Title: Unplugged

Author: Kaye Austen Michaels

First Posted: December 17, 2001 at Love of Me and Thee

Notes: This is the story that contains readers' requests. At the conclusion of the story I'll post the elements requested (I won't post who requested them to preserve the privacy of the list-sib involved. LOL.) Also, I had never intended to write a sequel to 'The Happiest Halloween,' but the request of one list-sib, bless her heart, enabled me to fashion this story into just that. Consequently, there are a few references and an original character you won't recognize unless you've read 'The Happiest Halloween'. And this story could really stand on its own, so don't hesitate to read it even if you haven't read THH. Oh, and one final thing: If you start having flashes of déjà vu from "Partners" and "Sweet Revenge" (with a twist!)...that's my intention!! LOL. Hey, this is an all-request story so I figured I could do a little something I wanted, too.

Thanks to all the list-sibs who helped me stretch myself as a writer with this exercise and to Karen-Leigh for scanning it with her sharp eyes for any boo-boo's.
If the story gets intense, and you start to worry that light is going to turn into darkness, remember this is one of my stories and I'll never leave you in mourning, scared, or feeling alone. Love, peace, hope, and victory: these are keywords to keep in mind while you read.

Sequel to: The Happiest Halloween

Unplugged

June 30, 1981

David Starsky tried valiantly to ignore the buzz of voices in the hall and the various smells that called to mind days best forgotten. Only now he couldn't forget. Couldn't walk out into the sunlight, don sunglasses, and gun the Torino out of the parking lot to make everything all right again. He cradled the photo album in his arms like a trusting infant...like the sole-surviving heir to a royal throne...and walked, without paying attention to his peripheral vision, toward his destination. The less you see, the less you have to think about, the less you have to face the fact that...

Room 311.

Starsky sighed, gulped, and opened the door. His heart saw the peace, purity, and beauty of Heaven neatly contained in a little over six feet of human male and trimmed with accents of gold and blue. His eyes saw...Oh, hell, what did it matter what his eyes saw anyway? He sat down in the surprisingly spacious chair and spread the photo album open on his crossed legs.

"Hutch, it's hot out there! Just a few more degrees and we're gonna have Torino meltdown time again. I'll bet the photo pages have all melted together...let's see... ah, nope. It's our lucky day, Blondie," his tongue tripped over the last few words and he bit down hard, glancing toward the window, down at the floor, and finally back to the open album. "I thought if I had to pry these suckers apart one by one... Aw, hell, baby, we've played this game before, y'know? Only last time you..."

Starsky flipped aimlessly through the album and said gruffly, "They told me to talk to you. I told 'em one thing they had to understand 'bout you and me is that we don't talk. We've never just talked. We interact. Even when you were pretending to have amnesia, we didn't just talk. We interacted. Yeah, I know that's your concept. Never told you that a lot of your concepts make a lot of damn sense. Should've. Should've told you a lot of things. Please, Hutch. Let's play the amnesia game again, huh? You can be an ass and say mean things and...and I'll enjoy every minute of it, I promise, okay? Oh, God, I can't do this...I can't sit over here in this damn chair; I don't care what they say. Scoot over, baby, I'm coming in...."

And he nearly convinced himself that he didn't have to just accept whatever room was left in the narrow bed. Nearness to his partner had never been unpleasant. Starsky stretched in pretended luxuriance, and re-opened the photo album. "Man, has almost a year gone by since the happiest Halloween in my life? When we quit playing games with each other. When 'babe' changed to 'baby.' You never complain about me calling you 'baby'. I kept expecting you to tear me a new one for treating you like a five-foot blonde. But you never did. Always smile so wide whenever I....Eight months, Hutch. I never did thank you enough for badgering me to take that photography class. Got some great pictures of our party. Remember that, Hutch? Best d-damn night of my life. First date on Halloween, married on Thanksgiving. Guess after knowing you as long as I did, that wasn't such a short engagement, right?" Starsky laughed and then sobered. "Course, it's kinda sad in a way that we had to make it Thanksgiving...just so we could put Thanksgiving Party on the invitations-- Not gonna dwell on that, though. Much better stuff to talk about. Like, do you remember when Lyza...."

"Lyza, are you—you're dressed like a—a—" Starsky sputtered, flinging his hands out in a gesture of disbelief. Hutch's loving arm caressed his shoulders and he said, "Starsk, I think the word you're looking for is turkey."

"Well," Lyza giggled, flapping a wing expressively, "have a commitment party on Thanksgiving and this is what you get." The somberly dressed young man at her side clutched at the wing and stroked the feathers with obvious affection.

"And she just had to make me into a Pilgrim, for crying out loud. I'm a Lutheran minister, I keep telling her, not a Calvinist, but will she listen?? Never mind that nowhere on the invitation was there mention of a costume requirement. I think the words were: semi-formal occasion?"

"Oh, don't be a prig, hubby dear," Lyza said in a voice that oozed seduction. "You ought to be happy: didn't the Pilgrims get to eat the turkey?"

Reverend Michaels turned astonishingly red and Starsky coughed while Hutch rolled his eyes and smothered a chuckle, holding out his hand in an offered shake, "Ward, thank you for coming. Means a lot to both of us." Starsky nodded his agreement with a bright smile.

The minister grinned in response and shook both detectives' hands, "Hey, I wouldn't have missed it. I mean that. Precious little love in this world, unfortunately. We have to celebrate the real, true thing when we have a chance."

"You won't..." Hutch's face saddened. "You won't have trouble with your congregation if it gets back to them what this party was really about?"

Ward laughed and winked, "If I have to, I'll get Lyza to come in and put a charm on 'em."

"Ward!" Lyza gasped, shocked. Then she smiled. "Touché."

"Glad you found a guy who can match your spunk, Lyza," Starsky said, slapping the preacher on the back in approval.

Lyza caressed Starsky's cheeks with her wingtips and said softly, "You look like a million bucks, bud. You and Golden Perfection. But we'd better move on and let you mingle a bit. Lots of people here. Smart of Huggy to opt for the Miramar ballroom instead of The Pits."

They walked away, arm in wing, and Hutch turned to Starsky. "She's right, babe. Lots of people are here for your formal champagne and invitation-only party. Happy?"

Starsky's smile was seraphic. "Yeah, I didn't really expect this many. Only one person officially attached to Metro, though," he said, glancing over at the sweets table where their captain was sampling the various treats.

Hutch touched a finger to Starsky's chin and maneuvered the handsome face around for direct eye contact. "Minnie would have been here if she hadn't had to take care of her sister in Fresno. Beyond that, we knew we'd have to keep quiet. We risked everything telling Dobey exactly what we're here to commemorate. And he brought Edith. That's his highest compliment besides letting us keep our jobs and our partnership. She would not be here if she didn't approve. You know that."

"Yes," Starsky said, loosely holding the hand that held the finger to his chin. "You're right. This is what I wanted. Nothing huge. Just close friends and family, and I'm surprised that the number mounted up to this in those two categories. Hutch, I'm sorry about your dad—"

"Hey, hey," Hutch frowned. "No, you don't. Don't lessen tonight's impact by worrying about that. My mom stood up to him and came on her own. That means the world to me. And Dad—he'll come around eventually or he won't. And if he doesn't, so be it. You are my closest family, partner. That's what we're here to say tonight."

