Cover Total Eclipse of the Heart

by Flamingo

Illustrated by Suzan Lovett

Edited by Barbara D., Elaine H., and Kath Moonshine.

Originally published as a zine on October 1, 2001 by Flamingo

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New Intro, 2020:

It's startling to go back and look through these 19-year-old files as I get ready to post an updated version of Total Eclipse of the Heart online. While it has been online since I first started writing it, its formatting was designed for 28 baud modems not the high speed internet of today.

I wrote the original intro right after the events of 9/11, something I'd forgotten about; looking back, I'm surprised the task actually got done in time for ZebraCon that year. It was a big zine and producing one was something I'd never done before. Posting it as it was being written was also something new. Getting it printed provided even more drama, as the woman who offered to produce it through the professional printing company she worked for nearly lost her job over the zine's content.

I was warned it wouldn't sell since it was already available on line, but it did, quite well. Over the years, fans' affection for this story has been more than encouraging and has been one of the many factors that has kept me active in Starsky and Hutch fandom for over 20 years.

I am cheered to know that many of the friends I've listed in the original intro are still in my life, though some, sadly, like Rosemary and our friend Mel, have passed away. And I'd completely forgotten that I named the lawyer in the story after Rosemary. That was a jolt.

Rosemary has been gone over a year already but I feel her looking over my shoulder every day, encouraging me and promising that everything will work out just fine.

Enjoy.

Flamingo

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Original intro from the zine:

From the Bird's Beak...

It's September 30, 2001, a few weeks after the tragedy at the World's Trade Center and the Pentagon. As a born and bred New Yorker who has lived 30 minutes from Washington D.C. for 20 plus years, the personal impact has been intense. But I know there isn't a person in the country that doesn't feel the same way, no matter where they were born or live now. After the attacks, I seriously doubted I'd get the zine formatted and produced, and besides, how important was it anyway? Then a tornado ripped through our neighborhood less than a week ago. Our home was unscathed, fortunately, but we lost power for days.

But after 4 years writing TE, and after all the effort Suzan put into the art, I wanted it finished, in print, complete, done, fini. More important to me than the story was the desire to get Suzan's wonderful illos in the hands of S/H fans. Having a chance to work with such beautiful art that turned TE into a true illustrated novel has been both exciting and challenging. And it's brought me full circle to a day, almost 5 years ago, when Suzan showed me Starsky's "walk around the porch" from Class in Crime. As I fell hopelessly in love, she said that if I ever wrote SH, she would be happy to illustrate it. Who could turn down such an offer?

After waiting so long for the novel to be finished, I was amazed Suzan hadn't lost interest in it. When she asked if I'd be willing to incorporate the illos into the text so they would fit in organically with the story, rather than produce the art in the more conventional manner, I thought it was a great idea. I still do, in spite of the problems it created for this novice zine producer. Hey, if it was easy, anyone could do it!

It's amazing to see your ideas take visual shape and form. I was stunned when I realized that Suzan had produced 21 separate black and white drawings, plus a color cover and a color back cover. She also produced other preliminary drawings and sketches that I fell in love with. I'm grateful that she's let me reproduce some of them. The interior color illo is an unfinished cover prototype and there are unfinished sketches of the guys scattered throughout the zine. I'm rarely without words, but looking at the incredible portfolio Suzan produced renders me speechless. I know you'll love these lovely, haunting illos as much as I do.

Suzan is responsible for my getting into SH fandom, as is my dear friend KC who plied me with zines. I'm forever grateful, as I've made some of my dearest friends in this fandom. The encouragement, stimulation, creative juices, and just plain love I've gotten from folks like Rosemary, Kath Moonshine, Kelly, Glow, Martha, Linda, Cindy L., SHaron, Solo, Viv, Janie, Barb. D., Linda R., Lucy, Elaine, Paladin, Mer, Suz, Janice, Mel, and Cherrel (to name just a few), and listsibs on our discussion list, VenicePlace--some of whom I've never met--is amazing. It keeps me going and more important, it keeps me laughing.

Big love to my tireless and fabulously nit-picky editors--Barb D, Elaine H., and Kath Moonshine. Any errors in this zine are strictly my own. They did an incredible job--and in Barb's case, multiple times--on a humongous manuscript. Big thanks to my printer, Sandy. It's great working with a slash fan that has access to high tech printing equipment and has skill and patience besides. And a special big thanks and giant love goes out to my perpetually cheerful, encouraging, and upbeat roommate, Rosemary. (I may kill her for those traits some day!) But the biggest thanks and most special love are reserved for my partner, Anne, who no doubt rues the day the words "Starsky and Hutch" were uttered in our house. She's a saint, that woman. (You think it's easy living with a saint?)

To encourage new forms of publication and greater accessibility for fans, I support simultaneous publication. Within a month (i.e. when I recover from ZebraCon), TE will be available as an e- zine, as downloadable files for PDAs and Palm Pilots, on CDs, and from the Starsky & Hutch Lending Library.

It's almost 6 AM and I haven't been to bed yet. All night formatting is a fannish tradition Martha and Linda tell me. In 4 hours I hope to be printing this thing, holding it in my hand and calling it a zine.

Please join us for lots of SH fun in October of 2002, at SHareCon in Maryland. And if you'd like to join our insane, but friendly, on-line neighborhood, VenicePlace, just drop me a note.

Now I need to edit this over-long intro, and try to catch a few winks before printing starts. Thanks to everyone who has waited so patiently for this zine.

Flamingo

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Frontispiece

TE02.jpg

"...The next report I expect to hear--the only report that I am at all concerned with--is that we have eliminated, now and forever, the two individuals who are almost single-handedly responsible for the massive damage inflicted on this organization.

"Now and forever, gentlemen, now and forever gone."

James Gunther to his Board of Directors in the episode Sweet Revenge

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Prologue

When you open up your life to the living, All things come spilling in on you, And you're flowing like a river, The Changer and The Changed You've got to spill some over, over all Waterfall--Chris Williamson

Detective Sergeant David Michael Starsky shed the towel carelessly knotted around his hips and stepped wearily into the precinct communal shower. Turning the water on full force, he ducked under the steaming spray, grinning. It didn't matter that he was filthy and exhausted; he'd had a good day at work. And after the last nine months, a good day at work was not something he took for granted.

As soon as the steaming water struck his body, Starsky began to mutate. From a tired, grimy, battle-scarred homicide detective, he felt himself change. It started with a soft humming, then the low throaty trill of "Da-da-da-da, da-da, da-da-da-da," until, before he knew it, Starsky had miraculously transformed into a wet, soapy, naked--but lithesome--Gene Kelly.

"I'm singin' in the rain!" Starsky warbled, as water cascaded through his curly hair and over his lathered body.

"Just singin' in the rain! "What a glorious feeling! "I'm ha-a-a-appy again!"

Oblivious to the stares of other cops, he lathered and rinsed, his voice reverberating enthusiastically around the tiled walls.

"I'm la-a-a-ughin' at clouds, "so dark up above. "The sun's in my heart, "and I'm re-e-e-ady for love!"

As he rinsed the day's sweat away, he added dance steps to his number. Using a stationary pole as a stand-in for Kelly's street lamp, he swung around, sliding his feet wetly along the tiles, splashing his fellow police officers.

"Let the stormy clouds chase, "everyone from the place--"

They took the cue and abandoned the shower as Starsky's choreography became more complicated. Oblivious to the critical walk-outs, he danced on, singing his heart out.

"Come on with the rain, "I've a smi-i-i-le on my face."

He swung an imaginary umbrella as he exited the shower and headed for his locker. Never missing a step, he slapped his soles noisily along the wet tiles to make up for his lack of dance taps. Leaping smartly unto a bench, he balanced precariously along its length just to add a little Astaire style to the number.

Stepping gracefully back onto the floor, Starsky did a sloppy soft-shoe--or rather, wet foot-- dance step all the way to the lockers.

"I'll wa-a-a-lk down the lane, "with a ha-a-appy refrain--"

Leaving a puddled trail in his wake, he was sure he had out-Kelly-ed Kelly, as he knotted a towel around his hips while sashaying drippingly.

"I'm singin', yeah, "singin' in the ra-a-a-ain!"

His high-spirited dance eventually brought him abreast of his partner, Ken Hutchinson. Hutch was drying himself by the lockers when Starsky spun and, without warning, grabbed his wrist, propelling Hutch into his wet embrace, then dropping him into a dramatic dance dip.

Staring down into his startled friend's handsome face, Starsky announced, "After six months of convalescence and three months of down and dirty cop work, I feel like I finally washed the remnants of Gunther's slime off me!"

Hutch scrambled to keep from losing his own towel and his footing on the damp floor, while his awkward attempts to regain both nearly brought them down on the tiles in a heap. By the time they regained their equilibrium they were convulsed in helpless laughter.

"Yeah," Starsky said, releasing Hutch. "What a glorious feeling. I'm ha-a-a-ppy again!"

Hutch readjusted his towel, then pulled fresh clothes out of his locker. "I think the entire precinct's figured that out, Starsk. What the hell were you singing in there, anyway? Aida?"

"Nah! Didn't you recognize Gene Kelly's Singin' in the Rain?" "No, and neither did anyone else you drove out of the shower with soap in their hair. Your fur coat's dripping everywhere! Where's your other towel?"

Starsky peered into his nearly empty locker, across from Hutch's. "Gone. Maybe Gunther got that, too, along with the tip of my liver, a piece a rib, and a half year of my life. I'll add it to the charges we'll be droppin' on his Vice-President, the chump we busted today. The last of the bad guys! Hah!" Starsky beamed.

Hutch grinned back as he pulled a towel from his own supply and draped it over Starsky's dripping hair. With a deft move, Hutch turned the towel into a tight nun's veil, trapping all the weeping, dark tendrils. "Will you dry off already, Sister Mary Starsky, before we have to build a dam around you to control erosion?"

Starsky would not be distracted. "We did it, Hutch. We really did it. We got every last one of 'em. The entire Board of Directors. Each Vice-President who had The Knowledge. Right on down to the inside traders who knew the score. Got 'em. Nailed. Tight. Threw away the key." Absently, he fingered the rigid keloid scars that cut across his chest--Gunther's mementos.

Hutch glanced at the gesture, then looked away. "Don't I always keep my promises?"

Starsky's face started to hurt from smiling. He remembered Hutch's voice through the fog of his coma as he promised, We'll get 'em, Starsk. They're not gonna win this one. We'll get 'em, buddy, if it's the last thing we do.

The miracle was that they had lived to do it.

They'd had to fight the effects of multiple slugs in Starsky's body. He'd actually died at one point, and had been brought back, the doctors said, on sheer will power--but whether it had been Starsky's or Hutch's, they didn't know.

They'd had to fight the resistance of Starsky's thirty-five-year-old body to recovering. Hutch had assumed that responsibility with a vengeance. He'd driven Starsky like a drill sergeant, sought out the latest nutritional advice, consulted the best physical therapists, sports doctors, and health gurus who'd helped him design the ultimate exercise regimen, the perfect diet, with martial arts training and yoga just to round things out. He'd put all the energy he'd formerly devoted to police work into curing Starsky and had joined him every step of the way. The result was two cops nearing middle age who were in far better shape than men ten years younger. Starsky had never been this fit, not even in the Academy, and neither had Hutch.

And lastly, they'd had to fight administrators who would've been far more comfortable with Starsky's retirement on medical disability than returning him, a wounded cop-hero, to the streets. Only when they'd fought--and beaten--those adversaries, had they been able to tackle the octopus-like operation that was Gunther's dynasty. A dynasty they knew Gunther was still able to control from his cell. But not anymore.

Now it was finished. They'd broken the back of that complex crime organization with the same brash techniques they'd been using since the Academy. Me and thee. They relied on no one, trusted no one, but each other. Works every time, Starsky thought smugly as he dried himself and started donning clean clothes. Even the paper work is done!

"I talked to Huggy," Hutch said, his voice muffled as he pulled on a fresh knit shirt over his damp hair. The dark red color brought out the gold tones in his skin. Damp blond strands stuck out every which way when his head popped through. Even his mustache was skewed.

Starsky was struck for the moment with his friend's open vulnerability. Good thing he's got me for a partner. He'd be so easy to take advantage of with all that heart.

"Huggy says he saved these special steaks just for us. Prime rib. This thick." Hutch held out his fingers impossibly far.

"Y'mean, you're gonna let me eat red meat?" Starsky asked in mock wonder. "After all these months of rabbit food and bean sprouts? Tofu and bee pollen? Spring water and organic mushrooms? Enough rice and barley to feed the Third World? Ain't'cha afraid I'll go into shock?"

Hutch smacked the hard mass of muscle that was Starsky's chest with the back of his hand. "You're never gonna quit arguing with success, are you? You can have beef. Tonight. But you're back on program tomorrow. I'm not gonna have all that work go down the drain so you can raise your cholesterol to its previous astronomical figures. Stick with me and you'll live forever."

"Or at least, it'll feel that way." Starsky groaned and hid his grin.

Putting Hutch in charge of his health had kept his friend sane, and helped him work out a lot of the useless guilt and grief he'd carried over Starsky's near-death. Giving up beef was a small price to pay to help Hutch recover from that terrible experience. Starsky had merely been shot. Hutch had had to deal with witnessing it, seeing him die, then watch him turn into an invalid inching toward old age. Giving up that kind of personal control to another man would've once been difficult for Starsky, but he'd watched his partner nearly die once and understood the frustrated helplessness Hutch had had to endure. Once Hutch became his partner in recovery, the big klutzy blond had shrugged off his over-protectiveness and his agonizing guilt. They were solid now. The perfect team. Mentally. Physically. Defensively. Me and thee.

And the remains of Gunther's organization had been crushed under their coordinated skills.

Starsky slid on a slim pair of briefs and reached for his black tee shirt. Moving closer to Hutch he lowered his voice as he became aware of others entering the facility. "This is gonna be the best, Hutch. Just you, me, and Huggy celebratin' the end of this. It's gonna be like a new start, y'know?"

Yeah, he thought, the sun's in my heart all right, and I'm ready for--

He paused.

Before the shooting, they would've included a pair of nubile secretaries or maybe a couple of stewardesses in the party. They would've ended the night trying to prove which one was the better man in bed so they could brag about their prowess the next day. But to Starsky, none of that seemed important anymore. Maybe some of it was the discipline of yoga, or the martial arts they'd been practicing. Starsky had simply been too determined to recover and to exact his revenge to even care about getting laid. And it still seemed inconsequential now. Maybe they were both getting older--but who cared? He'd worry about women tomorrow. Now that Hutch had helped give him the tomorrows to use.

Hutch's sapphire eyes were soft, full of the same concern and caring Starsky had always seen in them. But there were new worry lines around his eyes, and Starsky's wounding had put them there. He was determined that there would never be another one on that handsome face--at least not one he'd be responsible for.

"You got that right, partner," Hutch said quietly. "Just us. And a new day."

"Oh, did we catch you guys in the clinches again?" a sarcastic baritone intruded.

Starsky tensed. It was Max Russo, whose caustic humor always bit too deep. But he wouldn't let the guy get to him today. Not today. He eased away from Hutch and donned his shirt. He felt Hutch watching him. Hutch knew how much Russo got under Starsky's skin.

It's okay, babe, Starsky thought. I'm doin' my yoga chant to keep cool like you taught me.

A group of detectives came in and went to their lockers as the shift ended.

Russo opened his own locker, the one next to Starsky's, with a noisy invasive clatter. The guy was the ultimate macho red-necked cop, a stereotype Starsky hated. A beefy weight-lifter, Russo towered over Starsky and loved invading his personal space just to force him to back off. Russo swiveled his crew-cut, bullet-shaped head to peer down at him now. "Heard you guys made the papers again."

Russo's jealousy was well known. He was a mediocre worker and, Starsky suspected, supplemented his income with graft. His partner, Jim Wilson, was a decent cop and Starsky had always felt sorry for him saddled with this festering boil. It certainly hadn't helped Wilson's career. The contrast between Russo and Hutch couldn't have been greater if they were different life forms. Then again, maybe they were.

"Yeah," Wilson said good-naturedly from the other bank of lockers, "heard about the bust. Tight work, you guys."

"Thanks," Hutch replied to the smaller, graying cop as he finished dressing. Both partners spied the rookie, a young, tall black kid named Tomas Diega, who was riding with the two older men. Wilson made the introductions.

"Yeah, these are Metro's official glory hounds," Russo said snidely.

Oooommmm, Starsky repeated mentally, drawing out the syllable in his mind, focusing on the space between his eyebrows. He could hear Hutch saying, Focus on that place between your brows and try to see with your inner eye. At first, he had nearly collapsed in laughter over that silliness--until he found that the mental concentration really did help his healing. He had been dead, and was now alive. More than alive. He was young again, strong, renewed. He would not argue with success.

"If there's a reporter within ten miles," Russo went on as Starsky slipped on red socks, then his favorite faded jeans, "these guys'll find him. They make more headlines than Liz Taylor."

Hutch finished combing his hair, then stood behind Starsky. Watching his back. As always.

"Y'know, Russo," Hutch said, the humor clear in his voice, "if you spent as much time hitting the bricks as you did griping about the workload, maybe you'd make the papers, too."

"Yeah," Starsky added, shifting his genitals in his tight pants until they were comfortable, then zipping his fly. "The funny papers."

Hutch and Russo's partner Wilson both chuckled, as Hutch casually laid both hands on Starsky's shoulders and squeezed. They had always been comfortable touching, but since the shooting, Hutch had seemed to need that even more, as if he had to keep feeling Starsky's living warmth.

"Oh, Christ," Russo grumbled, "you're not gonna kiss him in front of the kid, are you?" He indicated the rookie. "We're used to your fuck-buddy routine, but he's still an innocent."

Hutch's hands tightened on Starsky's shoulders as he tensed. No, he would not respond to Russo's constant homo-baiting. Not today. Russo knew it got a rise out of him, which was why he did it. Starsky focused on his inner eye and repeated his mantra. Oooommmm. But he couldn't unclench his jaw.

"You gotta excuse his bad manners," Hutch said to the embarrassed Diega, indicating Russo. "He had a lack of support at home. His mother tried to drown him when he was a puppy."

"Don't worry about it, Max," Starsky said, pouting as the other cops chuckled. "Hutch says I'm a lousy kisser. So, I'm goin' celibate."

The rookie hid a smile as the cops laughed.

"We try not to be in here when they take their shower," Russo shot back. "They spend more time in there on their knees than nuns."

That's it! Starsky swore, the yoga, the martial discipline, everything forgotten in a flush of heat from a comment that crossed an invisible line in his mind. But Hutch was in front of him, hands on his arms, gently restraining.

"Not today, Starsk," he said softly. "Don't let him get to you today. Dinner's waiting."

Starsky struggled with his rage, found his center, and felt the anger slip away. Hutch felt it, too, because he released Starsky. No one in the locker room made a sound.

"Not today," Starsky agreed, his eyes burning into Russo's big frame. He did not fear the man's size. It might've given him a moment's pause once, but no longer. The martial arts training had seen to that. He shrugged off the anger and made his body go slack. He had to save it for the bad guys. "Not today, Russo."

The big cop cupped his own genitals, grasping his dick in a gesture of masculine contempt. "But someday, Starsky. You and me. One on one. Keep your knee pads ready."

The threat was clear. Russo's partner hissed, "Max!" The rest of the room went still.

Hutch's eyes were on Starsky, worried. But Starsky had released his anger. "Need only one hand for that, Max?" he drawled, grinning crookedly. "Takes me two hands to hang onto mine." He gripped his well-endowed phallus through his tight jeans with both fists. Every cop in the room burst into laughter as Russo's posturing proved his undoing.

Brazenly, Starsky donned the brown leather jacket studded with Gunther's bullet holes across the back, holes stained dark with his blood. He wore the jacket proudly, even though it made other cops uncomfortable. It was his taunt to death and all the forces that had tried to destroy him and Hutch--and failed. Then, together, the partners sauntered out of the locker room, arms around each other's shoulders.

Once out of ear-shot, Hutch had to cover his mouth to hold in his laughter. "Starsky! You should be ashamed!"

"Of being hung?" Starsky asked, laughing just as hard.

"No! Of flaunting it in the face of those less privileged." Hutch nearly dissolved as, no doubt, he recalled Russo's shocked expression.

"Hey, what can I say?" Starsky replied, still giggling, as they made their way to the parking lot. "We are the Chosen People!"

Laughing and leaning against each other, they staggered to the repaired Torino. Starsky tried to remember when they'd last felt this good. When things were so right. It had been a long time. Years maybe. Before women had come between them. Before Hutch had started feeling burned out. Before Hutch had gotten sick once from an enforced addiction, then later from a plague. Before Starsky had been poisoned. Before he'd been shot. It had been awhile.

But now they were both healed, body and soul. Healthy, strong, together. Me and thee against the world. Today and always, Starsky vowed. Always.

I can feel it coming in the air tonight, Oh Lord I've been waiting for this moment, all my life, Oh Lord Can you feel it coming in the air tonight? In the Air Tonight--Phil Collins

Chapter 1

Go back into the darkness Like the wild thing that you are Your teeth are far too sharp, my love I'm afraid you'll go too far. Wild Things--Chris Williamson

"I'd forgotten what real beef looked like," Starsky said, in awe of the perfectly cooked prime rib Huggy Bear placed before him. "Forgotten the smell! Huggy, will ya marry me?"

The slim bar owner peered suspiciously at his ravenous friend, as Hutch cut into his own piece. "Hutchinson, you need to let him out more often," Huggy admonished in mock-seriousness. "The man's close to tears over a cut of dead animal, proposin' permanent relationships with people not physically compatible with him. I can remember when he only made noises like that over a lovely lady!"

Starsky cut a small piece of the still sizzling slab and slipped it into his mouth. His eyes closed in bliss. "This ain't food," he said. "This is heaven!" He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor, the texture he hadn't had in so long. His mouth filled with saliva.

"Twice a week," Hutch said in between bites. "I talked to the nutritionist. She said we could have beef only twice a week to maintain."

Starsky looked at Huggy for relief. "It's no wonder I'm not interested in women. Every time Hutch starts with 'the nutritionist' I know I'm gonna be deprived of somethin' I love. It's like aversion therapy, where they keep shocking you to make you give up bad habits. The nutritionist is this beautiful redhead," he shaped his hands in the air, then kissed his fingertips in homage, "who won't let me eat anything I like. The physical therapist!" He rolled his eyes. "A stunning brunette--with the gentility of a domino-trucks!"

"Domin-a-trix," Hutch said automatically around his mouthful.

Starsky acknowledged the correction with a nod, then continued: "The sports doctor? A blonde goddess. Hands of ice, a frigid stethoscope, a scary preference for anal thermometers, and the bedside manner of a storm trooper." He shook his head in mock misery until Huggy was roaring. "The very mention--never mind appearance--of the three witches causes little Davy," he pointed at his groin, "to act like a turtle in winter."

Hutch, who was taking a sip of his beer, nearly sprayed Starsky with it. He gestured in the area of his partner's groin. "Care to tell me exactly what part earned the name, 'little Davy'?"

Starsky just chuckled around his next bite. Hutch could afford to make jokes. While they'd showered together--and nursed each other--often enough to be well aware of their endowments, Starsky knew Hutch's manhood was exactly where it needed to be--in his mind. Hutch's masculinity fit him so comfortably, he'd never rise to the baiting of a man like Russo. Starsky wished he could be like that, but as a kid in New York, masculinity was something he'd had to prove again and again. It was stupid. He wished he could be more like Hutch. "Y'know, you two are gettin' worse," Huggy said, adding his own steak to the table as he sat with them.

Both partners looked puzzled at the man who was both their informant and good friend.

"You've always had this code between you," Huggy explained. "This enchanting dialect that the rest of us mere mortals could never decipher. But lately, it's gettin' worse."

"Must've been all those weeks of training," Starsky figured. "Got so we hardly had to talk." In spite of all the blood, sweat, and tears involved in his recovery, Starsky felt nostalgic over that time spent alone with his partner. There'd been nothing between them then except the work they had to do and Starsky's progress. They were together, a unit, in a cushion of security, knowing the only person with them was completely trustworthy. In spite of his wounds, he'd felt good about it.

"Hey, I was talkin'!" Hutch protested around a mouthful. "You just didn't listen t'me."

"True," Starsky agreed. "Hutch thought if he'd just talk to me like he does his plants I'd grow some new leaves or somethin'."

"Worked, didn't it?" Hutch said smugly.

Starsky chewed happily and smiled back.

"It's good to see you two back in top form," Huggy admitted. "Hope LA can handle it. This calls for somethin' special." He signaled to the waitress who was bringing over new beers. "Forget that, Suzie. Break out that bottle of champagne I been savin'. Three flutes!"

Starsky was surprised when the bottle was brought over instead by Huggy's bartender, Alphonse. The handsome, fair-skinned man had draped a clean towel over his arm, as if he were a waiter in a fine establishment, and balanced a full tray expertly on his hand.

"Boss says break out the best," Alphonse said, "then the best it is. And the best gets special delivery." He picked up one of the flutes and twirled it around his fingers, then placed it delicately in front of Hutch. The second flute went to Starsky, and Huggy got the last. With a practiced hand, Alphonse uncorked the champagne without spilling a drop, then poured it carefully into each glass in the same order, using the towel against the bottle's lip.

"Where'd you steal this guy from, Hug?" Hutch asked, amused. "A real restaurant?"

"In serving the Bear, the honor is mine," Alphonse assured them, giving a salute.

They lifted their glasses in unison, touched rims, then gave themselves a toast before downing the champagne through their laughter.

When they'd killed the bottle they went back to beer. They traded old stories and made up new ones, and the hours ticked by in a happy haze. It reminded Starsky of the night they'd celebrated graduating from the Academy. Everything had been so sweet then, so full of promise. He felt like that again and looked fondly at the big blond who'd given it to him.

By ten, he was leaning on Hutch and swearing drunkenly, "Y'know, I love you, man."

"I know," Hutch said warmly, smiling, just as drunk. "And I love you."

"No one would'a stuck by me like you did, pal," Starsky insisted.

Hutch waved it away. "Any good partner--"

"Y'mean, like Russo and Wilson? No. Uh-uh. Nada. No way. I'm tellin' you true. I wouldn't be here today, not fit like this, not feelin' this good, 'cept for you. Y'know my runnin' time's faster than when I gradjatated--uh, gradiated--got outta the 'cademy? My firing range average s'improved. Know what it felt like when I ran down that dude this morning and caught him, slapped the cuffs on him, got him dead to rights with the goods?"

Hutch giggled helplessly. "You didn't just run him down, Starsk!" He turned to Huggy. "The guy jumped into his car and Starsky ran him down on foot, before the joker could get into second gear. He was like an antelope! He caught the Mercedes, leaped onto the trunk and over the roof before the guy could finish shifting. Never saw anyone move that fast! Motivated. The man was motivated, I'm tellin' you!"

"Know what that felt like?" Starsky repeated in the slow way the seriously inebriated had. "To be that fast, that strong, after what those bastards did to me? Felt better'n sex. You did that for me, Hutch. An' I love you for it."

Hutch peered worriedly at Huggy. "You're right, man. I need to let him out more. Hey, if you think chasin' a bad guy's better n'sex--shit, Starsky, we gotta work on that." Hutch stood shakily on his long legs. "I gotta recuperatin' cop here," he announced to the crowded bar, "a hero to our fair city, who desperately needs to get laid! Any lovely ladies care to volunteer?"

Huggy and Starsky both grabbed Hutch by the arms and forced him back into his chair before he could follow up on the random offers being sent their way. The two partners fell into a fit of drunken giggles.

"Have you two been sippin' the joy juice when my back was turned?" Huggy asked seriously. "I can't remember ever seein' you this destroyed. Not over a bottle of champagne and a few beers. You're both wasted." He grinned, deflecting the sting of his criticism.

"'S'okay, Huggy," Starsky told him with a drunk's sincerity. "We take care of each other, even when we're drunk! Right, partner?"

"'S'right," Hutch agreed, his elbow slipping off the table, causing him to nearly ooze out of his chair. Starsky and Huggy righted him, then Huggy waved to his waitress.

"Suzie," he called, "I'm'a hafta take these two sorry-asses home before they fall and sue me for damages. I'll be back before closing." "Got it, Huggy!" the harried woman called back, her tray piled high with glasses.

Huggy grabbed each of them by the elbow and urged them to their feet. "Gonna be able to make it to the car? Don't think I can carry you both."

Hutch was in the worst shape, Starsky realized, and he felt proud that he could hold his liquor better. He could afford to be generous, and slid an arm around Hutch, pulling him close.

"I got you, partner. You can lean on me for a change," Starsky told him.

Hutch turned warm eyes on him and slung a long arm around his shoulders. "I know that," he whispered, a lot of meaning in those three simple words. "I've always known it."

Man, we are really drunk, Starsky thought, as a lump grew in his throat. "Come on, buddy. Le's go home." They'd crash at his place tonight--it was closest to the Pits.

They hadn't spent a night apart since the shooting. During all those weeks of recuperation at the hospital, the staff got tired of tripping over Hutch, so finally just made sure there was a spare bed for him wherever they put Starsky. Once he was released, there was physical therapy. It seemed natural to collapse at either one's residence after all that work. Both apartments only had one bedroom, and they were used to trading couches. But Starsky's injuries and Hutch's temperamental back made that impossible during Starsky's lengthy recovery. Sharing their big beds became the only sensible solution. They hadn't wasted a lot of talk on it, it just kind of happened.

Starsky wondered about that a little. But Hutch had been worried about Gunther's cohorts who might still be gunning for them. It seemed easier to stay together for their mutual safety. And after coming that close to death, Hutch's presence was a genuine comfort. Starsky didn't mind admitting that.

He'd have the rest of his life to sleep in empty apartments and empty beds. This time with Hutch was nice. It was special. He wouldn't look at it any deeper than that.

Arms draped around each other's shoulders, they stood. Huggy slipped the Torino's keys out of Starsky's leather jacket with practiced ease. Huggy tried guiding the swaying partners toward the door as Starsky struggled to keep both of them on their feet.

"Just a little further, m'man," Huggy encouraged as the exit drew near.

But then something came between them and the door. Something large.

Starsky blinked, his mind warning him with a cop's instinct for trouble. Stand up straight. Look alert. Fake it! He drew himself up, pulling Hutch erect beside him.

Hutch picked up the vibes and stood straighter, glancing around.

"You two still at it?" a voice grumbled. The hairs on the back of Starsky's neck rose. "Russo. Don't start. Not here." It was a clear warning. Hutch heard it and came to.

"Can't keep your hands off each other, even in a public place," Russo sneered.

Starsky went rigid, his mind clearing, a red haze covering his eyes.

"Starsk, don't," Hutch begged. But Starsky wouldn't look at him.

Huggy was suddenly between Russo and Starsky, something akin to panic on his face. "Be civilized, Russo! 'Less you wanna get banned from the Pits for life!"

The beefy cop ignored him. "Time for bed already?" He glanced at his watch. "Kinda early, ain't it, hot shots? Just can't wait, can you? That shower was a long time ago."

Hutch's grip on Starsky's shoulder tightened. His right arm crossed Starsky's chest, holding him back. Starsky shrugged his partner off and stepped clear, moving into a defensive stance: legs slightly spread, arms loose at his side.

"You got somethin' to say, Russo," he said softly, his voice as clear as a bell, "let's take it outside." It was pure Brooklyn bravado. Starsky smiled. The entire bar grew still.

"Starsky!" Hutch snapped.

Russo took a step forward. "Sounds good to me, cocksucker."

His friends both tried to grab Starsky's arms, to stop him from walking toward the door. Russo took advantage of the confusion. Starsky saw it as if it were in slow motion, the big man's fist balled for action, coming up to catch him full in the face in a sucker punch while his friends restrained him. Starsky grabbed fistfuls of Huggy's and Hutch's shirts and yanked them down, out of range of Russo's swing. At the same time, he dropped to avoid the blow. Russo was left swinging at empty air. Starsky spun around under his arm and came up behind him, then tapped Russo on the shoulder.

Confused, he turned, only to have Starsky punch him hard on the chin, then the cheek, then full on the nose; one, two, three strong blows that didn't even make Starsky breathe hard. He danced away on the balls of his feet as Russo went down on one knee holding his bloody nose.

That felt good! Starsky thought, as he moved lightly, ready for Russo's response. He was grinning, licking his lips, and his cock started to rise. Yeah!

"Come on, asshole!" he taunted, fingertips calling the man on. He was sixteen again, the baddest kid on the street. "While you're on your knees, why don't you put that mouth to some constructive use?" He grabbed his dick with both hands, just to rub it in.

Russo's face turned beet red. His hand plunged into his jacket. There was a shocked scream and suddenly Hutch yelled, "GUN!" as Russo pulled his .38 into view. Hutch dived for that arm, as Starsky's foot came up in one smooth long arc, catching the weight-lifter under the jaw. His crew-cut head snapped back with the kick and Russo grunted. Hutch grabbed his thick wrist, controlling the hand holding the weapon and forcing it to the ground. But Russo was already out cold.

Hutch confiscated the weapon and cuffed the unconscious man. "Call the precinct," he told Suzie. "Let him spend the night in the tank. We'll lodge charges in the morning. He's on suspension soon as Dobey finds out." He looked up at Starsky, his expression apprehensive.

Starsky felt the adrenaline rush fade, felt his legs go to rubber. But his dick was still hard and he was grinning. Wetting his mouth, he said to Hutch, "Let's piss on him."

"Not in my bar," Huggy roared, grabbing the two of them by the shoulder. "You've both had enough fun for one night. I'm puttin' you to bed. Piss on him? Whoever heard of Batman and Robin pissin' on anyone? Shame on you, Starsky. Anymore of that, and you'll get banned, too."

But Starsky only giggled, full of himself, the power of his healed body, and the surge of blood in his veins. "Must'a been the red meat," he told his friends. Hutch shook his head ruefully as he and Huggy towed Starsky out of the bar.

~~~

By the time they arrived at Starsky's apartment, they were both singing--badly--a medley of Motown numbers with simplistic lyrics that Huggy had recommended. They could handle the repetitive chorus of "Land of a Thousand Dances" pretty well, but they kept mixing all the "Na- na-na-na-na's" with the words to James Brown's "I Feel Good." Soon, both songs were a cacophonous mess. Hutch couldn't believe how patient Huggy was being with them. It was the shooting, he knew. Even their friends had been badly affected.

Huggy called for a cab to get back to the Pits, then once more ran through proper bathroom procedure with Starsky before leaving. "You got it, bro'? You don't piss on your friends. You don't piss on your enemies. You save it for the john. Still can't figure out how you two got so wasted so fast."

"Ain't so wasted I couldn't handle Russo," Starsky gloated, then staggered into the bedroom, shedding clothes. He launched into another chorus of "I Feel Good."

"Take care o' him, will ya?" Huggy said, as he let himself out.

Hutch nodded as he leaned against the kitchen counter, then wondered, Who's gonna take care of the caretaker?

His head was floating, even though his equilibrium wasn't too bad--as long as it was supported by the steadying presence of furniture, door frames and walls. And like most drunks, Hutch was convinced he was far more clear-headed than he really was.

The first thing you lose under the influence of alcohol, he remembered from Academy lectures on drunk drivers, was fine motor coordination and judgement. Good thing! Hutch thought and giggled.

That was when Gillian appeared.

He stared, recognizing her instantly. It wasn't the first time his dead lover had appeared to him in a drunken haze, but usually he had to consume a great deal more alcohol than he had tonight. The last time he'd seen her vision was during the horrendous binge he'd gone on when her killer, Albert Grossman, had been sentenced to life in prison.

Getting drunk had released his pent-up pain, and he'd sobbed all over Starsky that night. He couldn't understand how Grossman could get condemned to life when Gillian had been condemned to death. Starsky had held him, sharing the drunk and the pain, and cried, too.

Gillian had appeared after they had both fallen asleep in a tangle of arms and legs.

She looked that night as beautiful as she did now. Just as she had then, she smiled at him, touched his cheek and said, "It'd be nice to be Hutch; in one lifetime you have two people love you so much."

When he had talked about the vision the next day, Starsky reminded him that Gillian had originally said that to him. He had told Hutch about it after her death. It had hit Hutch hard when Starsky had first repeated it, but hearing it in Gillian's voice was more than he could bear.

He felt a dull ache now as he looked at her, but there was little left of the consuming passion he'd once had. Since Starsky's shooting, he hadn't had much energy for anything that didn't directly involve his best friend's well-being. He thought he should apologize to Gillian for that, but she disappeared before he could figure out what to say.

Running a hand over his face, he listened to Starsky's off-key chorus.

"I feeeeeeel good, nah-nah, nah-nah, nah--Knew that I would. I feeeeel right! Yeah! Sugar and spice--"

That was the thing Hutch didn't want to examine much. How good he felt. How very good. Wouldn't think about it. Not now. If he thought about it--

Might remember. Feeling like this. Once. So good. He tried to shut down his brain before it told him something he didn't want to hear. I feel good. So damn good.

"Hutch, you okay?"

He blinked, then turned to Starsky's worried blue eyes and furrowed brow. He couldn't help but smile. You're still here. Still alive. Healthy. He felt suffused with love.

"You stopped singin'," Starsky complained, gazing up through long lashes, reminding Hutch of a ten-year-old. Ten-year-old on a bender, he amended, laughing at the image.

Starsky still had jeans on, but his shirt, shoes, and socks had been discarded. Hutch tried not to focus on the scars almost hidden under the mat of dark chest hair, but he couldn't seem to look anywhere else. The rest of that chest was perfect, leading to a washboard stomach that Hutch knew he could take some credit for. But the scars would always be there, reminding him of his own personal failure. The day he wasn't there fast enough for his partner.

"Don' wanna sing anymore," Hutch said softly, but couldn't stop grinning. Why not? Starsky's still alive. Still my partner. Even if he is scarred. Impulsively, he reached out and placed his fingertips gently on the highest scar, outlining its whorled center.

Starsky's beautiful heart-shaped face swam before his bleary eyes. "It don' hurt no more, partner," he said softly. "Betcha even Superman's got dimples where the bullets bounced off."

Hutch's cheeks ached from grinning. Odd. Alcohol usually made him melancholy. "Not Superman. Batman. Batman and Robin. Were you really gonna piss on Russo?"

Starsky giggled and pitched against him, slinging his butt out and spreading his legs for balance. He buried his face against Hutch's chest, as if needing to rest from the labor of standing. "Sure. 'S'what we did when we were kids."

"What?" The words had been muffled and Hutch wasn't sure he'd heard them right.

"Call a guy a faggot, beat his ass, then piss on him," Starsky said, looking up. His eyes had grown cold. He turned away. "'S'better if you got at least five dudes to help. That's how you cure a queer. You din't know that?"

Hutch felt a chill creep up his back. "Guess we didn't try to cure--gay kids in Minnesota. Starsk?"

Starsky wouldn't face him.

"Did you do that?" Hutch asked. Starsky didn't respond, and then Hutch knew. "No, you wouldn't. But they did it to you. Shit."

He felt Starsky's jaw work against his chest, teeth grinding. "You callin' me a queer?"

"Cut the crap," Hutch said gently. "I'm not the enemy. Did that happen to you?"

"Just once," Starsky said tonelessly, but Hutch could hear the cold rage. "Long time ago."

Hutch wanted to go back in time and find the kids who did it. Find them and hurt them bad. Now he understood Starsky's knee-jerk reaction to Russo. Russo was the classic playground bully, and Starsky had probably been waiting for years to pound him into the ground. Hutch's arms went around his friend, pulled him tight to his chest. Unconsciously cuddling the slouching, drunken body, he leaned his cheek against the top of Starsky's head.

"Wish I'd known that before," Hutch complained. "We coulda both pissed on Russo." Then they giggled some more.

Starsky's arms rested around Hutch's waist as they stood swaying, trying to keep each other from falling over.

"Hutch?" Starsky asked.

"Ummm?"

"Why're we so drunk? I mean, how'd this happen? Can't remember. Feel weird."

Don't ask me that, Hutch thought worriedly. Don't want to look at it. Don't wanna feel the difference, put the name to it. "We're okay, Starsk. We're home." We're together, so wherever we are is home.

"Man!" Starsky moaned. "I am fucked up. Can't remember feeling like this in--ever!"

"Just used to bein' healthy now," Hutch insisted. "We been sober too long." No alcohol. No women. "Like a coupla monks." Don't make me look at it, Starsk. Don't make me analyze a simple drunk. He hugged his friend tighter.

Then he caught sight of his mother over Starsky's shoulder. The kitchen suddenly looked two football fields long, and his mother stood at its farthest end. But he could hear her as clearly as if she stood beside him.

"Just look at you, Kenneth," she said sadly. "This is as bad as that day the dentist pulled your wisdom teeth when you were sixteen. I thought I'd never survive the embarrassment. You're a grown man now. I hope you've learned some self-control."

He frowned as she faded away. Whatever chemical concoction the dentist had given him that day had eliminated his pain and left him convinced he was lucid, functional, and totally charming. His mother had had to hide the car keys, and he'd propositioned the housekeeper so crudely, the woman had nearly quit. His mom had read the dentist the riot act.

Starsky's head slid further down Hutch's chest as his slouch became more pronounced. "Stay with me tonight," he said plaintively.

"Couldn't very well leave now," Hutch reminded him.

"Stay with me," Starsky insisted, pulling Hutch against him harder.

Hutch grunted a little, the air whooshing out of him. "'M right here, babe. Ya got a death grip on me, couldn't go anyway." He rested a cheek against Starsky's curly head. Where else could I go that would be home anymore? He had no answer except the one in his arms.

Suddenly, Starsky stood up straighter, his groin brushing Hutch's thigh. To his surprise, Starsky was hard as rock. Amazing, Hutch thought. I can never get it up when I'm drunk.

"Come on," Hutch said. "We need to hit the john, then head for bed."

"Funny," Starsky said in a throaty whisper, "I was thinking the same thing myself." Hutch rolled his eyes. Great. He's gonna get amorous. Huggy's right. I've been keeping him too close to home. When was the last time Starsk got laid? For that matter, when was the last time I did? He could not remember. Kira? Almost a year ago. Before the shooting. For either of us. Christ, no wonder Starsky's throwin' a rod at a little body contact.

Well, that wasn't a problem he could solve tonight. Tomorrow. He'd set something up tomorrow. Assuming every phone number in his little black book wasn't so old it was useless.

He disentangled them and turned Starsky around. "First, bathroom. Then bed. Let's go."

"Let's!" Starsky said cheerily, pointing toward the bathroom as if his index finger would help him find the way.

Hutch steered and finally got his partner in the john. "You're not gonna fall in, are you?"

"Won't fall!" Starsky growled, staring at the bowl as if it were a moving target.

Good thing Dobey wasn't expecting them early. Hutch could hear Starsky's steady stream as he started fumbling with his own clothes, dropping them wherever they came off. He was proud that despite being totally wasted he was fairly steady on his feet, only barking his shins once on the king-sized bed. He was more drunk tonight than the night they'd flooded Starsky's hospital room after Hutch had arrested Gunther.

Hutch couldn't remember how much he'd imbibed on the plane back from San Francisco, but the stewardesses had kept his glass full. He remembered Starsky's slurred voice mumbling, "Had four pain killers. Feelin' no pain." He giggled as he struggled to get out of his cords. Hopping around on one foot with the pants wadded around his knees, he worked to free the other foot before realizing he hadn't removed his shoes. Standing stork-like, he had to think before recalling that shoes had to come off first.

He was down to the borrowed briefs he'd appropriated from his partner's clean laundry when Starsky finally emerged from the bathroom. His tight jeans--how the hell does he stuff himself in those damn pants?--were unclasped at the top. It looked like the straining zipper had all it could handle trying to keep his half-erect rod inside.

And then Hutch wondered, Why am I so worried about it?

He felt woozy, his head reeling. And he knew, suddenly, that he really wasn't drunk.

Stoned. Goddammit, we're stoned. Something in the drinks? That didn't make any sense. Huggy wasn't half as tanked as they were. He couldn't work it out. But he knew how he felt. Oh, man! He struggled not to panic.

Unbidden came the memory of Vic Bellamy drugging Starsky senseless then injecting poison into him. That had happened in a bed very similar to this big, ornate four poster. Starsky had sold that bed after he'd recovered, never wanting to lie in it again, but ended up buying a duplicate just recently. As if he'd once again been ready to celebrate life to the fullest, and needed the world's biggest and flashiest bed to do it in--even though the only body he'd been able to share it with so far had been Hutch's.

Hutch couldn't shake the memory of those terrible twenty-four hours. They'd saved Starsky, but it had been a terrifying race against the clock. Could this be part of a similar plan? He was swamped with paranoia. Painstakingly, he locked the windows, without remembering that Huggy had left Starsky's key on the lintel over the front door where anyone could find it.

The first drug Bellamy had given Starsky had left him barely capable of punching out Hutch's phone number and whispering a two word plea for help before passing out. Yet, earlier tonight, he had defeated the sober Russo with no difficulty. So, if that wasn't it--

Then--why?

Unless it's narcotic--

Hutch had sweated out a heroin addiction forced on him by criminals. If it hadn't been for Starsky, he'd still be looking for a fix. He could feel the sweet hum in his body, a sensation he hadn't had in so long. It felt good. No. Not again. I can't go through that again.

"Whassamatta, Hutch?" Starsky asked softly, coming up behind him. "Ya look scared."

He was scared. But until he had a better grip on the problem, he wouldn't alarm Starsky. Even if someone were trying to re-addict him, there was little point in bringing it up now. If Starsky even suspected, he wouldn't get a wink of sleep worrying. And the one thing they both needed was sleep. He'd get through the night and deal with everything in the morning.

But the sweet, narcotic buzz wasn't the primary reaction Hutch was having to whatever they'd been given. Was the narcotic merely the carrier? He thought about the drug his dentist had used, how clear-headed he'd felt on it, how lucid he could be if he needed to. The more outrageous his behavior, the more logical it had seemed. His dentist had told him it was some drug they gave women in labor, that it was really safe. That only confused him more.

Who'd do this to us? And if the drug is safe--why?

Starsky moved closer, touched his face gently. "You need to use the john? You 'kay?"

Hutch tried to shape his thoughts into words, but couldn't sort them. "No, I, uh, don't need the john," he said roughly. "Must be the champagne. Went right to my head."

Starsky swallowed, the noise loud in the bedroom. "Yeah. Me, too. Le's go to bed, babe."

Hutch nodded, shivering. Maybe he could figure it all out in the morning.

Starsky led him to his big bed and sat him on the edge. "Hutch, you sure you're okay?"

"I don't know. I feel--really weird." But it's not heroin. Can't figure out what it is.

"Me, too," Starsky said, his voice strange, husky... different. Hutch looked into Starsky's deep indigo eyes. He was the only person on this earth he trusted more than himself. "Starsk. I am scared. I don't know what's happening."

His blue eyes were full of caring. "Don' be scared. I'm here. I'll take care of you, Hutch. I love you. You know that, don't you?"

Hutch felt more disoriented. Starsky suddenly sounded sober. Just like in the bar before he pulverized Russo. How could he do that, go from being drunk--or stoned--to lucid when he needed to? And what was it that was making him so clear-headed now?

Hutch glanced at his partner's groin. With him sitting and Starsky standing, it was nearly at eye level. Hutch tried to figure out how the zipper was keeping itself together with that heavy monster behind it trying to push its way out. The more he wondered about it, the more his own phallus nodded in sympathy.

Starsky touched his face again, drawing Hutch's attention back to those warm, bottomless orbs. He shivered as Starsky said, "You love me, too, don't'cha, Hutch?"

He closed his eyes. Oh, shit! The drug, whatever it was, was going straight to his groin, so it had to be doing the same thing to Starsky. They had been celibate too long. If he let nature take its course, Starsky would not be able to deal with it in the morning.

And what the hell was Hutch supposed to do if his mother showed up again?

Starsky's fingers traced a scar on Hutch's wrist and his eyes jerked open. It was the knife wound he'd gotten fighting off Gunther's assassins while Starsky lay dying in intensive care. They'd both come so close to buying it that day.

Starsky followed the thin line that ran across his artery, then trailed his fingertips along Hutch's bare forearm. His body came alive at that touch, so familiar yet so foreign. His nipples hardened, and a blush crept across his skin.

"Guess Robin's gotta have some scars, too, huh?" Starsky murmured. His hand slid over Hutch's sensitive skin, up his arm onto the shoulder. "Skin's so smooth. Not soft like a woman, but smooth. Different. Never thought 'bout it before. Nice." The wandering fingers traced a path over the nape of Hutch's neck and tangled in his long hair. Starsky leaned closer, holding Hutch's head still.

"Don't, Starsk," Hutch begged, searching his face. He was pleading from the bottom of his heart. "This feeling will pass. We'll get through it. But if we do this--you'll never forgive it. Never forgive me. Don't do this to us."

It was Starsky's call, because the drug was thrumming through Hutch's veins, waking up all those sleepy responses he thought were dead and buried. His friend's familiar touch was starting a fire inside him he'd never felt before, never dared let himself imagine. Once Starsky kissed him, he'd be lost in the love and desire of the one human being he cared for the most. He'd be helpless to resist the lure of Starsky's passion. "Please, Starsk. Please."

"It's okay," Starsky promised, his thumb stroking Hutch's cheek in a comforting gesture. "We love each other. We can't go wrong together."

Hutch knew they were finished. As Starsky's mouth claimed him, as their lips met in their first real kiss after all these years of friendship, Hutch felt the pull of the drug exciting him, waking his desires. A drug couldn't make you do something you would never have done, but he and Starsky were too close, especially after this last year. They were too physical, too dependent on each other. They'd gone from spending seventy-five percent of their time together to a hundred percent. They knew each other's scent, every separate foible. They knew everything--except this. And now, drugged to the gills, Hutch yielded to the pressure of Starsky's sweet mouth, knowing that tender kiss was the beginning of the end for them, yet helpless to stop it.

Starsky's mouth bore down on him, full of tantalizing promises and delicious lies, and Hutch dissolved under its power, opening his own with a moan. Starsky's tongue took advantage, sliding between Hutch's lips, tracing his teeth, discovering the new world of Hutch that was yielding to it. Starsky whimpered into his mouth, as if he couldn't believe his good fortune. He moved aggressively, confidently, the way Hutch would have himself had he made the first move. Starsky eased him onto his back, putting one knee on the mattress beside him, then slid down gently against him, as if a sudden move would make Hutch bolt. Which it might.

Gotta stop this. Still can, Hutch thought. He was light-headed under Starsky's assault, the mouth covering his, the tongue tracing patterns of pleasure on his lips, on his palate, against his own tongue which joined the battle joyfully. Whatever made him think Starsky wasn't a good kisser? When he started to pull away, Hutch's arms came up, encircled his neck. He followed those departing lips until he saw the smile on his partner's face.

"Tried to tell ya," Starsky purred with saucy confidence. "I'm gonna make ya love this."

Hutch shuddered, terrified he was right. "Starsky, wait. Listen--"

But the only thing Starsky seemed to be listening to was the blood pounding in his own veins. His mouth met Hutch's again, making him groan in joy and terror. Their tongues wrestled wetly as Starsky's expert hands examined him, sliding over his bare skin, leaving heat and need in their wake. Hutch looked in the mirror over the bed and watched himself getting handled. He hated that damned thing, hated waking up and staring at himself, feeling as if the Hutch in the mirror might fall down on the Hutch in the bed and crush him. Only now, the Hutch in the mirror looked so different he stopped worrying about him falling. The Hutch in that mirror was so full of longing, so achingly hot under those searching hands, the Hutch in the bed wanted to give his other self relief until he realized that was crazy.

"Starsky!" Hutch called around his impassioned kisses. "Starsky!" They could still stop this. There was still a chance.

"I'm here," his partner said, pulling Hutch tight against him, possessively laying his slight weight over Hutch's helpless body. He levered a denim-clad leg between Hutch's bare ones, nestling his knee against Hutch's tight, brief-encased balls. "I'm here for you. Talk to me." Yes, thought Hutch. He'll listen now. He's sobered some.

But then Starsky ran the tip of his tongue over Hutch's ear and he was wracked with desire. He couldn't remember whatever it was he'd been about to say. His resolution fled. "Oh, God, Starsk! Just love me tonight! I need you!"

Where had that come from? What well of loneliness and hunger? How long had he felt like this? He had no idea. But the drug had stripped him of his inhibitions and it was suddenly all in front of him, the raw, ugly truth. He wanted Starsky. Wanted him with a white-hot need he couldn't ever remember having, not for anyone, not Van, not Gillian, no one.

Then it was back, the clear-headedness, for just a moment. It was a weird drug, allowing you a moment of lucidity, only to snatch it away a second later, replaced with a gut-clenching desire. Starsky nuzzled his neck, nipped him lightly behind his ear, making him crazy, but Hutch pushed away by sheer force of will. "Wait! Starsk, ya gotta listen--"

"Listen to this," Starsky growled, sounding angry, as he grasped Hutch's turgid cock roughly through his briefs. "What's this for if not for me, huh? Tell me you don't want me, Hutch. Say it, and I'll stop."

"Don't!" Hutch pleaded, even as he thrust up into that perfect grip, that masculine hand that felt so different from all the others that had been there before it. Starsky's hand, touching him. The safety and security of Starsky's hand. Pleasure rocketed in his brain like fireworks behind his eyes. It had never felt like this with any woman! Still, he protested feebly, "Don't!"

"Don't stop, y'mean," Starsky insisted, and Hutch knew that was the truth. "It's always been so right between us, all these years. Everything but this. Me and thee. In the streets. In the car. In life--and death. You chased after me--y'know that don't'cha?--right into death."

Hutch stared at him wildly, but Starsky couldn't stop. "They tol' me later. It all quit. My heart. My lungs. Everything. No one home. I was leavin'. Saw the white light. Moved towards it. Seemed like it was time. I could see my father. The doctors kept shockin' my heart. But I didn't care. Time to die. No reason t'stay."

No, Hutch thought. Not that.

He hated remembering that--Dobey's voice over the phone--"I think you'd better get down here right away, Hutch,"--and knowing exactly what that meant. Driving to the hospital at reckless speeds, the wrong way down one-way streets, through alleys to cut time, abandoning the car without taking the keys or shutting the door, then racing into the building, so full of fear.

His mind had been screaming, WAIT FOR ME, STARSKY! WAIT FOR ME! as if Kenneth Hutchinson could have any control over anyone else's life and death.

Starsky hadn't removed his hand from Hutch's cock, just gripped it tighter, taking ownership, giving a scary, intense pleasure as his thumb rolled over the crown. He whispered against Hutch's ear. "Dobey tol' me. Huggy, too. Doctor said, 'It's over. We've lost him.' Then you came bustin' through the double doors, pushing people outta the way, like a big, klutzy avenging angel--runnin' to get to me. To me. To pull me back. They said as soon as you hit the floor, my heart gave a thump after they'd all given up."

Hutch closed his eyes. Dobey and Huggy had told him all that?

"I was standing on the threshold, Hutch. Saw my dad, saw the light, even thought I could see Terry waitin' on the other side. I hurt so bad. Just wanted to rest. All the pain, it could've been over. But you wouldn't let me. I heard you. Felt you. Runnin'. Coming for me. And you were so scared. So scared I was gonna leave you."

Hutch shuddered, but not from Starsky's touch. He'd never been that scared. Not by bad guys, not by car bombs, not by anything. He was losing Starsky. And that meant losing everything. He knew if it had happened, if Starsky had died, he wouldn't have survived it. Half a man cannot live. He would've eaten his gun as soon as he'd killed Gunther.

"I turned around," Starsky continued, "away from the light, from my dad, even from Terry . . . and I could see you. You were so far away, down this long dark hallway, but you were runnin' faster than I'd ever seen you move. You were trying to catch me. To stop me. I turned back to Dad and asked, 'Can we wait up for Hutch?' And Dad said, 'No. He's not coming with us. Not yet.' Terry looked at me and just shook her head, then blew me a kiss and walked away. I looked back at you, still so far away. And I saw all that fear on your face. An' all I wanted to do was wipe it away. Make you smile. See the light in your beautiful face. So, I told Dad, 'I can't come now. Not without Hutch.'"

Hutch realized Starsky only remembered this now, that the drug had freed this memory of his near-death experience. He'd always insisted he couldn't recall anything once he'd been shot. Hutch remembered sliding to a stop in front of the glass window outside Starsky's ICU just as the doctor exited and said, in amazement, "He's alive. Still not out of it, but I'll be damned if he isn't alive!"

It had been the most terrifying moment of Hutch's life. He touched Starsky's cheek, fingertips grazing the familiar mole as if trying to ensure his reality. "How could I let you go then? How can I now? You're half of me."

"Time to put flesh to this marriage," Starsky said. He was sober, serious, and hungry.

"No," he said plaintively. He thought of little boys in Brooklyn beating up a curly-headed kid. Thought of Russo. Thought of the morning. "This isn't us, partner. I wish it was, but it's not. Starsk, we've been drugged--"

"Fuck that!" he said angrily. "Think I don't know that? Think I care? I want you, Hutch. Not a pair of pretty women we pick up for a couple of hours to take the edge off. That's all it ever does. I want the real thing and I want it now. Red meat. No--blond meat. Yours."

Hutch tried to look away from the fierce expression on Starsky's face, but Starsky squeezed his cock so hard, he didn't dare.

"You're mine," Starsky told him clearly. "I'm yours. You pulled me back from death. That makes you responsible for my life. And I guess I earned the right to be responsible for yours a time or two. We belong to each other. Now, I'm takin' what's mine."

As Starsky's mouth claimed him again, Hutch trembled, wondering how a man in as much control of his life as he was had suddenly become so passive. Starsky's aggression made him shake, but he loved it, even as their tongues battled furiously in a wonderful, wet war. Hutch heard himself gasping, sighing, making sounds of passion he'd never made before, feeling things he'd never felt before. How many people ever got this lucky? How many would be prepared to pay the price they might have to pay tomorrow?

If he didn't stop thinking about tomorrow, he'd never get through this. Maybe they'd wake up and it would all be just a sweet wet dream that they could get sheepish about when they changed the sheets. Then Starsky's hand slid inside his briefs, and any notion about dreams dissolved.

"Oh, damn!" Hutch cried out, shocked at the effect of that bare-handed grip. "My God!"

"Takes two hands for alla' that, Hutch," Starsky said, grinning, fondling him, getting his feel. "Or maybe a hand and a mouth."

"No! Starsk, don't!" he begged, digging a hand into his thick curls. He hung on roughly to Starsky's descending head. "Just--kiss me. Touch me. It'll be enough."

"You always ask for so little," Starsky said softly, his eyes sad. "I want this. Want you."

How much of me? Hutch thought, rattled. My body? My heart? My soul? But Starsky had owned those for years. If he were going to add Hutch's ass to the list it seemed a small enough matter.

Starsky slowed down as if to ease Hutch's worries, and planted gentle kisses against the corners of his mouth, his chin, his cheek. He kissed Hutch's eyelids, his brows, then nuzzled his ears. His tenderness made Hutch crazy, as crazy as Starsky's aggression had. Before he could catch his breath, Hutch found his own hands fumbling with Starsky's tight, straining zipper. Once he unlocked the tab, the zipper parted on its own with a squeal.

"Touch me, Hutch?" Starsky asked plaintively, still sounding like a ten-year-old.

"All you had to do was ask," Hutch assured him. He slid his hand inside the jeans and under the briefs to stroke that beautiful round ass. The cheeks fit in his palms, warm and smooth and pliant. It made the blood roar in his ears.

"It's yours if you want," Starsky said, smiling. "I want yours so bad it hurts."

Hutch shook his head. How much thought had Starsky put into this? "One step at a time. We just got here." He couldn't believe how good his best friend's ass felt. "Can we get these pants off?"

Starsky snickered and rolled away from Hutch, hitching off his tight jeans and tossing them over the side. Hutch discarded his briefs and rolled back to be captured by his partner, now completely nude, erect, and ravenous for him. Starsky's pelt rubbed against his bare skin as Starsky gathered him up in his arms and hauled him close. They rolled around in the big bed, watching their erotic dance in the mirror. Their mouths locked together, legs wedging between one another, and finally a heavy, dark shaft bumped against a long, fair one, creating a sizzling current.

When the curly head descended again, Hutch knew he'd be helpless to stop his partner this time. He'd run out of arguments. Starsky's mouth was too good as he licked a slick trail down Hutch's neck, over his chest, until he surrounded a small, copper nipple in a wet, hot furnace. Hutch arched, moaning as Starsky's mouth sucked, nursing at the tense, sensitive aureole. Hutch buried both hands in the thick lion's mane of curls and rode the pleasure out, going weak inside. Starsky worked on that nipple until it was raw, as if he'd never had one before, as if it were a rare and lovely prize. He lapped the sensitized flesh, nipped it when Hutch wasn't expecting him to, then kissed it when he'd hurt it too much, alternating pain and pleasure until Hutch was gasping, sighing, crying out his name like a mantra. "Starsky. Starsky. Starsky!"

When Hutch thought he couldn't take anymore, that wonderful warm mouth trailed over to the other nipple and started the process all over again. By this time, Hutch was humping like a dog against his lover's hip, and Starsky encouraged him, as if he wanted his partner razor-sharp, so wired he couldn't think, couldn't object, couldn't defend. Hutch's head tossed on the pillow as he pulled Starsky's hair, clawed his back, arched his hips. Starsky's head moved lower, licking and nipping Hutch's abdomen, drilling a hot, wet tongue into his navel, placing a bruising hickey on the soft skin beside it.

Hutch was cursing now, nearly sobbing. "What are you doing? Goddamn you!"

Starsky only chuckled and inched lower. Those talented lips kissed the juncture of Hutch's leg and groin, then Starsky's tongue ran over the inner skin of Hutch's thigh, then licked the underside of his knee. Hutch lost his grip on the thick, dark hair and had to content himself with clutching the sheets and staring wildly at his own sprawled, spread-eagled image in the mirror. Starsky was on his knees torturing Hutch, leaning over his body so that his spine arched in a bow. Even in the mirror, Hutch could see the scars on Starsky's back, the exit wounds.

"Damn! You're blond all over," Starsky said, as he rubbed his scratchy cheek against the downy hairs on Hutch's thighs.

"You've seen me a thousand times, Starsk," Hutch reminded him. "It's nothing new."

"Seein' it different, now," Starsky said, his voice low. His tone made Hutch shiver.

Then his warm breath blew over Hutch's bobbing, furious erection. He gasped and tried to remember where he was, who he was with, what his insane lover might do next. Would he--? Had he ever--? Hutch couldn't complete a thought.

"Blond all over," Starsky purred, staring at the pulsing flesh, so different from his. Hutch's cock was bright red, angry looking, while Starsky's was a dark, dusky color. Starsky was cut, like any good Jewish boy, while Hutch was intact. The fine hair clustered at the base of Hutch's erection was sandy-colored, soft and fine, nearly straight. Starsky's groin hair was thick, dark, coarse and curly. Hutch watched Starsky examine their differences. "Blond meat. All for me." His blue eyes were shadowed as he looked at Hutch. "All mine. Got that? I mean it, Hutch. You're mine."

The possessive words were a shock running up Hutch's spine. Starsky couldn't mean that. He'd be sober in the morning, and probably wouldn't even recall saying it. But right now he damn well meant it and Hutch knew that.

"Answer me," Starsky demanded, when Hutch remained quiet. "Is it? Is it mine?"

He's serious, Hutch realized. They were just getting deeper and deeper. But the demand came out of a deep well of insecurity, and it cut his heart out to think his partner wasn't sure of him.

He ran the back of his hand over Starsky's cheek. "There's no one else. There never will be. Just me and thee. Like it's always been. I'm yours." But how much longer will you want me? Tonight? Tomorrow?

Then Starsky bent his head and Hutch froze, realizing they were on the cusp of something amazing. He watched, mesmerized, as Starsky pulled his foreskin down, then ran his tongue wetly around his crown. The sensation was electric, so startling and pure all Hutch could do was gasp and wait for Starsky to do it again. Which he did. And again. And again. Until Hutch was staring and sighing in disbelief, as his partner laved this intimate part of him.

"Oh, Starsk--!" he breathed, loving every beautiful second of it. He didn't dare move, for fear he'd break the mood. He was wracked with sensation as jolt after jolt of incredible pleasure raced down his legs, up his spine, until he thought he couldn't breathe. He touched Starsky's beautiful face, stroked his brow, petted his cheek, then ran his thumb over his lower lip, right where his full mouth rested against Hutch's crown. As he did, Starsky's heavy-lidded cerulean eyes examined his face, searching for the pleasure there. As he gauged Hutch's reaction, Starsky opened his mouth wide and deliberately took Hutch's cock deep inside.

Impulsively, Hutch buried his hands in the thick curly hair. He ordered himself not to pull, not to push, not to try to control Starsky's head, but the drug wouldn't let him listen, and he did just that, forcing his lover to take more, more. He couldn't help it. He moaned, his head tossing back and forth on the pillow, his body thrashing, alive with the most intense sexual pleasure he could ever remember. From Starsky. His male partner. From Starsky's mouth.

Starsky's tongue and lips never stopped giving, licking, loving. Hutch thought he would die from the beauty of it. Starsky kept delighting him, taking his hypersensitive organ deeper inside, then lapping its length, using his hand to excite what his mouth couldn't handle.

Hutch finally remembered Starsky's plaintive plea for Hutch's touch. He'd been acting like the kind of woman he despised in bed, the beautiful ones who would give him carte blanche while contributing nothing but their presence. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but Hutch forced himself to slide around in the bed, and finally got Starsky to release him.

"Did I hurt you?" Starsky asked worriedly, even as he licked his lips as if still tasting Hutch. His eyes never left Hutch's face. "Hurt me?" Hutch said. "You were killing me. Destroying me. But hurt me--? You'd never do that." He smiled, and Starsky's face lit up. "Think all I wanna do is just lay there?"

"Don't'cha just?" Starsky said naughtily, and moved to capture Hutch's shaft again.

He scooted out of the way. "You wanted me to touch you. Change your mind?" He was startled to see Starsky shudder at the suggestion. Could Starsky really want him that much?

"No," Starsky said, his voice husky. "But--only if you want to."

"Want to?" Hutch had to chuckle. A sexually shy Starsky would be something new. "Think it's time you stopped assuming the lead in this scene. Just 'cause you taught me to dance, doesn't mean you need to teach me this." He moved quickly, before Starsky could react. Taking Starsky's shoulders, he pushed him onto his back, covering him with his larger frame. Let's see how you like being overwhelmed, lover. His mouth possessed the parted lips beneath him, his tongue piercing, claiming, fighting to steal Starsky's breath. When he raised his head, his partner's blue eyes were wide and a little scared. That pleased Hutch.

"Damn!" Starsky breathed, but Hutch didn't want him to have time to think. He found an ear buried under thick curls and tongued it, found the lobe, caught it between his teeth. Starsky went rigid against him, his eyes rolling up in shocked delight. "Hutch!"

He nipped the lobe hard, felt Starsky's whole body buck, and chuckled wickedly. This was fun. He released the ear, moved down the throat, licking then nipping. A bit of pleasure, a touch of pain, then pleasure again. Starsky was as rigid as a board, complaining, moaning, trying to escape. Hutch rolled on top of him, caught his wrists, and pinned them to the bed.

Starsky panicked a little. "Hutch! Hutch!"

He laughed as he left a trail of small bites over Starsky's neck and shoulders. Damn, the man tasted good. Felt good beneath him. Felt right. His partner. His lover.

'Til tomorrow.

Hutch wouldn't think about that, couldn't think about that. They could hide behind the drug, blame it on that. He didn't care. He wanted this man, the promise of his body, his mouth, and his beautiful hands. He nuzzled lower, not releasing the struggling wrists. Hutch's swollen organ pressed against Starsky's spread thighs and he rubbed it against him flagrantly, craving the contact. Starsky's double handful of manhood sat like a burning log between their bodies. It felt good there, pulsing, dripping hot liquid from the pleasure Hutch was giving him.

Then Hutch's nose brushed through the dark hair covering Starsky's chest and bumped against the highest scar. Both of them froze. Their eyes met and Hutch felt a chill. None of this would've happened but for that.

Hutch saw it all again and wished he didn't--the police car coming toward them; his sensing something wrong; the gun coming out the window; Starsky with his back to the shooter, turning, reaching for his gun, but not fast enough; Hutch screaming his name again and again--and getting no answer. He saw again with perfect clarity the shattered glass of the Torino covering everything like diamonds, the dark stain of Starsky's blood pouring onto the macadam, his partner's head nestled into the tire as if he were resting. The line of shots riddled across the back of the brown leather jacket.

"It's just a scar, Hutch," Starsky said.

"No. Not just a scar," Hutch whispered, and bent to kiss it with all the gentleness he could. As he pressed his lips against the fur-covered ridge, he released Starsky's wrists. Starsky's hands cupped his head, tangling his fingers in the long blond strands. Hutch's head moved lower, kissing the next scar, then touching it with his tongue.

"When I called Dobey, and he told me to get back to the hospital--I thought--I just thought," Hutch began, having no idea what he was trying to say, "if I could just get to the hospital in time, I'd have one last chance to see you, be with you, before you left me. They kept telling me there was so much damage; there was only a slim chance you'd survive. Huggy and Dobey insisted that there was still a chance. But I--I didn't believe it. I'd already lost you in my mind. I was already--planning to join you. Soon as I got the ones who'd killed you. I was shutting down. I couldn't have stayed behind without you, Starsk."

"It's okay," Starsky whispered, his eyes glittering. He stroked Hutch's face.

"I had to get there," Hutch continued, not hearing him, "to say goodbye. I just wanted you to live long enough--to let me say goodbye."

"Just goodbye?" Starsky said, clearly disbelieving him.

Hutch shook his head. "No. Not just goodbye. Wanted to say--to tell you--"

Starsky touched Hutch's mustached mouth with his fingertips. "I know what you wanted to tell me. I know."

They'd said it to each other so many times, why was it sitting like a stone in Hutch's throat now? Because it wasn't quite the same anymore, was it? I love you, Starsk. And you love me. A thousand times, a thousand ways they'd said it over the years. But never like this.

Then Starsky pulled it into the light. "Tell me now. The way you wanted to then."

It fell out of his mouth so easily, Hutch knew the drug was still working in him. "I love you, Starsky. Like a mate. Like a spouse. Maybe I always have. I don't know. But the day you were shot I knew exactly how I felt. And I had no intentions of being left behind without you."

Starsky's eyes were gleaming in the low light of the bedroom. They seemed endlessly deep and happier than Hutch could ever remember. "And I love you. In every way. Make love to me, now. Put the flesh to this marriage."

Oh, we're gonna pay, Hutch thought miserably, suddenly terrified, half expecting lightning to strike them both dead through the mirror over the bed. We're gonna pay big. The price, what the hell will the price be for this?

They kissed again, their need for each other ferocious, their tongues fighting, their teeth clicking in their wonderful, unique joining. The edge of one of Starsky's teeth caught Hutch's lip and they tasted blood, but just kept kissing. Then Hutch slid his mouth down Starsky's body again. He kissed and tongued the scars, then unearthed a dark nipple hiding under hair and had to restrain himself from chewing it off. Starsky groaned, thrashing.

His teeth came down so hard on the other nipple, Starsky shouted, "Shit! Hutch!" and pulled his hair hard, but even that felt good. Hutch bit the rippled stomach he'd helped shape, got hair caught in his teeth and laughed at that.

Sliding his hands under Starsky's ass, Hutch grabbed both cheeks, stroking the plush flesh. He bit the tight skin over Starsky's hips, rode the flailing body as it bucked in protest. Starsky wouldn't release his head, tangling his hands deep in Hutch's long hair, but he still couldn't control his partner. Hutch's teeth found Starsky's big thigh, left a trail of nips all along its length, until Starsky was finally forced to give up his hold on Hutch's hair. Hutch kept traveling lower, aching to kiss, lick, and bite those sweet, bowed legs. He couldn't believe how easily Starsky parted them for him, leaving himself so vulnerable. Was it trust or just passion? Hutch's tongue tasted Starsky's narrow knee, and nearly got hit in the teeth by it.

"Tickles!" Starsky protested, giggling, so Hutch anchored the leg in place and did it again, making Starsky shriek, "Quit!" Then he slid his tongue wickedly down Starsky's calf, making him moan. He'd never heard Starsk make sounds like this before, even when they had made love to women in the same room. They were delicious, throaty animal sounds, full of delight and wonder, and Hutch was making them happen.

When he reached Starsky's feet, he ran his tongue over the top of the finely arched foot. Starsky pleaded, "Not that, Hutch. You shouldn't do that. Don't kiss my foot." He really meant it, meant he didn't deserve that kind of attention from his lover. His humility broke Hutch's heart.

He shook his head. "Every part of you," Hutch said raggedly. "I'll kiss every part. Every inch. I love you." And gently, he pressed his lips against the ball of Starsky's foot, then his ankle, then over the joint of his big toe.

Dark blue eyes bore into him, Starsky's expression intense. "Hutch! Hutch!" His body went rigid and he gasped, "Your mustache--tickles!" And the mood was shattered as Starsky jerked his foot away and convulsed in uncontrollable giggling.

In an attempt to escape his mad oral attention, Starsky rolled onto his stomach and tried to crawl away, but Hutch caught him easily, laying his long body over the strange masculine curves of his lover. They wrestled clumsily, completely uncoordinated until Hutch's heavy cock fell into the deep valley of Starsky's plush ass. The sensation--the suggestion--shocked them both.

"Go 'head," Starsky whispered without thinking about it. "Do it. I want you to."

It was the drug talking, Hutch feared, even as his cock pulsed and nestled deeper. He feared his own desire. They'd been playing with each other too long after such an extended stretch of celibacy. The drug was probably keeping them both from orgasm, but Hutch knew if he allowed himself this pleasure, he'd be too impatient to consider Starsky's needs, never mind his pain. No. They were too stoned. And it would be too good to control.

That he could think this clearly told Hutch the drug must have already peaked and was wearing off. Not that it mattered. Their own desire would carry them the rest of the way.

He eased off Starsky's back, gently kissing the scars, then rolled him over so they were face-to- face. He touched Starsky's cheek with his knuckles. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever offered me. I love you for it."

"So?" Starsky asked, and Hutch could see the glimmer of fear along with deep desire.

"Next time. Ask me when we're sober."

Starsky swallowed. "There may not be a next time. I don't know how I'm gonna feel tomorrow when this stuff wears off."

"I know. Same here. But we're not ready for that. We can't squeeze a lifetime of loving into one stoned experience."

Starsky wet his mouth and it was everything Hutch could do not to go after his tongue. "But… I want you."

Hutch grinned. "God, I love hearing you say that. I'll never forget how you look at this moment, how you sound, telling me that."

Starsky smiled and said it again. "I want you. I love you."

They met in a slow, lazy kiss that just stoked the fire higher.

When they pulled apart, Hutch scolded with a ragged voice, "Stop distracting me. I gotta do something."

Starsky collapsed dramatically against the mattress, flinging his arms out, watching himself in the mirror. "I'm putty in your hands."

"Oh, yeah?" Hutch said, smiling. He kissed his way quickly past hardened nipples and a tempting navel. "Putty, huh? Well, if that's what you are in my hands--" he moved lower, poising significantly over the pulsing, dark organ, "--what'll you be in my mouth?"

Starsky stared at him. "What d'ya think? Lava. Runnin' to the sea."

With a sigh, Hutch lowered his head and pressed his lips to the base of Starsky's impressive cock.

"Oh, shit!" he swore, his body going tight as a bowstring. Hutch planted another kiss lower, on the heavy sac swollen with seed. Starsky's coarse hair tickled him, making him smile. He nuzzled the gravid sac with his nose, inhaling a scent familiar yet new--male scent, Starsky's musk. He could smell sweat, sandalwood soap, baby powder--all so familiar to him from years of sharing clothes, beds, car seats with this man. But now it was all pheromones, igniting his desire. Forcing himself to be gentle when he wanted to devour, he extended his tongue and licked the sac, sending Starsky into a frantic convulsion.

Was it the drug that was making them so sensitive, or was it the newness of it all? Or could it be the depth of their love making everything so special, so perfect?

He licked the sac again and Starsky went boneless with a low, throaty moan. His tongue danced over the sensitive orbs, until his tongue tip inched its way back up the heavy shaft. Starsky was clutching the bed sheets as if he might tumble off the edge. His head thrashed back and forth while the rest of his body alternated between being tense as a stone and as limp as a rag. Hutch loved having this power over this strong, capable man.

Hutch moved his mouth along the column, licking, sucking, kissing. He didn't bite, though he wanted to. He wanted to take big chunks out of it, devour and swallow it. He wanted to make Starsky scream. He wanted to make Starsky come. Inside him. Inside his own mouth.

It was an alien notion for most men. It amazed him when women would do it for him without being asked. And he never asked.

He remembered the curse Russo spat at Starsky--cocksucker--the worst thing one man could call another. And he didn't care.

He took hold of Starsky's dark flesh, making him whimper. In a moment of hesitancy, Hutch brushed his cheek against the hot crown, feeling its smooth, velvety texture. A bubble of liquid sat like thick nectar at the slit. Curiously, Hutch touched his tongue to it. It was warm, viscous, thick like honey, but almost tasteless, with a hint of bitter tang and salt. Starsky's fluid.

"Hutch!" Starsky suddenly sat up, buried his hand in Hutch's hair. "Tell me again. Tell me there's no one else--'specially… no other guy. It's makin' me crazy. I gotta know you're mine."

It was the drug, Hutch decided, making Starsky so insecure. "No, babe, no. Who else? When? Don't be crazy. I'm yours, Starsk."

"Okay."

Pulling his eyes from Starsky's tormented expression, Hutch gave his lover something else to concentrate on. Taking a deep breath, he took Starsky's crown deep into his mouth.

Starsky shuddered as Hutch, too, shivered, reacting to the heavy male mass in his mouth.

There was so much of him. Was this what it had been like for Starsk? He tightened his lips, moved his tongue, tasted his lover. Starsky's cock was so hot in his mouth. He salivated, like he had over the steak, and took the cock deeper till the heavy head threatened to gag him.

Technique, Hutchinson! He used his lips, his tongue, added some pressure, started moving his head up and down. Starsky cried out and the sound was like music. Yes! He could get good at this. He could learn to love it, if Starsky kept sounding like that. He used his hands, grasping the heavy rod, fisting it. Starsky was babbling, thrashing, losing it completely. Oh, it felt good to please someone you loved this much.

Suddenly, Starsky moved against him, inching around, prodding him to shift his hips, until Hutch figured out what was going on. That was just before Starsky captured him, inhaled him into the furnace of his mouth, swallowed him alive. Hutch nearly screamed around the bulk in his mouth as they both picked up the pace, carrying each other along on a tide of frantic desire. They were on their sides, each at the other's groin, sucking, licking, stroking, moving like a single organism devoted to one purpose--intense, soul-wracking pleasure.

They rode each other hard, their mouths growing raw, their hearts pounding. They'd never been such a perfect team. Hutch was dizzy, struggling for air. He'd never yearned for anything the way he did for Starsky's completion. He didn't care if he ever came as long as Starsky did.

Suddenly, Starsky's organ swelled larger, taking Hutch by surprise. For one scary second he thought his jaw would unhinge as the flaring crown filled the back of his throat. Then Starsky's body went taut, he growled, and someone unleashed a fire hose. Thick, ropy, searing fluid filled Hutch's mouth, his throat, his sinuses, so suddenly he didn't have time to react. It was drink or drown, and Hutch gulped. It scalded him, the sharp bitterness of Starsky's semen burning his throat, making him shudder in surprise. And it kept coming, a year's celibacy drowning him as Starsky pumped his essence into Hutch's mouth. He drank until he couldn't anymore, then let it flow down his chin and over his hand. Pulling his mouth away, he coughed, gulping air, wiping his chin on Starsky's belly. For a moment, he thought he'd puke.

Shuddering, he collapsed against his lover's abdomen. He realized Starsky was still working on him, pulling him to orgasm. Hutch hovered on the cusp and tried to pull away, fearing that Starsky couldn't handle it. But his partner knew him too well. His mouth and hands worked their magic. Hutch felt his orgasm travel up from the soles of his feet, into his balls and out through his cock right into Starsky's mouth. He roared, the sensation was so intense, his whole body ejaculating, pulsing again and again in the sweetest release he could remember. But, God, he'd wanted to spare Starsky this.

Starsky wouldn't yield, taking Hutch in gulping swallows that were so erotic, Hutch spasmed again. Then Starsky was pulling on an empty bottle, so Hutch begged him to stop.

Starsky freed him, then collapsed on his back. Rubbing a hand over his abused lips, he groaned, "Man, that was horrible!"

Hutch had to laugh, rich laughter that shook his entire frame. "You're right about that!"

"All those women--how do they do it?" Starsky asked the mirror. "That had all the culinary delight of snot mixed with Drain-o." Then the sparkling blue eyes glanced guiltily at him. "Nothin' personal, Hutch. I'm sure it wasn't too great for you, either. You okay?"

Hutch couldn't stop laughing. "Better than that. And you're right--it was rough. But, I gotta tell you, partner, when you did that--it was incredible for me."

Their eyes met from different ends of the bed, and Starsky reached out to touch Hutch's mouth. "Incredible doesn't touch it. I can't believe you did that for me."

"So I guess that's the secret," Hutch said softly, clasping Starsky's fingers and kissing them. "I'd do it again, just to please you."

Starsky smiled wearily, then asked, "Tonight?"

Hutch shook his head. "No. Not tonight."

Starsky crawled down to be close, and gathered Hutch in his arms. "Made me love you so much."

"But will you respect me in the morning?" There was humor in his voice, but the concern was real.

Starsky nuzzled his neck. "Oh, I'll respect you even more."

If I could only believe that, he thought. Suddenly, morning seemed moments away.

"Will we remember this, Hutch?" Starsky asked, sounding worried.

"I don't know. I don't see how we can forget it, but-- Won't know till we wake up."

"Makes me not wanna sleep," Starsky muttered, his voice thick with fatigue. "Just 'member, Hutch. You're mine now. No one else. Me and thee. We'll get through this. Find the fuckers who slipped us the mickey--" he giggled, "and kiss them on the mouth."

"I chased you into death," Hutch said, feeling sleep steal over them. "Now, all I gotta do is chase you into life."

As Starsky drifted into sleep in his arms, Hutch wondered if he could stay awake all night to keep his memories. But the narcotic hum still thrummed through him, if subdued, and the need to sleep was hypnotic. He kissed Starsky's shoulder and blinked tired eyes.

Then he saw Gillian again.

She was reflected in Starsky's bedroom window, against the darkness, and her image wasn't very clear. But Hutch knew it was her. She wore that same smile. She was still beautiful. He waited for her to tell him how lucky he was.

Instead, she said, "No matter what happens, Hutch, don't forget. He really loves you. More than I ever could. It'd be nice to be Hutch; in one lifetime you have two people love you so much."

Hutch smiled and promised to remember. As he yielded to fatigue, he felt at ease. Starsky would always love him. Gillian promised. And Gillian wouldn't lie--would she? Came on so fast Whenever did I feel this fine Oh, yeah, On white lightning and wine Drinking white lightning and wine White Lightning and Wine--Heart

Chapter 2

You'll have to take me Just the way that you find me What's gone is gone and I do not give a damn I don't remember, I don't recall I got no memory of anything at all I Don't Remember--Peter Gabriel

Starsky woke up with a sense of urgency. Mindless of his or Hutch's nudity--or the way they were completely entwined around each other--Starsky bolted out of bed and dashed for the bathroom. He'd barely focused on the head when the floodgates opened and he vomited so violently into the bowl he saw stars. The powerful spasm hit again and again. He could taste steak, beer, champagne, and something bitter he couldn't identify. All of it sharp and spoiled as it rushed over his tongue. Soon, he was doubled over with dry heaves, moaning, down on one knee as if in prayer.

Worshipping at the shrine of the Great God of Porcelain, he thought, wearily. Didn't think we got that drunk last night.

A warm hand settled on his bare shoulder, and something cold pressed into his palm. Glass of water, he registered dimly.

Hutch's voice was ragged. "Drink it. It'll help."

Starsky gasped and gulped the water down, bringing it up moments later.

"Now, this," Hutch said.

Just another Starsky and Hutch comedy routine, he thought. We're worse than an old married couple. Hutch slapped the bottle of Pepto Bismol into his palm. Squeezing his eyes shut, Starsky downed half of it, then shuddered. Stuff tastes worse than come. He wondered where that thought came from. Must've been something one of his old girlfriends said. His stomach quieted, content to merely ache now. He sagged against the tub holding his head.

"You can't sit there on the cold tile," Hutch croaked, taking hold of his arm. "Come back to bed 'til your stomach settles."

Glancing up, he noticed a bruise near Hutch's navel. What kind of klutzy move did he make to earn that? It almost looked like a hickey. Dimly, Starsky wondered what happened to their pajama bottoms, or at least their briefs. They didn't normally sleep nude together. That almost made him laugh. It wasn't like they were in any shape to-- He paused. To what? He couldn't think it through; it hurt too much.

"What the fuck happened last night?" he asked as Hutch led him back to bed, found him his pillow and covered him up. He was shivering now from the vomiting and felt ten degrees cooler. Hutch climbed in on the other side and pulled Starsky's spine against his warm front, rubbing his arms to chase the chill. "I feel like shit. And I never thought I'd say this, Hutch, but I'll never eat red meat again. I can still taste it comin' up. I got the worst taste in my mouth--"

"What do you remember?" Hutch asked noncommittally.

Starsky, still trembling, drew closer to Hutch's heated skin. "I remember bein' at Huggy's. I remember gettin' wasted." He managed a crooked smile. "An' I remember callin' Russo out. Can't believe that asshole tried to draw on us in a public place."

"What else?" Hutch urged.

Starsky's brain was cotton. "Huggy brought us home? I think it was two, three a.m.? The rest is cobwebs. I guess I blacked out."

Hutch sighed. "Huggy brought us home at ten. Someone slipped us a mickey. By the time we got here, we were totally stoned."

"Someone drugged us? Why?"

Hutch shook his head. "Damned if I know."

"Pretty stupid," Starsky grumbled. "Good thing we got friends like Huggy. Maybe someone wanted to roll us when we left."

"Yeah. We were pretty lucky," Hutch said wanly.

Starsky wondered if the drug could account for the odd dreams he'd had last night. His body felt drained, as if he'd fucked for hours, making him wonder if he'd ejaculated in his sleep. He kept dreaming about a beautiful--if flat-chested--blond, with sapphire eyes. Suddenly, something occurred to him.

"Hutch?"

His partner tensed against him.

"What'd'ya think was in that stuff? I mean--" This was no time to mince words. "Hutch, you okay?"

"No," he said stiffly, and now Starsky could hear the pain in his voice. "I'm hurtin'. It must've been partly narcotic. I felt it last night. And this morning--" He swallowed audibly. "Starsk--I've got the craving."

"Oh, no!" Starsky said bitterly. Wasn't this just like his partner? Nurses him through the pukes without saying a word, all the while he's fighting off his own private hell. He turned to face his friend, gathering him in his arms. "I'm here, babe. I won't let nothin' happen. We'll get through it. Just like we did before."

Hutch nodded, a tense, jerky motion. "It's not that bad. Not as bad as last time. Just an ache inside that won't quit. I'll probably be all right in a few days. Just--stay with me, will ya?" "Where else would I go? Hey, Hutch?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Did we have clothes on when we got home?"

"Think so. We'll have to ask Huggy." The image of Huggy dragging home two nude cops was more than either of them could take, and they laughed feebly.

The jangling of the phone made both of them jump. Starsky snaked an arm out from under the covers to snag the receiver. "Yeah?"

"You both up?" Dobey's voice was oddly subdued. Starsky felt himself instantly alert.

"Yeah, we're here, Cap'n," Starsky confirmed. Something niggled at his mind, something about Dobey just assuming they were together--but hadn't they been constantly since the shooting? He brushed the concern aside. "We don't have to be in today 'til later--"

"Something's come up," Dobey insisted.

"If this is about Russo," Starsky began, prepared to argue.

"It's not about Russo," Dobey said. "I need you both in here, now." He didn't shout, didn't demand, just insisted.

"Cap, Hutch is feelin' kinda sick--"

"Right now, Starsky. Both of you. Ten minutes. Don't stop for coffee. Don't talk to anyone. Don't get the paper. Don't go to your lockers. Just come to my office. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Starsky said, his own voice matching Dobey's somber one. He hung up the phone. "Somethin's wrong, Hutch. Somethin' bad. We gotta go in. Can you handle it?"

Hutch nodded as Starsky left the bed and started searching for clean clothes. "How do you know it's bad, Starsk?"

"Dobey never yelled, not once. No, 'get yer narrow butts in here.' No threats to bust us down to traffic. Somethin's goin' on."

Hutch sat on the edge of the bed looking miserable. He had blue circles under red-rimmed eyes. Running a hand through his hair, he said, "I got a feeling the price tag just got delivered."

