Written by PJ
This story is slash in nature and is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
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Chapter 1
"I'm going," the father said as he paced around his living room with a huge envelope full of money in his hands.
I looked at Hutch, who only gave his head a small shake in the negative.
The kidnappers had his little boy at the warehouse.
"Mr. Andrews," I told him as nicely as I could, "there's no way we're gonna let you do this. Me or Hutch'll make the drop--"
"Lance is my son! He's only--" His voice got choked up with emotion and he covered his mouth with a hand. "--five years old!"
"Come alone," the kidnapper's latest cloth-muffled message had said over the telephone receiver. "No cops. No gun. Leave the money in the phone booth. I'm watching. Be here in thirty minutes."
Hutch politely took the envelope from Mr. Anderson. "I'm going."
"They'll kill him."
"They could kill him anyway," I told him. "No offense, but you're not a cop. You're a father. And we can't lose two of you. This way, your boy has a chance."
The man walked around with his hands clutching in his hair.
Hutch patted him on the shoulder. "We'll take it from here."
I politely took the envelope from Hutch. "My turn, buddy."
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Chapter 2
Me and Hutch were quiet as we drove toward the warehouse.
Quiet time.
Planning time.
Thinking time.
I parked the Torino about a block away from the warehouse, and we got out.
"Why don't you let me do this?" he asked me as he gestured toward the manila envelope.
I moved the large envelope out of his reach. "Sorry."
(Yeah, sorry, Hutch, but I don't want to go through another bad kidnapping again, where I hear you getting shot over the FRIGGING RECEIVER and have to wonder if you're dead or alive as I fly like a maniac on a motorcycle to where you are, to find they blasted you back through a window, and oh man, I thought you were dead, I thought you were gone, bulletproof vests can't protect your damn head, and--)
I wore a wire, and a flak jacket. This time I was sending, Hutch was receiving.
Hutch shook me. "Starsk, snap out of it."
I looked at him, the memory clearing, and suddenly didn't know what else to do except hug him real tight. "Sorry. I'm okay."
He laughed gently and patted my back. "Sure? I can do this."
I started walking down the street. "I'm sure."
He waited till I was halfway up the street, then he walked behind me.
All I had to do was drop the money in the phone booth, then Hutch would get him when he came out for the money.
I saw the phone booth on the corner.
Bad neighborhood. Not many folks around during the day. But nighttime was different. They crawled out of the nooks and crannies like a scurry of rats.
"Starsky, down!"
Hutch was running up behind me before I even knew what was happening.
I looked around, then up, behind me and over my right shoulder, and saw the kidnapper in an upper window with a gun aimed right at me (wrong building! He's in the wrong building!) (so worried about Hutch that I was losing focus) (not good), and I reached into my jacket for a gun, but forgot I didn't have one because the slime had said not to bring one.
But Hutch didn't forget. He slammed into me from behind like a friggin' Mack truck and we went headfirst into the phone booth just as the gun cracked in the air.
I don't know where the guy went. All I knew was that he was gone, running away, and the little Anderson kid was running out from the warehouse and screaming that he wanted his daddy.
"Huh--"
I said his name in a breath. He'd knocked the wind out of my lungs. I tried to get up, and wondered crazily why Hutch wasn't getting off me.
And when I reached for him to push him off, that's when my hand felt his shirt wet at the back, and then wet in front. The bullet went into his back, came out his chest. Went in little, came out big.
"HUTCH!"
I didn't sit him up. I didn't want to make the bullet move. Since he was sprawled facedown, half-in the phone booth, half-out, all I could do was pull myself out from under him.
Blood was soaking the front of his shirt, pulsing onto the ground, spreading red all over the place. I slid my hand under his chest and pushed the palm of my hand against the bullet wound. He wasn't saying anything, making no movements, no nothing. Just breathing in faint gurgling breaths.
A guy on a bicycle rode up. "Hey, man, what hap--"
"Get an ambulance!" I barked at him. "Now!"
The Anderson kid was sitting on the steps of the warehouse, saying, "Are you a policeman? Are you a policeman?" over and over.
I got on my knees. My left hand was putting pressure on his chest. My right was rubbing his hair as I leaned over him.
"Don't let go," I whispered to him. I felt his blood trying to squirt against and around my hand each time his heart beat. And each time his blood pumped against my hand, I'd say, "Hold on, Hutch. Hold on."
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Chapter 3
It was hours.
I don't know how many hours, that, in the waiting room, I paced and worried and looked at my watch, at once in some kind of limbo, part of me in the waiting room, part of me with Hutch in the operating room.
People came and went.
Dobey. Huggy.
They talked to me. I don't know what about. Encouragement, I guess. Words like hope and faith and chances and luck.
They made me change my shirt. I vaguely remember Huggy taking it off and slipping an undershirt over my head.
Mostly, my mind was like a big fuzzy cloud of static, numb and timeless.
I don't know how long Dobey and Huggy tried to shake me out of that cloud before I actually heard them.
"You hear me!" Huggy was yelling.
I looked around.
Waiting room. Clock. Dark outside? Near morning?
Where was Hutch?
"He's out of surgery," Dobey said. "But he may not make it."