Starsky grinned in the warmth and force of Hutch's love and brought his partner's hand to his lips. Hutch's eyes flickered closed and only opened at the sound of a female clearing her throat. Starsky laughed a little nervously and dropped Hutch's hand. "Uh, hi, Ma."

Mrs. Starsky was a small woman with a large presence. She looked Hutch up and down, straightened his bowtie, and fussed over his hair. Finally, she pronounced him suitable with a tender smile. "Ken, would you mind giving me a few minutes with my son?"

"Ma—"

"No," Hutch said with a slight headshake at Starsky and a smile at the waiting mother. "Of course I will. I should probably snag a few moments with my own maternal parent."

The second he left their earshot, Starsky said, "Ma, what's the—"

"Davey. Are you sure about this? Really, honestly sure?" Her eyes were stern, unyielding.

"Yes, I'm sure. I told you—"

"Because I know, God help you, you're going to really hold to this like it’s a marriage."

"It is a marriage to me, Ma. Close as we can get. If I'm honest with myself, the police department married us years back when they paired us up at our request. I thought you—I thought you were okay with this. You even threatened Nicky with pain and embarrassment if he didn't make an appearance."

"You're my son, Davey. Blood stands by blood. I love Ken like he's my own, but I don't want this for you. For either of you. If I thought I could stop it, I would. Somehow. I thought about going to Ken and trying to talk him out of it. I told Rabbi Jacobs I'd be eternally grateful if one or both of you got cold feet. Part of me wished I was ill and could call you back to NY like a dutiful son...get you away from him! I do feel guilty about that. But I want a daughter-in-law and grandbabies and for you to stick to what's natural and--"

"Ma!" Starsky had to immediately lower his voice when he noticed several stares directed their way...including one that was a clear, troubled blue. "Jeez, I thought of anybody...anybody in the world, I could count on you—"

Mrs. Starsky lowered her eyes. She stared at the floor for a second and then lifted tear-filled eyes. "I—I've told you what I want. Let me tell you the reality. The reality is I love you more than my own life and that means supporting you while you do what you want most in yours. If this is what you've got your heart set on, then from this moment Ken will be my son. He will always be welcome in my home as your—your—family. But tell me now: if I ask you as the mother who raised you and nursed you through every early childhood sickness, will you let this party continue as a simple gathering of friends and forget making a commitment to this man like he's—like he's a woman?" Her dark eyes were wide and bright with unshed tears and the hurt on her face most probably the result of watching the pain and disappointment flash across her son's. He squared his shoulders, looked away from her, and said, coolly, "No. No, Mother."

His mother gave a hurt little cry at the formal title and grabbed her son by the shoulders, "David, listen to me! Don't let me make you unhappy. I had to be honest with you on this night of all nights. But this is the last I will speak of my disappointment. I will embrace your--your partner. I will be the person in the audience clapping the loudest a few moments from now when you make your announcement. And if something--if something should happen to you, I will always give Ken shelter. All right? Forgive me, my son, for loving you enough to speak truth."

Starsky brushed at his eyes and finally let his gaze fall again on his mother's upturned, passionate face. "Yeah, Ma. I—It's all right. You coulda been a lot worse about this, I—I know that."

"It has been a lovely party, Davey. Even Nicky's having a great time. The dancing, the laughter, the happiness. It is fitting for my son. But tell me," she flushed and was back to staring at the floor. "You're not going to-- I mean, normally following--"

Lauren's smile softened. "You—you've saved my son's life more times than I probably even know. How many mothers are lucky enough to marry off a son to someone who would stand between him and bullets?"

"I—" Starsky was speechless and he glanced over his shoulder at Hutch for assistance.

Hutch rolled his eyes. "Mom, you're embarrassing him."

"I can't help it, Ken, this is such a special occasion...I just wish..." Lauren's nose scrunched and she sniffed. Hutch groaned.

Hand shading his eyes, Hutch begged, "Please don't cry. Please."

"Lauren, how about a dance?" Starsky asked in his most charming, diffuse-a-Hutch-explosion manner.

Lauren's threatening tears vanished and a dimple appeared in her right cheek. She smoothed the flowing skirt of her off-the-shoulder crimson cocktail dress and beamed. "Now that's an invitation I can't refuse—" she laughed.

"Mom--!!"

"Don't worry, Hutch," Starsky winked. "Ramon will behave."

Hutch gaped as Starsky twirled the elegant, youthful woman off to the strains of a popular love song.

After the dance ended, Hutch corralled Starsky and smacked him playfully on the back of the head. "This has to be a first. A guy's spouse-to-be flirting with his mom at their ceremony."

"I was not—" Starsky spotted the teasing glint in Hutch's eyes and relaxed visibly, laughing. "Yeah, we will have some interesting stories, huh?"

"Gents, gents, I do think the hour is upon us."

"Is his tuxedo purple or fuchsia?"

"I think it's called electric violet," Hutch mused.

"Oh, God. Thanks, Huggy, for reminding us. Lemme guess: this is Huggy Bear's Social Director Service—"

"Wedding director," Hutch corrected.

"Whatever."

"I'll have you know, I've done so well planning this for you two turkeys, I just might go into the wedding planning business on the side."

"We've created a monster," Starsky moaned theatrically.

Hutch snickered. "So what else is new?"

"And will that be exclusively same-sex wedding planning, Hug?"

Huggy straightened his ridiculous pink rose boutonniere and pointedly ignored both of his friends.

"Huggy, we're teasing. You did a great job with all this. Really. And on such short notice, too." Hutch punched at the bar-owner's shoulder and softened his voice just right. Huggy glanced up and snorted.

"Fellas, you've had years to train me into doing anything at short notice. This was a piece of cake. You ready for your big debut?"

"Could we run off together for five years, come back, and then answer that question?"

Starsky heard the tremor in his lover's voice and pivoted, eyeing Hutch closely. "Babe, you really don't wanna go through with this part?"

"Of course I do, Starsk. I'm just—"

"Now, this is a predicament," Huggy laughed, clapping his hands. "How do you decide which of you gets the 'bridegroom jitters'?"

"Huggy, so help me—" Starsky mock-growled.

Huggy raised both hands. "Hey, hey, be cool."

Starsky returned his focus to Hutch. "Listen, if you're really uncomfortable with this, I understand. No pressure. We can bow out gracefully, shake a few hands, kiss a few cheeks, and get started on our five-day vacation—-"

Hutch stared into Starsky's eyes and the love in that look raised the temperature in Starsky's tux by ten degrees. "You would do that for me, Starsky. I know. I also know how much you want this. I also know you're the best thing in my life and I want these people in here to hear it from my lips."

Starsky brushed a caress across Hutch's chin that whispered promises of kisses to come. Kisses not necessarily restricted to Hutch's lips, the heat in Starsky's eyes indicated.

Huggy seized one broad shoulder and one sculpted bicep and pushed them toward the musician's table. "I can't believe I'm watching you two tie the knot. Never mind that it's to each other...hell, that's not even a surprise."

