutch was determined to be around for every one of them.

After a few minutes of Hutch’s coaxing – or what Starsky more commonly referred to as meddling—Starsky followed Hutch back to his dressing room. Behind closed doors they both dove into the sandwich tray that appeared, then slouched down on the small couch and finally relaxed.

As much as he’d grown to enjoy performing, this was the part Hutch loved the best. Being alone with Starsky after the show. Seeing the fire the thunderous applause sparked in his eyes. Feeling the energy Starsky drew from the audience like a battery freshly charged as they sat hip to hip.

Behind closed doors, there was no one or nothing else to demand their attention and they could let the pressures melt away like ice cubes in a warmed glass. But tonight, Hutch’s stomach fluttered as he noticed Starsky’s eyes seemed slightly dimmer than usual and he seemed to sag a little more deeply into the furniture.

Hutch watched him take a bite from a turkey sandwich, knowing how he would have preferred a juicy hamburger and frosty beer. But under the circumstances, they’d have to settle for cold subs and flat sodas.

“How are you feeling?” Hutch tried to sound casual, covering his concern with a sip of Coke.

“Fine. Just great as a matter of fact. That was our biggest audience yet.”

“I’m not talking about the show. I’m talking about you. Are you sure all this running around isn’t wearing you out?” The phrase, ‘for a man raised from the dead,’ hung unspoken in the air between them.

Starsky wiped a smear of mayo from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll get plenty of rest in the bus on the way to Reno.”

“Playing cards and cutting up with the guys, then filling up on junk food, and getting only a couple hours of sleep on a pull-out bed isn’t what the doctor had in mind.” Hutch gave up on his feigned nonchalance, but held back from reminding his partner he wasn’t Superman.

“Yeah well, I’m not the one that’s pushin’ forty and hoppin’ all around a stage trying to keep up with the twenty-year-olds, blondie.”

Hutch threw him a wry look.

“Not that those young kids have anything on you,” Starsky added with a smirk, tossing the used napkin into a nearby waste basket.

Starsky held up two fingers at the shot, but Hutch continued to give him a look that smoldered all the way through to his core. He’d kidded Hutch plenty over the years about the “Hutchinson finger,” a stern gesture that had warned off hoods and high level officials alike, but it was the aching concern in those baby blues that Starsky couldn’t brush off.

He’d seen that look too often. It was the same one he’d seen nearly every day through the months of painful rehab. That look had caused him to push himself a little harder than necessary just to prove to Hutch he intended to make it back one hundred percent. It was the expression Hutch tried to hide when it became clear he wouldn’t. It had been in the shadow that crossed Hutch’s face in the doctor’s office—along with the small exhalation of breath and hand squeeze—when the doc explained he couldn’t clear Starsky to go back on the street.

It was true Starsky had been feeling his age and then some lately. Whether it was having only one lung, never really getting enough sleep, or the fact that home-cooked meals were a distant memory, he couldn’t say. But life on the road was definitely designed for the young, which they no longer were. Maybe it was time for them to think of the next stage of their lives.

Starsky and Hutch were usually as in sync as heartbeats, but Hutch hadn’t mentioned any desire to slow down. He still continued to work as hard as ever, pouring his heart and soul into his music, as he had from the very first day Starsky had approached him with the idea of putting his money where his voice was. So Starsky kept his thoughts to himself. Hutch had given up so much for Starsky; he couldn’t bear to see Hutch give up anything else.

Starsky no longer thought in terms of a wife and family. Up to this point, he and Hutch had both failed tragically in that respect. He’d come to the conclusion that Hutch was the only family he’d ever need. But he wondered if Hutch felt the same or if he still longed for something conventional. It was the one discussion they seemed afraid to have.

He rubbed his neck and wiggled the toes he’d freed from his shoes the minute he’d stepped in the room. He watched Hutch cover the leftovers on the tray, and recalled the roast Hutch had made to cheer him up after Helen died, and the way he’d relished cooking even over the little stove at the cabin on Pine Lake. He couldn’t remember the last time Hutch had been able to putter around in a kitchen of his own.

Hutch had given up a career he loved to follow Starsky on this wild journey. And Starsky was pretty sure he knew exactly why. It was the same reason why Starsky had fired at Bellamy on that dark rooftop so long ago. But it was left unspoken between them, as if putting it to words would break the spell that had enchanted them. If they had a guardian angel watching over them, it was certainly a mischievous one.

Hutch deserved more than cold sandwiches, cramped dressing rooms, and a bed on wheels. What if he could give Hutch the life he had started out to find? The one he hoped to have with Vanessa until she decided being married to a cop held no future. But Hutch wasn’t a cop anymore. He was a celebrity with a comfortable nest egg.

A bothersome thought began buzzing in Starsky’s head, like a fly over-staying its welcome at a picnic. Maybe Hutch had been trying to tell him something with his recent nagging and he’d just been too caught up in living a dream to see it. Maybe Hutch was as ready to slow down as Starsky was starting to think he was, and the nagging was his way of saying it.

Starsky studied his partner’s familiar features from the couch. The wispy blond hair was longer than it had ever been, brushing inches past his collar. The crinkles that had deepened around his eyes only added to their depth and character. A smile tilted Starsky’s lips in spite of himself. His partner was still too attractive for his own good. A great catch by any standard.

Hutch began a search for his favorite belt around the cramped dressing room. A shirt hung off one of the practice guitars propped in a corner and a pair of jeans were draped over the arm of the couch. The heightened voices of intrepid fans, entertainment reporters, and security staff added to the noise in the hall outside their door. They were virtually prisoners until their bus was ready to take them back on the road.