"What time is it?" I heard myself asking, and I laughed a little because I knew it was crazy to be asking that at a time like this, but I couldn't stop the words from coming out of my mouth.
Huggy shook me. "Did you hear us, man? He may not see the morning."
"He saved my life," I whispered to their faces. Awareness was settling in now. I was getting grounded again. Coming down from somewhere up near the ceiling. Huggy's voice was pulling me down like a string on a floating balloon. Reality. My legs were shaking so hard I couldn't stand up. "That bullet was meant for me and he took it."
Dobey and Huggy walked me to the green leather couch and sat me down.
"Want some coffee?" Dobey asked gruffly.
(No, Cap, I just need Hutch)
Huggy said, "He needs somethin' more potent than coffee, Captain my man. Like one mean pill. Think I'll go get the doc to come take a look at him."
I grabbed Huggy's arm. "No. Fine. I'm fine. No dope. I can do this. I can do it."
Sympathy was in his voice. "Sure you can, bro."
"I need . . . " I looked at the clock again. "I need to see him."
"They said in a short while," Dobey said. "They won't let you right now."
I stood up, my legs shaking, but my mind willed them to quiet down. If I was gonna see Hutch, I had to get there on those rubber bands somehow, because my friends sure didn't seem to want to take me.
"No, you don't get it. I have to see him. If he doesn't make it . . . he'll make it, won't he? If he doesn't make it, I gotta talk to him . . ."
They each took one of my arms. I don't know if I was weaving around or what. "All right," Cap said in the lowest voice he had, the rare kind he used only when his soft side was showing. "Let's talk to the doctor."
They escorted me out of the room, one on each side.
My brain was burning. My heart hammering.
"I love him," I said as we walked down the hall. Once I said it, it was out, and I didn't care what their reaction would be.
Not anymore.
This wonderful, beautiful man saved my life. Sacrificed for me. Even when I couldn't give--had never dared to give--our relationship what it deserved--truth and openness.
"You hear me, Hug? I love him."
"I know, bro."
"No. I mean. I really, really love him. Very, very much. More than anybody in the whole world."
"We know, Dave," Cap said like a grim bear.
Even though I was going to see Hutch for what could be the very last time, telling the truth made it a little easier.
I couldn't let it go anymore. I'd let it go long enough. Too long maybe. I'd let it go when he had the plague. Seein' him dyin' slowly in that bed wasn't enough to make me open my mouth. And I kicked myself for it afterward. I had the chance, maybe the last chance, to come out with the truth, and I still didn't.
Punk.
Candy-ass.
But now . . .
Now . . .
I couldn't let him to die without him knowing I could confess my love for him to the world.
I owed him that much. After all he'd given to me. After all the sacrifice. And patience.
God, to put up with the likes of me.
I damn near rejected him every day of my life. But he stuck with me. All this time, he stuck with me.
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Chapter 4
Dobey and Huggy waited in the doorway like I might need them or something.
Hutch looked like some kind of robot, some kind of science fiction creature with all those machines and wires attached to him. I didn't care what it looked like, as long as it kept him alive.
He was like a fine ivory sculpture in the bed, his face as pale as his hair.
Wanting to grab his hand, but forcing myself to slow down and take it easy, I reached for it, but it was cool and bland. No life there. Not much. Not a twitch of recognition.
"Hutch," I whispered in my shaky-leaf voice. "You know how much I love you?"
And just like I thought he was some kind of big sleeping beauty and my love could make him better, I got down on one knee and leaned over to give him a soft kiss on his mouth. Hoping against hope that the sculpture would come to life.
Maybe he would never know that I'd done that in front of Dobey or Huggy.
But they knew it.
I had risked a lot, for love, for him, and it felt pretty damn good.
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Chapter 5
I guarded him all night, talkin' to him, tellin' him how much I loved him.
I knew he knew it. Even if he never woke up, died tonight, he'd leave this world knowing I loved him. But still, it didn't seem to be enough for me.
Something was missing.
I talked and whispered and held his hand all night long.
Doctors came and went.
Nurses checked and checked.
Only when they said he seemed to be coming around and getting stronger could my brain melt down and go to sleep.
It was the little squeeze of his hand around mine that, in the warm sunshine of the next morning, woke me up, and I raised my head off the edge of his bed to see him smiling at me like a pale, sleepy tomcat.
He wasn't even close to talkin' to me yet. So full of medicine all he could do was look at me with his big dopey eyes.
He was a beautiful sight. Tough and tender.
"Don't say anything," I told him.
As if he even could.
He couldn't.
But I wanted him to know he didn't even have to try.
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Chapter 6
"Getting stronger," the doctor said as he checked Hutch over for the tenth time.
Visitors were allowed in for a minute or two at a time: Dobey, Huggy, fellow officers.
"Hang in there, Hutch."
"You can do it."
"Tough as nails."
When Diane, Huggy's waitress, stopped by to drop Ollie off, I asked her for a lipstick.
It was the second time I'd written something on glass for him.
As I tucked the white bear under Hutch's arm, he gave me another small smile.
No conversation yet. Didn't need any.