"We're not really having a service of any kind, Hug," Hutch pointed out.

"Means the same," Huggy insisted.

"You got that right," Starsky smiled.

Once situated in front of the music table, Huggy confiscated the mike and addressed the audience that, sensing the approaching speech, had clustered together and stood waiting quietly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of two of my closest friends, I'd like to thank you all for coming tonight. You've made these two guys very happy—and that makes me happy. And a happy Huggy is a sight to behold—" at Starsky's unobtrusive nudge, Huggy cleared his throat. "Ahem, but that's a different story. Let me hand the floor off to our guests of honor. Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson."

Hutch silently pleaded with Starsky to tackle the preliminaries, and Starsky accepted the task with a slight nod and a reassuring smile meant for Hutch's consumption only. When he shifted to face the crowd, his grin was a spotlight.

"Like Huggy said, thanks to all of you for being here. You know...Thanksgiving is about family. And that's what we're celebrating tonight. Looking back, it seems like Hutch and I were best friends minutes after we met. Somewhere along the line, best friends turned into family. A special kind of family—-the forever after kind."

Hutch took a deep breath and said with only a minimal catch in his voice, "Thank you for giving us one night and one place we can say these things out loud. We're— uh— we're n-not going to have a formal service. As you all know, that's not really our style."

"Just try and get them to follow procedure!" Captain Dobey barked and the whole room broke into laughter as Edith clapped a hand over her husband's mouth and shook her head apologetically at the detectives, who were leaning against each other snickering. Once quiet descended, Starsky motioned for Huggy, who produced two small boxes, and stood at the ready between the two men. Starsky and Hutch couldn't withstand a shared, muted sigh. After tonight the gold bands in the boxes would have to be worn on chains beneath their shirts and each man knew they courted disaster with even that concession, but for one glorious moment, they could hold each other's hands, caress the ring fingers lovingly, and speak their hearts.

Starsky coughed shortly, chuckled, and took Hutch's left hand in both of his. "I want to be where you are, go where you go, forever. Everything I need, I find in you. You're not afraid to let me be all I am...and all I am has a lot to do with who you are. I promise myself to you. I love you." Huggy handed him the ring and Starsky slipped it with an electric smile onto Hutch's finger. Hutch managed to maintain composure until the moment Starsky's fingers withdrew slowly, gently, tantalizing from his hand. Hutch had to take refuge in a few moments of floor study before he could look up into the dark blue eyes waiting for him.

Gripping Starsky's left hand like the rail on a storm-tossed ship, Hutch cleared his throat and still couldn't find his voice. The first word emerged in a slightly higher octave and only Starsky's friendly, normal, encouraging expression kept his nervous partner from bolting. "You always have more forgiveness than I have mistakes. On your worst days, you can still make my best ones brighter. I'm alive because you are...and I mean that in so many ways. I'll never seek comfort or love from anyone but you. I promise myself to you. I love you." As soon as the ring slid comfortably onto Starsky's finger, Hutch drew the hand toward him and wrapped his arms around his partner. Starsky returned the hug wholeheartedly. It was a gesture that could have taken place in the earliest years of their partnership, but the meaning was worlds beyond that fledgling friendship.

It still did not satisfy someone. When they pulled back somewhat self-consciously, a voice from the crowd shouted, "Hey, hey, hey!! What's this?? We're getting cheated here!"

"I think that voice belongs to a certain turkey," Hutch whispered.

"Yeah, what wedding ends with a hug, people?"

"That one belongs to Junior," Starsky said, equally hushed, scanning the crowd in search of the young black man who had returned to Bay City on college break to celebrate with the men who had loved his father—and still loved Junior—so unconditionally.

"What are we supposed to do?" Hutch asked, unable to shift his gaze from Starsky's comforting presence.

"I think you two prim-and-proper chickens better play kissy-face before this crowd turns ugly. Yours truly is not trained in riot control."

"Huggy, I am not prim-and-proper."

"Right, sure, uh-huh, Mr. Brotherly Hug Starsky."

"Hug, I'm warning you—"

"Starsk, if these people start chanting 'kiss', I'm going to run."

"We—"

The dreaded chant failed to materialize but a taunting, rhythmic clapping ensued. Then two important events occurred at once. Starsky noted that his mother had joined the clapping with a smile and Hutch said to Huggy, "Forget it, amigo, Ramon has already said he'll behave—"

"That does it!" Starsky blared and before Hutch could react, he found himself effectively dipped and kissed within an inch of suffocation.

>>>>>>

"Hutch, you should've seen your face when I pulled you back up. We were a big hit, but you couldn't get a word out of your mouth the rest of the night...at least until I got you alone, that is. Took you a while to get over that little party didn't it, Blondie? Especially when Huggy kept teasing you that some people would pay for our photo album. Aw, man, that night really taught me some lessons about humanity. Jeez, when you looked at me and put that ring on my finger, I knew...I knew...there is a happy ever after. I don't give a damn what all the cynical, uppity people have to say about it. Not that we don't have our share of tussles. Remember our first 'marital' spat, baby? We could fight like kids even before we fell in love, but somehow after you're...oh, I dunno, our disagreements just started meaning more. What started that shouting match? Was it the...oh yeah...the donkeys."

Silence greeted the assertion and Starsky sighed. "Come on, Hutch, you're supposed to say, 'No, Starsky, it was the salad bowl!'" He flipped through the photo album and scratched his head. "Or was it the sailboat?"....
>>>>>>

"Uh, Hutch?"

"Starsky, I don't want to hear it."

"But, Hutch---"

"What part of 'I don't want to hear it' did I say in Chinese?"

"Look, I know you're kinda mad right now, but—"

"Your observation skills dazzle me."

"Quit being a hard ass for one minute and listen to me!"

"Right. Like you listened when I said 'don't bang your fist on the table.'"

"You know, that's your fault, babe. I didn't want some fancy-schmancy lunch in a restaurant that uses nineteenth-century dainty little salad bowls—"

"Eighteenth-century."

"What's the difference!?"

"Oh, I'd say about two-hundred dollars difference. That enough for you?"

"Oh, yeah, and if you hadn't been insisting that I spoiled the sailing trip—"

"I just said you picked a great time to suddenly remember that you forgot to take the Dramamine."

"Right, and my partner, my buddy would have been sorry that I ended up puking my guts out over the side of the ship instead of huffing and puffing that he didn't get to finish—"

"Oh-ho! No, you don't. Don't even try to lay that guilt trip on me. If you'd been in my position—"

"Hey, lover boy, I was really enjoying your position until we hit the damn wake from that motor boat because Mr. Sea Scout had us out somewhere we shouldn't have been---"

"No, no. The guy who rented us the boat didn't say that. He said—"

"I don't give a damn what he said. All's I know is that there we were, you in my arms, the gentle rocking of the boat a nice addition to our own little dance step, both of us three-quarters of the way to paradise, and sha-zaam, we're nearly clipped by the Hell's Angels of the high seas and instant seasickness!! And you have the gall to blame me—"

"Well, if you'd taken your damn motion sickness medicine, landlubber!"