~~~

The precinct looked nearly deserted, and that gave Starsky the jitters. The few people they ran into barely acknowledged them. Their own squadroom was abandoned, and that was too weird for words. The closer they got to Dobey's office, the more bizarro the whole thing seemed.

Starsky knocked lightly on Dobey's door, then stuck his head in, while Hutch waited behind him. The room was dim. "Cap?"

"Right here," Dobey said softly. The big man was standing at his window looking through slatted blinds that were nearly closed, blocking out the bright morning light.

They entered quietly, glancing at one another. Dobey didn't turn around. There was a thick envelope and a projector on his desk.

Starsky looked at Hutch, who eased himself into a chair by the desk. Hutch just shrugged. Starsky sat on the arm of Hutch's chair, hoping his physical presence might help shore up Hutch's flagging spirit. Starsky hoped this wouldn't take long. He wanted to get some decent food into Hutch and put him back to bed and keep watch--

Dobey finally turned to them. "Thanks for coming in so quickly. I--want you to watch this film-- in private. I'll wait in the squadroom. When you're ready to talk, let me know."

They exchanged confused glances. Starsky said, "If this is a new case, wouldn't it be better if you stayed and explained--?"

Dobey cut him off. "Just watch the film, son. We'll discuss it when you're ready."

Then he left without another word.

They eyed each other and said together, "'Son?'"

"Oh, this must be a beaut!" Starsky said, eyeing the camera as if it were a poisonous snake. "I know he hates these things--God knows, I do, too--but I can't remember ever seein' him this rattled over evidence before."

"I've got a feeling we're not gonna need popcorn for this feature," Hutch agreed.

Starsky darkened the blinds, then turned the film on. As the leader fed through, he sat on the arm of Hutch's chair, still more concerned about his partner's physical condition than anything he was about to witness in this office.

That lasted about thirty seconds.

That's how long it took him to realize this film had been shot in his own bedroom last night. In the frame he could see part of the bedroom floor where his jeans lay in a bunch--precisely as he'd found them this morning. But most of the frame was more bed than bedroom. His bed. With him and Hutch in it. Doing things he simply could not believe.

In sixty seconds, he was gripping the chair to keep from falling off. In ninety seconds, he had to get off the chair and move away from his partner.

His partner.

His bedmate. His lover?

At the five-minute mark, he was as far away from Hutch as he could get, and there was nowhere else to go in the room. He was hugging himself without realizing it, his tender stomach rebelling as he watched himself engage in sex acts with his partner that his mind could not remember and would not accept.

He wanted to shout that those were actors who looked like them, but the diagonal scars riddling his back were plain even in the film's dim light. He watched himself seduce his best friend, overwhelm him, and then engage in the kind of lurid sex acts he would've gladly beaten Russo into the ground for implying.

The film wound on, as Hutch finally went after him in the bed, and then he and Hutch--he stared, his eyes swimming--he and Hutch were blowing each other, crazed with desire, hard as rocks and sucking like experienced cockhounds, as if they did this every night. He couldn't pull his eyes away, yet couldn't bear to watch. And when the inevitable happened, and he watched himself eagerly swallow Hutch's ejaculate, even as Hutch took his, he finally realized what that cloying, bitter taste had been in his mouth.

His stomach cried enough. Leaning over Dobey's trash can, he threw up Pepto Bismol and toothpaste. This time, Hutch didn't help him.

The end of the film flapped in the terrible silence until Hutch turned the machine off. Starsky took Dobey's trash can to his closet and closed it in there, then opened a window to let out the sour smell of his vomit. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, then glanced at the envelope sitting like a tarantula on Dobey's desk. As terrified as he was of that envelope, he would rather look there than at Hutch.

Flipping open the folder inside made a thick sheaf of eight by tens slide out. Lobby cards, he thought wildly. Him and Hutch in every conceivable position, pulled right off the film. Him and Hutch kissing. Him and Hutch stroking. His best friend getting him off--spectacularly. He thought for a moment that he might faint.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look at the other man in the room, the other cop involved in this nightmare.

The sight tore his heart out.

Hutch was nearly in a fetal position in the chair, arms folded over his stomach, face almost skeletal, blue eyes gone colorless and unseeing. He was rocking in the chair like a stroke victim and, Starsky realized to his horror, moaning softly--a low keening noise that rattled him almost as much as what he'd just witnessed. What Hutch's expression said to him did not help any, not at all.

"You knew," Starsky said, struggling to keep his voice low, normal, reasonable. "You knew as soon as we woke up. You remembered."

He didn't want it to sound like an accusation, but it did. He couldn't help it. He felt shell shocked, like someone had just thrown a mortar at his feet. Or turned his perfectly ordered world completely upside down. Which they had.

"You remembered what happened last night," Starsky continued, unable to stop his mouth, "and you didn't tell me."

Hutch flinched as if he'd been slapped. "I'm sorry."

Starsky could barely hear what he said, but he could read his lips well enough.

"I'm sorry, Starsky. I prayed you would never remember. That it would just be one long black- out to you. I'm sorry."

"How could--?" Starsky had to bite his lip to keep his mouth shut. He hoped Hutch would think he was trying to say, How could this have happened, but the truth was he was on the verge of screaming, How could you have let this happen?

It was unfair to lay that on Hutch, but he couldn't help it. Hutch remembered, and, irrationally, Starsky felt that since he did, Hutch somehow held the key to what had occurred. It wasn't fair, but it was his gut reaction, and all he could do was battle with it.

But Hutch knew him entirely too well. The blue eyes turned slate and, narrowing, focused on him. Hutch knew very well what Starsky had started to ask. In a low, deadly tone filled with old pain, Hutch laid it out. "I'll tell you how it happened. You wouldn't back off. You came onto me, and I couldn't say no to you."

No! Starsky thought. He held up both hands as if he could physically ward off the words--the words he'd brought on himself.

"I begged you not to," Hutch continued relentlessly, refusing to take the weight of responsibility for their mutual behavior. "I pleaded with you. But I loved you too much to turn you down. And you knew that. Once you touched me--kissed me--with that drug whistling through my veins, we were finished."

"Hutch, please," Starsky said miserably, bowing over Dobey's desk and the damning photos. His partner was only saying the truth. He'd watched himself on film stalk Hutch as if he'd been a Vegas showgirl--not his best friend--watched himself use all the smooth moves he'd practiced over years of seductions. As a lover, Starsky had never had any qualms about going for the heart. But his best friend--?

"You still can't remember?" Hutch asked incredulously.

Starsky shook his head, his self-control so tenuous he was terrified to speak. One wrong word, one wrong move, could shatter him.

"None of it?" Hutch pushed, clearly disbelieving. "Even after seeing this Reader's Digest condensed version of last night?" Starsky felt as if he'd been punched in the heart. A fresh surge of panic swept over him. "What the hell did they leave out?"

"Plenty," Hutch said acidly. "We were at it for hours. Whatever they gave us prolonged it. This film has been edited to show only the most graphic details. They left out--" Hutch's voice cracked, and Starsky glanced up to see him roughly wipe tears from his face. "They left out--the caring. There's no sound, no pauses, no conversation--and we had plenty to say. Starsk, It wasn't just sex. Damn it, I mean--" He sucked in a deep breath, trying desperately to rein in his emotions. "We loved each other last night. We professed that love. We made commitments."

Hutch's face drew down in stern bitterness, "Fuck this! I can't believe I'm doin' this to myself. But I feel like I've been left at the altar by the one person I thought I knew, the one person I thought I could trust. But it was only the drug. I can see it in your face." Hutch turned his back.

"Hutch," Starsky began, not knowing what he could say that wouldn't make things worse.

"Vanessa really took me around the block," Hutch said, his voice chilling. "And Gillian--" he paused, sucked in a ragged breath, "--Gillian broke my heart. I've had women dump me, fuck over me, cheat on me, rob me, even try to get me killed. But it took my partner to really put it all on the line." Without looking at him, Hutch said, "Never before has anyone thrown up because I'd made love to them."

Starsky tried to imagine what kind of god had allowed him to survive Gunther's bullets only to face this pain.

Then Hutch clutched his middle and fought back a low groan as he doubled over in the chair. It was a cold slap in Starsky's face as he realized, The drug! He's still under its influence. He forced himself to take a step closer, then another, and tenuously draw closer. The five feet between them might've been miles. For the first time in their long partnership, Starsky had no idea how to help or comfort Hutch. He didn't dare touch him. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he did, how he'd feel, what it would be like to touch someone he'd been so intimate with, yet had no memory of that intimacy. And what would he do if he did remember?

"Hutch? You okay?" he said feebly into the space between them. Part of him ached to hold Hutch, rub his back, try to ease his hurt. Part of him feared he'd only be adding to it.

"Oh, yeah," Hutch murmured, with biting sarcasm. "I'm just fine." He took a shaky breath and pulled himself together.

"Hutch?" Starsky asked, unable to stop himself. He waited until Hutch's tortured eyes met his own worried ones. "Do you hate me?"

Hutch's expression melted. "Hate you? Oh, Starsky--" His blue eyes filled rapidly, and Hutch had to turn away.

Starsky did too, his own eyes burning with unshed tears. No, you can't hate me, even though you want to. The way I betrayed you, you should. I seduced you, swore I loved you, made you love me, then was repelled by the truth of that--and you still can't hate me. You poor sap. You still love me. What did I ever do to deserve that kind of devotion from you?

From the film he recalled the expression of sheer adoration on Hutch's face as Starsky put the moves on him. How had that happened? Because of the shooting, Starsky's near death, the months of caring and convalescence? Or had it always been there between them? Had it been latent there all these years with him in total denial because it didn't suit his image of himself as a man? He could hear Russo's taunts, and the murmured accusations of other cops, the odd looks, the snickers behind his and Hutch's backs. It went back years, even to the Academy. They'd always blown it off, confident in their own maleness, their own image of themselves. If other men were too insecure to enjoy the intense, personal kind of friendship he and Hutch had shared, that was their problem. Had they been lying to themselves all these years? His stomach threatened to rebel again.

"Hutch, please, just don't--don't hate me," Starsky mumbled to the desk, terrified that if he saw those pain-filled blue eyes he'd lose it completely and burst into sobs. "I don't know how I can make this right with you--but I'll die tryin'. You're my partner, my best friend--you didn't deserve this. I'm so sorry."

"Stop it," Hutch ordered, his voice shockingly clear. It made Starsky jump, and he turned. Hutch stood, pacing in a small space, careful not to intrude on Starsky's defined area. "Stop the noble martyr routine, I can't stand it. We gotta pull ourselves together and get our stories straight. We still gotta face Dobey."

"Dobey?" Starsky said stupidly, unable to fit anything else into this equation. It was all he could do to deal with this film, these stills--

"Snap out of it, Starsk! We're in Dobey's office, he called us in for the viewing, remember? This," his big hand--that hand that touched me, stroked me--indicated the film and photos, "this is only the tip of the iceberg. We're in trouble, big trouble, and no matter how this affects us personally, we'll only get through it as a team. Can we still do that? Or is it every man for himself? I gotta know that, now."

"You gotta ask me that?" Starsky said. He felt like his mouth was full of glue. It's worse than I thought. He doesn't trust me at all now.

"Yeah," Hutch said, nodding. He looked ten times worse than when they'd stepped in here. "I gotta ask that. I gotta know where you stand."

Starsky felt a surge of fury. "I stand with you, ya stupid bastard! You think I'm gonna treat you like some one night stand and forget everything that's gone down between us? Whatever happened last night, whatever I said, whether I remember it or not--don't you think that I meant it?"

They glared at each other. "How the hell would I know, Starsky?"

It took the fight out of him. Hutch couldn't know. How could he, when Starsky didn't know himself? "How--do you wanna deal with it?" "Well, I think denial's pretty much out of the question," Hutch said with a trace of his old humor. "I think we need to find out what other surprises Dobey's got for us."

Starsky's knees went soft. "I--I don't know how much more--"

Hutch pointed a finger at him. "Oh, you'll handle it. You'll have to. We both will. We'll handle it like we've handled everything else."

But he couldn't say the words me and thee, their motto, their code. And neither could Starsky. Because now it implied something completely different.

Their eyes met in somber agreement, and Hutch picked up the phone to call Dobey in.

~~~

Captain Dobey sat at Hutch's desk and tried not to think of the chain of events that brought his two best detectives to the particular part of hell they stood in now. Maybe some of it was his fault. Maybe he should've seen the signs. Maybe he should've split them up.

The year before Starsky was shot, things had been strained between them. But since the shooting they were better than ever, as if they'd been reborn.

Was that when it started? he couldn't help wondering. Or had it started back in the Academy? And all the women, what was that, for appearances?

He remembered that joyful night in the hospital when Starsky was truly on the mend and Hutch had come back from San Francisco after busting Gunther. Hutch had climbed into bed with Starsky, giggling like a child. They seemed so innocent then. He ran a hand through his hair and tried, vainly, to stop thinking about it.

It didn't matter when or how or why. The only thing that mattered was finding out who did this to them, and coming up with a way to solve it. Bile rose in his churning gut as he realized for the thousandth time since the package had been delivered that there was no way to solve this. But he'd do what he could. He owed it to them.

The phone rang, startling him. He glanced at his watch. He'd expected them to need more time. He lifted the receiver.

"We're ready to talk, Captain," Hutch said into the phone, his voice soft, contained.

Dobey only nodded and stood, walking somberly into his office. The only thing he could ever remember that had been as bad was the death of John Blaine, another fine detective caught in a compromising situation. Only this one was worse. These men were still alive.

He opened his door quietly and surveyed the room. The film had been rewound and rethreaded, the pictures restacked neatly and put back in their folder. The most disturbing thing was the distance between the two men. In all the years they had worked for him, they'd never managed to be more than three feet apart in this room at any time. Now they were twice that. Worlds apart. Not a good start. And bound to get worse. His guilty knowledge tortured him, made his stomach churn sickly.

He drew himself up. He was the captain. His men looked to him for leadership. He owed that to them--and so much more.

"Cap'n," Hutchinson said softly, as Starsky eyed his partner from across the room, "we're sorry you had to deal with this. Near as Starsky and I can figure it, someone slipped us a mickey at Huggy's last night. Our memory of events--" Hutch glanced back at his partner--"is shaky at best. We were totaled. Huggy had to drive us home. This--" he indicated the film and pictures--"is damned embarrassing, but it was an isolated incident. It won't happen again. But we'll understand if you feel a need for disciplinary--"

Dobey's expression cut Hutch off in mid-stream. "Neither of you has a clue as to what this is all about, have you?" he said sternly. They glanced guiltily at each other, trying to gauge what to say. He'd always found that damned telepathy one of their most annoying traits.

"You think all I'm worried about is the embarrassment? That I called you in here for a scolding about your personal behavior?" He couldn't bring himself to yell at them, and that was odd enough. God knew he wanted to shake them senseless. But he could barely force himself to say what he had to.

"Let me tell you something," Dobey said in a nearly normal tone. "I worked side-by-side with John Blaine for many years. He was a fine detective and a fine man. When, during the investigation of his homicide, the department found out he was a closeted gay, I was the one who wouldn't let them bury him in obscurity. I made sure he got every honor due him, that his name was placed on the heroes' memorial, that he was afforded every respect. My opinion about John Blaine as a man, and a cop, didn't change one bit once I learned the truth about him. And don't either of you ever forget it."

They nodded their heads, worry and hesitancy in their every move.

"Now, I don't care if this--" he waved at the pictures and film, "has been going on for twenty- four hours or twelve years. I don't care. It's your business, long as you do your job, and you've done a damn sight more than that under me. You're the best detectives this precinct's ever turned out, maybe the best in the state."

Hutch visibly reddened from the praise, and Starsky dropped his eyes.

"But right now, you're actin' worse than the greenest rookies. You're stammering at me about the department's embarrassment and missing the whole damned picture. In over six years of working in this department, you've never stood this far apart in this office. You can barely look at each other the morning after--" he ran out of words and pointed to the film, "that. Stop acting like high school kids who went too far after the prom, and start acting like the seasoned cops you are. Damn it, you were set up! By experts. Who's after you and why should've been the first things on your mind."

They stared at each other dumbfounded. They hadn't gotten past self-recrimination yet. The remnants of color in Hutch's pasty face fled and he sagged into the nearest chair. But Starsky seemed rooted to his spot.

"What's the matter with you, man?" Dobey barked at Starsky. "Your partner looks like he's about to pass out. Get him some coffee."

Starsky acted like someone had just lit a bomb under him. "Right, Cap'n!" he answered smartly and nearly leaped over to the ever-present pot. Fixing a cup, he dropped down to one knee to hand it Hutch, checking his expression. "Hutch? You okay?"

Hutch shook his head, but took the cup. Tentatively, Starsky patted his partner's knee awkwardly, and Dobey wondered if that was the first time the normally affectionate Starsky had risked personal contact since they saw the film.

"What's the whole picture, Cap'n?" Hutch asked after draining half the cup.

"This package was delivered to my home at three a.m. To my home. When I realized what it was, I came in here to find packages of these photos in every officer's mailbox. They were all over the precinct. I had them confiscated, but they'd already been seen. By three thirty, I was getting calls from the district attorney, the mayor--and every paper in Los Angeles. They'd all gotten packages, too."

Starsky lost his balance at that point and sank to the floor at Hutch's feet. He moaned audibly and buried his head in his hands. Hutch touched him lightly, patting his shoulder.

"Then the calls from local TV stations came in, and the national wire services," Dobey continued. "Because you both work undercover, your personal phone numbers and addresses are classified, which kept the jackals from your door. But you've gone in one night from being the media darlings of LA to being a national scandal. It's a concentrated effort to destroy you, to remove you from the force and neutralize you. And you walked right into it."

"Gunther," Hutch whispered roughly.

"Got to be," Dobey agreed. "I called Huggy and he confirmed where you were staying. Once I was sure you were on your way in, I had the crime lab sweep your place, Starsky, then go to Hutch's. They found the same cameras and transmitting equipment in both apartments. But not a single fingerprint. The cameras were strictly defense issue stuff. Highest technology."

"How else could they've gotten such good film with the low lighting?" Hutch murmured.

"I've got a lab technician waiting to take your blood," Dobey told them, "so we can try to determine what they gave you at Huggy's. There's no way of knowing whether there'll be after effects, but any residue can be used for evidence. Best as Huggy could figure out, his new bartender had to be involved. He thinks he must've coated your glasses with the stuff. Of course, by this morning, everything had been put through the dishwasher--and the bartender's gone to parts unknown."

Dobey sighed. "Huggy received a delivery at four. The pictures are all over the street." Both cops looked beaten. It just about destroyed Dobey to do this, but in the long run, his brutal honesty was necessary. He coughed lightly. "I can't lie to you. Gunther's won this round. The damage has been done."

They looked at him expectantly.

"The mayor is calling for your immediate dismissal. I've refused. But I'll have to suspend you-- without pay--while the department investigates this."

"Suspend us?" Starsky said. "But Cap'n--if we're suspended--how will we investigate--?"

"You'll have to trust the department to do it, Starsky," Dobey told him. "I'm sorry."

"Starsk, can't you see what we're dealing with here?" Hutch said patiently. "Even if we can trace it back to Gunther, where will it get us? He's already in jail for life. We can't touch him for this. He could've tried to kill us again far easier than pulling off this set-up. This is the result he wanted. He's ruined us."

"Not yet," Dobey argued. They glanced at him without hope. "You still have your partnership. You still have each other. You've turned around the bleakest scenarios by depending on that. He'll win only if you let him destroy that. Don't let him!"

They exchanged a worried glance, then turned back to Dobey.

"Look," he reminded them, "I'm on your side. And I'll fight for you. I want you in this department for as long as you want the job. And I'll do everything in my power to get you back here. What you have to do is stick together, watch each other's backs, and be prepared for what could come down. It'll be bad. Real bad. But if you stick together, you can handle it. Until it's finally over, and you can get back to work."

"You really think that's gonna happen, Captain?" Hutch asked.

"I think it'll take a while," Dobey admitted, "and I think we'll be swimming upstream. But, yes, if you stick it out, you'll be back here, exonerated, when this is over. I believe that."

"Never thought I'd call you a cock-eyed optimist, Cap," Starsky said wearily.

"Never mind what you feel like calling me, Starsky," Dobey growled. "Now--I've got to ask for your badges and your guns. Then you've got to clean out your desks and lockers. There may be hearings--"

"We know the drill, Captain," Hutch said, as he pulled his shield from his pocket.

Starsky had already laid his on the desk, then unholstered his gun. His body was coiled spring- tight. "What happened with Russo?"

Dobey glanced away, then finally met his piercing blue eyes. "He spent the night in the tank--but Huggy wouldn't press charges. He was fined and released. I've put a note in his file. But he'll be back on duty tonight."

Starsky actually laughed. "He tried to draw his weapon on us in a crowded bar, and he'll be back on duty tonight. While we, in the privacy of our home--"

"Starsk," Hutch said. The single admonition was enough to quiet Starsky.

"Where will you two be?" Dobey asked.

"Why do you need to know?" Starsky asked pointedly. "Are we under arrest, Captain? Maybe on a sodomy charge?"

Hutch looked at the ceiling, the raw pain in Starsky's voice visibly tearing into him. He clamped a hand on his friend's shoulder and propelled him to the door. "We'll be at my place, Captain. Call any time."

Dobey said after them, "Believe me, son--I'm hurting with you on this one."

Hutch nodded before leaving Dobey alone in the dim, quiet room.

~~~

Three men sat in the brilliantly colored Torino while a gray mist washed over a gray city. Yet, in the passenger's seat of the parked car, Hutch really felt as if he were sitting there completely alone.

"I don't know what to say," Huggy muttered softly from the back seat. "I feel like it's my fault. Gunther set you up and used me to deliver."

"No one's blamin' you," Starsky said.

"I'm blamin' me," Huggy insisted. "I hired Alphonse without checkin'. One good reference, took the brother in. Wined you and dined you in my establishment--saw how wasted you were and couldn't figure it out. Smart dude like me. Should'a stayed with you. Never would'a happened. They know what it was yet?"

"No," Hutch said, still feeling the hum. Wish I could get more. Just a taste to kill this ache. Just enough to function. He shuddered, and Starsky's eyes cut right to him, seeing it. They didn't speak. "Might know tomorrow." He scrubbed his face with his hands.

The blood tech from the crime lab wouldn't look them in the eye when she took their sample. They used to flirt with her; tease her about making her choose between them. Now she couldn't look at them. She was so nervous, she'd had to stick Starsky twice.

"I just don't know what to say," Huggy repeated mournfully.

They had called him from a phone booth, picked him up on the street. Huggy wanted them to come into the bar, but they couldn't. "You could tell us you're still our friend," Starsky said into the quiet.

Hutch heard Huggy's breath catch sharp. "I can't believe you askin' me that."

Starsky exhaled roughly. "We can't take anything for granted, Huggy." Starsky's blue eyes looked into the rear view mirror and met with Huggy's dark ones.

Hutch knew what Starsky meant. He could still see the obscene graffiti scrawled over their lockers. Put there by their brother cops. He'd never seen Starsky go pale before, but when he'd eyed the painted word COCKSUCKER spilling down his locker door in bright red, Hutch feared for a minute that Starsky might pass out. Hutch's own locker--decorated with the word FAGGOT--seemed almost benign in comparison.

"You been more than a friend to me, Starsky," Huggy reminded him. "All the years we've been down t'gether? You know my family; you've had holidays at my house. I know your family; I've eaten there. Long as I can remember, you been like a brother to me. When you introduced me to your partner, I knew he'd be my brother, too, 'cause he wouldn't be hangin' with you 'less he could cut it. Now, you gotta ask me this?" Huggy shook his head. "That hurts. But what's happened to you--at my place--hurts real bad, too. Since you gotta hear it, I gotta say it. You and Hutch, you'll always be my brothers. That's blood. Thicker than anything. Don't ever ask me that again."

"Okay," Starsky said with a smile. "I won't."

"What's the word?" Hutch asked. "On the street? 'Bout us?"

Huggy sat back, as if he wanted to disappear into the leather. "'Pends on who you talk to. Everybody's got a different slant. But everybody knows. It's all out there, the whole thing. You're just--" He paused, frowning, as if searching for the kind of rabbit-out-of-the-hat solutions he was famous for, only to realize that this time he was fresh out of magic. "--Just gonna hafta weather it out."

"'Weather it out?'" Starsky said, as though that were the most incredible notion.

"Listen, Starsky," Huggy said impatiently, "next week the Towson twins are bound to throw another john out the window and then people be talkin' 'bout that. Or a big score will get dumped overboard and no one will be able to connect. Or the President will have hemorrhoid surgery and that'll be the news of the hour. You just gotta stay cool and weather it out."

"That might be a little easier to do if we had a job," Hutch said.

"Last time we left the force," Starsky reminded them, "we didn't have much luck in becoming gainfully employed."

"We might be more open-minded now about that porn studio that offered us a gig last time," Hutch said, looking sideways at his partner. Starsky glared at him. "Okay, bad joke."

"Speakin' o' jobs," Huggy said off handedly, "I did hear from someone who's sympathetic to your--situation. I didn't know if I should even mention it, though."

They turned to him at the same time. "Hug," Starsky said impatiently, "in this entire city, there's maybe five people 'sympathetic to our situation.' We need all the allies we can get."

Huggy wet his lips. "I heard from Sugar over at the Green Parrot--"

They sighed and turned back to the front.

Sugar was the stage name of a transvestite entertainer at a well-known gay bar. Starsky and Hutch--and Huggy--briefly worked undercover there while trying to solve John Blaine's murder.

"You wanna hear the rest of this?" Huggy said irritably.

Hutch saw Starsky's jaw set, but even so, he said, "Sure. Let's hear it."

"Sugar talked to the owner 'bout what happened to you guys. She's outraged at the way you're being treated by the city."

"Nobody does outrage like Sugar," Hutch admitted. He could see her confronting the mayor as Bette Davis in a Jezebel rage. This place is such a dump!

"She talked to the owner. They need a bartender and a bouncer for Thursdays through Sundays. The pay is pretty good, and the bartender gets tips."

"I bet," Starsky said glumly.

"It'll pay the rent and gas money for this tank," Huggy reminded them, "which could give you the freedom to do your po-lice thing the rest of the time. Besides--at the Green Parrot you'll at least be socializing with people who aren't going to judge you for an evening's indiscretion."

The words hung there in the car. Finally, Starsky asked, "That what you think this was, Huggy? An evening's indiscretion?"

"Starsky," he said wearily, "in the first place, you gotta stop caring 'bout what anybody else thinks. If you don't, you're gonna go crazy--and for you, m'man, that is a short trip. In the second place--I knew the two of you loved each other the first day I met you. Whether you've been celebrating that love all these years, or just tripped over it the other night, makes no never mind to me. But it clearly does to you. And that's sad. Lot of us go through life searching high and low for someone--anyone--to love. And here be you two white boys wastin' all this precious time, taking each other for granted."

He left the car. Leaning down on Hutch's window, he said, "What do I say to Sugar?"

"Nothing," Hutch said. "We'll think about it. We'll call you."

Huggy reached in, slapped their palms, and strolled back through the drizzle to his bar.

~~~ When Starsky pulled the Torino in front of his own apartment, Hutch realized they'd been away from it for less than five hours. It seemed more like centuries since they'd left. They'd been different men then. Though Hutch had held his guilty knowledge in silence, he never foresaw the events unfolding around them. On the floor of the car were a half-dozen newspapers with their pictures on the front page with lurid headlines about the "gay cop sex affair." Hutch would have to call his family. Starsky hadn't faced that fact, acting as if the same wire services didn't go as far as New York.

They sat in the car without speaking, until finally Hutch said, "You want to stay here tonight? By yourself? I can catch a cab--?" It was all just words. He didn't really know what they meant, or why he was saying them. He had no direction now. Well, maybe one.

Starsky wet his mouth, and Hutch had to look away when he did. "Forget it. I'm not leaving you alone. You're strung out and you don't even know it. You've been getting whiter by the hour. You need food and twelve hours sleep, and that's what you're gonna get. But--I need a change of clothes and some other stuff, so I thought I'd come by and get it now. Then we'll head for Venice Place. Besides--isn't that where you told Dobey we'd be?"

Hutch nodded absently. Sounded like a plan. What time was it in Minnesota? They sat there for a long time, until Hutch finally looked at Starsky. "You gonna get your stuff? Need help?"

Starsky's jaw was working. He didn't look at Hutch. "I--uh--I--" He sighed and tried again, finally whispering. "I can't go up there."

Oh. Starsky couldn't even bring himself to look at the scene of the crime. Hutch's insides twisted tighter. Okay. He'd deal with it. He rubbed his face again. "Your bag still in the hall closet?"

Starsky nodded.

"Want something to read?"

He shook his head no.

"Okay, I'll only be a minute." Hutch left the car, digging in his pocket for the keys. Entering the apartment, he tried to ignore the fingerprint dust and other traces of the crime lab's perusal. It was just Starsky's place, where he spent fifty percent of his off-duty time. Hutch went to the closet, pulled out Starsky's sports bag, stuffed some shirts in, a couple of pairs of jeans, then moved into the bedroom for fresh underwear.

He went straight to the dresser, pulled out briefs and undershirts, socks and grooming essentials, and finally zipped up the bag when it was comfortably full. Turning, he came face-to-face with the bed.

It looked just as it had when they'd left it, only now it wasn't warm anymore. He could still make out the outline where he and Starsky had lain together, belly to back like spoons.

Where we loved together. He tried to look at it like a cop, like the cops who had gathered evidence. He looked up at the mirror he'd always hated, the mirror where he'd watched his best friend perform acts of sex--and love--with Hutch that had burned themselves into his memory and his heart and ruined his life, possibly forever. He found the tiny place on the mirror's frame where the minuscule camera had been secreted, like a malignant insect spinning its web. He looked at it dispassionately with a cop's eye for detail for at least a minute.

Then he stared at the mattress again, with the pale sheets and bright covers all askew. He touched the pillows, touched the sheets, but not with the hands of a cop--with the hands of someone who'd discovered love in this place--perhaps the truest love anyone might ever know. Discovered it and lost it all in the same day. He gathered up a pillow--Starsky's pillow--and pulled it to his face, inhaling the scent lingering there. Gillian's dream-like apparition had promised him that Starsky would always love him--but Gillian had lied to him before.

Then he buried his face in the pillow and wept, just for a minute, and mourned the love he feared he'd never know again. Finally, he sucked in a breath, wiped his eyes, picked up Starsky's bag and left the apartment.

Like his partner, he knew he'd never be able to set foot in this place again.

Empty stomach, empty head I got an empty heart and an empty bed I Don't Remember--Peter Gabriel

______

Chapter 3

White man's world is crying in pain What'chu gonna do when everybody's insane So afraid of wonder, so afraid of you What'chu gonna do Go crazy on you, let me go crazy on you Crazy On You--Heart

Starsky tossed violently in his sleep, twisting in the sheets, fighting phantoms. With a shout, he woke up wide-eyed, his heart racing. Where am I? What's going down?

Then he remembered what his mind would let him remember. We're at Hutch's. In his brass bed. I was dreaming. What nightmare could be worse than what he'd gone through today?

Hutch must be sleeping pretty sound to not hear me yelling. Haven't done that since 'Nam. He settled back against the mattress carefully, not wanting to wake his partner. They'd had enough trouble just deciding where they would sleep--something that had been a foregone conclusion less than twenty-four hours ago.

I should'a slept on the couch. It's not fair to him for me to be so close. 'Specially with the drug still makin' him feel that way about me. But when I mentioned it, he went all dead on me.

They hadn't touched since they got in this apartment. In fact, they barely spoke. At least I got some food into him before bed. Maybe tomorrow the drug would have worked its way out of Hutch's system and he'd be his old self again.

Starsky squeezed his eyes shut. Would either of them ever be their old selves again?

I gotta get over this, gotta stop punishing Hutch for what I did--what I made him feel. We gotta both get over it. Or Gunther wins.

He touched his scars, then turned on his side. He needed to watch his partner sleep, see peace on his face. But it was so dark--!

His heart rate picked up. "Hutch?" There was no response. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch him, no longer concerned with how Hutch might interpret the move.

The other half of the bed was empty.

"Shit!" Starsky yelled, grabbing for the lamp switch and nearly knocking the damned thing over. Light flooded the room too quickly, burning his eyes, but he forced them to adjust as he clambered from the tangled sheets. He palmed Hutch's side. Cold. Long gone.

To connect? Starsky thought with paralyzing fear. And I drove him to it with all my macho bullshit. What has he got now but that need? I sure let him know he doesn't have me.

Clad in dark blue pajama bottoms and nothing else, Starsky bolted from the bedroom, then halted and dashed for the bathroom. Maybe he was in the john--? No. Empty.

He skidded into the kitchen, looked around. "Hutch?" No coffee on the stove. No Hutch on the couch. No Hutch fussing with his plants. An entire apartment with no Hutch.

"Fuck!" Starsky spat, furious with himself, with his partner, with the bartender who had spiked their drinks, with Gunther, with the whole screwed-up world. He slammed out the door without stopping for shoes or shirt or jacket and flung himself down the steps, halting only when he saw both vehicles--Hutch's silly, midget car, Belle, and Starsky's fiery Torino--parked nose-to-tail right where they'd left them.

The cars have a better partnership than we've got right now, he thought bitterly. He wondered if they engaged in partner-like badinage, or if they got cozy with each other late at night when no one was looking. Huggy was right. He was gonna go crazy.

Could he make a connection on foot? Starsky wondered, gazing up and down the street. It was nearly five a.m. Not a good time to find drugs. But Hutch was a cop who worked the streets, and this was his neighborhood. He'd know where the all-night action was.

And I slept through it. Good work, Starsky!

He stood there in terrible indecision--go right, go left, go across the street--without thinking that he wasn't dressed to go anywhere. Then something said, Look up. He stared at the night sky--and saw a pale hand suspended over the facade that framed the roof. Hutch was up there, leaning over the edge. Contemplating--?

Starsky ran back up the stairs to the apartment, stopped inside for a minute to find something he needed, then headed silently toward the roof.

Hutch was in the same spot when Starsky arrived. Leaning on his elbows against the lip of the facade at its low point, he stared out over the city. He wore nothing but pale cream pajama bottoms and beach flip-flops. The street lights outlined his body in the dark, making a halo of his hair and accenting his trim, fit form.

Starsky was so relieved to see him all in one piece, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But he couldn't judge what kind of shape Hutch was in. He might've connected already and came up here to enjoy the high in private. He could be depressed and thinking about a jump. Starsky would have to handle this carefully.

He moved across the roof, letting Hutch hear him. He didn't want to startle him while he stood so close to the edge. Hutch turned his head in Starsky's direction. As he drew near, Starsky saw a bottle of wine perched on the facade.

Resting his own elbows three feet from Hutch, he said, "Trouble sleeping?"

"Slept enough," Hutch replied.

He's wasted, Starsky thought anxiously, trying not to look down. "Wanna share?" he asked, indicating the bottle.

Hutch upended it, showing him it was dry. Starsky saw another on its side by Hutch's feet.

"Does it help?" Starsky asked. Hutch would know he was talking about the drug craving.

"Actually, this time, yeah," Hutch told him. "I was thinking about making some calls. You were dead to the world. I didn't trust myself to be near a phone. So I came up here with some friends and a corkscrew. It helped some. It's bound to help you, too, buddy."

Starsky could really hear the alcohol in his voice now. "Help me? How's that?"

Hutch grinned, his smile lopsided. "I can't get it up when I'm drunk. You know that."

"I'm not worried about that," Starsky said gently. "You've finished the wine; you'll be able to sleep now. Come back to bed with me."

The look Hutch gave him could've melted steel. "That's all I can think about, Starsk. Going to bed with you. Being loved by you." He turned away. "Sorry. Promised myself I wouldn't do that. I know it sickens you."

Starsky edged closer. "The thought of lovin' you doesn't sicken me," he insisted, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. "I was just as fucked up on that drug as you were--you just handled it better. Lotsa drugs make me upchuck, and you of all people know that. After all the crap they pumped into me after the shooting, you cleaned up behind me more than the nurses did. You know my stomach can't take narcotics, pain killers, or any of that shit."

"Doesn't seem to be too fond of semen, either," Hutch muttered drolly.

Starsky's stomach rolled. "That's a low blow." This wasn't working, he realized, as Hutch leaned over and looked at the drop.

"Did you come up here to stop me from jumping," Hutch asked, "or from shooting up?"

"Neither," Starsky lied, then berated himself for it. "Both. Either." He closed his eyes, started over. "I woke up with the screamin' terrors. And--you weren't there."

Finally, something he'd said had touched Hutch through his own pain. He turned, his expression worried. "Nightmare? The shooting?"

Starsky shook his head. "No. Somethin' weird. It was--my dad. He was trying to reach me. Tryin' to--I don't know--pull me into heaven to be with him. Trying to talk me into dying. I was standing on this threshold, all worried and feeling strange, and Dad was trying to lure me onto the other side. And I turned 'round to look for you to see if I should cross over--and you weren't there. I knew you were in trouble. Woke up in a panic, yelling." Even in the street light, Starsky could see Hutch's pallid color. "What?"

"Last night--you said I chased you into death, that I wouldn't let you go. I got the feeling it was a big factor in your sudden--interest in me. You remembered that same scene from your cardiac arrest. Your dad ready to lead you to the light. You were ready to die. You were hurting so bad you just wanted to rest. But when you turned around, you could see me--"

The memory hit him like a jolt and he gasped. "Coming after me, runnin' down a long, dark hallway, looking so scared! I saw you and turned away from my dad. Dobey told me. And Huggy. How you came flying into the hospital. How my heart didn't start beating 'til you came bustin' through the doors. I remember!"

Hutch moved closer to him and away from the edge of the roof. "What else?" he whispered, lifting a hand as if he couldn't resist his need to touch. "What else do you remember?"

Other than the dream image with an overlay of Hutch now imprinted on it, there was nothing else. No memory of loving--of desire for this man he cared for so much. None of that. He sighed. Hutch could see it in his face.

"Gimme time," Starsky begged. "I'm tryin'! It's just so--so damned alien to me!"

Hutch laughed bitterly. "Last night I told you since I chased you into death, now all I had to do was chase you into life."

Starsky took Hutch's arms, pulled him around to face him, only partly to get him away from the roof. "Tell me all of it. You said the film was edited; fill in all the missing stuff."

Hutch shook his head. "Christ, Starsk, have a heart! Don't make me relive it again."

"You gotta. For me. Don't you think I want to remember lovin' you that much? Caring for you? I hate thinking I did it just to use you. Help me! If--if you tell me the other stuff--what we said to each other--maybe it'll come back, like this dream. And then--"

"And then, what? You'll remember what it feels like to want me? You'll fall in love with me again, not just as your buddy, but as your mate? Starsky, this is crazy! You don't feel that way about me, you never did. It was the drug making you horny, nothing more. You would've felt that way about anyone you were with."

Only his concern for Hutch's nearness to the roof's edge kept Starsky from stepping away from him. "Boy, do you have a high opinion of me! How is it your reactions were so heartfelt and sincere, while mine were just cock-fever?"

Hutch shrugged. "I guess it opened up something inside me I didn't know was there. Leftover effect of the shooting, maybe. I'm not sure I ever accepted the fact that you lived. It was too big a gift. I couldn't examine all the different things I felt for you after that."

Starsky nodded. Hutch's devotion to helping him recover, his patience, his lack of interest in women. His dogged pursuit of Gunther's empire. Avenging his love. All of it.

And I encouraged him every step of the way. Starsky thought about the dozens of women he'd fucked before the shooting--some of whom he didn't even like. He loved this man. Couldn't he give him what he so easily gave those women? Will my stomach let me?

"Come to bed with me," Starsky whispered. "Hold me. Be with me. Help me deal with this. I don't know how to stop hurting you."

Hutch started to laugh and swayed a little in his drunkenness. Starsky clutched his wrist. "Now you want me to go to bed with you? After two bottles of wine? Starsky, your timing is the worst. Or is that why you want me there now? 'Cause I'm nice and safe."

"Hutch," Starsky said, gritting his teeth, tired of the emotional seesaw, "there ain't nothin' safe about you." He'd had enough. He slapped the handcuffs he'd taken from the apartment on Hutch's left wrist and, before he could react, slapped the other end on his own right wrist.

Hutch stared dully at their joined wrists.

"I'm tired of fighting with you," Starsky growled. "The sun's almost up and I'm dead on my feet. And you're so fucked up I can't trust you to stay with me even when I ask. How am I supposed to make it without you, huh? If something happened to you tonight--if you'd slipped and toppled over the edge, if you'd connected and O.D.'ed--how the hell was I supposed to live with that? I'm hanging on by my fingertips, dammit, and I need you. Maybe that ain't the kinda love you want from me, but it's all I got right now. You gotta gimme time to get my head together about this. And I can't do that without sleep. So, come on. We're going to bed. Now." He marched toward the staircase, dragging his drunken friend behind him.

All the way down the stairs Hutch chuckled, completely out of it. By the time Starsky towed him into the bedroom, closed the blinds against the rising sun, and deposited Hutch on his side of the bed, he was really laughing.

"We're gonna sleep in these?" Hutch asked, giggling, as he held their handcuffed wrists up.

"That's right," Starsky said brusquely, as he climbed into bed and tried to get settled. "And if you don't straighten out by tomorrow, you may find yourself cuffed to the bed for the day."

"Oh, Starsky," Hutch said playfully around his laughter, "I love it when you're masterful!" Then he dissolved into gales of laughter.

Well, I wanted to make him smile, Starsky thought wearily. He turned onto his side, yanking Hutch's arm over him, then slid backward, forcing Hutch to spoon against him.

"You're awfully brave," Hutch teased.

"You're the one who said you couldn't get it up," Starsky reminded him, manhandling his pillow. "I think I can trust my partner enough to know he's not gonna fuck me in my sleep."

Hutch sighed, then sobered. "We never got that far last night, even though you wanted to. I'm damned glad we didn't. I don't think you could've lived with that if we had." Starsky closed his eyes, knowing Hutch was right. He tried to reconcile himself with the words, you wanted to. "Hutch. We still love each other. We can still be there for each other. We might define that love differently, but it's still love. It's us against the whole world, now. We gotta hang on to our love." Starsky pulled Hutch tighter against him, and Hutch cuddled against his back, like the brother he'd always been. His arms snaked around Starsky and Hutch hugged him.

Damn, I've missed that, Starsky thought.

"You're right, Starsk. I'll be okay." Hutch sounded like himself again.

"I know you will," Starsky said. In spite of the cold metal on his wrist, and the odd presence of the man pressed against his back, he wearily slid into sleep.

~~~

Three hours later, Hutch woke up with a pounding hangover and found he couldn't go to the john without waking Starsky. He stared at their handcuffed wrists and couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss the crazy man beside him or break his neck. Remembering that his own key ring was in the nightstand--something he'd been too drunk to remember last night--he managed to retrieve it and uncuff his wrist. To teach his sleeping partner a lesson, he quietly enclosed the spare cuff around the brass bedstead.

That really is erotic, Hutch thought, as he stared at Starsky. If I wasn't so hung over, it would even turn me on. Softly, he kissed Starsky's temple, then left the bed before he was tempted to take more liberties.

An Alka-Seltzer and some aspirin helped chase some of the fog away, and a shower helped, too. Hutch found a faded pair of denim cut-offs and a body-hugging tank top with bold horizontal stripes to wear with his flip-flops. Starsky slept on, oblivious, making Hutch smile. He could've set up connections with half of LA and his guardian would've slept through it.

That was when he realized the worst of it was over. Okay, he was over the drug craving, now to get over the craving for Starsky. Not as easy. Smiling wryly in spite of his sensitive head, he went to the kitchen to start coffee. While the pot brewed, he looked out on the sunny day. He reminded himself that he and Starsky were still together. Even through his drunkenness, he remembered his partner reminding him, It's us against the whole world now. No matter how weirded out Starsky was feeling, he'd stick by Hutch. It was not something most men could've taken for granted if their best buddies suddenly fell hotly in love with them. Hutch felt lucky. For the first time since this whole mess started, he felt like life might still have joy in it.

He was pouring himself fresh-brewed coffee when someone knocked on the door. He stiffened, reaching for his gun before remembering that he didn't have one anymore. His heart trip- hammered and he wondered if reporters finally found them.

Tentatively, he asked, "Who's there?"

"It's Peter Whitelaw," a man's voice answered. "You spoke to me once about John Blaine. Now, I'd like to speak to you." Peter Whitelaw? Hutch opened the door. "How'd you get my address?"

"The police aren't the only ones who can garner information, Detective Hutchinson," Whitelaw said civilly. "Can I come in?"

Hutch hesitated, then said, "Sure." He ushered the tall, sandy-haired man into his kitchen. Whitelaw was younger than Hutch and quite good-looking. It was still hard to think that Whitelaw had once been Johnny's lover, but it was just as difficult for Hutch to think of Detective "Big Bad" John Blaine as gay. Wryly, he wondered how many people today felt that same way about him.

He smiled politely at Whitelaw. "Coffee?"

"Love some. Black."

Hutch busied himself with pouring the brew.

Whitelaw didn't look like what Hutch thought of as stereotypically gay--then he realized it was probably time for him to review those labels now that one might be fitting him. Were you gay if only one man attracted you? He pulled his mind away from that track. Whitelaw looked like a lawyer or a professional--a serious, attractive young man in a crisp business suit with an expensive briefcase.

He placed the cup in front of Whitelaw and realized he was being appraised just as carefully-- with one difference. It was subtle, but Hutch was aware that Whitelaw was also conscious of Hutch's attractiveness, not in the clinical way Hutch had, but more like the way a bold woman would. He felt his ears turning red, then slapped himself mentally. He was hardly in any position to criticize anyone else's desires.

"Congratulations on winning the election, Mr. Whitelaw," Hutch said pleasantly.

He'd run as an openly gay councilman for his district--a trendy part of town where gays congregated--and had won handily. Once elected, the word on Whitelaw was good. He was an honest politician and was serving his constituents well, both gay and straight. He favored underdogs--going out of his way to support senior citizens and the handicapped. Even Starsky had mentioned--without cynicism--Whitelaw's willingness to put himself on the line for the less advantaged in his district.

Imagine, Starsky had said, reading the paper, a politician who comes through on his campaign promises! He'd hafta be queer!

"However," Hutch continued, "Venice is out of your district. 'Fraid I can't vote for you."

Whitelaw smiled. "I'm not canvassing or fund raising, Detective. I've come to speak to you about something--more personal."

Hutch had to smile. At least, today, he could. "And what might that be?" "Seen today's paper?" Whitelaw asked.

Hutch shook his head. "Starsky and I have given them up. Bad for our eyes. We saw just about all we'd ever want to yesterday."

Whitelaw unsnapped his briefcase, pulled out a morning edition and laid it on the table. The headline made Hutch's jaw clench. It read, "Gay Cops Suspended With Full Pay." The picture beside it showed them nude to the waist in bed and lip-locked for all they were worth.

"That's a lie," Hutch said. He kept his voice low but couldn't hold in his anger. "We've been suspended without pay. We don't even have any idea when--or if--we'll be reinstated."

Whitelaw nodded and folded the paper over. "I know it's a lie. The whole thing is a lie."

Hutch started to argue, then stopped with his mouth open. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I spoke with Captain Dobey yesterday. I called to appeal that you both be kept on active duty. With your record, your commendations, all the work you did on the Gunther case, the attempt to assassinate Starsky--you guys should've been kept on during the investigation. He said it was out of his hands. And confirmed you were suspended without pay. Even if I hadn't spoken with him, I'm well aware this is the normal course of events in this kind of case."

"If you could find that out so easily, then why--?" Hutch pointed to the lying newsprint.

"Sells papers," Whitelaw said. "This is the kind of bigoted coverage we always deal with. You've been branded with our label, so you're finding out for yourself."

Hutch stared. "We've been branded with your--? You don't think we're gay?"

Whitelaw glanced around as if framing his next statement. "Detective Hutchinson, no one in the gay community thinks you or Detective Starsky are gay."

Hutch could only ask, "Why not?"

"A lot of intangibles and a lot of tangibles," Whitelaw told him. "You don't read gay. You don't act gay. And frankly, since a lot of us got to see your infamous film performance--you simply don't make love like gays. Even though someone went to a lot of trouble to portray this as a long- time relationship, you were both too inexperienced. You were clearly under the influence of drugs or alcohol, and--well, you just weren't--skilled enough."

Hutch had to stifle a burst of laughter. "You mean, as gays, we just don't cut it?"

"Essentially. Look, Detec--"

Hutch cut him off. "Please--call me Ken."

Whitelaw nodded. "Okay. I'm Peter. Look, Ken, this may come as a surprise to you, but at least thirty percent of all straight men have between one and five homosexual experiences in their lifetimes. It happens. Frequently under the influence. Sometimes stemming from strong feelings for a friend. Most of the time, it's a one-time thing; there's guilt, shame, and the men move on. In your case, it was orchestrated, enhanced by something, and set up to get a reaction that could be used to ruin you."

"Could you, uh, take out an ad in the LA Times and write that up for us?" Hutch said.

"I'd love to, but as a card-carrying queer, I don't have much pull with public opinion."

"Oh, this is rich!" Hutch declared bitterly. "The straight world is ready to exile us into space, and the gay world won't have us, either!"

"Well," Whitelaw said, "I didn't say that."

Before he could respond, a sound erupted from the bedroom, evolving from a low growl to a roar, accompanied by a harshly rattled chain.

"Hutch! Hutch! HUUUUTCH!"

He blushed violently as he remembered Starsky's handcuffed to the bed!

Before he could move, his partner bellowed, "GET THESE DAMNED HANDCUFFS OFFA ME! HUUUTCH!" The clanking chain grew more violent. Hutch thought he could hear the bed moving across the floor. "YOU BETTER BE OUT THERE, HUTCHINSON, OR YOUR ASS IS MINE!"

Whitelaw looked confused and alarmed.

"Easy, Starsk, easy!" Hutch called, dashing into the bedroom and leaving Whitelaw without a word of explanation.

"Very funny!" Starsky yelled as Hutch came into view. "Uncuff me from this bed! Now!"

Hutch scooted around the side of the bed, keys in hand. "Will you pipe down?" he hissed. Quickly, he unfastened the cuff attached to the bed. Starsky nearly levitated out of it, snatching the keys out of Hutch's hands as he did. Hutch backed out of the bedroom toward the kitchen while Starsky, furious, advanced on him.

"The hell I'll pipe down!" He jangled the cuff on his wrist in Hutch's face. "Think it's funny cuffin' me to the bed? I woke up wondering where you'd gone. Why you left me alone--?"

They'd finally moved far enough around the corner for Starsky to spot their visitor. He stopped in mid-tirade. He stood there, in his pajama bottoms, with a handcuff dangling from his wrist. "What--? Who--?"

"I've been trying to tell you," Hutch whispered sotto voce, "we have company."

Starsky must've just remembered who this was, Hutch realized, because his color darkened in a blush. He groaned and his blue eyes narrowed dangerously as he glowered at Hutch. Oh, I'm gonna pay for this, Hutch thought.

"Mr. Whitelaw," Starsky grumbled, "if you'll excuse me, I guess I'll--change." He glared at Hutch again, then went back to the bedroom, fumbling with the cuffs as he went. Hutch could hear him mumbling all the way to the john.

"There's coffee out here, Starsk," Hutch called cheerily, only to hear the bathroom door slam. "He's not himself without coffee," he said to Whitelaw, and was relieved when he laughed.

"You guys have been partners a long time, haven't you?" Whitelaw asked, chuckling.

"Long time," Hutch confirmed. "Went through the Academy together."

"It shows. It's a good thing. Not many straight men could get through what you've been forced to endure and still remain friends. For that matter, I'm not sure a lot of gays could."