Did they really think they could go on like this forever? Hutch deserved so much more than this fantasy life. Starsky swallowed hard. Hutch had become his white knight, rushing in to slay the monsters and save the day, but maybe it was time they woke up from their dream to face reality.

Chapter Two

It was a two and a half hour drive through the mountains from Sacramento, California, to Reno, Nevada. But the scenery was lost on Starsky and Hutch as they tried to grab some shut eye. Eight hours of sleep on a regular bed was a memory. Then it seemed as soon as they and their crew had loaded up the busses, they were unloading them again. A modern day gypsy caravan.

Hutch tucked his long legs as best he could under his seat on the bus and picked thoughtfully at the strings of his guitar, working out a tune that had stuck in his head. In another few hours he’d be up on stage singing his heart out for adoring fans. No, that wasn’t quite right. He’d figured out years ago who he was really singing his heart out for.

“Hey, Hutch,” Starsky called out as he clambered in the door of the bus. “You’ll never guess who I ran into.”

That could be any one of hundreds of people he and Starsky seemed to collect wherever they went. Whether it was former brothers in blue, enthusiastic newbies seeking advice, a cousin of a friend of a friend back in Bay City, Starsky tried to make as much time as possible for anyone with a special request to meet Hutch, while still protecting his personal space as far as possible.

Hutch set aside his guitar as he watched Starsky turn to help an attractive woman up into the bus, a cowboy hat perched precariously on her blonde head. He broke into a wide smile as he recognized the face beneath the broad brim—a little older but still pert and pretty. K.C. McBride, the singer/cab driver who, in another lifetime, had helped him chase down a murderer in drag and save Starsky’s life in the process. Yeah, he’d make all the time in the world for her.

Hutch stood and enveloped K.C. warmly in his arms despite the confines of the bus.

“Hi there, K.C. Good to see you!” He released her, then patted the seat and the three of them squished cozily together, with K.C. like the cream filling in the middle of a sandwich cookie. She took in the well-appointed home on wheels and gave a low, slow whistle.

“Impressive. I’d heard you were doing well and now I believe it!”

Hutch gave a little shrug. “It’s home—for now.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. As fancy as these things can get, they’re still on four wheels. I bought a little place here in Reno, myself. Hell, it took me six months to stop feelin’ like my bed was moving every time I laid down,” she said with a hearty laugh.

Same old K.C. Determined to see the bright side of everything.

“You live here in Reno?” Starsky asked.

“I played on the road for a long time—and had a great time doin’ it—but when one of the clubs here offered me a long-term gig, I jumped at it. Touring was fun while it lasted but I’ve always wanted a real home. Ever since I was a little girl I dreamed of somewhere to belong,” she mused. “Wheels can’t grow roots, ya know.”

“Ya, I remember how you used to talk back when we were killin’ time in those cabs.” Starsky filled in. “How you wished life could be as happy as a fifties musical.”

K.C. blushed. “Ya sure tell a lot of silly stories when you’re sittn’ around bored as hell.”

“Not so silly,” Starsky countered softly.

“Besides, it was time,” K.C. finished. “Sometimes, when you know, you know.” The words rolled off her tongue fancifully, as if she was indeed about to break in to an Irving Berlin song.

Hutch nodded. “I don’t blame you.” His simple response revealed how much he read between the lines and held a fistful of longing of its own.

K.C. continued to fill them in her journey to semi-stardom in the music business. Her music gigs had slowly increased in number from town to town and began to pay enough that she left her side jobs like cab driving behind. When she was hired to sing backup on tour with a top country artist, she realized that was as close as she wanted to get to super stardom. She saw first hand the toll the pace, pressure, and Prozac took on a personal level. But she characteristically took the good with the bad, banking as much as she could before taking the opportunity to settle in Reno.

“It’s the biggest little city in the world.” Her laugh was like tiny bubbles in a glass of champagne. It tickled their noses and they laughed along with her. “What about you two? How’d you end up in like this, other than what I’ve read in the magazines, I mean?”

“Maybe you inspired us to follow our dreams.” Starsky gave her a devastating smile as he took her hand in his. He was a first class charmer.

Not to be outdone, Hutch lifted her other hand and wrapped his fingers warmly around hers. She looked from one to the other, then pulled her hands away with a snort. “After all this time in the business, you don’t think I know a snow job when it’s cold out?”

She got up and straightened her hat. “It’s been great to see you guys, but Hutch has a show to do.” She pulled a ticket out of the pocket of her denim vest and waved it in front of them. “And I have a fifth row seat, courtesy of my friends at the local radio station.”

From his spot backstage, Starsky could just make out K.C. a few rows back, standing and clapping along with the upbeat tunes, swaying from side to side when the songs became more soulful. He thought there was a time or two Hutch had been singing directly to the bubbly blonde and his belly gave a strange little flop at the thought.

It had been a long time since he’d felt jealous. They’d buried that hatchet long ago when they’d walked away from another blonde, their arms flung across each other’s shoulders in solidarity. They’d sworn they’d never fight over another woman again, but this feeling was different.

Starsky had felt for a while now that Hutch deserved more than life on the road baby-sitting a broken down partner. He sighed at the thought. K.C. and Hutch were a lot alike. Warm and giving. Bound by the fraternity of musicians with their romantic souls. Hutch should have what she had found. A place to belong. Somewhere to fit in. How much more could he expect Hutch to give?

They were both tired. They could see it in each other’s eyes. Maybe it was time for them, too.

To be continued….