"Land—- Listen here, Blondie, you didn’t even live near a damn ocean until you were in your twenties, so who you calling a landlubber?" Starsky stopped in his tracks and slapped his hands against his sides. "Aw, come on, Hutch, this is stupid us fighting over a dumb salad bowl—"

Hutch jerked around and shoved his face within inches of his spouse's, "No. Not a dumb salad bowl. A rare, almost gem-mint condition pussy-willow-patterned eighteenth-century salad bowl that cost more than the two of our wedding rings combined!! That you broke because you had to be all expressive, macho bluster and banged your fist on the table one too many times, vibrating the said highly expensive salad bowl onto the clay-tile floor of said highly expensive restaurant—-"

"Hutch, did they even eat salad in the eighteenth-century? Maybe we got hustled—"

Hutch extended both hands, curled the fingers, and reached for Starsky's neck. "They didn't use the bowls for salad back then, moron!"

"Hey!! Hey...Stop!!" Starsky grabbed Hutch's hands and held fast. Hutch quivered, seething, face red and eyes blazing. "Will you listen to me?"

"What!?"

"Look over my shoulder. What do you see?"

Hutch processed the request slowly in his boiling anger and then sighed heavily, looking away from Starsky's face and in the suggested direction. His eyes widened. "Where'd they come from?"

"That's what I started out trying to tell you. They've been following us for at least the last half-mile, but you wouldn't ever turn around and pay attention to me."

"And why are we walking this lonely stretch of road after our rental car turned into a melting metal tomb? Because somebody was just dying to do some out-of-the-way exploring—-Mr. Outdoors suddenly—-but refused to take the all-precious, pampered, substitute-child Torino--"

"Hutch, don't start again. Let's try to figure out why we have two donkeys following us like they've been friends with us for years."

"They're kind of cute," Hutch admitted, smiling for the first time in four hours. "Hey, there. Are you friendly, hmm?"

The smaller, stockier gray donkey brayed pleasantly and meandered forward to nuzzle at Hutch's outstretched palm. The larger, lean brown-coated animal made a beeline for Starsky, attempting to dine on his hair.

"I'd say we've established a lasting relationship here, Hutch," Starsky laughed, evading the flirtatious animal's advances.

Hutch was occupied in stroking careful hands through the gray donkey's mane. "Where'd you come from, hmm? Out here on the road just the two of you?"

"Oh, this is terrific, Hutch. You're being civil to the donkey."

"You jealous?"

"Bring that beautiful face of yours over here."

"Why?" Hutch was instantly suspicious.

"So I can smack it for such an asinine remark."

At that point, both donkeys brayed and wandered off side by side into the open field that bordered an orchard. Starsky watched them for a moment until they stopped and turned their necks, staring significantly at the bewildered men. "Hutch, I think we should follow them."

"Starsky, they are donkeys. You want to traipse off into an orchard behind two donkeys?"

"Even you have to admit they're more native to this region than we are."

"And you are a jackass if you think I'm going to—"

"Witty, Hutchinson," Starsky cut in loudly. "Hah hah. Let me tell you something, pally. As hot as I am for you, you're starting to get on my nerves."

"Fine. We follow the mule patrol. Great. Lovely idea."

Hutch had the grace to look acutely uncomfortable when, after ten minutes of following the two animals, they arrived at a country gas station. They fought each other for the title of most discomfited when both animals vanished from sight moments after the gas station came into view.

"They—"

"I don't even want to think about it, Starsky. Let's see about getting ourselves back to the hotel, all right?"

"But—"

"I would like to salvage the rest of our honeymoon, if you don't mind!" Hutch shouted.

"Uh, Hutch, why don't you not 'out' us to the whole gas station, please?"

Hutch frowned. "Why are you suddenly worried about that? We're miles and miles from Bay City—"

"Yeah. We're also in Backwater, USA. Who knows what these people might do to—"

"Starsky, that's ridiculous." Hutch turned and tromped into the dilapidated station's store.

Starsky clenched his fists at his side and breathed deeply, exhaling slowly. He walked into the store and after a few minutes browsing picked up two ice-cold bottles of fruit juice and joined Hutch at the counter. His partner was deep in conversation with a man in tattered jeans, a faded green T-shirt, and a cowboy hat. Starsky plopped his purchases down on the counter and said as the man ducked under the counter in search of something, "I still can't get over those donkeys, Hutch. They just...were there...and then gone."

The man shot straight up and dropped the telephone book down on the counter. His face had changed from disinterested to menacing. "What's this? Donkeys?"

"Yeah," Starsky said, ears perked for the solution to his mystery. "Gray and brown. Followed us for half-a-mile back on the—"

"Get out!" the man shouted.

"Wha'?" Starsky's jaw nearly hit the counter.

"I said, get out. You're not buying anything here."

"Did I say something wrong?" Starsky swung a startled gaze at Hutch, who stepped closer to his partner in his instinct to protect.

"You just get on out of here, now. I mean it!"

"Man, if you treat everyone who happens to run into a pair of donkeys—"

"Not everyone," a feminine voice interrupted Hutch.

"Casey—"

"Oh, put a dirty sock in it, Jake. You come with me, boys."

Hutch and Starsky exchanged a smile. She was in her mid-thirties herself, tall, and self-assured, her long dark hair swinging in a braid down her back.

"Nice shirt," Starsky commented.

Casey glanced down at her black T-shirt that proclaimed proudly, "Books Are Excellent Substitutes for Men." She met Starsky's eyes and laughed. "Uh-huh. You've just met my brother, Jake. Tell me you don't agree with my logic."

"Casey, you're asking for it."

"Jake, use that fragment of a brain cell to figure out what's wrong with the number two pump and stay out of my business. Now, guys, I'm assuming you two need a lift?"

"Yeah," Hutch answered as they followed her into the sunlight. "The Constantine Hotel. Quite a hike."

"No problem. I'd drive you boys a lot farther than that." Casey opened the door to the rusty pick-up and climbed in. Starsky ended up the first around to the passenger door and slid over in the seat after shifting a stack of Kingsley Amis books to make room. Casey cranked the engine and winked at Starsky. "I'd ask you to scoot closer, dreamboat, but I have a feeling Angel Face over there wouldn't be all too happy with me."

"How—" Starsky clamped down on his lip and Hutch laughed out loud.

Casey matched Hutch's laughter with her own rich chuckle as she pulled onto the highway. "Because you two have had an encounter with Hector and Smokey."

"R-i-ight," Starsky drawled.

"Hector and Smokey are the two donkeys that got your luscious butts thrown out of my brother's gas station. The man has more prejudices than a school board meeting."

"I'm not even close to understanding the connection," Hutch admitted, his hand on Starsky's knee. Starsky glanced down at the hand and then flashed a brilliant smile at his partner.

"They're spirit donkeys. 'Bout, oh, fifty years ago this incredibly old couple owned a farm five miles away from our station. They were, from all accounts, a totally devoted pair. Married for seventy years. Inseparable. As were their two donkeys: Hector and Smokey. Tall lean brown-coat and a smaller gray. The old couple passed away on the same day and lo and behold, when the neighbors tumbled to the fact, they found the two donkeys had given up the ghost as well. Only a year later the donkeys started appearing to people. But in all those many years since, they've appeared exclusively to happy lovers."