Hutch nodded, worriedly. He wondered if they would be able to, either.

~~~

The resounding slam of the bathroom door made Starsky's teeth ache as it ricocheted through Hutch's small bathroom.

He took a deep cleansing breath even as he keyed open the handcuff manacle from his right wrist. He took another breath, found his center, and hummed a long, satisfying Oooommmm.

He did it again as he tried to rein in his fury, his confusion, his-- Closing his eyes, he touched his erection, trying to soothe what couldn't be soothed. What was happening to him?

Ever since 'Nam, he'd been plagued with dreams so real he often woke shaken, upset for half the day. But weirdly enough, he hadn't had any since the shooting. None while Hutch and he had been together over these last nine months of recuperation and investigation. None while they shared the same bed. Didn't take a psychiatrist to figure out that he felt safer with Hutch--so safe it even affected his dream patterns.

Then last night he'd received that sudden, vivid memory of his near-death experience-- And then, when he went back to sleep--

He swallowed, searched for his center, tried his mantra and gave it up. He splashed his face with cold water. It didn't help. The vivid dreams had rattled him to his core. They still sat behind his eyes, tormenting him with their lurid images.

He saw himself in black leather pants, biker's pants, tapered to the ankle, with zippers for his boots, zippers on his pockets, and chrome studding on the seam line. He wore a black tee and a biker's black leather jacket--clothes he didn't own, wouldn't normally buy.

Hutch was in leather, too, but in white. His clothes were more stylish, tight-fitting, his leather pants belled at the bottom and as soft as kidskin. His leather jacket was a soft pale beige with fringe and small silver beads for trim. Under it Hutch wore a dove-gray tee. He looked radiant in the clothes, as bright as Starsky was dark. The clothes hugged their bodies, accenting their masculinity obscenely. Starsky didn't know where they were, couldn't recognize anything, but it didn't matter.

All he could do was watch Hutch.

Hutch said nothing to him, just smiled, his sapphire-clear eyes filled with love. Hutch dropped to his knees, staring up at his partner as if mesmerized, as if Starsky held the answers to everything. Then, slowly, Hutch started unlacing the leather thongs on Starsky's fly.

He shook his head, splashed more water on his face, desperate to dispel the vision that had caused him to wake up hard, hot, confused, and scared shitless. In his dream, Hutch had given him the most incredible blow-job he'd ever had, and Starsky had not only let him, he'd encouraged him, praising his performance, petting his face, watching his every move. His hunger for Hutch's mouth was unquenchable. He was seconds away from erupting when he'd woke up, gasping, sweating, his hips thrusting, vainly searching for that searing, wet haven--

Was it dream or memory? Had it felt like that when Hutch went down on him? Could it have felt that good? Starsky leaned his burning forehead against the cool tile of the bathroom. He could never remember any sex act feeling that intense, erotic... extraordinary--

Stop it! He could barely face it, but all the dream did was confirm his own worst fears. Under the influence of Gunther's drugs, he'd become the self-centered user he'd once been and had taken Hutch for his own gratification. Now, he was reliving it in his dreams.

As a kid, he'd developed that hard-bitten selfish personality as a defense mechanism. It kept him sane and safe through the hard New York years, through the death of his dad, the relocation to LA, through 'Nam, and all the other rough times he'd faced. He hadn't tempered that persona until....

Until I hooked up with Hutch in the Academy. There was something so open about him, so vulnerable--I couldn't be that way with him. That was when I realized I didn't need to be that way anymore. At least, not with Hutch.

That rough exterior still came in handy on the street. Coating it with a teddy bear facade worked well with women. But convincing a semi-reluctant woman to go to bed with him wasn't the same as seducing his best friend. He hated himself for subjecting even a dream Hutch to such treatment, and was terrified to think that was how he might've actually used the real Hutch. And he hated himself even more for being aroused by the vision of it. More than that, he hated himself for making Hutch want him.

Now, with the two of them locked into their own company and isolated from the rest of the world, he worried about what would happen. They were like prisoners in their own little cell. And Starsky knew entirely too well what happened to prisoners. One would dominate. And one would submit. If he wasn't careful, his own selfish needs would get the better of him one night after too little sleep or too much beer. Or one too many dreams like this last one.

He'd hurt Hutch enough. He had to get a grip on this.

Of course, making a scene in front of that--he stopped himself before he used an unkind term that struck too close to home--in front of Whitelaw didn't improve his mood.

What is that--politician doin' here anyway?

It always made Starsky nervous to see what buzzards showed up first over a fresh corpse.

And how come he seemed so friendly to Hutch? For that matter, how come Hutch seemed so friendly to him? He'd never find out hiding in the bathroom.

Quickly, he urinated, brushed his teeth, then, locating his jeans, dropped his pj's and slid them on over his bare rump.

Hutch was too damned gullible sometimes. And with all his confused feelings, he might just assume Whitelaw's some kind of ally just because--just because--

He didn't want to finish the thought.

Just because they're both gay?

No! Whatever Hutch was going through was just an aberration. When this was over, they'd be knocking off the stewardesses like before.

It was a hollow boast. His stomach complained, feeling like a snake too big to fit was housed there. Would he ever get over this bizarre bout of squeamishness?

Forcing himself to put on a more cheerful demeanor, he grinned toothily in the mirror for practice. Be friendly. Hmmmm. Looked like a snarl. Well, it was the best he could do.

He emerged from the bathroom to find Whitelaw and Hutch laughing, sharing coffee. Cozy, Starsky thought irritably.

"Good mornin'," he mumbled, "I think."

Without a word, Hutch handed him a cup of fresh coffee, which he took gratefully with a nod. The rich aroma and flavor tempered some of his crabbiness. He killed half the mug in three swallows.

Hutch's luminous blue eyes bore into him as Whitelaw watched the two of them interact. Waiting for--what? A good morning kiss? A little marital exchange?

Starsky's mouth engaged before his brain joined in. "Good coffee, sweetheart," he said to Hutch with exaggerated cheerfulness. Then to Whitelaw, "No one makes coffee like my Hutch. Picks the beans himself." Batting his lashes at Hutch, "Is it my turn to make breakfast, honey?"

Amazingly, Hutch just smiled tolerantly. "Can the sarcasm. Peter knows we're not gay."

That took Starsky aback but only for a second. He watched Whitelaw glance surreptitiously at Hutch, and wasn't sure he was ready to believe that. Of course, there was always wishful thinking on Whitelaw's part.

"Oh, Peter does, does he?" Starsky grumbled suspiciously, pronouncing the man's name to make it sound like the street term for a sexual organ. "What gave us away?"

"Poor technique," Hutch commented drolly.

"What?" Starsky sputtered, outraged, then blushed at what he was outraged about. Hutch and Whitelaw both laughed at his confusion. "Peter," Hutch asked, "more coffee?"

"Thanks. Your partner's right. It's good."

Starsky could feel his blood pressure rising, but he didn't want to think about why. He'd never been in a situation like this and didn't know the rules, didn't know how he was supposed to feel, how to react. But every time Whitelaw smiled at Hutch, Starsky wanted to go over and feed the handsome man his teeth.

"Looks like you two have been out here long enough to swap Christmas cards," Starsky said.

"Peter brought us a present," Hutch said, flipping open the newspaper on the table.

Starsky glared at the headline, his rage climbing. It was irrational to direct his anger at Whitelaw, but he'd brought the damned thing, and he was confused enough by Hutch to not want to direct anything at him. "Who wrote this?" Starsky asked in a low tone.

"Staff written," Whitelaw said. "I already complained to the editor." He said the next to Hutch. "They'll print a correction tomorrow."

"On page thirty," Starsky scowled, "in tiny print."

"You're familiar with the problem," Whitelaw said.

"Enough," Starsky agreed. He decided to take the direct approach. "Why'd you bring this here? Think we didn't have enough on our plate?" His behavior was defensive, but he didn't care. If Whitelaw didn't stop eyeing Hutch like a slab of beef, he would get a lot more aggressive.

Why should you care? he asked himself. Hutch is a grown man. He can make his own decisions about who he's attracted to. Or are you afraid that one roll in the hay's turned him into a screaming--

Sensing Starsky's confusion, Hutch said, "Easy, Starsk. He's not the enemy."

"You know that?" Starsky fired back, barely holding his fury in check. He was stung by Hutch defending this guy. "We don't know who the enemy is, only that we have one. Last time we saw Mr. Whitelaw here--"

"Peter," the councilman said pointedly.

"The last time we saw Peter," Starsky corrected, "I said things to him that maybe he didn't appreciate."

Hutch tensed. "Starsky. You're out of line."

He stared at his partner. I'm out of line?

"It's okay, Ken," Whitelaw said calmly. "He's right to be suspicious." As he turned, Starsky suddenly saw the politician who was elected in spite of the odds against him. "Detective, when you spoke to me in my campaign office after John's death and said that you didn't understand why my sexual orientation had to be an issue in my campaign, I didn't answer you. I didn't answer because I knew that as a heterosexual male, it would be damned near impossible to make you understand my point of view. You'd have to walk in my shoes to do that."

Whitelaw sighed as if he were tired. "Well, now, because of the way you've been framed, you're not only in my shoes, but you're going to wear the leather out before this is over. And I'm sorry for you. It's not fun and it's not pretty. And it's not fair. Neither of you deserve it."

Starsky fidgeted as his anger drained away. He recalled that Whitelaw had been a teacher once--a good teacher from what he and Hutch had learned--but he'd been dismissed when someone accused him of being a homosexual.

He shrugged, and looked at his coffee. "Nice speech. That still don't tell me why you're here."

Whitelaw paused. Finally, he asked Starsky, "You've been offered jobs at the Green Parrot. Are you going to take them?"

Starsky almost blurted Are you crazy? before catching the hesitancy in Hutch's body. He clamped his mouth shut.

"You think we should?" Hutch asked.

"I think you should consider it," Whitelaw replied.

"Why's that?" Starsky asked. "And what's your interest in it?"

"Couple of things," Whitelaw said. "In a city filled with some hard-bitten cops, you're known for your fairness. You were good friends with John Blaine--and you still cared about him even after you found out the truth. He thought the world of both of you. You were fair to me and the people at the Green Parrot--even to Nick Hunter, a penny-ante hustler."

They exchanged a glance as Hutch poured more coffee into Starsky's cup. Hutch was making an effort to connect with Starsky, and Starsky was embarrassed that Hutch felt he had to.

"You're both good detectives," Whitelaw continued, "and I'm sure you'll pursue whatever avenues you can to bring down the parties that have tried to ruin you. You may even succeed. However, realistically speaking, I can't see any way for you to turn public opinion around on this. So, unless you want to be permanently dismissed from the police force for--oh, take your pick: moral depravity, sodomy, violation of public standards--you may have to join forces with people you'd never imagined as your allies."

"'Join forces,'" Starsky said. "You make it sound like we're joining an army--goin' to war."

Whitelaw nodded. "It's not the worst analogy. We've been pressuring the mayor's office for years to put openly gay people on the force. They've been resistant. Well--according to public opinion, there are now two gay cops--heroes to this city--already on the payroll. We want them back in their jobs because they're good cops and they deserve to be there."

Hutch spoke up. "Wait a minute. You want us to be your representatives? You want us to be your gay cops? Publicly? Hold it!"

Whitelaw held up his hands. "You two are who you are. But the rest of the world--"

"Has us pegged as queers," Starsky said, the picture growing clear, "just as Gunther planned it. So, now we are what they say we are, no matter what the truth is. That's the way the world works." He turned to his partner. "It wouldn't matter if we moved to opposite ends of the city, or opposite ends of the earth, or if we never spoke to each other again. With what they've done to us, we might as well buy t-shirts with big letter 'Qs' on 'em. We're gay now. He's right. And the only way we'll get our jobs back is if we just accept that and work with it."

Hutch was staring at him, amazed.

"Hey, it's not our fault, it's not our doing," Starsky said, fatalistically. "But it is what it is."

"And you're ready to handle that label?" Hutch asked pointedly, his eyes widening. "You're ready to handle the heat from it?"

"No, I'm probably not ready. I'll probably be calling guys out left and right. But tell me how to change it, Hutch? Wha'd'ya think--maybe nailing the mayor's secretary on his desk? Takin' out ads that say 'we didn't really mean it, we were just foolin' around'? We knew we were underwater soon as we saw that film in Dobey's office. But I'm not ready to lay down and die over it." He turned, captured Hutch's complete attention. "We didn't come all this way to give up over something like this. We didn't do all that work to get me healthy, then do all that hard-ass investigating--we didn't bring Gunther's empire down so he could get the last laugh in the end."

Hutch stood up straighter. "No, we didn't. But, Starsk, if we step down this path, we can never go back."

"It's too late for that already," Starsky said dismally. "I knew it yesterday." Starsky looked at Whitelaw. "I don't know that I'm--man enough to wear your label, 'specially when I feel like it's a lie. But that doesn't mean I'm not wearing it. It's been put on me by a whole city full of people whose minds I can't control, 'specially with what they're thinking 'bout me and Hutch. So, I'll deal with it and what's gonna come down." He turned back to Hutch. "I can do that--long as you'll stand by me."

Hutch gave him that big, blue-eyed look, all his love and vulnerability placed right in his lap, just like always.

Even after what I did with it, Starsky thought.

"Me and thee, partner," Hutch said with a casual shrug and the kind of disarming smile that destroyed women regularly, "same as always." Starsky wanted to weep when his friend said that. Me and thee, same as always? No, not hardly, babe. But that's not your fault. And I'm not gonna let you suffer because of me.

"So," Starsky faced Whitelaw, realizing with some surprise that he and Hutch were shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, facing Whitelaw, being united, being partners. His heart swelled. "What's your plan? I know you got one."

"Part of it involves working at the Green Parrot," Whitelaw explained.

"Why?" Starsky asked bluntly, uncomfortable and not attempting to hide it.

"I'm not gonna kid you," Peter said. "This is going to take a while. You're going to need income, and I can't afford to support you out of the war chest. But the main reason is that the Green Parrot is a good place to connect with our network. A lot of us meet there. It would be convenient to pass information to you there."

"What kind of information?" Hutch asked.

"We have a lot of people working with us," Whitelaw told them. "Investigators, lawyers, private eyes, people in the mayor's office, other cops--we're well connected."

"All these people are gay?" Starsky asked. He wanted to know who these allies would be.

"Most of them," Whitelaw admitted. "Some are sympathetic straights--sisters, brothers, parents, friends of gay people. We intend to investigate how you were brought to this. We don't expect the police to uncover much, since the two cops best qualified to investigate the situation have been removed from the force."

"It's not like we can't do any of it," Starsky protested.

"No, but you no longer have the resources of the police department to help you," Whitelaw reminded them. "Some of our people can help even that score with access to computer data banks, and so forth. You'll need their help. And you'll need our civil rights lawyer. You've probably heard of her--Kelly Rose Callahan."

Hutch whistled and Starsky's eyes widened. She'd won a huge settlement from the city regarding an arrest and beating of a civil rights protester a few years back. That had happened in another precinct, but Dobey had raised hell about it with his cops, making sure nothing like that would ever happen at Parker.

"K. R. Callahan is gay?" Starsky asked, remembering the red-haired, feminine woman--with the steel trap mind and the no-nonsense attitude. He'd never seen a five foot, three inch woman be so intimidating.

"No," Whitelaw said. "Her brother is. But she's a legal visionary. She says in the next twenty years gay issues will be at the forefront of civil rights work, and she likes to be ahead of the curve. She says what's happened to you violates privacy laws and other civil rights." "Those issues can take years to resolve," Hutch said dismally.

"True," Whitelaw agreed, "but with her track record, the city is already scared to death. She thinks she can brow-beat them into letting you back on active status while the rest of it is being resolved. She'd like to meet you for lunch tomorrow. She wants to move on this before the city sets up hearings or makes decisions."

They looked at one another again. Hutch swallowed. "You sure about this?"

Starsky shrugged. "It's that or quit and things never do work out for us when we quit."

Hutch nodded. "Okay. Then we're in it," he said to Whitelaw. "You said there were cops on the force who--"

"We're everywhere, Ken. Some surveys are saying that one in every ten persons is gay. So, yes, there are gay cops. Johnny wasn't alone."

"How are they going to feel about this?" Hutch wondered. "I mean, if things work out and we get our jobs back, and we become the first openly gay cops on the force. How will they feel about these two straight guys taking their thunder while they're still in the closet?"

Whitelaw shook his head. "You won't be taking their thunder, Ken. You'll be taking their heat. It's going to be hard to be the first gay cops in LA. It'll be easier for the next ones, because of the sacrifices you guys will be forced to make. Trust me on this. They'll be grateful."

Starsky nodded. There wasn't one step of this that was going to be easy. Not ever. If they could only hang on to each other through it--

Whitelaw stood. "I'll call you tomorrow to confirm that meeting. Expect to hear from Sugar about the job--when you begin and so on. I'll be seeing you at the Parrot, too." He touched his briefcase, then unsnapped the clasps. "I hesitate bringing this up…."

Starsky realized both of them visibly tensed.

"I assume you saw your film in your captain's office," Whitelaw said, not looking at either of them. "I thought--now don't take this the wrong way--you might want a copy of your own. I mean, you probably didn't get a chance to look at it as evidence. I was afraid you might regret that at some point--" He stopped, as if realizing he was blathering. He pulled a plastic case out of his briefcase and dropped it on the table. "It's a Betamax video tape. It was in my office when I got there at five a.m. yesterday. You can have it. Examine it if you think it'll help. Burn it if you'd rather."

Starsky forced himself to touch the thing, turn it over in his hands. He said the word in his mind. Evidence. You're a cop and this is nothing but evidence.

"You're right," Starsky said, his voice raspy. "We, uh, we never really looked at it as cops would. We were too surprised-- Thanks for thinking of that. We're not as clear-headed as we need to be about this." Hutch was looking out the kitchen window.

Whitelaw closed his briefcase and walked to the door. "Thanks for the coffee, Ken. And, uh, be nice to each other. You'll need to stick together more than ever. No more handcuffs, huh?" Smiling, he let himself out.

Starsky felt himself blush to his roots and remembered to glower at Hutch again.

But Hutch had a funny expression on his face as he watched Whitelaw's retreating form. "Pretty nice guy. Interesting way to start the day." He carefully kept his eyes away from the table. Away from the video cassette.

"How's that?" Starsky shot back too bluntly. "With a little political intrigue or maybe a tall cool blond in the kitchen?"

Hutch's spine straightened as if he'd been shot. "Now, there's a statement that could be easily twisted--"

"Yeah?" Starsky growled, trying vainly to curb his temper again.

Chilly blue eyes appraised him until Hutch finally said, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous."

Starsky froze. He started to blurt a protest then forced his mouth to be still. This was no time to dissemble. "He looked at you like you were the main course. He wanted you. Couldn't you feel it?"

Hutch shrugged. "Of course I could. But why should that bother you?"

Good question. Honesty was so difficult. But necessary. "'Cause maybe I'm worried because of what's happened-- Maybe I'm afraid--you might want him back." And I can't handle that. You with some other guy. Ever. You're mine. The thought was a wet slap in the face. What was he thinking? He ground his teeth.

Hutch watched him as though he could read his mind, hear the wheels turning. "Starsky," Hutch said, his voice low, soft.

Seductive, Starsky thought.

"I don't want him. I'm not gonna want him or any other guy. You can relax about that. Okay?"

Starsky had to shut his eyes, his relief palpable. "Hutch, I'm sorry." Sorry I did this to you. Sorry I keep making it worse. Sorry you're stuck here with me in this.

Arms slid around him, familiar arms, comforting arms, and he responded like a drowning man, grabbing hold, hugging, pulling the tall warm body close.

"It wasn't your fault," Hutch insisted. "Stop apologizing. If I made you feel like it was your fault, I'm sorry. This was done to us. We can't blame each other or ourselves. We just got to find our way through it. Together."

For a second, Starsky thought he felt the gentle brush of Hutch's lips against his forehead. That simple gesture, so full of love and longing, nearly broke his heart. They pulled out of the embrace with an awkwardness they'd never had.

"Actually," Hutch said, his voice low and husky, "it's my turn to make breakfast. How does oatmeal, wheat toast, orange juice, and fresh peaches sound?"

"Not as good as bacon and eggs," Starsky said, giving his standard speech, "but I'll take 'em." As casually as he could manage, he picked up the cassette and set it on a book rack where it fit tidily. "And more coffee. I have a feeling we need to be doing something today, but I can't figure out what. Guess that drug's still playing havoc with my brain. Uh--how about you?"

"Seem to be over the worst of it," Hutch said. "But I can tell you what it is you don't want to remember. It's been twenty-four hours, Starsk. We've got to face calling our families."

Starsky groaned, wishing Hutch hadn't reminded him. He had to talk to his mom. She'd be sitting there, staring at the phone, waiting. He wondered what his kid brother, Nicky, would have to say. Starsky felt like he was falling down a long dark well.

I was a willow last night in a dream I bent down over a clear running stream Sang you a song that I heard up above And you kept me alive with your sweet flowing love Crazy, yeah, crazy on you Lemme go crazy, crazy on you. Crazy On You--Heart

Chapter 4

You might still have time You might still get by Every time I think about it, I wanna cry There's nothing left to do at night But go crazy on you, crazy on you Lemme go crazy, crazy on you Crazy On You--Heart

"Hello, Ma?" Starsky said quietly into the receiver. "It's Davey."

There was a moment's pause, then, in a New York Jewish accent, "So, you remembered your mother's number? I was beginning to think that we'd only hear from you through Walter Cronkite anymore."

He smiled. She was still his mother. "Ma--I know what you've seen in the paper, but--"

"Feh! Who reads the papers? Who listens to such lies?" But she couldn't keep it up. He heard the catch in her voice, the suppressed sob. "Oh, my David! What's happened to you?" And the tears started. Hers and his.

He swallowed, trying to hold back his own pain, and wiped his cheek. It was one thing for Gunther to strike at him, but this was his mother. "Ma--it's not what you think. Let me explain--"

"You think I need you to explain?" she asked, sniffling. "I'm your mother. I taught you about the birds and the bees, because your father, God rest his soul, was too embarrassed. I've lived in New York all my life. I'm not some naive little gonif, Davey."

"I know, Ma, but--"

"Besides," she gave another sniff, "I've met your Kenneth. Such a nice boy. So handsome. So polite. Even then I could see, the two of you--there was something. When I saw the papers--it all made sense. Why you stopped talking about girls. Why Ken was always with you. Did you know he once called me to find out your favorite recipe? I gave it to him, that pot roast you always loved. I wondered then, but I--I couldn't think badly of Ken. I still can't. I could see how much you two meant to each other--"

What? he thought, mind reeling. Hutch had gone east with him a few years ago on vacation, and she'd come out to LA while Starsky was recovering from the shooting. Those were the only occasions she and Hutch had spent any time together.

"Ma! There wasn't anything between me and Hutch then! This was all a set-up this criminal--"

"Please, Davey, I'm an old Jewish mother but I'm not stupid. I saw the way you two looked at each other. How devoted Ken was to you after you were hurt. Don't lie to your mother, Davey, it's not nice. Anyway, you don't have to lie. I understand. I understand why I'm not a grandmother, why I'm not going to be a grandmother. Well, with the way Nicky is going, who knows? But that's another problem. This is your life, Davey, and you have to live it in a way that makes you happy--haven't I always told you that? Just tell your mother one thing--are you happy?" Her voice cracked on the last word.

He blinked stupidly. "Happy? How could I be happy, Ma, with what's happening to us?"

"No, I mean--are you happy with Ken? I know he loves you so much. And I think he has a good heart. He's a good man. I could bear this, I think, if I knew you were happy with him."

Starsky shut his eyes. Have I been that stupid that I couldn't see what my mother could? Did he love me all this time? He took a deep breath and searched his heart. "Yeah, Mom. Hutch--makes me happy. He's my best friend, my partner. It's just been hard lately with all this bad press. But, yeah, I'm happy."

"Well, that's good, then, I'm happy, too," she said, her voice trembling.

"What--what about Nicky, Ma?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. "It's hard for your brother, Davey. He's a man. He doesn't understand. Not like I do."

Starsky could feel a hand squeezing his heart. "Can I talk to him?"

"I'm sorry, Davey. He won't speak to you now. I think in a week or so, when things calm down, maybe then--"

"My brother won't speak to me?" Starsky said, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

"It's--hit him hard. You know how things are in the neighborhood. People have been saying things. He can't handle it yet, Davey."

Starsky covered his eyes. They sent me away when I was fourteen, after Dad was killed, because of what was said in the neighborhood. That was twenty years ago. How can anyone remember the shit that went on that far back?

"Tell him, Ma," Starsky said, through a throat tight with anguish, "tell him I'm still his brother. I still love him. Tell him that will never change. Will you tell him?"

"I'll tell him. Will--you be staying in LA?"

"Yeah. We're stayin' at Hutch's."

"Davey, will you lose your job?"

He thought of himself pressuring the city for his job back under the guise of being an openly gay man. "Don't know yet. I gotta warn you. The newspapers and stuff--it's gonna get worse."

"Worse? Worse than the front page of the Daily News? How much worse can it get?" She almost sounded amused. "We might be suing the city," he warned. "We might be pursuing it as a civil rights violation."

"Good!" she said, surprising him. "You and Ken are good cops. The best! You could have been sitting on the beach on disability all this time, instead of working so hard! They've got a lotta nerve suspending you because of your private life! Shame on them! You got a good lawyer, honey? 'Cause your Uncle Benny, he knows this man--"

He had to chuckle. "I got a good lawyer, Ma, the best in the city. Maybe the country."

"Oh, but it's expensive!" she protested.

"It's okay, Ma, really. But we're gonna fight this thing. So the papers and stuff will pick it up. It's gonna get hard on you--and Nick."

"You don't worry about us, Davey. You got a big fight ahead of you. Know that I'm on your side, yours and Ken's. And, once Nicky gets used to it, he'll come around. I know he will."

Starsky wished he could share her belief. "Sure. I'm sorry you had to find out like this. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

"You think I don't know that? I love you, Davey. Never worry about that."

"Call you next Friday, Ma," he said, holding the receiver tight, wishing she were there to hug.

"You're a good son," she said. "I've always been proud of you. You're still my hero, Davey."

He could barely find his voice to say goodbye. He got his emotions under control, not wanting to think too much about the conclusions his mother had come to. For the first time, he began to realize what his relationship with Hutch must have seemed like to others. Were they really so different from other men? Were they that much closer? Was there that much love between them? And if there was, why had he been so blind to it for so long?

Maybe because you knew how much pain it could cause? Because of what happened in New York to a confused kid who'd just lost his dad? Did you lock up all your feelings after that, reserving them only for what was acceptable?

He rubbed a hand over his face. He'd need a psychiatrist before this was over. He wondered if Peter Whitelaw had one in his network.

Picking up the phone, he called Huggy to ask a favor, and then went to the kitchen to tell Hutch the phone was free. Now, it was his partner's turn to have his heart ripped out.

~~~

"How long will it take you to set this up?" Starsky asked Huggy as he carried the awkward box into the apartment.

"'Bout ten minutes," Huggy told him, putting the box down near the television. Starsky thought Huggy still seemed more subdued than normal--though his wildly colorful clothes had that wonderful aura of Huggy-normalcy. "What'chu want this for, man?"

Starsky bit his lip, then looked his friend in the eye. "Someone gave us a copy of the film on tape. We're still cops. We got to get to the bottom of this. We need to look at that film objectively, as evidence."

Huggy stared at him in amazement. "You gonna look at that thing like it was evidence? You think you can do that? Man, you crazier than I thought."

"We gotta, Hug. The department's not gonna find out who set us up. 'Cept for Dobey, they don't care. They just want us gone."

Huggy shook his head as he pulled out a mass of black cables and started hooking them up to the TV. "Where's Hutch anyway?"

"On the phone in the bedroom. Talking to his folks. He's awful quiet, though."

"That's 'cause his folks are from Minnesota," Huggy said knowledgeably, "not New York City. Them white bread Midwesterners don't solve problems by yellin'. They get real quiet when they get mad."

"That's not good news for Hutch," Starsky admitted, "'cause I haven't heard a peep since he went in there."

"Maybe you should go check on him," Huggy suggested.

"Yeah. Maybe. Didn't wanna invade his privacy. You need my help?"

"Naw," Huggy told him. "I'll set up this Betamax VCR, then let myself out."

"Hey, Hug... how come you gave this address to Peter Whitelaw?"

Huggy flinched. "Now, don't be mad, Starsky. I just thought--hell, I was afraid if I gave him the phone number, y'all wouldn't see him. And he's the only one in the city in any position to help you." Huggy looked at him almost shyly. "You mad at me?"

"No, I guess not," Starsky mumbled.

"But--?" Huggy prompted.

Starsky shrugged. "I, uh--think he likes Hutch. If you know what I mean, and I think you do."

Huggy laughed. "You better get use to that, man, specially if you take that gig down the Green Parrot. Hutch is hot. He's got the look those fey brothers love, all those long legs and that big blond body. 'Sides, you're not interested, so what do you care? Or, do you want Hutch to be a monk 'cause you are?"

Starsky stared at his friend in amazement. "No one ever accused me of being a monk before, Huggy, least of all you!" "You have been this past year. Not sure why. Not sure you know why. Maybe you need to be askin' yourself those kinda questions, instead of worrying about other dudes diggin' your partner. He's grown and can make his own decisions."

"Thanks for the advice," Starsky said sarcastically, only to have Huggy grin.

"Why, any time, friend. Any time at all."

Starsky left Huggy to his VCR and moved around the corner to the bedroom. He paused just out of visual range and tried to hear if Hutch was still on the phone. Nothing but silence. Finally, he stuck his head around the corner and found Hutch sitting on the bed, back against the brass headboard, looking out through the window. His long, bare legs stretched across the bed, crossed at the ankles. His face was blank.

"Knock, knock," Starsky said.

Hutch didn't look at him. "I already know who's there. Come in if you want."

Starsky did, sitting on "his" side of the bed. "How'd it go?"

"Not too bad. My dad was waiting for the call. Mom wouldn't come to the phone."

Starsky blinked in surprise. It had never occurred to him his mother might not come to the phone. He tried to imagine that and couldn't.

"I'm out of the will," Hutch said too casually. "And out of the family. I won't need to be calling them again." He turned and Starsky could see the hurt hidden by the gentle smile. "I'm disinherited--which is no big deal, since Dad's been threatening that since I became a cop."

Starsky's gut wrenched. He remembered thinking just a day ago that he never wanted to see any more pain on that handsome face that had been caused by him. "They disowned you, Hutch? How could they do that?"

"How could Nicky refuse to talk to you?" Hutch replied. "They can't handle it, that's how. It's their problem, Starsky, not ours."

Starsky put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. It can't be easy hearing something like that from your family."

"You should know, partner," Hutch said, his blue eyes intense as they watched Starsky's face.

"I--I don't understand," Starsky stammered, "how people who are supposed to love and care for you can turn that off just because of something like this! It's not right!"

"But it's real," Hutch said reasonably. "We've got to be each other's family now, Starsk."

"You've been my family since we met," Starsky swore. "That's never gonna change."

"No?" Hutch asked plaintively, his eyes watering before he got them under control. "Hutch, come on! I know a lot of this has freaked me out, but I'm not running away from it! I'm here with you, trying as hard as I can to deal with it. You just gotta be patient with me--and--be my family, like you've always been."

Hutch touched Starsky's cheek gently then pulled his hand away. His voice was surprisingly firm. "I'm ready to be anything you want me to be. You know how I feel about you now."

"I know," Starsky said, and tried not to sound miserable about it. "Hutch, I think there's something else we gotta do today."

He frowned as if he couldn't bear anything else. "What now?"

"We got a lot of stuff--hurt and anger and negative vibes--to work out of us, or it's gonna kick our butts when we're not expecting it to. I think we need to see if we're still welcome at the dojo, and if we are, do our regular workout."

Hutch looked as if he might refuse then smiled and said, "That's a very positive thing to do. We can't afford to cut back on our health program when we're under so much stress. The exercise will do us good. I'll call."

Starsky sat back on his heels while Hutch made the call and tried not to feel too pleased with himself. Hutch always handled things better when he could blow off steam. If Hutch didn't express his pain physically through exercise, he'd become so moody and depressed Starsky wouldn't be able to stand him. Starsky knew it would help him relieve some of his own stress, too, and right now he felt like a pressure cooker.

While Hutch was on the phone, Starsky heard Huggy leave.

"Spoke to Sensei Shiro," Hutch said, putting the phone down. He smiled, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, it touched his eyes. "Our appointment stands, and he expects us there."

"He--didn't have anything to say about--?" Starsky started to ask.

Hutch shrugged. "I was pretty blunt with him, told him that I'd understand if he would prefer we not come anymore. He sounded insulted. Said we should be on time."

Starsky smiled. "Maybe they don't read the papers? Watch television? Maybe Japanese people have no problems with queer students?"

"I think," Hutch said, "that we'd better be on time. And you still have to take a shower!"

"You got it!" Starsky called, on his way.

~~~

This was a good idea! Hutch thought as he and Starsky went through their traditional warm-up. It felt good to get out of the apartment. A few people recognized them from the papers, but overall the trip had been fairly uneventful. Once inside the dojo, it felt so right, so safe, so real, Hutch could pretend that they were the same two cops they'd been just a few days before.

The dojo was owned by a classic California couple. They were American-born Japanese who'd both gone to Japan to study the traditional arts. The sensei, Yoshi Shiro, wasn't much older than Hutch, stood about five foot five, and had a fourth degree black belt. His wife, Tsuka, was a diminutive five foot, weighed as much as air, had a second degree black belt, and was a certified yoga instructor. When they were tested for new belts, she was the one they had to go up against. She'd mopped up the floor with them often enough that they dreaded the testing. But worse was the half-hour of yoga training she put them through to increase their flexibility.

The sensei's curriculum had taken into account Starsky's recuperation. His ability to learn new defense techniques quickly helped him regain his confidence. Hutch believed it had speeded Starsky's recovery.

Maybe it'll help us both recover from this, he thought. He was worried about the long-term effects of what they were going through. How could two men who were close live in each other's pockets, when one was desperately in love and the other wasn't, and they were both surrounded by such intense public scrutiny?

They finished the warm-up and the sensei shouted out the brisk commands to prepare to spar. Hutch smiled. Yeah. This was normal. This was good.

Facing him, Starsky's blue eyes twinkled. He was feeling it, too. The sensei gave the signal and they paused, bowed respectfully to each other and the sensei, then resumed defensive stance and started circling.

"Five bucks says you take the first fall," Starsky challenged, grinning.

"You're on," Hutch said through his teeth.

Hutch moved first, depending on the fact that Starsky was at a mental disadvantage because of the unnecessary guilt he was carrying. His longer arms and legs were an advantage, too, but Starsky was used to that, and moved in close to negate the power of those long limbs.

They threw punches, chops, jabs, kicks, grabbed lapels and sleeves, but they were evenly matched. Each held his ground, racking up points and breaking into a damned good sweat. Hutch's heart rate picked up as adrenaline coursed through him. His long hair stuck to his sweaty forehead as he feinted, jabbed, then reached to counterbalance and throw. But Starsky slipped from his fingers at the last second and stayed on his feet.

As klutzy as Hutch could be, at the dojo he felt graceful where his long limbs and quick reaction time were an advantage.

"Doing pretty well today, ya big blintz," Starsky razzed. "Ain't tripped on your belt yet. Defenses up. Maybe you're a little worried about your partner takin' advantage of you, huh?"

Hutch smiled. When Starsky couldn't beat him on technique, he'd try to rattle his cage. It was part of Starsky's Law--talk a little, win a lot. But two could play at that game. "Maybe you're just not good enough to take me, Starsk," Hutch taunted back.

"Oh-ho," Starsky said sarcastically. Hutch could tell he was stung. "Very funny. I think I can take you any time I want to."

"Is that right?" Hutch challenged. "Well, we both know you want to, babe, so why don't you just go ahead and try."

Hutch was almost surprised when Starsky lost his patience and moved in too quickly, too aggressively. He telegraphed his move so much, Hutch counteracted perfectly, moved in, got behind him and overpowered him with a counterbalance throw. Starsky stared at him in amazement from the floor.

"Five bucks," Hutch crowed.

"Double or nothing," Starsky barked, and was back on his feet instantly, swarming Hutch. Starsky fought back hard and soon they were at it, no holds barred, all over the dojo floor. Block, jab, chop, punch, kick, block, feint, over and over, faster and faster until Hutch got a leg between Starsky's bowed ones and threw him down on the mat. But Starsky was ready, planting a foot in Hutch's abdomen and tossing him ass over teakettle, then pouncing on him when he was down, throwing his weight across Hutch's back, pulling his arm up high behind him to keep him on his face.

"Ten bucks," Starsky purred in his ear.

But Hutch wasn't above fighting dirty. Starsky's groin was pressed suggestively against his rump, holding him down. Hutch looked over his shoulder, caught Starsky's gaze, then rotated his hips suggestively.

"Starsk," he murmured seductively, "you devil! Not here!"

Starsky's jaw dropped in shock. Loosening his grip, he shifted away from Hutch's ass. Which was exactly what Hutch knew he'd do. With the pressure off his arm, he bucked, flipping Starsky over, pinning him to the mat.

"That was cheating!" Starsky complained.

"You fell for it," Hutch said, laughing. "All's fair in war, too!"

Starsky pushed him off and swung, and they were back on their feet fighting, battling their inner demons. Hutch kept waiting for the sensei to end the sparring, but he didn't. They kept pursuing each other around and around the room until their movements slowed and their arms and legs felt like lead. As their performance grew slack, the sensei barked out corrections. Starsky had a tendency to bend his knee during kicks, lessening their impact. Hutch telegraphed his punches with his shoulder. The sensei moved onto the mats with them, pushing them harder.

Sweat dripped into Hutch's eyes, his body wracked with exhaustion. He braced his legs to stay upright, and prayed the sensei would call a halt to the sparring. Couldn't he see how spent they were? His only consolation was that the extreme exercise might help sweat the last of the drug out of their systems.

Under the sensei's remorseless drive, Hutch took a last swing at his partner, who barely ducked in time. The follow-through, however, was Hutch's undoing. Collapsing on his back, arms and legs akimbo, he gasped like a fish out of water. He heard a thump and saw Starsky beside him on his knees, butt in the air, face in the mat. The two of them wheezed like old men, their gis stuck to them with hard-earned sweat.

"Well," said the sensei, standing over them, "I hope you've gotten that out of your systems."

Hutch peered at his teacher as Starsky cast a baleful blue eye in the man's direction.

"When you come to the dojo," the sensei said, "you must come as students ready to learn. Leave the outside world behind, so that your mind and body are open to new skills. You cannot bring the pain and anxiety of the outside world here or all you will do is battle the enemy you think you know, instead of learning to fight the enemy you have yet to meet."

They exchanged a glance, then looked away.

"And above all," he continued, "you must never come here to challenge each other. You spar together, and because you know each other so well, it makes you good opponents. But today, you didn't fight as partners, but as strangers. That is why I didn't end the sparring. Now, you know how evenly you are matched, because you fought to a draw. Stop fighting each other when there are so many ready to oppose you. Whatever pain is between you must be resolved."

Hutch shut his eyes. How was it everyone knew them better than they knew themselves?

The sensei sat in a lotus. "Do you know anything of the samurai?"

They moved stiffly into a lotus as their breathing evened out.

"I took Hutch to see the movie, The Seven Samurai," Starsky said. "Does that count?"

The sensei smiled. "The samurai were men who lived together, learned together, fought together, died together. Today, the police are the samurai. They serve a lord--the commonwealth--and work for the good of the people, even if it means death. I have worked with other police--but never met any I thought could understand the samurai until I met you. A samurai would give up his life for his lord or his brother samurai. And he would give up his life for his honor. That is a forgotten word in our culture. But you two understand that word: honor."

Hutch found it hard to look at his teacher and almost impossible to look at Starsky.

"There are many stories of samurai who loved one another as brothers--and as lovers," the teacher said bluntly. "Men who shared so much that involved life and death would need to share love, too."

Hutch glanced at Starsky, found indigo eyes boring into him, then looked back at the sensei. "When you are betrayed," the sensei said to them, "your honor is not compromised. Those who have betrayed you, they are the ones who lose honor. Take comfort in this."

They nodded at him, accepting his wisdom. His wife joined them and began their yoga session. With quiet grace she took them through the asanas. Her training had helped Starsky recapture his cat-like flexibility and reflexes when the doctors had predicted limited mobility and strength. Even though exhausted, they flowed through the movements. The ancient exercises infused Hutch with strength and peace.

Then came the ritual relaxation at the end--Starsky's favorite part. They lay on their backs, several feet apart, palms up, eyes closed.

Tsuka's melodic voice urged them to give up their tensions, to relax their bodies one muscle at a time. Hutch went wonderfully boneless.

"Now, find your center and hold it as you breathe evenly, deeply, slowly," she instructed. "Find that place you can retreat to when there is nowhere else to hide."

In earlier sessions, she'd talked about a pure white beach with clouds rolling overhead and gently lapping waves. There was no one else on this beach, just peace, quiet, and endless ocean. Hutch pictured himself on that peaceful shore.

"The beach stretches before you," Tsuka intoned. "It's your future: beautiful and hopeful."

Hutch felt a catch in his throat. He couldn't believe that their future was that optimistic.

"The beach meets the ocean," she continued, "and the ocean rises up to greet the beach again and again and again. The ocean is love. Too vast to be ignored. Impossible to satisfy. But the beach is there with open arms to embrace the ocean. It is the perfect union, always the same, yet ever changing."

Hutch felt like she was talking just to him. His relationship with Starsky mirrored the ocean and the beach: stormy, unpredictable, impossible to satisfy, yet wonderful all the same. Even though his heart hurt, the memories of their night together, no matter how it had been instigated, were still there. Those memories filled him with joy. It didn't matter how strained things were now. He had those memories--something Starsky didn't have. Hutch would relish them for the joy they brought him and try to stop longing for what could never be. We'll always have Paris, he thought wryly.

Then Tsuka chanted the Om, her husband joining her, and Hutch felt the sacred word fill his mind, then his heart, then his soul until there was no more room for pain and sadness, just Om. It reverberated through him, rejuvenating him, lifting him from his depression like wings on his soul. Gunther could never destroy them. They would live well and be happy no matter what that despot threw at them. And theirs would be the final, triumphant word.

Finally, the Oms faded to a quiet hum, and Hutch came back to the present. He opened his eyes, sat up, and smiled at his teachers. As usual, he felt rejuvenated, optimistic, renewed. "Detective Hutchinson," the sensei said, "my wife and I think you and your partner should increase your training. We are aware of the pressures you are under. Would you be willing to come three times a week instead of two?"

"Well, I--uh, we'd love to, but we're not working and I'm not sure we could afford--"

"Please," Tsuka interrupted, "we have no interest in increasing your obligations. But your training is at a critical juncture."

"Well--all right. If we can pay it back when our--situation improves."

"We'll work that out later," the sensei said, and stood gracefully from the lotus.

"That all right with you, Starsk?" Hutch asked, turning to his partner, only to find him still stretched out in relaxation posture, snoring softly. Hutch had to laugh. It wasn't the first time Starsky had fallen asleep during relaxation.

"Wake him gently," Tsuka said. She wore an odd expression. "I think he is still on the beach."

Then they left them alone.

Hutch knelt by Starsky and watched his eyes move rapidly back and forth under his lids. We really tore each other up today, huh, buddy? Physically and mentally. He paused, enjoying the chance to watch Starsky sleep. You're so beautiful to me now and I love you so much. But that's okay. It's the love that's important, not how we express it. You don't have to love me the way I love you. I can live with it. I want to live with it, just so I can keep loving you in my heart. That'll be my revenge on Gunther--seeing you live and be healthy, helping you be happy; however I have to do that.

Hutch lifted his hand, considering how best to wake his partner, when suddenly Starsky arched his neck, and opened his mouth in a soft moan. Hutch watched him quizzically, as his body twitched slightly. He realized Starsky was semi-erect, his phallus beginning to tent his gi.

Starsk, not here! What the hell are you dreaming? Hutch spoke his name softly. There was no response, just more eye movement.

He ached to cup his hand over Starsky's groin, to feel that strong organ grow in his palm, but controlled himself. Instead, Hutch said Starsky's name again, then gently touched his shoulder.

Starsky's eyes flew open wide in confusion.

"Easy, buddy," Hutch murmured, leaning over him. "We're in the dojo. You fell asleep during relaxation. You were dreaming."

Starsky shook his head then blinked, gazing around the room.

"Where were you?" Hutch asked.

"Beach," he whispered. He focused on Hutch's face intently. "With you." Impulsively, Starsky reached up, touched Hutch's cheek then ran the tip of his thumb over Hutch's lower lip. Then he jerked his hand away, sitting upright.

"What's wrong?" Hutch asked, the touch of that thumb along his lip searing him inside. "What's the matter, partner?"

Starsky rubbed his hands briskly over his face, pulling into himself and shutting Hutch out.

He could barely stand it. "Starsky, what did you dream? Tell me."

"I can't!" Starsky said, his voice mournful. "Don't ask me, Hutch. I can't. It was just a dream, anyway. It doesn't mean anything."

To you or to me? Hutch wondered. He went to touch Starsky's shoulder again, then thought twice about it. Whatever his friend had imagined in his dream was still too raw.

"Come on," Hutch said casually. "My ass is whipped. Let's go home, make some food, then sleep for two days."

Starsky nodded as if finding refuge in that offer. "Yeah. Take me home, will ya?"

As they were leaving the dojo, Starsky pointed out a small decal on the window they'd never noticed before. It read, "We Support Councilman Whitelaw on Zoning Issue 12."

~~~

Starsky was nearly done making them burritos for lunch when Hutch spied the VCR.

"Where'd this come from?" he asked suspiciously. "And when?"

"Some detective," Starsky chided, trying to downplay its appearance. "Huggy brought it while you were on the phone. Thought we could catch up on our movies since we're not working--"

"You're going to make me watch that, aren't you?" Hutch said, his heart pounding. "You're going to make me go over and over it, looking for something that isn't there. Aren't you?"

"Hutch," Starsky said softly, "I never want to make you do anything you don't want to do. But it is evidence. And we're still cops. And if this isn't our case, it's nobody's. It's the only piece of evidence we've got. We can't let our--personal feelings interfere with the investigation or there will be no investigation! Look, if you can't watch it, that's okay. I'll watch it by myself."

Hutch sat at the table, staring at his lunch. "My head knows you're right, Starsk, but my heart-- All right. I'll watch it."

"Hey, maybe it'll jog my memory loose," Starsky said, hopefully.

"You think you should be eating first?" Hutch asked pointedly.

"Ha-ha," Starsky said, and dug into his food, watching while Hutch picked at his. As they finished cleaning up, Hutch asked, "You want to do this now?"

Starsky shrugged. "Up to you."

Hutch kept drying the plate, until Starsky gently took it and put it away.

"I promise not to act like a jerk this time," he said in a low voice.

Hutch wouldn't look at him. "Not your fault. It took us both by surprise. The film, I mean. Maybe if I'd told you what had happened--"

"Stop," Starsky said quietly. "Let's do this. Should I make popcorn?"

Hutch glared at him, then punched his arm. "Clown. Get the thing. Let's get to it."

Starsky plopped himself onto the couch as though they were about to watch Casablanca. Hutch knew it was all bravado, that once this thing started rolling his friend wasn't going to be so cool. Hutch eased himself onto the couch about a foot away from his partner.

"Ready?" Starsky asked, unwrapping the cord of the hard-wired remote control. He'd already put the tape into the machine.

"No," Hutch said honestly.

"Me neither," Starsky replied with equal honesty, then surprised Hutch by lowering the lights in the room. "Figured it'll help us see better since the lighting's so dim on the film. Besides… my blush will be bright enough."

In spite of his nerves, Hutch smiled.

They turned on the tape. The picture came up right away, dimly, almost romantically lit.

"We should be grateful that there was only one camera," Starsky said, his voice tremulous.

Hutch nodded as he watched himself sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but briefs. Watched as his best friend seduced him.

"Hutch, you look really freaked," Starsky said quietly.

"I was," he admitted.

"What, uh--so, what was I saying?" Starsky asked.

"You were trying to console me," Hutch remembered. "The drug made me paranoid. You said you'd take care of me." His voice got thick. "Here," he pointed to the screen as Starsky's hand trailed up his arm. Hutch felt a shiver run over his skin in memory. "You're telling me you love me. Asking if I love you."

"Damn," Starsky muttered, "I'm hard as rock. What are you saying now?" Hutch didn't want to tell him. "I, uh, well, I'm trying to tell you we're drugged, that this is not really us, what we're feeling--"

"You're trying to get me to back off," Starsky said, clarifying the issue.

Hutch nodded. "I warned you that if we did this, you'd--never get over it. You swore it would be okay. We loved each other. We couldn't go wrong together."

Starsky ran a hand over his face.

"Then I lost it," Hutch confessed, as Starsky's mouth claimed his on the TV screen. He swallowed, feeling the pressure of those lips. "I was wrong." His voice was husky. "You're a hell of a kisser."

"Aw, shit," Starsky said.

As Hutch watched Starsky swarm his own body on the screen he grew half-hard and had to adjust himself, then realized Starsky had crossed his legs and wondered.

The film was cut, so Hutch signaled to Starsky. "They took out the long pause while you told me about your near-death experience. How I chased you into death."

"Jeez, Hutch, I got a damned stranglehold on your dick," Starsky said, mortified.

"Yeah," Hutch agreed mildly. "This is when you said you wanted to put flesh to our marriage. I tried to talk you out of it--"

"Again?" Starsky seemed amazed.

"You said you wanted me. Not a pair of pretty women to take the edge off. You said this time you wanted the real thing. Me."

Starsky's jaw hung open. "I look furious."

"You were. You were intense. Wired. You wanted me. You were even jealous, possessive. You kept saying, 'You're mine now, only mine.' Things like that." Hutch started paying close attention to the weave of the couch fabric.

On the screen, Starsky continued his aggressive oral assault, and Hutch felt every nip, every lick. If anyone touched him now, he'd set off sparks.

Starsky groaned mournfully. "That really is a hickey on your stomach. I kept thinking--hoping-- you'd run into something."

"I did," Hutch said, feigning cheerfulness. "You."

When Starsky finally went down on Hutch in the film, he found Starsky staring wide-eyed, mouth half-open. Starsky murmured huskily, "I look like I been doing that all my life. Hutch? Was--was it any good?"

"Look at my face," Hutch said distantly. "How can you even ask?"

Starsky looked at him worriedly. "This--turning you on, now?"

Hutch wanted to say something clever, but couldn't. "Yeah," he muttered. "You?" That was facetious, but when Starsky didn't answer, he faced him. "I answered you honestly."

"Yeah," Starsky said. "But that doesn't make me feel good. Seeing the way I treated you." "What are you talking about?" Hutch asked, confused. "As a lover, you were--wonderful."

"I never gave you a choice," Starsky said. "I just did what I wanted, even when you tried to talk me out of it. You were saying no, and I went ahead anyway. Your best friend. Your partner."

"Starsky," Hutch said softly, "don't make it sound like rape. It wasn't. It was seduction. If we hadn't been drugged it would've never happened. I don't blame you, and you've got to stop blaming yourself. This was done to us." He glanced at the set. "See, here I'm doing it to you. Going after you. Overwhelming you."

Starsky sighed, miserable. On the film, Hutch paid homage to Starsky's scars. "What's happening here? You're saying something."

Hutch smiled. "This is the moment when I realized I was in love with you. Probably had been for who knows how long. At least since the shooting. I was telling you how I raced to the hospital to tell you goodbye when you lay dying. And to tell you how much I loved you."

The words hung suspended between them like a challenge.

Starsky picked up the challenge. "So, tell me. Like you did that night."

"Why?" Hutch asked, with more bitterness than he intended. "To make you unhappy, uncomfortable? You're already flinching every time I touch you. Why should I make it worse?"

Starsky's eyes were wide, dark, glittering. "I want to hear it. I want to hear what you said since I can't remember it, dammit. In the last two days, every person I've talked to has told me they knew what I couldn't figure out. I feel like the jerk of the century. Huggy said it. My mother said it. Even Dobey implied it. You've been in love with me and I've been ignoring you! I don't want to ignore it anymore. I want to deal with it. I want to hear it from you like you meant it that night." He grabbed Hutch's shoulders. "Tell me!"

Hutch closed his eyes, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. As if the words were pulled out of him by the force of those searing blue eyes, he whispered, "I love you, Starsky. Like a mate. Like a spouse. And when you were shot, I knew I couldn't live without you. If you had died, I couldn't have lived--"

"My God, no!" Starsky yanked Hutch into his arms. "Don't ever say that! Don't even think it!"

Hutch wrapped his arms around him. "I couldn't have stayed without you. I would've found those responsible, killed them, then--"

"No! Don't! Don't say it!" Starsky squeezed him so hard, Hutch couldn't breathe.

"Then you said you loved me, too," Hutch reminded him, burying a hand in his thick, curly hair. He ached to kiss the side of his face, but didn't dare. "Begged me to make love to you."

Starsky groaned against his neck. "I'm so sorry, Hutch! So sorry I hurt you!" Hutch pulled out of the embrace, putting some distance between them. He touched Starsky's cheek and was cheered when he didn't pull away. "I'm not. I know our lives are screwed, but I can't help it. I'm not sorry it happened. It was wonderful for me. It was for you, too. I only wish you could remember."

Starsky opened his mouth, then just shook his head in remorse.

"It's not the end of the world," Hutch told him, trying to be upbeat. "I've gotten over a million women, not to mention a heroin addiction--I can get over this, too. I'm not gonna let it ruin our friendship, Starsk. I mean that."

There was a flicker on the set, and Starsky glanced over to see Hutch riding his back. "Can't believe you didn't take advantage of that."

"You wanted me to," Hutch told him, getting himself under control. "It's a wonderful memory, Starsk. I cherish it. No one ever offered me so much of themselves from their heart."

"Oh, is that the organ I was working off?" Starsky said with a crooked smile.

On the screen, Hutch was going down on Starsky. His face reddened.

"Man, Hutch," Starsky said, "looks like you're killing me!"

"Yeah, well," he said, "you died happy."

"I can see that! Now, what the hell am I arguing about here?"

"You were having another jealousy fit. I think the drug was making you paranoid."

Starsky's brow furrowed. "Maybe not."

Hutch glanced at him, but nothing more was forthcoming. "It's winding up now. You might not want to watch--"

"I'm okay," Starsky insisted. He drew his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and rested his chin on his knees.

But it was Hutch who turned away as Starsky came in his mouth. He swallowed convulsively as he refused to watch himself swallowing his friend's essence. He jumped when Starsky suddenly rubbed his shoulder.

"It's not the way we ever saw ourselves," Starsky said softly, "but it happened. And we're gonna be okay about it. I promise."

It was an impossible offer. Hutch felt himself collapsing from the inside out. Can I get over you? Now, when we're so close every day?

Starsky saw it and pulled Hutch against him, so that his spine was tight to Starsky's chest. He could feel Starsky's heart pounding against his back. Strong, comforting arms surrounded him, warmed him, like they'd done a thousand times before. "I'm here for you, like I've always been."

Hutch shook his head. No, Starsky couldn't be there for him for this. Not this. If he had any hopes of getting over this, he would have to be alone in it.

Starsky hugged him tighter, rocking him gently as the film finished playing out. How many cases have ended like this, with one of us hugging the other, just trying to get through it? Too weak to deny himself this small pleasure, Hutch gave in to the comforting embrace just as he had so many countless times before.

"I'm here for you," Starsky repeated. "I swear it." Hutch tried not to read too much into that, but knew how open-hearted this man was.

Hutch shook his head. "No pity. I couldn't stand it. Not after having had the real thing."

Starsky held on. "'S'not pity. More like dues." He rubbed Hutch's stomach with warm hands.

Hutch rested in the sanctuary of those arms. "You see anything on that film that looked like evidence?"

Starsky sucked in a sharp breath. "Lots of evidence-- Oh, you mean of a crime!"

Hutch rolled his eyes and hugged his arms.

Sighing, Starsky turned back to the television set, but there was only a dark screen from the end leader. "Sure would've helped to have some credits, like, 'Directed by I.M. Scum' or 'Cinematography by Ima Sleeze.'"

There was a quick blip of white, then the screen turned to static.

"What was that?" Hutch asked, frowning.

"What was what?" Starsky asked. "The end of the tape I guess."

Hutch pulled out of Starsky's embrace and reached for the remote. He pressed rewind and watched as the leader rolled back, then pressed play again. He did it twice before he figured out how to slow it down to frame-by-frame.

"There!" Hutch said, halting the frame on what had been a white blotch. There were some numbers, cut in half. "What's that?"

They stared at it until Starsky said, "Remember when we busted that kiddie porn set-up?" To document evidence, they'd had to watch reel after reel of sickening footage. "Weren't there numbers on some of the film leaders?"

"There's usually sequencing numbers on film frames," Hutch recalled. "They're put on during the developing process so that editors can splice film together properly."

"Isn't other stuff usually put on film at the same time?" Starsky asked as they stared at the partial numbers. "Like codes for inventories."

"Yeah, I think so," Hutch agreed. "A lot of it's put on automatically, especially in the bigger labs, so they can keep all the different films identified." He rewound the tape some more, remembering another quick white spot at a spliced place. He tried to ignore the images of himself and his partner having frantic sex backwards, but when Starsky started to snicker it was hard not to join him. He jabbed an elbow back, connected with sensitive ribs. Then he found it. More partial numbers. He looked at Starsky. "Think Dobey might have more numbers on his copy? He has real film."

Starsky shook his head. "I'd be kinda surprised. The perps were sending that to a police captain. They were probably more careful with that film than any of the others. Probably figured this one would never leave Whitelaw's office, so they could cut a few corners. Time would've been critical."

Hutch gazed at the meaningless numbers. His mind clicked into gear in spite of the distracting pressure of Starsky's arms and the heat from his body. "Dobey said the camera was defense issue. Real high-tech. Those images were transmitted from your bedroom to--where? Some lab. Then turned into film, video tape, and still pictures. How many places could receive a transmitted picture, and have enough high-tech equipment to turn out so much stuff in just a few hours?"

"Hutch, this is LA. Film capital of the world. Could be dozens of places."

"Yeah, but most of those places wouldn't touch work like this. Think, Starsk." Hutch pushed far enough out of the embrace to look into his partner's eyes.

"There are plenty of production labs in LA, places set up to produce this stuff and distribute it. If I wanted this much stuff produced in a few hours, I'd find out who'd be capable of doing so much work in so little time. Who'd have the motivation and the means to distribute. And if they had an ax to grind--so much the better." Starsky mulled it over. "There'd have to be a chief tech. Someone who really knew how to handle this high-tech stuff, get the best image off it. You wouldn't want too many people involved. Most of the production could be automated."

"Which means some codes would've been stamped onto the film," Hutch said, "then had to be removed later. Maybe not always perfectly."

Starsky pondered that. "Lotta this stuff hit the streets. Wonder if Huggy could run up any leads. Never occurred to me to ask him."

"Think he'll--" Hutch hesitated, "--want to deal with it? It could cause him trouble on the street. It's not your usual scam."

"He'll tell me if it's a no-go," Starsky said confidently. "'Sides, he's feeling so responsible, he'll really pull out the stops to help us."

Hutch nodded, then thought of something else. "We've got other options. We could talk to Peter, see if he could run some checks on--" Against his back, Starsky stiffened.

"What? What did I say?" Hutch asked.

Starsky pulled out of the embrace decisively. "Just wondering why you'd think of calling him into this, instead of Dobey."

Hutch smiled. "You are jealous!"

Starsky frowned. It wasn't funny to him.

"For your information," Hutch reminded him, "Peter offered us help on exactly this kind of problem. We don't know what kind of cooperation we're going to get out of Dobey. I know the big man's on our side, but the rest of the force wants us gone. Starsky, those pictures were put into every officers' mailbox. That had to be done from the inside. There have to be some cops involved in this."

"And maybe Whitelaw's hand is in it, too," Starsky suggested sharply.

"With what motivation?" Hutch fired back.

"He gets his sacrificial lambs!" Starsky said. "You heard what he said. We do all the dirty work of fighting for our jobs back, and they've got gays on the force without any of their people having to lay their careers on the line. Even if we lose, we make it easier for the next gay cops! It's a perfect set-up for Whitelaw's people."

It was clear cop-thinking, Hutch had to hand him that, but he wasn't letting him off the hook so easy. "That's not the real issue, is it, Starsky? You never relaxed the whole time he was here. Never stopped watching him--"

"Watching you!" Starsky blurted, and Hutch could see he regretted it as soon as it was out. Starsky got off the couch and paced. "He never took his eyes off you! I never looked at a woman as brazenly as that guy looked at you."

"Please, Starsk," Hutch said, trying to cover his amusement, "I've seen the way you look at women. Peter never even came close to giving me a patented Starsky once-over."

Starsky spun on him. "Stop acting like you didn't notice! Stop acting like it didn't mean anything to you. He wanted you--and you responded! To a guy!"

Hutch saw, with some alarm, the same irrational jealousy he saw the night Starsky had made love to him. Maybe it wasn't the drug after all. "You're a guy. And I sure responded to you. Maybe I'm starting a new trend."

"That is not funny!" Starsky said. "Huggy says the guys at the Green Parrot are gonna flip over you. He says I'll just have to get used to it. Well, that ain't happenin'!"

"Starsky," Hutch said quietly, "you're acting like a jealous lover. Why?" The words brought Starsky up short. He couldn't look at Hutch. He shook his head. "I don't know. It doesn't make sense. I never felt this way when you were with women. All I know is when Whitelaw looks at you I want to pound him. The thought of him--" he shook his head and stammered, "touching you makes me crazy. If I caught him--or any other guy--putting hands on you, I don't know what I'd do. And that isn't fair! You've got the right to do whatever you want-- with whoever you want!" He collapsed on the couch, burying his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.

"As long as it's with you," Hutch said, defining what Starsky couldn't articulate.

"That's not what I meant."

Hutch stroked his friend's hair. "Remember what you said to me in Dobey's office?"

"I said a lot of things," Starsky said miserably.

"When I told you that we didn't just have sex that night," Hutch said softly, "that we'd loved each other, made commitments to each other, you said something like--'Whatever I said--somewhere inside me I know I meant it.' It's true. You meant it. Somewhere inside you, all those feelings you expressed for me are there, fighting their way out through all the walls you've built around them. The walls the world has made you build. This is the irrational, crazed, possessive, scary jealousy. So if that's in there, the love is too. I'll just have to be patient and wait for it to break through."

"You could wait a long time, Hutch," Starsky said, not looking at him. "There's mighty big walls around this stuff. It could be a long, lonely wait. You don't deserve that."

"It won't be lonely," Hutch said. "I'll have you to keep me company, partner."

Starsky looked at him through impossibly sad sapphire eyes. "I don't want you to love me, to wait for something I might never be able to deliver. You might wait forever! Don't you think I want you to be happy? You should be getting married, having a family-- Shit! We both should!"

"Starsky," Hutch said with a calmness that surprised even him, "we're both pushing forty. For two guys who are intent on getting married and having a family, we're pretty slow starters. If that's what you want--or what we both want, just for argument's sake--then why haven't we done anything about it in close to a year? We haven't double dated; we haven't done anything to meet any lovely females as Huggy put it--since Kira. Even before you got shot."

"Huggy asked me about that. And my mother said something about it, too." Starsky was sounding more and more morose. "Hutch, I can't think about this anymore. My head hurts."

"Yeah, I'm beat, too. Why don't we call it a night, take our showers and hit the sheets."

The phrase struck both of them funny, and they caught each other's guilty glance and laughed. It was the ice-breaker they needed.

"Hey," Starsky said sincerely. "Tomorrow night. Casablanca. I'll bring the popcorn." "You've got a date, big boy," Hutch said.

Cold late night so long ago When I was not so strong I know He came right up to me Never seen eyes so blue You know, I couldn't run away it seems Magic Man--Heart

Chapter 5

We'd seen each other in a dream Seemed like he knew me He looked right through me, yeah Come on home... He said with a smile You don't have to love me... Magic Man--Heart

Starsky lay in Hutch's big brass bed and stared at the ceiling. He could see the spot where smudged fingerprinting dust marked the place where a tiny camera had been hidden. He examined the spot through the stark black and white streaks of light coming in from the street lamps. How could Hutch fall asleep so quickly when all he could do was lie here and examine the ceiling? After an hour, he gave it up. Easing out of the bed, he padded into the kitchen. He poured some milk then plopped onto the couch.

There was too much stuff running around his brain. It felt as crowded as a New York City subway car at rush hour. All the people they knew. All the things that had happened in two short days. The bitter memories of his childhood. His confused feelings for Hutch. He wanted to pop his skull open, remove his brain, and pickle it for a few days just to give himself a break.

Instead, he reached for the phone. He had an urge to call some women and throw a party. Maybe if Hutch woke up with an affectionate female blonde in his bed he'd remember where his heart and his desires really belonged and get over this foolishness. He probably should've given it up when he realized he couldn't remember a single woman's phone number. He used to pride himself on how many he could memorize. He found his wallet and dug around for his black book. The first three numbers weren't even connected, and the fourth had been given to some guy who didn't appreciate the late night call. Instead of taking the hint, in desperation he pressed on. They had dated dozens of women. Somewhere in LA there had to be a woman who would at least talk to him!

There was. It was Cindy, one of the lovely, open-minded stewardesses he and Hutch had dated. They'd each gone out with her at some point, and had even double-dated with friends of hers. Some of those evenings had been pretty intense. Apparently, Cindy recalled them as well--but with a different slant.

"I can't believe you had the nerve to call me!" Cindy said, in a low, angry tone. "I haven't heard a word from you in a year. I've gone out with some twisted guys, but you and your partner take the cake. It was tough enough getting one of you out without the other one before this--God knows, I should've been able to figure out your story without a calculator--but for you to call me now? You always did have more balls than sense. If you think I would be willing to cover for you again--"

"Cindy, wait. You don't understand--"

"I don't understand? Do you think you're the first gay guys looking to cover your relationship with window dressing? You two were notorious among the stews before I went out with you! But I figured, who cared if you were gay, or bi, or tri, or whatever! You were cute and you were fun and Dave, you're a hell of a lay, but there isn't a woman in this town who'll be seen with you now! It would just make her look like the biggest fool on the planet."

"Cindy," he stammered, "let me ex--"

"Apologize," she put in for him. "That's the only thing you can say, Dave. Just apologize, and I'll forget this call. You know, every time we double-dated with Hutch, I never felt like you were there at all. I thought it was me. I thought I wasn't fun enough, cute enough, bright enough, sexy enough. It used to depress the hell out of me. You were so wrapped up in each other, me and Hutch's date didn't even need to be there! So, don't ask me to be your cover now. No one would believe it anyway. Good night, Dave."

And before he could say anything else, she'd hung up in his ear. With a sigh, he tossed the address book in the trash.

When the stillness of the apartment grew too loud and he'd read the same page of the same book for twenty minutes, he turned the TV on. Rewinding the video tape, he played it, curling up on the couch to watch it. He told himself he wanted to find more splicing spots that might have a complete code. But after watching for two hours, he could no longer see it with the objective eyes of a cop. The truth was he was watching Hutch fall in love with him. The metamorphosis was clearly visible in his open handsome face. And the sickest thing was that it made him feel good. If he were being honest, he'd admit that it turned him on like crazy.

He remembered talking to Peter Whitelaw in his campaign office after John Blaine's death. Starsky had tried to keep his face neutral, but Whitelaw had seen the confusion--the repugnance- -in his eyes, and had nailed him on it. "When you see two men together," Whitelaw had said, "you think, 'how ugly'." And that was exactly what Starsky had been thinking.

But now he didn't see that at all. How could he? Hutch was beautiful, radiant, and so open about his love it was something wonderful. It made Starsky feel even dirtier. He didn't see love on his own face--just pure, unmitigated, carnal hunger. The same hunger he felt whenever some woman he'd courted finally yielded in his arms.

His love for Hutch, his friendship for this one man above all others, had been the purest, cleanest thing in his life. That love made him feel honorable, worthy, deserving. He loved Hutch with an innocence, an honesty, that he'd never found in any other part of his life. Now he'd sullied that. And so easily, too.

He watched the tape again. Seeing himself gulping Hutch's semen no longer made his stomach do flips. At least he'd given his friend that small pleasure. He shut off the set. This was getting him nowhere. He had so much guilt and confusion he couldn't even jerk off--usually a sure-fire sleeping cure. He wondered if he'd be able to enjoy sex with anyone ever again.

He considered trying to sleep on the couch, but was afraid Hutch would see it as rejection. With a weary sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair, hiked up his pajama bottoms, and headed back to bed. It wasn't like they had to be anywhere first thing in the morning. He might as well lend the security of his presence to his friend and examine the ceiling some more. He eased back into bed as carefully as he'd left it. Hutch had been lying on his stomach, but was now curled on his side, away from Starsky. He seemed tense, his hands curled into fists.

Gently, Starsky rubbed his back, wanting to help him relax. Bad dreams, babe? He tried not to think of the erotic, disturbing dreams that seemed to be the only kind he had anymore.

Still sleeping, Hutch responded to his soothing touch with a sigh, then made a troubled sound in his throat. Whatever was happening in his mind still held him captive.

Man, I know what that's like. Starsky enfolded Hutch's taut body in his arms, spooning up against his curved back. His knees fit perfectly behind Hutch's, and the comforting heat of his body was like a salve on his wounded soul. Pretending I'm helping you, when it's really the other way around. He cuddled against Hutch as he had during many nights since the shooting.

He remembered those first weeks in the hospital. Unless he was wiped out on pain killers, he couldn't sleep at all, but he was too scared of getting addicted to them to use them much. So, Hutch would crawl into the narrow bed, rub his back, and talk about nothing until he went out. Then he'd sleep like a baby.

He pulled Hutch tighter against him, still feeling his tension. What is it, babe? What's bothering you--besides me? Suddenly, he became aware of Hutch's rump rubbing against him. Pushing himself up on one arm, Starsky peered at Hutch's face. His eyes were moving frantically under his lids. Dreaming so hard.

Half afraid to look, Starsky leaned over and allowed himself finally to see Hutch's groin. Hutch had kicked off the sheets and was wearing his cream drawstring pajama bottoms. His erection tented the pajamas, straining the thin fabric. The motion of Hutch's hips was his attempt to hump.

Oh, jeez! We're a little old for wet dreams, aren't we, Hutch?

Lying back down, Starsky thought about his own condition when he'd woken up this morning, how painful it had been to come up like that, unfulfilled.

Nine months we shared a bed, never had this problem. Neither did they miss the pleasures of women. His head hurt some more.

He kept rubbing Hutch's back, trying to ease him out of the dream. Hutch responded to the attention, pressing back against Starsky, sighing.

Should I wake you? I don't know what to do to help you that won't make things worse.

It couldn't last much longer. Dreams felt as if they went on for hours, but actually they only lasted minutes. He wished he could ease Hutch's yearning. Well--of course, he could--

What am I thinking? That's how we got into this mess in the first place.

Hutch moaned softly, his hips moving rhythmically, the dream growing more intense. What am I doing to you in your dream, Hutch? The same things you do to me in mine? He shut his eyes, his head pounding.

Hutch muttered something and Starsky feared it was his name. Pulling Hutch's slender body against him, Starsky rubbed Hutch's arms. "Easy, boy, easy." But Hutch only ground his ass into Starsky's groin and whimpered.

Starsky was grateful that there was a bunched-up mound of covers between his crotch and his partner's ass. After watching that film, the last thing he needed was to act it out with Hutch while he slept.

Then Hutch latched onto one of Starsky's hands, dragging it down to his erection, pressing the palm against it. Stunned by the sudden move, Starsky pushed up on one arm again and leaned over to peer at Hutch's face, but his lids were still shut tight, his mouth open, panting, his eyes tracking back and forth. Hell, Starsky had punched people in his sleep, so Hutch's action wasn't that weird. Besides, Hutch's poor cock was so hard, it had to be aching.

Would it kill him to help out a friend?

I'm here for you, Hutch, just like I said. I mean it. It's not pity, either. I can't think of any other way to help you. Just, please, don't wake up!

Lying back down and spooning up against Hutch's back, he carefully slid his left hand--the one Hutch still gripped tight--inside his partner's pajamas and grasped his erection. That made Starsky shudder, and then, to his dismay, made him go hard. The wad of covers between them would hide that, though. And this couldn't take more than a few seconds; Hutch had to be right on the edge.

Damn, Hutch, you're so hard! So hot! And the skin of your dick's so soft--like velvet --

Starsky tried to shut his brain off and get to business; he wasn't supposed to be taking the scenic route! He was here to help his friend, not getting off on it. He didn't need to compound his sins.

Holding Hutch like this was little different than stroking himself. He moved his hand lightly, wishing he had lubricant, but knowing how to maximize his touch without it. Hutch moaned, tossed his head, and humped hard into his palm.

Come on, babe, you got to be close. Starsky pulled Hutch tighter against him, burying his nose in his soft blond strands, smelling vanilla and pure Hutch. Sliding his right arm under Hutch's waist, he rubbed his right thumb over the hickey on Hutch's stomach.

Pre-come erupted from Hutch's slit and Starsky caught it, used it as lube as he moved his hand expertly over the straining, swelling organ.

Damn, you're big. Bigger than me. Can't believe I fit that monster in my mouth!

Hutch's body went rigid and his cock swelled harder, turning to steel as the head flared. That's right, babe, come on. Give it up!

Hutch's eyes jerked opened as he gasped and came in Starsky's hand, his cock spasming hard. He moaned softly in relief and the sound tore through Starsky. "Starsk?" he murmured sleepily. He was still more asleep than awake.

Oh, shit! Starsky cringed, waiting for the explosion. "Ssssh," he soothed. "Go back to sleep. You were dreaming."

But Hutch had a death-grip on his left wrist, and his hand, sticky with semen, was still wrapped around Hutch's deflating cock.

Hutch tensed. "Did we have another party and I slept through it? Would it be more convenient for you if I slept in the raw?"

"Don't be mad," Starsky begged, feeling ridiculous with his hand trapped in Hutch's pajamas.

"I'm not sure how I feel," Hutch confessed, still panting. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

"You were having some weird dream. I've been having them, too. Maybe it's from the drug. You were thrashing around, making sounds--and you were, well… kind of excited. And I--"

"You felt sorry for me," Hutch said coldly.

Starsky wished he had the nerve to ask for his hand back. "Not true. I told you I've been having weird dreams myself. This morning. And at the dojo. I know what it feels like to wake up--"

"Wanting me?" Hutch pressed.

Starsky shut his eyes and rested his forehead against Hutch's shoulder. "It hurt me to see you like that knowing it was because of me. I thought I could get you through it, that you'd stay asleep and never know."

"Just how heavy a sleeper do you think I am?" Hutch asked incredulously. He rolled onto his back, propped himself up on his elbows, and looked at the hand still buried in his pajamas. "You just gonna leave that there, Starsk, or are you waiting for a tip?"

Realizing that Hutch had finally released him, Starsky jerked his hand away and moved away from him, hoping Hutch wouldn't notice his own persistent arousal. "Okay, it was a bad idea." He reached for a tissue from the nightstand and cleaned his hand, keeping his back turned.

"Your stomach okay?" Hutch asked quietly.

"Yeah. No problem. Thanks for asking. I had good intentions. I hate to see you hurting."

"I appreciate your good intentions, but--" Hutch exhaled noisily and ran a hand through his tousled hair. "It was weird to dream about… us and wake up to find it wasn't all a dream. When I woke, I thought, well, I guess I hoped--" "You thought I finally remembered what happened," Starsky realized. "You thought--I was loving you the way you want me to."

He felt Hutch turn onto his side to face Starsky's back. Hutch propped his head on his hand and said, "Let's just say this isn't helping me get over you."

"Guess I didn't think about that."

"Either that," Hutch said mildly, "or you really don't want me to get over you."

Starsky looked over his shoulder. His cock was calming down, but was still too prominent for him to roll over onto his back. "Not true. I can prove it. I made some calls after you went to sleep, tried to line us up some dates."

Hutch raised his brows. "With women?"

"Well, of course with women!" Starsky snapped, rolling back onto his side and refusing to look at Hutch's amused expression.

"When are we going out? And with whom?"

Starsky shut his eyes. "I said I tried. I didn't say it was happening."

Hutch was silent for a beat then said, "I'm sorry you had to find out that way, Starsk, but I'm not surprised. But… don't feel bad on my account. I'm not really interested--"

"You said you wanted to get over this--over me!" Starsky protested.

"No, that's not quite what I said. I said I can get over it. I'm a grown-up. I've dealt with this kind of thing before. But I never said I wanted to. I don't see anything wrong with loving you. You do. So, I'll get over it to make you comfortable. But, don't let me cramp your style, partner. If you want to go party, be my guest. I won't sit home crying into my beer."

"Very funny," Starsky grumbled.

"So, uh, why were you up at this hour, calling women who didn't want to talk to you? You should've been asleep, leaving me to handle my dream lovers on my own."

Starsky shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

The silence between them could only be described as pregnant. Starsky realized that Hutch had a solution for his sleeplessness, but was hesitant to suggest it.

Finally, Hutch said, "Starsk?"

To forestall any suggestions Starsky wasn't ready to deal with he said, "Wanna do something for me, Hutch?"

He paused. "Anything, Starsky." "Remember how you used to rub my back in the hospital when I couldn't sleep? When my wounds ached? I'd fall asleep while you were in the middle of it and wake up the next day feeling great. Would you rub my back, Hutch?"

Starsky sensed Hutch's smile. "Sure. I can do that."

Hutch left the bed and went to the bathroom. When he returned, he moved close to Starsky. Rolling onto his stomach, Starsky shifted to make his dwindling erection more comfortable. As he hugged his pillow, Hutch knelt and leaned over him. Hutch poured the baby oil he'd taken from the bathroom into his hands, rubbing his palms together briskly to make heat. Placing his warmed, oiled palms on Starsky's shoulders, he started a gentle rubdown. It was not a deep massage, though Hutch had given him plenty of those, too. This massage Tsuka had taught him. Hutch would tell Starsky how his chakras were out of alignment as he trailed lightly lubricated heated fingertips over his shoulders and along his spine, tracing the path of his itchy aching wounds as if he could pull the pain out of them. And usually, he did. The film of oil helped keep the scars soft and flexible as they healed.

"That's nice," Starsky murmured into the pillow as hands eased his tension.

"Glad you like it. I enjoy doing it."

He had a sudden insight. "Hutch... what I did for you... well, I felt kinda good doing something nice... for you. Like that." His tongue felt too big for his mouth.

Hutch mulled that over then asked, "Are you saying you enjoyed touching me?"

Starsky closed his eyes, felt heat in his face. "I guess. Yeah. It's just--"

"Not the way you're supposed to feel with a guy?"

"Well, it's not! I'm worried about us, Hutch. We're like two prisoners in this place, and--"

Hutch's hands worked up to his neck and started over, feeling the tension surge anew. "Starsky, is that part of the problem, that prison mentality thing? Come on. We're not prisoners. Our social circle has dwindled a bit--"

"A bit?" Starsky turned to look at him.

Hutch pushed him back down on the bed. "Hold still." He used more oil, kneading Starsky's back more forcefully. "Pardon me if I'm not terribly flattered by the comparison with convict sociology. Which one of us gets to play the tough hardened lifer or the sweet naive fish?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Starsky mumbled, but, in fact, that was exactly what he had meant.

Hutch rubbed his palms together again, then cupped the scars along Starsky's back, rubbing in the oil. Starsky shut his eyes blissfully. They still itched and ached, especially when he was tense.

"Starsk?" Hutch asked as he relaxed.

"Mmmm?" Starsky muttered.

"What happened when you were a kid?"

"Lotsa things happened when I was a kid."

"When you called Russo out," Hutch said, "then mopped the floor with him--you wanted to urinate on him right in Huggy's bar."

Starsky's eyes snapped open. He didn't remember that. "Did I--do it?"

"No, Huggy and I stopped you, but you really wanted to. I thought it was kind of weird, 'til you told me it was something that had happened to you when you were a kid. Why would anyone do something like that to you?"

"I--I told you about that?" He couldn't believe he'd talked about that. "Starsky, what's the story?"

He shook his head. "I--I never told anyone about that. Don't make me talk about it."

"About something that happened to you when you were a kid? Starsk, you're a grown-up. You live clear across the country from New York. What difference could it make now?"

He could feel Hutch's surprise when he sat up abruptly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His whole body spoke of flight. The topic had deflated his cock more effectively than cold water. "Don't ask me about that."

Hutch sat next to him. "Oh, no, partner. You're not pulling that stuff on me. Not after what we've been through these last two days. I've got a feeling this is the key to this whole event... to you. To why you can't let yourself feel for me. I've got the right to ask."

Starsky nodded. He couldn't deny that. But, dammit, he couldn't imagine talking about it.

Hutch put his warm hands back on Starsky's shoulders. "You're all tense again." He knelt behind him and kneaded the muscles. "You don't have to look at me. Don't worry about what I'll think. But you do need to talk about this."

Starsky had a fist-sized knot in his chest. He didn't know where to start. Staring at the floor, he concentrated on the feel of Hutch's hands. This was his partner, his best friend. If he couldn't tell Hutch who could he tell? It was old shit, water under the bridge, but still--

"You know, I grew up in a tough neighborhood," he started lamely.

"I know," Hutch said quietly. "That's why you're such a big bad cop."

"My dad was a cop, a beat cop, you knew that, too, right?"

"Uh-huh." Hutch worked on the column of his neck where all the tension sat. He got off his knees and sat behind him, straddling Starsky's hips with his longer legs.

Without thinking, Starsky reached down, placed a hand on Hutch's knee, as if to anchor him there. "I had a friend when I was a kid. Eddie. Tall kid. Kinda gawky. Little younger'n me." He swallowed. "Blond."

Hutch said nothing, just kept up the massage, rubbing his shoulders and his scars.