But even though we didn't have to talk, I still felt like there was something I was leaving out.
I was pacing around in his room, restless, my palms damp, feeling like my chest could explode any second.
And his eyes followed me wherever I went, trying to watch over me even when he was the one who was down.
"I told 'em," I said finally. "I told Cap. And Hug."
His catlike smile spread a little bigger, his eyes warmer.
"You saved my life, Hutch. Like always. Except this time . . . " I looked out the window. "I want you to watch outside, okay?"
He gave the barest of nods.
I looked back at him. "Keep lookin' out the window, and don't look away."
If he thought I was crazy, he didn't show it. He did what I said. He kept looking out.
I stepped out into the hall. I could see Lieutenant Lawrence, that jerk-off who bashed me in an alley one night after a Gay Rights rally, getting off the elevator and putting on a good PR show for Dobey, offering a handshake and a word or two of concern for a downed officer.
Just to look good.
Score some points.
Two-faced.
Respected cop by day----gay-basher by night.
Two-faced.
Like I used to be.
"Starsky," he said with slimy fake sympathy. "So sorry. Ken's tough. Hope you nail the bastard--."
"I love him," I said as I passed him and got in the elevator.
Dobey stared at me, and then produced an amused, if not proud "hmpf" under his breath.
Lawrence couldn't handle it.
"Fag pervert," he grumbled under his breath.
I turned and punched him, and he landed on his ass in the hallway.
"He fucks real good too," I said as I got onto the elevator, catching a glimpse of him climbing to his feet and holding a busted mouth.
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Chapter 7
There I stood, on top of the police station, stories high, standing on the ledge like I was gonna fly.
I looked down, saw traffic and shoppers and pedestrians--people walking dogs, joggers, couples strolling arm-in-arm, men carrying briefcases, women carrying shopping bags and babies. Bikers and skaters. Cops. Cop cars. Everybody. Everything.
Then I looked across the street at Hutch through his hospital window, and saw him through the glass. He was lookin' at me with his big owl eyes--anticipation. Curiosity. Expectation.
I grinned and waved my arms at him, then looked down at the city life below.
"I LOVE HIM!" I shouted in my loudest voice, and pointed across the street. "I LOVE KENNETH HUTCHINSON! AND I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS IT!"
People looked up, some chuckling and pointing, thumbs up. Some jeering, giving the finger. Comments floated up like balloons: From "Homo!" and "Way to go!" and "Fairy!" to "Gay!" and "Queer!" and "Say it again!"
"I LOVE HIM!"
I laughed with joy and blew Hutch a kiss across the street.
"I LOVE YOU, HUTCH!"
He was grinning his fool head off.
I felt free.
Finally.
Free.
And bold.
And proud.
At last.
It took almost losing him for it to happen, but it happened.
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Chapter 8
Okay.
Hutchinson here.
My turn to talk.
My words.
I never wanted him to say it out of guilt. Out of sympathy. Or pressure.
Had to be of his own free will. Had to be real. From his heart.
And it was.
His heart.
My heart.
The bullet missed my heart by a fraction.
I almost died, and he wanted to make a choice before it was too late.
He thought he'd lost me.
But love found a way.
First I saw his big red lipstick message--'David Starsky Loves Ken Hutchinson'--on the glass in my wall.
And then I looked across the street like he asked me to, and I saw him standing on the rooftop of the police station, waving and grinning and yelling at the world that he loved me.
He looked so damn happy I thought he was going to jump over to my window like Spiderman.
If he had tried, I bet he'd have made it.
It didn't take him long to come down from the roof and run back to me.
"Hutch!" he yelled as he came skidding into my room. "I did it! It feels good!"
I smiled and lifted my heavy arms toward him. They felt like blocks of concrete, and the movement put a massive strain on my chest, but I didn't care.
He quieted down when he reached down to hug me back.
He was so full of energy, like a top sometimes, but his touch was always so gentle when he wanted it to be, especially with me. He was a fireball, but could be a mellow flame when called for.
"Easy, Hutch."
"You okay, Starh--"
Pain crushed my breath.
"Sshh. Don't talk."
"I suh--"
"Shut up. I know you saw me. I'm okay. We're okay."
He pushed the buzzer for the nurse, and they came running.
"He's hurtin'," he told them. "He needs somethin'."
I was hurting alright. So bad I was passing out.
His arms were still locked around me as I lost consciousness in them.
"Easy, Hutch," I heard him whisper. "Right here."
My head dropped back into the nook of his arm, and I drifted out with the sting of the needle.
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Chapter 9
I slept most of the day. Didn't even know when they unhooked some of the gadgets.
When I woke up, I found Starsky crowded onto the edge of the bed next to me, propped up on one elbow and just looking at me.
Quite comfortable and content.
"Hiya, Hutch."
It was hard to keep my eyes open, but I felt a little stronger.
"Don't tell me you've been watching me sleep, Starsk. You know I hate that."
"Why? You don't snore or anything."
Doctors and nurses passed by the glass in the wall. Some smiled and shook their heads. Others walked on by.
One opened the door and looked in.
"It's okay," Starsky told him as he gave my hair a stroke of affection.
"I love him."
The End