"We—uh—weren't exactly acting that way when they showed up," Starsky murmured. Hutch squeezed his knee.

"Doesn't matter. Spats don't make you unhappy with each other; just unhappy with circumstances."

"Yeah," Hutch whispered, hand moving to squeeze Starsky's thigh.

Later that night while relaxing in the Jacuzzi attached to their suite, Hutch pulled Starsky close to him and breathed into Starsky's ear, "I'm sorry. So sorry."

Surprised at the apology, Starsky could only manage, "Huh?" The warmth of the bubbling water was nothing compared to the heat suffusing his chest.

"For acting like a ten-year old with an attitude problem this afternoon. I was having the time of my life with you all day today, but I was just too frustrated with circumstances to admit it. Like...like Casey said..."

"Don’t beat yourself up about it. God, I love you, Hutch."

"That feeling is oh so mutual," Hutch said, just before covering Starsky's lips with his own.

>>>>>>

"Damn, the making up part was fantastic," Starsky enthused, caressing his partner's shoulder. "And I'm glad I had my camera along to take some pictures of Hector and Smokey while we were following them. You coulda knocked me over with a breath when they actually showed up on the developed film. I thought spirits weren't supposed to appear on pictures and.… But that's not important. Does remind me, though, that one of our best times during these last eight months ain't even captured on film. I should've told you this before, but it always amazes me that we can go from being rough and gritty out on the streets to so gentle and patient with each other between the sheets. You touch me so soft...and even when you're taking everything from me you can, you've got this slow, easy way about you— Well, there was that one time we went a little nuts...'course, there was more going on between the lines then than just sex. I still can't believe that I didn't pick up on it sooner than three months after the honeymoon. Four months total we'd been together, Hutch, and I didn't notice it. Man, when it hit me, I felt like someone had squeezed the life out of me like juice from an orange. Of all the places to have an epiphany--sitting in the dentist chair having your teeth cleaned. God! When you showed up at my place later that night...."

>>>>>>

"Man," Hutch yawned, dropping his jacket on the floor and falling back onto the sofa. "You're lucky you got off early for that dental appointment. I didn't know paperwork could be both mind-numbingly boring and exhausting. I know Dobey's really up in arms about everything running flawlessly smooth with this Davis case, but I swear he came close to cracking a whip over my head. One thing warmed my heart, though, babe. I was rushing a bit toward the end and it was just Dobey and I in his office. You know what he said? 'Sit tight, Hutchinson. You're not running home to Starsky just yet. If I have to be late for Edith and her homemade vegetable soup and strawberry pie, then your better half can do without you a while longer.' I never in my life expected him to really—talk about us. Especially at the station. 'Course, what he said could always be explained away as a joke, but both of us knew it wasn't. Felt really good."

"Whipped, hm? Almost literally?"

If Hutch noticed the mysterious tone in Starsky's voice, he didn't acknowledge it. He yawned again and nodded, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah. I just want food, shower, and bed. And I'm not even picky about the order."

"Oh, I'll make sure you have all that," Starsky assured, words stilted and sounding nothing like him. Hutch wasn't so far gone that he didn't catch the strange undercurrent the second time around.

"Everything all right, Starsk? Bad dental appointment? I know you hate—"

"Just fine, Hutch. Relax and I'll be right back."

Hutch leaned back and stretched his legs out, visually following Starsky's blue-jeaned movements with exhaustion-tinged hunger.

Starsky returned a few minutes later with a full plate of aromatic yellow fluff and made himself at home straddling Hutch's lap. "Open wide, sleepyhead. Protein for energy."

"What?" Hutch clasped his hands against the small of Starsky's back and sniffed appreciatively. "Oh, man, is that your scrambled eggs Parmesan?"

"The very same. Open up."

"Starsky, I'm tired. I'm not paralyzed. I can feed myself."

"Not tonight you don't. Part those fantastic lips or the eggs go back to the kitchen."

So Hutch allowed Starsky to feed him the entire plate of eggs one bite at a time. After the last morsel had been enjoyed, Hutch finally remembered a fragment of their conversation. "Energy? Why do I need energy?"

Starsky smiled enigmatically. "Time for your shower, Detective."

"Starsky, you know...you *know* how crazy you make me, but I'm just not up for—"

"Right. Not up for anything besides shower and shut-eye. Got you. I can still bathe you, can't I?"

"There's no need—"

"Who says need has anything to do with it?"

"Oh all right."

"Try to sound even less enthusiastic, Hutch, I dare you."

"Starsk, did the dentist overdo the nitrous oxide, I mean—"

"I had my teeth cleaned, dummy, not a damn root canal. No laughing gas involved. Now hush and strip."

Hutch began discarding items of clothing and watched as Starsky did the same. "I'm starting to get a distinctly uneasy feeling...."

"Paranoia, Hutchinson, is the sign of an unhealthy—"

Hutch pounced on Starsky and stopped the retort with his lips. Starsky tried to pull away but relaxed against his will and clutched at Hutch's back, his own mouth opening eagerly under the force of the kiss. A few minutes passed in heated partial silence until Starsky regained control and pried his lips from his spouse's possession. "What—-what was that for?"

"Just had to make sure you're still my Starsky and not some government-issued look-alike robot."

"Man, Hutch, no one else in the whole world kisses like you do."

"Glad you approve. Now you said something about a shower?"

Twenty minutes later Starsky guided a clean, sweet-smelling, and continuously yawning Hutch to the bed and watched him crawl gratefully under the covers. Starsky scrambled onto the bed and pulled the covers back. "You won't be needing these."

"He-ee-ey," Hutch half-moaned, half-whined. "I told you, I'm—"

"Too tired. Right. Heard you the first time. You're not too tired for me to have *my* dinner, are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I fed you yours. Least you could do is lie still while I have mine."

"What fold in the space-time continuum am I in here, babe?"

"I don't know, but thankfully it contains caramel," Starsky replied, moving on hands and knees toward the pillows and reaching over Hutch's head to pick up an artist's paintbrush and a jar from the headboard shelf.

"What—what have you—"

"Decorative body caramel. Picked it up on my way home from the dentist. No cavities, Hutch. Means I can indulge my sweet-tooth."

"Oh, sweet Heaven."

"Precisely."

"And I'm supposed to just lie here and let you coat me in that stuff? Right after you've just given me the deluxe shower treatment. Didn't you get something backwards?"

"Nope." Starsky gave him a feral grin and dipped the paintbrush into the caramel.

"I'll probably fall asleep, so just make sure you wipe all of it off me," Hutch said, yawning again.

"You're not gonna fall asleep. Trust me on that one." Starsky set the jar back on the shelf and reached for Hutch's hands. One by one, he painted a circle of caramel around the wrists. He smiled at his handiwork and said, "Now, what do I do with the paintbrush. Oh, yeah. Open up." And when Hutch's mouth opened involuntarily at the softly voiced command, Starsky stuck the paintbrush between his teeth.