"I was his best friend," Starsky said, hearing the misery in his own voice. "But--it wasn't like with us, Hutch. He wasn't my best friend. I liked him, but when I hit thirteen, I wanted to fit in with the older kids. You know how that goes. And Eddie was kind of a geek. None of the guys would have much to do with him, except me. I think they must've figured what was going on with him--and I was too dumb to pick up on it."

Hutch stopped for a moment. "Was he--?"

"Yeah. I think. I guess. Anyway, he was that way about me. Gay. It took me by surprise. I was thirteen. Hadn't hit my growth yet, so I was kinda small, but my glands were in full gear. Had nothing on my mind but sex. You know what that's like. One day... Eddie showed me how much he loved me. He jerked me off in this out-of-the-way spot in the park. No one had ever touched me sexually before, so it just about killed me. Next day, he went down on me. Swallowed me. I thought I was gonna faint when he did that. It didn't matter that he was another guy--it was my first sexual experience. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

"He never asked me to touch him. I guess it was enough for him to have me. I don't know. It's not like we spent any time talking about it. We'd hang out, play ball, go to movies... then sneak off. I was the happiest kid in New York."

"How long did that last?"

"A year. Then my dad was killed. It changed me. I was bitter, full of anger. I took a lot of that out on Eddie. I was still trying to fit in with the older kids, but they let me know that as long as I hung around with Eddie, there was no place for me. I dropped him two or three times, but… I couldn't give it up. It was too good. All the guys ever talked about was getting laid or getting head and I was the only one really getting any. He was good at it, too. He always took me back. Said he loved me. I just ignored that. Sometimes I'd say it back while he was doing me--but it was a lie. I was just using him."

Hutch's hands had slowed. Their steady progression seemed to pull the story out of him the way they used to pull pain out of his wounds.

"I used that poor kid for my own benefit. I never gave him anything. That's the way I thought I had to be back then. To survive. After Dad died, I got worse. Eddie was just a mouth to me. He wasn't even a person anymore."

"Then what happened?" Hutch prodded.

"What'd'ya think? We got caught!"

"Your mom?" Hutch asked.

"I wish! I would've been grounded for life and yelled at for two weeks, but that would've been nothing compared to--" He stopped.

Hutch slid his arms around his chest and pressed close to his back. Using his hands to massage the muscles around Starsky's upper chest, he whispered, "Tell me."

This was how Hutch pulled the truth out of reluctant witnesses. That soft, low voice. Persistent. Hypnotic. Tell me.

"The guys caught us in the park. The whole mob. Eight of 'em." He broke out in a sweat and went rigid in Hutch's arms. "They beat the hell out of us, but I could handle that. It wasn't the first beating I'd had. I fought them, too, 'til I couldn't anymore. Then--then, they dragged Eddie away. I could hear him crying. I tried to help him, but there were too many of them. Shit, Hutch, to this day I don't know all that they did to him. They might've even raped him. Some of those guys were pushing seventeen, and they were gangsters already."

"What happened to you?"

Tell me.

"You mean besides getting the royal shit kicked out of me? Couple of them pissed on me and Eddie, too. Then, like that wasn't bad enough, the oldest, a big guy named Patrick--he, uh...." He closed his eyes. Tell me. "He... made me blow him."

Behind him, Hutch froze. Starsky was grateful not to have to look in his face.

"When he came in my mouth he shoved in so hard he hit my gag reflex and I puked all over him. It probably saved me from having to do the whole gang, but I got the shit kicked out of me some more. I lay on the ground, hurting all over, reeking of piss, and puking my guts up. Some passerby broke it up, and I crawled home. Nearly gave my mother a heart-attack."

"What'd you tell her?" Hutch asked, still rubbing rib and abdominal muscles.

"Not a fucking thing. I took a bath, threw out my clothes, and brushed my teeth for an hour. Then I went to bed and cried like a baby all night. I wouldn't go to school. Wouldn't leave the house. I was terrified and so humiliated I considered suicide."

"What happened to Eddie?"

"No idea. When the party broke up, he was nowhere to be seen--not that I went looking for him. I never saw him again. Never spoke to him. Overheard my mother saying his parents sent him to live with relatives in Florida. That's what gave her the idea."

Hutch rested his forehead against Starsky's shoulder. "That's when she sent you to LA?"

"Not right away. Ma didn't want to. She'd just lost her husband. Giving up her oldest son was gonna break her heart. But I wanted to go. I jumped at the chance to go somewhere where no one knew me. Where I could leave the house without being called a faggot and worrying about the guys getting me in the alley and making me do them. 'Cause that's the way it would've gone from then on. When I got to LA, I made sure there wasn't a girl within a twenty mile radius safe from me. And if anyone suggested some guy was queer, I wouldn't even sit next to him in class. I'm not proud of any of that, Hutch, but it was the only way I could cope. I was a lot of trouble for my aunt and uncle. Johnny Blaine lived next door, and he channeled all my anger into constructive stuff. He helped me a lot."

"Helps me understand how hard it had to be when you discovered he was gay."

"Yeah. One of your ironic twists, huh? Johnny made a decent man out of me, or at least started the process. If he hadn't been there for me, I'd've ended up in jail, or worse."

Starsky paused, then added, "Then I met you in the Academy. Something about you made me look at myself, the way I was, who I was, how I treated people. You were always fair, always ready to look at the other person's side, always ready to help, to give-- And people respected you for it. You helped me let go of a lot of that stuff, Hutch. You helped me stop being afraid of being open, honest, vulnerable. You made it okay again to let someone inside."

Hutch was just holding him now, hugging him close, and it felt so good Starsky wanted to cry. He hugged his arms back and sucked in a breath to keep a grip on himself.

"When I first saw that film in Dobey's office," Starsky said, "and saw myself goin' down on you- -it brought all that stuff back so strong. I must've been in love with you that night. I can't think of anything else that would've made me do that. But I could see that look on my face, too. The same look I had when Eddie would do me. I was using you, too, like I used to do him. And it makes me sick inside."

"Stop," Hutch begged. "You didn't use me. Don't you understand what's happened to you?"

"Yeah. I understand. I fucked up the best relationship I ever had in my life, my partnership with you. That's what I understand."

Hutch pulled away and sat on the bed with his back to the edge so Starsky would have to face him. "Didn't you pay attention in the rape sensitivity classes we took a few months ago?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, but--"

"Starsky, you're a rape victim!"

He shook his head. "Oh, come on. It was just a blow job. It was gross and all, but--"

"That's classic victim thinking," Hutch insisted. "Diminishing what was done to you. That kid forced you to engage in an unwanted sexual act. He penetrated you. And all this pain inside you, all this anguish about what's happened to us is all from that, something you've never gotten over, or even really dealt with. And I'll tell you something else. Gunther found out about it. I couldn't figure out why he chose this particular vengeance, and now it's so clear--"

Starsky stared at him. "Gunther--but how--?"

"Your mom said that people in the neighborhood had been telling Nicky things--so someone's willing to talk about it."

Starsky thought about that. "The guys that did us, the ones that aren't in jail now--most of them still live in the neighborhood. You never met them--I made sure of that when we visited."

"Gunther had our backgrounds checked out every which way from Sunday. He didn't want to just ruin our reputations and our careers--he was counting on your reaction to break up our partnership. That's why he did this instead of half a dozen other things he could've tried."

Starsky tried to put all the pieces together. His own anguish was so strong it was hard for him to accept what Hutch was telling him. "Starsk," Hutch said, hugging him, "you've been carrying this alone such a long time."

"I'm not carrying it alone anymore," he said hopefully, accepting the embrace. "I never wanted you to know about how I used to be. After I put the moves on you, I thought, now he knows the worst. The way I really am. But how I've always felt about you, Hutch, well--it was like the sensei was saying about the samurai guys. It was honorable. And now that's gone."

"Why?" Hutch whispered into his hair. "Because we loved each other one night? Because other people know that? You've got this all mixed up in your head with that terrible day when you were a kid. If you could only remember what it was really like between us you wouldn't feel this way. It was beautiful and right, and as honorable as love can ever be between two people. You didn't use me, you loved me, with the same open-hearted goodness that you showed me less than an hour ago when you tried to help me out of a bad dream. You offered me everything, even your body; you loved me so beautifully with your mouth--and asked for so little from me in return, just my touch, that's all you wanted. You even tried to stop me when I went down on you."

"You almost make me believe it, Hutch," Starsky said quietly.

He pulled away so he could look into Starsky's face. "I could show you."

Oh, shit! Starsky thought, clutching.

Hutch touched his cheek tenderly. His voice was low. "You've been battling an erection the whole time we've been here. Believe me, Starsk, I'm totally attuned to your body, to its needs. You're not going to be able to hide that stuff from me anymore. And your body remembers what your brain doesn't. Your body wants me to love you. I just wish your head would cooperate."

This discussion only made the situation worse. His organ's selfish needs throbbed. "It'll go away, Hutch. Just 'cause the flagpole's up doesn't mean I have to salute."

Hutch smiled. "Yeah, but it's not gonna let you sleep. You solved my problem for me--can't I do the same for you?"

Starsky rolled his eyes and extricated himself from the embrace. "I got to tell you, Hutch, I never saw myself as the naive fish in that prison scenario--but that's what I'm feeling like now."

Hutch backed off instantly. "Sorry, Starsk. I didn't mean to pressure you. I just--I love you. And, as you said to me, I hate to see you hurting. Or wanting. Especially--when I want you. Want so much just to please you."

"You always make everything sound so--reasonable!" Starsky said irritably.

"Well, what's unreasonable about two friends loving each other?" Hutch asked, frustration in his voice. "When I thought you were repelled by my touch, it was easier to back off."

"You really thought that?" Starsky said, dismayed.

"What was I supposed to think? You puked your heart out in Dobey's office when we saw the film, and when we watched it here you went white as a sheet and broke into a cold sweat. I understand now what that was about. At least I think I do."

Starsky owed him the truth. "Your touch could never repel me, Hutch. You brought me back from the dead, f'cryin' out loud. You nursed me day and night, eased my aches, cleaned up after me, bathed me, washed my hair. I don't feel safe at night unless you're in bed with me, so I can touch you whenever I need that reassurance. And when we touch that's what I get--reassured. Hutch is there. Everything's gonna be okay."

He nodded, but Starsky could see sorrow in him, raw wanting, and it cut into him. Now he knew how Hutch must have felt when Starsky had come onto him so strong, so confident, wanting him so much. And frankly, his cock was killing him. It was aching and angry and wondering what the hell was wrong with him that he couldn't just let this happen.

"Hey," Hutch said more lightly than Starsky knew he felt, "I know how to get you to sleep."

"Yeah?" Starsky wondered, trying to keep the trepidation out of his voice.

Hutch grinned. "I'll take you to the beach. You always fall asleep during total relaxation in yoga. Let's try it. Lay down. Get comfortable."

"Okay," Starsky agreed, adjusting his persistent hard-on. Lying on his back, he placed his arms at his side, palms up.

Hutch covered him with a sheet for warmth, and sat on the other side of the bed in a lotus position. "Close your eyes, Starsk."

He obliged and Hutch led him through the exercise, having him tighten then relax each separate muscle group until his entire body had tensed and relaxed from toes to scalp. He could feel the blood flowing into taut muscles, tight nerves, and bit by bit felt his unease flow out of him. Even his erection subsided. Hutch's soothing voice brought him through the relaxation, then built the image of the beach. Starsky saw himself there with the rushing ocean and the open sand, walking along the shore dressed in soft, white, cotton drawstring pants, no shoes, no shirt, just taking it easy. And beside him in the bright sunshine walked his friend, his partner, dressed the same, just being with him. He felt himself melting into the bed.

Little by little, Hutch led him along, and the safety and security he felt was hard to describe. When Hutch's voice hummed the Om, the sacred word filled his heart, his soul. He watched the ocean wash up on the beach and remembered Tsuka's words. The ocean was like love.

As the Hutch in the bed murmured the Om, the Hutch on the beach turned to Starsky and said, "You're the ocean. I'm the beach. I'm standing with my arms open, waiting for you. You run up, touch me, then run away, so afraid of our love. But that's okay. I can wait. I'm the beach, and I can wait forever." He held his arms open, smiling, his heart open and vulnerable.

The dark ocean rushed up, covering their feet, as warm as blood. It lapped at the endless white beach as Hutch, in the bed, murmured the Om, drawing the syllable out timelessly. Starsky, lying still beside him, gasped and felt his heart fill with longing, felt his phallus surge like the ocean and swell anew. A tear, a drop of saltwater, of ocean, slipped out from under one of Starsky's lids, and Hutch touched it, wiped it away. The Om hung in the air between them, as Starsky opened his eyes and looked at his friend.

"You're not asleep," Hutch said, disappointed.

Struggling to express a single thought, Starsky captured the hand Hutch had used to wipe his tear. "I've got company on the beach."

Hutch smiled, yet his eyes seemed sad. "Anyone I know?"

"Yeah." He tugged his hand, pulled it to his groin. "Hutch?"

His partner eased out of the lotus, sliding his long legs beside Starsky's. "Yeah?"

Starsky pressed Hutch's palm against his hardened mound. Hutch shuddered. "I can't lie to you," Starsky said. "I don't know my own head anymore. Can't figure out how I feel, what I want-- sometimes I'm not even sure who I am. And--I don't know if I love you the way you want me to. I just know that now--"

"It's okay," Hutch soothed, petting Starsky's cloth-covered erection, gentling its anger, easing its terrible ache. "It's a big change for us. We don't have to jump into anything with both feet. We can take it slow, one step at a time, see how we feel about things. I never want anything from you that you don't want to give me. I don't want you to say what you don't mean. The love we've always had is enough for me. If--we can find a little pleasure with each other that would be nice. But I don't ever want you to feel pressured. I only want what you want."

"I don't know what I want!" Starsky complained.

"Maybe we can find out together," Hutch suggested, still fondling him.

"That feels good," Starsky whispered, afraid to say it too loud. "You touching me like that."

"That's all I want, babe. To make you feel good. To make you happy. Will you let me try?"

Starsky swallowed hard and nodded.

Hutch smiled and eased closer. His body heat warmed Starsky, feeling comfortable and familiar. "Try to relax. Shut your eyes."

He obliged without realizing that shutting out the visual distraction of Hutch's handsome face would only make the sensations that much more intense. Hutch toyed gently with his hard-on, as if trying to get him used to the feeling of his big masculine hand as it gave Starsky an intense, scary pleasure.

"All you have to do is say something," Hutch assured him, "and I'll stop. If you're unwilling. Uncomfortable. If I'm not pleasing you."

Starsky snorted as desire raced along his nerves. "Not pleasing me? Shit, Hutch, you're too good at this to not please me."

"Am I?" he asked, and Starsky heard surprise in his voice. Hutch tightened his hand, moving it more confidently. Starsky's hips thrust up of their own volition. He couldn't not move, couldn't stop it if he tried.

Hutch slid his left arm under him and drew him closer, pressing them together. Starsky returned the embrace, wanting to be nearer, needing the warmth, the closeness. He pressed his palm against Hutch's back, feeling his strength, his familiarity during this oddly unfamiliar act. Hutch released his cock for a moment, then slid his hand under the sheet and into Starsky's pajamas.

"Hutch!" he hissed, his eyes snapping open as Hutch took hold of him. Hutch must've taken the time to collect some baby oil, because his palm was wonderfully slick and warm and sensuous, and that made everything about a million times more intense.

"I'm here," Hutch reassured him, whispering in his ear. "Hutch is here. Everything's okay."

"Oh, damn!" Starsky groaned, surging up into that warm oiled grip. Hutch handled him like a pro, sliding his hand along the length of him, fondling his crown, slipping down to cup his tight sac. "Hutch!" He was breathless with need. As he pumped into that incredible hand, it tightened around him. Jolts of pleasure rocketed up his spine, down his legs.

"Want me to stop?" Hutch asked worriedly.

Hutch's breath was on his cheek, against his ear, making him wild, making everything that much more potent.

"No, God, no, please--don't stop!" Starsky moaned, thrusting up and up, like the ocean pounding on the shore.

"Don't worry," Hutch promised, his voice harsh, "I won't. I love giving you this, Starsk."

He opened his eyes, looked at the man lying so close, so willingly pleasing him. "It's good!" he managed to say. "You're really good to me."

"I'd give you anything. Please you anyway you'd like," Hutch whispered, body taut.

"Yeah? That's nice," Starsky gasped. "Then give me some oil."

Hutch blinked, confused, slowing his stroke, which made Starsky groan.

"Come on," he insisted, "gimme some."

Confused, Hutch released him and grabbed the bottle, pumping a dollop in Starsky's hand.

"Too lonely like this," Starsky complained breathlessly. Reaching, he slid his oiled hand into Hutch's cream colored pajamas. He tried to be gentle, but his hand was shaking. He knew he gripped too hard by the way Hutch jumped.

"Starsk! What--? You already--?"

No sooner did Starsky take hold of him than Hutch's flaccid organ sprang to life, the spongy flesh firming, building heat and size.

"Oh, yeah," Starsky sighed, stroking him to hardness. "Oh, yeah." His slick hand moved easily over the heated swelling organ. He closed his eyes again and waited for Hutch to catch up.

It didn't take long. Rolling close to Starsky, Hutch took possession of Starsky's dusky hard-on. Sliding his palm over Starsky's size, Hutch thrilled him, excited him. Their forearms rubbed as their right and left hands stroked.

"So nice, Starsk!" Hutch moaned into his ear. He sounded amazed, completely surprised, like he couldn't believe his good fortune.

Hutch's dry lips brushed lightly against his temple. Starsky choked back an inarticulate sound of pleasure as Hutch worked him. He could barely concentrate on what he was doing. Soon both of them were humping hard, working slavishly toward their mutual pleasure. He couldn't believe how good, how right it felt to be doing this with Hutch. He'd had a hundred women give him hand jobs, but that had all been foreplay, his mind distractedly anticipating the next step. He'd never been that focused on the moment, enjoying it solely for its purity of sensation since he'd been a kid. And this moment with Hutch was as white-hot and intense as that had been in its innocence.

Hutch was touching him. Hutch.

Hutch rubbed his face against Starsky's like a cat begging to be petted. He brushed his lips against Starsky's forehead, his cheek, his ear, but he didn't kiss, as if terrified that would break the spell or push Starsky past what he could endure. His instincts were right. This was all Starsky could handle, being stroked and touched and played with by his best friend, his male partner. Starsky felt as if he were on the razor's edge of his endurance. Only the powerful waves of physical pleasure were rooting him to this spot, where his friend could touch him and love him and he could bear it. It was too beautiful to believe, too wonderful to permit. He pressed his face into Hutch's shoulder, as if to hide.

Starsky gasped, needing to tell Hutch how his heart held feelings too powerful to contain. His soul felt conflicted by the security of Hutch's presence and the scary reality of his powerful sexuality. His body rejoiced in the touch that was so sweetly sexual he didn't think he could survive it. But he had no words to tell Hutch any of these things. He could only call out his name with a desperate hunger. "Hutch!"

"I know," he soothed, in spite of his own excitement that made his hips thrust into Starsky's grip. "I know, babe. Me, too."

Hutch's hand tightened and it felt like he was squeezing Starsky's heart, not his cock. He shuddered wildly, needing completion like he'd never needed anything. He tried to move closer, wanting to crawl inside him, as his mouth found Hutch's ear.

"Can we do this together?" he breathed. "I want that. Me and thee. Together." Would Hutch even understand that he wanted them to come together, at the same time? He wasn't even sure if he understood himself.

"I'm so close," Hutch said in answer. The big body was wracked with a violent shudder, and Starsky realized it was from his warm breath blowing in Hutch's ear. It amazed him that such a simple thing could affect his partner so much. He brushed his lips against his ear and Hutch twitched, grew taut. Starsky smiled.

"Me, too," Starsky told him, speaking softly, keeping his voice low, his breath hot. "Come with me. Give me all you got. I really want it."

Hutch trembled, making a low, painful animal sound in his throat. His hand pulled at Starsky's cock desperately, wanting him, needing him. Hutch's beautiful face was glowing with pleasure, pleasure Starsky was giving him. It made him want to weep, but he wasn't sure why.

But then it was too much, coming on him so quickly he was taken by surprise. He cried out, "Oh, Hutch!" and it happened. His cock jerked, his balls tightened, and he erupted in short hard spasms, spewing heat and liquid everywhere. Hutch shouted one short exclamation and joined him. The joy of it excited Starsky so much, he spasmed again, nearly fainting. He kept coming, as did Hutch, and they trembled and shuddered for long moments of suspended time. Starsky squeezed his eyes shut so tight he saw stars, and his legs trembled violently and went weak.

When it was over, all he could do was lie there like a rag, completely limp, gasping. All over a simple hand-job. That made no sense.

Hutch's arms surrounded him, pulling Starsky nearly on top of him. He could feel the big body trembling like a tuning fork that had just struck a pure note. Weakly, Starsky tried to hug him, but could barely move his arms. He buried his face against Hutch's long neck and tried to find his wind.

"You okay?" Hutch whispered roughly, sounding scared. "Starsk? Gonna be sick?" He was holding Starsky so tight he could barely catch his breath.

But Starsky didn't have the strength to ask for release--and didn't want to. All his security was right here in these arms. He'd never felt safer in his entire life. They were glued together by semen, by salt water, by ocean, and that was fine. At least for now.

"'M'okay," Starsky muttered. "I feel good." Hutch nodded, as if reassured, but Starsky knew he needed more. "That was--incredible, Hutch."

Hutch nodded, his body calming. "Didn't you think we'd be as good at that as we are at everything else?"

For some reason that struck Starsky funny and he chuckled. Hutch was right. Of course they'd be as good at pleasing each other as they were at catching bad guys, being cops, being friends. It was the samurai in them.

"Think you can sleep now?" Hutch asked.

Starsky felt his whole body smiling. "Try and stop me." He snuggled closer to Hutch's warm, musk-scented skin. "You're so good to me. Don't deserve you."

Hutch's mouth brushed against his forehead and into his hair in that gesture that was not quite a kiss. "You deserve so much more. Sleep now. I've got you. Everything's gonna be okay."

Hutch wouldn't deliberately lie to him, even though that statement was an impossibility. They were both standing on a slippery slope, the sand crumbling beneath their feet. The world wouldn't let them love each other and yet their souls demanded it. How they would keep themselves on an even keel, Starsky had no idea. He was frightened and thrilled all at the same time, and still could not articulate his feelings. All he knew was that at this moment, he felt satisfied and secure, and really happy. How much happiness he'd be permitted with his friend, he didn't know. How much pleasure he could allow his friend to give him was also unknown. And his brain, which couldn't resolve this problem, refused to work on it anymore and simply shut down. Snuggling against his best friend, Starsky sagged into sleep, feeling Hutch join him, and hoped they'd both end up on the same beach.

Love is the evening breeze touching your skin A gentle, sweet singing of a breeze in the wind The whisper that calls out to you in the night And kisses your ear in the early moonlight And you don't need to wonder, you're doin' fine My love, the pleasure's mine To go crazy on you Crazy on you Crazy on You—Heart

Chapter 6

I was gambling in Havana I took a little risk Send lawyers, guns, and money And get me out of this Lawyers, Guns, and Money--Warren Zevon

James Marshall Gunther rose from the spare metal chair as his lawyer, Josh Cantrall, entered the locked interrogation room. It's come to this, the aging, gray-haired man thought as the slender, sallow-skinned young man strode to the bare table and opened his briefcase.

This lawyer--this pup, this babe-in-the-woods, this wet-behind-the-ears virgin--was the only lawyer left from the once-prestigious firm Gunther had employed. This barely-tried thirty-two- year-old junior partner was the only one who could still practice--independently. Of course, Gunther had defense lawyers. Employed by a separate firm, they were completely clean, above- board, and bleeding him dry. What the government hadn't taken for tax evasion and ill-gotten gains, his lawyers would devour. If they succeeded, someday he'd be a free man. Free to be homeless and destitute.

It's come to this! Gunther thought, aghast at his position. He glanced at his cheap, prison-issue coverall, at the drab surroundings of the room--peeling institutional green paint, two chairs, a plain metal table, one window too high to see out of, covered with bars. But he couldn't afford to succumb to depression, not now, not when there was so much still to do.

"What's going on, Mr. Cantrall?" Gunther ordered, and the lawyer's brown eyes watched him warily. Not with fear, Gunther noted irritably, simply with caution.

Cantrall took something from his briefcase, placing it before Gunther with a smile. It was the LA Times.

Gunther saw the headlines, the discreet but shocking photo. He ran his palm over the page in reverence. "Excellent," he said, his eyes shining with the first pleasure he'd had in so long.

"It went out over every wire service," Cantrall told him. "Even the NY Times put it on page one-- but no pictures. Right now, Starsky and Hutchinson are suspended without pay pending a hearing."

Gunther looked up. "Are they still together?"

"Far as I know," Cantrall said. "Looks like they're hiding out together." He paused, as if considering how to phrase the next. "Word is Whitelaw's trying to help them."

Gunther frowned. Whitelaw was a street politician, a councilman. He had no real power.

"He wants gays to organize behind them," Cantrall added.

Gunther chuckled. "That's good. Those two are the ultimate macho cops. I can just imagine how they must feel about that."

Cantrall shrugged, obviously bothered by something. "Callahan works with Whitelaw. K.R. Callahan, the civil rights lawyer."

Gunther listened to what Cantrall wasn't saying. "You think this is of some concern?"

He shrugged again. "Might be-- She's good. And she's beaten the city before."

Gunther shook his head and started to say, These two will never allow themselves to wear the title 'gay' willingly. But then he paused. He'd consistently underestimated them. That was what had brought him to this place--underestimating those two simple street cops. He couldn't afford to do that again.

"You still have your connection in the mayor's office?" Gunther asked.

Cantrall nodded.

"All right. Stay on top of it. I think they'll self-destruct. They're not working and the department will not let them work together in the future. But just in case--keep an eye on the situation. If Callahan's a liability--well, we'll see."

Cantrall's small smile grew into a shark's grin. It was that expression that had convinced Gunther to keep the man in his pocket in spite of his youth. It was an expression he'd once worn himself and it spoke of complete ruthlessness, a truly conscienceless man. If Gunther ordered it, Cantrall would make it happen. It was good to own a man like that, even if he was young.

"I'll be in touch, Mr. Gunther," Cantrall said, with the kind of respectful deference usually reserved for warm-paneled rooms with thick carpeting--not prison cells.

"Thank you, Mr. Cantrall," Gunther said, as the lawyer closed his suitcase and knocked on the door for release.

Gunther smiled, the thrill of victory fluttering in his chest. It might happen yet, he thought. They might release him before the grand jury. He could get this overturned, return to his rightful place in the world and be free, while those two cops were imprisoned in a shame of their own making. Yes, it all might happen yet.

Then the guard entered the room. "Time to go back to your cell, Gunther," he said. "Let's go." The rote tone, the lack of respect, the loss of power crashed against Gunther's hopes. He shut his eyes as he left with the guard. It would work. It would. It was his last chance for revenge, for salvation. He would put everything he had into it. And it would be enough.

Welcome to the Hotel California, What a nice surprise, What a nice surprise. Hotel California -- Eagles Chapter 7

Turn around/ Every now and then I know there's no one in the universe as magical and wondrous as you Turn around/

Every now and then I know there's nothing any better and there's nothing that I just wouldn't do

Turn around bright eyes-- Total Eclipse of the Heart--Bonnie Tyler

For the first time in three days, Hutch awoke without a feeling of dread. He rose, stretched, and looked around his room. He felt good. Better than good, really. Satisfied. He smiled.

The other half of the bed was empty and the coolness of the sheets said it had been that way awhile. There was no way he could anticipate Starsky's reaction to seeing him this morning but, frankly, he just couldn't worry about it. He felt too good. There'd been no bad dreams, just good, solid sleep after an orgasm so fine that had it been a ticket-selling event, it would have brought the house down.

You are really in love, Hutchinson, he chided himself, but that only made him smile more. Foolishly in love. Helplessly in love. In love with someone who might never be able to return half of those feelings. It didn't matter. The memory of Starsky reaching for him last night was burned into his brain, his heart. It was hopeless. No matter how he scolded himself, Hutch had the insane, optimistic notion that Starsky really was in love with him, but just wouldn't let himself face it. It would take time. Hutch would have to be patient. He truly believed those feelings were there buried deep inside, but Starsky's terrible childhood experiences were preventing them from coming to the fore. It had been a long time since Hutch had felt so optimistic, even though the reality of their situation was so bleak. The dream-like mirage of Gillian's promise floated before his mind.

Dimly, Hutch thought he could hear music playing. Could Starsky be in the kitchen? Possibly preparing food? That would be too good to be true. Scratching his stomach, he discovered the filmy detritus of what he and his partner had shared last night. He really needed to shower, but part of him hated washing away the evidence of their mutual passion.

Starsky's right about you. You're a hopeless pushover. He didn't care.

After showering, he draped a bright orange towel around the back of his neck, and knotted another around his narrow hips. Leaving the bathroom, he could hear the music was now considerably louder. Mingling with it was the slightly off-key nasal sounds that passed for Starsky's singing. It was some rock, bluesy thing.

Moving quietly toward the kitchen, he found his partner working diligently at the counter, his back to Hutch. Starsky was wearing nothing but a pair of indecently small, garishly designed briefs, with a kitchen towel knotted around his waist that fell over his groin like an apron. Hutch had a perfect view of that wonderfully ripe butt sashaying around, as Starsky improvised Motown dance steps in his bare feet while joining Aretha Franklin in an impromptu concert. He was helping her get through the song, "Think," while wielding a large carving knife as a baton when he wasn't using it to hack away at a fresh fruit, or butter toast, or poke at some other things he had spread out across the counter. It looked like he was making brunch for a crowd. Gladys Knight and the Pips? Hutch wondered.

"You betta think," Starsky and Aretha sang. "Think 'bout what'chu tryin' to do to me. "Ye-aah. "Think, think, think. "Let your mind go. "Let yourself be free."

As they sang, apples and oranges met their demise under that knife.

Hutch watched Starsky dance on, mindless of his audience, and realized, maybe for the first time, just how beautiful he was. An odd combination of street-wise hard-nosed cop and innocent child, Starsky wasn't just a pretty package with his strong long back, broad shoulders, narrow waist, and sexually dynamite ass and bowed legs--he was a man who managed to be deep without being pompous, open without being naive, and as loving a friend as anyone could ever hope to have.

"You need me," Starsky sang lustily, arranging food on a plate.

"I need you!" He snagged toast as it flung itself out of the toaster.

"Without each other, "there ain't nothin' we can do! Oh, ye-aah!"

That friendship was the most important thing to Hutch, even now. As deeply in love with Starsky as he was, as sexually attracted to him as he'd become, he knew what was important. He couldn't let anything interfere with their friendship. It was everything to him, and it occurred to him suddenly what a very dangerous game he was playing. His attempts to make Starsky see how Hutch believed he really felt could jeopardize that friendship. He would have to be careful. He could live without Starsky's passion, though it would be difficult. But to be without his friendship--that would be impossible.

The radio station must've been running a block of Aretha numbers, because as soon as "Think" came to an end, the music moved right into the next. A ballad. By Starsky's reaction, one of his favorites.

"Lookin' out on the morning rain, "I used to feel so uninspired," he and Miss Franklin sang from the heart.

"And when I knew I had to face another day, "oh, it made me feel so tired."

Starsky's butt swayed to and fro with the music as he punctuated the rhythm with his body.

"Before the day I met you…" He poured coffee, one for him, one for Hutch.

"Life was so unkind. "You're the key to my peace of mind…."

Hutch tried not to read too much into the words Starsky was singing, especially when the effect was somewhat diminished by the chorus.

Starsky warbled out unabashedly to his audience of cabinets and dishes: "'Cause you make me feel, "ooohh, you make me feel, "ye-esss, you make me feel "like a nat-chu-ral woooo-man!"

Starsky kept singing as he went to the blender, pouring in soy milk (the nutritionist had ordered them off goat's milk in light of Starsky's high cholesterol count), vitamin E (was that a double dose he threw in?), lecithin, nutritional yeast, and sea kelp. Then Starsky dumped in a healthy portion of his own special ingredient--without which he would not touch the brew--a double dose of Ovaltine. As the blender whirred and Starsky sang, he cleaned up the counter.

Hutch knew he should slink back into the bedroom, but he couldn't pull himself away.

The last chorus came soon enough, as Aretha and Starsky enjoined: "Oh, baby, what'chu done to me? "Made me feel so good inside. "And I just wanna be "close to you. "You make me feel so alive!"

On the last line, as the famous refrain came up, Starsky spun around, eyes squeezed shut. Facing Hutch, he sang out heartily: "You make feel, yeah, "you make me feel, oh, "you make me feel like a nat-chu-ral--"

He opened his eyes to see Hutch leaning against a wall, waiting expectantly on the last word. Starsky flushed all over, choking in shock, leaving poor Aretha to finish any way she could.

Magnanimously, Hutch applauded anyway.

"How long have you been there?" Starsky demanded, red-faced.

"Oh, three or four songs," Hutch said blandly. "Isn't this a free concert? I must say, Miss Aretha, you are lookin' mighty fine this morning. I love your skirt." "Damn, Hutch," Starsky spluttered, "you scared the shit outta me!"

He turned back to the counter, then, as if he'd noticed something in Hutch's expression, whipped back around to face him again. "Have you been standing there staring at my ass?"

Hutch affected the most innocent look he could muster--pure Minnesota choir boy. "Me? Starsky! What a thing to ask your partner."

"You were!" Starsky accused, blue eyes narrowing. "You were watching my ass!"

Hutch had to grin at Starsky's shocked outrage. "Looked like two bear cubs in a gunny sack, Starsk, the way you were moving. Nice."

"Fine partner you're gonna be on the street!" Starsky snapped, shaking the knife at Hutch like an accusatory finger. "You're supposed to be watching my back, buddy, not my butt!"

Hutch ambled over, casually disarming his friend. Placing the knife on the counter, he moved closer into Starsky's personal space. Starsky tried to step back, but was stopped by the counter pressing against his spine.

"Well, I hope, when we're back on the street, your butt will have a little more clothing on it and won't be so damned distracting," Hutch said, grinning. He placed his palms on the counter so that his arms pinned Starsky in place, but didn't touch him. "So, how'd you sleep last night?"

"How the hell do you think I slept?" Starsky grumbled, trying to suppress a reluctant smile. "First sex I've had--that I could remember--in a year. I slept like the dead."

"No dreams? No night terrors?"

Starsky shook his head. "You?"

"Same here. Never felt more rested. Think we're onto something? If we could bottle it, we'd put Sominex out of business."

"Maybe," Starsky said, dropping his eyes. "Hutch, I, uh--"

"Talk to me," Hutch said, serious now. "I need to know what you're thinking."

Starsky looked up at him, his eyes clear. "I've got that new fish feeling again, and it's weirding me out. You've got me cornered against the counter like some shy girl you just brought home. I've known some aggressive women and I don't mind that, but I'm not used to being treated like a sex object by my partner."

With a guilty pang, Hutch took his palms off the counter and took a measured step back.

Starsky's expression relaxed. He mumbled, "Still--on the other hand…." He glanced down again and this time Hutch followed his gaze.

The towel apron was tenting outward as Starsky's rising erection lifted it away from him. "Seems my body's got different notions all of its own," Starsky complained.

Hutch couldn't stop smiling. "I'm sorry. I keep promising myself I'm not gonna pressure you, I'm going to let you make up your own mind--but then I walk in the kitchen, and you're, well, you're just being you, and--I start to lose it."

Starsky nodded. "I know this isn't easy on you, Hutch. I know you've been trying real hard to back off, too. Last night--I don't know how much self-control that must've taken. More'n I've got, that's for sure. Whenever I've been in love, I wanted everything, and I wanted it now. But you-- you were good to me. You never asked for anything back. You never even tried to kiss me. That had to be tough. I appreciate it. I really do. I mean, I never kissed anyone with a moustache! I don't know that I could handle that."

"Don't make too much out of it," Hutch said glibly. "I was trying to keep you from jumping out of bed."

Starsky got serious then, reaching up and touching Hutch's cheek. Unable to stop himself, Hutch leaned his face into that warm, strong hand. His heart rate increased from that simple gesture.

"It was good last night, Hutch. Your making me talk about all that stuff when I was a kid, and then the way you loved me…. I can't remember when something so simple felt so good. I could-- feel all that love you've got, and I liked it. I just--I guess I'm just worried about the future."

Hutch didn't say anything, waiting until Starsky worked it all out.

"Things are nice, now," Starsky said, "but, Hutch--a year from now, two years, where are we gonna be? I mean, what happens if--?"

"You're wondering what I'll do if you meet a woman," Hutch said for him.

"Why just me?" Starsky asked. "What happens if you meet one? A woman you like. Your type. Then, how are you gonna feel? 'Specially if--we keep going this way."

"You mean," Hutch asked, wanting him to be specific, "if we really become lovers?"

Starsky sighed. "I'm worried about us, about our partnership. Our friendship. You were right when you said we'd be as good at making love as we were at everything else. But that's not what's really important, is it? Not compared to our friendship. I'm scared of losing that."

"I've been thinking about that, too, Starsk," Hutch assured him. "I could live without anything physical between us--as much as I want that--if the choice were that or our friendship."

Starsky exhaled in a rush. "I'm glad to hear that. It's not that I didn't think you cared, but--it's hard to think straight when you're filtering everything through your dick."

Hutch had to laugh. "And about that other thing--the women--"

Starsky looked away from him. "I should of said women or men, but--I'm still havin' trouble dealing with that. You and some other guy--"

"Stop worrying about it, Starsky!" Hutch insisted. "I don't want any other man. And I don't want any woman, either. I've had more opportunities on that score than you've had, especially while you were still hospitalized. Shit, if I'd wanted, I could've nailed the entire night shift of nurses while you slept!"

"I wish you had," Starsky mumbled. "Then, they wouldn't've been waking me for those damned shots and blood tests and stuff."

Hutch chuckled. "Look, Starsk, I respect the fact that you don't feel the way I do. Be my friend, my partner--and if we can share something that gets us through the night--that'll be enough for me, for as long as it lasts. If a woman enters your life--" Hutch smiled too brightly, made sure his voice was cheerful, "well, I hope you'll ask me to dance at your wedding."

Starsky's brilliant blue eyes searched Hutch's face. "You're a lousy liar," he murmured, "but I love you for it." He paused then and asked quietly, "Hutch, will we end up being fuck-buddies like Russo always called us?"

Hutch returned the searing gaze, wanting Starsky to see his sincerity. "Babe, if the labels are going to be that hard for you to bear, I swear I'll never touch you again. I won't do anything that's going to make you think less of yourself."

"I feel like two people, right now," Starsky confessed. "One of 'em wants to go four days in the past and change everything back to the way it was. And the other one…. The other one--"

"Yeah?" Hutch whispered, afraid to breathe.

"The other one wants to feel the way you made me feel last night," he admitted reluctantly.

"Yeah?" Hutch said softly, hopefully.

They were locked in place, each afraid to move, terrified of what would happen if they did.

"I made you breakfast," Starsky said. "Was gonna bring it to you in bed."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh," Starsky admitted. "Thought it would be nice to do something special for you. I didn't want you to think I didn't appreciate all you did for me last night."

Hutch's heart was pounding. "I think my towel's having the same problem yours is."

"I can see that," Starsky said as he glanced at his friend's prominent groin. "So, wha'd'ya say? Wanna have breakfast in bed?"

"Detective Starsky," Hutch asked breathlessly, "are you propositioning me?"

"I--I don't really know," Starsky admitted, looking adorably baffled. "I didn't let myself think much beyond the food."

Hutch leaned closer and Starsky held his ground. Suppressing an urge to kiss his friend, Hutch touched his forehead to Starsky's. "So--what's for breakfast, anyway?"

"You mean on the plates?" Starsky said distractedly. Hutch nodded, grinning. "Sliced apples, oranges, and grapes, with wheat germ sprinkled over 'em, the way you like it, and whole wheat toast with a little cream cheese and some of that good lox we found at the new deli. Coffee. And the Starsky soy special, of course."

"Of course," Hutch muttered. "Breakfast in bed sounds great. Let's go."

Starsky swallowed audibly and handed Hutch his plate and the two glasses while he took his plate and the two cups. They were just about to move toward the bedroom when a loud banging at the door startled them both so badly, they nearly dropped everything, juggling dishware frantically to keep from losing them.

"What the hell--?" Hutch swore. "Who is it?" he called out irritably.

"This place is turning into Grand Central Station!"

"It's Captain Dobey!" the familiar gruff voice called. "Any chance someone might let me in?"

"Oh, Christ, Hutch!" Starsky yelped. "I can't go to the door in my underwear with a hard-on that can be seen for a mile. You get it!"

"In a bath towel with a boner?" Hutch hissed. "You must be nuts!" He called out, "One minute, Captain!"

They dumped plates, cups, and glasses onto the counter with a huge clatter and raced into the bedroom, bumping into each other two or three times as they scrambled around guiltily, looking for their clothes.

Dobey banged on the door again, evidently unsure whether anyone had heard him the first time. Hutch managed to get himself stuffed into a pair of brown cords, and arranged so that he wasn't so conspicuous, while Starsky scurried around looking for a long-tailed shirt that might cover his obvious condition.

"You'd think that, considering my total panic, it would go away by itself," Starsky said, furious, "but, no!"

"Is anyone home?" Dobey bellowed as Hutch skidded to a halt before the door, face flushed, hair tousled, shirtless and shoeless, wearing an expression of total guilt. He opened the door and mustered a smile.

"Well, hi Cap'n," he said mildly.

"What the hell's goin' on in here?" Dobey demanded as Starsky jogged out to greet him. He was still buttoning his shirt and nearly collided with Hutch in his haste to get into the kitchen. "It sounded like you two were running around like the Vice squad showed up. Should I check the toilet for evidence?"

"Cute, Cap," Starsky muttered, tugging on the hem of his shirt.

"Don't tell me you both just rolled out of bed?" Dobey asked them bluntly.

"Well, as a matter of fact, Captain," Hutch admitted, "we did."

"At eleven o'clock in the morning?" Dobey seemed shocked.

"It's not like we had to be somewhere this morning," Starsky reminded him pointedly. "'Sides, we, uh--we had a late night."

Starsky's choice of words brought silence to the group as they all shuffled in embarrassment and avoided each other's eyes.

Glancing at the plates on the counter, Dobey finally asked, "What's this? Breakfast?"

"Brunch," Hutch corrected. "Have a seat, Captain. Something to eat? Coffee?"

"Soy milk shake?" Starsky offered sarcastically.

Dobey eased into a chair. "You can keep the soy milk, but that platter doesn't look half bad."

Starsky ushered Hutch into the opposite seat, and set one plate before him and the other before his boss. Turning to the counter, he started cutting up fruit and making more toast.

"That Aretha on the radio?" Dobey asked around some apple. "That woman sure can sing."

She was belting out "Chain of Fools" at the moment. Hutch found he couldn't look at Starsky and keep his composure.

"It's nice to have you visit, Captain," Hutch said as he downed his shake, "but I doubt if you just wandered over here because you had nothing to do. Got something for us?"

Dobey met his eyes as he drank coffee, and Hutch realized for the first time how tired he looked. "Yeah, I've got a few things."

"Your phone don't work, Cap?" Starsky asked as he spread cream cheese on toast.

Dobey hesitated, then admitted, "I didn't want to do this over the phone."

He finished his coffee and Starsky turned to refill the cup. His indigo eyes caught Hutch's and there was a wealth of information in that look. They could have been back on the street working an informant. Hutch could almost hear Starsky saying, It's who-do-you-trust-time, partner. Only this man was their captain. He and Huggy had been the only other men who had been included in their narrow trust parameters. Clearly, Starsky didn't feel that way now. "So, what's the bad news?" Hutch asked as Starsky sat at the table with them.

Dobey speared an apple slice too hard. "Blood results are in. You were right, Hutch. There was a narcotic base to the drug. I'll spare you the convoluted recipe--it was a chemical cocktail designed to enhance sexual desire and reduce judgment and inhibitions. The effect is cumulative, and there was enough residue left to tell us that you'd both been given very high doses. Fortunately, there should be no permanent physical damage or lasting effect."

Starsky snorted. "No lasting effect?"

Hutch glared him into silence.

"I've been in meetings with the DA," Dobey continued, "the mayor, and the union. I've been authorized to make you an offer."

They glanced at each other. Hutch had a feeling they weren't going to like this.

"You can both come back to work," Dobey said solemnly, staring at his plate.

"If--?" Starsky prodded.

"You're willing to take assignments in other departments," he said. "Hutch can go to the lab, and there's a place for you, Starsky, in Records."

They paused as they digested the news. But finally Starsky put his finger on the problem. "They're splitting us up, Hutch. They're never gonna let us back on the street together again."

"Easy," he said as his stomach clenched.

"Now, look," Dobey said, meeting their eyes, "I was promised this would just be a temporary measure until things died down. The mayor knows I can't afford to lose two detectives of your caliber for long. He's promised me that you'll both be back under my supervision--"

"But not as partners," Starsky insisted, his voice low, angry. "You'll bring us back at two different times, team us up with other cops 'til we get used to it. Ain't that right, Cap? And you agreed to it!" He rose from the chair, his eyes taking on that flat narrow look that often presaged a complete explosion.

Hutch grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard to distract him. "Starsk! Wait a minute."

Starsky relaxed back into his chair but his body was still tense. "Wait for what? To cool my jets for six months pushing paper while cops like Russo are out every day, taking kick-backs and busting little guys for nothing?"

"Starsky," Dobey said mournfully, "you've got to believe I fought for you. This was the best deal I could get and we negotiated for hours."

"Why should you negotiate?" Starsky argued. "We were drugged. You've got proof. Why should we be punished for something we'd've never done if we hadn't been drugged?" Starsky must have realized the effect his words would have on Hutch and turned an apologetic gaze on him.

In spite of the ego blow he felt from the statement, Hutch shook his head, signaling Starsky not to worry about that now. He even managed to deny to himself the hurt the words caused.

Dobey leaned toward Starsky as if he could prove his sincerity by moving closer. "There are bigger issues involved in this situation, Dave."

They both started at their captain's use of Starsky's first name. The only other time he'd done that was when Starsky was dying from Bellamy's poison.

"The main reason the mayor agreed to ease your suspension," Dobey continued, "is because of the huge stink Gunther's lawyers are raising."

"What?" Hutch muttered, baffled.

"They've already got some congressmen calling for a grand jury investigation of the work you did in bringing down Gunther's empire. The lawyers are questioning your, uh, well--" Dobey couldn't make himself say it.

"They're questioning our integrity as cops?" Starsky asked, incredulous.

"Essentially," Dobey said, embarrassed. "Gunther's lawyers are even trying to get him released until the grand jury convenes and examines all the evidence."

"They're gonna let him out?" Starsky came out of the seat so fast, he knocked the chair over. "What does that bastard have to do to stay behind bars? Draw and quarter us in a public square? Or would that be okay now that we had the bad judgment to love each other one night?"

His whole body was coiled in rage, both fists clenched tight. Hutch was afraid he would lose it completely and take a swing at their captain. Hutch stood, placed both hands on Starsky's tight shoulders. "Easy. It's not Dobey's fault."

That took some of the fire out of Starsky's anger and he sagged under Hutch's palms.

"Thanks, Hutch," Dobey said, looking aged. "That's why I didn't call. I couldn't say something like that over the phone. I'm just sick about this. Of course, there's no guarantee they'll let Gunther out. We can hope…."

"As long as he's got lawyers," Starsky grumbled, "we'll have to sweat it."

"If you were back on the force," Dobey reminded them, "you'd be in a better position to testify against him--"

"We shouldn't have to improve our positions," Starsky insisted, pulling away from Hutch and pacing around the room. "The work we did to bring Gunther down was solid, some of the best investigative work the department's ever seen. The DA told us that himself. And nothing we've done privately can change that."

"Unless people judging that evidence want to be influenced by it," Hutch said softly. Starsky stared at him, eyes wide and hurting. "You said it yourself. It's the way the world works."

"Hutch," Starsky said plaintively, "if we let them split us up, it'll make us more vulnerable to Gunther. Anything could happen."

Hutch smiled grimly. He was working out the problem, trying to be fair, trying to see all the angles, the advantages and disadvantages. "I don't want to work without you either, but--"

Before he could continue his thought, the phone rang. He picked it up. "Hello?"

"Detective Hutchinson?" a woman asked.

"Yes, that's right."

"I'm sorry to call you at the last minute," she said, "but I was tied up in court longer than I expected. Peter told me he'd set up a lunch time meeting and I was afraid you'd think I'd forgotten. Are you still available? I've got you penciled in for two hours. Is that okay?"

Hutch blinked, confused. "And you are--?"

"Sorry again, Detective," she apologized pleasantly. Her voice was soft, friendly, with a pure clear tone that made Hutch think she might be a good singer. "I'm a little harried at the moment. This is K.R. Callahan--"

His eyes widened and he looked at Starsky, wishing he could tell him who was on the phone. His partner instantly picked up on his surprise and frowned.

"--I'm still very interested in your case," Callahan continued. "Can we meet for lunch?"

"Well," Hutch said, conscious of Dobey's presence. "Our captain's here and he's offered to take us off suspension, if--"

"Don't agree to anything," Callahan said, her voice changing so rapidly it rattled Hutch. All the softness and femininity was gone, and in its place was a cold intelligence that had cowed powerful men. "If it's a good deal, we can always agree to it later. Tell him you'll consider it. Then come have lunch with me, you and your partner--" she paused as if checking her notes, "Detective Starsky."

"Uh--" Hutch felt weird discussing this with her without being able to share it with Starsky.

"It's just lunch, Detective," she assured him, her voice silken again. "Nothing will happen unless we all agree. I understand how you might want to accept your captain's offer, but please let me discuss it with you before you make a commitment you might regret."

"All right," Hutch agreed. "Where would you like to meet?" "There's a Greek diner near the courthouse. It's called the Athens."

"I know it," Hutch assured her.

"Twenty minutes?" she asked. "If we can get there before noon, we can get better seating."

"Sounds good," Hutch said, and they bid goodbye. He gave Starsky a familiar look that said let me handle this, then turned to Dobey. "Is there anything else tied in with this offer that we should know about?"

Dobey glanced at them. "No. I've presented it as plainly as I know how, Hutch."

"Okay," he said, glancing again at Starsky. Predictably, his partner waited to see what Hutch was up to. "We'll think about it, Captain. We've got a lunch meeting with our lawyer and after we discuss it with--"

"Lawyer?" Dobey said, taken aback.

Starsky must have realized who'd been on the phone because his expression changed subtly.

"You've retained a lawyer?" Dobey asked.

"Don't you think we should, Captain?" Starsky asked bluntly.

"You two know better than anyone how twisted things get once lawyers get involved," Dobey warned. "Don't you think we can solve this within the department?" He seemed hurt.

"You mean the way the department's handled it already?" Hutch said quietly, allowing some of his own anger to come out. "By suspending us without pay without even a hearing? By having the same knee-jerk reaction that they had when they discovered Johnny Blaine was gay? Bury it. Cover it up. Deny it. Thanks, Captain, but I can't think of two people who need representation more than we do. So, you'll have to excuse us. We've got twenty minutes to make a meeting with our lawyer. We'll discuss your offer. Maybe she'll advise us to take it."

Hutch started toward the bedroom to finish dressing as Dobey called after him. "Who is this lawyer? I hope you're using someone reputable."

"Her name's K.R. Callahan," Hutch said casually. "Maybe you've heard of her."

Dobey's mouth opened and he went gray in shock. "K.R. Callahan? You can't be serious. The mayor will have a fit! It could completely destroy the delicate negotiations we've had--"

"We have the same right to legal representation as any citizen," Starsky said. "Whose side you on? Ours? Or the mayor's?"

The question completely flustered Dobey but only for a second. He got out of the kitchen chair slowly and advanced on Starsky. "I shouldn't have to explain that to you, Starsky. Or do I have to remind you who suppressed the report of Hutch's drug addiction while you dried him out? How many times have I bent the rules for you two, endangering my own position, my own badge? We've worked together too long for you to ask me a question like that."

"Point made, Cap," Starsky conceded without backing down. "But this issue's different, isn't it? When Johnny died you nearly caved under pressure from the mayor's office. The same kinda pressure you're getting now."

Hutch remembered Starsky fighting with Dobey then, refusing to let his captain even consider covering up the circumstances around the gay cop's death.

Dobey and Starsky were still squared off, eye-to-eye, daring the other to blink. And finally Dobey did. "You're right, Starsky. This situation is different." He glanced away. "And maybe I'm having to confront some of my own prejudices."

Then his back stiffened. "But I'm still a man who's suffered under--and fought--prejudice all my life. I'm not going to stop now. Especially when it involves my two best detectives--who're also my friends. You're just going to have to trust that I'm on your side in this."

Starsky nodded. "Hutch and I can trust that. But we still got to meet with our lawyer."

Dobey conceded with a nod. "Call me when you make a decision. Thanks for breakfast." Wiping his mouth on a napkin, he left.

"Think we were too hard on him?" Hutch asked.

"Maybe," Starsky grumbled, moving to the closet and rummaging for clean clothes. "That's what happens when you drop in without calling first! Can I borrow this shirt?" Without waiting for an answer, he slipped the red plaid on and started jamming it into his pants. He stopped in the middle and turned to Hutch who was waiting patiently to get into his own closet. "Hey. I'm sorry about breakfast."

Hutch shrugged and smiled wanly. "It's the thought that counts. And besides--tomorrow's another day." Starsky stepped away from the closet so Hutch could retrieve a shirt for himself.

"Yeah," Starsky agreed, a little subdued, "tomorrow's another day."

"Cheer up," Hutch said, grabbing a pair of boots. "We're meeting Callahan at the Athens."

Starsky perked up immediately. "No kidding? That's terrific! That place makes the best pies--"

"You haven't eaten breakfast yet!" Hutch warned, knowing it would do no good.

"And the Athens has all that health kinda stuff, too, Hutch. So, we'll have a good breakfast--and then pie! I mean, a guy deserves something sweet when he's cheated out of breakfast in bed, doesn't he?" Starsky was all innocence as he batted his lashes at his partner.

Hutch had to laugh. "If you say so, Starsk." They tried to break us Looks like they'll try again Wild boys never lose it Wild boys never chose this way The Wild Boys--Duran Duran

Chapter 8

…Ain't no kindness in the face of strangers Ain't gonna find no miracles here Well you can wait on your blessings, darlin' But I got a deal for you right here Human Touch--Bruce Springsteen

"What's the matter?" Hutch asked from the passenger seat of the Torino.

Starsky turned to him and shrugged. "I dunno. It's just--sitting here with you feels so--" He held his hands up, wanting to grab words out of the air and tame them. "--So normal, that on the drive over it was like prowling our beat, y'know? Like we do every day. Working. Then we pull up to a diner we eat at often, and--" He sighed. "--And two people spot us and whisper together and it bursts like a bubble. We're not working. And if the brass has its way, we might never--"

Hutch cut him off by pointing a finger at him. "Don't say it! We'll work together again, one way or another. Hell, we're working now! Working to get out of this mess."

Starsky nodded. "Can't let Gunther win," he said as if to remind himself.

"Ready to negotiate the parking lot?"

In answer, Starsky swung open his car door and stepped out, waiting for Hutch to join him. When he did, Starsky confessed, "I feel so naked without my gun!"

"I sure hope we can get through lunch in a public restaurant without needing them."

Starsky looked at him in surprise then realized he was teasing.

They scanned the area before moving toward the diner. As they entered the chrome and glass restaurant, a burly man considerably taller than Hutch, with dark eyes and darker wavy hair, met them at the door. They'd seen him when they'd eaten here before and thought he might be the owner. He looked at Hutch. "You Starsky?"

Before Hutch could correct him, Starsky asked, "Who wants t'know?"

"I'll tell you that if one of you is Starsky," the man replied smoothly. He didn't smile.

"I'm Starsky."

His eyes never left Hutch. "That means you're--" he glanced at a tiny piece of paper in his palm, "Hutchinson?"

"That's right," he said.

"Ms. Callahan's waiting for you," the owner said. "This way."

They eyed each other and fell in behind him. As they walked through the dining area, Starsky tried not to notice that every pair of eyes in the restaurant followed their progress.

In the back of the diner, in a large circular booth, Starsky saw a single occupant. She wore a professional business suit, and her head was bent over a yellow pad. Her hair was dark red with gold highlights, tied up in a stark bun pinned into submission at the nape of her neck. Papers, pads, and files were spread out all over the booth and the table. In a small cleared space in front of her sat a half-consumed meal that was mostly greens, with a bowl of soup and bread.

"Are we late?" Hutch asked, reaching for Starsky's left wrist and checking his watch. "No. Right on time."

"Ms. Callahan?" their native guide said. His tone of voice was much more personal than the one he'd used on them.

She looked up immediately, eyes wide as if surprised, then tried to stand, but since she was trapped behind the table, she sat again. "Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson?"

Nice voice, Starsky thought, as he reached over a small pile of folded newspapers and held out his hand to shake hers. Nice face, too.

She had a pleasant Irish face, if serious. A pretty smattering of freckles covered her classic Irish nose. She had a small, well-formed mouth and wide-set green eyes that looked a little haunted. She wasn't tall, maybe five five, and she had a build that his mom would call sturdy. Womanly. Not one of those frail twigs Hutch went out with. This was a woman with curves.

And in all the right places. Something you can hold onto at night.

She captured his outstretched hand in a strong dry grip and shook it firmly. He started to introduce himself. "Miss Callahan, I'm--"

"Dave Starsky," she said. She released his hand and reached for Hutch's. "Which makes you Ken Hutchinson. Please sit down. Order some food. I'm sorry to start without you, but I've been through enough of these meetings to know that once we get started I won't have time to eat. Stavros will be happy to take your order."

Since her paraphernalia made it impossible to share the booth with her, they stood hesitantly until Stavros moved chairs up to the booth.

As they sat, Starsky glanced back at the hulking man looming behind them with his arms crossed. Stavros didn't look like he'd be happy to do anything for them. Starsky tried a feeble smile but it accomplished nothing.

Without looking at the menu, Hutch turned to Stavros and said clearly, "We'll have the tuna salad, but with Romaine lettuce, not iceberg, with extra raw vegetables, and we want the dressing on the side."

We do? Starsky thought for the thousandth time since he'd been shot. Pretty soon he'd have to file his teeth down like they did for rabbits. "Extra sprouts on mine," Hutch finished. "Oh, and coffee for both of us."

Thanks for that! Starsky thought with relief.

Stavros never uncrossed his arms or wrote anything down, just glowered and walked away.

Callahan smiled as she checked her yellow pad. "Forgive Stavros. We go back a long way, but he doesn't always approve of my clients."

"He's the owner, isn't he?" Hutch asked as a young man around nineteen filled their water glasses. The boy was swarthy and clean cut, with a look that told Starsky he was probably Stavros' kid, working his way up in the family restaurant.

As the boy filled Hutch's glass, he kept glancing surreptitiously at him. Hutch finally noticed the odd looks the kid was giving him and in typical Hutchinson manner tried to relax the boy with a smile. It had the opposite effect, unhinging the kid so badly he turned red and overflowed the glass, splattering water all over.

The kid jerked the pitcher away too quickly, nearly dousing Hutch who jumped out of the chair, knocking it over with a huge bang. Every head turned to watch them. Starsky tried not to cringe. But Callahan only looked amused.

The kid babbled an apology and mopped the table rapidly as Hutch picked up the chair and tried to assure the boy everything was all right. When he placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, Starsky thought the kid would faint. That's when it hit him.

Oh, jeez. The kid's gay. And Hutch is being--

Beautiful. The way he always was. The way he couldn't help but be. And his beauty, his gentleness, was killing the kid who was probably falling in love with him. And all the time Hutch just kept making it worse without realizing.

Starsky tried to get his attention, but he was still trying to help the kid.

Finally, Callahan came to their rescue. "Steven, it's okay!" Her voice cut through the chaos, and the boy turned to her gratefully, eyes huge. "Would you get some bread, please?"

Steven nodded rapidly and disappeared, leaving the water pitcher behind in his confusion. Hutch eased back into his chair.

Realizing how much attention they'd drawn, Hutch glared at the other diners and said crisply, "Do you mind?"

Every head in the place went studiously back to their plates.

Finally, Hutch turned confused blue eyes on Starsky that clearly asked, What the hell was that all about?

You really don't know, do you? Starsky thought, his stomach tightening. Starsky knew that Hutch was aware of his attractiveness to women, but he appeared oblivious to the effect he had on those of his own sex.

Like yesterday with Whitelaw.

It was Stavros, not his son, who returned with the rolls, salads, and coffee. He dropped them on the table with a clatter, making them jump. They were both smiling at the big man nervously, though Hutch kept throwing baffled looks in Starsky's direction. Starsky was painfully aware of all the attention they were once more attracting from the other patrons.

"We're going to need some privacy, Stavros," Callahan said smoothly.

He nodded and said ominously, "Any trouble, you just call, Ms. Callahan."

She nodded as he left them. "You guys are going to have to get used to this kind of thing."

Hutch turned to Starsky, still confused. "Get used to what?"

"I'll tell ya later," Starsky grumbled, and reached for a roll. His face was flushed and it annoyed him.

"Why don't you tell me about your captain's offer," Callahan said, pulling them back to business. "Was he speaking for himself, or--?"/

"He said he'd gotten the agreement after negotiating with the mayor's office, the DA, and the union," Hutch told her.

"Called it 'delicate negotiations'," Starsky remembered, staring into his tuna salad. He frowned at the tiny cup of dressing on the side, tasting it. It was sharp, vinegary. He preferred blue cheese, but Hutch would hit the roof. "Said meeting with you could ruin the whole thing."

"Is that right?" Callahan said.

Starsky looked up at her faintly humorous tone of voice to see her wearing a disarming smile that lit up her green eyes. He found himself smiling back and for a second it was just the two of them at the table. An attractive lady lawyer and a simple street cop having lunch.

All of a sudden, Starsky realized he was in the company of the one woman in LA who would willingly speak to him. Look at him. Smile at him. Laugh with him. Maybe even like him. He stared at her more intently, wondering how long her hair was.

"Well, it always makes me happy to hear that I have that kind of power," Callahan said, her voice almost a throaty purr.

Or maybe it was Starsky's hearing. He felt like it had been a year since a woman had spoken to him with kindness. Then he remembered that that was exactly how long it had been.

He felt a slight stirring below his belt, and his relief was shocking. Oh, thank God! I'm still attracted to women! "Well," Hutch said, snapping him out of his self-centered reverie, "your name sure rattled our captain's cage."

"Oh, I'm persona-non-grata down at the mayor's office," Callahan assured them. But her eyes were still on Starsky, and he hadn't been able to move his from hers. "That's the price you pay for being a troublemaker."

"I don't suppose winning a two million dollar judgement against the city for discrimination hurts," Hutch added.

Pulling her gaze from Starsky, she smiled at Hutch. "No, it doesn't. It doesn't hurt at all."

Starsky watched for Hutch's reaction, tensing automatically. But Hutch's returning smile was bland, unfocused.

That's not like him. 'Least, not before Gunther's hit. If a woman so much as smiled at me, it was like a declaration of war. Hutch wouldn't be happy 'til he'd won her for himself. But whenever he did, he lost interest.

He tried not to think of the last, worst time that had happened. Just before the hit in the police garage. Kira. The woman who'd nearly ended their partnership. He pushed the bitter memories away, realizing for the first time what that had been all about.

You didn't have to work so hard to keep the ladies away from me, Hutch. I always loved you more, anyway.

It was a surprising insight, and while it didn't make him comfortable, it was the simple truth.

"Tell me more about your captain's offer," Callahan said, distracting him. But Hutch took up the story of Dobey's visit, leaving him to watch his partner and their lawyer interact.

It's different now. The way you look at her, the way you look at me, all different.

He glanced at Callahan. She wasn't really Hutch's type--but his type had always been disastrous for him anyway. He felt an idea niggle at his mind.

"Starsky thinks it's their way to get us on the force and yet defuse the issue by separating us," Hutch added. "He thinks once they have us back, they'll bury us until everything's forgotten and they can team us up with other partners."

"That's very insightful, Detective Starsky. But that's not acceptable to you?" she asked neutrally, jotting notes in shorthand on her pad.

To Starsky, her scrawling looked like some alien language, like Klingon, all weird curves and dots and lines. He'd never seen a lawyer use shorthand before--only secretaries used it.

Hutch looked at him, waiting for him to respond. When he didn't, Hutch continued, "We've been partners for eight years. Our records are the best in the city. When we tried to quit we were reinstated at the personal request of the mayor. We're good cops, but we're better as partners. We complement each other."

Starsky had the sudden urge to nod at Hutch and say My, don't you look nice today, but squelched the inappropriate humor. Hutch would be proud of him if he knew.

Softly, he said to the lawyer, "No, that's not acceptable to us." Nothing could make him apologize for wanting Hutch to be his partner.

She made more notes. "What is acceptable?"

"Complete reinstatement," Hutch said. "And clean records."

"That's all? No back pay? No damages?"

"We just want our jobs back," Hutch said, digging into his salad and looking depressed.

Wouldn't mind getting our privacy back, but I figure that's a lost cause, Starsky thought.

She flipped through a few pages of notes, then said, "I know you've talked to Peter and you're aware of his interest in this case. I need to know how you feel about that. There's more than one way to approach this."

Hutch looked at him. "Well, I don't know how to feel about it. I guess we can't escape the notoriety now. The damage is done."

She frowned. "The damage can get worse." She flipped through some pages on her pad. "Detective Hutchinson, you've been a Big Brother for several years, haven't you?"

Hutch grew very still, and Starsky's stomach tightened up so much he knew he wouldn't be able to eat now. "Yes."

"Well, the Big Brother organization will probably ask for your voluntary resignation."

"My resig--!" Hutch's voice trembled. "I've been Kiko's Big Brother since he was nine! He and his sister Molly have grown up with me and Starsky. I coach his ball team and Starsky coaches Molly's. We're the only fathers those kids have! I'm supposed to resign from that?"

Callahan's gaze never wavered. "I'm not recommending you do. Have you ever had, or attempted to have, an inappropriate relationship with your Little Brother?"

Hutch went white so quickly Starsky thought he might faint. Quietly, he hissed, "Hutch!" When he turned to Starsky, some of his color had returned. "Someone's gonna ask you, Hutch, sooner or later. She's trying to prepare you, just like we do with witnesses all the time."

Hutch sucked in a ragged breath, pulled himself together.

"If they ask for your resignation, simply refuse," Callahan told them. "Refer them, or anyone else with similar questions, to me. That is--if you want to work with me on this." "Suppose we say yes," Starsky asked, toying with his salad. He didn't want to be distracted by those green eyes. "What can you do about it?"

"I can threaten lawsuits," she said. "Detective Hutchinson has an exemplary record. If Kiko corroborates that their relationship is appropriate, and still wants to be his Little Brother--"

Hutch looked at Starsky, his eyes anguished. "I-I don't know that he wants that. I--we haven't had a chance to talk to him yet."

Starsky held his stare. How many times would they have to confront the same pain? Under the table he slid a hand over Hutch's thigh and gave it a squeeze. Hutch brightened slightly.

"Regarding your positions with the police department," she said, "I'd recommend you turn down your captain's offer. I think Detective Starsky is right, that they have no intention of allowing you to work together again. I can pressure them with the threat of a discrimination lawsuit. More importantly, I think you have been targeted because of your performance. Someone's trying to get you out of the way. But that'll be harder to prove. If we could uncover any implication of other police officers in the plot against you it would help. Are the two of you investigating the incident?"

The incident, Starsky thought, wanting to laugh out loud. "Uh, yeah, we're working on it."

"If I'm involved, I'll need to be kept informed of any progress you make. And I'll keep you up-to- date on anything I find out. But if I take the case, I'll want to push for damages. Big ones."

"Is that necessary?" Hutch asked. "The police department didn't do this to us, James Marshall Gunther did."

She nodded. "You're probably right about that, but neither the police department nor the city were willing to stand behind you regardless of all the times you've sacrificed yourselves for them. They should have."

Starsky had a vivid flash of his locker with dripping red letters reading COCKSUCKER and his anger flared anew. He looked at Hutch, who only seemed more distressed.

"Look," she said softly, the charm back in her voice, "you two probably need to discuss this. I've got to visit the little girls' room. Maybe you can decide something while I'm in there." She slid around the circular booth and walked away from them.

Starsky was so confused, he never even bothered to admire her rear.

"What do you think?" Hutch murmured to him. He sounded anxious.

Starsky looked at him, realizing, distractedly, that Hutch had never responded to Callahan as a woman. Not once. That bothered him. A lot. "I'm thinking that we're having lunch with the only lady in LA who'll give us half a chance to be men--and you haven't even noticed."

Hutch sat back in his chair, stunned. "That really is all you ever think about! Starsk! Get your mind back on business! Should we let her represent us? Come on. You had to have been here for at least part of the conversation. What do you think we should do?"

Starsky exhaled. "I think we should sic her on the city. I think we should sue them 'til their balls ache. I think she's got the greenest eyes I've ever seen, and--I think you should ask her out."

"You really think we should hit them with a big lawsuit? I've got some reservations about that-- Wait…! What did you just say?"

"Ask her out, Hutch," Starsky murmured huskily. "I want you to do it."

Hutch blinked. "Was there something wrong with the tuna? Do you have ptomaine poisoning, or are you just losing your mind? We're about to enter a professional relationship with this lawyer. The last thing I should do is--"

"You've been out with lots of lady cops and lawyers who were working on cases with us before. This is no different. Ask her out, Hutch."

His face turned grim. "Don't do this to me. Don't try to cure me. I resent it. And for your information, the lady isn't interested in me. She's only got eyes for you. If you're so interested in her, you ask her out. She'll turn me down."

Starsky had to hold back a smile. "Five bucks says you're wrong. Ask her out. She'll go. And you'll owe me five."

Hutch shook his head. "You're wrong this time. She won't bite."

But Starsky could see the competitive glint in Hutch's eye. Just one more push…. "I always did have better luck with women than you." He shrugged "I don't blame you for giving up. You still owe me ten from that last bet over--"

Hutch, glowering, jabbed him too hard to let him know the lawyer was on her way back.

Callahan struggled to get back behind the table and started assembling her things, stuffing them all into a valise-like briefcase. "Did you decide anything, or do you need more time?"

"No, we're okay with it," Starsky said before Hutch could answer. "But we do need to know something. If we go for the lawsuit--how will we pay for it? We're both suspended--without pay."

"That's one of the reasons we press for damages. I'm paid on a contingency. Sort of a money back guarantee. We win, I take five percent. We lose, you owe nothing."

"Hard to beat a deal like that, huh, Hutch?" He smiled pleasantly.

Hutch's pale eyes were ice crystals boring into Starsky. "Uh--yeah. That--that's great."

"Well, now that we've agreed on that, would you do me a favor?" Starsky asked Callahan with all the charm he could muster. She gave him one of those amused half-smiles and muttered, "That depends."

"Get Stavros to bring me a piece of lemon meringue pie while I hit the john, huh?"

On his way out, he poked Hutch, but his spine was already ramrod straight. Do it, partner. It's for your own good.

~~~

What's with these two? Callahan thought as she watched Starsky walk away from them. No, not walk--prowl. Stalk. She stared, mesmerized by the smooth action of the man's incredible rear end. She swallowed. Nope, not just a pretty face. Kelly Rose, don't even think about it--his blond might slit your throat.

She had no trouble snagging Stavros' attention. His eyes hadn't left their table since the detectives sat down, his disapproval fierce. He was a good friend and would respect her choice of clients, she knew, but the fact that these two were cops--cops who'd been accused (rightly, he believed) of being homosexual--went against his every cultural belief. Nevertheless, she got him to bring Starsky a piece of pie, and then finally forced her attention back to the remaining partner.

Hutch smiled at her gamely even though he clearly felt awkward. His eyes were so somber. She'd seen that look on other faces--they were eyes that had seen too much.

Finally, he asked, "Ms. Callahan--do you really think you can make the city take us back into our old positions in spite of… everything?"

They can't even put words to what's happened to them, she realized sadly. She'd worked with dozens of gay couples, men and women, over civil rights issues, but she'd never seen two people who were so clearly a couple act so uncomfortable about it. Could it be true? she wondered. Could they be straight? Was it only the drug? It seemed so preposterous.

"In all honesty, Detective Hutchinson, if I hadn't won that big judgement recently, we wouldn't have nearly as much bargaining power. But I'd still take up the fight. What they're doing to you is wrong." Whether you're gay or straight, it's wrong. Do you believe that?

He wet his mouth. "I'm not used to lawyers dealing with issues of right and wrong. I'm used to hearing them talk about win or lose."

She nodded. Yes, that is what they'd be used to. How many good arrests had been dropped because a politically motivated DA's office wouldn't take on cases that might be lost? "Well, if I only dealt with win or lose, I'd be unemployed, Detective." My employment isn't all that profitable, but it's a living.

"Call me Hutch?" he said suddenly. "It feels weird hearing us called by our official titles in a diner. We rarely stand on formalities, especially… with people we like." With a charming awkwardness, he stammered, "That is, unless you'd rather not--" "No, that's fine. If you want, you can call me--oh, pick one. A lot of my--" she almost said gay friends and caught herself in time. "A lot of my friends call me Callahan. Or, K.R. or even Kelly or Rose or Kelly Rose. I'm easy."

"Oh, yeah? That's not what we were told." He smiled, and this time it was genuine and lit up his strikingly handsome face. "But then you can't believe everything you hear, can you, Kelly?"

She smiled back, suddenly liking him. She realized with embarrassment that she'd paid little attention to him while his partner was present. "Or what you read, Detec--Hutch. Peter says you and your partner aren't lovers. Is he right?" She flinched at his shocked expression. She hated it when her mouth lived a life of its own. "I'm sorry, Hutch. We were doing so well, too."

"Don't apologize," he said quickly, leaning toward her. "It's a nice change for someone to come right out and ask instead of skulking around staring. You're our lawyer. You should feel like you can ask us anything. No. Starsky and I--we--I mean-- No. We're not lovers."

But you're something. Don't have a term for it? Don't know what to call it? Or maybe the word 'lovers' is just too scary? She realized she didn't want to know just now. "Okay. I'll take your word for it. As far as the case is concerned, it wouldn't make any difference to me."

"But personally--?" Hutch asked.

Personally, I would try harder not to make a fool of myself over your adorable partner. She grinned. "I don't get to spend too much time in the company of straight men. I've missed it."

He raised his eyebrows as if that hadn't occurred to him. "Well, in that case--I mean, I hope you wouldn't be offended but--" he stopped, collected his wits, then said in a rush. "Could I take you to dinner?"

The request took her totally by surprise. Through this entire lunch I've been nothing but a lawyer to you--only your partner saw me as a woman. Where did this come from?

Then another, wiser voice said, Don't look a gift man in the mouth. He says he's straight. He's gorgeous. He's intelligent. And he's asking you out. You can't even remember when you last had a date. Just say yes.

"Well--sure!" she muttered.

He nodded, and she found herself wondering why neither of them looked that pleased about it. He glanced around nervously. "Later tonight? Maybe eight?"

She scrambled for her calendar which was peeking out from under the newspapers. No late meetings. Great. "Yeah, eight would be fine. How should I dress?"

That smile again, taking the pain and worry from his face. He really was beautiful. "What would you prefer?"

Oh, shit! What's clean? Probably just jeans and a sweatshirt. God help me!" Casual?" she asked hopefully.

He nodded, "Fine. That's fine. Okay, if I, uh, could have your address--?"

"Oh yeah." She rummaged for a card, wrote it on the back. They were both acting as if they couldn't remember the simplest social amenities attached to this arcane act. As she handed him the card, she spied Starsky gliding back toward them. Without consciously meaning to her eyes roamed his body, then jerked guiltily back to the man she'd just agreed to go out with. The two of them--what a wealth of riches!

"Now, that's a piece of pie!" Starsky announced, eyeing the mountainous meringue.

"You never ate your salad," Hutch said disapprovingly.

"Sorry, Mom, I wasn't in the mood," Starsky said, without losing a bit of his good humor. He tackled the pie with a shameless pleasure. "You gotta excuse Hutch. After I got shot and nearly died, he thinks God appointed him my keeper."

"You didn't nearly die, you did die. And you need a keeper," Hutch muttered.

Starsky was unfazed. "I keep hoping he'll find a nice lady and settle down sometime, so he can drive her and his kids crazy for the next eight or ten years and lose interest in nursemaiding me."

"So you can croak in four of coronary heart disease," Hutch interjected.

Kelly felt something twist inside as they quibbled back and forth. She eyed Starsky warily. Don't tell me this date was your idea! Her feminine ego wasn't very sturdy but she wouldn't let herself believe that. But she did have a feeling that these two were going to be more trouble than she anticipated. Peter warned you!

"Listen, before I forget," she interjected, as she finished packing her bag, "Peter said that they're expecting you at the Green Parrot after lunch. For an interview and a fitting."

Starsky's mercurial mood altered again as he suddenly glared at Hutch who just shrugged.

"You will be working there, won't you?" she asked. Peter had made it sound like a done deal.

"We're still discussing it," Starsky grumbled.

"We've got to have income," Hutch reminded him quietly.

Starsky turned to him. "A fitting? What's that about? If you think I'm wearing--"

Starsky jumped and Callahan realized Hutch had kicked him--hard--under the table. Embarrassed, they both turned to her and smiled, but Starsky's was clearly plastered in place.

She put on her best lawyer's face, not knowing whether to be amused or worried. Are you both homophobes, or just you, Detective Starsky? With a stab of regret, she was suddenly glad it was Hutchinson who'd asked her out. Suddenly Stavros appeared. "Ms. Callahan, we're having a problem out front."

She glanced at her watch. Well, it was time. Late, in fact. "We'll be leaving in a moment." Stavros went toward the front of the restaurant. She finished assembling her things and snapped her case shut.

"What's the matter, Kelly?" Hutch asked, instantly alert. Starsky poised with the last piece of pie in mid-air and turned to his partner.

"Look outside, toward the front of the diner," she told them.

The two men stood and peeked through the blinds. When they sat down again, they'd both turned pale.

"There's gotta be twenty reporters out there," Starsky said somberly, the pie forgotten.

"We can slip out through the kitchen," Hutch told him, touching his arm.

Ready to protect him from anything, aren't you? she thought, wondering again about them. "You're not going out the back," she said. "You're going out the front. With me."

They both stared at her aghast.

"Did you call them?" Starsky asked in a low, deadly tone.

She was very grateful she had not. "No. I didn't have to. They figured out I was the only lawyer in town who would be willing to take your case. I knew they'd find us here."

"And you let it happen?" Starsky asked angrily.

She didn't like to see those compelling indigo eyes unhappy with her but it couldn't be helped. "Did you think you'd never have to face them?"

"It was one of our top five wishes," Hutch said blandly, glancing out the window.

"Better here than at your homes," she reminded them. "Throw them a bone and they'll be happy for a while. Make them chase you for it and we'll all regret it." She stood up. "Come on, let's get it over with."

"What the hell are we supposed to say to them?" Starsky hissed. "You didn't say that if you represented us you'd be turning this into a three ring circus!"

"Starsk!" Hutch said warningly, grabbing his elbow. Starsky shrugged off his grip.

She had to fight back her own anger as she felt blood rushing to her face. Starsky's hostility was definitely getting her Irish up.

"You were part of a circus before I ever met you," she reminded him. "It's a circus you built yourselves, with your flamboyant street theater and your outrageous behavior before someone slipped some funny stuff in your lemonade. You didn't mind being on the trapeze then, as long as you had control of the act. Now that someone else is the ringmaster, you want no part of it. Well, it's too late for that. So, pull up your tights, sweetheart, the calliope's playing!"

Starsky's jaw opened slightly. Like a lot of people--a lot of men, she amended--he'd underestimated the little Irish colleen. But if she couldn't handle him--if he wouldn't allow it-- they may as well know it now and drop the whole thing.

"Wait a minute, Miss Callahan--" he said.

"That's Miz Callahan," she announced, jabbing a finger in his chest. Nice, one part of her brain registered. Solid. "You don't like being defined by a sexual preference? Well, I don't appreciate being defined by my marital status. Remember that and we'll get along better, Detective Starsky. Now, either follow my lead with the press, or let's end our arrangement."

Starsky shut his mouth with a scowl and turned to his partner, as if to say, Will you do something with her?

Hutchinson only asked quietly, "What do you want us to do?"

"The only thing I will ever ask you to do--be honest. Keep your cool." She glared at Starsky. "And always remember that we are in the right. I'll take the lead, but if I signal you to answer, do so, honestly. Be straightforward. You're both cops. Act like professionals. Okay?"

A beat. Two sets of blue eyes conferring. Hutchinson nodded. "Okay."

"Sure," Starsky added grudgingly.

"Fine," she said, her voice softening. "We're a team. Let's be sure of that if nothing else."

They exchanged looks again, then nodded. Starsky's eyes were fixed on her again and she nearly squirmed. Don't do it, Callahan! She stared back at him, gave him a short nod, then led the way out.

Ain't no mercy on the streets of this town Ain't no bread from heavenly skies Ain't nobody drawin' wine from this blood It's just you and me tonight Human Touch-- Bruce Springsteen

Chapter 9

I wanna find one face that ain't looking through me I wanna find one place, I wanna spit in the face of these Badlands you gotta live it every day Badlands--Bruce Springsteen

Hutch would've felt fewer qualms walking into a firefight. He stood straight, knowing his height could intimidate, but it didn't help. He was last as they emerged from the restaurant, with Kelly first and Starsky between them. The bright glare of the LA afternoon made him blink.

Watching Kelly, he tried to think of something else to worry about. How could I let Starsky goad me into asking that woman out?

Oh, he liked her well enough. That was the problem. He admired her fire, her commitment to her cause. He liked her too much to toy with her feelings and Hutch knew he had as much interest in courting her as he did his own sister.

Right now I'd do anything Starsky asked me to. That should scare me. So, why doesn't it?

Then they were through the doors and there was no more time to deal with the issue.

The jostling group of men and women crowded around, nearly swallowing them, and cameras were suddenly flashing in their faces as microphones were thrust at them. A cacophony of voices called to them. It sounded like so many baying hounds closing in on a blood scent.

Starsky was growing tense, so Hutch touched his arm, wanting to anchor him, to remind him Hutch was covering his back, same as always. But just before he connected, he realized how closely they were being watched and remembered why. Jerking his hand back, he clenched his fist in frustration.

Starsky's jaw tightened as a reporter got right in his face. Hutch feared an explosion.

"Hey, come on, fellas," Kelly said in her quiet melodic voice and the frenzy shifted as every microphone turned toward her. "Back off a little. Don't I always give you a statement? There's no reason to smother us."

Her chiding had an amazing effect. The journalists looked chastened as they retreated. The other effect Kelly's remarks had was to pull their scrutiny to her. Hutch was surprised at how willing he was to let her take the heat.

"Ms. Callahan," a journalist called out, "are you representing Starsky and Hutchinson?"

"Yes, that's correct," she said.

"And what form will that representation be taking?" another asked. "That will depend on the mayor. These men have no business being on suspension. I'll be meeting with him to discuss that." She smiled a shark's smile. "If he's smart, he'll listen to me."

The reporters laughed, their relationship with her well established.

"And if he doesn't?" a woman asked.

"Well, experience tells us that the citizens of Los Angeles do not approve of discrimination," Kelly said. "If the mayor insists on hearing that message again in court, that's what we'll do."

"So, you'll sue the city for discriminating against a couple of queer cops?" a burly old-timer asked, staring tauntingly at Starsky.

Hutch could feel his partner's blood pressure climb. Don't do it, buddy! Don't bite. But it was Kelly who surreptitiously touched Starsky's arm. It broke his attention long enough to dampen his anger. Hutch wanted to kiss her in gratitude.

"Gee, Mike," Kelly's lilting tone never changed, "I read your column every day and you never use inflammatory language like that in it, ever. I guess there must be something about me that makes you feel comfortable using it here."

To Hutch's surprise, the heavy-set reporter's face actually blushed, no doubt in anger.

"Come off it, Callahan," he grumbled. "If you're gonna defend the likes of them, you're gonna have to get used to gettin' some on ya. It's not like you're keeping the best company."

"Michael Garrity, you surprise me," Kelly responded. "You kill a lot of trees defending every underdog you can find! You were at the forefront of the civil rights movement for blacks, for Hispanics, for the trouble in Ireland, in South Africa. Would you kindly explain to me the difference between Governor Wallace's policy toward black children in the public schools and our city's continuing abhorrent record toward the rights of tax-paying men and woman whose only crime is to love one another? Or are you going to tell me these two men haven't spent their careers bettering this city at the risk of their own lives? You had plenty to say about it when the mayor reinstated them after uncovering the Gunther scandal. You had even more to say when Detective Starsky was mortally wounded last year."

Garrity had the grace to look embarrassed. Starsky shifted from foot to foot.

Never get between two Irishmen in a fight, Starsk. His partner's dark eyes met his for a moment as if he'd heard that thought.

"In fact," Kelly went on, "I'm wondering why all you fine men and women of the press--"

"Uh-oh," said another old-timer theatrically, "here she goes, appealing to our better natures!"

The entire group laughed, while a black woman in the back said, "Honey, she's the only one in this city who thinks we even have one!" There was more laughter. In spite of his nerves, Hutch found himself relaxing as he waited for Kelly to finish.

"As I was saying," she continued, "I'm wondering why you fine men and women of the press aren't asking the city the hard questions--like why it would hamstring its two hardest working cops? You've filled up columns on the work of these men--or have you all forgotten your own copy? Bill Madsen, you were nominated for a Pulitzer on an expose where you used the arrest and conviction records of these two cops to prove that twenty percent of the department wasn't pulling its weight."

The reporter ducked his head in assent.

Jeez, those articles were written years ago. I'd forgotten about them, Hutch realized. She's done her homework.

"And how many of you could stand the scrutiny if you'd had a camera perched in your bedroom and had the resulting film distributed?"

There was an uncomfortable shuffle among the group until the woman in the back piped up, "Wouldn't bother Garrity! You can't film a void!" Everyone cracked up.

"Okay, fine, Sister Mary Callahan," Bill Madsen said sarcastically. "What's your point?"

"The same point I'm always trying to make. As usual, you guys are hunting up the wrong story. Not one of you has asked the right questions--such as--who would deliberately attempt to destroy these two men and why? Obviously, to eliminate them from the police force. Who would have the most to gain? I shouldn't have to be telling you this. You call yourselves investigative reporters."

"Okay," Mike Garrity said. "You. Starsky! You think the DA's office is out to getcha? Rocked too many boats?"

The reporter had clearly been addressing Hutch, but before he could respond, Kelly nodded at Starsky to answer.

Starsky's voice was oddly subdued. "No, I think the DA's just responding to public pressure. I think whoever's behind it is a lot better connected. But you know I can't name names or it could screw up a conviction."

"You're investigating someone?" a woman who'd moved close to Hutch asked.

"Uh--" he stuttered, but Kelly nodded at him. "We're suspended right now. Without pay. We're looking into it, but as citizens we're restricted. We've been assured the department is investigating it officially."

"If the department thinks it's so important a case to solve," Kelly said, "why would they want to bring these two back only to separate them and bury them in meaningless paperwork? So far that's been their best offer." "Very interesting," Garrity agreed, "but the ultimate question is--do you think we should have queers--pardon me, Ms. Callahan, homosexuals--on the police force?"

"That's not the question," Kelly interrupted forcefully, stepping in front of Starsky before he could advance. "The question is--should two men who have given all but their lives for this city be judged by anything that happens between them privately, rather than the work they've done? The work they could be doing right now. How would you like to be judged in this world, Michael Garrity? By your performance in bed or by the information you share with this city every day? You ask yourself that question."

"Oh, I think we all know the answer to that," the black woman with the sharp humor interjected before Garrity could respond.

There was more laughter, then Kelly brought it to an end. "Party's over, kids. These men have business, and I'm due back in court. I'll let you know what the mayor has to say after I see him."

To Hutch's relief, the reporters seemed satisfied. Taking hold of his and Starsky's arms, she walked toward the parking lot.

"You guys did fine," she said, as if sensing Hutch's weak knees and Starsky's clenched jaw.

"You think that little scene's gonna help us?" Starsky muttered, still tense.

"I'm crossing my fingers," she said.

"Why do I have the feeling you know something we don't?" Hutch wondered.

Then he spied a familiar figure waiting for them by the Torino. His stomach tightened.

Starsky stopped dead when he saw her.

But it was Kelly who spoke first. "Christine! I was wondering why you weren't with the rest of the pack."

Hutch swallowed. C.D. Phelps. It had been over a year since she'd ridden with them and written her articles. While the first hadn't been very complimentary, a harrowing experience with a suspect had given her a different view of police work. But Hutch couldn't imagine what her view of them was now.

"Hi, Callahan!" C.D. said cheerily, but her gaze was on the two men. "Hiya, fellas."

They nodded and greeted her.

Then Christine turned her attention to Kelly alone. "There was a reason I wasn't at your impromptu street conference. My editor won't let me cover the story."

Kelly looked concerned. "Why not?"

She made a face, crossing her arms in annoyance. "He thinks because of my previous association with these guys that I'm biased. That homophobic jerk Dawson he assigned in my place, he's not biased, but I am."

Kelly frowned. "Shit."

Hutch stared, startled by the expletive.

Kelly looked at them both. "Christine and I have worked together before on issues we felt strongly about." She turned back to Phelps. "I was counting on working with you again...."

Christine started to say something, but Hutch blurted out, "What issue here do you feel strongly about, Christine?" Starsky glanced at him, but Hutch wanted to know. Kelly might trust Phelps, but he wasn't sure he did.

"My brother's gay," C.D. said quietly. "He lives in San Francisco. We're very close."

Hutch nodded, not happy with the answer.

"...And what they're doing to you stinks."

"You believe the press?" Starsky asked.

Hutch wanted to see her squirm out of that.

She faced Starsky squarely. "Hey, I rode with you guys. It's damned hard for me to believe... but, it's hard for me to disbelieve my own eyes, too. Believe it or not, fellas, I really am neutral about it. It's none of my business. But I happen to know the kind of cops you are, and I want you back on the force." She turned to Kelly. "Which won't do us any good if my editor won't give me column inches on the topic."

Kelly shrugged. "There are other ways to help, Christine. I'll call you."

She nodded. "I watched your circus act. You had 'em eating out of your hand."

Kelly wore a cat-ate-the-canary smile. "That's 'cause you weren't there flaying me alive! Asking them to put themselves in someone else's shoes was a gamble, but I hope it'll pay off."

Kelly turned to them to explain, "The black woman with the sense of humor is a closeted gay. I represented her and her lover in a dispute with a landlord years ago--and won. Two of those guys who eat up the most page space on the sanctity of the family, blah-blah-blah, get theirs regularly from working girls."

"And your grudge against Mike Garrity?" Starsky wondered.

"Mike Garrity lost his wife of twenty years when he gave her the clap," she said bluntly. "He caught it from an underage hustler. He could've blamed it on one of the working girls or an extra- marital affair, but he got caught with the hustler by a cop who shook him down for a pay-off he couldn't manage. The cop told his wife when Garrity didn't cough up the cash. I found out about it when she came to me to look for a good divorce lawyer. Garrity knows I know, and sometimes I can make him sweat with it. Not that I've ever threatened him face-to-face--that would be unethical." The shark's smile was back.

Hutch was glad she was on their side.

"Who was the cop?" Starsky asked. "The one who shook Garrity down?"

Kelly shrugged. "I don't know."

"I might be able to find out," C.D. said.

Starsky nodded. "Might be good to know."

Christine pulled out a pad, scribbled on it, then put it away. "Well, I wanted to let you know what the situation was. I'll call you if I get anything on this. Good luck, guys."

"Take it easy, C.D." Hutch said as she walked away.

"We'll have to check tonight's news to see if we made a favorable impression with the mob," Kelly said. "They could turn public opinion and the mayor responds to public opinion."

"Our captain won't like finding out we talked to the press," Starsky muttered, as he opened the passenger door for her.

"Well, screw him," Kelly said, in that same lilting tone.

Hutch glanced at his partner and they burst out laughing.

"If it's all the same to you, Miz Callahan," Starsky said pointedly, "I think we'd rather save that privilege for--" He stopped himself just in time. "For someone a lot prettier."

She flushed, surprising Hutch. He'd decided nothing could faze her. That ol' Starsky charm. Works on everyone. He had to look away. Maybe it was a good thing he'd asked her out after all. Of course, Starsky didn't know that yet.

"Drop me at the courthouse?" she asked. "I'm running late, as usual."

"A privilege and a pleasure," Starsky assured her, opening the passenger door with a flourish.

As she slid into the middle of the front seat, Hutch stepped in front of Starsky and handed him a five-dollar bill.

Starsky stared at the bill uncomprehendingly, then remembered their bet. His jaw dropped for a moment, then he grinned, punched Hutch on the arm, and jogged to the driver's side.

That wasn't quite the reaction I wanted, Hutch thought, as he folded himself into the car and shut the door. It only got worse as Starsky took off with a squeal of tires while regaling their passenger with tales of their past exploits. "Y'know," Starsky began, "Hutch here's real quiet, but he's the brains of this outfit. And that whole thing with snagging Gunther--that was all Hutch. I was out of it, flat on my back in the hospital. Yeah, it was Hutch who--"

Hutch rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and tried to figure out what he had done in a past life to bring this kind of karma down on himself.

~~~

"Now what's the matter?" Hutch asked as Starsky brooded behind the wheel of the Torino.

They'd left Callahan on the courthouse steps and driven to the Green Parrot. They hadn't spoken after leaving her, as if they were both so trapped in their own concerns they couldn't find a place to connect. Starsky parked the Torino in front of the bar then sat in glum silence.

Starsky stared at the bar and shook his head. "I dunno, Hutch. I don't know if I can do this."

"It's not the first time you've been here," Hutch reminded him.

"That was different. We were cops then. We were investigating a murder."

"We're still cops," Hutch said. "We're suspended, that's all. And we're going to need cash. This festive vegetable doesn't run on air."

Starsky sighed wearily. "If that's why we were here it wouldn't be so bad. But it's not. We're here to dance to someone else's tune, fulfill somebody's agenda. It doesn't feel right, us working here."

"Because it's a gay bar?" Hutch said, wanting to make Starsky lay it on the table. "And we're not gay?" He knew his own nebulous feelings about his sexuality weren't helping them right now, but then neither was Starsky's total denial.

Starsky's jaw tightened. "You gonna tell me labels don't matter now?"

No, Hutch wasn't ready to tell him that. He glanced away, struggling with his own feelings.

"Anyway, that's not all of it," Starsky said. "It just--doesn't feel right." He sighed. "But how many things have we done that didn't feel right 'til we made them right?" As if that realization squared something for him, he decided, "Let's go, partner. Let's get this show on the road!"

To Hutch's surprise, Starsky was out of the car and approaching the bar before he had time to react. He caught up to Starsky just before he reached for the door handle.

"Hey, wait!" Hutch called. "Did you take a look at all this?" He pulled Starsky back a few feet so they could examine the front of the bar.

"Where--?" Starsky muttered as he looked over the building. "Did they expand, or what?"

"Looks like the Parrot's taken over the two properties on either side of the original bar. The upstairs, too. This place is--huge!" Starsky looked at him wryly. "Good. Maybe nobody'll notice us!" He reached for the front door again, and Hutch followed him into the darkened interior.

The sense of deja vu only lasted a moment. Some things are universal to all bars, especially during off-hours, whether it was a gay cabaret or a straight joint like the blues club Marianne Owens had sung at. Overhead lighting not normally used during business hours lit the place just as it had when they'd investigated Johnny Blaine's death. But it hadn't seemed that large then. The Parrot hadn't just expanded, Hutch realized; it had been completely remodeled.

The long bar with its stained glass backdrop was still there, but the interior of the place had tripled in size as had the actual bar. It would take at least three bartenders to serve it now, when one had served before. The dance floor had expanded and there were more tables. There was a huge screen near the ceiling and posters of actors and actresses were everywhere. Hutch wondered if Starsky would ever make a connection between his own interest in movies and all the gay camp in the posters.

A professional cleaning crew was mopping, polishing, dusting. There were enough plants to qualify the place as a fern bar.

The stage where Hutch had first seen Sugar perform was much bigger, too. He might have wondered if it were too big for the small man in drag to handle, but Sugar was up there right now. He wasn't in costume but he still managed to dominate the space. Six fey men in casual wear were rehearsing choreographed dance steps while singing "It's So Good to Be a Girl" to a piano accompaniment. Sugar was counting off the moves, dancing in front of them, leading them in the choreography.

Feeling Starsky's gaze on him, Hutch said, "I wonder if they'd be interested in your rendition of Aretha's 'Natural Woman'."

The indigo eyes narrowed to slits. "If you even mention...."

Just then Sugar spotted them. He grinned broadly. "Oh, cheese it, girls, it's the cops!"

The girls stopped dancing and the pianist quit playing as everyone stared.

Hutch smiled as he approached the stage. "Hey there, Sugar, how's it hanging?"

The chorus line broke into titters and even Starsky smiled.

"Well, darling," Sugar told him as he climbed off the stage, "since the surgery, not at all."

Hutch's eyes widened and Starsky went pale.

The chorus line cracked up as Sugar flapped a hand. "Relax! I'm kidding. You two have to lighten up if you're going to work here."

"That's what we came to talk about," Hutch said. "Is the owner around?" "That slumlord!" Sugar said. "He'd better not be. We'd all tear him to shreds, wouldn't we, girls? No, I'm afraid you've come all this way just to talk to me. I'm now the manager of this pathetic establishment."

"And," the pianist murmured, "half owner."

"The better half," Sugar insisted.

"So, what happened to this joint, anyway?" Starsky asked. "Somebody hit the lottery?"

"What happened?" Sugar said. "Your memory that bad, Detective? You happened, that's what happened. Your undercover operation--you remember the one where I was nearly killed and the entire bar was shot up? Hundreds of dollars in damages? The night we found out Starsky here can't count?"

Starsky frowned as they recalled his desperate move against the Narco cop Corday. Starsky had thought Corday had used up six bullets. "I was only off by one!" he grumbled.

"Yes, darling, that night," Sugar continued. "Well, it generated an incredible amount of publicity. We thought we'd be ruined, but within days the crowds were just unmanageable! I made a deal with the owner, bought up the leases on the surrounding properties, and before you knew it," he flung out his arms like Marilyn Monroe, "Hollywood!"

"Well, it's nice that something positive came out of all that," Hutch offered.

"Yes, well, I must say, it's all been quite the windfall for this place and moi personally," Sugar told him. "So, of course, when I heard about your troubles, well--I felt I owed a debt. Kind of weird, feeling obligated to a couple of cops, but I've had stranger bedfellows."

The chorus broke into gales of laughter, but Sugar withered them with a look. "That's enough from the peanut gallery," he said in his Bette Davis voice. They subsided reluctantly.

"I don't suppose having us here on a regular basis will cause you any inconvenience either," Starsky muttered. He was the hard-nosed street cop, arms crossed, face somber. "There's bound to be plenty of publicity over it, don't'cha think?"

Sugar sashayed over to him, challenging his personal space while blatantly eyeing his body.

In seconds, Starsky was squirming under the scrutiny, glancing at Hutch for help.

"Let's get one thing straight, sweetheart," Sugar said. "You're real cute and you've got a great ass, but if you think for one minute having two cops working in this place is good for business, you're crazy. I've been told you two choir boys have never rousted gay bars, but there isn't a regular patron here who hasn't had his head busted by some macho boy in blue just for having a beer with his friends."

Starsky colored under the scathing remarks but kept his peace. They'd rousted plenty of bars in their day, but never without a serious need for information, and never just to harass a gay clientele. Yet, Hutch was well aware it was sport among guys like Russo.

"So, here's the deal." Sugar strolled back to the stage. "Hutchinson works the main bar--"

"The main--?" Hutch said, confused.

"Oh, that's right," Sugar remembered. "You haven't had the grand tour. Well, it's not Tara, honey, but it's home." He indicated the circular stairways that climbed to the ceiling. "There are two bars upstairs. One's for the leathermen and the other's for the punks. They're both smaller, but there's plenty of space for dancing and tables. The bartenders who work up there are specialists. Each bar has its own music piped in. The main bar here is the only one with live entertainment--on stage, that is. It can get pretty hairy upstairs. Most of us trip the light fantastic up there once in a while just to see what's what. But this bar's for the mundanes--the preppies, the suits, closeted businessmen, the straights."

"You get straights in here now?" Starsky piped up hopefully.

"Oh, honey," Sugar assured him, "thirty percent of our customers are straight. It's getting so you can't tell them apart! Except maybe in the bathroom." Both Sugar and the chorus line laughed. "Seriously, between Peter Whitelaw's politics and Callahan's legal actions--not to mention the publicity from you guys--the Green Parrot has become one of the trendiest places in town. We get celebrities, jet setters, everyone! It's the place to be on Saturday night."

"Is that right?" Starsky murmured doubtfully.

"Of course," Sugar went on, "we expect business to drop off when you come on board, but we're hoping after a while that'll balance out. So, we'll keep Blondie behind the bar. He'll look good there. Decorative and useful, too." He turned knowing eyes on Starsky. "You're security. You'll work the door, carding patrons, watching for trouble-makers, ejecting them when necessary, and you'll roam the interior--including the upstairs bars--for the same reason. Spotting underage kids is critical--our license depends on it, and we all know how happy everyone would be if we lost our license. Controlling rowdy customers is important, too. Especially upstairs. Think you can handle it, handsome?"

Starsky's blue eyes bore into Hutch as he said sarcastically, "Strong-arm the patrons of this place? I suspect I can manage."

The tallest of the chorus girls purred, "You said he was butch, Sugar, but I didn't think you meant butch!" The rest of them laughed.

"He's breaking my heart," another one swore and blew him a kiss. There was more laughter as Starsky's face darkened.

"I thought you were the one with the sense of humor," Sugar said to Starsky reproachfully. "I guess you haven't had much to laugh about lately, have you?"

Concerned that Starsky was being pushed past his limits, Hutch stepped forward to distract Sugar. "How about some details. Like work hours? Pay scale? Benefits?" "We'll need you Thursday through Monday, six pm till closing," Sugar told them and gave them the hourly rate. Quickly calculating their incomes, Hutch realized the money was nowhere near what they were used to, but they could survive on it. "Plus, the bartenders get tips. We're a full- service restaurant now, so you get free meals, too. Drinks are free as long as you can handle the job. If you get drunk, you're fired. And there's one other benefit--wardrobe."

He turned to one of the chorus girls and snapped his fingers. "Trixie, wheel over that clothes rack like a good girl, will you?"

A lanky black man flounced off the stage, returning quickly with a wheeled garment rack packed with clothes, all in black and white.

"I guessed at your sizes," Sugar muttered, looking them both over, "but how could I ever forget those bods?" He started sorting through the hanging garments, pulling things out.

Starsky gave Hutch a quizzical look, but he could only shrug.

"Try these on," Sugar said, tossing items out.

Hutch realized the white pants he'd snagged were leather. They were soft, like kid, and expensive. There was a matching vest and a silk shirt to go with it. He glanced at Starsky who was fingering a pair of black leather pants; his expression was ominous.

"Men's room is over there, boys," Sugar pointed. "Let's go. We don't have all day!"

"Need any help in there," one of the girls called after them, "just holler!" Another round of laughter followed them into the bathroom.

Starsky looked like a gathering storm cloud as he pushed his way into the men's room.

To deflect his concerns, Hutch said, "It's just another uniform, Starsk. If we don't want to wear them, we won't. But it can't hurt to try them on. I mean, they're free and we won't have to wear our own clothes while working here."

Starsky nodded grimly and stepped into a cubicle to drop his jeans.

Deciding he wouldn't faint if someone walked in on him, Hutch stayed near the spacious area by the sinks to slip on the luxurious white pants. Even though they were low cut over his hips, they were incredibly comfortable, fitting his body as if they'd been tailored for him. Clinging to his upper legs, they belled out gently below his knees. He donned the long-sleeved shirt, tucked it in, then put on the vest. The front panels of the vest each had a deep vee cut in front, which made his legs look longer, and, he realized, his crotch more pronounced. He rolled his eyes. Turning, he saw that the clinging pants drew attention to his rear and his thighs. He sighed wearily. Now he knew what women must feel like when they had to wear skimpy costumes. At least he'd have the bar between him and his customers.

He glanced up as Starsky emerged from the cubicle and watched his image in the mirror. Starsky was all in black but his pants were biker's pants, made of denser leather, yet still skin tight. The dark leather gleamed dully in the fluorescent light of the bathroom and the various zippers on the pockets glittered. The pants were tight at the ankle, with zippers that made them easier to pull over boot tops.

Starsky, wearing a tight-fitting black tee shirt he'd tucked in, was still tying the leather thongs that closed the fly of his pants. Once he finished, he looked up and saw Hutch in his white clothes. His color blanched almost to match.

"What?" Hutch asked, looking down at himself. "Is something showing? Does it look that bad? What's the matter?"

Starsky shook his head. "You're not wearing that," he muttered, his voice ragged. "And I'm not wearing this. We can't do this, Hutch, we can't!"

Taking three long strides to Starsky's side, Hutch gave him a hard shake. "What the hell is it? You look like you've seen a ghost! Talk to me, dammit! They're just clothes!"

Starsky stared at him, nearly in shock, and kept shaking his head. "You're not wearing that!"

"Dammit, will you tell me--?"

Starsky pulled away roughly and turned his back. "It's just, oh shit, I can't--" He rubbed a hand over his face. "I-I've been having dreams, Hutch. Really weird heavy dreams. An-and in the dreams...." He couldn't continue.

He didn't have to. Hutch's dreams had been odd too, yet comforting. They were on the beach in his dreams. And they were lovers.

"You trying to tell me you've been dreaming... about us... in clothes like these?" Hutch asked gently.

Starsky nodded without looking at him.

Hutch leaned against the sink. Were the dreams hot, Starsk? Did I touch you in them? Love you? Did you let me? Did you like it?

He swallowed and wouldn't let himself ask those questions. "When I was a kid, Starsk, I read that Indians believed dreams were a message sent from the spirit world. And the only way to get rid of the dream was to reenact it."

"Don't say that, Hutch," Starsky begged, sounding miserable.

Hutch shrugged. "Hey, maybe wearing the clothes will end the dream. Ever think of that?"

Starsky looked at him worriedly. "You think?"

"They're just clothes, Starsky. God knows we've worn weirder things."

That made Starsky smile. Yes, they'd certainly done that. "It's just another undercover gig," Hutch insisted. "What does all this matter, huh?"

Starsky finally looked at Hutch. "You look good. Like the White Knight for real."

"White Knight with a bar rag? I don't know. Those things comfortable?"

"Except for all the jingling, yeah."

"Maybe you should wear your old boots with 'em. Your Adidas look kind of weird--"

"Oh, heaven forbid I look weird while working at the Green Parrot!" Starsky said.

"If you're not out in five minutes," Sugar called, "I'm sending in reinforcements!"

They gave themselves a final adjustment then left the rest room. They were greeted with an enthusiastic round of catcalls and whistles. Hutch felt his face heating up, and the look on Starsky's was one for the books.

Trying to be good-natured to people who were only trying to help them, Hutch held out his arms to model his outfit and obligingly turned around for a better inspection.

He laughed when Trixie yelled, "Starsky, how did you get those pretty bowed legs?"

"The usual way," he shot back, surprising Hutch. "Too much time in the saddle."

"Oh, if only it were with me!" Trixie moaned.

That convulsed the entire group and they shrieked in glee. The raucous remarks got worse until one member of the chorus line pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and swooned dramatically, announcing, "I think I'm in love!"

"Get off it, Mary," Sugar jibed back, "you fall in love every hour on the hour." He turned back to them. "There's a ghost of a chance you might fit in here. Give me those sizes and I'll make sure you have a few changes. And I've got jackets, too." He pulled a heavy black biker's jacket off the rack and held it out to Starsky.

But Starsky only shook his head and slipped on his own leather. "I've got a jacket."

"Brown leather with a black outfit? Puh-leeze!" Sugar protested. "At least try it on!"

"I said," Starsky insisted, "I've got a jacket."

"Let him wear it, Sugar," Trixie said. "It's cut higher. We don't want to hide that ass."

Sugar looked intrigued. "Okay, Starsky, turn around and give us a good look and maybe I'll forget the black jacket."

Glancing at Hutch, Starsky mimicked him, turning around slowly modeling, but stopped when his back was in full view of his audience.

As the bullet holes came into view the entire group stilled. Sugar's expression sobered and his face for once showed his age. Trixie moaned and turned away.

There wasn't a person in the city that hadn't seen the photos of Starsky lying on the ground, his head nestled in his tire, the round holes of Gunther's bullets tattooing a deadly trail across his back while an emergency medical team worked to save his life.

"Okay, fine, you win," Sugar said, hoarsely. "That's your jacket. You'll be even more intimidating in it, if that's possible."

Hutch walked over and took the black leather from Starsky's hands, and slid his arms into it. "Can I take this one? It fits."

"May as well," Sugar told him. "There's a white one here you can have also."

Hutch nodded. "When do we start?" If it was tonight he could get out of his date with Callahan.

"Tomorrow's Thursday," Sugar told him. "Be here at five so you can fill out the paperwork. Keep Uncle Sam happy."

Hutch was about to agree when he realized he and Starsky hadn't had a chance to talk about it. He looked a question at his partner.

Starsky caught the look, paused, then said to Sugar, "Five. Tomorrow. We'll be here." Slinging his tattered jeans and his plaid shirt over his shoulder, he sauntered out of the bar.

Hutch tossed a salute to the chorus line and followed him, hearing Sugar snap orders. "Okay, the scenery's gone, girls, let's get back to work."

Out in the sunlight, Hutch jogged to catch up to Starsky who was about to get in the Torino. "You okay about this, partner?" Hutch asked. His eyes traveled over Starsky's leather-clad legs, then he snapped his attention back where it belonged. "I mean, really?"

"I'll manage, Hutch," Starsky murmured. "C'mon. I wanna go home, chill out for a while. And you've got a date. Don't want you to be late."

Hutch sighed. No, Starsky wasn't about to let him be late. He'd be lucky if he didn't come along to coach him on his technique.

"So, what are you going to do while I'm out with the lovely Ms. Callahan?" Hutch asked as they pulled away from the curb.

"Cop work," Starsky said, surprising him. "Gonna talk to Huggy about that video tape, see what he can find out. Maybe we'll get lucky."

Hutch almost brought up Whitelaw's name then decided against it. This would be the first time that they'd be separated since the incident. Maybe that was what they needed, a little time away from each other, some room to breathe. Then why does my chest constrict when I think of being apart from him?

"Be careful out there tonight," Hutch muttered. "There are still people after us."

"Hey," Starsky said, grinning, "be careful yourself. I'm not the one likely to be distracted, if you know what I mean. And I think you do."

Hutch groaned and slid down into the seat.

Now if you're lookin' for a hero Someone to save the day Well darlin' my feet They're made of clay But I've got somethin' in my soul And I wanna give it up But gettin' up the nerve Gettin' up the nerve is a man's job Lovin' you's a man's job baby Man's Job--Bruce Springsteen

Chapter 10

All of the old faces ask you why you're back... You remember the faces the places the names You know it's never over it's relentless as the rain Adam Raised a Cain--Bruce Springsteen

"So, we gonna be having clan-des-tine meetings in this car forever?" Huggy asked as he slipped into the Torino's passenger's seat.

"Maybe," Starsky said noncommittally, but he could smile even if he still wasn't ready to step foot in the Pits. He turned to admire his friend's latest apparel--a purple jacket and orange shirt topping iridescent pants--and wondered what Huggy would say if--when--he got a look at Starsky's new leatherwear. He waved the beta cassette in Huggy's direction. "We think we found something."

Huggy eyed it warily. "Is that right?" He glanced around the car ostentatiously. "What'chu mean we, white boy? Where's your partner?"

Starsky struggled to keep his smile genuine. "Hutch is on a date."

There was a long silence and finally Huggy said in consternation, "A date? With--?"

"A woman!" Starsky clarified then winced when he realized he had to. "He's out with our lawyer. K.R. Callahan. He asked her and she said yes. They hit it off great!" He tried to be sincere but the words sounded hollow in his own ears.

The disapproval radiating from Huggy was ominous. He crossed his arms and frowned. "What the hell were you thinking sending that man out with that woman?"

Starsky couldn't mask his confusion. "Huh?"

"Don't give me that poor, dumb, white cop routine. Remember who you talking to. This is Huggy, right? Known you since you got off the bus from that wilderness called Brooklyn. There's only one reason Hutch would go out with a woman now and that's if you engineered it. You should be ashamed."

Starsky blinked. "What the hell are you--?"

"You're cold, Starsky, really cold. You're not only playing now with your best friend's heart, but with an innocent bystander."

"Maybe you'd like to give me this in a language I can understand, Hug? Hutch asked the lady out, and she seemed happy to agree!"

"I guess she did. I don't know the lady personally, but I'm told she's probably the hardest- working lawyer in this city. She lives on half a shoestring budget and burns the midnight oil every night. The only staff she can afford is volunteers. Her clients are the kind of folks the rest of the world has turned its back on. That's the kind of lawyer she is--the kind of person she is. She could almost give lawyers a good name."

Huggy shifted in the seat, warming to his subject. Starsky wanted to groan out loud. "You want to know why I don't know her, even though she's had more dealings with people I know than even you two? 'Cause she has no social life, and her still a young woman. The only people she ever meets are down-and-outs and gays or the sleazy bastards she's fighting in court. Her idea of a hot night is a meeting with a couple of clients at the Green Parrot. Sugar makes sure she gets dinner out of it and that's the highlight! So, Hutch in all his tall blondness must have looked pretty good to that lady. And you sent him out with her. Hutch, who hasn't looked at a female in a solid year. Hutch, who's got eyes for no one but you. Yeah, you're behind this. You trying to kill two birds with one stone?"

Starsky stared at his steering wheel. "It was for his own good. He'll get over this if he just--"

"Gets laid?" Huggy said cruelly. "Starsky. I've seen you dump a lotta ladies--"

"And been dumped by more'n my share," Starsky reminded him defensively. He'd lost more than his share to Hutch, too.

"Maybe, but Hutch isn't some disposable female. And neither is K.R. Callahan. I'm telling you, bro', you better walk soft this time around. Or some good people's gonna get hurt. Maybe even you. And I'll be here to let you know whose responsibility it was."

Starsky wished he were somewhere else. The world had gone upside down on him and seemed intent on staying there. He'd done the right thing getting Hutch to ask Callahan out and wasn't going to apologize for it. Even if his own gut was in knots about it. Even if he couldn't figure out why. He'd pull them out of this damned rabbit hole if it was the last thing he did.

He shook his head. "This is going to work, man. You'll see. They were meant for each other. Two White Knights, fighting society together. She'll be good for Hutch, a lady like that. And like you said, she needs a good man--"

"Who isn't in love with his partner," Huggy said frankly. "Look, man, you weren't around when that hit on you went down. You were just laying back in the bed, cuttin' zee's, working on staying alive. I was there with Hutch. It was hard on all of us, the other cops, the captain--you know he didn't eat anything for two days? I mean, nothing!--but Hutch...! Well, Hutch went a little crazy. You lying there nearly dead, every minute ticking away, Hutch able to do nothing but watch them fill you up with tubes and stuff and wait and wait while fighting off a steady stream of dudes trying to kill you both."

The recitation of events felt eerie to Starsky, like a movie he'd starred in but never got to see.

"Finally, Hutch couldn't stand it anymore and hit the streets, so then you decide to die a little. I'll never forget his face when he came flying back into that hospital. I've never seen that man scared of anything, but at that moment, knowing you were dying without him, he was terrified. Somewhere inside me I always knew how Hutch felt about you even if I never put the words to it. But at that minute, seeing him like that, it was all there on his face. All that love." Just shove the knife in, why don't you? Starsky closed his eyes. He felt like this was the longest day of his life. "Can you help me with this thing, or not?" He waved the cassette again.

Irritably, Huggy yanked it from his hands. "What'chu got?"

"Some code numbers or partial numbers. I've stopped the tape a few seconds before an editing split, and there's some other numbers way at the end. It doesn't mean anything to us but it might to the right person."

Huggy turned the cassette over in his long elegant fingers as if he'd never seen one before. "I've got a cousin who works in film labs, but he's on vacation. I'll give Peter Whitelaw a call. He's got contacts in the industry."

Starsky's eyebrows shot up. "Peter Whitelaw! You gotta ask him?"

Huggy stared at him, face completely passive. "Starsky, what is your problem now? How come you can pimp for Hutch when you spy some lonely lady, but you're ready to call out the Marines if you think some mutual interest with Whitelaw might be involved?"

Starsky glowered. "It must be nice being the world's most open-minded person. Sorry I'm not. Look, Hug, I'm dealing with this the best I can, but I just don't trust Whitelaw. I don't trust his motives. I don't trust his rap. And I don't trust his intentions towards my partner. Forgive me if I'd like my little world restored to its former balance. It's a fantasy of mine. Okay?"

Huggy just sighed. "You want help with this; I gotta call on Whitelaw. It's that simple."

Starsky took a deep breath. "Okay. Fine. Call him. But when your cousin gets back from vacation... call him, too."

Huggy shrugged. "Won't hurt to get a second opinion. Okay, deal. Anything else?"

Starsky looked away. "Just be patient with me, will ya? I'm swimming upstream here."

Huggy's hand settled on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Sure. As long as you don't drown your partner while you're at it."

"Yeah. Sure." The hand left him, the car shifted, and the door clicked shut as Huggy left.

The rest of the evening stretched before him. It wasn't even nine o'clock. He needed clothes but that meant going to his apartment. So, what are you going to do for the rest of your life--make Hutch pick your stuff up in bits and pieces? You've got to face it sooner or later. He turned the key and aimed the car toward his abandoned home.

~~~

Hutch couldn't remember being so self-conscious before a date. He'd always known he was a handsome man--hell, no one ever let him forget it. But tonight, as Starsky had fussed over every item of clothing he'd put on, he'd become more and more nervous until he'd gotten so angry he'd frosted Starsky out of the apartment. He'd had the distinct feeling Starsky was real pleased with himself, too, as he left.

He must think I'll be more enthusiastic about Kelly if I'm furious with him. Typical.

But what the big lummox didn't understand was that Hutch's feelings didn't ebb and flow with his moods. He could be completely enraged with his aggravating partner and still be totally in love with him. He was funny like that.

Which only made him feel more ill-at-ease. He felt like a liar climbing the six--six?--flights to Callahan's apartment. This wasn't an undercover assignment and Hutch was never good at pretense otherwise. As he drew closer to her door, he wondered again how he would flub his way through this evening.

He paused at the head of the stairs to catch his breath and allow the color to subside in his face. This aged building was similar to the cheap apartment dwelling they'd found Vic Bellamy hiding in. Hutch would've thought a lawyer could've afforded something nicer. Or was that just another stereotype he was laboring under?

Look, God, if this whole mess is to teach me to be open-minded, I got the message!

Moving closer to Kelly's nondescript door set in a nondescript hallway, he started to knock just as the door opened. To his dismay, a man stood there, staring at him in surprise.

Caucasian. About five eight. Medium weight. Probably thirty years old, Hutch cataloged automatically. And gay.

That wasn't normally part of his analysis unless he was dealing with hustlers. But the neat, middle-class fashions and conservative grooming told Hutch this was no hustler.

Dark brown eyes glanced over him quickly, thoroughly, then returned to his face, widening in surprise. "Oh, wow!" the man said quietly, taking a step back. "You're one of those cops."

"I'm here to see K.R. Callahan," Hutch said quickly, using his cop voice. "Who are you?" Damn straight I'm one of those cops!

The man backed up into the apartment, and Hutch used it as an excuse to follow him in. "I'm Joey Langdon. I do some work for K.R. when I get the chance. I'm one of her volunteers. She helped me once in a legal matter. She was supposed to be here an hour ago, but she got hung up. She called me and told me to leave a note on the door when I left." He held out a small piece of paper Hutch hadn't noticed before.

He took it. "K.R. might have to break the date. She'll try to get here by eight thirty, but says it's okay if you don't want to wait."

"You can wait in here," Joey offered. "She won't mind. But she'll probably be late."

"She working?" Hutch wondered. "Sure," Joey said. "What else? Isn't that why you're here? To help with her work?"

"Not exactly," Hutch said, meeting his gaze. "We have a date."

Joey's expression was quizzical. "You? And K.R.? On a date?"

"Is there a problem with that?"

He shrugged. "I've never known her to go on a date. Unless it had something to do with a case. And I guess I thought you were--"

Hutch stilled him with a look.

"Well, I hope she makes it!" Joey added with false cheerfulness. "It'd be nice for her to do something fun for a change. She deserves it."

The way he said it was a challenge, and that made Hutch feel better about him. He cares about her. He's worried about my intentions. He smiled. "I'll try to make her have fun."

Joey grinned back at him. "That'd be good!" He started to go, then turned back at the door. "If she doesn't get home and you want to leave, the door locks when you shut it. Okay?"

Hutch nodded. "Okay. Good night, Joey."

"Don't let the cat out!" His voice trailed out the door as it shut behind him.

Left alone in the strange apartment, Hutch felt adrift. Standing aimlessly in the living room, he wandered over to an aged radio and turned it on then off again when he found it tuned to a dry, news-only radio station. There was no television. The furniture was utilitarian and every flat surface, including strategic areas of the floor, held piles of documents.

As Hutch strolled around the formidable stacks, he recognized an organized chaos to it. Each stack was about a specific topic, like an open filing system. He eyed one labeled, "A.T.&T. vs Blackwater." Another was "The State of California vs Abramovitz."

Nothing like taking on big challenges!

From the partially opened door of a darkened room, a large orange and white tomcat stepped out silently, blinking enormous golden eyes and yawning hugely.

"Did I wake you?" Hutch asked the animal. The cat blinked in silent reproach and stalked into the kitchen. "Sorry, old man."

As he walked around another towering pile stacked neatly on the floor, he spied the words "Gunther Industries" written on one file folder. The neatly printed words were like a bullet to his heart. Cautiously, as if it might be a trap, he lifted the folder to peer inside.

He saw assorted materials, most of them personal, most of it news to Hutch--Gunther's past marriages (four!), foreign connections, personal and financial ties to politicians and presidents--it was an odd jumble of information, but it was only the top of the pile. Everything beneath it--two feet of paper--had to do with Gunther. And all of it looked well-thumbed.

Right beside it were two other stacks. One was labeled "Starsky." The other "Hutchinson." The piles weren't as tall as Gunther's but they were substantial.

He hesitated.

Better not to know. It was information she needed, after all. It was confidential. Still--

His hand crept to the Hutchinson folder and, hesitantly, he started to open it.

Feeling watched, he looked up to see the cat staring balefully at him. He pulled his hand back. "I was just going to straighten it out," he said.

The cat just stared unblinking. He sat, tail primly tucked around his feet, and continued to observe Hutch.

"Look, I won't tell if you won't, okay?" he offered, reaching for his pile.

~~~

K.R. Callahan jogged up the first three flights of stairs then halted, gasping for air on the third. Damn, she was really late! She groaned, clutching her chest as her lungs screamed for air. Would she ever remember to take the stairs at a normal pace rather than running up faster than she could handle? No, of course not. Not as long as she was always late.

Swallowing, she stormed up the rest of the way. Maybe Joey would still be there. Maybe Hutch had forgotten what time they were supposed to meet and came late. Oh, forget that! No doubt he'd come and gone already. Did it matter? There was no way she could make time for a date tonight! When had she ever?

She hit her door running like always, way too fast, and it banged open. "Damn! Joey, are you here?" she called while peeking to see if she'd done any damage to the wall. How many times could she repair that spot? At least Buddy had learned to stay clear and no longer got smashed behind it when she entered in a rush.

She heard a sound and looked up. A big blond cop clutched his heart in surprise as he sprawled awkwardly against mounds of strewn paper. He'd stumbled against her mobile filing system and toppled a couple of piles. His right hand had settled on his breast bone only after it had groped uselessly under his left arm.

Looking for the gun he had to turn in. I must've really surprised him.

K.R. moved to the center of her living room, blushing furiously. "Oh! You're here! I thought maybe Joey told you--that is--well--" She paused, dropped her briefcase, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry; I didn't think you'd wait. I didn't really expect to see you at all." Her big yellow cat jogged over to greet her. Yowling softly, he wrapped himself around her ankles. She never knew if he was really happy to see her or was trying to kill her. She stepped cautiously around him and stroked his head.

Having recovered a bit of his aplomb, Hutch managed a thin smile as he lurched to his feet. "Sure, I waited. Hey, I know what it's like to be late for a date because of work. I can't tell you how many times Starsky and I've been ditched over that. Listen, uh--" he looked guiltily at the piles of collapsed paper and tried restacking them. "Any chance I can blame this on the cat?"

"Nope," she told him, joining him before he scrambled her system hopelessly. When she saw the most flattened pile was his, she suppressed a smile. "Buddy never knocks anything over. He's had too much stuff fall on him."

"Buddy, huh?" he murmured, as if he didn't want the cat to hear. "I don't think he likes me."

"He meets a lot of strangers," she explained. "It takes him a while to warm up." Buddy was staring at Hutch with cold yellow eyes.

"Uh, Joey had to leave," Hutch told her. "He said you were running late."

She felt guilty and was totally bedraggled. Her hair wasn't neatly confined anymore. She looked like she'd been running all day just to stay the same distance behind. She may as well tell him the truth. "I'm not just running late, Hutch, I'm running! I'm still working. I've got to meet someone-- damn, I feel bad about this."

"Hey, hey, come on," he soothed, moving closer to her. "You've had a long day. Will you sit down for a minute and take a breath? What exactly do you have left to do?"

"I've got to talk to someone about--well, about your case, actually." She plopped herself unceremoniously on her couch and leaned over to rub an ankle. Buddy landed on the floor beside her hand and tried to convince her to rub him instead. "It could be important." Her feet were killing her, but she hadn't noticed it until she'd stopped moving.

"You've got to meet an informant?"

"I consider them sources. But, yes."

"Well, why don't I go with you?"

She hesitated. "He might not talk to me if you're there."

Hutch's smile lit up his face, making it, if possible, even more beautiful. "I'll drop you nearby and cruise around. He'll never know I'm there. Believe me, I'm good at this."

She returned the smile. "I've never had a cop for a client. I can see advantages to it."

"Will you be done then? After you talk to your source? We can go to dinner. I'll bet you haven't eaten since lunch. Your feet are bothering you--take off those shoes." She groaned. "Don't mention food or I'll pass out. And if I take my shoes off I'll never get them back on."

Hutch shook his head. "Where are you meeting this source?"

She told him. It was hookers' row.

He blinked in surprise. "That's a pretty heavy part of town. Were you planning on going alone-- like that?" He indicated her lawyer's garb.

"You'd be surprised the places I go like this," she said mildly.

"I bet I would. Why don't you freshen up, get into something more casual--including some comfortable shoes--and we'll hit the road. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get some food into you. It really makes me look bad when my dates pass out."

"Yes, sir!" she said, saluting as she forced herself to leave the couch and head for her room. Buddy jogged ahead of her, knowing that he could usually scrounge a few ear rubs while she was changing. She paused in the doorway. "Are you always this nurturing on a first date?"

Hutch grinned. "Starsky says I have the soul of a frustrated Jewish mother."

She nodded and went into her bedroom. As she closed the door, she mumbled, "Well, the last thing I'd want is for you to be frustrated!"

~~~

Starsky sat in his car for fifteen minutes before finally getting up the nerve to approach his own front door.

This is ridiculous. You're acting like a baby.

He fit his key into the lock and swung the door open, then stood there frozen in indecision. Stay or go? Enter or leave? Placing one foot over the threshold seemed as difficult as entering the vacuum of space. Finally, he did. A second step, then a third. Shut the door. He was inside.

It's your place. Stop acting like this!

He took a deep breath and looked around. So familiar yet so different. His plants were still in place, the ones Hutch had given him. He'd water them. His mail was on the floor where it had fallen through the front door slot. The place smelled stuffy from being closed up, and who knew what was going on in the refrigerator. He should clean it out before he left.

Scooping up the mail, he sorted through it, leaving the bills and tossing the junk. He watered his plants, removed some science projects from the refrigerator, and straightened up. But finally, the busy work was over. He needed to pack some clothes. He needed to enter his bedroom.

He turned to it, seeing the half-open door and the innocent-looking mussed bed. He approached it as if it were a suspect, as if it might rise up and grab him. His own bed. Leaning against the door frame, he looked at the bed as if it had come from Mars. Hutch had been able to come in here, grab some clothes, and come right out, none-the-worse for wear. Starsky could still see the impression of Hutch's body in the sheets. If he bent over he might still smell his unique cinnamon-like clean scent. Hutch had been curled around him that morning, surrounding him, keeping him safe.

That's all I remember, just waking up. Not realizing--not remembering. But Hutch did.

What must that have been like for him, waking up with a new lover who was an old friend and finding out that lover remembered nothing? Finding out that lover didn't want to be his lover, did not want to want him anymore. That must've hurt bad. Starsky remembered how he'd felt when he saw Hutch walking out of Kira's bedroom. He wondered if that was what Hutch had felt like, that raw kind of hurt. He wouldn't wish that on anyone, least of all Hutch.

Starsky walked to the bed, then sat on Hutch's side, not wanting to crush his impression. There were blond hairs on the pillow.

It felt good waking up like that with Hutch all around me. And after I puked so hard and got so cold, he warmed me with his own skin and kept me close to comfort me. That felt good, too. So why can't I remember the rest?

He didn't like thinking about it, but the truth was he'd hated giving Huggy that tape. He wanted to watch it again, wanted to see if it would open up the memories, even though he'd watched it enough and nothing had happened. He wanted to see himself loving Hutch until it was imprinted on his brain. Himself, going down on his friend. Himself, kissing, loving Hutch as ardently as he had any woman. Himself offering his body, asking Hutch to fuck him--

He shook his head, unable to believe that had really been him, his desire. Oh, the desire could be found, he knew that, Hutch had proven it just last night. It scared him how easily Hutch had proven it. But it wasn't them. Couldn't be them.

He'd always seen their future so clearly, dancing at each other's weddings, being the favorite uncles of each other's children. Painting each other's picket fences. It'd been such a clear vision, even though it had been tarnished after Terry's death, and after Rosey left him. The personal disaster area that was Hutch's love life hadn't restored any of its bright promise either. But still, Starsky clung to the vision. The two of them, married, fathers, retiring at advanced ages from the police force, vacations together, maybe even sharing a resort property with their families-- Had it all been a fairy tale?

Always together. Every image of your future included Hutch. The women were a blur, but the picture of Hutch was always clear as a bell.

He imagined Hutch out with K.R. Callahan, imagined him doing his charming cowboy routine, half "gosh-shucks, ma'am," half blond bombshell. How many women had Hutch charmed away from him like that? How many times had it made Starsky crazy jealous?

He tried to see Hutch wooing the attractive lawyer, tried to see them in bed together, but it was too insubstantial. It didn't matter whether he could see it or not. It would happen. What woman could resist that Nordic beauty? Huggy had said Callahan was practically a nun. She didn't stand a chance. She'd probably pounce on Hutch before they ever got to dinner.

He imagined Hutch dragging his ass home as the sun rose, saw himself waking alone in Hutch's brass bed and ribbing him good-naturedly about his conquest when the sleepy blond traipsed into the shower looking beat. Yeah. That's just how it would go.

Inexplicably, Starsky felt a hardened lump of anxiety lodge in his gut. Last night's gentle passion flooded his mind, and suddenly, Hutch's hand on him was as real as if he were sitting beside Starsky. He grew stiff thinking about it. Hutch was so tender, so loving, had worked so hard to give him whatever pleasure he could stand, whatever joy he could tolerate. It had been so good between them, that simple act....

He plucked the shed hairs from the pillow and twisted them around his finger as he felt a sudden stabbing need to remember the first night between them. He could recall every warm female body he'd ever slid into, even when he couldn't bring back their names or faces. Why couldn't he remember loving Hutch, the most important person in the world to him? Loving Hutch with his own free will. Loving him with all the passion he had.

It was a feeling he was afraid to release, afraid to share, for fear that it would give too much power to his lover. But that night, he suspected, that was what he'd given Hutch. The one person he knew would never abuse it. The yearning to remember squeezed his heart hard.

Stop it!

Furious with his own weakness, he lurched off the bed. Going to his dresser, he roughly pulled out clothes. He couldn't remember. It was better not to remember. And trying to remember only brought more dreams--

--Of Hutch in white leather kneeling before me. Touching me. Taking me into his mouth.

He slammed the underwear drawer so hard he nearly broke his thumb and shouted a curse. He went into the closet, yanked out jeans and shirts, and stuffed them into a bag.

He had to get out of here.

He was nearly to the front door when he thought of something. Walking back to the phone, he lifted the receiver and dialed.

Three rings. "This is the Pits. What's your pleasure?" Huggy said. The bar was hopping; Starsky could hear the racket in the background.

"I need another favor," he said abruptly.

"I guess one's better'n the list you usually give me," Huggy said laconically.

"The crew that cleans your bar, can you get them to come to my apartment? The crime lab's been here, there's fingerprint dust everywhere, the place is a wreck." It was the truth, but he'd barely noticed it when he'd entered.

"Sure, no problem. They'll be happy to have the work. What else?"

He held his breath, trying to control his respiration. "Have them strip the sheets, do the laundry, make up the bed fresh, okay?"

The pause was brief but Starsky heard it. "Sure. Got it." Another beat. "You there now?"

Starsky didn't answer. Couldn't.

"You okay?" Huggy said softly.

"I will be," he murmured. "Thanks, Huggy. I'll drop off the key and a check." On my way home-- to Hutch's. He hung up the phone gently.

How long could he consider Hutch's place home? How long could he keep sleeping with Hutch, knowing what might happen?

Hutch was with a lady tonight. This could work out for him, it could! It had to. Starsky rubbed his face roughly. He left the apartment without looking back.

~~~

Hutch squeezed Belle into a parking space too small for anything else and left the little car idling. Belle was every bit as conspicuous as the Torino, he realized, as people walking up and down the strip eyed the odd foreign compact curiously. But Kelly's connection didn't notice, and that was all that mattered.

The lawyer had changed into faded bell-bottoms, running shoes--Adidas! Well, at least they're green--and a shapeless sweater that managed to take shape nicely on her. Hutch watched her warily as she walked down the street from where he'd dropped her off.

On the way, she'd confessed she was grateful for the transportation. She was a Los Angeleno who didn't drive, didn't even own a car. She said she got around fine on public transportation and hated the freeways, but Hutch had the feeling she simply couldn't afford the expense of owning a vehicle.

He concentrated on her as she walked alone, just as he would if he were on surveillance and she were another officer working undercover. Perfect date for a cop, he thought wryly. She knew, too, that he was enjoying the chance to do a little police work in spite of his suspension. For all his complaints about it, Hutch was good at what he did and took pride in it. While it was a heartbreaking job, at least he had Starsky beside him to ease the really rough spots.

Unless Starsky was the rough spot. Like when he got shot-- He moved his mind away from that, shaking it off. If he hadn't learned how to do that, the whole thing would've driven him over the edge. And Starsky wouldn't let him go over the bend. Though he came close to sending me there tonight. Kelly had paused near a storefront whose garish banners promised amazing close-out bargains, just as it had for the last ten years. A man stepped out of the doorway and moved beside her. Hutch tensed as they walked slowly, shoulder to shoulder, up the street, talking. They slowed even more, intent on the information they were sharing. Finally, they paused at the mouth of a dark narrow alley then walked into it.

Oh, no you don't! Hutch thought worriedly, as he hoisted himself over Belle's door and jogged across the street dodging traffic. His hand groped for a gun that wasn't there.

Flattening himself against the wall of the alley's entrance where he couldn't be seen, he listened for voices, any indication where Kelly might've gone in the darkness. Easing around the corner of brick wall, he slipped into the alley's shadow and crept along until he finally overheard a low murmuring.

That's her. After a few minutes, soft footsteps approached, so he eased out of the alley the way he came, lounging near the mouth like the half dozen other men standing there. When Kelly emerged with her escort, the man gave her a fierce quick hug then walked away. Kelly looked for Hutch, but only spied the empty car. Easing up beside her, he took her arm. She spun in surprise then grinned in relief.

"You were supposed to stay in the car," she chided.

"And you were supposed to stay where I could see you," he reminded her.

She glanced around. "Let's talk in the car."

"Ready for a hot meal?" he asked.

"More than ready," she said. Checking traffic, they walked across the street casually.

She's good at this, Hutch realized. She's done it before, lots of times.

As he pulled into traffic, Kelly took a small notebook from her waistband where her sweater had hidden it. "We went into the alley so he could hand me this." She flipped through some pages, frowned, then nodded.

"What is it?" Hutch asked.

"A copy of Gunther's lawyer's itinerary for the last month," she said casually. "Looks like he's been visiting the old man pretty often."

"Well, they are appealing for bail, a grand jury, uh, a new trial, or whatever, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Still. A lot of that can be done over the phone. Not much reason to actually visit the client. It's not like they've got any new evidence that would help Gunther's case."

"Except for us," Hutch remarked sourly. "Our credibility's damaged."

"Perhaps," she allowed. She flipped through more pages then mumbled, "This is odd." "What?" Hutch asked, glancing over.

She closed the book. "Sorry. I'm too used to working alone and I talk to myself--or to Buddy. Nothing for you to worry about--and some things I do need to keep confidential. Now, I'm really starved. Where are we going?"

"Well, actually," Hutch confessed, realizing what street they were on, "I guess I've been automatically driving to the Pits. That's where Starsky and I usually eat, especially when it's late. We're good friends with the owner. Unfortunately, that's also where we got drugged, so neither of us have been in it since. I guess we feel a little spooked."

"If you've got a friend there, then you need to get over that. You haven't done anything wrong. Time to start showing your faces. The Pits sounds fine--" She frowned. "Couldn't your friend have picked a better name?"

Hutch laughed and continued on course.

~~~

Huggy looked up when the bar suddenly went still. Quiet in a bar usually meant trouble. He was startled as trouble walked right on in--Hutch and his date. Huggy shook his head, pleased beyond belief that one of the two finally found the nerve to set foot in his establishment again, yet disturbed at the sight of the attractive young woman walking beside Hutch.

There were other cops in the place, four off-duty uniforms. Three of them glanced uncomfortably at one another, then threw some money on the table and walked out. The fourth argued with them for a moment then remained, looking grim. Huggy didn't like the expression on the remaining cop's face and hoped he wouldn't make trouble. Most of the other patrons started mumbling to one another.

Time to make a presentation. Let the populace know Hutch is welcome here any time.

Draping a clean towel over his forearm, he sauntered over to the table Hutch had chosen--his and Starsky's usual--and plastered as sincere a smile on his face as he could muster. "Well, well, well! What a pleasant surprise! Detective Hutchinson, it's certainly good to see you again. And who may I ask is this lovely lady gracing my establishment this fine evening?"

The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise as Hutch chuckled and said, "It's good to see you, too, Huggy. This is our lawyer, K.R. Callahan. Kelly, this is our close friend, Huggy Bear Brown, owner and manager of the Pits."

She held out her hand to shake his, but Huggy took it by the fingertips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "It's an honor. I've heard good things about you from friends you've aided. Mi casa es su casa. What is your pleasure?"

"To find a dozen men in this world with your manners, Mr. Bear!" she said, laughing.

He shook his head. "To you, Ms. Callahan, it's Huggy. Perhaps some evening you'll wander in here without a Viking on your arm and let me explain how I got my name."

She blushed, which charmed Huggy all the more. She was neither the evil harridan nor the avenging angel he'd heard about.

"Careful, Huggy," Hutch said quietly, looking amused. "I think she can take you."

"Just makes it more interesting," Huggy told him, never taking his eyes off the lady.

"Are the specials good tonight?" Hutch asked.

"Why should tonight be any different from any other night?" Huggy shot back.

"Is that a yes or a no?" Hutch retorted.

Huggy looked appropriately affronted. "You're pushing your luck, Hutchinson. The Huggy- Burgers are superb. Prepared by my own hand. The fries are the lightest, most delicate--"

"Got it!" Hutch said quickly, cutting him off. "Bring 'em on."

Kelly looked concerned. "I'm sorry to be a problem, but... I'm a vegetarian. The fries are fine, but--"

Huggy held up a hand. "Never fear. Huggy, the creative chef, is here! I'll whip up a special special for a special lady. Can you stand to have this Neanderthal tearing into oozing flesh right in front of you? If not, I can--"

"No, that's fine," she assured him with a grin. "Hutch can have meat; it won't bother me."

"Wait a minute, Hug," Hutch said, before he could leave. "If you're going to make a vegetarian special for Kelly, I'll have the same. Starsky and I aren't eating much meat these days. It'll be better if I don't backslide now, especially since I've nagged him so much."

"Have it your way, Blondie. Between you and Starsky and your special recovery regimen, this place is turning into a veritable health emporium. I need a new motto--Eat at the Pits and enjoy the fruit from the tree of life!"

"Wasn't that the Tree of Knowledge?" Kelly wondered, eyeing Huggy suspiciously.

"I hope you're not insinuating that there are snakes in my family, my lady!" Huggy suggested in mock horror. "Beer okay for both of you?"

"I'll have tea," Kelly said.

"Tea it is," Huggy assured her. An Irishman who doesn't drink. More and more interesting.

As he left the table, he glanced back surreptitiously. The two people immediately engaged in conversation and seemed easy in each other's company. But something was missing. Hutch might as well have been talking to one of his police friends, Huggy realized. There was no spark, none of the flirtatious interest he usually showed female companions. He was warm, sure. Hutch couldn't help but be warm. But there was no interest--no sexual interest.

At least not on Hutch's side. K.R. was interested enough.

Starsky, if you were here now-- Huggy thought irritably. He shook his head. Starsky had his own demons to conquer, and Huggy wondered if Starsky's rigid black-and-white view of the world would ever let him do that.

Huggy rinsed out a rarely used two-cup teapot and found some Irish tea back on a shelf. Setting the tea to steep, he put a cup and saucer with lemon slices on the bar, then poured some cream into a little pitcher. Lastly, he pulled up Hutch's beer. Long used to serving himself, Hutch came over to the bar to collect the drinks.

"Hey, big fella," Huggy said amiably, "we deliver!"

"With all that tea paraphernalia," Hutch said, grinning, "it looked a bit much for one man to handle."

"That's what trays are for," Huggy reminded him, pulling one out from behind the bar and loading the items on it. "Y'know, I could say the same for your lady friend there. Looks a bit much for one man to handle."

Hutch's brows raised in surprise. "I'm not sure I disagree with you. This was Starsky's idea. I may have bitten off more than I can chew. She's a lot of lady."

Huggy eyed Hutch, wondering how far he should go. "I have it on the best authority that she's good people, Hutch. Step lightly, will ya?"

Hutch turned a serious expression on him. "I like her a lot, Huggy. She is good people. My intentions are strictly honorable, sir!"

Huggy laughed. "That's what I'm afraid of. Hey, your partner was by this evening."

"Starsky was here? He came into the bar?"

"Not exactly. I had to meet him outside. He wanted me to find something out for him." Huggy deliberated mentioning Starsky's call from his apartment, but decided against it. "I know things aren't easy between you right now. Just remember, if you need a friend to talk to...."

Hutch smiled warmly. "Who else would I go to, Huggy? Stop worrying about us. We'll be okay. We've been through worse messes."

Have you? They'd dodged death a hundred times, been through attacks, kidnappings, fire fights, and been unjustly accused of crimes. But Huggy wasn't sure they'd ever faced the kind of pressure they were under now.

"The lady's thirsty," Huggy said, lifting the tray. "And I've got a veggie special to create." Huggy had just finished pouring the tea--lingering just long enough to charm the lady a little more--when he felt a presence beside him. It was the fourth cop who hadn't left with his friends. Not again. Not another Russo.

Hutch had looked up from his seat, and his face had gone cold, the way he usually looked when facing a suspect. "Can I do something for you, Higgins?" he asked softly.

K.R. tensed, drawing back in the seat as if to give the man room to work. Huggy noted, however, that she didn't seem afraid.

"No," the other cop said quietly, "but I thought I'd do something for you and Starsky."

"And what might that be?" Hutch asked in the same tone.

"I just wanted to let you know, Hutch, that--well, not everybody down at Parker Center feels the same way about--about what you two are going through. Some of us feel like you got a really raw deal. Your private life's your own business. They were wrong to suspend you. A couple of us have been putting pressure on the union. They ought to stand behind you on this, and instead they're kissing the mayor's ass. It's not right." Higgins looked around as if realizing he'd raised his voice. "You're good cops. You always backed up your brothers. Some of us haven't forgotten. I wanted you and Starsky to know."

Huggy glanced at Hutch and saw the big blond groping for something to say through his surprise. Finally, he blinked himself out of it and said, "Thanks, Higgins. I'll tell Starsky. It'll mean a lot to him. It means a lot to me, too."

Higgins held out his hand and Hutch gave it a quick shake and the man left.

No one said anything for a moment then Hutch began. "We were the first on the scene of a fire fight he and his partner had walked into a few years back. Higgins got shot pretty bad. I did first aid, while Starsky did this broken-field running thing and drew their fire. I guess Higgins still remembers that." Hutch took a sip of his beer. "Too bad his partner doesn't."

Huggy looked confused.

"His partner was one of the three who walked out when Kelly and I came in," Hutch explained, still staring at his beer.

Kelly reached over, gripped his wrist. "It took a lot for that man to come and say that. You've got to take this one victory at a time."

Hutch glanced at her and gave her a smile. "You're right." He looked at Huggy then showed him his glass. "But even if this glass is half full, I'm gonna want another with dinner."

Huggy gave him a quick salute and went to start their meal, mentally computing just what he did have to use in a vegetarian special.

~~~ Those stairs aren't so bad when you take 'em slow, Kelly realized as they strolled up to her apartment door, still continuing the conversation they'd started at the Pits, carried on in the car, and now worked at on the long walk up. It was rare that Kelly got to discuss law with someone who knew it almost as well as she did and who wasn't trying to use his knowledge against her in court. It was like the debates she'd get into in college. It was fun. Hutch was fun.

She slipped her key in the lock while he was making his final point and stepped into the apartment with him right behind her. Once he had hold of an idea he was like a bulldog, hanging on for dear life, and he was wrestling this one right into the ground.

"That's a fine argument, Hutch," she acknowledged as she went into her tiny kitchen and put her kettle on for tea. "But remember, you're looking at all that from the vantage point of theory. It shakes out a little differently when it gets put before a jury."

"Don't I know it," he complained, running a hand through his long hair.

"Can I offer you some tea?" she asked, as Buddy appeared between her ankles, making his presence known. He scowled disapprovingly at her escort. "I'm not a coffee drinker but I might have some instant here for the volunteers."

"Tea's fine. You're not a beer drinker either. I was paying attention."

She smiled. "Alcohol never did anyone in my family any favors. I decided when I was ten that I didn't really need it in my life."

"And when did you decide to be a lawyer?" he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

"When I was nine," she said, setting up the teapot and putting cups on the counter, while trying unsuccessfully to shoo Buddy off a kitchen chair so she could sit. Finally, she shared the seat with him. Hutch sat across from her.

"Let me guess," Hutch said, perching his chin in his palm. "Someone close to you had a bad run- in with the law."

She shrugged. "Not very original, but there it is. My dad. He did a year in prison for embezzlement. I always suspected his boss's son took the money, but Dad was the bookkeeper--" She took a deep breath. "It devastated our family. But that was a long time ago. And you became a cop because...." She tried to guess, unsuccessfully. "Well, it's surely not because you look good in uniform!"

He laughed. "I became a cop to help people. It was the last thing my folks wanted. They saw me as a professional like the rest of the family. Dr. Hutchinson or something. Funny, but these last few years I haven't felt like I've been helping people very much. If it weren't for Starsky, I don't know that I'd still be doing it."

Right on time, she thought wryly. Are you afraid that if you don't say his name at least every five minutes, he won't exist anymore? He was looking at her oddly. "I said something wrong just then, didn't I?"

"No, not wrong," she reassured him quickly. She must be tired if she was letting things show on her face so easily. "It's just--" She needed to ask him, needed to hear him say it. She had the right; after all, he had asked her out. Under false pretenses? She had trouble believing that; he was one of the most guileless men she'd ever met. And she really liked him. And he likes you, Kelly, that's obvious. He'd be your best friend--if that's what you wanted from him.