Starsky lifted the right wrist to his lips and licked at the caramel. "You know, Hutch, part of me would like to just tie you down until I can finally, somehow, get my fill of you. But I'd never put chains on you. Your freedom is so important to me. Oh, I don't mean—" Starsky licked up more of the caramel and transferred wrists. "I don't mean freedom to go and sleep around—we both promised not to do that. I mean your freedom to just be you. Hutch. Not married-to-Starsky Hutch. Not homicide-detective-Hutch. Just plain old Hutch." Starsky grinned down into his blond's eyes and focused on the caramel.

The soft, soothing brushes of Starsky's tongue on his wrists ignited a fire somewhere in the vicinity of Hutch's heart. If asked, he would have denied vehemently that his wrist could be an erogenous zone. Until now.

Starsky relinquished the cleansed wrists and reached for the caramel. Hutch lay still, barely able to breathe, as Starsky dribbled the caramel across his chest. Starsky grabbed the paintbrush from Hutch's mouth and contemplated the canvass of skin and caramel with delight. The teasing flicks of the brush against his skin produced Hutchinson giggles. Starsky was scribbling in the puddle of caramel. "You know, Hutch, I'd really like to brand you with 'Hutch loves Starsky' all over your body and send you out into the world wearing it." Starsky ducked his head and planted sticky kisses in the brown goo before he resumed the licking process. Hutch hissed and tried valiantly not to squirm. Starsky lifted his head. "But I don't have to do that. I don't have to have you shout that you love me all over the world. I know you love me and that's all that matters."

For several minutes the only sounds in the room were slurps, smacks, and sighs as Starsky devoured the caramel he'd spread artistically across Hutch's chest. Hutch remained passive, as if defiantly refusing to get involved, but his body had no such compunction. When the last drop of caramel disappeared, Starsky eyed the sub-equatorial region with a satisfied smirk. "Somebody's not so tired anymore."

"Well, why don't you do something about that so I can get some sleep?"

"Roll over."

"Tell me what all this is about, lover. I don't understand."

"You will. Turn over?"

"What are you—- I don't want caramel on my butt. All right?" But Hutch rolled over obediently.

"Too bad," Starsky said without a hint of remorse as he grasped the caramel jar and upended it over said gluteus maximus.

"You're asking for retaliation," Hutch threatened, emphasis on all the consonants.

"That's not all I'm asking for," Starsky informed him, bending to give the new expanse of caramel proper attention.

Hutch stilled under the paradoxically gentle attack, but his body commenced screaming. "Please...just do something!"

"Am.…" Starsky murmured around caramel and Hutch. "About to do more."

The sudden provocative movement of Starsky's mouth spoke volumes. "You're not—" Hutch had perhaps a second to brace himself for a sensation he'd never experienced. "Oh, my--- You are not...hey...wait a minute—"

Starsky lifted his head and grinned at the amazed expression Hutch shot back at him, neck twisted to allow more of a view. "Hutchinson, you'd better not get shy after all we've been through together the last four months."

"S-shy? N-no o-one's...h-how can you want...."

"Want doesn't even begin to describe this feeling, Blondie."

Hutch couldn't piece together syllables. The mouth that had encouraged him as a friend, stormed at him occasionally in frustration and despair, loved him with jokes and compliments alike, and kissed him with sweetness and fire had turned into a stranger...yes, had turned into a stranger itself, a fearless, ravenous stranger interested in probing secrets and pushing boundaries and using caramel as an electrical conduit.

"I—I can't—-take anymore...please..." Hutch pleaded, uncertain what he couldn't take and what he wanted.

The stranger moved away briefly. "You know, Hutch, I'd really like to know all your secrets. Know every little damn thing about you. Sit you down under a bright light until I have all the mysteries solved. But...I love you too much to put that kind of pressure on you."

Hutch finally latched onto a request that made sense in his addled brain. "Tell me...please...what's the point of all this?"

"Simple, Hutch. I want all those things but I'm willing to do without them because they wouldn't be good for you or us. 'Kay? I can give up a lot for what's best for you. But one thing I do want...didn't even know I wanted until I realized I haven't had it...is to hear you say my name when we're in bed."

"I—I—" Hutch buried his face in his folded arms and trembled. "I—I can't..."

"Nonsense. What, are you ashamed that you're being loved by your best friend, by your male buddy, is that it? Will saying my name in that kind of pleasure bring it all home to you?"

"No!" Hutch shouted. "That's not—-No! Please, babe, release me. Do something..."

"You'd be amazed at my self-control, Hutch. I can go for hours like this. I know exactly what you need. You say one little 'Starsky' and you get it."

"No..." Hutch whimpered.

"Are you having fun?" Starsky's hands continued the delightful torment his mouth had induced.

"Yes!" Hutch shouted, truthfully, too wrapped up in the amazing sensations to lie.

"Have I hurt you at all?"

"No."

"Then I see no reason for me to stop," Starsky said reasonably and went back to his previous activities.

"Right there...oh, je-e-ez, please...please...you have me begging, isn't that enough!" Hutch shrieked as the caramel continued to appear on and disappear from his body as if by magic.

"Don't want you to beg. Want you to call out to me. You can call out to me in the middle of a firefight on the street, but you can't call on me when I'm touching you in ways no one else ever has? Makes no sense."

"I—I can't—-please...love me anyway, babe...let me come...I don't—I don't understand how you—you're keeping me from it..."

"I love you more than my own soul, Hutch. This isn't about controlling you. I don't want to control you, buddy. All this time we've been so close and you've never said my name like a lover. Is that so damn much to ask?"

The fire leapt into Hutch's eyes then and if Starsky hadn't been too intent on his quest for romantic justice, he'd have had the sense to be scared. A low growl rumbled in Hutch's throat and emerged in a harsh cry, "All right, Monsieur Marquis, let's see if you can handle a taste of your own medicine!"

Reality crashed in on Starsky like breakers against rocks. The love of his life was strong enough to throw him down in a wrestling ring and keep him mercilessly pinned-down. And that day's education in Hutch's strength and agility hadn't been prompted by sexual frustration. Only when Starsky was staring up into Hutch's smoldering gaze from the flat of his back, wondering how he got there, did he start to doubt the wisdom in his little plan.

"Uh, Hutch--?"

Hutch descended and kissed the apprehensive smile with an intensity that surpassed the passion of a carnival night in a state park. While distracting Starsky's attention, Hutch groped blindly for the caramel jar, spilling some on the sheets in his passionate clumsiness. He didn't bother with the paintbrush. Breaking away from the kiss, he smeared the gooey substance all over Starsky's face and said happily, "Our first kiss involved caramel, babe. Remember?"

"I love you," Starsky breathed.

"I know. I know." Hutch winked, lowered himself to rest in the circle of Starsky's arms, and began gobbling the caramel from Starsky's cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead amid little-boy laughter from his partner.

Then Hutch turned serious and the laughter faded into whimpers and tiny squeals incongruous with Starsky's rough exterior as his body fell victim to an onslaught that made the landing at Normandy seem a haphazard walk on the beach in comparison. Wherever Hutch's mouth missed, his fingers found and strummed to quivering perfection. When he got bored with flirting with partial contact, he stretched his body over Starsky's and rocked with irritating gentleness.

"I need you—" Starsky croaked, hoarse from verbally displaying his pleasure.

"Oh, really?"

"Please, Hutch...you've got me just where you want me...finish what you started."

"What happened to all that self-control? 'I can go for hours like this,' et cetera..."

"Huu-uuu-tch!!"

"I'm sorry," Hutch crooned in between kissing the length of Starsky's clavicle. "I broke the rules, didn't I? You're the only one allowed to leave somebody shaking like a leaf."

"Didn't mean—-just wanted...oh, Hutch, buddy, please!"

"Roll over," Hutch mimicked.

Starsky groaned and forced his liquified body to comply, turning over and raising up on his hands and knees. When Hutch moved down in the bed, Starsky murmured, "You're...you're not gonna..."

"What? Don't even go there, babe. I know what you're thinking: choirboy Hutchinson can't be an adventurous lover. Half of California'll fall into the ocean or something, right? Wrong."

Starsky closed his eyes and let his head droop. Hutch noticed the reaction and abandoned his intention immediately. He shot forward and grabbed Starsky across his back in a fierce embrace. "Please, please tell me what this is *really* about? What's with this name stuff?"

"Please, Hutch," Starsky whispered. "Take me. Finish me. If you don't...I'm going to scream until your ears hurt."

He was bluffing and Hutch couldn't help but realize it when Starsky barely had the voice to respond to his lover's gentle preparations. Even as their bodies merged, slowly, carefully, Starsky remained quiet and passive, under the grip of some emotion more powerful than the fulfillment of his plea.

"Oh, this is always so special," Hutch sighed, slipping into their familiar rhythm.

"Is it really?" Starsky muttered, doubt shading the words.

Hutch froze and rested his forehead on Starsky's back. "I—I can't do this...what's gotten into you?" Starsky failed to respond with the obvious answer and Hutch groaned. "That's it. Something is wrong. I can't believe you—-you didn't follow through with that one. Babe, I'm dying here. You're just as bad off as I am. What—"

"I'm worried!" Starsky screamed, voice rejuvenated.

"Wha-a-at?"

"That it doesn't have to be me. Doesn't have to be me making you feel this way. Just anybody would do—-Is that—is that why—"

Hutch emitted a broken cry and pulled back, thrusting forward and wrapping his arms around his partner. "Oh, OH! Starsky, Oh, Starsky, I love you. My Starsky. Mine."

And at the sound of his name shouted in passion, Starsky shuddered violently and flung his head back, gasping for breath. The feel of Starsky climaxing in his arms gave Hutch his release.

"Aw, Hutch, you were so ashamed. I couldn't believe you'd built up this ridiculous idea that if you called out to me, it would all vanish, us being together like that, everything, like some damn mirage. I mean, you, Ken Hutchinson! What did the guys call you in the Academy? R-and-R? Didn't it stand for Realism and Rationality? You couldn't even explain to me where that stupid notion came from. Just something that churned around under all that blondness until you accepted it as some kind of natural law. Man, did we have a long talk about that one, and you listened too, 'cause from then on, I don't think the neighbors had any doubts about who was making you climb the walls in bed. Like a week ago...." Starsky bit down on his tongue and felt rage and despair consume him. He flung the photo album at the chair and jumped off the bed, whirling around to face its other occupant.

"This isn't fair!! It's stupid. It's--- Please, wake the hell up already!! No way should you be in a coma because of some seventeen year-old strung out punk with a pipe wrench. You're such a hypocrite, Hutchinson, you know that! You tell me I shouldn't feel bad about killing that kid Lonnie and then, first you let some little girl put a bullet within inches of your heart and...that's not enough for you...you gotta reach out to some half-crazed kid wielding a deadly instrument. When you wake up, I'm gonna—-I'm—- No, I might not even be here when you wake up. I may kill Dobey with my bare hands and end up in the slammer. We're partners, Hutch!

P-a-r-t-n-e-r-s. What kind of con job did you put over on Dobey, huh? That he'd let you go out with a couple of uniforms on a call like that one while I was still stuck in court!!"

The door opened and a familiar face peeked in. The sight of Starsky fuming with his fists clenched and mouth still open in a snarl gave him pause. "May— May I come in?"

Starsky relaxed his hands and breathed deeply. "Sure, Ward."

The young pastor's appearance vastly differed minus the pilgrim costume. Dressed in faded jeans and the requisite black shirt and white collar and wearing a NY Yankees baseball cap over his longer-than-usual brown wavy hair, he looked an odd combination of non-traditional college student and missionary. He nodded at Starsky with a comforting smile and made his way to the bedside where he stood, head bowed, one hand on Hutch's arm and the other hovering just above Hutch's bandaged forehead. After a silent moment, he turned and moisture glistened in his green eyes.

"No change at all?"

Starsky shook his head. "Docs just keep saying one minute it's a leg up that he's breathing on his own and the next minute they're preaching about indefinite comatose states and brain damage."

"I'm so sorry, David. So sorry. Have you been here alone for long?" Ward's question made it clear he didn't believe Starsky should be left without continuous support.

"Huggy's been in and out. Captain Dobey stops by when he can. Edith was with me a long time yesterday."

"I would've come by sooner, David, but I got back from that ELCA conference just this morning. I was thinking about you both, though. I called Lyza every chance I got and she kept me updated. She—- she told me you talked her out of leaving bed to come sit with you."

Starsky smiled softly. "Yeah. Hey, the baby's gotta be first priority. If the docs put her on complete bed rest, then she needs to stay put."

Ward sighed. "Yes. They say if she makes it through the fourth month without any more complications, they may relax some of her restrictions. She's really scared about l-losing the baby. So—-so am I, to tell the truth. I appreciate your looking out for her best interest even—- even at a time like this."

"Nah, hey, don't give me the credit. Sounds like your mother runs a pretty tight ship around your place and I doubt she'd have let Lyza out of bed even if I'd begged her to come."

Ward chuckled. "Yeah, Mom's been a godsend to drop everything and move in with us while Lyza's on bed rest, but she is tough as nails. She missed her calling. Somewhere an army base is missing out on a durn fine drill sergeant."

Starsky's smile brightened, a tiny penlight in the darkness, "I'm glad to hear it. This is our future godson we're talking about—" All at once his face crumpled and his chest trembled. "Ward—-I can't— I can't—"

"Easy, there," Ward said and opened his arms. Starsky didn't question the gesture. The arms he needed to hold him were lax on the bed and he was desperate for some semblance of human warmth. He went into the offered embrace in a rush and Ward enfolded him lightly. "Let it out. It'll do you good."

"I—I won't live without him. Dammit, I won't. I'll fight 'longside him for years like this if I have to, but if he gives in, I'm giving in too."

"I know," Ward said quietly.

Starsky pulled out of the supporting hold and shifted back into tough self-sufficiency. "You know? No talking me down off the cliff? Doesn't someone in your profession view suicide as some big eternal no-no?"