She wet her suddenly dry mouth just as Buddy crawled into her lap deliberately to keep himself between her and his competition. She stroked the cat then deposited him gently on the floor and moved over to the boiling kettle.

She poured water over the loose tea in the pot, then replaced the lid and covered the pot with a cozy. Turning back to him, she asked simply, "Hutch. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I really need to know. What's the situation between you and your partner?"

He eased back in the chair and the knot between his brows deepened. "The situation?" He gave a short laugh. "I thought we discussed this in the diner. In all honesty, Kelly, I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"Just the truth. I mean--I spend most of my time with men who love other men. My evenings with them are a lot like this one's been. We have fabulous conversations, discuss art, culture, law. I have a wonderful time with them and look forward to those dates even though those men will never see me as a woman. Still, they care about me, even love me. They can be fiercely protective and my very best friends. I would never think less of them...." She trailed off. "I've had a really fun time with you tonight, but--you're no more interested in me as a woman than those men are. You weren't at lunch today, and you aren't now. So, forgive me if I'm curious, but I can't figure out why you asked me out."

"I was afraid Huggy had blown my cover," he admitted ruefully. "In comparison to his colorful Lothario routine, I'm afraid I came off pretty cool. I guess I wasn't being very honest either, with you or myself. Don't misunderstand, Kelly. I do care about you. You're a hell of a woman, but--" He stood up restlessly and held out his hands as if he had no idea how he'd come to be here like this. "In the last few days my whole life's been turned upside down and I don't know which end is up anymore. And my partner thinks that if we just act like everything's normal it will be again, just by wishing it."

"So, you asked me out to make him happy?" Her brows lifted in surprise.

"Don't be mad, Kelly. I know it sounds nuts, but it made a weird kind of sense at the time...."

She nodded, amused in spite of herself. "Your partner's got a form of logic all his own. I'm not mad." She held his gaze, wanting the rest of it. "Hutch. Are you in love with him?"

His expression fell, a shadow of fear, regret, and longing all competing for dominance in his eyes. Meeting her gaze he murmured, "Yes."

"Is he in love with you?" she asked softly, hating to push but needing to know. His expression changed, coalescing into a blankness that said one thing to her--loss. "No."

"Are you sure?"

He laughed sarcastically, a snort of bitterness. "Oh, I'm sure. I mean--Starsky loves me. We've been partners for years. We came up through the Academy together. We were best friends the first week, were making plans to work together as partners after the first month. We've never been afraid to say we loved each other. But after Starsky got shot--everything changed for me, even if I wouldn't let myself realize it. It was too scary. We would've gone on the same old way, I guess, forever. But then we were drugged. You know the rest."

"And you're sure he doesn't feel the same way, even after--"

Hutch shook his head. "You don't understand. He doesn't remember that night. I do. Every minute. Everything we said. Everything we felt. But it never happened for him. And I'm stuck with it. The memories. The feelings. He's still my best friend, still loves me, but-- To make matters worse, this is the second time one of his closest friends turned out to be--something he never expected. He's been incredibly patient, understanding, giving. But what I want from him-- it's just not there. And he's convinced that if I just act like nothing's happened between us, including asking out friendly women, that it'll all go away."

"That can't be easy on you," she said, pouring tea for them both. "Cream? Lemon?"

"Cream, please. Well, it could be a helluva lot harder. He might not be speaking to me at all. He's still my partner. Still Starsky. And I know he still loves me. That counts for a lot."

She looked at him and stopped herself from expressing the doubt she really felt.

Hutch stirred sugar into the tea and glanced at her guiltily. "You should be really pissed."

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, smiling, sitting back down in the chair. "Well, maybe I can afford to be gracious because I've got my own ulterior motives to be honest about."

"Don't tell me you're really a lawyer after all!" Hutch chided, his smile lighting up his woebegone expression.

"You're sure he's not in love with you?" she pressed. "You're not just saying that to protect him?"

"Starsky doesn't need me to protect him; he does well enough on his own. You don't know him, Kelly. This has really thrown him, my changing on him the way I have. The whole thing is so alien to him, so bizarre. If I'd developed schizophrenia or-or grown another head, I think he could understand it easier. What has this got to do with your ulterior motives?"

She sipped the tea and considered her words. She liked Hutch. She didn't want to hurt him. "How would you feel if--if I asked him out?"

To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed softly. "I told him you were interested in him and he didn't believe me. If you ask him out I'll get to rub his nose in it! You'll be doing me a favor!"

"Will I?" she asked bluntly, not really believing his lovely bravado.

"Yeah, really, you will," he insisted. "Starsky's never going to roll over one morning and fall in love with me. And I want more than anything not to damage our friendship. If you ask him out, if he goes with you, it'll take some of the pressure off us, Kelly. It's one of the reasons I went along with his wishes and asked you out, to give him that breathing room. To show him I was willing to try."

She shook her head, wanting to believe him but still doubting. "I really like you; I want to be your friend, too. I don't want to do something that could hurt you. It's not worth that to me."

He slid his big hand over her small one and gave it a squeeze. "We are friends, Kelly. We've become friends tonight. So, our date's been a success. And our friendship will make this easier for me. It's going to happen sooner or later. Better with someone I trust, someone I think is worth it, than some strange woman who might not have his best interests at heart. It'll help, Kelly, honest. The fact that you cared enough to ask helps, too." He leaned across the table and kissed her forehead like a brother.

She sighed, torn between her interest in Dave Starsky and the chance that something she might do might hurt the vulnerable man with her now. "I know male lawyers that go out with their female clients all the time, but I always wondered about the ethics of it. With my usual clientele, I assumed it would never be a problem for me. It certainly complicates things. I may think about this for a while before I act on it."

Hutch looked thoughtful. "Don't wait too long or Starsky might beat you to the punch."

"Hmm," she murmured thoughtfully. "I'd rather have the mental advantage of asking first. I get the feeling he's quite a handful."

Hutch's smile was wry. "Oh, yeah. You can say that again!"

Everybody's got a hunger, A hunger they can't resist, There's so much that you want, You deserve much more than this, But if dreams came true, oh, wouldn't that be nice, But this ain't no dream we're living through tonight, Girl, you want it, you take it, you pay the price. Prove It All Night--Bruce Springsteen

Chapter 11

Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time I don't know what to do I'm always in the dark We're livin' in a powder keg And givin' off sparks Total Eclipse of the Heart--Bonnie Tyler

This is nuts, Starsky thought as he draped the folded dishtowel over the dish rack. I feel like little Sally Homemaker. He'd washed, dried, and put away all the dishes, straightened the living room, hung his clothes up, made the bed, and done the laundry. But now it was eleven-thirty at night and he'd run out of things to do.

I've grown too dependent on Hutch to keep me entertained. Over the last year, they'd been practically inseparable. Hours were filled with conversation, games, or just the comfort of each other's company. I'm not used to being alone anymore. It feels weird. This is dumb but--I miss him, and he's only been gone a few hours. He glanced out the windows facing the street as if he might catch sight of Hutch coming home then moved away disgustedly.

It's way too early. He won't be home before dawn. May as well go to bed. No doubt Hutch would wake him, stumbling over furniture in the dark as he tried to sneak in quietly.

Wonder how he's doing with the lawyer. Wonder if they're back at her place by now. Wonder if they're-- He cut off that train of thought brutally.

Taking his freshly laundered pajama bottoms and clean towels into the bathroom, he hung them behind the door. But before he could start undressing, he heard a familiar melodic whistling coming from the staircase. A key turned in the lock and the door swung open.

Hutch grinned at him. "Hey! You're still up!"

"Hey, yourself," Starsky said, grinning back automatically, "you're home!" He felt a flush of relief seeing Hutch again as though they'd been separated for days, not mere hours.

As Hutch headed for the refrigerator and a beer, he slowed down and looked around. "Wow! You must've been really bored, Starsk. The place looks great. Thanks!"

"Well, it was a little quiet without you. Had to find something to...." He trailed off suddenly as he spied the time on the antique clock. Eleven forty-five. A successful Hutchinson date should've brought him home closer to six a.m. A rash of confused feelings swept over him. "So, uh, how'd things go?"

"Great!" Hutch said too cheerfully, hoisting his beer as a salute. "Interesting lady. We started the evening doing cop work! She had to talk with some source down on hookers' row. I played back- up. It felt good in a weird way."

Starsky experienced a stab of jealousy. Hutch was out playing cop without him? Backing up some lawyer?

"Afterwards, we ate at the Pits."

"You ate in the Pits?" Starsky said in a small voice. Without me? I couldn't even get up the nerve to go in without you!

Hutch shrugged. "Yeah. Why?"

"Didn't--didn't it feel kinda... creepy, goin' back in there?" Starsky couldn't believe Hutch had actually managed to eat there. He was startled at the envy that swamped him.

"A little. But I figured no time like the present. And I felt more comfortable taking Kelly there than some new place. I knew Huggy would run interference if need be. Huggy told me he saw you. Anyway, Kelly and I had a nice meal and we found a lot of things in common to talk about. I like her a lot."

Starsky nodded forcing his mind back to what Hutch was really saying. His partner's all-too-easy patter made everything clear. "Oh, yeah? Well, either she's the fastest women you've ever gone with," he made a deliberate show of checking his wrist watch, "or, buddy, you didn't score. You barely had time for a decent meal."

"Is that all you ever think about?" Hutch said with his usual impatience. "It was our first date! She's a special lady, not the kind to--"

"You never even put the moves on her, did you?" Starsky pressed, his voice emotionless. He was too confused to push Hutch, but felt obliged to push, if only for Hutch's sake. To complicate things, part of him was relieved nothing had happened, though another part was furious. He didn't know which part to listen to.

Hutch sighed tiredly and his body sagged. "I did what you wanted. I went out with her. I even had a good time. I think she did, too."

Starsky closed his eyes. He was so used to Hutch-speak he needed no translation. "She knows you're not interested. She figured it out."

Hutch held out his hands, half conciliatory, half argumentative. "What do you want from me? I went. I tried. I couldn't pretend to want someone I didn't really want."

"You've managed before," Starsky shot back with more anger than he realized he felt. Maybe it wasn't anger. Maybe it was fear. "You've nailed suspects while undercover." And bragged about it the next day!

"Kelly's not a suspect, dammit!" Hutch fired back. "She's not some one-night-stand I could use and toss away, either, just to make you happy. She's a good person. She's a friend. She deserves better than to have someone use her for rehabilitation therapy."

Starsky shook his head and turned his back. He needed to think. He hadn't allowed himself to consider this possibility that, when faced with a warm, living, breathing woman, Hutch wouldn't be able to muster the interest! Running his fingers through his hair, he tried to figure out what to do, how to fix this. His brain was buzzing with white noise.

And the most disturbing thing of all was the part of him that was really, really glad things had happened just this way.

No! That's not true! I hate it that he didn't fall for her, hate it that it didn't work out.

He closed his eyes and was startled when Hutch's voice sounded right next to him. He looked up to find him handing over a beer. Starsky took it automatically.

"You owe me ten bucks," Hutch said.

Starsky blinked and took a sip of the brew. "What the hell for?"

"I gave you five when Kelly accepted my offer of a date. But she only did it hoping to get closer to you." Hutch finished the last of his own can, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash. "She asked my permission to ask you out. Gracious being that I am, I granted it. She's got the hots for you, friend. Just like I originally bet you. So, you owe me my five back and five more. I'll collect it when she asks you."

"She asked your permission to ask me out?" Starsky said feebly. That can only mean one thing. She knows how Hutch feels about me. Either she guessed it--which is bad enough--or he confessed it--which is worse! He wanted to groan in frustration, wanted to throttle his screwed- up partner, wanted to--

His brain suddenly skidded to a halt. Wait a minute. "She wants to ask me out?"

"I was wondering when the main message would work its way through your scrambled little neurons," Hutch said smugly. "And here I thought the lady had taste."

"You--you said I'd go?" Starsky felt like he was sliding across the thinnest of ice.

"I indicated that the chances of your saying yes were extremely good," Hutch admitted. "Considering that, as you pointed out, she's probably the only woman in LA who would even be interested."

Starsky felt like his tongue had turned into a giant sausage in his mouth, that he couldn't find anything sensible to say. "And... that's okay with you? If I go out with her?"

"Didn't I say I said so?" Hutch was starting to sound a little frayed around the edges, like his good nature was finally unraveling.

He walked aimlessly around the apartment, poking at his plants, at his knickknacks, anything, so as not to look directly at Starsky. "I'm not your mother, Starsky. I don't need to give you my blessing. I suggest you grab the opportunity while you can. And try not to screw it up. This isn't some lady cab driver, or--" "Answer the question!" Starsky said, raising his voice. Hutch stopped dead and stared at the floor. "Are you okay with this? Really? Me going out with her? Hutch?"

Hutch paused two beats then swallowed. "What do you want from me, blood? Go out with her, Starsk. Have a good time. It's gonna happen sooner or later, may as well be with someone I like. I trust her. That's the best blessing I can give. I'll be okay. I mean it."

That cost you a lot, Starsky realized. I can't even guess how much. All because Hutch loved him. Hutch had to get over this, he had to.

"Look, uh," Hutch muttered, still not looking at him, "I'm beat. Why don't we worry about this in the morning?"

Starsky nodded then mumbled agreement when Hutch glanced at him for an answer. "I was going for a shower when you walked in."

"Fine. I'll go after you." Hutch moved into the bedroom, shedding his shirt as he went.

The shower gave Starsky time to think. He only made one decision but he knew the one he'd made was going to cause enough problems, at least until Hutch got used to it.

By the time Hutch emerged from his own shower, Starsky had the couch made up and was ensconced under blankets across its length.

Hutch froze as he moved around the couch and caught sight of Starsky's reclining form. Slowly, he pulled the towel off his damp head, leaving blond strands sticking up everywhere.

Starsky wouldn't look directly at him, trying hard not to remember the blond hairs he'd pulled off his pillow earlier that evening. Just accept it, Hutch, and go to bed. Don't say anything. Don't make it harder than it's gonna be on both of us.

But Hutch wasn't good at keeping his peace. His jaw tightened and he said softly, "Are you punishing me for not going to bed with Kelly?"

"No," Starsky insisted, just as quietly. "I just think--I think we're both getting confused and sleeping together isn't clearing up the issue any."

"So, you're punishing me for going to bed with you. You're punishing me for last night."

Starsky sighed wearily. "If I was doing that, I'd be punishing us both. That's not it, Hutch, I swear. I meant what I said. It's gonna get harder for us every day. We're going to start working at the Parrot tomorrow, we'll be in the public eye. Worse, the gay public eye. We have to remember who we are, who we really are." Starsky felt tired in body and soul. "Look, I could've gone to Huggy's or a hotel. I'm still here. But we need the space. We both do."

Hutch didn't say anything for a moment then finally said, "Okay. Sure. Fine. But when your head gets clear on this, partner, just make sure you keep me updated on what else I might need. I wouldn't want to make any more mistakes." Silently, he turned off the lights and moved to his own bed, leaving Starsky alone in the dark. Listening to the soft sounds Hutch's mattress made as his big body settled against it, Starsky felt as if he'd mortally wounded someone whose only crime had been to have the courage to share his open heart.

~~~

Hutch came awake with a strangled cry, wrestling with the sheets. It was seconds before he was sure of where he was.

My bed. Not the beach. My bed. My place.

This time, the beach had been a cold forbidding place. The sun was obscured, the sky growing ever darker, with ominous rolling clouds and a wind that had whipped the ocean into a threatening mass of crashing waves and frothing whitecaps. Hutch had stood on the sand and watched the water smashing into the beach, eroding it, damaging it. But no matter how close he walked to the shoreline, the water never touched him. It surged all around him, even behind him, but his feet stayed dry.

Bet a shrink could do a helluva job on that one, he thought, trying to catch his breath. Chilled from a slick sheen of sweat, he was half-erect. It's just adrenaline, he told himself. There was nothing arousing about the dream. Instead, it was lonely, depressing. He touched himself through his pajama bottoms to ease his flesh.

Then a sound from the living room brought him fully alert and off the bed before he'd even thought about it. He was only five feet from the couch before he halted.

Starsky cried out again in his sleep, but this time Hutch recognized the sound.

He's not in pain; he's not in danger, he reminded himself impatiently. He's dreaming just like you were doing. A bad dream won't kill him. Go back to bed.

Alone.

Hutch tried to obey his own order but froze when Starsky murmured a word--My name?--then cried out again, sounding anguished.

He turned back, trying to make out the shadowy form tossing on the couch. He could see one of Starsky's arms thrown across his face, covering his eyes. His other arm was against the couch, his fist clenched. One knee was raised, tenting the covers. Hutch moved closer, unable to bear his pain, even imagined.

Let it go, he told himself. It'll only last a minute. Go on back to bed. He doesn't want your comfort. It'll just make everything worse.

Starsky tossed violently, crying out harshly. The wrenching sound tore at Hutch.

"Starsky!" he called sharply. "Starsky, wake up! You're dreaming!" "Oh, God, Hutch, please...!" Starsky gasped softly, still dreaming.

In the dim light, Hutch could see him touch his groin. He was erect.

Dammit! Hutch swore silently. He was incapable of walking away now but he couldn't endure Starsky's disapproval or worse, his rejection. It had taken him hours to go to sleep, hours where he had lain with his back to the living room and ached. Just for his presence, just for the privilege of having him near me. Hutchinson, you're pathetic!

Starsky released a moan with no pleasure in it.

Hutch couldn't stand by. He leaned over, touched Starsky's shoulder, and shook it gently. "Come on, buddy. You're dreaming. Wake up now, let it go."

Starsky came awake with a shout, jerking upright, his eyes wide and searching. He was panting, nearly panicked. Flailing wildly in the dark, he corralled Hutch's arm.

"Hutch, that you?" he whispered roughly.

"Who else?" Hutch asked quietly. He squeezed Starsky's bare shoulder. "Are you awake? Do you know where you are?"

Starsky looked frantically around the room, but when Hutch tried to pull away to stand up straight, Starsky latched onto his wrist, tugged him down on the couch beside him and leaned heavily against his side.

This is downright cruel, Hutch thought. Starsky was still too groggy to know what he was doing. Hutch tried to ease away. "You'll be okay now. Dream's over. Relax for a minute and then go back to sleep."

Hutch tried to leave the couch, but Starsky clutched him.

"Wait, wait! Hutch?"

"I'm right here," Hutch said. While telling himself he shouldn't, he tentatively slipped an arm around Starsky's back and rubbed his palm gently down his bare spine, hoping to relax him. He was drenched in sweat.

"Damn, you're soaked. What's goin' on, huh?" Hutch tugged at the tangled covers and managed to wrap a blanket around Starsky's shivering body. Unable to do anything but respond to Starsky's needs, Hutch drew Starsky against him, tucking Starsky's curly head under his chin. Hutch wrapped both arms around Starsky and rubbed his back, wanting only to warm him. Starsky curled up against Hutch as if this were the only place he could find any warmth.

"Hutch...?" Starsky gasped shallowly.

"I'm right here," he assured him quietly, absurdly grateful to be allowed this simple caring gesture. He's got me trained like Pavlov's dog. One whimper and I'm all over him, checking for bruises, for signs of life. I'm hopeless! "Want to talk about it?"

Starsky just pressed harder against him, saying nothing. Hutch could sense Starsky's erection, like a short thick limb standing angrily against his belly. Hutch struggled to ignore what couldn't be ignored. His own cock nodded and started to swell as if in response to some silent mating call. If he notices, it's bound to piss him off, Hutch thought worriedly, his body tensing.

Shaking his head, Starsky muttered, "Can't talk about it."

You can't even bear making love to me in your dreams? he thought bitterly. But all he could do was rub his friend's back to help ease him. "Try to relax. It's just a dream. It's over."

Starsky was still trembling as he murmured, "It's more than a dream, Hutch. Lots more. Maybe it's wishes I don't want to let out. Maybe it's what I really want from you." He paused then wet his mouth. His voice was strained. "I don't like it. I don't like what it says about me, what it says about the way I feel about you. I don't want it to be that way with us."

"Then it won't be," Hutch said, rubbing his cheek against a mass of dark curls. He didn't really understand what Starsky was talking about but he wanted to say something to alleviate his worries. "Things can be however we want them to be. It's up to us. You just had a dream. It's over now. It won't come true."

Starsky lifted his head and even in the darkness Hutch could see the liquid in his eyes, the worried expression. "It's already true. I'm panting like a marathon runner and I'm hard as a pipe. I'm wanting you and you know it. I can't sleep twenty feet away from you without having nightmares, without dreaming about--" He shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked.

"What the hell did you dream?" Hutch demanded, clutching his arms. He had to force himself not to shake the truth out of him. "Do I hurt you? Force you? What are you scared of?"

"Yeah, it's you," Starsky whispered. "But no, you don't force me. Even in my dreams, you could never hurt me." He swallowed hard and touched Hutch's cheek so tenderly his heart lurched. "You--just love me. As much as I want, any way I want. You give me everything...."

Hutch could barely speak around the hurt and anger in his throat. "And my loving you, my giving you what you want, even in your dream, scares you so bad you scream in your sleep?"

Starsky shook his head and grabbed a fistful of Hutch's hair hard. His voice was a growl. "Don't you get it? What scares me is how good you make it for me. You make me so crazy for you I take everything you give me and want more and more. I never give anything back. And that's okay with you. You just keep giving. It's happening already, happening now. Look at me, how crazy I am. But you couldn't stay away. You had to come to me, had to give--"

"Don't," Hutch begged, wrapping his arms tight against him. "Starsky, please. It's just a dream. Don't read so much into it. What did you want me to do, leave you screaming in the night until the neighbors call a cop?" Unable to stop himself, he stroked Starsky's dense curls, guiltily relishing the body contact. "You would've never had the damned dream if you'd've come to bed. Or if you had, I could've rubbed your back and eased you out of it. You're not used to sleeping alone and we've got so much going on--"

"You know what'll happen if I get back in that bed with you," Starsky whispered.

Hutch bit his lip to keep from pleading, groveling. He was completely erect himself, so hard he hurt. They clung together as if they were trapped on a raft, fighting for their lives.

"I know," Hutch whispered back, afraid to say more.

"If we get in that bed," Starsky said, as if compelled to lay it out, to make sure there were no misunderstandings, "it'll be just like last night. You'll make love to me. And I'll let you. I'll take whatever you want to give me and I won't give anything back. Just like in the dream."

Hutch closed his eyes. "That's not true. What you gave me last night was wonderful."

"That was all I could handle. How can you settle for so little? How can that be enough?"

"You satisfied me, Starsk. Why shouldn't that be enough?"

Starsky shook his head. "You don't know me this way, Hutch. I can be selfish in bed. I'm not in love with you in the dream! Just like I'm not in love with you here. You're my partner, my friend, and I love you, but I'm not in love. But it doesn't stop me from taking everything you give me. And that's not right. Not when you feel the way you do about me. You deserve better. Especially from your best friend. From someone who says he loves you."

"I know you're not in love with me," Hutch said quietly. "But you do love me. For now, that's enough." He'd hit his limit. He was trembling with need, his cock screaming for him to do something to bring it relief. He slid his hand over Starsky's thigh and ran his fingertips over his straining organ. Starsky gasped as if he'd never been touched in his life.

"Come to bed," Hutch ordered, tired of arguing.

Starsky didn't speak, yet couldn't seem to pull away. Hutch extracted himself from his grasp, but managed to keep up the gentle fingertip massage as he stood. He could feel the wonderful heat and hardness of Starsky's maleness bob and jump under his deliberately seductive touch. His mouth watered. He slipped his other hand under Starsky's arm and tugged.

"Come on. Come on now. It's late. Starsk?"

Starsky rose and flowed into Hutch's arms in one sudden move, pressing himself so hard against Hutch, he nearly knocked him off balance. Hutch held him tight, leading him back to bed, and Starsky moved with him clumsily like a sleepwalker.

"Easy, babe," Hutch soothed. "Easy now." His heart was pounding so loud he could barely hear. He was wildly excited, his brain racing so far ahead he couldn't keep up with his frantic thoughts. He wanted to weep, wanted to shout with joy. Starsky was coming back to his bed.

And just as Starsky had predicted, Hutch wanted to give him everything. They climbed into the bed together, breathing in sync, sucking wind as if they'd run a mile or made love for hours instead of just starting. Hutch's hands shook as he knelt over Starsky's supine form and reached for him. He grasped his heavy cock boldly through the thin blue pajama bottoms and watched Starsky's eyes roll up then close blissfully. His moan was pure pleasure as he arched and thrust under Hutch's hands; Hutch's heart expanded with a dark joy.

I can please you, Hutch thought, feeling smug. I can please you so much you can't stand it. He stroked slowly, teasingly, feeling a bead of moisture soak through the cloth as the mouth of Starsky's cock shed a tear.

Starsky was shaking, his hips rocking, his back arching as he thrust into Hutch's grasp.

You're so hot, Hutch thought, dazedly. So hot for me.

Starsky cried out and the sound was just like the one he'd made in his sleep. It made Hutch ache, made him worry. He knew Starsky was still fighting the pleasure Hutch gave him.

"Don't be afraid, Starsk," Hutch coaxed gently, as he continued his stroke. "It's just me. Just Hutch. We'll be okay. Just enjoy it."

Starsky opened his eyes, his gaze somber. "I am afraid. You make it so damned good, Hutch. It scares me."

"Shhh," Hutch murmured. "Stop thinking. Just feel it. I want to make it good. As good as I can. Let it happen. Enjoy it. Just relax."

Carefully, he untied the drawstring at Starsky's waist then used both hands to pull the pajama bottoms off him. Starsky helped as much as possible then cried out in protest when Hutch knelt beside him and took his erection in hand.

There were so many emotions battering Hutch's brain, his heart, his body, that he felt dizzy. Dizzy and hungry. He ached to kiss Starsky, to press his lips hard against Starsky's wet, parted mouth, to plunge his tongue inside and enjoy the deep soulful kisses he'd shared with Starsky only once before.

But instinctively he knew that would not be permitted. Kissing was too intimate. Hutch wet his mouth, wanting it so bad he could barely see straight. In a desperate attempt to sublimate his own need, he bent low and wrapped his mouth around one of Starsky's nipples.

Starsky's reaction was incendiary. He bucked wildly and grabbed a thick handful of Hutch's hair as he shouted. He babbled Hutch's name over and over, pressing his head harder against the nipple he had become attached to. The texture, the feel of the hardened bud in his mouth made Hutch crazy. He sucked it hard, then gently, then hard again, bit it once sharply, then licked it lightly as if to apologize. Slowly, he rubbed his moustache across the tiny bud, back and forth, just to tantalize.

Starsky was moaning rhythmically, his whole frame tossing in a frenzy of desire. He whispered Hutch's name then called it out loud, then begged, pleaded for him to stop, only to insist the next minute that he wanted more. He was frantic, senseless. He was loving it.

Hutch abandoned the nipple abruptly only to lean across his chest and fall on the other one, treating it just as badly. Starsky's hands started moving, one grasping the back of Hutch's neck, the other digging its nails into his spine.

He moved his mouth lower, tonguing the soft, dark hair that swirled in patterns over Starsky's chest and belly. He pulled the hair with his teeth, wrote his name with his tongue-tip over Starsky's ribs. All the time, Starsky moaned, gasped, and cursed his pleasure.

Fine, thought Hutch with a vengeful glee, don't kiss me. Don't touch your mouth to mine. I can think of plenty of things to do to keep my mouth busy while you're not kissing me.

He found Starsky's navel and plumbed its depths, nipping around it the way Starsky had nipped his a few nights ago, though hair kept getting caught in Hutch's teeth. He placed small hickeys over Starsky's hips and lapped his way over the crease of his legs. Starsky's moaning sounded like keening now.

Starsky's unique musky maleness filled his senses, exciting him even more. His scent triggered memories, expectations, and desire like nothing else could. It triggered hunger, a bone-deep starvation that Hutch feared could never be satisfied. He couldn't wait anymore, couldn't hold back his raging need. Without thinking or planning, Hutch grabbed hold of Starsky's furious erection and fed it to his hungry mouth.

"NO!" Starsky shouted, as if Hutch had finally pushed him too far but Hutch didn't care. He was bigger, stronger, in a more advantageous position; and used it for his own benefit--and Starsky's. Swallowing Starsky's cock deeper, he sucked hard, running his tongue over every inch.

"No, Hutch, no!" Starsky protested, but his complaint was weaker, less sincere. "Don't do this, babe, no, oh God, not this, don't...." His head tossed frantically on the pillow, his body rocking, hips thrusting hard, seeking Hutch's heat and wetness. His cock made a liar of him and Hutch was glad when it did.

Go on, Hutch thought, deny me your kiss. But that's all you'll deny me. It's all you can stand to deny me.

Hutch devoured him, taking him deeper. He couldn't believe how hot it was making him, how wonderfully sexual it felt to do this to Starsky. He knew Starsky was loving it too. Knew he could barely handle it. Hutch knew that he could make this last a long long time.

Oh, God, I love you. I could do this to you for days, please you like this. You're so delicious, so sweet against my tongue. I'll love you so good, so hard, I'll make you mine. And that's exactly what you're afraid of, isn't it?

Hutch settled in for the long haul, making himself comfortable. He lay down on his side, his spine facing Starsky's head, his left arm supporting his weight over Starsky's groin, his right hand still holding Starsky's beautiful hard-on, squeezing and releasing it in an arrhythmic pattern that Starsky couldn't predict. He could control Starsky's pleasure this way and that pleased Hutch even as it shook Starsky to his core.

After a while, Hutch lay across Starsky's hips so he could bring his other hand into play. Using the same maddening fingertip massage that had lured Starsky to his bed, he stroked his strong thighs, lean flanks, and the sides of his beautiful ass. Hutch's left hand crept between Starsky's powerful spread legs, tracing delightful patterns on the inner flesh that made Starsky's taut muscles jump and flex. Starsky's soft moans were like a pleasure song that made Hutch's blood rage, made his own cock bob and pulse. He wouldn't think about the future, wouldn't think about the turmoil this would cause Starsky. He couldn't. It was his turn to be selfish in bed and all his pleasure lay in giving everything to his partner.

When you're in this bed you're mine, Hutch thought, hating his own need. You're mine when you're in my mouth. Even you can't deny that.

He sucked and licked and pleasured Starsky's burning flesh as if he were competing with every lover Starsky ever had and still found his own technique wanting. He toyed with his sensitized shaft, tormented it wonderfully, and used his moustache to torture Starsky's flaring glans.

"Hutch!" Starsky gasped, his hands flailing against Hutch's back, his hair. "Babe, please! Let me- -let me--oh, God!" He grabbed the waistband of Hutch's pajamas and tugged it down, exposing his ass. Starsky's palm was sweating as it tentatively stroked Hutch's buttock.

The delightful touch took Hutch by surprise, the pleasure such a shock, he jumped. He nearly bit Starsky in his excitement, but instead only tightened his ass. He shut his eyes, his need so strong it rattled him. No woman had ever accomplished so much by doing so little.

He was ready to beg Starsky to touch him, to pet him, any small gift he might deign to grant, but instead wrenched his mind away and concentrated on his own performance. Starsky's hand kept wandering over the soft skin of his ass, distracting him. He tightened his mouth around Starsky's flesh and tried to ignore his body's reactions to the gentle stroking.

"So nice, Hutch," Starsky murmured. "So good for me."

The praise was so welcomed, Hutch moaned and took more of Starsky inside him. The pressure against his lips, his tongue, his palate was wonderful and strong. Starsky's maleness was so hot, so demanding, that Hutch could only adore it with his mouth.

Starsky's fingers crept daringly over the cleft of Hutch's ass, making his body quiver, turning his bones to liquid. Hutch closed his eyes, afraid to let Starsky know how much that delighted him, afraid to let him realize how far Hutch might be willing to let him go. Starsky's fingers crept lower, their touch more deliberate, more tantalizing, more possessive. Hutch was in thrall, making soft sounds around Starsky's cock. The vibrations of his moans must've added to Starsky's pleasure, because he pumped harder into Hutch's willing mouth, demanding more. He knew Hutch would give it to him, too, and he did. Soon, Starsky's broad cockhead pressed against the back of his throat and, without thinking, Hutch swallowed hard, deep throating Starsky so suddenly, he cried out in stunned surprise.

Mine, Hutch thought triumphantly as Starsky's cock filled him, you're mine now. Starsky sang his delight even as his traveling hand slid under Hutch's ass and between his legs to torment his balls. Starsky's long fingers tickled Hutch's sac as if discovering something knew and unexpected. Hutch's balls drew up tight, the stimulation wrecking his concentration, destroying his resolve. He heard himself whimper under that touch.

Starsky purred in answer and Hutch's heart trip-hammered crazily. His hand stroked Hutch's sac, teasing it provocatively, wickedly.

You can handle that, can you? Well, I don't know if I can. Your touch is so good! Hutch moaned low, passionately. Your hand. Oh, God, Starsk, your beautiful hand!

As if Starsky could hear his thoughts, his fingers traveled higher, his arm sliding further between Hutch's thighs until Starsky's palm enveloped Hutch's pulsing cock.

He cried out in shock as Starsky took possession of him. As if anticipating that, Starsky gripped a handful of his hair and forced Hutch's head lower onto him, whispering a desperate, "Please!" as he did.

Hutch struggled for air as his own excitement soared. Starsky filled him roughly, fucking his mouth, taking what he craved, even as his skillful fingers pumped Hutch's burning cock. Hutch's legs tightened convulsively around Starsky's forearm, letting him know just what effect he was having.

As he found himself suddenly controlled by the man he'd been managing just a few seconds ago, Hutch cried out around the swelling maleness rudely taking him.

"Come on, Hutch," Starsky ordered, his voice low, harsh. "Come on, do it. Isn't this what you wanted, to make me crazy, to make me totally nuts for you? Congratulations, partner. You got what you wanted." His hand tightened in Hutch's hair as Starsky's body trembled.

You're losing it because it's so good for you, Hutch realized, awed by the hunger he'd released, yet gratified, too. If I've got to send you off to a woman's bed, I'm going to give you something to remember me by.

Starsky thrust harder, deeper between Hutch's lips. Starsky's breath roared harshly as he kept the same pace with his hand. The tightness of his grip and the length and speed of his perfect stroke enflamed Hutch's every nerve. Starsky was touching him, touching him. Willingly giving him pleasure. His brain was on fire, his every cell reaching, yearning for Starsky's erotic caress. A thick bubble of pre-sem surged through his cock and Starsky's thumb captured it, using it to make his stroke slippery.

Hutch shuddered violently. He would've begged or cried out if his mouth wasn't full of Starsky's raging cock. He felt the glans swell as it slid down his throat, then his mouth tasted the salty flavor of man as Starsky dripped pre-sem himself. It wasn't as strong as semen or as bitter, and in the flush of Hutch's desire it tasted all Starsky. It tasted wonderful.

"Oh, God, Hutch, stop!" Starsky suddenly ordered, his voice a staccato bark. He stiffened, his legs going rigid, the hand in Hutch's hair clenching spasmodically, then roughly trying to pull Hutch's head back. "Don't, Hutch, don't! Dammit, I'm gonna come!" He pulled his hips back, trying to slide away from Hutch's mouth.

No, you don't! Hutch thought. Don't tease me with your taste, then pull away the feast.

"Hutch, quit!" Starsky demanded, his hand spasmodically tightening around Hutch's glans, making him see stars.

Even the pain excited him, as he took Starsky's cock all the way, sucking, licking frantically. His hand enveloped Starsky's tight, shrunken balls and rolled them deliberately. It was apparently too much for Starsky to take. With a roar, he shoved deep into Hutch's mouth, as the hand pulling Hutch's hair suddenly reversed and shoved down. Hutch moaned as warm, viscous, bitter fluid flooded his mouth and throat. He swallowed gratefully, trying to breath, trying to give pleasure without choking.

Starsky pumped jets of thick semen, filling Hutch, forcing him to swallow until Starsky's body went lax, shuddering with aftershocks. Finally, his cock began to shrink, and Hutch released it with a gasp of his own, as his stiff jaw protested its abuse. His lips were numb, the tender tissue on the inside of his mouth swollen. He felt thoroughly ravaged and loved the feeling, memorizing it, relishing it.

Okay. Now, you can go to her, he thought smugly. He rested his head against Starsky's belly, sucking air to make up for all he'd lacked.

Slowly, breathing roughly himself, Starsky sat up, gently easing Hutch's head onto his thigh. He was still holding onto Hutch's erection, now painful in its need. Hutch couldn't make himself care, though. He could still taste Starsky and the profound emotional reaction he was having to that threatened to shatter him.

"Hutch, why'd you do that, huh?" Starsky asked tiredly.

He could only smile, feeling proud, feeling strong. Strong enough to give you everything. He rolled onto his back so he could see Starsky's expression in the dim street light.

Starsky looked bewildered, a little besotted, and totally sated.

I did that for you, put that look on your face. You loved what I did to you.

Starsky released Hutch's cock and used his hand to guide Hutch onto his back. His cock stood proudly, nudging his belly with his unsatisfied need. Still, Hutch really didn't care. He'd gotten Starsky off in spite of his reluctance. He'd made him scream in pleasure. He'd drunk Starsky's seed.

Whether you like it or not, we're lovers. Even if that word scares you. I made love to you, made you want what I gave. It was good for you. I don't even have to ask.

"Real pleased with yourself, huh?" Starsky asked. There was no anger in his question. Hutch didn't answer, he didn't need to--Starsky could read his expression as easily he could read Starsky's.

"You're never sleeping on that couch again," Hutch said. "Don't even think about it." It was an order, given plainly. Once in bed, Starsky could direct his every move, but Hutch would make this one demand.

"No," Starsky agreed, "I guess I'm not." His fingers traced Hutch's swollen lips, and Hutch's tongue slipped out, licked the tips. "You were making me crazy, Hutch. I never felt that way before, never acted so wild--" He stopped then moved his hand over Hutch's mouth. "Lick my palm," he said. It was a command.

Hutch didn't have to be asked twice. He lapped Starsky's long-fingered hand delicately, tracing patterns on it. It was the hand Starsky had been stroking him with. He could taste himself on it, combined with Starsky's own sweat. It was nice.

"Make it wet," Starsky said, "really wet."

Hutch obeyed happily. Then Starsky's hand moved away, shocking him by taking hold of his hard-on. He groaned in surprised delight.

"You were just gonna lay there and will it away, weren't you?" Starsky said wonderingly, stroking his cock slowly, smoothly. "You wouldn't even ask me for this little bit of pleasure for yourself. Why?"

Hutch shook his head, not even sure. What he'd just been granted had seemed so much; he couldn't bring himself to ask for more.

"You let me come in your mouth," Starsky said in amazement. "Then you swallowed it all. How could you? How could you let me?"

"I liked it," Hutch confessed in a whisper, worried about Starsky's reaction. "It wasn't the first time with you! And I loved pleasing you. Your taste is so strong, so much you--"

"Hutch!" Starsky said, his brow furrowed, his voice worried.

"It's okay," Hutch said, his voice merely a sigh. Starsky's stroke was debilitating him, destroying him. He could barely breathe, barely think. "I'd never ask you to--"

"No, of course you wouldn't. You wouldn't even tell me you hadn't gotten off. Damn you, Hutch. Let me give what I can, will ya?"

"Okay," Hutch agreed weakly, his hips pumping slowly, rhythmically into the intoxicating touch. "That's good, Starsk." He moaned softly, loving the sexy stroking.

"I'm glad," Starsky said, placing his other hand over Hutch's mouth. "Come on, lick it. Make it wet." Hutch complied slowly, unable to concentrate as much. This hand joined the first, concentrating on his glans, Starsky's wet palm rubbing him into a frenzy as the first hand stroked with agonizing slowness. With both hands working him, Hutch humped harder into the maddening touch. Starsky's hands were loving and so incredibly erotic. Hutch cried out, his buttocks tightening, his hips arching.

"Is it good?" Starsky whispered, leaning over him, watching the play of emotion and sensation travel across his face.

Still resting on Starsky's strong thigh, Hutch's head tossed helplessly. "You're so good to me. I love--" He bit the words off sharply, clamping his teeth on his lower lip.

Starsky looked sad. "Say what you want, babe. Say what pleases you. There's little enough I can do for you. Don't be afraid to be honest."

His balls tightened suddenly, and Hutch knew it would happen soon, could feel the surge gathering in his groin like a storm.

"Oh, God, Starsk!" Hutch called out helplessly. "I love you! I can't help it! I love you!" He erupted like a geyser, feeling like his body, his brain, was flooded with such intense sensation that it might kill him. He pumped hard as Starsky tightened his hand, stroked him powerfully, granting his every wish, even the ones he didn't know he'd made.

"That's right, baby blue," Starsky crooned, "give me all that sweet stuff." He sounded relieved, breathless. He sounded pleased.

The delightful spasms slowed, eased, leaving Hutch trembling. He met Starsky's gaze and realized that it finally seemed peaceful. He reached up, brushed his knuckles against Starsky's cheek. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" Starsky asked, sounding baffled.

"For letting me--"

Starsky placed his fingers against Hutch's lips. "Don't. Don't thank me for letting you love me. It's a privilege having you love me. A gift I don't deserve. I should be thanking you. Hutch--your passion, it's--it's beautiful, y'know? You make me crazy. I just wish I could...."

Fall in love with me. It was Hutch's turn to press his hand against Starsky's mouth. "What we've got is enough. I'm happy. You know--whatever gets you through the night...."

Starsky nodded, but he seemed sad again. Taking a corner of the sheet, he wiped the spatters of semen off Hutch's belly. "You might be right about the Indians. About the way they handled dreams. I'm not going to dream tonight. I'm too wiped."

Hutch nodded, feeling totally destroyed.

"Come on, babe," Starsky whispered, coaxing Hutch back up to the pillows. He complied, if slowly. Starsky took charge, rearranging the bed clothes, settling Hutch under them before moving behind him, curving himself around his spine. He held Hutch's back against his front and enfolded him in his arms. "Time to sleep. Time to rest. Man, I'm totaled."

Hutch smiled. I did that to you. And you loved it.

Starsky hugged him companionably, pressing his bristly cheek against Hutch's shoulder. As his eyes drifted shut, he heard Starsky murmuring in sing-song as he snuggled against Hutch's body, "Whatever gets you through the night, well, it's all right, yeah, it's all right...."

~~~

Josh Cantrall had just snapped his briefcase shut when his phone rang. The single aide who still worked for him had long since left. Cantrall glanced at the clock. Too late to be hearing from the old man. It's nearly midnight. He could let the service get it, but....

"Welles, Kelly, and Hodson," he said quietly. He could always pretend to be the service if it was a nuisance call.

"It's me," said the tinny voice on the other end.

Cantrall strained to hear the soft-spoken voice, glad that he'd answered himself. He waited for information. It was the only reason this one would be calling.

"She's going to be a bigger problem than Gunther thinks," the voice muttered. "The mayor's office is in an uproar. Everybody there's freaked out now that she took their case. They're already talking compromises. They sure don't want to go to court with her after last time."

Cantrall's jaw clenched. He couldn't convince the old man Callahan was their biggest obstacle, but Cantrall wasn't from the same generation. He'd gone to law school with women just like her. He knew how formidable a committed female could be in court. All Gunther could see was a little lady, a secretary, or an aide. Just another female waiting to find the right well-placed husband so she could stay home and breed. He was wrong. This new generation of women had other agendas.

"And now," the voice continued, nearly whining, "she's dating them."

"What?" Cantrall said distractedly.

"I said," the man complained, "she's dating them. One of them was with her tonight. The blond. I saw him." "Well, they're her clients. That doesn't mean anything...."

"Yeah, it does," the voice insisted. "I watched them. He was treating her like a date. A hetero date. I can tell the difference."

Cantrall digested that. It was worrisome. If she had an emotional attachment added to her already driven social conscience....

Suddenly the voice on the other end of the phone erupted in anger. "You said they were gay! You were positive! That's the only reason I agreed to--"

"You were paid," Cantrall interrupted, his voice modulated, calm. "You were paid well. Don't tell me you only did it for the principle. You held out your hand. I filled it. I can again." He waited. The protest was bitten off at the source. "Besides, I think you're jumping to conclusions. Just because they went out together, doesn't mean anything. Those two cops have been lovers for years. Since they were in the Academy together." Gunther had too much evidence on that. It had to be true. That had been the whole rationale behind their attack. Two deeply closeted gay cops hiding their long-term affair behind sham relationships. Two cops so macho no one would ever dare accuse them.

Cantrall considered what it might mean if Gunther had been wrong. If they'd been straight all along. Was it possible? How could it be? How many straight men spent so much time together, sharing clothes, food, a bed? How many straight men touched so often or so casually? Those two had no personal space between them. And why would they stay together after what happened to them? Two straight men would've broken up over that, if for no other reason. No, those two were a couple. You could see it in the damned courtroom!

But if Gunther was wrong about that, then he might be wrong about….

"I'm warning you," the voice said, sounding stronger, more secure. "Callahan's gonna whip the city's ass over this. She'll get the media on her side just like she did the last time, and those two will come out smelling like roses. The city might have to pay damages. It'll be like winning the lottery. And they'll still be together, working together as cops. You're gonna lose, Cantrall. You and the old man."

"You just do your job," Cantrall said, but without his usual confidence. "Keep doing it and keep calling me. Your information is still important. And don't worry about Callahan."

I'll worry about her. I'll have to. She's my problem now.

Without another word, Cantrall hung up the phone.

Once upon a time there was light in my life But now there's only love in the dark Nothing I can say A total eclipse of the heart Turn around, Bright Eyes Total Eclipse of the Heart--Bonnie Tyler Chapter 12

Feelin' down'n dirty Feelin' kinda mean I've been from one to another extreme Fill my eyes with that double vision Ooh, when you get through to me It's always new to me That double vision always seems to get the best of me Double Vision--Foreigner

As he set down a plate and steaming cup on the night table, Starsky watched Hutch stir. His long body began a slow stretch that seemed to fill every inch of the generous mattress.

Like a big tawny cat, Starsky thought, smiling affectionately as Hutch woke slowly, blinking drowsily. No, not a cat. You're waking like a well-satisfied man. I'm glad for that.

He'd been up for an hour and had risen feeling wonderful, the way he always did after a night of great sex. That's a wonderful gift to give someone. I hope I gave you that much at least. Even if it wasn't as good as what you gave me.

After locating his pajama bottoms, discarded on the floor, Starsky had made them breakfast-- quietly this time so as not to wake Hutch. He wanted to surprise him, give him this small gift.

Starsky pulled a chair up to the side of the bed nearest Hutch as he rolled, getting reoriented as to time and place.

And situation, Starsky thought. Before the night was over, you'd wrapped yourself around me again. Protecting me from my own night terrors. And with you there, they stayed away. Did I keep yours at bay, too? I hope so. I can't give you much, Hutch, not nearly what you deserve. But I'll give you what I can. And I'll do everything in my power to stop hurting you. It's the least I can do for my best friend.

"That for me?" Hutch asked sleepily, pushing himself up. He shoved the pillows behind his back and arranged the sheets carefully to keep himself covered. Peering into his plate, his brow furrowed. He still wasn't quite awake.

"Yep," Starsky assured him. "That's the breakfast in bed I promised you yesterday that you got cheated out of. Same meal. Fresh. Sliced and diced by my own widdle hands."

Hutch smiled shyly. Starsky's plate was on his lap, as he propped his heels up on the bed and sat back in the chair to eat. He noticed Hutch said nothing about his sitting in the chair instead of joining him in bed. But Starsky needed a little distance in the light of day, and Hutch seemed willing to grant him that.

"Hey," Hutch said, his voice clearer after taking a sip of coffee, "this isn't bad! My spoon doesn't even stand up in it." "Thought I'd take mercy on you," Starsky said, smiling amiably. "'Sides, I couldn't afford to risk your health, seeing as how I'll be needing you for back-up tonight at the Parrot."

Hutch laughed lightly and dug into his meal.

Starsky thoughtfully chewed his bagel and wondered when he should discuss what he'd decided. Maybe he shouldn't say anything, just act on it. No. He knew Hutch. If he didn't say anything, Hutch would maneuver things to go the way he thought they should. Like I did yesterday. How come we hurt each other the most when we're trying to do the opposite?

No time like the present. "I've been thinking...." Starsky murmured after swallowing.

Hutch's jaw froze in mid-chew and a suspicious look darkened his eyes. Finally, he downed the food. "Why is it whenever you utter those fateful words in that tone I want to run?"

Starsky narrowed his eyes. "...About what we were talking about last night. About Callahan and me. And I've decided if she should happen to, you know, ask me out--well, I'm not gonna go. I don't think I should. I don't think--"

"Don't do that, Starsk," Hutch said, frowning. "It reeks of pity. I told you I was okay with it. I meant that. I'm at peace with it."

I thought he'd be happy. Starsky felt exasperated. He sat back in the chair. "Hutch, be realistic. How am I supposed to handle going from your bed to hers? How am I supposed to believe it won't hurt you?"

Hutch looked away for a minute then turned back. "If you don't take advantage of this, in two months' time--especially if we're not back on the force working as cops--I'll represent everything that's gone wrong with your life. My desire for you will grow so sour you'll hate me. I don't want that. I know you're trying to spare me but it'll end up doing just the opposite."

Starsky sighed. He should've known it would go like this. When was the last time he'd decided anything that was for Hutch's own good that he didn't argue him into the ground about it?

I should have known it this morning, in the bathroom, when I found those purple marks you put on my hips. I knew then it would be wrong for me to go with Callahan. You love me. You marked me with your love; I'm wearing the truth of it on my body. How am I supposed to go to her--or any woman--now? Why won't you listen to me? It was time to fight dirty.

"Hutch, we promised each other after Kira that we'd never let a woman get between us again. We promised!"

"It's not the same thing," Hutch insisted. "Kelly's not Kira, she's not even the same species. And we're smarter than we were then. We've learned from our mistakes."

Have we? Callahan couldn't be Kira in this situation. If anything, you're the one in the middle now. And I don't like you being there. "Hutch, I don't think this is a good idea...."

"If--if..." Hutch caught himself stuttering and shook his head as if he could get a grip on his betraying tongue, "When Kelly asks you out I want you to go. In the long run, it'll be better for both of us. I've thought about this a lot, Starsky. You've got to trust me."

Starsky looked down. He couldn't stand it when Hutch got philosophical on him. Like you don't have the same heart the rest of us have.

"You want to do something for me?" Hutch asked softly.

Starsky turned back to him. Hutch's eyes were sparkling in the morning light, iceberg blue and beautiful. Ask me anything. Just make all this pain and confusion go away, will ya?

"When Kelly asks you out, when you go--stay there that night, okay? I-I... I don't think I could handle that, your going to bed with her, and then coming back here to sleep with me. So, just stay there. I'll be fine after a good night's sleep. Everything always looks brighter in the morning anyway, right?"

Starsky's eyes were burning. He blinked and nodded. "Sure. Sure, that's easy. I can do that." Makes sense. Because you'd be able to tell exactly how things went with us. You can recognize when I've been destroyed by a lover, when I'm totally satisfied. You know all the signs.

"Well, I'm glad we've got that worked out," Hutch said with false cheerfulness. "Will you help me study today?"

Starsky blinked, confused. "Study...?"

"The recipes for mixed drinks. I haven't played bartender since my college frat days. I thought I'd go over the bartender's guide and refresh my memory. You can test me."

Starsky snorted and finished his sliced apples. "Look, all you need is the ingredients for every silly girl drink you ever heard of, two tons of sliced fruit, a bunch of fancy straws, and them little paper umbrellas. You'll do just fine."

Hutch glowered at him. "I can see this is going to be a long night."

~~~

"Oh, Sugar!" Trixie breathed expectantly, "It's gon' be a long night!" The dancer, in complete drag, sequined gown and all, poked her boss and nodded toward the door.

Sugar--resplendent, she thought, in full Marilyn drag--turned away from the bar to see what just walked in. She blinked, slightly dazed.

Hadn't she just seen them yesterday in those same outfits?

Well, technically yes. But now they were both wearing shades and boots instead of the running shoes they'd had on yesterday. The boots helped, of course, especially for Starsky, as did the shades. Sunglasses made Hutch seem more aloof, with that cool blond repression, all that beauty ever out of reach.

But Starsky.... The shades gave him an aura of menace that, coupled with the leather pants and boots and the bullet-scarred jacket, was almost palpable. But there was something else, something more. As they sauntered shoulder-to-shoulder with a casual grace, Trixie put her overly-long manicured nail right on it.

"I thought you said they weren't lovers!" the black dancer hissed.

Sugar hesitated. "They aren't. I thought. I think. I...." She couldn't take her eyes off them. The cavalier body contact, dark arm brushing light arm, the lack of personal space.... They moved around a table and Starsky instinctively touched the small of Hutch's back to guide him. A different table and Hutch took his turn putting his hand on the middle of Starsky's back. Neither of them took notice of the intimate gestures. Under the shades, she could see them glance at one another, their eyes speaking.

"Sugar," Trixie whispered, "you said--"

"Let me put it this way," Sugar said snappishly, "if I were you, I wouldn't go patting Curly's ass the way I know you're dying to. His blond might rearrange all that expensive bridge work you've just had completed."

"But you said...!"

"Look, they're cops. Partners. It's a different kind of relationship..." she stammered, not knowing what to think, what to make of the pair.

"What is?" Starsky asked as he and Hutch flanked her, one on each side.

"What's a different kind of relationship?" Hutch asked, a beat behind his partner.

One side of her smile turned up in calculated coyness. "Cops. Partners. I was trying to explain it to Trixie here."

"That's Trixie?" Starsky's eyes widened behind the shades. He eyed the tall, spectacularly dressed and made-up dancer blatantly.

Trixie glowed under his attention, sashaying her narrow hips for his benefit. Her dancer's outfit didn't leave much to the imagination and Trixie, of all the dancers, made a beautiful woman. How the bitch managed to get her skinny boy's chest all pushed up and out to make an actual bosom Sugar would love to know.

"Wanna ask me how I got my name, handsome?" Trixie asked, batting her lashes.

"I'm afraid to," Starsky said, stunned.

Trixie giggled and blew him a kiss. Hutch smiled benignly. "All right, ladies, we're here. We're on time. What's next?"

Sugar pulled her attention back to the work at hand. She tried not to think about all that magnificent blondness behind the bar all night or the dark mystery prowling the floors. Who the hell would be looking at the dancers? "I've got your tax forms right here, boys. If you'll make them all nice and legal so Uncle Sam can get his...."

Hutch pulled off his shades to fill out the form, but not Starsky. Apparently, the jacket wasn't enough armor for him.

Once the paperwork was finished and filed, Sugar led Hutch behind the bar and gave him a tour of what was what and where was where.

"Roger and Kevin will be working on either side of you since you're new. If you're asked for something you've never made before, it's okay to ask the customer how it's made or get one of the other bartenders to make it."

He nodded, giving her serious attention, while Starsky leaned his back against the bar with the taut grace of a panther.

"'Sides," Trixie added, "all you really have to remember is where the sliced fruit, fancy straws, and little paper umbrellas are, and you'll be fine."

Starsky smirked broadly at Hutch who just gave him a disapproving glower.

"You guys look great in leather!" Trixie gushed, unable to contain herself any longer.

Sugar rolled her eyes in annoyance as Hutch blushed and stammered, "Uh... why, thanks...." She waited for him to scuff his toe to complete the Midwesterner-off-the-bus routine, but instead he glanced nervously at his partner.

Starsky snorted. "May as well be in leather. For that gen-u-wine slab-o'-meat experience."

Trixie pouted.

"Don't like it much, do you?" Sugar snapped, unable to stop her mouth. "Being displayed like a piece of meat? Well, maybe now you'll have a little more sympathy for the way women feel when you examine them like a horse at auction."

Starsky grinned, enjoying the verbal fencing. "Hey, I never checked a girl's teeth in my life! And I find it ironic that you think working here will help improve my technique with women."

"It's just a thought, darlin'," Sugar told him. "Don't let it bang around under those pretty curls all by itself now."

Hutch chuckled as Starsky frowned.

"Anytime you want to work on your technique with women, darlin'," Trixie told Starsky in that little breathy voice she cultivated when she was in drag, "you come see Trixie. She'll help you with that. Oh, yes, she will."

Hutch grinned. "Be grateful, Starsk. God knows you can use all the help you can get."

Starsky looked like he might want to strangle Hutch, and Sugar found herself totally confused. What is going on with these two studs? Are they or aren't they? Could they be so closeted even they don't know? Something's going on... and Momma Sugar's gonna get to the bottom of it.

But then it was time to open and customers started trickling in.

Trickling being the operative word, Sugar thought irritably as she glanced out at the wide-open bar around eight that night. She knew there might be problems with having cops working the place, but she really thought curiosity would bring in enough trade to make it worthwhile.

She came out from behind the stage curtain and moved to the bar. Hutch's area was deserted. He was leaning against the supply cabinets, keeping an eye out for his non-existent customers. Sugar shook her head. She couldn't see Starsky at the moment. Maybe this would be a good time to dish some dirt with the new boy.

She sidled over to the middle of the bar and planted herself on a stool. Hutch had the grace to smile. When she produced a cigarette in a long holder, he lit it for her without prompting.

"What'll it be, ma'am?" he offered in that sultry voice. She wondered if he sang.

"Now there's an opening line," Sugar said, batting her lashes.

He laughed. "Okay. What'll it be to drink, ma'am."

"You make me feel like a school marm with that ma'am stuff. Let me have a Chivas neat."

"Before the eight-thirty show?" he asked playfully. "You think that's a good idea?"

"Mama knows best, darlin'. Besides, it's my bar." She tapped a fingernail on the bar and he produced the drink. "Very nice."

"Is it always this quiet on a Thursday?" He leaned toward her, elbows on the bar.

She looked at him directly. "Never. I'm a little surprised."

"Sure you can afford this... gesture?" He spoke quietly, earnestly.

"I can't afford anything else," she assured him. "If we don't support you, who will?"

He shrugged. "It's not your problem...."

"It's every gay's problem. What's happening to you has happened or will happen to us sooner or later. If we don't support ourselves...." She saw the opening and took it. "Of course... we're straddling the fence with you two. It's bad enough you're cops, but...." "We're also straight, huh?" He didn't look at her when he said that.

"There's been some debate about that backstage," Sugar admitted. "Wishful thinking on the dancers' part, but don't be surprised if you get a few phone numbers tucked in your tips."

He laughed good-naturedly. "Starsky, too?"

Very non-committal. Hmmm. "He's too intimidating. If he wants to pretend he's straight, I don't think anyone will argue with him."

Hutch seemed surprised. "You think he's pretending?"

"I've seen plenty of macho boys like him, honey. They're the ones who are in the closet so deep they can't even find themselves."

Hutch suddenly colored and was about to say something, when Starsky appeared as if from nowhere. Ignoring Sugar, he leaned over the bar to get Hutch's attention. It seemed urgent.

Hutch glanced at Sugar apologetically. "What is it, Starsk?"

"We've got to find another place to go to the bathroom," Starsky hissed. He was coiled like a rattler, hands balled into fists, every muscle taut.

Really lovely, Sugar realized, eyes raking over the man as he leaned toward his partner.

"What are you talking about?" Hutch asked in a weary tone.

"We sure can't use the bathroom here!" Starsky insisted.

Hutch closed his eyes tiredly. "First off, none of the businesses on either side of the Parrot are going to let you use their bathroom, especially as often as you need to. Secondly, you've got the weakest bladder in all of LA. You'd never make it to another facility. What's the problem with the bathrooms here? There's six of them. Surely, one of them would suit you."

Sugar started to laugh, which only made Starsky glower at her. "Oh, there's six bathrooms, darling, but they've all got queers in them. Isn't that right, Starsky?"

Grinding his teeth, he glared at her. "I don't care that they've got... queers in them. What I care about is that I be allowed to use the facilities without any help!" He appealed to his partner. "It's not safe, Hutch! There's more action in the johns here than in the local No-Tell Motel!"

Hutch sighed. "Want me to come with you, Starsk, and watch your back?"

Now that, Sugar thought, eyeing Starsky's sleek spine, sounds like a job I could handle!

"That's not the only part that needs watching, though that would be a start." He jabbed a thumb in Hutch's direction and said to Sugar, "Big joke. He's got a twelve-hour bladder."

Sugar had to laugh, and Hutch joined her. "And another thing," Starsky continued, "just what is the big deal about bowed legs?"

Sugar almost snorted her Chivas. Maybe Starsky should use another bathroom. She dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin, careful not to disturb her makeup.

"If I hear one more crack about my damn bowed legs...."

"Calm down, Starsk," Hutch soothed him. "I'm sure the guys are just hazing you 'cause you're new. Remember when we were new in uniform? Come on. It can't be that bad."

Starsky gave him a look. "Hutch. When we were new in uniform not one single senior cop ever got on his knees in the john and offered to blow me while I was taking a leak."

"Too bad," Sugar purred. "It would give a whole new meaning to To Serve and Protect."

"Ha-ha!" Starsky said with no amusement. He waggled a finger at Hutch. "You just wait 'til you need to go. See if I have any sympathy for you!" And off he stormed to prowl the abnormally quiet floors of his domain.

"Is he always this intense?" Sugar asked.

"You think that's intense?" Hutch said, as the bullet-riddled jacket disappeared. "You haven't seen intense. That's just a little anxious."

Sugar perched her chin on her palm. She was tired of beating around the bush. "So, are you sleeping with him, or what?"

Hutch colored brilliantly but whether it was embarrassment or anger she couldn't judge. Jaw set, he stared at her. "That's not a fair question."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's not fair about it? A simple yes or no would...."

"No, it wouldn't. Where I'm sleeping and who I'm sleeping with has nothing to do with what I'm doing if all I'm doing is sleeping. But if I say it's none of your business--"

"Which it's not," she conceded graciously.

"You'll assume--"

"--That you are sleeping together. And I'll assume you're doing more than sleeping. And if you say no, I get to decide how good a liar you are. You're right. It's not a fair question."

He nodded, pleased that she agreed.

"So, are you sleeping with him, or what?" she asked again.

His eyes widened.

She held up a hand before he started sputtering. "Get used to it, darlin'. You're working in a gay bar. That is the question, the only question anyone here cares about. Who's sleeping with whom. If you're sleeping with him, it would take some pressure off him--but not much. He's too cute. If you're sleeping with him, it might take some pressure off you, too. Everyone here knows you've had a taste. Sometimes straight guys like to walk on the wild side. We all know that. They usually walk on the wild side with us, 'til they lose interest or the right lady comes along. It's a fact of life. So, are you sleeping with him?"

He was flustered, completely speechless.

So, you're a lousy liar but you don't trust me enough to tell me the truth.

"Whether we're sleeping together or not is hardly the issue," he prevaricated. "Technically, Starsky and I have been sleeping together since he got shot last year. It was safer for us to be together with the constant threat to our lives...." He trailed off, realizing Sugar wasn't buying it.

I've really put him in a spot. He's carrying something heavy, with no one to share it with. She took a leisurely drag off her cigarette. Glancing around, she found Starsky perched by the door, checking I.D.'s. As soon as he was done, his eyes moved back to the bar to Hutch. And Hutch was ever aware of the scrutiny. His gaze traveled just as automatically to his partner.

"I'm sorry," she said honestly. "I didn't mean to.... Well, maybe I did. You two are the most interesting pair we've had in here in a while." She pointed to two women off in a corner. "That's Dale and Letitia. Letitia's been married for ten years. Tuesday and Thursday are her nights out with the girls. Have been for all those ten years. She and Dale have been together all that time."

Hutch blinked. "Isn't that kind of hard on Dale, when she has to go home alone?"

"She doesn't go home alone on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Letitia goes home with her and doesn't go back to her husband until the sun rises. He asks no questions. Those two guys in the corner?" Two average looking men were hunkered together over a small table, foreheads nearly touching in intimate communication. "That's Jim and Larry. Larry's been married twenty years. Jim's been married thirteen. They're in here together two or three nights a week. Sometimes they spend the night at the St. Francis--their wivesprefer they do that rather than drive home drunk."

"Their wives ask no questions?" he asked.

Sugar shrugged. "Hard to say. They seem happy in their family pictures. They both have kids. They love their wives. But they're really in love with each other. This works for them. Everyone in here has a story. Yours and the Dark One's is a bit more complicated, but.... It's just another soap opera around here."

"Well," Hutch said, withdrawing slightly, "it's my soap opera. I'm not used to spilling my guts in a bar--not even to a lovely lady. I'm a cop, Sugar. I'm used to people spilling their guts to me."

She nodded, understanding. "Good experience then for a bartender."

Suddenly, Starsky appeared again. He seemed just as coiled but this time he was wearing a little grin. "Hey, Hutch." "Now, what?"

"A lady upstairs just told me a joke!"

Hutch looked interested. "A lady?"

"A dyke," Sugar interjected.

Starsky winced. "Do you have to call her that?" He looked at Hutch plaintively. "That's what she called herself. Where I come from that's the worst thing you could call a woman! But she said it just like you did, Sugar. Like it was something to be proud of."

"Why isn't it?" Sugar asked. "Dykes, gays, queers, lesbians, faggots, cocksuckers.... That's what the world calls us. If we use the words, find pride in them, we take the power away from them and use it for ourselves."

Starsky shook his head. "I don't think I could ever use them with pride--but I guess I better think it over some more."

Her surprise must've shown on her face.

"I'm stuck with them, too, aren't I?" he said.

She waved her cigarette hand languidly, conceding the point. It would be hard to look at Starsky and think queer, faggot--cocksucker? No, she couldn't imagine it. The blond maybe but this barnyard rooster?

"So, what's the joke?" Hutch said, bringing Starsky back to the point.

"Oh. Yeah! How can you tell when you're in a lesbian bar?" Starsky grinned.

"I don't know, Starsk. How can you tell when you're in a lesbian bar?" Hutch was enjoying this. He was smiling, relaxed, his eyes shining as he watched Starsky's merriment.

"The pool tables have no balls." Starsky smiled at his partner who laughed lightly, then gently punched him on the arm.

"Good one, Starsk."

"The lady was cool when she told it to me, Hutch," Starsky explained. "She didn't even get mad when I laughed."

"Where was this?" Hutch asked.

"In the punk bar upstairs," Starsky explained. "You shoulda seen her. She had a crewcut and a safety pin through her ear. But she was laughing and cutting up so much, she made me laugh, too. She was real people. Said her name was Spike. Well, I better get back to the door. See ya, Sugar." And he was gone, taking all his contradictory reactions with him. Sugar watched his rear switching away and sighed.

"Me," she said wistfully, "I couldn't sleep with that and not go after it. I couldn't last a night. If you can, then you're straighter than I thought, blondie."

He colored violently but said not a word.

Sugar stared at him for a moment, then said, "Be careful, Hutch. Fooling around is fine if you're straight. But if you fall in love all bets are off. And that one's got heart-breaker written all over him." Before he could argue the point, she slid off the stool. "Gotta freshen up for the eight-thirty show. See you later, handsome."

~~~

By midnight, business had improved. Starsky was moderately busy on the door. A few people were sitting at Hutch's part of the bar, but compared to the other bartenders' sections, it was still pretty bare. Starsky wondered if Hutch was feeling hurt at all by the patrons deliberately avoiding him or if he didn't care. It was hard to tell when the blintz was wearing all that cool Hutchinson armor like he was now. Starsky envied him that ability. Hutch could freeze out the devil himself when he wanted to.

Starsky was checking ID's when he did a double take at a man who walked up to him.

"Gonna card me, Starsky, or will you assume the Academy doesn't graduate underage cops?" It was Tomas Diega, the rookie detective who was being trained by Russo and Wilson.

Starsky reached inside himself to find some of that Hutchinson cool, but as usual it deserted him when he needed it most. His stomach tightened and every muscle went taut. "What do you want, Diega?"

"A beer, Starsky. Just a beer."

Starsky growled through his teeth as he leaned threateningly toward the man. "Russo send you to check up on us? Gonna make a complete report?"

Tomas smiled gently keeping his voice low. "As a matter of fact, Russo and Wilson did send me. But how 'bout we take this inside, huh?" He started to walk into the bar.

Without thinking, Starsky's arm shot out to block his way. "We've got the right to refuse service to anyone. What are you doing here?"

Tomas' dark eyes were liquid in the streetlights as they looked at the arm obstructing his way then back to the hostile eyes glaring at him. "Starsky. Let me in. You won't regret it. I've got something for you and Hutch."

"Like a subpoena?" He stood his ground. "Nothing legal. I can't show it here. They're watching us, amigo."

Starsky froze. "Russo?"

"And Wilson. Let me in. Wait a few minutes then follow me."

Starsky paused, weighing his options, then finally dropped his arm and jerked a thumb over his shoulder indicating Tomas should enter.

His eyes scanned the street, finally lighting on a nondescript Ford sedan a block away that had two shadows in it. He kept his eyes away from it after that. When no more patrons showed up after a few minutes, he left the door.

He didn't have to search for Tomas. He was quite conspicuous standing in the middle of Hutch's section of the bar. As Starsky approached, he realized Tomas was chatting with a couple of guys to his left. Then he realized he was chatting in Spanish. Then he realized....

Those guys know him. They called him by name. He wasn't in here long enough to make friends that fast.

Before he could work it all out, Trixie appeared from behind the stage curtain. She shrieked theatrically, "Oh, Tomas, querido!" and flung herself down the steps and across the floor until her sequined platform shoes minced double-time all the way to Tomas' side. He grabbed up the dancer and swung her around, kissing her blatantly.

Around the reuniting couple, Starsky and Hutch exchanged looks of sheer amazement.

Once Tomas settled the tall black dancer back on her feet, Trixie leaned toward Starsky. "You look surprised, honey!"

Before he could answer, Hutch said quietly, "Starsky. Your jaw. Close it."

He did with a snap then narrowed his eyes at Hutch. Like you're not shocked shitless, Mr. Cool!

"These hard-ass cops aren't giving you any trouble, are they, querida?" Tomas asked the dancer, sending her into a fit of giggles.

"More like the other way around," Starsky grumbled.

"Trixie," Tomas said threateningly to his lover, "you better behave yourself. These are my brother cops. They'll tell on you."

Trixie pouted then blatantly blew Starsky a kiss. "I just wanted your brothers to feel at home, honey!" She giggled some more when Tomas slapped her lush ass.

Then he released her and reached into an inside pocket. "I can't stay too long," Tomas said as he dug out some small rectangular objects and dropped them on the bar. They were Polaroids, about a dozen. Hutch picked them up, thumbed through them. A funny look crossed his face as he started handing them over to Starsky. It didn't take long for Starsky to realize what he was seeing. It was the police locker room. His and Hutch's lockers were still emblazoned with the epithets, Faggot and Cocksucker in blazing red. But on Russo's locker, the one beside Starsky's, there was also a message. It read, Shakes Down Whores. Another locker--Starsky wasn't exactly sure whose it was--read, Bigot. Another read, Takes Graft. Another read, Gambler. Another, Brutalizes Minorities. Others: Lazy Cop, Sellout, Liar. Starsky flipped through the pictures. Not all the lockers were victimized but many were. His and Hutch's were lost amid the accusations.

"What's all this?" Starsky asked Tomas, still unsure of what he was seeing.

"Just another in a series of vandalism problems we've been having in the police locker room," Tomas said nonchalantly. "Dobey's having a fit. He's ordered the lockers repainted, and he swears if one more piece of graffiti shows up, he's having the place dusted for prints."

"You, uh," Hutch muttered, "you wouldn't know anything about this, would you?"

Tomas shrugged. "I haven't been a detective long enough to make value judgments of my brother officers, Detective Hutchinson. Though rumor has it there is a small but vocal coalition of officers who have protested your suspension. Dobey said there wasn't enough evidence to accuse anyone of the vandalism--either the original vandalism or this latest attack."

"Russo must've had a cow," Starsky said, staring at the big man's locker. "He's been shaking down prostitutes for years and everybody knows it but to see it right there...."

"Yeah," Tomas agreed. "It's real different when someone writes the truth all over your locker, ain't it, bro'?"

Starsky looked at him. "Tomas, you... you're...?"

"Mariçon, Detective Starsky," he confirmed. "And no, neither Wilson nor Russo have a clue. They sent me here to see how things were going for you. I protested enough but I can't stay long. What do you want me to tell them, amigo?"

The partners glanced at each other at a loss.

"Oh, honey!" Trixie said, "tell them the truth! They never expect that." As Starsky wondered what Trixie's version of the truth might be, she said, "Just tell them Hutch is workin' the bar, and Starsky's the bouncer, and that everyone's scared to death of 'em!"

Starsky started to smile. It was the truth, and it would let Russo and Wilson think they weren't fitting in here, they weren't succeeding. He nodded at Tomas. "She's right. Tell 'em the truth. Hutch?"

He nodded. "Are they watching the place every night?"

"In between other stuff," Tomas assured them. "They're not the only ones. But some of the guys cruising by--you should excuse the expression--are on your side. Like Higgins and Linda Baylor and her partner. But the situation at Parker is tense. Everyone's coming down on one side or the other. It's a divided camp and Dobey's desperate attempt at maintaining neutrality isn't helping. He's caught in the middle." He kissed Trixie on the cheek then let her go. "I've got to get back. It wouldn't be a bad idea, Starsky, if you escorted me out."

"I can do that," he agreed.

Tomas pointed a finger at Hutch. "Keep my special girl out of trouble, Hutch."

"Me?" Hutch looked shocked.

"What?" Tomas said, nodding at Starsky. "You think I'd trust him?"

Starsky felt himself coloring under the good-natured jibing and scowled at Hutch and Diega. Giving Tomas a gentle shove toward the door, he grumbled, "Ain't it time for you to go?"

Once they got in the street, Starsky moved right into Tomas' private space, going nose-to-nose with him, poking his chest, just to make things look good to Wilson and Russo.

Tomas seemed a bit surprised by the aggressive move as Starsky said quietly, "Watch your rear, man. You've got no back-up playing this game. And Russo can maneuver you into something dangerous so you'll take the bullet, and he can't be touched."

"You're pretty worried about a faggot," Tomas said quietly, "aren't you, Starsky?"

"I'm worried about a brother cop, Tomas," Starsky told him. "Let's leave religion out of it."