"It's not something we advocate, but I'm not going to lie to you and tell you I don't understand where you're coming from. They try to teach us at Seminary that all we need is God. I'm human enough to admit I feel like that's hogwash sometimes. I know—I know if Lyza was in that bed over there, I'd be having similar thoughts."

Starsky sat down on the side of Hutch's bed and rubbed his partner's forearm. Without looking back at Ward, he said, "You're a good man and a good friend. Thanks."

"David, you and Hutch have helped a lot of people. You've risked your lives for each other and for perfect strangers. What Hutch attempted to do for that kid may not have been the right thing professionally, but it's nothing short of divine in self-sacrifice. He's a special, shining person, and he's not going to give up on you or this world without a major fight. You hold onto your partner like crazy and you believe that."

"I will," Starsky answered, finally turning to face Ward. "You scram and go hang on like crazy to Lyza. After you've been gone a week, I know she's ready for some quality time with you."

Ward smiled. "And vice versa. Yeah, you're right. Okay, I will, but if there's any change, if I can do anything for you, or you just need to slap someone silly to relieve some stress, you know my number. Dial it."

"You'd really let me use you as a punching bag, wouldn't you?" Starsky's expression was both incredulous and moved. Ward nodded.

"It's a suitable alternative to your killing Captain Dobey with your bare hands."

Starsky flushed. "You heard me...."

"David, they could hear you at the nurse's station. And no one holds your screaming session against you." He stepped closer to the bed, bent down low, and whispered something into Hutch's ear. Then, after a parting clasp on Starsky's shoulder, he turned and left the room.

Starsky climbed fully onto the bed and pressed his face to Hutch's chest. The fairly thin hospital gown soaked through quickly with tears that refused to be checked any longer. Through the tears, and muffled against his lover's body, Starsky mumbled pleas, love words, curses and encouragement by turn. Perhaps an hour passed in that fashion until a nurse entered the room and coaxed Starsky back into the visitor's chair while she cared for Hutch's needs. When she left, shaking her head at his wordless question about any change in Hutch's condition, Starsky leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"We've always been good at pushing the odds, baby. You and me. I'd rather have one minute with you—-like this—-than a whole perfect lifetime with anybody else. God, Hutch, please. Wherever you are right now, don't you dare get some White Knight notion that I'd be better off moving on without you!" Starsky stood, turned his back on the bed, and paced the length of the room. "What am I talking about? What am I...?" He rubbed his hands roughly across his face and swiveled, eager for more visual contact even with someone who couldn't return his longing gazes.

Two watery baby blues peeped at him.

"Hutch--?!"

Hutch wiggled his nose, blinked rapidly, and produced the faintest trace of a smile.

"Hutch, you're awake?"

More nose wiggling, slightly parted lips, and wider eyes that held more than a hint of recognition.

"You're awake!" Starsky forgot all about hospital etiquette and protocol. He rushed to the door, flung it open, and yelled into the hallway, "He's awake!!"

The nurse who came running found herself swooped up in ecstatic arms. She didn't voice a complaint at the slobbery kisses planted on her cheeks and forehead. Hutch tracked the events with his still not quite focused eyes and the tiny smile.

July 4, 1981

"Starsky, I just... want to go home," Hutch said the minute Starsky entered the room.

Starsky grinned and darted across the room, throwing back the starched hospital bedcovers and climbing into the bed beside his partner. He turned over on his side in the narrow space and nuzzled Hutch's cheek with his nose. "Nurse said the doc might ship you out of here in a couple days. Be patient, Blintz."

"I love you."

"That feeling is oh so mutual," Starsky echoed a time past. Hutch smiled, the memory obviously still vivid in his own mind.

"Is there...a reason...you're wearing red, white, and blue?"

Starsky laughed and gently turned Hutch's face so he could whisper kisses against his lips. "Yeah, smarty pants. It's Independence Day. And damned if I'm not in the mood to celebrate anything right now!"

"Oh." Hutch looked relieved. Starsky was, as ever, in tune to his partner's most minute facial expression.

"Why? What's rolling around in your head?"

Hutch sneezed. Starsky magically produced a Kleenex and swooped down on the well-shaped nose, but Hutch batted his hands away and seized the tissue. "I can wipe my own nose, thank you very much."

"Hutch, you're the stubbornest human on this planet. You were in a coma, for crying out to God, and you still won't let me nursemaid you."

"You can pamper...me...all you want...just let me blow my own nose."

"Fine. Then tell me what has you itchy about my outfit."

Hutch moved his head slowly to take in the hint of blue jeans beneath the covers, the red T-shirt and white cotton over shirt more readily visible. He frowned. "You—-looked a lot like that...in my dream...."

"Dream?"

"Yeah; guess while...while I was out...."

"Glad to know I was with you," Starsky whispered.

Hutch grinned. "Were you ever."

Starsky's eyebrows lifted. "I think this is a dream I wanna hear about."

"We were weightless, floating...at first I thought it might be...you know..."

"The Other World, the Afterlife, the Great Beyond," Starsky supplied helpfully.

"One of those. But it wasn't. It....it was a damned NASA weightless chamber... you know, zero gravity simulator for the astronauts."

Starsky burst out laughing. "You thinking of a career change, Detective Hutchinson?"

The laughter died out of Hutch's eyes. "Yes, I am...we'll talk about that later. But I don't have any intention of going into outer space...except figuratively, if you know what I mean...." And a large hand rested suggestively on Starsky's inner thigh.

"Easy, Romeo. Gonna be awhile before lift-off for you. So, uh, what did we do in this weightless chamber?"

"Clung to each other mostly. You talked...a lot...whispered to me...kissed my face...felt good. Funny thing is, you kept telling me it was 1976 and I didn't belong to that time anymore...that I needed to get back to 1981. Only, I was scared that maybe you weren't anywhere but in that chamber with me, so I didn't want to leave."

"Aw, Hutch...what brought..." Starsky shook his head. "Dumb question."

"No, it isn't...you want to know what brought me back?"

"Yeah."

"Well, first, I could've sworn I heard Ward say something about his baby needing both godparents. So I thought...somewhere...Starsky must still be there...but I wasn't sure and that weightless chamber was so nice and warm and it felt so good in your arms. But then suddenly I felt sort of wet...right over my heart...and I heard you talking to me. Really talking. And I knew...that it wasn't the real you in that chamber and I wanted to be with the real you."

"Man, Hutch. Don't you know by now the real me is wherever you are?"

"Can we take a nice long time for you to prove it to me?"

"We'll take forever, Hutch, I promise."

The End

List-sib requests:
1. Caramel, preferably on one partner's body and eaten off by the other
2. Donkeys (two: Hector and Smokey)
3. A "tastefully" written rim scene
4. A sailboat and/or Jacuzzi
5. A pussy-willow-patterned salad bowl
6. A promise between the partners to be faithful to each other
7. The formal commitment party alluded to in 'The Happiest Halloween' complete with family and friends' reactions, champagne, tuxes, exchange of wedding rings, and Lyza
8. Double reverse denial of completion (makin' 'em both beg!)
9. A pipe wrench
10. Romance in a NASA weightlessness chamber circa 1976