Tomas backed off, nodding, then headed for the Ford as Starsky slipped back inside.

Diega's gay! Starsky marveled, thinking of him spinning Trixie around the floor. He's not just in love with another guy; he's in love with a drag queen! And I'm losing all this sleep worrying about Hutch!

Watching surreptitiously from behind his dark shades, he saw Tomas climb into Russo's sedan. As the car moved into traffic, Starsky turned to peer into the bar. There was suddenly a thicker crowd at Hutch's part of the bar. His partner was busy for the first time that night.

He's so focused on the job, Starsky realized. Doesn't matter whether it's being a cop or making a drink. Whatever he's got to do, he focuses everything on it.

He had a sudden startling memory of the care Hutch lavished on him last night, how intent he was on Starsky's needs, Starsky's pain. Hutch was moving like a dancer, his sometimes-clumsy body pivoting gracefully, reaching for bottles high on their shelves, pouring and mixing liquor in a smooth practiced way.

He's beautiful, Starsky thought, and felt his cock nod lazily in agreement.

"Do you need to card me, too, David?" Starsky spun, taken completely by surprise by the tall man standing behind him. His train of thought completely derailed, he had to struggle not to show his startlement. What the hell was he doing anyway, standing there, staring at Hutch as if he'd never seen him before?

"No, Councilman," he managed to say smoothly. "I figure anyone in public office has got to be of legal age."

Peter Whitelaw smiled. "Then can I enter?"

Realizing he was bodily blocking the entrance, Starsky stepped aside. "Sure thing." He glanced over Whitelaw's conservative business suit and briefcase. "But I think you might've come to the wrong place. Far as I know, there's no political rally going on inside."

"Even a politician needs a beer once in a while," Whitelaw said as he walked through the door. "How's it working out--the job?"

Starsky nodded. "It's a living." His conscience gave him a swift kick. "We appreciate it, Councilman."

Whitelaw snorted a laugh. "Really, David, there's no need to be so formal. It's Peter."

His conscience gave up the fight. "I'm just the doorman, Councilman. I wouldn't want to show disrespect."

Whitelaw shook his head remaining silent.

Starsky watched him walk through the bar in a bee-line for Hutch's section. Hutch looked up, spotted his approach, and smiled one of those warm good-natured Hutchinson smiles at him, all butter and invitation.

Do you have a clue, Hutch, how good you look dressed like that? Even a single clue what your friendliness is saying to that man? Feeling every muscle in his body tense, Starsky deliberately turned away and tried humming his Om. It didn't help much.

Deciding it was time to do his rounds, he headed for the stairs that would take him up to the leather bar. At least up there he wouldn't have to hear Hutch laughing at something Whitelaw said or see him serve the politician with that eager interested expression.

As he jogged up the steps, he heard Huggy's admonition ringing in his ears.

Starsky, what is your problem now? We said we'd walk together baby come what may That come the twilight should we lose our way If as we're walking a hand should slip free I'll wait for you And should I fall behind Wait for me If I Should Fall Behind--Bruce Springsteen

Chapter 13

Well now I don't wanna be greedy But when it comes to love there ain't no doubt You just ain't gonna get what you want With one foot in bed and one foot out All or Nothin' at All--Bruce Springsteen

As Peter watched David Starsky stalk up the stairs, he had to work hard not to be overwhelmed by the sight. He'd been impressed before with Starsky's aura of contained intensity, but now, clad in his leather armor, he seemed positively menacing. A magnificent physique and the kind of rear end he didn't think white men could grow augmented the whole package. He wondered how long it would take the Parrot's regular crowd to stop being intimidated by Starsky's profession and start putting hands on that beautiful ass. He stifled a smile.

The humor of the situation was quickly lost on him as he got a good look at Ken. All three bartenders working the long teak bar were dressed in white leather, but on Ken the clothing looked different. It molded to his body as though specifically made for him. And his fair hair and skin, combined with the bright white clothing, made it seem as if a soft spotlight followed his every move--his every graceful, athletic, masculine move. Peter wet his lips. Ken was the most outrageous example of gay-bait he'd ever seen. He'd kill Sugar.

That should be easy to do since she was ensconced on a nearby stool where she'd have the best possible view of her latest acquisition.

Ken spotted him as he stepped up to the bar. His face lit up with a friendly smile. "Good evening, Councilman. How can I serve you?"

Peter was startled to find his voice locked up tight in his throat.

"Careful there, darling," Sugar said in her breathy Monroe voice. "An offer like that in a place like this can open up a world of new experiences." She winked at Ken as she took a long, theatrical drag on her cigarette.

Peter felt himself go red all over as Ken flushed. Ken glowered at Sugar, which only amused her.

At least the interruption gave Peter a chance to recover from his flustered entrance. "Don't show too much reaction, Ken. It only encourages her."

"How would you know?" Sugar asked expansively, still doing Monroe. "A girl could die from lack of attention if she were depending on you to feed her ego." Leaning over the bar, she confided sotto voce to Ken, "Around here, Peter's known as the Ice Man. We have yet to find the stud who can crack that chilly veneer." She made a show of looking Ken up and down. "Hmmm. The Ice Man and the Snow King. Now, there's a match!"

Ken's jaw tightened. "Sugar...." he growled.

She ignored him. "Oh, don't worry. Your very own Dante's Inferno is busy heating the atmosphere upstairs. Your secret is safe with me."

Peter wasn't used to being on the end of one of Sugar's matchmaking blitzes and he wanted to spare Ken the embarrassment. Especially before she hit too close to home. "Isn't it time for you to get ready for the eight-thirty show?"

"Well, that's the advantages of being the star," she reminded him. "The curtain can't go up without me." She gave a Monroe pout. "Don't you have something for your sweet Sugar or did you just come to check up on your boys?"

Peter was grateful for the change of topic as he put his briefcase on the bar and unsnapped it. Ken looked puzzled and a bit concerned.

"Come on. Let's see the merchandise," Sugar said with a touch of impatience.

Now Ken seemed uncomfortable. Peter brought out six record albums and handed them to Sugar. "Hot off the presses," he assured her.

"Delicious!" she breathed as she examined the albums. Catching sight of Ken's quizzical expression, she explained, "Peter has his manly fingers into many things. Don't you, dear boy?"

"I've got connections in the recording industry," he said. "Sometimes they give me pre-released material to see how the market likes it. Sugar tells me how it plays and I tell them."

"Very nice cooperative agreement," Sugar agreed, glancing over liner notes. "They get some early publicity in the gay community, and we get the freshest music in the city. I'll check these out tomorrow. Thanks, sweetheart. Oh, this one's a duplicate. Here, darling, a present for you." She handed it to Ken, who took it with another of those confused expressions.

Sugar glanced at her watch and sighed. "Well, Punctual Peter, you're right about the time. I'll bet your mother was a tyrant during your potty training. And I did so want to watch this little passion play." She tsked loudly and slid off the stool, batting her eyelashes as she tucked the albums under her arm. "You two will just have to play nicely without me. Go right ahead and do anything I wouldn't do, darlings, though I can't imagine what that might be! Just be sure to tell me about it later." She sashayed toward the stage, blowing them a kiss as she left.

"Why do I feel like I just got a last minute reprieve?" Ken asked, as he stashed the album under the bar.

Peter laughed, grateful that Sugar's showy exit helped him relax. Next to her, he came across as Mr. Bland Normality. He didn't have to wonder why that was so important to him right now. "Sugar loves coming on like an avalanche. You'll get used to it."

"You think so?" Ken asked and they both grinned. "You never did tell me what I can get for you, Peter."

The honest answer--an evening alone with you--was buried so far in his mind it had no chance of being voiced. He sometimes wondered how it was he and John had ever gotten together, since neither of them had been very good at the gay mating game. "Just a beer."

Ken drew it up for him and served it with one of the Parrot's colorful coasters.

"Can I buy you one?" Peter heard himself ask and was as surprised as if Sugar had forced him to say it.

Ken smiled hesitantly. "Well... I don't know. I am on duty...."

Suddenly, the bartender serving on Ken's right, Kevin, drew closer. He was laughing. "You better not let Sugar hear you turn down a customer's offer to buy you a drink. That's part of the job. Just another friendly service."

Ken nodded, taking the advice in the manner it was offered. "It may take a while for me to get used to drinking on duty."

"Sugar won't tolerate a drunken bartender," Kevin warned. "But I suspect that won't be a problem with you." Then he wandered back to his own area.

Ken cocked his head to one side. "In that case, Peter, you can buy me a beer."

As Peter laid the money on the bar, Ken drew a mug for himself. Peter held his up in a toast. "To your first day on the job."

Ken nodded his thanks and took a swallow. "Cold!" he said admiringly.

"Oh, the Parrot's got the coldest brew in the city," Peter said, wiping foam from his mouth.

"Why do I have the feeling that you didn't come all the way over here just to buy me a beer?" Ken asked. His expression changed and while still friendly, Peter saw again that piercing cop gaze that could make any smitten gay confess his dirtiest fantasies in a heartbeat.

"Well, that was one reason," Peter said honestly. "I wanted to make sure the two of you were comfortable here. That the culture shock wasn't too bad."

Ken laughed. "I don't know what Starsky would say, but everyone's been civil to me. I suspect those who aren't comfortable with our working here just aren't going to show up. I'm worried that Sugar can't afford it."

"You don't know gay men," Peter said. "They're not here tonight but tomorrow's Friday. It's Ladies Night. They'll be here."

Ken blinked. "Ladies Night? Do I want to know?"

"Think of Mardi Gras with more enthusiasm and less inhibitions," Peter warned then laughed at Ken's stricken expression. "You'll be too busy to worry about it, but warn David not to assume anything about the ladies that show up. They won't all be in drag. The Parrot's become the place to be seen on Fridays and usually hosts a bevy of ambitious starlets with borrowed dresses, but you can't tell them apart without a scorecard. Listen...." He leaned forward, wishing for more privacy while grateful for the public forum that was distracting enough to help him keep his mind on business. "I've passed on that tape to friends in the industry. I'm hoping they might have some information for me in a day or so. I won't lie to you. They didn't hold out a lot of hope. They think it might narrow down the film source, but they're not convinced it'll lead to the actual location of the processor."

"Let me and Starsky worry about that. Just get us whatever you can. And Peter," Ken's big hand enclosed his forearm and the contact made his body chemistry go haywire, "we really appreciate this. Both of us."

Peter almost laughed out loud. "Both of you? I seriously doubt that."

"Don't be fooled by Starsky's bravado," Ken said. "He's amazingly adaptable. It's just going to take him a while to get his sea legs."

Peter nodded. If you say so.

Just then Kevin approached again. "Listen, Hutch, you haven't had a break since you came on. Thing's will pick up during the eight-thirty showr; they always do. Take fifteen." Kevin glanced at Peter then back at Ken and winked. Ken looked embarrassed. He started to protest, but Kevin left to serve another customer.

"Since you've got a few minutes," Peter heard himself saying, "why don't you grab your beer and join me in a booth. It wouldn't hurt us to talk a little strategy. About your case?" Who the hell was this brazen man speaking out of his mouth, Peter wondered, shocked at his own boldness. It scared him a little. This was the way it had gone with John. He'd found himself able to say anything to John--anything to get his attention. He suddenly remembered Sugar's taunting words when she'd called him to tell him she wanted to hire these two at the Parrot.

We've got to take care of our own, Peter. You know how I feel about that. And besides, those boys are so hot they'd turn even you on.

Ken's eyes did a quick sweep of the room.

Looking for his partner, Peter realized. It was the splash of cold water he needed. The only real competition he'd had with John was their closeted lifestyle and their mutual fear of discovery. Not that all our caution saved us, he thought bitterly. He'd never been the kind of gay man who was willing to get involved with anyone who wanted to play the field or who already had a steady lover. The situation between Ken and Dave was confusing enough without his getting involved in it.

Apparently satisfied that Dave wasn't on the floor, Ken surprised him by saying, "Sure. There's an empty booth over there."

Peter realized the hand gripping his beer mug felt clammy. Oh, for crying out loud, he scolded himself. You're having a beer with a straight man, not going out on your first date. His body wasn't listening. ~~~

Hutch kept telling himself that every eye in the place was not watching him carry a beer to a nearby booth, but he couldn't maintain the lie. He was too used to walking through bars, aware of every single person in the place, aware of his effect as a cop on the people within. His effect now was different. It was so different he wasn't sure he could deal with it, even though part of it was still because he was a cop.

While following Peter he tried not to be too aware of him either, but that was just as impossible. Hutch was taken by surprise at his genuine joy at seeing Peter enter the bar. He thought it might be because Peter was the first person who'd really believed their story.

Or maybe it was something else Hutch didn't want to examine too closely.

Peter slid into an empty booth surrounded by other empty booths and Hutch wondered how many times Peter had done this same thing with John Blaine. John and I were loners. He recalled Peter saying that when he and Starsky had interviewed him after John's death. After spending an evening watching gay men socialize with each other, Hutch could imagine how isolated John and Peter must've been. John was a cop. Peter, at the time, a teacher. It would've been social death for either man to be discovered.

But, of course, Peter had been discovered. His exposure had ended his relationship with John. In spite of that, he'd turned that negative experience--an experience that would've destroyed lesser men--into something positive by going into politics and winning his election. Hutch admired that enormously and could only hope he was man enough to handle his own situation half as well.

"What are you thinking?" Peter asked, as he settled into the booth. "You look so serious."

Hutch didn't have the energy to dissemble. "I was thinking of what you must've gone through when you were fired. I was wondering how I could've gotten through that."

Peter seemed surprised. "It's a common story in the gay world, Ken."

"That doesn't make it any less difficult. I guess I was thinking about you losing... John."

Peter did glance away then.

"It's none of my business. I'm sorry," Hutch said. He was projecting his own fears. If I lose Starsky…. He wouldn't yield to the fear.

Peter turned back. "Don't be sorry. Friends should feel comfortable saying anything to each other. I'd like to think we can be friends."

Hutch smiled and drank his beer.

"I'll be honest, Ken," Peter said and Hutch felt a snake of anticipation uncoil in his gut. "I wanted to talk to you privately because I've got some concerns about... police retaliation." Hutch blinked, caught off guard. He was startled to find out he was almost disappointed. "Police retaliation? For what?"

Peter didn't answer immediately.

"You mean... for us?" Hutch said incredulously.

"Aiding and abetting," Peter agreed. "You have to remember, that while you and Starsky weren't known for rousting gay bars, it still happens. The faction of your brotherhood that opposes gays on the force wants to make sure there's no chance of your being reinstated. The best way to do that is to discredit you further. Being arrested for lewd and lascivious acts or passing drugs could be accomplished during the panic of a raid."

Hutch the cop wanted to deny that any officer of the law could stoop so low. But Hutch the realist could only think of Russo. "Maybe it would be better if Starsky and I didn't work here. I don't want to endanger these people."

"Sugar won't hear of you bailing out," Peter told him. "There's got to be another way to work around this. Prepare for it."

Prepare....

Peter sat quietly, watching his expression.

"I'm thinking about my yoga instructor," Hutch said. "I think you know her. Tsuka? She's a strong proponent of passive resistance. Is it too crazy a notion to think we could use a police action against the police? Use it to stage a civil rights demonstration?"

Peter sat back as if totally surprised by the suggestion. "You're thinking that a bar full of gay people--most of them heavily closeted--could work together during a raid as civil rights protestors? You think we could pull a sit-in? I don't know if that's the craziest notion I ever heard... or the most brilliant."

Hutch warmed up to the topic. "Better that than a Stonewall riot. I'll talk to Tsuka about it but I'm sure she could help us organize it. So many of the patrons are regulars. If they passively resisted like King's people in Alabama, any action on the police's part would be brutality, a violation of civil rights. Between the case they lost recently and our own court action, it would just make them look worse."

"I don't know, Ken. Some of the people here can't risk being exposed."

"That's why we have to plan. The most vulnerable people have to have an escape route. The people willing to resist have to cover their escape. If there are enough resisters...."

Peter blinked. "It's crazy enough that the punk regulars might go for it. But the leathermen?"

"It'll take a while to organize. We'll have to have drills." He found the prospect exciting. "Drills?"

"Sugar can discuss it during her shows," Hutch insisted. "We can pass out literature. We can have organized practices while we're closed during the day or after our official closing at night. It's worth a try. Then if we get raided, everyone will know their roles, and the police who run the raid will end up looking like Nazis."

Peter stared at him. "This is a pretty weird scenario to be suggested by another cop."

Hutch glanced around the bar. "These people have stuck their necks out for us. We have to think of something to protect them. That's what real cops do. They protect people."

"Okay," Peter agreed with an amused expression. His intense gaze was fixed on Hutch, and Hutch suddenly felt as if the room had gotten five degrees warmer. Peter was a charismatic man. Attractive, masculine, with a strength of character Hutch admired.

He suddenly needed to get out of the booth, get away from this moment. He slid out of the seat and stood abruptly. "Listen, I don't have much time left so I'd better go check on Starsky, make sure everything's okay with him."

"Sure," Peter said, looking startled. "We'll talk about this again. I'll see you, Ken."

Hutch nodded and strode away, feeling Peter's gaze on his back. Last time he'd looked, Starsky had gone up to one of the upstairs bars. He headed for the staircase, peripherally aware when Peter left the bar.

Hutch stood at the head of the stairs, not wanting to examine his reactions but unable to ignore them. Starsky's outraged comments from the other morning ricocheted around his head.

He wants you!

Hutch thought he had no problem with that concept. Peter was a young unattached gay man and Hutch was an attractive man. So, Peter wanted him. So what?

So what if you might want him back? So what if you discover this isn't just about Starsky? So what if you find you swing both ways? So what about that, Hutchinson?

He closed his eyes, took a deep cleansing breath and mentally hummed an Om, shutting everything else out, the noise of the bars, the smells, and the unsettling feelings he didn't really want to explore. His body relaxed a bit and he blanked his mind. He needed to see Starsky, touch base with him. Starsky had always been his anchor, his grounding when life around them got too crazy. Just spending a minute with him would help put everything in perspective.

So, where was Starsky?

Standing on the landing that served as a broad entryway to both upper level bars, Hutch looked over the territory. On one side were the doors leading to the punk bar, the Rainbow Parrot. The doors sported an embellished carving of a large garishly-colored Macaw-type bird with a rainbow crest on its head that looked like a Mohawk haircut. Around its neck was a spiked dog collar, and through its beak was a safety pin. Hutch snorted and tried to imagine Starsky's expression when he first saw it.

Across from the punk bar were black leather padded doors bearing their own logo. This was a big black cockatoo-looking bird that sported a huge crest with a leatherman's cap perched jauntily to one side, red-rimmed eyes, a formidable beak, and a sinister expression. It also wore a chrome studded leather jacket with a silver key chain that was practically a required uniform of the bar's patrons.

In a choice between the Rainbow Parrot and the Black Parrot, Hutch chose the leather bar. He pushed through the doors without hesitation.

Every man in the place noted his entrance. The low rumble of conversation stopped for a moment as he stood inside the doorway, scanning for Starsky. The place was packed with men, almost all of them wearing the same thing.

Great. A solid mass of black leather, silver zippers, and biker boots. Starsky might as well be wearing camouflage.

Key chains jingled as the men at the bar shifted, their gaze raking over Hutch in unabashed interest.

Starsky probably loves it up here, surrounded by the creak of leather and the rank musk of testosterone.

Still, he could find no familiar curly head. The bar was extensive enough that he had to prowl around a bit. Noticing that the bartender was in a black outfit similar to Starsky's, he approached the bar, sidled in between two of the patrons and got the man's attention.

"Have you seen Starsky up here?" he asked. They'd been introduced to all the staff before the place opened for business.

The bartender nodded. "Yeah, he was here just a few minutes ago. I didn't see him leave, but..." he shrugged.

"Thanks," Hutch said and started to move away when he felt a heavy hand on his waist.

"Leavin' so soon, Cinderella?" said a huge bear of a man. He was so swarthy and had so much dark hair on his head and face, Hutch found himself wondering if he'd just discovered the missing link. A name stitched over a patch on his vest read, Roland.

"That's right," Hutch said boldly, removing the hand from his body. "Fairy godmother's orders. Gotta be home before midnight. Don't want my coach turning into a pumpkin."

Roland laughed good-naturedly, as if appreciating Hutch's humor. "If you're looking for your Prince Charming, you might wanna check the john. That's the last place I saw him." Hutch nodded his thanks and walked away. Of course. Should've looked there first.

He pushed his way through the men's room doors, trusting Starsky not to use the Ladies facility the way some of the gay men did.

Man, even the bathroom is a biker's wet dream, Hutch thought, as he gazed at the pictures of broad-chested men in skin-tight leather with swollen groins sitting suggestively across the biggest Hogs Hutch had ever seen. He had a flashback of Starsky lying nearly horizontal across a motorcycle that Huggy had been using. It was during the Matt Coyle case. As they'd talked to Huggy about Laura Lonigan's affair with Coyle, Starsky had casually swung a leg over the bike, then draped himself across the seat... legs spread wide... jeans tight across his groin... looking good enough to--

Stop right there before you throw a rod! He shook his head to chase the memory.

"Starsky, you in here?" he asked the empty bathroom irritably as he glanced at the open stalls. The surprisingly clean bathroom was dark, covered in glossy black ceramic tiles with black toilets, urinals, and sinks. Only the gleaming chrome of the fixtures sparkled in the dimness. The dark shiny tiles absorbed the soft lighting provided by motorcycle headlamps.

It occurred to him that it could be awhile before he got another chance to use the facilities himself and stepped up to one of the urinals and unzipped. He'd try the punk bar next, he decided, wondering if Starsky had already gone downstairs in the course of his rounds. Patrolling the strangest beat we've ever had. He finished, shook off, and was zipping himself up when he realized with grim humor that his white clothing was the brightest thing in the room. It made him stand out like a beacon.

Or a target.

His cop's instinct suddenly lifted every hair on his body. As he started to turn, his hand reached automatically under his left arm only to find nothing there.

Before he could complete the turn, he was hit from behind, grabbed, shoved hard against the side wall, his arms restrained roughly against the tiles.

He assessed the situation as adrenaline surged through him. Three guys. At least. Two of them bigger than me. Much bigger. He lurched, but he was pinned as a massive weight pushed intimately against his back. A heavy hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, pressing his cheek against the cool wall. The outline of a meaty erection shoved obscenely against the crack of his ass as a husky voice murmured in his ear.

"Hey, there, Cinderella!" Roland purred. "It ain't midnight yet. Your Prince Charming's just arrived, and he's ready to dance."

~~~

"I'm telling you, Starsky, these spark plugs were made for cars like yours," Spike said. Starsky worked at not staring at her safety pin earring or her crewcut red hair. The five-foot woman was wiry tough, her muscle shirt showing off impressive biceps for such a slender person. "Okay, I'll try them. If they're as good as you say, I'll tell my mechanic about 'em."

"How about giving me a turn behind the wheel of that gorgeous beast?" Spike prodded. "I sure would like to let her out on the straightaway."

Starsky's eyes widened. Drive the Torino?

"'S'matter?" Spike teased. "Never let a girl behind the wheel of your testosterone special?"

Spike's lover, Denise, leaned over to join the conversation. "Well, hell, Spike, he could still say that if you drove it."

He flinched at the jibe even though the two women and most of the men around them cracked up in laughter. One of the guys, dressed almost identically to Spike, said, "I'd like to see you on a straightaway. Girlfriend, you can't even drive straight!" They all howled some more.

"Hey, ease up, guys," Spike admonished through her laughter. "Starsky here's looking seasick again. You know he's sensitive." She turned to him and patted his arm consolingly. "We're just teasing, Starsky. It's okay."

"If you say so." He wondered if he'd ever understand humor that made fun of the very thing that ostracized them from society. Maybe you'd understand it if you weren't so freaked by the double life you're leading. Insisting you're straight all day, 'til you go to bed with Hutch at night. Hypocrites always have trouble laughing at themselves.

"Hey, Starsky," said the young slender boy who'd teased Spike, "here's a joke for you. How can you tell when you're in a gay bar?"

Starsky smiled. Remembering the joke about the lesbian bar, he offered, "The pool tables have no cue sticks?" His response took the crowd by surprise and everyone laughed.

Spike gave him a thumbs-up. "Quick answer!"

"Yeah, but it's the wrong one," said the boy, smiling.

"Okay, I'll bite," Starsky said. "How can you tell when you're in a gay bar?"

"All the bar stools are upside down," the boy said, and the group laughed again.

Starsky just blinked, mystified. He smiled weakly, not wanting to admit his ignorance though he imagined they could figure it out from his expression. He tossed the spark plug in the air then caught it deftly. "I'll let you know how these work out, Spike. I'll be up a little later."

"Well, at least I have something to look forward to," the boy cooed, and everyone laughed some more.

"Glad I could brighten your dreary day," Starsky tossed off to more laughter as he headed for the exit. As he left the Rainbow Parrot and stood on the landing, he noticed how quiet the leather bar seemed to be. Well, he'd been in there not ten minutes ago and that motley crew was acting positively civilized. Maybe Sugar's putting something in their drinks.

He hesitated a moment before descending the stairs. He didn't want to admit it, but he was hoping that he'd see Hutch working his part of the bar with Whitelaw nowhere to be seen. But when he got partway down the stairs he realized only half his wish had come true. There was no Whitelaw in sight. But there was no Hutch either. For a cold second his stomach knotted as he wondered if they'd left together, but then he dismissed the notion. Hutch would never abandon his post.

He approached the bar and rapped his knuckles on it to get Kevin's attention. When he glanced his way while serving a customer, Starsky asked succinctly, "Hutch?"

"On break," Kevin responded just as briefly.

Could he have left with Whitelaw? Starsky didn't want to acknowledge the twist of jealousy in his chest, but it was hard to deny as it made it difficult for him to breathe. Before he could ask, Kevin finished with his customer and came over.

"You didn't see him?" Kevin asked. "He was looking for you."

His relief surprised him. "Where?"

"Upstairs. That's where we thought you'd gone."

"I was upstairs. In the Rainbow--"

"Then Hutch must've gone to--"

A lump of cold fear immediately replaced his jealousy. Those bikers were crazy. They respected Starsky, he believed, because of the aura of his bullet-riddled jacket. But one glance at that innocent-looking blondness and--

There was a sudden loud thud from upstairs and the unmistakable sounds of a serious scuffle. Every head turned toward the staircase as the bar went still. Two more heavy thumps sounded, and the silence in the normally boisterous bar became ominous.

His fear coalesced into a familiar surge of action as Starsky bolted for the stairs, shouting Hutch's name.

~~~

A heavy hand slid around Hutch's waist as he was held captive. Thick fingers groped for his fly. "Now you just hold still, little girl," Roland ordered. "This won't take too long. Me and m'boys here are gonna give you a sweet thrill. Then we'll send you back to your dark Prince with some serious experience under your belt." Hutch's mind was racing even as his body sagged helplessly against the tiles. He shuddered beneath the weight of his attackers. "Please, don't!" he gasped.

The men holding him chuckled. "You'll thank us for it, baby. Everyone needs to have a real man at least once in his life." Roland's clumsy digits finally found the zipper pull under the flap of his fly. "Ah, there it is. Now hold still. Don't wanna ruin these beautiful skins."

Hutch relaxed further as he felt the strange hand fumble against him. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, found his center, then waited a half-second more until his assailant was preoccupied with unfastening him.

Without warning, he kicked back, the blow short and sharp, connecting his booted heel with Roland's shin. At the same time, Hutch slammed the back of his head into his attacker's face. There was a satisfying crack and a stunned shout of pain. In the next second, Hutch lurched back, using the strength of his legs, and shoved Roland into the urinals behind them. As he pulled the two men on his arms along with him, he kicked out to his right, connecting with the knee of that man. He grunted and sagged, easing his grip. Hutch yanked back as hard as he could, jerking the two men closer together as they struggled to hold on.

Finally, he managed to pull his right arm away. Grabbing that man by the back of his head, Hutch slammed his forehead into the face of the man holding his left arm. That one went down like a tree, out cold. Hutch brought his freed left fist up in a smooth arc and connected sharply under the chin of the right-hand man, knocking him backwards into the sinks. He landed hard and fell to the floor, moaning softly.

But Roland, still behind him, wasn't down. With a roar, he grabbed Hutch around the waist and hoisted him off his feet, squeezing his diaphragm so tight he couldn't breathe.

"I love a bitch with fire," Roland growled.

Hutch saw spangles behind his eyes as he struggled for air.

"Bet you've never been fucked with your head in a toilet. First time for everything, Cinderella." He hauled Hutch bodily toward the stalls.

Swinging his feet up, Hutch braced them on either side of the stall's doorway. He locked his knees as Roland tried to shove him forward. Bending low at the waist, Hutch grasped his own fist and drove his elbow back into the big man's face. When Roland's grip loosened promisingly, Hutch hit him again, sucking in air to clear his head. Roland's hold released suddenly, and Hutch landed on his feet in a crouch. Before Roland could react, Hutch spun and landed the hardest punch he could to the man's jaw, sending him sprawling backwards. Roland slipped on the slick tiles and landed heavily on top of his boys, pulling more groans of pain from them.

Hutch heard someone yelling his name. The door to the john slammed open with a bang.

Starsky skidded to a stop and stared open-mouthed at the pile of three piteous bikers floundering together in various stages of devastation as Hutch stood over them. In his white leather, he must've looked like some enraged avenging angel. Starsky's mouth opened and closed a few times, but finally he said, "Hutch... you okay?"

It was a ridiculous question and it made Hutch furious. He was keyed up, gasping, and could hear his blood rushing in his ears. The adrenaline flowing through him needed a safe outlet.

He rounded on Starsky. "Am I okay? Ask them! What the hell are you doing here?"

Starsky looked dumbfounded. "I-I'm your partner. I came...."

"To rescue me?" Hutch advanced on Starsky until he was standing against the wall, then jabbed a finger in his breastbone. "And just what is it that makes you think I would need rescuing? You're not my Prince Charming, and I'll be goddamned if I'll be your Cinderella. You're my partner. And here's a news item for you, pal. I'm perfectly capable of defending my own honor." He turned to the injured mass of leather-clad men, who were now sitting up and assessing their damage. "Isn't that right, boys?"

There was a grumbled begrudging agreement from the aching men who were struggling to help one another to their feet.

Starsky was still stammering, trying to recover from whatever he'd expected to find. "It's just--I couldn't find you. Last time I looked, you were with Whitelaw. Then you're gone... and I didn't know--"

Whitelaw again? It only added fuel to Hutch's anger. He shook his finger in Starsky's face and pitched his voice low so that only Starsky could hear him. "If I hear one more word from you about Whitelaw, so help me--"

Starsky kept glancing between the slowly recovering bikers and Hutch, and as Hutch snarled at him, he finally seemed to recover. Turning his attention back to his partner, Starsky's face took on that amused expression that always drove Hutch crazy. His blue eyes glittered as he said, "Now that's the Hutch I know." His lopsided smile dared Hutch to hold onto his anger.

That hadn't been what he'd expected and he didn't know how to respond. He felt some of the heat drain from him and backed off, running a hand through his hair to recover his aplomb. Finally he nodded and said, "My break's over. I need to get back to work."

"Sure," Starsky said. "But you might wanna zip up and tuck in your shirt, Butch. We don't wanna give anyone the wrong impression as we leave the john together, huh?"

Hutch looked down at his disheveled clothes and reassembled himself. "Thanks," he muttered. The look Starsky gave him told Hutch things were back to normal again.

Roland finally stumbled to his feet, gingerly touching his puffy nose and swollen lip. Hutch tensed, though he didn't think these guys were in any condition to take on both him and Starsky.

But the big man only held up his hands in surrender. "Truce! I'm wavin' the white flag. I know when I've been whupped and whupped good. I misread you, sir. I'm sorry." Hutch nodded. "A truce it is." He turned to Starsky. "You just gotta know how to talk to them."

Starsky chuckled appreciatively.

As they left side by side, they were treated to a round of applause by the other bikers. Hutch magnanimously saluted the crowd and they strode out of the place.

He was still pumped, adrenaline flowing, emotions conflicted. Why was he so mad at Starsky? Maybe it was that look of total panic on his face when he entered the john. He was used to seeing Starsky worried or concerned whenever Hutch was in battle without him, but this expression was different. He'd come to save Hutch. Was making love to Starsky causing his partner to feel overprotective the way he would a woman? The very suggestion made Hutch bristle.

"Hey, Hutch," Starsky said, halting them before they started down the steps, "how can you tell when you're in a gay bar?"

He stared, realizing Starsky had once again caught him in one of his exasperating non-sequiturs. "I have no idea. How can you?"

Starsky's own expression seemed confused as he said, "The bar stools are all upside down."

Hutch barked a sharp laugh as he was taken by surprise by the punch line. "Cute."

Starsky only looked more dismayed. Quietly, he said, "You get it?"

Hutch nodded. Wasn't he supposed to?

"Want to explain it to me?" Starsky implored.

Hutch opened his mouth but found nothing would come out.

He felt again the gripping strength of a man determined to violate him and realized for the first time how close he'd come to having to endure that. At the same time, his memory supplied him with Starsky's drugged entreaty: "Go ahead. Do it. I want you to." He shuddered involuntarily remembering just how badly he'd wanted to. How badly he still wanted to. How badly he wanted Starsky to--

Stop. Now. That is not happening. Things had altered too much between them already. Starsky's action in the john had proved that to him. He couldn't afford for their relationship to get even further out of sync. Not if they were going to continue being partners. Equals.

He shook his head. "Ask me later, okay?" He started descending the stairs without allowing himself to look into that baffled expression again. As he expected, Starsky moved along with him, accepting his decision.

As they got about halfway down the stairs to the main bar, the sound system came on with a blast of music. Hutch recognized the sounds of the Village People, but this wasn't one of their more popular numbers. The main bar suddenly went dim and the big disco ball started rotating. Red and blue lights reflected off it oddly, not like the typically bright ones that threw rainbow patterns over the dancers. He and Starsky paused as the curtains parted on the stage and the dancers pranced out for their first number. The chorus line was wearing skimpy sequined blue dresses that ended at their crotches, their long stocking-clad legs as beautiful as any woman's. On their heads perched jaunty blue caps. Hutch realized with a jolt that the costume was a parody of a uniformed cop's jacket and hat. It even had a silver sequined badge on the cap and over the pocket.

Starsky muttered a low moan. Hutch was too mesmerized to spare him a glance.

As the recorded sound of a siren chimed in, the dancers broke into their synchronized routine and sang along with the Village People.

"Watch me, watch me crossing the floor, "checkin' out every star who comes through the door. "Yeah, I'm mellow, mellow as I can be, "but baby I'll burn you if you're dancing with me. "'Cause I'm a hot cop! "Hottest cop on the disco scene. "People say that I'm a dancing machine. "'Cause I'm a hot cop, hottest cop that you've ever seen...."

As if they were part of the performance, every customer in the place turned and broke into applause at the sight of the two real cops descending the staircase.

Oh, yeah, Hutch thought wearily, as he made his way back to his station, it's going to be a very long night.

Come on blow your whistle Play with my tambourine Don't stop, don't stop doing your thing... You're making me so hot.... Hot Cop--The Village People

Chapter 14

In the darkness my fingers slip across your skin I feel your sweet reply The room fades away and suddenly I'm way up high Just holdin' you to me As through the window the moonlight streams Oh, won't you, baby, be in my book of dreams Book of Dreams--Bruce Springsteen

Starsky watched Hutch with an almost surreal detachment. His partner was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the dojo with Tsuka and her husband Yoshi, discussing this insane plan he had to involve the patrons of the Green Parrot in a non-violent civil rights protest. Hutch was alert, animated, and as upbeat as Starsky had seen him since this whole mess had started. Starsky felt bad that he couldn't work up the same enthusiasm, but frankly, he was too tired.

The stress of the night before had nearly wrung him out. The effect of it had surprised him considering what he usually did for a living. But his work as a cop, even the physical demands of chasing bad guys and getting into fights, had always exhilarated him. It was what he was supposed to be doing.

Prowling the strange atmosphere of the Parrot was like stepping into another dimension. The first night had nearly sapped him. He felt that every hour he spent there took him farther and farther away from his real life, his real identity. Instead of working the streets where he felt at home, knowing he was watched by men who feared and often hated him, and by women who sometimes wanted him, at the Parrot everything was upside down and backwards.

There, even though most of the men feared and probably hated him, that didn't stop them from wanting him. He figured at least half the women hated him, but none of them feared him, and they sure as hell didn't want him. It didn't help that most of the guys dressed a lot better than the women, whether they were in drag or not, and that half the time he couldn't even be sure what sex the person he was dealing with was.

He thought of Spike and her friends and knew he wasn't being fair. She'd gone out of her way to befriend him. Granted, it was motivated by lust for his car but that was an emotion he could relate to and understand... though he would've expected that reaction from a guy! It was all way too confusing.

Hutch asked him something so he fixed an attentive expression on his face and nodded, even though he had no idea what he was agreeing with. Hutch turned back to Tsuka and continued his animated conversation.

Hutch was such a good talker. He could convince people to do the weirdest things just by talking. Starsky found himself staring at Hutch's mouth as he outlined his plans.

He didn't have to do any talking last night though. He just rolled over, took me in his arms, and put that mouth on me and nothing had to be said at all, did it? Unlike the night he was drugged, Starsky could feign no ignorance of his complicity last night. Or of the surge of desire he'd felt when Hutch had turned on him in a rage in the Black Parrot. While he might have kept his mind from the reality of his feelings before they turned the lights out, Starsky knew once they were in bed there was no way he could refuse any advance Hutch might make. And Hutch knew it, too.

As Hutch's mouth parted in a smile, all Starsky could see were those glistening lips descending over his body, nuzzling his neck, nipping him sharply, sucking his nipples so hard he wanted to shout in joy. Then finally, when he thought he couldn't bear any more, that mouth took him in completely. Hutch's hand had tightened around him like a vise, holding off his orgasm with deliberate cruelty until he was shaking violently, until the imploring Please! had been ripped from him against his will. And only then had Hutch let him come, controlling him as no lover ever had, ever could. It had rocked him physically and emotionally and scared him to death. His dream image of Hutch was merging with the real man and Starsky wasn't sure he could cope with that at all.

"David, are you really comfortable with all this?" Tsuka asked. The lilting tone of her voice shocked him out of mhis carnal reverie.

He shrugged. "Hutch and me are partners. If he wants to do it, I'm-I'm...." He nearly said, I'm in him with it, but stopped himself in time. Blushing furiously, he coughed, covering up his nearly disastrous faux pas. Then he said, "That is, I'll support anything he wants to do."

When Hutch raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise, Starsky wondered if he'd said too much. Guiltily, he added, "I mean... you know... at the Parrot... ." Helplessly, he turned to Hutch who was giving him a smirky smile. "That's right, isn't it?"

Hutch just patted his arm and he and Tsuka renewed their conversation.

At least I got a little of my own back last night, Starsky thought, and then was annoyed with himself for letting his mind wander back to that dangerous territory. But he'd been so shaken by Hutch's overpowering passion, his willingness to give, that he knew he had to do something to even the score. It wasn't like he'd never done it before. Some women loved it and Starsky had always been willing to accommodate anything that would make a lady happy. But still... this was Hutch.

The minute he'd finished coming, the second he'd regained control of his body, he'd shoved Hutch over onto his back. It'd surprised him and that had made Starsky glad. He was tired of being the only one in this bed who was overwhelmed. He'd moved down in the bed and took a rough hold of Hutch's heavy member, palming it hard, moving his hand the way he'd already learned Hutch loved it. But that wasn't enough for him now. He wanted to do more. Even though Hutch was humping his hips in rhythm with Starsky's hand, it wasn't satisfying Starsky's own need to please him.

If he were honest he'd admit that pleasing Hutch was only half of what he wanted. He wanted to rock him to his soul. He wanted to shatter him. He wanted to devastate him the way Hutch had done to him. He wanted to give him an experience that could compete with anything Whitelaw could ever offer. And so, as he'd pulled and pumped Hutch to his pleasure, he'd impulsively slid his other hand beneath him and entered him with his finger.

He was shaking when he did it and knew he was too rough, too quick. He couldn't help it. Hutch was so hot inside, so tight. His cock had come up like a snake wanting to strike as he did it. He couldn't lie to himself about how it made him feel. His dream fantasy came on him in a rush, and as Hutch thrashed frantically and clawed his back while calling his name, he finger-fucked Hutch to orgasm and nearly came himself when Hutch fountained all over his own chest.

As Hutch gasped for air, one arm over his eyes as if to shield himself from Starsky's dismayed and confused expression, Starsky went into the bathroom to wash his hands and get a warm cloth to clean Hutch with. But he couldn't return to that bed until he'd jerked off again in the bathroom where Hutch couldn't see him, couldn't know the effect that penetrating his partner had had on him.

He'd tried not to look into the bathroom mirror as he'd soaked a washcloth for Hutch. Because the man in there would've just laughed at him and told him plainly how much more Whitelaw could offer Hutch. With his mouth. With his body. With all the things he could so easily do that Starsky would not. Could not.

He found himself staring at Hutch again.

Starsky, you jerk. You could hold him with just a kiss. But he couldn't do that. Couldn't deal with what it said about him. No, but you can penetrate him and jerk him off and think you're still a man. You're not a man. You're thirteen-years-old again with no hope of growing up. Hutch is a man. Willing to own up to his honest feelings. You're just a hypocrite.

"Well, that's the way it is with partners," Hutch said, and sat back as if finished.

Tsuka shook her head dubiously. "If you need any help discussing it with Sugar, let me know. But I think you should broach it first."

~~~

"You boys have been hanging out with queers too long," Sugar said bluntly, hands on hips. "Have you lost your minds?"

For once, the entertainer wasn't in drag and Hutch found himself identifying the slightly-built, short-haired man wearing everyday casual clothes with the pronoun he.

"You're the one who started all this," Hutch reminded him. "You're the one who wanted to make a public statement of support. Well, if we don't back that up with some careful planning it could blow up in all our faces. Are you going to stand there and tell me you don't have political activists in this crowd? They'll know how to work this out. We need to protect the closeted customers and get enough regulars who are willing to passively protest--"

Sugar flapped his hands in the air in denial. "It'll never work. It'll just kill business dead. People don't come here for politics! They come here to have fun. They come here to get laid!"

Hutch stood dumbfounded, his mouth ajar. And it stayed that way when Starsky chimed in.

"You're underselling your customers, Sugar. While that may have been true at one time, now at least half of them are involved in some kind of community action work, if the conversations I heard were a fair indication. Whitelaw's campaign showed them the public would listen to the right message. You've got people here involved in the gay press, in the ecology movement, in civil rights in minority neighborhoods, in voter registration drives…. A bunch of them volunteer for Callahan and Whitelaw both. And all of them remember Stonewall. Sure, they come here for fun... but they come here to connect, too."

For a minute Hutch almost got misty-eyed. Whenever Hutch thought he really knew a situation, Starsky could always surprise him with his insights.

Like last night. His anus tingled with the physical memory of Starsky's shocking invasion. That tingle traveled rapidly down his legs and into his cock, throbbing at the head in time with his pulse. He took a deep breath and focused elsewhere.

Sugar was staring at Starsky. "Well, haven't we become the community activist overnight? Were you suddenly struck by lightning on the road to your bedroom, big boy?"

That hit a nerve. Starsky's body went bowstring tight but he didn't protest. His face just got that cool blank expression but his complexion darkened.

The distraction gave Hutch the time he needed to collect himself.

"Peter thinks it's a good idea," he said quietly. Starsky wouldn't look at him when Hutch said that but his non-reaction spoke volumes. You don't like my mentioning him? Too bad, Hutch thought, surprised at himself.

Sugar let out a theatrical sigh. "Well, of course, Peter thinks it's a good idea! Ever since he won the election there's been no living with him!"

"Will you just think about it?" Hutch asked.

Sugar pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Okay. You two are scary when you work together-- but I suppose you know that already. I'll think about it."

"Good," said Hutch. "Because Tsuka and Yoshi will be by tonight to talk to you about how we might organize it."

"I just said I'd think about it!" Sugar insisted. "If they show up tonight, I can't guarantee I'll have time to talk to them. You boys haven't got a clue what Friday nights are like around here."

"I'd hope a little busier than last night," Starsky suggested.

Sugar just laughed.

Hutch felt a flash of guilt as he realized he'd forgotten to give Starsky Peter's warning.

~~~

Ladies Night, Starsky thought, as he stared at the growing crowd. It was only eight p.m. and already the line was wrapped around the corner. Traffic was heavy, as cars slowed down near the bar to let people out in a steady stream. He'd spied some expensive foreign cars pulling up tonight, cars he usually only saw in magazines. Besides the foreign jobs there were plenty of beat-up heaps, fancy wheels, and sleek sedans--disgorging the most outrageous passengers.

He'd given up trying to tell the men from the women, even when the women clearly had real cleavage and the men were front-heavy. With this mob, you couldn't tell what was really real and what was kind of real and what was waiting to become real. And the dazzling display of fantastic get-ups made him feel like he was working security for the Oscars, if the Oscars were tripping on LSD. He'd tried to keep his expression bland but more than once tonight he'd felt like a Tex Avery cartoon with bulging eyes and a jaw clanging to the ground.

Only as an afterthought did he wonder how they were ever going to fit all of these people into the bar.

"Good thing the crowd's light tonight," the regular Friday bouncer, Emil, told him. "If this was a normal Friday, we'd already be pushin' capacity." Starsky suspected that Emil might work a regular job as Arnold Schwartzenegger's stand-in, but he wasn't asking. "You let me worry about who's comin' in. I can keep track of who's in and who's out, make sure we don't exceed code. Your job is to make sure things stay nice and sweet inside. Things get rowdy and we could have a riot real easy."

Starsky gaped, totally dazed. In his previously stereotyped world-view, gay bars were full of happy dancing guys who were too swishy to start any trouble. That he was still clinging to that prejudiced notion after last night's incident in the Black Parrot's bathroom was simply embarrassing. He needed to snap out of it or he'd find himself with an out-of-control mob with only himself to blame.

"We usually oust the troublemakers without too much hassle," Emil continued to brief him, "but if you need assistance, the bartenders can lend you their helpers."

He must've looked confused. He knew he could rely on Hutch if things got dicey, but with him all the way behind the bar...?

"They've got baseball bats under the bar," Emil explained. "Almost never need 'em, but wanted you to know, just in case."

Baseball bats. Starsky considered quelling a riot with nothing but the force of his personality and a baseball bat and wondered if he was in over his head.

"Yo! Bro'!" a familiar voice called out, and he and Emil turned to see Huggy sauntering up. The Bear was dressed in a dazzling combo of orange and green with a matching big apple cap, yet he was definitely one of the more conservatively clad people on the scene.

"What it is, Mr. Bear?" Emil greeted Huggy, and the two men exchanged a complicated ritual handshake that ended up with them slapping each other's shoulders.

Huggy draped an arm ostentatiously around Starsky. "You pull m'man's coat here, 'bout Ladies Night at the Parrot?"

"Yeah, I gave him the scoop, much as words can, Huggy," Emil said and laughed.

Starsky was beginning to feel like the student who got left behind last year. "Nice to see ya, Hug. Why don't'cha come say hi to Hutch. I know he'd be glad to draw you up something cold." Then, realizing he'd allowed Huggy to step in front of the entire line, he looked at Emil for guidance.

The big bouncer just waved them on. "The door's always open for Huggy. But, Dave, stay in touch with me, say every fifteen minutes. You'll have to spell me for dinner break around ten. And someone will spell you at nine-thirty."

"Got it," Starsky agreed as he and Huggy entered the crowded bar.

The bar was even noisier than the traffic on the streets. The rumble of sound from the people trying to converse over the deafening din of music blaring at the dancers was like a wall of vibration as they passed through the front door. Queen was declaring, "We Are the Champions," and the crowd was eating it up.

Huggy leaned in close. "Step into the back with me a minute, huh? I need words with you."

The normalcy of Huggy's request was just the reassurance Starsky needed. It was like Huggy was acknowledging that in spite of everything, Starsky was still a cop, and Huggy was still his connection to the street.

"What's goin' on?" Starsky asked as they slipped backstage to a discreet relatively quiet corner. "You hear something about that tape?"

"Naw, my cousin's still away. But the streets are rumblin' with something else. Something bad."

"I should've known it would take a serious event to pull you out of the Pits on a Friday night. What's the word?"

Huggy shook his head. "That's the problem. I don't know. And information is hard to come by. People know we're tight and not a lot of info has been comin' my way."

Starsky was confused. "You must have some idea."

Huggy looked perplexed. "You know I hate giving you half the message, but it's all I got. And I wouldn't have gotten that except for Callahan's people. I put the word out with her volunteers. Everyone's got their ear to the ground. But you guys have stirred up something, and it's hummin'. Stay sharp, Starsky. Make sure your partner knows, too. I think there's some players in this who ain't real interested in having their day in court."

"Our case is against the city. You think some politico is holding hands with Gunther?"

Huggy shrugged. "It doesn't have to be a politician, Starsky. It could be the Chief of Police. Could be the DA. This whole thing isn't making them look too good, y'know. And for that matter, it's not like Gunther is a name I'm going to hear on the street. That's why the information's so spotty. Just be prepared, huh?"

For what? Starsky wondered. Another film starring him and Hutch? He thought of last night and felt dizzy. No, that wouldn't work twice in a row. Still, he'd have to be on his guard.

He patted Huggy. "Go on. Talk to Hutch. He'll pour you a cold one. Can you hang out for a while?" Huggy nodded and they separated as Starsky began to prowl the packed bar.

Around nine p.m., Starsky started moving toward the front doors to do his routine check with Emil. Things were intense inside but amazingly peaceful. People were dancing, partying, having a rousing good time, but even in the leather bar and the punk hangout the vibes were good.

The wild disco music throbbed through his body and more than once he found himself twitching to get on the dance floor and show a few of these guys how it was really done. He'd started to relax, especially as more people acted as though he belonged there. He'd shared a few jokes with Spike and her friends, found a nice way to turn down the offer of a beer in the biker bar, and in general began to feel like working here wasn't a whole lot different from hanging out at the Pits. That clientele was often into a variety of illegal activities, but he and Hutch had always felt at home among the street crowd that filled Huggy's place. The Green Parrot and its satellites favored a different flavor of street folks, but there was a familiarity to the vibe that Starsky couldn't ignore.

Well... except maybe for the bathrooms.

Every time he'd looked over at Hutch, his White Knight had been busy serving his part of the bar. More than once, he'd seen some guy lean close to Hutch, smile, getting real friendly, sometimes laying a bill on the bar. Whenever he'd spot something like that, Starsky would go tense all over, but Hutch never lost his cool. He'd just smile politely, push the bill away, and in a pleasant way gently say no. Starsky admired his style even while tying his own stomach up in knots with feelings he wouldn't put a name to. He could no longer pretend he was worried about Hutch's ability to defend himself. Not after last night.

He was relieved that Peter Whitelaw was nowhere to be seen.

He finally got to the front doors but masses of people were blocking them. Fearing a fire trap, he shoved his way through the crowd, forcing people to go in or out or right or left, just as long as they cleared the area. There was a stir of activity immediately outside the entrance, and as he emerged, he blinked in the glare of painfully bright lights.

Don't tell me Sugar's ordered spotlights! Like we need more attention here!

As he finally pulled free from the crowded entrance, he was nearly blinded by bright Kleig lights aimed right at him. Even his shades couldn't protect him against that much glare.

He put a hand in front of his eyes to dim the light as Emil snapped, "Dave! Get back inside!"

Huggy's warning and the tone of Emil's voice set every hair on his body on end. His left hand moved toward the inside of his jacket before he could stop himself. He felt so naked without his gun.

"Dave!" Emil called warningly again then muttered, "Oh, damn it!"

Starsky couldn't even see him in the crush of bodies and the overly bright light. Suddenly, the spotlight shifted off his face, giving him a better view of the area. He spotted the reporter at the same time she spotted him.

"Detective Starsky! Is this where you and Detective Hutchinson are working now? Or are you just socializing?"

The microphone was shoved so close to his mouth it nearly hit him on the lip. The reporter was the same black woman with the quick wit who'd been at the restaurant that morning. He recognized her now, having seen her numerous on-the-spot reports during the eleven o'clock news. Glancing around the street, he spied the TV van parked near the corner, electric lines snaking all over the street.

Traffic was a congested mess as cars slowed down to see what the TV crew was up to. Some of the cars were going around the block again and again just to get a good view. He recognized a yellow Corvette that he'd seen before and a plain dark sedan with one headlight out. Dozens of cars just seemed to be idly cruising.

The cameraman moved into his line of sight and he suddenly wondered if he was on a live feed. His whole body tensed with stress.

"That's right," Emil said to the reporter defensively, clamping a vise-like grip onto Starsky's arm. "He's working. And he don't have to talk to you while he's on the clock." To Starsky, he said quietly, "Go on, Dave. You don't have to deal with this. Go on inside."

He didn't like feeling like a deer in the headlights. He casually extracted himself from Emil's grasp. "It's okay, man. I can handle it." He turned to the woman. "Is this live?"

"Does that matter?" she asked in an off-the-record tone.

"Yeah," he said bluntly.

He glanced toward the truck and saw another cameraman filming some of the more flamboyant patrons. Spike and her entourage had come outside and had hooked up with other friends in line. The punks played to the camera, going into character, camping it up wildly. Spike shrugged off her leather jacket and flexed her prominent biceps, showing off her tattoos.

Starsky had to stifle a laugh. As he worried about what clips the station would use to frame the piece, he had to admire the courage of the gays who stood defiantly flaming at the camera, demanding the world accept them as they were.

I don't have half the balls that little girl does, he thought, watching Spike strut her stuff.

He looked back at the reporter. "Is it live?"

"I'd like an answer to that, too, Barbara," said a quiet voice behind him.

Startled, he turned to find K.R. Callahan walking up to them. Primly dressed, bun firmly secured, briefcase in hand, she looked as if she'd arrived for court. He didn't have to ask this time if she'd brought this publicity down on them. She wasn't happy, not at all. The reporter dropped the microphone and swung it around on its cord. She waved her cameraman away, sighing tiredly. "Come on, K.R., I got a job to do just like you." She turned to Starsky. "No, it's not a live feed, but I need film to run at eleven."

"A little color reporting?" Kelly Rose asked. Her voice was clipped. She looked grim.

"Well, what did you think?" Barbara asked her. "That these guys were going to be able to work at this place, the most notorious gay bar in LA, and no one would do a piece on it? Come on, girl! At least you know I'll play it serious, not like Donald would if he'd gotten the call." She was referring to the station's other on-the-scene reporter who was known for his sarcastic social commentaries.

She grinned at Starsky. "He'd be right up in your face, baby, asking when you were gonna get in drag so he could be sure and get some tape on that."

"He'd only get to ask once," Starsky said.

Callahan glanced at him warningly and placed a hand on his arm. The difference between her light warm touch and Emil's overpowering grip made them seem like two different life forms. That made Starsky think of another contrast--Hutch's hands--touching him lovingly last night. He shuddered and was grateful when K.R.'s serious tone brought him back to the problem at hand.

"Look, Barbara, if your station is going to play this for a lot of sensational anti-gay hype, you can forget about any cooperation. I won't have any choice but to advise my clients to say nothing to the press, to give no interviews--"

"Okay, okay," Barbara conceded, swinging the microphone absently while considering her options. "You know I only have so much control over how the station edits the piece--"

"They can only edit what you give them," Callahan reminded her. She pointed to the cameraman still working the crowd on line. "You know what they'll do with that footage."

Barbara sighed, clearly exasperated and torn between her own journalistic conscience and the demands of her job. She leaned closer to the lawyer and said quietly, "You think it's easy playin' the game with those fat white cats at the station? You know how easy it is for them to bring in some new pretty little thing and send me on my way? You're asking a lot, girlfriend."

Another woman's voice chimed in from the side. "Oh, come on, Barbara, it can't be that hard. We're all so much smarter than they are!"

Starsky blinked as C.D. Phelps joined the other two women. Standing behind and to the side of her was a still photographer.

Callahan and Barbara both chuckled quietly.

"Well... that is the truth...." Barbara drawled. "What the hell are you doing here, lady? I thought you were forbidden to put any work in on this scene." "Christine?" Callahan asked, obviously surprised to see her.

C.D. nodded at Starsky but she was clearly here to talk to the other two women. He was beginning to feel like an afterthought. Like him, the cameraman and the photographer were also standing by and waiting for direction from these women. He wondered for the first time if this was how most of the female police officers felt when the guys pulled rank on them and took over their most interesting cases. He cringed, wondering how often he'd done it.

"I found a way around that," C.D. said. "I've got an ally on another paper. She's going to run my piece in her rag as being staff written."

Barbara looked stunned and Callahan didn't seem too pleased either.

"You'd give up your byline...?" Barbara said, dismayed.

"Christine, that'll violate your contract," Callahan warned. "You could not only lose your job, you could lose your professional standing and get sued besides!"

C.D. just shrugged. "That's okay. I've got a really good lawyer. Right?" She looked meaningfully at Callahan, who smiled and nodded in reassurance. "Hey, look, I think there's a good story here. I'm not passing it up because my boss is a jerk. And besides, we are smarter than those fat cats in charge. My boss never reads the competitor's paper. In fact, most of us don't think he reads ours, either. There's a rumor going around the office that he can't read at all. Of course, I started that one...."

The three women all laughed, while Starsky just stood there feeling out of his depth as they plotted. He thought of that modern adaptation of Shakespeare's MacBeth that Hutch had dragged him to last year. The three witches in that play hadn't been haggard crones but stunning Hollywood starlets. They'd played their roles as women who were contemptuous of all the foolish men who didn't have the sense to listen to their good advice. He shuddered a little; glad at least two of these three were on his side. He still wasn't so sure about Barbara.

"How are you going to play this?" C.D. asked Barbara pointedly, putting her on the spot.

The black woman looked tired. "You know how I want to play it. I just don't know if I can get away with the sympathy angle." The other two women stared at her. "Okay! Okay! You're right. We are smarter. I'll think of something...."

"Good," Callahan said agreeably. "In that case, I'll make sure my client has time for an interview. That all right with you, Dave?"

Realizing someone was finally interested in his input, he nodded on cue.

"You okay?" C.D. asked him solicitously. She must've sensed his consternation.

He had to smile. "Are you kidding? I haven't had this many women interested in me since my mom and my Aunt Rose came to my Police Academy graduation. If you three represent the new career woman, then us guys are in big trouble! You ladies are something else." "How about it, Dave?" Barbara asked him. "K.R.? Come on, give me some tape. I've got to have something to work with or they'll take it out of my hands and show nothing but clips of the circus." She indicated the waiting line.

Callahan waited for him to decide.

"Sure. Okay," he said, then hoped he wouldn't make a total jerk of himself on camera. Hi, Mom! It's me, Davey. Working security at a gay bar on Ladies Night! But it's okay, Mom. I'm still your butch son. I'm a little worried about Hutch, though....

"How about if we stand over there?" Callahan said to Barbara. "You can get the logo of the bar, yet avoid the noise of the crowd."

Four of the drag queens were going into a dramatic chorus of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" that would do Judy Garland proud. There was no way they could do a piece of film and not pick up strains of that. Well, Starsky thought philosophically, at least they're in tune.

"Sure," Barbara said agreeably, signaling to her patient cameraman, "we can do that. Here, the two of you stand side by side over here...."

"I'll give you a statement, Barbara," Callahan said, "but I want you to take some footage of Dave by himself. And maybe we can get Ken out here for some tape, too. I don't want people to think they can't speak for themselves."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Well, hey, girl, why don't you just come down to the station and edit this thing for me, too?"

She smiled charmingly. "Oh, could I? That would be real helpful!"

C.D. Phelps had moved to the side and was jotting notes while her cameraman took a few candids, but all three of the women laughed when Kelly said that.

"Come on now, K.R.," Barbara's cameraman chimed in, focusing. "You know how this works. Move closer to your client so I can frame this right." He looked around the camera at them for a minute and smiled. "Dave can you slouch down a little? Or can someone get that lawyer a box to stand on? You look like a midget, K.R."

"I was always told good things come in small packages," Starsky said quietly, and the group laughed good-naturedly as Callahan's freckles stood out from her blush. The look she gave him was not strictly business-like.

You're a pretty lady, Starsky thought, gazing back at her. Hutch's right. You don't deserve to be jerked around by a couple of cops who can't figure out what they are. But he couldn't deny how good, how normal it felt to be standing beside her just as one man and one woman.

"Do I look okay?" he asked her quietly.

She gave him a perfunctory once over, straightened the lapel of his leather jacket, then pulled off his shades. "Wearing sunglasses after dark makes you look like a hood," she said, as she tucked the folded glasses into his pocket. "Or a vampire. Besides, we wouldn't want to hide your lovely eyes." That last statement seemed to have escaped against her will and she looked slightly uncomfortable.

He found himself giving her the grin Hutch called his moving-in-for-the-kill grin. "You like my eyes, huh?"

She didn't answer but gave him an intense stare, her green eyes more captivating than he remembered.

"I like yours, too," he said.

Then the moment was broken as the cameraman cued the reporter. "Okay, we're on."

Barbara came right to the point. "Ms. Callahan, do you think it was a good idea for your clients to take on jobs at LA's most prominent gay bar, the Green Parrot? Is that the kind of work policemen should be engaged in?"

"It's an honest job," Callahan said distinctly, "and they're currently suspended without pay from the police department. How many of us can afford to be without a salary? The gay community wants to support these men against the discrimination they've endured at the hands of the city. But, of course, what we really want is to see them back in their careers, protecting all of the city, not just some of its citizens...."

While the tones of her lilting voice washed over him, Starsky became more and more aware of the sense of her physical self as she stood close to him. He caught the pleasant scent of something she was wearing--perfume? soap?--and was able to admire the clean shine of her tidy hair. Next to some of the glamorous starlets that he'd seen tonight, both the real women and the elaborate drag queens, her simple suit and the way she underplayed her own attractiveness was a refreshing change. As Starsky listened to her defending him and Hutch against the entire world, he felt drawn to her on many levels. It wasn't just because she was the only woman in the city willing to look at him as a man, either. In a city of a million liars, she was totally honest and sincere. How often did he and Hutch ever find anyone like that?

He realized suddenly that she had stopped talking and that he'd lost track of what she was saying.

"Okay, Dave," Barbara said as her cameraman moved into a different position. "You're the star now."

Callahan smiled reassuringly at him as she stepped away, and there was a glint in her eye that he wanted to believe was just for him. He felt his emotions careening back and forth. Hutch had told him to go ahead, ask her out, go with her... but the memory of Hutch's touch still burned on his skin.

If he didn't stop thinking about all of this, he'd be so confused he'd never be able to act on anything. He blanked his mind, softly hummed a silent Om and tried to regain his center. "Just stand there, Dave," Barbara advised him as her cameraman refocused, "and try to look natural, okay? Then we'll go get your partner and get some more tape with him." She looked back at the cameraman to see if he was ready as he proceeded to adjust his settings.

Starsky fidgeted and scanned the street, aware of the crowd watching the taping and calling encouragement to him. C.D. Phelps was talking to Spike and taking notes while her photographer snapped pictures. When Spike caught his eye, she gave him a big grin and pantomimed driving his car. He started to laugh then had to struggle to compose himself for the camera. He didn't need to look like a grinning idiot during this interview.

"Okay, Dave, we're on," Barbara said when her cameraman nodded. "Detective Starsky, were you and your partner regular customers of the Green Parrot before your suspension? Is that why the owners offered you work?"

The question and its blatant implication startled him and he glanced at Callahan for guidance. She nodded encouragingly and he remembered her telling him to answer honestly.

He turned back to the reporter. "No, actually, the only association my partner and I had with this establishment was during a murder investigation involving another police officer several years ago when...."

He trailed off as his peripheral vision spotted a plain dark sedan with a missing headlight rounding the corner to cruise by the bar. He'd seen that same car four of five times tonight, always moving slowly, going around and around the block.... He couldn't remember seeing it ever letting anyone out or picking anyone up.

"When what, Dave? Dave?" Barbara sounded exasperated. "Did you forget what you were going to say? Listen, that's okay but let's take this again from the top. You need to make your statement all at once. From the beginning, okay? I'll ask the same question and you give me a complete response this time. We ready?"

But Starsky was too distracted by the sedan. Behind him, by Emil's station, he could hear Huggy's voice as he joked with the big bouncer. He remembered Huggy's warning.

The streets are rumblin' with something... something bad.

So when the sedan slowed down even more and the snout of an automatic weapon emerged from the passenger's window, Starsky wasn't even surprised. The weapon took aim at Callahan standing alone on the sidewalk.

Starsky launched himself, grappling the woman in a full body tackle and throwing her down to the ground as bullets shattered the glass of the Parrot's big front window.

"GET DOWN GET DOWN GET DOWN!" Starsky shouted to everyone around them. He climbed over Kelly, shielding her small frame with his bigger body. The automatic chattered, bullets tearing into the bar, flying wildly over them. Glass fell all around them, on them, in his hair. He kept their heads low and pressed them into the unyielding sidewalk. Why couldn't he have a goddamned gun? Beneath him, Callahan clutched his leather jacket, her body shaking.

Yeah, I'm scared, too, sweetheart!

The crowd flattened like a trained squadron as screams tore through the bystanders. How many had been hit? He had no idea. Had Barbara caught a bullet? C.D.? Emil or Huggy? He didn't know. All he was aware of was himself and the woman he was trying to save.

Tires screamed and he glanced up to see a trail of smoking rubber as the sedan sped away, careening around the corner. Huggy was instantly by his side and a second later Hutch emerged from the bar, baseball bat in hand, expression frantic. People were crying, shouting, wailing in pain.

Starsky got up and grabbed Huggy, shoving him at the dazed, terrified Callahan. "Get her inside! She's the target. HUTCH!"

His partner dashed over as they all helped Callahan to her feet.

"They missed. They're gonna come around again," Starsky yelled and Hutch nodded.

Hutch turned to Emil. "Keep everyone down! They're coming back. Stay down!"

People shrieked in panic, some fleeing across the street through the flood of traffic.

Barbara was clambering to her feet, clutching at her cameraman. "Did you get hit? Are you okay?"

The man was dazed and there was blood on his arm. "Nicked me," he said, gasping. "I'm okay. But I got the footage."

"You're a genius!" Barbara said, looking worriedly at his arm.

"That's evidence!" Starsky said, pointing at the camera.

They just about had Kelly to the bullet-riddled doors of the bar when Hutch yelled, "Here they come! EVERYONE DOWN!"

Starsky spotted the sedan as it turned the corner onto the main avenue and started rolling toward them. It was moving faster now. He gave Huggy and Callahan a final shove inside the bar.

A dozen drag queens who'd been standing in the doorway, camping for the camera, surrounded them and pulled them inside to safety then slammed the heavy door shut.

He turned to Hutch. "Hey, I'm the baseball player here. Gimme that."

Hutch watched the circling sedan as he tossed the baseball bat to his partner. Starsky caught it cleanly and exchanged a meaningful glance with his partner. They nodded resolutely and without another word split up, Starsky going left, Hutch going right. They moved low in opposite directions along the line of parked cars, using them for cover. Starsky ran hunched over, cradling the bat as he got closer to the sedan. Hutch moved farther away from it, then waited until it drew close.

The sedan slowed, no doubt looking for its intended victim. Panic erupted among the people lying on the ground and more of them bolted to escape the anticipated hail of bullets.

As the sedan cruised parallel to the bar's doors, Hutch jumped out between two parked cars and appeared directly in front of it. Standing up and waving his arms at the occupants, he was a shocking apparition in white. "HEY! ASSHOLES!" he shouted. "LOOKING FOR ME?"

That was Starsky's cue. He bolted from his hiding place beside a parked car and came up behind the sedan. As the automatic weapon emerged from the window and aimed for Hutch, he brought the baseball bat down onto the muzzle with all his might. The gun went off as Hutch dodged out of the way and the bullets slammed harmlessly into the street. The butt of the weapon jerked upwards, striking the shooter in the chin, dazing him. Starsky tried to grab the weapon, but the driver accelerated with a screech of tires and Starsky couldn't hold it.

The sedan lurched forward, but now the heavy traffic worked against it. At the sound of gunfire, drivers had reacted without thinking and there were tangles of cars all over the main drag.

Hutch took off down the sidewalk, going after the sedan on foot. Starsky ran into the street, nearly getting clipped by a car trying to escape the scene. Darting around it, he ran straight up the center line as cars zigged around him as they tried to avoid colliding with the accelerating sedan.

He saw Hutch struggling to catch up to the car as the crowded thoroughfare slowed its escape route. The thought of them losing the car in traffic enraged Starsky and his anger gave him a surge of power as he raced down the middle of the street, dodging vehicles and fleeing pedestrians.

At the next intersection, heavy traffic had come to an involuntary halt and the sedan, trapped, slowed. Starsky saw the weapon emerging from the car again as if the killers could shoot the cars around them dead and enable their escape.

Not this time, buddy, Starsky thought.

His speed never faltered as his legs devoured the distance to the vehicle. He'd lost sight of Hutch and prayed he was nearby as he caught up to the car, jumped onto the back of the trunk, then the roof. He slammed the bat down against the half-opened passenger window, throwing all his weight into it. The window shattered and the bat connected hard with the face of the shooter.

Then Hutch was there, grabbing the weapon, controlling its aim, yanking it out of the hands of the wounded shooter.

Without hesitation, Starsky spun around and smashed the bat into the driver's side window, trying to stop the driver from pulling forward as cars frantically cleared out of their way. The driver ducked and escaped the bat's blow. Starsky slammed the wooden weapon against the windshield again and again, until it was a maze of cracks impossible to see through. Let's hear it for safety glass, he thought.

The sound of distant police sirens cut through the air as Hutch successfully wrested the weapon away from the shooter, yanked open the car door, and pulled the dazed man out onto the street. He was bleeding from the mouth and nose but still struggled to get free. Hutch slammed him against the sedan, making it rock, then shoved the guy onto the ground, where Starsky lost sight of him.

Starsky jumped down to the ground on the driver's side as a small handgun emerged from the driver's window. The muzzle was aimed his way and discharged as he flattened himself against the sedan's side. The bullet missed him, but blew out the tire of a nearby car. Its driver skidded away from the scene on the rim. The baseball bat whistled before it connected with the driver's wrist. The man screamed as the bat crunched on bone, and screamed again when Starsky tore the gun out of his hand and pulled him from the car by the broken wrist.

The sirens grew louder. As Starsky subdued his prisoner, he heard pounding feet, as if a well- shod herd were about to run them down. He looked up to see half the patrons of the Green Parrot--drag queens, conservative gays, leathermen, and punks--bearing down on the scene. He suddenly feared the riot he hadn't considered possible before.

"Hutch?" he called, unable to see him around the car.

"I'm okay," Hutch answered. "My man's down."

"Mine, too," Starsky said. "But we've got company, partner."

The approaching sirens couldn't cut through the angry voices as the enraged mob approached.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" Hutch shouted, as he stood up beside the sedan. He'd hauled his prisoner to his feet and shoved him, face first, against the car, holding him there.

The crowd slowed but Starsky could see how angry they were.

"Go on back to the bar!" Hutch ordered. "We've got this under control."

"The hell we will!" one of the more flamboyantly dressed queens answered. "They think they can shoot us down in the streets? They think we won't fight back because we're queers? We're gonna tear these bastards apart." The crowd shouted in agreement.

Starsky's prisoner suddenly grunted and Starsky realized it was in fear. The man cringed against him as though trying to hide.

"No, you're not!" Hutch shouted back. "We're going to handle this right. By the law! Go back to the bar!"

The crowd wavered and Starsky had the sudden sickening realization that they were on the razor's edge of losing total control of this situation. As his prisoner struggled to escape his grasp, he tried deflecting everyone's attention. "Hey!" he called out. "We gotta secure these guys. Anyone got any handcuffs?"

There was a sudden murmur in the mob then a dozen leathermen stepped forward, holding out an assortment of cuffs like a bizarre metal bouquet. The nearest ones were from the three guys who'd jumped Hutch just the night before. Starsky caught Hutch's eye and they both almost smiled at the bizarre situation. Gratefully, they accepted two pairs of cuffs and secured the shooters to the car.

While Starsky was tightening the cuffs on his prisoner and wondering how to calm the crowd's anger, the first cop car arrived. It was an unmarked vehicle with a Mars light on top.

Starsky looked up in dismay as Russo and Wilson emerged. He'd totally forgotten about them hovering around the bar, hoping to get something on him and Hutch.

Russo's expression was positively gleeful.

"HANDS ON THE CAR!" Russo shouted, gun drawn.

It took Starsky a second to realize the big cop was shouting at him. He glanced at Wilson, who also had his gun drawn and was moving around to Hutch's side of the car. Wilson looked unhappy but he was letting his partner run the scene.

Tomas was last out of the car and hung back as if unsure what to do.

"YOU HEARD ME, BOY!" Russo bellowed at Starsky as he moved closer, gun unwavering. "HANDS ON THE CAR! LEGS SPREAD! ASSUME THE POSITION!"

"What the hell are you talkin' about, man?" Starsky asked him, facing down the gun. "These are the perps, you jackass. Me an' Hutch did everything but tie a bow on them for you."

Russo grabbed him roughly by his jacket collar, slammed him belly first against the car, kicked his feet apart and dug the gun into his ribs. "I SAID ASSUME THE POSITION, FAGGOT! YOU CAN FIGURE OUT WHICH ONE! DO IT NOW!"

Starsky looked over the roof of the car. Hutch was braced against the roof as Wilson patted him down. Hutch stared at him, red-faced with anger, but mouthed, "Don't resist!"

Starsky started trembling with rage as Russo pawed him roughly, shoving him against the car, touching his body as if he were a common criminal.

"You're busted, boy," Russo said to him cheerfully. "I'll see the two of you in the tank tonight and off the force permanently in the morning. I'll get you accommodations in the same cell so at least you won't be lonely, cocksucker." Russo clamped a cuff on Starsky's left wrist as he threatened him. He was paying no attention to the real criminals--and no attention at all to the mob.

"Russo," Starsky spat back defiantly, "you are just too stupid to live." Russo shoved the gun muzzle hard into Starsky's ribs in payment, making him wince.

"WHO THE HELL YOU CALLIN' A FAGGOT, PIG?" The voice belonged to Roland, the big bear who'd gone after Hutch last night. He was still sporting a black eye and a swollen nose and lip from their fight, but he was clearly ready for another round. "You'd better let those guys go, if you know what's good for you!" He and his buddies advanced threateningly on Russo and Wilson and the rest of the mob was ready to follow.

For a minute, Russo looked stunned and Starsky realized he was operating under the same prejudices Starsky himself had earlier this evening. He could almost read the confusion in the big man's small mind. Gays can't possibly be any kind of real threat, can they?

"Don't do it! Don't!" Hutch implored the mob. "Go back to the bar. We can handle this. It'll be okay!"

Will it? Starsky thought doubtfully as Russo grabbed his other wrist and jerked his arm around to cuff it too tightly. Starsky would've happily killed the bastard if he could get loose.

"They're not takin' you in," Roland told Hutch. His fists were clenched in anger and all the gays behind him started shouting at the cops to release Starsky and Hutch.

"Go back to the bar!" Hutch implored them. "We don't want anyone else to get hurt."

The bikers looked at Hutch and hesitated. Clearly, they respected his authority, but they were ready to tackle Russo and Wilson.

More sirens blared as several black-and-whites and unmarked cars converged on the street. To complicate matters, the TV crew caught up with them and were filming like crazy. C.D. and her photographer, looking a little ragged around the edges, were working to get the best coverage. Barbara was snapping orders to her crew, and even the wounded cameraman was getting good tape.

Starsky turned as a new voice was heard over the racket of the mob and the sirens.

"Russo, are you outta your fuckin' mind?" A slender figure dodged nimbly around the melee of cars. It was Linda Baylor and she was pissed.

Starsky was startled to realize she was partnered with an old partner of his--Joan Meredith. Meredith glanced at him sympathetically then went around the car to argue with Wilson.

"Get those goddamn cuffs offa that cop, you stupid bastard!" Linda demanded.

Starsky wasn't so sure her mode of debate wasn't going to get him in more trouble.

Russo leaned over her threateningly, his huge bulk an intimidating presence against her small form. "Don't think that I'd hesitate a single minute to kick your narrow ass, Baylor, just 'cause you're a bitch. Now, you and your girlfriend can get the hell out of here. Wilson and I are handling this." Linda was clearly not the least bit impressed. She got right up in his face. "You threatening me, Russo? Go on, take your best shot. Then I'll get to take mine. You uncuff that cop! Any jerk, that is any other jerk except you, can see they apprehended the shooters on this scene." She nodded toward the approaching cameramen. "This is gonna make you look real good on the eleven o'clock news!"

A number of uniforms were now milling around, looking nervously at the mob of furious gays.

Ray Higgins moved toward them.

"She's right, Detective," Higgins said to Russo. "The telephone reports were pretty clear. Two shooters in a black sedan with Starsky and Hutchinson taking off on foot in pursuit to apprehend." He glanced at them. "They were identified by name by everyone who called in. There's no reason to assume anything else but that they collared these men. If you're taking them in, you've got to charge them with something and you don't have anything."

The mob started shouting at the cops to free Starsky and Hutch. The mood was turning ugly. But Russo was in his own world, Starsky knew. His need to disgrace them overrode any rational arguments anyone else might have.

He and Hutch exchanged another worried glance. Wilson still hadn't cuffed Hutch, but Starsky knew Wilson wouldn't try to argue with Russo when he got like this. Starsky couldn't see any way out of this and wondered how many people would get hurt during the ensuing riot.

There was a flurry of activity in the crowd and several figures suddenly emerged.

"Everyone just cool it!" demanded a commanding voice.

It was Sugar, decked out in costume for the ten o'clock show, which had been so rudely disrupted. She was sequined, begowned, and bewigged within an inch of her life without a hair out of place. She was an aristocratic outraged Bette Davis, and the mob parted before her like the Red Sea before Moses.

"Now quiet down!" she ordered. Amazingly, everyone did just that.

Sugar turned around and held out her hand. Huggy appeared, took it, and came forward. He had his arm around someone; it was Callahan limping up to Sugar's side.

Callahan looked like she'd been through a typhoon as she stood next to the perfectly made-up Sugar. Her hair was a wreck, her suit dirty and disheveled, she'd lost the heel to one of her shoes, and her face was smudged. Starsky could see she was shaking.

Sugar and Huggy stood on either side of her, helping her over to where Starsky and Hutch were being held. In spite of her rattled condition, Callahan shoved a loose tendril of hair out of her face, drew herself up to her full height, and faced Russo squarely. Starsky could hear the quaver in her voice but he didn't think anyone else would.

Every camera was trained on them. "Detective," she said calmly, "you'd better have a damned good reason for restraining my clients or this is just going to be another charge in the civil rights action we have pending against this city."

"I don't have to tell you nothin'," Russo growled, leaning forward.

Callahan was so shaken she flinched slightly but didn't budge, didn't drop her gaze. "Oh, yes you do. You have to explain to me, to the media, and to every citizen who just witnessed this assassination attempt," she gestured at the angry crowd of gays, "why you are arresting the targeted victims of the attack before you would arrest the actual people who committed the crime. My clients courageously pursued, apprehended, and then placed these dangerous men under citizen's arrest at the risk of their own lives and everyone here saw it. Including this television crew and myself. What are the charges, Detective?"

"We can discuss this down at the station," Russo insisted.

Yeah, Starsky thought, and if Hutch and me acquire some brand new bruises on the way there, well, that had to have happened during the original altercation, right?

Russo tried to shove Starsky forward by the cuffs. He planted himself and refused to budge.

Callahan, with Sugar and Huggy's support, moved directly in front of them. "What are the charges?" she demanded.

"Yeah," Linda Baylor chimed in. "I'd like to know that, too."

"Tell us all," Roland bellowed and the crowd took up the chant.

Wilson called over to his partner, "Russo! Give it up. We've made a mistake. It happens. The confusion of the scene. Let it go."

Russo glared at the older detective and there was a tense moment but finally Russo had to concede defeat. Furious, he unfastened Starsky's cuffs. "Yeah. Okay. You're right, Wilson. It's a mistake. It happens." He turned to Baylor. "Why don't you handle the rest of it?" Without another word, he walked away. Wilson followed him, and they climbed back into their car.

Tomas lingered another moment and Starsky realized he was trying to make eye contact with Trixie, to make sure she was okay. Starsky spotted her near the back of the crowd waving a scarf and Tomas must've seen it, too, because his face relaxed as he got into the back seat and shut the door. Russo drove away.

The tension at the scene noticeably relaxed as they left. The crowd burst into applause. Roland raised his fist to Hutch in salute and Hutch nodded and smiled back.

As the police moved forward to take control of the shooters, Hutch spoke to the crowd. "Come on, now, let's all go back to the Parrot. Let the police do their job. If you witnessed the action, we'll need your statements, okay?" Starsky saw a number of uniformed cops moving through the crowd, collecting information. Traffic would be snarled here for hours, the congestion eventually branching out to the rest of the city. There'd be a lot of coverage.

Well, at least he didn't have to worry about what they'd look like in it. They always looked good when they were in action. He glanced at Barbara and she gave him a thumbs-up and a grin. It would make her look good, too, to be on the scene for something like this.

Huggy and Sugar were still standing close to Callahan, whose freckles stood out starkly against her pale face.

He moved over to her and gave her a smile. "Hey, there. You look like you could use a drink, lady."

She smiled gamely back at him and then her legs gave out. Sugar and Huggy caught her before she fell.

"Hey, none of that now!" Huggy said worriedly.

"She's looking a little shocky to me," Sugar said.

Anxiously, Starsky took hold of her hands, which were clammy.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice a tremor of its normal self. "I'm okay, really."

"Yeah, sure you are," Starsky said.

"There's paramedics and ambulances back at the bar," Sugar said. "Let's get her back there. Let them check her over."

"I'm okay," she insisted as her eyes started to roll up. She sagged against Huggy.

Enough, Starsky thought, and scooped her up in his arms.

Hutch appeared beside him. He looked anxious and placed a hand against Callahan's forehead. "She didn't get shot, did she? She's cold."

"No," Starsky assured him, "I think she's coming down from the rush of adrenaline. I'll take her to the paramedics. You okay?"

"Yeah," Hutch assured him, giving his arm a squeeze. "I'll handle everything here. You take care of her."

Starsky nodded. It was just another crime scene, him and Hutch working together to get it done right. He had to remind himself he still didn't have his badge.

"I can walk," Kelly insisted, looking embarrassed in his arms.

"You just lay there and swoon like a lady," Sugar insisted, patting her hand. "Who knows, Kelly Rose? You might get to liking it."

Callahan smiled weakly as they approached the chaotic rescue scene in front of the bar.

"Why don't I get you a drink?" Huggy offered as they drew closer.

She shook her head. "No. I don't drink."

"Get it anyway," Starsky insisted. Huggy nodded. They both recognized that she wasn't in any condition to make decisions for herself.

"Trust me, honey," Sugar chimed in, "everyone needs a good stiff one once in a while. Even you."

Starsky shot her a look and then realized she hadn't intended the double entendre.

Sugar had the grace to look embarrassed as Callahan mustered the strength to chuckle.

"Who said that?" Sugar said in dismay. "And I wasn't even doing Mae! Well, it's still good advice."

"I'll remember that," Kelly murmured, but she couldn't look at Starsky when she said it.

"What's this?" a paramedic asked as Starsky set his burden down on the bumper of his wagon. "She get hit?"

Starsky shook his head. "She nearly fainted. She's been bounced around. Might've hit her head. She's a little shocky, I think," Starsky said.

The paramedic nodded, then leaned down and spoke to Callahan directly as he shined a light in her eyes. Huggy appeared with a brandy, but she waved it away until the paramedic nodded. She took a sip then made a face and handed it back to Huggy.

Starsky looked around the scene. There were at least six people on the ground being treated for either gunshot wounds or injuries caused by flying glass. It was a miracle he and Callahan had escaped unscathed.

At the outskirts of the makeshift triage site, he spotted several of paramedics working hard over a tiny figure. He couldn't see the person, but then one of the medics moved, and he saw a flash of arm and a familiar tattoo. Then he recognized the small crowd of frightened-looking people standing nearby.

He was moving toward them before he was willing to accept it. He slipped in among the medics working on the injured woman. Picking up her right hand, he found it cold, limp. His throat tightened as he stared at the multiple gunshot wounds stitched across her chest.

"Spike?" he murmured around the lump in his throat. He squeezed her hand, willing a response. "Spike? Come on, girl! Hang in there. You can do it!" He looked up into the face of the nearest paramedic, his eyes asking the only important question. The man looked back at him morosely and shook his head.

Starsky couldn't believe it, couldn't accept it. He glanced at Spike's friends, saw them holding onto Denise who was weeping inconsolably as her lover's life slipped away. He looked back down at the girl just as he felt her squeeze his hand back weakly.

She opened her eyes, gazed up at him and gave a thin smile. "Dave...?" She looked so tiny, so frail, all the power of her personality leached away by small pieces of indiscriminate lead.

"Don't talk!" he said. "Save your strength. You're gonna be okay, you hear me? You gotta believe that, Spike! Who'll explain all those gay jokes to me if you don't? And when you're all better, you've got to take the Torino out and let her rip. Don't you wanna do that?" He felt like he was babbling, begging her to live.

"The Torino?" she whispered. "You'd let me?"

"I promise," he swore, gripping her hand too tight.

"Can Denise come?"

"Everyone," he said. "We'll take everyone for a ride. You can drive her all day. Spike? Spike?"

She was still smiling, still staring at him, but he realized she wasn't seeing anything anymore as her hand relaxed completely. As if Denise could sense the passing of her lover's essence, she started to wail and her friends enfolded her, bracing her with their bodies against the loneliness of her grief.

This is a prayer for the souls of the departed Those who've gone and left their babies brokenhearted Young lives over before they got started This is a prayer for the souls of the departed Souls of the Departed--Bruce Springsteen

Chapter 15

Let the story be told Let them say what they want Let the photos be bold Let them show what they want If the illusion is real Let them give you a ride Let the Good Times Roll--The Cars

It was like supervising a battle scene, Hutch thought. The uniforms were collecting names, addresses, and statements as fast as they could. A police tow truck showed up to impound the bat-decorated sedan. It looked like it had been worked over by a battering ram.

Well, Starsky never did do anything halfway.

"Hutch!" Ray Higgins called. "Can you come here a minute?"

He jogged over. Baylor and Meredith were standing by Higgins' car. "What's up?"

Linda nodded toward the police radio Higgins was holding. "Dobey's not a happy man."

Hutch laughed lightly. Some things would never change.

"He wants to know if you'd be willing to come down and fill out some reports," Linda said. She wore a sly smile.

"Has he forgotten that we're on suspension?" Hutch wondered.

The two women grinned. "Oh, we reminded him," Meredith said pleasantly.

"Why do you think he's so unhappy?" Linda said.

Hutch shook his head and reached for Higgins' radio. Higgins seemed happy enough to give it up.

"Captain? This is Hutch."

"It's about time!" Dobey sounded as harried as Hutch had ever heard him. The sound made him homesick for before, when life was less complicated and love less confusing. "I can't make head nor tails out of the reports I'm getting from down there. What the hell have you and Starsky been up to?"

"Well, actually--"

"Never mind! I'm coming in to the station. Hutch. I'm asking you as a personal favor: Can you come in and help organize these reports?"

Man, he hated it when Dobey called in a personal debt. The two women and Higgins shook their heads in sympathy.

"Sure, Captain. I'll need a little more time down here to straighten things out then I'll be in. But I'd like to trade favors."

"Yeah?" said Dobey cautiously.

"I'd like to sit in on the questioning of the two suspects. I don't think the arresting officers would mind." He looked at Baylor and Meredith and they both nodded in agreement.

"Well, I can hardly argue that it's irregular when I'm asking you for the same consideration. If the officers have no problem with it, neither do I. I appreciate your willingness to help out, Hutch. Is... Starsky okay?"

"I think he's a little shook but he didn't get hurt," Hutch said.

"Well, thank God for that." Dobey signed off and Hutch handed Higgins back his radio.

"Starsky's right about you," Baylor said teasingly. "You are a pushover."

"I guess I can afford to be when I've got someone as ballsy as you covering my back," he said, chucking her under the chin. She smacked his hand away, grinning. But he wasn't ready to let the issue go. "You really took some chances back there with Russo."

Baylor looked insulted. "What? You think I couldn't take him?"

Hutch laughed but he was worried, too. "You know your support means a lot to us. From both of you. But, please be careful. It's not worth getting hurt over."

"Hey, Hutch," Meredith said, "we've partnered with you guys. You were both willing to put it on the line for us. That kind of relationship doesn't end when things get tough." Her eyes were bright and full of sincerity.

But Meredith had been more than Starsky's partner. She'd been his lover for a brief time. Hutch couldn't help wondering how she viewed the whole issue. For now, he'd have to settle for her willing support, which was more than he'd get from some of his other fellow cops.

"Why don't you let us finish this?" Meredith offered. "You can touch base with Starsky, then head on down to the precinct. We can all meet there later and get this mess straightened out."

He nodded. "Thanks. You, too, Higgins." He took his leave and jogged back toward the bar.

There was still plenty of activity there. The chorus line, dressed in their beautiful outfits, swept up shattered glass outside the bar. Emil and the other bartenders covered the broken window with panels of plywood. And the last few victims were being loaded into ambulances.

That was when Hutch spied the medical examiner's wagon.

Oh, shit. Automatically, he started searching for Starsky. He found him huddled around the back of the medic's wagon with Huggy, Sugar, and Kelly. Kelly was holding a blanket around herself and drinking something warm. She was leaning against Sugar who had her arm around the woman. Everyone was incredibly somber.

Hutch didn't know what to ask first.

Starsky, sitting quietly beside Kelly, finally spotted him. His eyes looked shadowed, weary. He sighed. "One death," he said succinctly, knowing that would be Hutch's first question. Quietly, he added, "It was Spike."

Hutch recognized the pain in Starsky's eyes. "I'm sorry." He put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it. Starsky reached up, patted the hand in thanks.

Hutch turned to Kelly. "You really okay?" She looked terrible.

Her green eyes were shadowed. No doubt she knew Spike, too. "Sure. I'm fine."

"Will you stop saying that!" Sugar snapped.

Hutch was actually relieved that someone was willing to admit their real feelings.

She glared at Hutch. "She's not fine. As usual, she skipped dinner to come here after a day of negotiations with the mayor's office so she could brief you guys. Then someone declared war and she just happened to be on the front line." She gave Kelly a fierce hug. "You need some food, a few days off, and it wouldn't hurt for you to have a little TLC, either."

Kelly dropped her head onto Sugar's shoulder. "Thanks, Mom. But there are people here who got really hurt. I just lost my nerve."

"Well," Huggy said, "if you can stand up to a gorilla like Russo after losing your nerve, I'd like for you to bottle some of that for me. I nearly ruined these fine pants of mine when that monster got in your face. What's with that guy?"

Hutch gave Starsky a look. "Let's just say he's suffering from masculine insecurities." Starsky nodded, but seemed distracted. Spike's death had obviously affected him profoundly.

"The bar's a wreck," Sugar said desultorily. "Everyone panicked inside when those bullets were fired. We're damned lucky more people weren't hurt. But I can't--I won't let this close us down. We'll be open tomorrow no matter what. We can't afford to look intimidated. They already think gays are easy targets. We've got to show them how tough we can be. But, Hutch...."

He looked at her expectantly.

"I've changed my mind about trying to organize a passive civil disobedience. It was terrifying in there. No one knew what to do. No one would listen to me urging calm. They were too frightened. Russo's not the only cop who's got it in for us. And who was responsible for this shooting? It couldn't be the cops. That's too crazy. We've got to be prepared for the next action, or I'll have to close the bar down for the safety of my customers. I'll call Tsuka tomorrow and meet with her. We'll start organizing right away. You'll help me, won't you?"

"Count on it," he assured her. Then he turned to Starsky. "Listen, partner... I told Dobey I'd go in and help Baylor and Meredith make some sense of what happened here."

Starsky's head snapped up. "You're going into the station? To work? While you're on suspension?"

"Yes," Hutch said, in a tone he knew Starsky would recognize as a termination of the discussion.

Kelly lifted her head. "That's not a bad idea. You've both demonstrated your willingness to protect the city even without your badges. If you go in to deal with the technicalities, it'll be another sign of your unstinting professionalism. I can do a lot with that."

Hutch laughed. "Man, I'm glad you're on our side. But Starsky doesn't need to come in with me. I can handle it by myself. I want to be around when they question those mechanics. And considering what went down tonight, I think it would be a good idea if you had some police protection you could rely on." He took a breath and plunged on. "Starsky, take Kelly home. Stay with her. Make sure she's safe."

Starsky's expression was unreadable, but he didn't miss Huggy's disapproving eye-roll.

"Look, you guys," Kelly protested. "I don't need a babysitter. You can't believe that after this anyone else would have the nerve to--"

"We don't have enough information, Kelly," Hutch insisted. "After I talk to those guys I might have a better feel for what went down and why. Until then, someone needs to be with you."

She glanced self-consciously at Starsky and Hutch knew she felt uncomfortable. Starsky's eyes never left Hutch's face. Without saying anything, Starsky stood, took him by the arm and led him a few yards away from the group.

"Why are you doing this?" Starsky asked.

Because I have to, he thought. Before I get in any deeper with you. Before you climb back into my bed again.

"You're the one who said they were shooting at her," Hutch insisted. "You know if we ask Dobey for someone to stay with her, we won't get it." Hutch glanced back at Kelly. "Look at her, Starsk. She's used to difficult negotiations, civilized courtrooms, word battles with other lawyers. She's not used to flying lead on the street. She's devastated. She's putting everything into our defense. We owe her."

"How much?" Starsky asked bluntly.

Hutch hesitated, the question cutting into his thin armor. Starsky's eyes were midnight pools, unreadable, distant. Hutch could smell his sweat, feel his masculine heat. What he really wanted was to go home, climb into bed with Starsky and be comforted by him, loved by him. Taken by him, he admitted to himself. His mouth went dry. "Only you can answer that."

"You really want me to do this?" Starsky wasn't going to let it go. He wanted it all out front.

What I want is for you to rediscover that incredible well of love and desire you had for me that first night. But it's gone. And the only thing we have left of it is strange dreams of unfulfilled longing. My empty beaches. Your disturbing scenes of passion. And when the day dawns all we're left with is confusion.

Hutch said what he really meant. "I want you to do whatever it is you really want to do. And I think you want to be with her. Right now, she needs someone. Seems like one of those karmic occurrences Tsuka's always telling us about. Why don't we just go with it?"

"You sure?"

Goddamn you! Hutch thought exasperated. "Yes! I'm sure!"

Starsky started back to the paramedic's wagon when Hutch gripped his leather-jacketed arm to pull his attention back.

"Remember what I said," Hutch reminded him. "Take her home. Stay with her. You can... call me in the morning and I'll tell you what went down with the shooters."

Starsky looked at him for a long moment, then finally gave a brief nod. He didn't touch Hutch when he walked away.

~~~

"You sure you can make it?" Starsky asked Callahan on the third floor landing of her apartment building.

She felt shaky as she paused to catch her breath. She nodded but didn't answer him. Couldn't answer him. The attack had really taken the starch out of her and put a serious crack in her nerves. She'd never experienced anything like it and didn't like the feeling much.

"How many more flights?" Starsky asked, looking up the stairwell.

"Only two," she said, swallowing, then started up the next one.

"Only two," he parroted as he walked beside her, one hand gripping her arm. "I guess we can take comfort in the fact that anyone interested in going after you would probably pass out from the climb before he ever got to your front door."

She smiled and continued on grimly until they finally reached her front door. There was a note there, which had obviously been written earlier in the day.

"Filed all the reports that were on the kitchen table. Assembled a list of cross-references for the AT&T appeal. Fed the cat. Talk to you tomorrow. Joey." It was a bizarre bit of normality that seemed to be from a different time, a different place. Before she'd been shot at. She pulled the note off and shoved it in a pocket. "Ouch!" she yelped as something sharp stuck her. Yanking out her hand, she saw that the tip of her index finger was bleeding. She sucked on it, confused.

Starsky took hold of the bottom of her jacket, felt the pocket, then turned it inside out. The note fluttered to the ground and several shards of glass clattered to the floor. He picked up the note, now smeared with blood and handed it to her.

"You'll need a bandage on that," he said. "Give me your keys."

She handed them over to him without argument. He took them and gently moved her away from the door. "Let me go in first, huh?"

She suddenly realized that he was worried that there might be a threat to her in her own apartment. He was about to go in there anyway, unarmed, to check it out. The stress of it all threatened to overwhelm her and she felt her eyes tear up for the first time.

Snap out of it, Callahan! she scolded herself. He doesn't need to think he's stuck with some sniveling coward about to get the vapors. She took a deep steadying breath and blinked hard, clearing her eyes.

He came back a moment later and opened the door wide. "Well, except for a midget tiger with a bad attitude and a paper obstacle course, the place looks safe. Welcome home."

She made herself smile and walked into her apartment. He shut and locked the door, then tried the knob as if to see if the door would hold. Evidently satisfied, he followed her inside.

Buddy stared at her from the floor. Glancing at her guest, he flicked his tail in annoyance and yowled softly.

"Forget the guilt trip," she said. "You've been fed. I've got written proof." He stropped around her legs and she nearly fell over him.

Starsky grabbed her arm just in time and helped her regain her balance. "Any chance he could've been paid off by the bad guys? That looked like a pretty blatant attempt to maim."

"Oh, he's had it in for me for years. I think he's decided if he breaks my legs, I'll have to stay home and spend more time with him."

She looked into Dave's attractive face. She could see the raw edges of pain in his eyes. She knew he was still hurting over Spike's death just as she was. He seemed somber but found a smile for her.

He was still holding onto her arm. The tactile sense of his hand on her was like a low-wattage charge to her already aggravated nervous system. "Want some coffee?" she asked.

"Tell you what," he offered. "I'll make the coffee. Why don't you go freshen up? I'll bet you'd like to get into some clean clothes."

"All I have is instant," she admitted reluctantly.

"Instant's fine," he assured her.

"I wouldn't mind some tea myself. Everything's by the stove."

"I can handle a cup of coffee and a cup of tea," Starsky assured her. "While Hutch is the main cook, I'm not helpless in the kitchen. I can even make a mean dish of fettuccini."

"There a big demand for bad-tempered Italian food in your social circle?" she asked as she headed for her bedroom.

"Funny," he scolded. "Don't get rattled if you hear a knock. Huggy's sending over real food from the Pits or so he promised."

"Okay," she called as she closed the bedroom door behind her.

She looked around the room as if forgetting why she'd come in. Buddy leapt up on the bed and demanded attention, which she gave him automatically, sliding her hand over his sleek back.

The room was tidier than when she left, her double bed neatly made. She kept telling Joey that housekeeping wasn't part of the job but he ignored her, tidying up behind her, making her bed, once even putting curtains up when she didn't get around to it soon enough. At least she didn't have to be too embarrassed about the place. Left to her, there'd be a layer of dust over everything thick enough to write a brief in and molding dishes in the sink.

She looked in her closet for something to wear then realized that the one thing she really wanted was a shower. She wanted to be totally clean, to wash away the grit of the sidewalk--where he lay over me, protecting me with his own life. She could feel, still, the weight of his masculine body pressing against her, his breath blowing against her ear. She could smell his male scent. But more amazing than the physical was his willingness to sacrifice his very existence to preserve hers. No one had ever done anything like that for her.

"Tea's almost ready!" she heard him call from the kitchen.

She realized she was just standing there in the open closet staring without seeing. Go put a bandage on your finger. Take a shower. Then maybe you can wake up your brain.

She closed the closet and stroked the cat again. He followed her out of the bedroom.

"I'm going to grab a quick shower," she said, walking past him to the bathroom.

"Sure thing," he said, staring at a stack of papers.

"No fair peeking at your file," she warned, and he glanced up guiltily. "I know where everything is, too, so don't think I won't notice if it's disturbed." "Yes, Counselor," he said and went to the table to stir some sugar into a cup of hot liquid.

There really wasn't anything very strange about her showering while a man sat in her kitchen, she reminded herself as she dabbed first aid cream on the puncture and bandaged it. She pulled back her shower curtain and turned on the spray. Of course, the men who were usually there were almost always gay. But Dave... he was a whole different animal. While she knew, as did the entire city, that he'd had relations with his partner, Hutch had indicated that in Starsky's mind he was most definitely not gay.

She shed her ruined clothes and freed her hair, ran a comb through it hurriedly, then stepped under the water. She'd thought he was a homophobe when they'd met but his interactions with the people at the Parrot were comfortable and natural. And his grief over Spike's death seemed genuine.

Thinking of Spike reminded her of the last time she and Denise were here, helping her out, chattering like girls. With all of her butch demeanor and punk trappings, Spike was all woman. They'd had fun working together, swapping girl talk. She remembered Spike teasing her about her buttoned-down look and urging her to do something radical to unnerve her opponents, like shave her head. They had laughed so much that day.

The loss of that free spirit hit her hard and she cried quietly, letting her tears mingle with the soap and water of the shower and be swept away down the drain. By the time she rinsed off, she felt marginally in control again and for the first time since the shooting, she felt warm.

Nothing like a good hot shower to help you get your head on straight.

From the closed toilet lid, Buddy mewed in agreement. She pulled two towels out of the closet, wrapped one around her long hair, and dried herself briskly with the other. It was to good be clean. It was like starting over.

Then she realized she hadn't brought any clothes with her into the bathroom.

You dope! You're so unaccustomed to straight male company that you don't have a clue how to act. The only thing available in the bathroom to wear was her grimy clothes or her old, tatty pink bathrobe. Well, you're not going out there in a towel so the bathrobe is it. She'd just dash through the kitchen, get back in the bedroom, and find something decent to put on. Like clean underwear to start.

She shoved the dirty clothes and wet towels into the hamper, ripped a comb through her long wet hair, then bundled up in the floor-length robe, cinching it tightly. You look perfectly decent--for a woman with wet hair, no underwear, and wearing a robe you should've thrown out five years ago. Your mother warned you about this kind of thing, didn't she? She'd have a fit if she could see you looking like this in front of company.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it. She opened the bathroom door and prepared to make a speedy retreat into the bedroom. But two steps out of the bathroom, she nearly collided with her personal bodyguard. "Got your tea all ready," he said, a warm smile lighting his handsome face. He held out her cup. She took it from him with one hand, as she held the ends of the robe closed around her throat with the other.

"Uh... thanks... Dave," she said. Her voice sounded like a squeak.

"I looked for some brandy to lace it," he said apologetically, "but I couldn't find any. Or anything else. Even beer." His expression was hopeful.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I don't drink. Alcohol never did anyone in my family any favors and a lot of my volunteers are working on their sobriety."

He shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, I'm on duty anyway, so it's just as well. But right now, a little snake oil would be a good medicinal tonic for you. Next time we get shot at, I'll remember to bring my own."

She was amazed at his casual ability to joke about that, but of course, in his line of work--

"The food just got here," he explained, taking her elbow and leading her to the table. She either had to sit down or fall over the chair, so she sat.

"I... uh... really should change first," she said, looking at the bag on the table.

"What for?" he asked offhandedly. "You're home. You should be relaxing. No need to get formal. Let's see what we've got here."

He opened a container of something hot and the aroma made her mouth water. As he poured it into a bowl, he looked perplexed. She inhaled and closed her eyes in bliss.

"What the hell...?" he muttered, sniffing the food suspiciously.

"Oh, wow! Huggy remembered that I'm a vegetarian! How sweet." There were steaming containers of a rich-smelling lentil stew with rice, crusty bread, and crisp fresh crudités vegetables with a light dipping sauce.

Dave was looking even more confused as he opened the rest of the containers. "A vegetarian?" He didn't sound happy about it. "And obviously, he went to some trouble to put this together for you." He gave her a funny look. "What is this strange effect you have on mortal men that makes them provide exotic rabbit food for your gustatory pleasure?" He cocked his head to one side. "I've been hangin' with Huggy too long. I'm beginning to sound like him." He took another long look at the food then sat in the opposite chair with a sigh.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, though she suspected she knew what it was.

"I bet you and Hutch didn't have any trouble eating out together," he said, mournfully. "I was looking forward to real food. A Huggy special with all the trimmings. A good rare burger about this thick, dripping with...." She must've let her face register how unappealing that sounded to her, so he stopped.

He took another look at the food and shrugged philosophically. "Even when Hutch isn't picking out dinner for me, I can't get away from a healthy diet. Well, after all the weird stuff he made me eat during my convalescence, this won't kill me. And I'm starved."

"Me, too." Her hunger made her stop worrying about her bathrobe. She reached for a steaming container. "This smells really good. Like it has Caribbean spices in it."

Dave was digging into his portion. "Huggy's got family in the Islands. I wouldn't be surprised if there were voodoo charms to ward off danger in here, too." He paused after sampling the stew. "This is pretty good. But I never thought I'd long for a Huggy special the way I do now!"

He went through his portion of the meal as if time were critical. She imagined he was used to eating on the run, in between cases, running from this place to that.

The phone rang. He stopped in mid-chew and stared at the plain black phone sitting on the small table by the window. "You expecting any calls?" he asked suspiciously.

"In my line of work," she said, "the phone rings all the time. There's an extension in the bedroom. If it's bad news you can pick it up in there." She leaned over and picked up the receiver on the third ring.

"K.R.?" a plaintive voice said in her ear. "It's Joey. Are you okay?"

He sounded incredibly upset. "I'm fine, Joey!" As soon as Starsky realized the caller was someone she knew, he relaxed and went back to his food. "Really. Everything's okay."

"How can it be okay? You were nearly killed! I saw the news. You didn't get hurt?"

"No, just shook up. They caught the guys who did it and everything's fine. Please don't worry." He was her most loyal volunteer. He spent so much time in her place, he was more like a little brother than a helper. "I appreciate everything you did today...."

She thought she heard a sob on the other end. "You could've been killed! You sure you're okay? Suppose someone else...?"

"Joey, please calm down. I'm fine, honest. And I've got police protection, so you don't have to worry. Sergeant Starsky is here watching over me, so I'll be perfectly safe."

There was a pause. He sounded calmer when he spoke again. "Is he that blond cop--?"

She smiled. "No, that's the other one, Hutchinson. This is his partner."

Starsky glanced up and smiled crookedly at her.

"Well... I feel better... since you're not alone. I'll have a few hours free tomorrow...."

"I'm not sure about my morning. I think I'll have to go downtown and give a statement, maybe ID those guys. But I should be back in the afternoon. I could use some help."

"Okay, great. Hey, be careful, will you? I worry about you."

"Thanks, Joey, it means a lot to have a friend like you. I'll see you tomorrow." She hung up the phone.

"One of your volunteers?" Dave asked.

She nodded and went back to her food.

He finished before her. Wiping his mouth on a napkin, he asked, "Could I take a shower? After all that exercise, I'll be a lot more pleasant to be around if I could wash up."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dave," she said, spoon halfway to her mouth, "I should've offered. I'm still not quite with it. Sure, go on in the bathroom. There's a linen closet with towels and washcloths. Help yourself."

"Great. I'll only be a minute." He looked at her seriously, all light-heartedness gone. "I don't want you answering that door for any reason. Even if it's someone you know. Understand?"

She tried to imagine what a wet, nude, unarmed cop could do in her defense if anyone meaning her harm did arrive, but thinking about this cop both wet and nude was entirely too distracting. "Uh... sure.... I won't answer it."

"Good. Be right back."

There aren't any clean clothes in there for him either, she realized. Knowing how much she hated putting dirty clothes on after a shower, she racked her brains for a solution, but there were no clothes in the apartment that would fit him. She rarely had guests and it had been ages since she'd had a date, never mind had a man actually stay over. A straight man, anyway. Assuming Dave was straight.

She shoved all that out of her mind. Whether he was straight or not wasn't any of her concern. He was her client. Tonight he was a cop keeping her safe. Period.

She heard the shower running and realized one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen, who at least might be straight, was currently stark nude and as wet as a seal in her bathroom. She focused on the remnants of the food in front of her and tried not to think about it.

It was a good thing Sugar wasn't here. If she were, she'd be shoving Kelly into the bathroom. "For your own good, girl. Use it or lose it."

Finish your food. Go change. Get ready for bed. No. Get ready for sleep.

Yeah. Right. Like you could sleep a wink with him in this apartment.

That made her think of something else. Where was he going to sleep? Her couch was decrepit. After what he'd been through tonight, he deserved a decent bed-- Stop. Right there. Do something productive.

She realized the only way she'd manage to get any more food out of these containers was if she licked them clean. Gathering them up, she carried them to the trash. She'd have to do something nice for Huggy. He'd been so kind to her outside the Parrot, holding her, comforting her. He never left her side once Dave had handed her over to his care. She wondered how long Ken and Dave had known Huggy and how they'd formed such an unusual alliance. White LA cops weren't usually that well thought of by young black men like Huggy. But, of course, they were hardly your average cops.

Before that train of thought left the station, she decided that she'd forego changing. She'd just take her poor battered briefcase into the bedroom like every night, curl up with Buddy and go over her notes to organize them for tomorrow. No doubt she'd have to deal with the shooting. Give statements, depositions, describe what had happened. She tried to focus on the events as dispassionately as if she were in court.

She'd been watching Dave give his interview to Barbara. Yes. She'd been watching Dave.

He's easy to watch. He stood there, all in leather, as tense as a bowstring as he confronted the reporter. He kept glancing over at me to be sure he was doing things right.

She remembered reaching up to remove his sunglasses. And she'd found herself getting lost in those midnight blue eyes--

"Man, that's an improvement!" he said right behind her.

She jumped, nearly knocking the trash over, and wondered when this ridiculous case of the jitters was going to pass. Normally, she had nerves of steel. She didn't like feeling this twitchy. Feeling this... afraid.

"You okay?" he said, coming closer.

She turned and was just as startled by his appearance. He was barefoot and bare-chested, holding his tee shirt and undershirt bunched up in his hands. The only thing he'd put back on were the black leather biker pants that seemed molded to his body. She could see droplets of water still beaded in the profusion of brown hair that covered his chest and abdomen. And she could also see the faint crisscrossed maze of scars that remained from the assassination attempt that had almost killed him.

Will you get a grip on yourself! What did you expect him to wear after a shower? She looked away before he could think she was staring at the scars. Or at him.

"Y'know, anyone would be jumpy after what you went through tonight," he said gently. "It's okay. You're a tough lady. A good night's sleep and you'll be back on your feet, ready to go another round with the bad guys."

She forced a smile. Yep. That's me. The original tough broad. So, straighten up, Kelly Rose. You wouldn't want your image to slip. He took hold of her hands suddenly and she had to fight the urge to jerk them out of his grasp. His own hands were amazingly warm, alive, strong. He had long fingers, beautifully sculpted hands. She wondered distractedly how it was the LAPD had managed to team two of the most beautiful men in the city together.

"You're warm again," he assured her, "and your color's back. I'll have to tell Huggy his food did the trick."

Her hands weren't just warm, her whole body was flushed, and she could feel a trickle of sweat tracking down her spine. She didn't think the food could take all the credit. His touch could raise the dead. Smiling, sort of, she extricated herself from his gentle clasp, then went over and picked up her briefcase.

My shield Greg calls it. That sanctimonious trial lawyer kept pressuring her to go out with him, but the thought of him putting his smooth clammy hands on her turned her stomach. He accused her of using her briefcase more effectively than a chastity belt.

"Yes, I'll have to thank Huggy. It was very good food." She ran a hand distractedly over the inexpensive Naugahyde. Its once-shiny skin was scraped down to the fabric and split along one seam. She picked at it mindlessly. Falling on it had kept her from splitting her skull on the sidewalk and from scraping her face raw on the concrete. "I... uh... I've got to get my notes together for tomorrow...."

He was back beside her and suddenly the apartment seemed too small for two adults and a cat. He took hold of the briefcase and touched its bruises. "You need a good leather case there, Counselor, especially if you're going to use it for stunt work. Plastic doesn't hold up. See my leather jacket there, these pants? Good quality cowhide. It'll hold up under almost anything."

If she had to look at the good quality cowhide barely containing his taut virile body, or the prominent groin lashed behind the leather thongs on his fly, she thought she'd have a meltdown. She reached for the briefcase, but he held it out of reach. "It's getting late.... I really need... I really.... Dave...!" She looked up at him, confused, and realized she was trembling.

His face was soft. It wasn't an expression she was prepared for. "Y'know, most people couldn't have kept it together as well as you did out there, Callahan. You handled it like a pro. You got through the scene, as bad as it was, and you came out swinging. Russo's not used to losing face- to-face confrontations with people smaller than him, never mind women-type people. That took a hell of a lot of brass, lady."

"Oh, cut it out!" she snapped, losing patience with herself. "I was a wreck out there! I was scared shitless, my voice was quavering, I could barely walk under my own power, and I was a heartbeat away from hysteria through the whole thing." And now she was a heartbeat away from tears. She fought it and her whole body shook from the battle.

"Yeah," he said simply. "Me, too."

His gaze was so full of honest understanding that she was in serious danger of imploding under it. Forcing herself to talk around the tightening constriction in her throat she said, "Y'know, I've been through a lot of confrontations. I've been threatened, even physically. I've seen a lot of intimidation tactics. And I've gotten through them. But... but..." her voice was breaking up and she couldn't keep it steady, "but... no matter how bad it got, no matter how rotten the situation..." she drew in a deep shuddering breath and felt a hot tear course involuntarily down her cheek, "no one... no one ever shot at me before."

He dropped the briefcase to the floor and slid his arms around her just as her legs threatened to fail again. His warmth and strength were too sweet a haven for her to resist. She couldn't remember a time, even when her father was alive, that she'd had the privilege of turning to anyone stronger than she was. Her arms went around his narrow waist and she clung to him, fighting the shakes, the tears, the bitter anger and sorrow over the loss of her friend, and the genuine terror for her life that she knew would haunt her for a long time.

He tightened his hold and rocked her, murmuring soft, meaningless sounds, assuring her it was okay. His lips brushed her forehead in brotherly comfort and it surprised her how grateful she was for that simple kindness.

When her shakes finally lessened she felt strangely enervated by the emotional outburst. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she took a deep breath. "Thanks. I'm okay. Really." She'd regret it when he released her, but she didn't dare get used to this. It was too seductive. It wasn't real.

He didn't let go. Instead, he pressed his cheek against the top of her head. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm not okay yet."

She felt bad. She'd been so ready to take his comfort without offering any. She'd seen his face after Spike died. And immediately after the shooting. And after Russo had cuffed him. He'd been through the wringer, too. She hugged him hard, and stroked his back, trying to return some of the warmth he'd given her.

"You smell good," he whispered against her nearly dry hair. "I like your soap."

He would've had to use the same soap. One of her clients ran a health-food store and was forever sending her fancy bars of herbal castile soap. It was a pleasant scent, not too flowery. It smelled completely different on him. His own masculine musk combined with the pleasant smell into something nearly intoxicating. "Smells good on you, too," she said.

She pulled back to look into his face. Worrying about his needs was a good distraction. She wasn't used to intense introspection. She'd rather focus on someone else.

She was startled by the expression on his face. It was a combination of grief, anxiety, and complete confusion. He looked tortured. "Oh, Dave," she whispered, and stroked his bristly cheek. She'd never expected him to seem so vulnerable.

"Callahan?" He murmured her name, as if trying out the sound of it in his mouth. The chaotic emotions evident on his face didn't change, even when he bent lower, taking her mouth in a slow kiss.

She gasped, wondering how she could be so surprised. Had she been so long without the company of straight men that she'd had no idea how to react to a normal sexual advance? Her gasp parted her lips and his tongue entered tenuously, timidly, as if unsure of its welcome. Her own tongue-tip met it just as hesitantly, as if finding its way blind into a new experience.

He sighed as if in relief, as if the familiarity of kissing a woman was an anchor he could grab hold of. He moved more aggressively, pulling her tight against his larger body, kissing her strongly, as if deliberately overwhelming her just because he could.

It's the first time he's touched a woman sexually since that night with Hutch, she realized. The clear, analytical part of her mind that had always managed to be two steps ahead of her enemies, that had kept her from making the wrong moves at the wrong time, wasn't about to fail her now. She suddenly hated that part of herself. She wanted, just once, to act on her most basic feelings like any sensible woman would at this moment. But she'd never been like any sensible woman.

She pulled back from the kiss, turned her head, leaned away from him. It was pointless, really. He must feel her shivering in his arms and would know it was his kiss that had shaken her. "Dave!" she protested. "Wait!"

"Why?" he asked bluntly, but didn't force himself on her. "Why wait? For what? We're here. It's happening."

It was a simple philosophy, and she ached to go along with it. She wanted to dissolve in his arms and let him be the man he wanted to be with her. But her brain wouldn't shut off. She shook her head. "I... I...." Her mouth couldn't make anything sensible come out.

His leg slid in between hers as he held her up. She could feel the smooth leather covering his corded thigh. A flush of goosebumps ran up her spine. If he didn't let her go--

"What's the matter? You don't want me? Just say it, that's all." He was growling the words at her, sounding almost angry.

Was it need? Desire for her? Or something else? She had to know. To be sure. Before something happened when she hadn't read the fine print, discovered all the contingencies.

She said the one word she knew would stop him cold. "Hutch!"

He froze, his face a mask of tumultuous emotions. "What?"

She said it straight out, as honest as she wanted him to be. "I don't want to hurt Hutch. He's my friend. He loves you."

He let her go so fast, she staggered, barely regaining her stance. He walked away, his back to her. She tried not to look at his half-bare torso, the fine lines of his scars were no distraction as she noted his perfect spine, the fine musculature playing across his shoulders--the beauty of his rear end played to maximum benefit in the tight black leather pants. She wanted to kill Sugar for dressing him like that.

"You think Hutch isn't my friend? You think I don't love him?" He was angry now, but he still wouldn't look at her.

"How can I know, Dave? Hutch isn't sure what you're feeling; how can I be? Unless you tell me. I know this: Hutch is in love with you."

"No, he's not!" He spun now, facing her, eyes dark with emotion. "He's confused! He doesn't know what he's feeling. He went through hell when I was shot. He watched me, helpless, nearly die. And all he could do was go after the guy responsible. He got him, too. Using his brains, doggedly pursuing the vaguest leads, hours of detective work while I just laid there, trying to live. We went through months of recuperation together, side by side. He never let me give up, even when I thought I couldn't walk another step, even when I thought I'd never be strong enough, fast enough, to get back on the streets. That's love. That's what he's feeling. He's my partner! We been watching each other's backs since the Academy. Nearly died for each other over and over. What else could it be but love, huh? This thing with the drug... it just... just confused and complicated something beautiful and simple and pure... and changed it into something...." He trailed off, staring at the floor, at the ceiling, at everything but her.

"He's in love with you," she said again. "He's not confused about that. And there's nothing complicated about it. What's complicated is your feelings about it. And whether or not you feel the same."

He rounded on her. "We are straight men! It doesn't matter what the papers say or what the whole world thinks. I know what I am and I know what Hutch is. We're not gay! We're not bi! We are two straight men who were made to feel something we never should have felt, made to do something we never would have done--!"

"Dave, no drug can do that," she said gently. "All it can do is remove inhibitions, make you more inclined to act. You had to have felt some need for him that night."

"I CAN'T REMEMBER THAT NIGHT!" he shouted, then realized how loud he sounded and turned away again.

She was relieved when she didn't flinch in the face of his fury.

He turned back and said it more reasonably. "I can't remember any of it. Sure, I must've felt... something... that made me do those things but... I don't feel it anymore. It's gone. If it were real, if it were something intrinsically a part of me, don't you think I'd feel it now?" He stared at her and the intensity of his gaze made her want to squirm. "I know how Hutch thinks he feels. And all of the stuff we've been going through sure hasn't helped. But I can't feel something that isn't there. I'm Hutch's partner. And I'll always love him like that. That's something I'd never deny."

He walked back to her slowly as a flood of tormented emotions played over his face and body. "Sending me here to be with you was Hutch's idea. He knew what might happen. He knows me. It's his way of getting back to reality. Of going back to the way things were, the way they're supposed to be. Someday I'll dance at Hutch's wedding. And he'll dance at mine. That's reality. The rest of this stuff, what we've been going through--none of it's been real. It's all been smoke and mirrors and... bad dreams...." She took a step backwards to slow his advance. "Well, that's just fine. You throw Hutch at me, and now he returns the favor. Am I supposed to be thrilled at being appointed the Holy Restorer of Sacred Masculinity?"

"I don't know how thrilling it might be for you," he said sarcastically. "You haven't done any restoring yet."

She felt a flare of anger and grabbed onto it like a lifeline. Her temper had always shored up her nerve at dangerous times. "You can't make Hutch's feelings go away by denying them!"

"And I can't be responsible for them just because they're hurting him," he insisted. "I don't want him to be in love with me. And while I don't want to hurt him, I want what we had before. Our normal life, our work, our partnership. And somewhere inside him, Hutch wants it, too. I know he wants me to be happy. And he knows I'm not happy this way. I can't be the fantasy lover he dreams about. I can only be Dave Starsky. His partner. A straight man who loves women...." He took hold of her shoulders.

Her stomach dropped when he gripped her and she feared she wouldn't have the resolve to turn him away again. The power of his touch reached inside her soul, grabbing hold of her loneliness with both hands. It had been so long since any man had looked at her with desire.

"...Who loves pretty women...." he murmured, staring fiercely into her eyes. "Strong, pretty, honest, green-eyed women who smell good, who have the balls to stand up to men three times their size."

Pretty? she thought dazedly as she stood before him in her frayed faded robe and damp stringy hair. How he could see her like that?

He moved to kiss her again. She turned her head slightly, but it was a half-hearted gesture. He caught her easily, his mouth pressing hard against hers, ripping a soft moan from her. Her hands gripped his upper arms as he anchored her in place, his tongue demanding entry this time, all its shyness gone. I know you now, his mouth said. I know what you want. What you need. I'm going to take it. And you're going to give it to me.

Her nipples were so hard they ached and she knew he could feel them against his skin through the worn thin fabric of the bathrobe.

He pulled away first. "Now you be honest, Callahan. Tell me you don't want me. Say it to my face and I'll never lay a hand on you again."

The words knifed through her and she knew it would be impossible to lie to him. She grasped at one last protest as feeble as it was. "Dave! You're my client. It's not a good idea for a lawyer and client...."

"Don't give me that crap!" he snapped. "I work with lawyers, men lawyers, every day. Don't tell me about their scruples. Don't tell me they act like priests with their women clients." He wrapped his arms around her, gripping her as though she might escape. He kissed her again roughly and she felt an ache between her legs. "Tell me how you feel, Callahan. Go ahead. Say you don't want me. You don't want my hands on you. My mouth. Come on. Tell the truth. You don't want me in your bed. Say it now."

"I... I...." She couldn't make the words form.

Then his mouth came down on hers again and the breathy gasps she'd been making to refuse his passion were swallowed by his lips, devoured by his tongue, his teeth, as he nipped her tongue, her lips, and made her need flush through her every cell.

As he moved her inexorably into the suddenly unknown territory of her own bedroom, her tumultuous feelings careened through her body and mind as unfamiliar sensations rocked her every nerve ending. He wrenched away the threadbare sash on her robe. His long-fingered hand surrounded her breast, cradling it like something precious he had lost. As he laid her back carefully on her bedspread, he pushed the robe out of his way, baring her body to him, exposing the sexual flush on her chest and belly. His mouth slid down her throat to the breast he held, his tongue hot, wet, his teeth giving small sharp nips of amazing pleasure. She thrashed, her hands scrabbling at his back as if she were falling and only holding on to him could stop her from crashing.

He fed her nipple to his own mouth, then released his hold on the breast, letting the power of his sucking mouth take over. He slid that arm around her back, gathering her to him, his lips, tongue, and teeth playing a concert of delight on her throbbing aureole. His weight half-covered her as one of his leather-clad legs slid between her bare ones, pushing them apart, announcing his clear intent. She shuddered, not from fear but eagerness, her reaction to him so strong it shocked her. She craved him, ached for his touch, his penetration.

When his hand suddenly carded through the soft, reddish hair of her mons she cried out in surprise. His teeth closed gently on the tip of her nipple, and the surge of tender pain it caused made her legs spread wider, wantonly, inviting him, pleading with him to touch her. He held off, teasing, playing with her fur, making her insane. He wanted her helpless and she knew it. He wanted her to surrender the very strength he was attracted to.

Impulsively, her hands slid down his back. They were shaking, timid, yet they had never been so aware of shape and texture as they were this minute. The strong slope of his shoulders yielded to the sweet curve of his spine. Her palms ran down his surprisingly smooth skin, her fingers searching. She found a triangle of coarse hair at the small of his back and toyed with it before finally finding the waistband of taut leather that covered his beautiful rear. She tried to slip her fingers beneath the skins but couldn't and moaned in frustration. Oh, God, how she wanted to touch him, feel that ripe roundness under her hands, just once.

As if he'd read her mind, she felt him shift, untie the thongs that barely held the pants together. Without releasing her breast, he managed to slide the pants off, kicking them over the side of the bed.

Then he was against her, his bare skin surrounding hers. The sense of his nude body excited her as nothing ever had. She felt the texture of the hair on his legs as he once again moved one in between hers. She stroked his calf with the sole of her foot and he purred around the nipple in his mouth, making her moan. She reached for his ass, greedy now, unable to wait. The voluptuous mounds were pliant beneath her hands but there was a muscular strength there, too. She gripped them, stroked them, and ached to feel them flexing as they drove him into her. He was only half hard yet, but that would come. She could feel the tension of his excitement all through him, his need for her a palpable thing.

Her mind was still a jumbled tangle of chaotic thought. He felt so good, so strong, his passion so overwhelming, sweeping her along in a rush of sensation she couldn't control. When, finally his left hand gave her pubic hair a warning tug, she lurched up, searching for the promised touch. Then his elegant fingers were there, finding her, discovering her wet secret. His touch was unerring, skilled, more knowledgeable about her womanhood than she could've imagined.

She'd never known a man who could be more intent on giving pleasure than getting it. But as he slipped his fingers inside her, carefully preparing her for his entry, his intense focus on her reactions and his careful consideration was obvious. His thumb, wet with her lubricant, brushed her swollen clitoris back and forth, tender and compelling, and it was suddenly too much. An unexpected orgasm overtook her. Digging her nails into his rear, she cried out. He repeated the touch expertly and brought her higher, higher, making her come again and again in rapid succession. As the powerful mind-wracking sensations tore through her, disassembling her, there was only room for one small chaotic thought.

As she cried out his name, her body clenching and spasming under his hands, her mind repeated a sorrowful prayer.

Forgive me, Hutch! Please forgive me...!

Some make you spin, Some make you sweat... Some like it hot, But I like it wet, So tell me... What have we got to lose now? Drug--Duran Duran

Chapter 16

Tonight our bed is cold I'm lost in the darkness of our love God have mercy on the man Who doubts what he's sure of Brilliant Disguise--Bruce Springsteen

Starsky lay on his back, one leg raised, foot on the mattress, knee bent, the other stretched out. One arm covered his eyes, the other lay lax at his side. In spite of the warm, quiet, female body beside him, he felt very much alone.

Sensing a pair of eyes watching him, he peeked out from under his arm. A tiny tiger sat primly on the corner of a dresser, tail tucked tight around his feet, orange eyes narrowed to disapproving slits.

If you're here to judge the event, save it. I know a losing performance when I've had one.

The cat blinked slowly, his face frozen in a ferocious cat scowl.

And what the hell do you know about it anyway? You're neutered. But then again... apparently so am I.

He tried to remember if he'd ever chided Hutch whenever he had this problem, and couldn't. If he had, he could at least blame this fiasco on bad karma he would've deserved.

He remembered when Hutch and Vanessa were in the last stages of their embattled marriage. The tension and stress of their daily domestic war had left Hutch semi-impotent. It had always amazed Starsky how easily Hutch had talked about that, as though it had to be expected considering what he was going through. If it had been Starsky, he'd have died before admitting something like that, even to Hutch. He knew, too, that Hutch could never get it up if he'd had too much to drink.

Those incidents never seemed to bother him much, but then again, Hutch was forever downplaying the importance of sex. Did he really feel that way, Starsky wondered, or was it the best face he could put on a problem he knew he'd have to deal with occasionally? He admired Hutch's guts, his sense of masculinity that was strong enough to withstand his body's sporadic failure.

But Starsky wasn't like Hutch. Sex had always been intensely important to him. He prided himself on his virility, his ability to give and take pleasure in equal measure. Neither stress nor alcohol had ever diminished his ability to perform. Nothing had ever interfered with it. Ever. Before tonight.

He had no experience with which to deal with this.

"I've made a decision," Callahan said into the silence that had grown between them. She'd been lying with her back to him, covers drawn up to her neck. Now she turned to face him.

He really didn't want to talk right now, but he couldn't shut her out, not after his abysmal failure. He dropped his arm and turned to look at her. He worried that she was about to quit their case, that throwing him out of her bed and her apartment wouldn't be enough to appease her disappointment.

"I've decided that I really should make an ethical stand against sleeping with my clients," she said off-handedly.

He was so startled by her attempt at humor, he had to laugh. It didn't help his pride though.

"It's not the end of the world," she said softly, rubbing her knuckles against his cheek.

It's not? he thought, wanting to argue that.

"It was crazy for us to start something tonight," she insisted. "Between the shooting, our mixed- up feelings... Hutch...." Her mentioning Hutch made him angry for some reason, even though his partner had never once left his mind since they'd parted company at the crime scene. His jaw clenched.

"That has nothing to do with it." He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest, hugging them. "After a scene like the shooting, that's when you're all wired up, needing an outlet to let the adrenaline out. That's the last thing that should've...." He couldn't talk about it. He was too upset. It was too personal.

"Dave, you're tired. Don't be so hard on yourself. Why don't you try to sleep? You'll feel better after some rest."

"Will you stop being so goddamned reasonable?" he snapped. There was no way he could sleep. He was as keyed up as he'd been after the shooting. He wanted to do something, run around the block, beat the crap out of someone... fuck.... He squeezed his eyes shut.

She ran a hand lightly over his back to comfort, not excite. "What do you want me to do? How should I react?"

"You should be pissed. Yell or something. Slap me. Throw me out." It sounded lame even to him, but her understanding was the last thing he could bear.

She seemed baffled. "Is that the way women have reacted the other times...?"

He turned around, furious. "There never were any other times!"

Understanding dawned on her face. "Oh.... Well, I guess now I've been totally dethroned as the Holy Restorer of Sacred Masculinity, huh?"

He couldn't hold onto his rage in the face of her good-natured attempts to jolly him out of it. He deflated with a sigh. "I don't know why I'm yelling at you. It's my problem." His expression softened. "I feel like I let you down. I'm sorry."

She seemed only more confused. "Dave... what we shared... it was beautiful. You satisfied me... more than I ever expected. You're the one who must be disappointed. I feel... like maybe... if I was more feminine, or if I knew how to do some of those more exotic things...."

His heart twisted. She'd done everything for him, had worshipped his body and his cock with her hands, her mouth. She'd wrapped her beautiful hair around him, teased him and enticed him. She'd only stopped when he'd pushed her away, ashamed by his failure.

"Don't say that." He lay back down and faced her. Moving a thick hank of hair behind her ear, he realized she needed consoling, too. "You're enough woman for two men. Beautiful, strong, loving.... You deserve so much better."

She cupped his cheek with her palm. Her eyes searched his, and with the kind of unerring honesty he'd come to expect from her, she said, "Don't you think this might have something to do with your confused feelings for Hutch?" He felt his anger flare again and fought it. He wanted to insist his feelings for Hutch weren't the least bit confused, that he knew exactly how he felt about Hutch, but he couldn't lie about that anymore.

"Dave," she asked, her voice surprisingly steady, "are you sleeping with Hutch?"

He nodded, feeling that painful knot he got in his gut whenever he had to confront what happened between him and Hutch in the dark.

"You two are doing more than sleeping, aren't you?" she said.

She was leading him through it the way she would a reluctant witness she wanted to testify for her. He frowned. He didn't have to tell her anything. It wasn't any of her business.... "Yeah," he said.

Her face didn't change expression; she just kept looking at him with understanding. She didn't bring up his earlier denials, his loud protestations about his heterosexuality.

"You must feel pretty confused," she said.

He wanted to cry and swallowed hard to keep his careening emotions in rein. In self-defensive anger, he lashed out at her cruelly. "You sure know a hell of a lot about men for a woman who never sleeps with any." He regretted it instantly.

She looked like she'd been slapped but recovered quickly. "You don't have to sleep with men to learn about them. You just have to work with them every day, compete against them, and beat them at their own game to find out just what poor losers they can be."

He was ashamed of his outburst. The only way he could ameliorate it was to give her an honest response. "I... I don't understand anything anymore. I don't understand my body, my brain, how I feel... who I am.... What I am...."

"You're Dave," she told him. "You're still David Starsky. Cop. Partner. Friend. Lover. That's all the same. You're a good man. Don't be confused about that."

He had a sudden memory of Maggie Blaine saying that about her husband, John, after he and Hutch told her John had been found dead after spending the night with a male hustler. John was a good man, Maggie had insisted. Whatever else he was, John was a good man.

"All those other words, they're just labels," she insisted. "You can't let other people's judgements determine how you feel about yourself. About Hutch."

He squeezed his eyes shut, took the hand she stroked his face with and held it. "I don't know how I feel about Hutch. In the day, he's still my partner. I know that hasn't changed. But at night, he turns to me and his wanting... his vulnerability... it's all right there. What am I supposed to do?"

"Are you giving Hutch physical love just because he wants it?" "No," he said honestly. "I want it, too. He makes it so good. But for me... it's just the sex. It's so strong, so powerful between us. But my love for him isn't like his love for me. He thinks... he thinks at some point I'll remember the way I felt that first night, when we were drugged. He's waiting for me to remember that I'm in love with him. But I don't believe I ever felt that way. I feel like I'm just using him." He frowned. "Just the way I used you tonight."

She shook her head. "I don't feel used...."

"You're just being nice," he insisted, not wanting to hide behind any more subterfuge. "I needed you tonight to prove to myself I was still a man. That loving Hutch hadn't changed me. It was wrong to use you like that, to play on your feelings. I'm sorry. And I guess I proved to myself the one thing I was really afraid of."

"Oh, come on! You're not going to tell me that one bout of partial impotence has convinced you you've lost your masculinity? You've been through an emotional war, one you're still fighting. You won't let yourself love Hutch because you're afraid to deal with the consequences, even though you're dealing with the consequences every day. You're clinging to this fantasy that if you just keep insisting on it, everything will go back to the way it was before. You've got to get past that. Things can never go back the way they were. You've got to build a new future for yourself. And Hutch is going to be some part of that. Until you can resolve, with Hutch, what part he has in it, you're just going to get more mixed-up."

He listened and mulled that over. He wanted to deny everything she said but he couldn't. It was too honest.

She looked at him sadly. "Dave, you couldn't perform tonight because you never wanted me. You don't want any woman. You want Hutch. Until you let yourself accept that fact, you'll never resolve any of this."

He sighed, exhausted. He took her into his arms and rolled her against him. She put her arms around him, cuddling her head against his chest, her long hair flowing over them. Her skin was warm and still fragrant. She felt good lying in his arms, natural. She fit against him like a woman should fit against a man. And in spite of all that, he couldn't deny the need he felt inside. For Hutch. He closed his eyes.

"Get some sleep," she urged.

How could she be so damned understanding? Huggy had told him how seldom she dated, how little male companionship she had. How lonely was it for her to be the only straight person in a world of gay people? That made him think of Johnny Blaine, a gay man living his life surrounded by straights. His brain ached from all the chaos inside it.

He rolled them over gently, until she was beneath him. She gazed up at him trustingly. "I don't wanna sleep. I want to do something for you. Make you happy. Make you feel good, if only for this moment." He meant it. He wanted to kiss her everywhere, put his mouth on her sweetest secret, make her buck under him, pull his hair and scream. He wanted to make up for the disappointment. He wanted to rock her soul and leave her weak. "I already feel good," she insisted. "You don't have to--"

"I know I don't have to. And to be honest, I can't... I mean.... I'm not hard and I'm not gonna get hard. My dick knows what it wants, I guess, and it's tired of my playing games with it. But I don't need that to please you. There's lots of ways to make love."

She looked wary, warring with her own conflicting feelings. Was it better to have a taste of something you could never have again and always miss it, or enjoy whatever part of it you could have just for the memories?

"And afterwards...?" she pressed.

He didn't say anything, realizing he hadn't thought that far.

So she told him. "Afterwards, you'll go home. Talk to Hutch. Make some decisions. You can't keep giving him something he can't keep. You can't keep denying his love for you."

He nodded. Yes. That's what he would do. Maybe if they talked honestly, put everything right on the table, they could figure out how to work this out. Maybe if he faced his partner, he could figure out how he felt. Hutch always had the answers, didn't he?

"But that's for later," he said. "Now is for you. Just you." He leaned down to kiss her and heard a soft cry of desire escape her. Her mouth was warm, pliant, and so willing. As her arms went around him, he heard her loneliness in that soft sound, tasted it on her tongue, in the urgency of her kiss. He couldn't cure it but he could stave it off for a few hours. As his mouth moved gently down the column of her throat, he thought it was little enough to do for her.

~~~

"I still find it hard to believe those guys were trying to kill your lawyer," Dobey said.

"That's what Starsky said," Hutch reminded him. "He said they were trying to shoot her, not him. And I wasn't around, so we know they weren't trying to hit both of us."

"Did Baylor and Meredith get anything out of the two hit men?" Dobey asked.

"Name, rank, and serial number," Hutch said in disgust. "They're pros. One of 'em had escaped from a federal holding facility back east, and the other one got out of his last felony charge on a technicality. He had an impressive arrest record. They both knew that with their background there was little we could offer them, so there was no motivation for them to talk."

Dobey looked at him slyly. "You weren't able to persuade them with the force of your personality?"

Hutch smiled and ran a thumb over his moustache. "Well, it wasn't my case, Captain, and I am on suspension...."

"But...." Dobey pushed. "But... when Meredith and Baylor stepped out for a minute to get some coffee...." He had gripped the bruised face of the shooter with unmasked rage, explaining to the man that he was already on suspension and had nothing to lose as a cop. The shooter had been terrified and his battered face had to have been in agony.

"I was my most persuasive, but, uh... they swore the entire transaction had been over phonelines with anonymous money drops. They never met the people who hired them. Though they were pretty confident they were the only professional mechanics involved. They said whoever made the arrangements was new at it and had trouble getting the right connections. So, with them out of action, I'd say Kelly is safe from another hit attempt. Nobody'll take the contract now, since these two guys got caught the way they did. Whoever's behind it is going to have to find another way to put her out of commission. Or us."

"The two of you and Callahan," Dobey warned, "better be careful. Where is she, anyway?"

Hutch swallowed so the words wouldn't stick in his throat. "She's home. Starsky's with her. She'll be okay." He was proud of how casual he sounded.

Dobey's expression was comical. Hutch imagined he was as confused by his problematic detectives as he had ever been. A week ago, the thought of Starsky protecting a pretty woman would've brought a derisive bray of laughter from Dobey and a pertinent remark about the fox in the hen house. Now, Dobey couldn't figure out what to think, what to say.

He finally said worriedly, "He's unarmed. Has no badge. It doesn't seem right.... I could find someone to--"

"It's fine, Captain. We'll handle it. We were unarmed when the hit went down, too, and we got through it."

Dobey's eyes met his solidly. "How's Starsky handling... everything. You know, the press, working at the Parrot... the case...?"

"A minute at a time, Cap'," Hutch said. "You know Starsky. He copes. The, uh... the young girl that died outside the bar-- She was a... car enthusiast. They'd made friends. Her death really affected him."

Dobey nodded, appreciating that. "Baylor and Meredith, they're good detectives. This case belongs to them, no question. I expect... it might lead them to other areas...."

This was his way of telling Hutch that he had good people working to uncover the tangled web surrounding them.

"There's been a homicide," he continued. "A violent shooting. The mayor's office can't stop me from doing my job. They wouldn't dare. Have faith in those two detectives, Hutch. You know they're on your side."

He nodded. "Too bad not all my fellow cops are, huh?" He knew Baylor had complained long and loud to Dobey about Russo's behavior, but since he had backed off at the scene, there wasn't much Dobey could do.

"I appreciate your help on this, Hutch. I'll make sure the chief hears about it." Then his eyes sparkled mischievously. "Sure wish I was there when the chief saw the eleven o'clock news! You guys usually aren't caught on film in action! The reporter made a pretty big fuss over Russo's erroneous attempt to arrest you, too. Came down pretty hard on the police force over it. I know the Chief'll be having fits about that."

They both laughed and it felt good to Hutch to have Dobey conspiring with them again.

Then Dobey sobered. "The chief can be a heavy adversary, Hutch. Walk lightly."

Hutch nodded. "Well, I'd better go. It's been a long night, and I'm beat."

"Need to check in with Starsky before you go?" Dobey asked. It was a routine question, something he'd say whenever the two of them were separated, working shifts guarding a witness. It was so familiar, Hutch almost nodded and reached for the phone.

He stopped just in time. "No, uh... don't think I will. He knows where I am. If he needs anything, he'll call me." He smiled sheepishly. "You know it's never a good idea to bother Starsky when he's with a young lady."

Dobey looked blank for a minute, then confused. "Sure. Okay. Well, take it easy. Hope the rest of your night is uneventful."

Hutch nodded as he left the office. Without Starsky in my bed, that's a guarantee. He pushed the bitterness down, refusing to yield to it. This was your idea. No sense crying over it.

He was surprised when Joan Meredith, waiting in the empty squadroom, offered him a lift home. "Isn't that a little out of your way?"

She shrugged. "I'd have been here 'til dawn if you hadn't come down to help. Figure it's a small gesture of gratitude, Hutch."

He smiled. "Sure. That'd be great. I'm ready to call it a day, that's for sure."

They were settled in her tidy plain car and on their way back to Venice Place when she said, "Is Starsky handling all this okay? I... didn't get a chance to talk to him. I guess I'm a little worried about him."

You still have feelings for him, don't you? He has that power over people. Especially when he's shared his love with them. It's like some kind of psychic glue. Afterwards, there always seems to be parts of him still stuck to your soul.

"He's doing as well as he can," he said noncommittally. "I know he was really grateful to you tonight. He thought there wasn't a cop in the country that wanted anything to do with him. That's been one of the hardest things for him to deal with, that rejection." She nodded. "Well... it's not like my concern for him is simply as one cop to another."

Hutch smiled. "I know."

"Are you okay, Hutch? I mean, really? You've got such a tight lid on everything, it's hard to tell."

He almost laughed out loud. He felt like a shattered piece of crockery, held together by loose bands of thin wire, all the cracks showing, ready to fall apart if he were shaken just right. "I'll be fine... if we can just get through this together." He was surprised that he was willing to admit that much, but it was the simple truth.

"Listen, Linda and I are officially on this case now," Meredith reminded him. "I know you and Starsky are looking at leads about the film lab involved with this. Stay in touch with us. If you need any information, something from the computer, consider it done."

He smiled at her. "Thanks. That's great. Working without the resources of the department could've really hampered us."

She nodded. "There are a few more of us pushing to get you guys reinstated. So, we've got the help if we need it." She glanced at him. "And, uh... we know about Tomas."

He stared at her surprised. "You know...?"

"Russo's determined to get you guys canned. We're a little worried about his fanaticism on the topic. Tomas is going to be a hell of a good cop some day. It didn't take him long to figure out who he could safely confide in."

Hutch shook his head. The tendrils of this traveled in so many directions.

She pulled up in front of Venice Place. He glanced up at his dark apartment. He'd be there tonight alone for the first time since Starsky came home from the hospital. Sleep alone for the first time since then, too.

Meredith turned to face him and he started to mouth a casual thank you. Before he could, she placed a warm small hand on his larger one. "I hope you both can get through it together, Hutch. You two belong together. I've known that for a long time."

He knew his expression showed his surprise. He recovered, leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Joan," he said, his voice husky. "For the ride. For everything."

He got out of the car before he could say anything he might regret.

Without Starsky in it, the dark apartment seemed as if it belonged to someone else. Hutch went through every room turning on every light. The brightness dispelled some of the gloom, but the essence, the scent of Starsky was everywhere. The shirt he wore before changing into the Parrot's leathers was tossed casually over the back of a kitchen chair. The glass he'd drunk his last beer in still sat in the sink. An empty bottle of root beer stood on the sideboard. And in a run-down, fifth-floor apartment, Starsky guarded a woman who wanted him.

Quit playing with your head and do something constructive.

He could change, shower, get ready for bed, but he was too restless, his mind and body churning from the evening's activity. They both got so keyed up after that kind of action. Usually, they'd be up all night, wired, with so much energy to burn they'd keep each other going, usually in some kind of competitive game, until they'd drop from exhaustion sometime around sunrise. That was assuming they couldn't find a couple of willing women to help them out.

There had been one night with Starsky and a particularly adventurous lovely.... Hutch couldn't remember her name, her face. He couldn't remember anything about her at all. But he vividly recalled how Starsky looked as he took her with an intensity that seemed as if it could never be satisfied. The memory was too disturbing, so he pushed it from his mind. The last thing Hutch wanted to think about was what Starsky might be doing to work off his nervous energy tonight.

You've been neglecting your plants, he thought guiltily. He'd put on some music, water everyone and check for bugs, dead leaves, go through every plant in the place methodically. Then he'd strip, get in the shower then try to sleep.

Alone. Like an adult.

Moving to the stereo, he spied the new demo album Sugar had given him. It was Bonnie Tyler's next release, Faster Than the Speed of Night. He liked the play on words and was too keyed up to play bluegrass or anything mellow. Maybe this would distract him.

He put it on the stereo, moved the arm away so it would repeat and he wouldn't have to tend to it. Just for background noise.

After watering everything in the greenhouse, he had to question his decision on playing the album. Tyler's smoky tortured voice lent a poignancy to anything she sang, but this album seemed to be specifically designed for the broken-hearted. Every selection mourned failed relationships, shattered dreams, lovers slipping away from each other, just going through the motions, or clinging to desperate meetings with strangers in singles bars. The lyrics were clever and convoluted, which made it worse. The music demanded that you really listen to it so that the meaning of the words wouldn't be lost. There were several good dance numbers that he knew he'd be hearing in the Parrot soon enough. But there was a despondency in the entire album that worked on him.

What was it about people suffering from failed relationships that they wanted to surround themselves with music that reminded them of their loss? If this album were an indication, there must be a big market for exactly this kind of music. All those sad and lonely people focusing on their pain.

He didn't like thinking that he was one of them. He should take the album off but it was too much trouble to stop what he was doing. He wouldn't consider the possibility that the songs spoke personally to him. He let it play. He was muttering soft apologies to a neglected fern in the bedroom when he heard someone at the door. At this hour? He tensed, regretting once again having to give up his gun. He grabbed hold of Starsky's sturdy root beer bottle and stood to one side of the door frame. "Who's there?"

"It's Peter."

Startled by Whitelaw's voice, Hutch tossed the bottle then opened the door. "Peter?"

The tall man stood awkwardly in the hall. He looked anxious. "Ken, are you okay?"

Hutch must've looked as confused as he felt. Realizing he was keeping Peter marooned on the landing, he stepped back, gestured for him to come in. "Did someone call you about--?"

"Are you kidding?" Whitelaw said, his voice agitated. "My phone's been ringing off the hook! The entire gay community's in an uproar. It's national news. Unarmed Gay Cops, On Suspension, Apprehend Mob Killers, Save Hundreds. Live Footage To Follow! The television keeps showing it over and over again. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. A blur of white, a streak of black-- The two of you, running down a car full of armed killers on foot! David attacking that car with nothing more than a baseball bat! And you, barehanded, wrestling a man with an automatic weapon!" He stared at Hutch uncomprehendingly. "Are you both crazy? You could've been killed!"

Hutch was dismayed as Peter relayed the events through the eyes of an average citizen. It did sound crazy. But he and Starsky had never hesitated to do what they could to solve a problem. He shrugged. "It's our job."

"No, it's not!" Peter was almost shouting. "You're suspended! You could've stayed to help the wounded and let cops on duty pursue those dangerous killers! It was not your job!"

Hutch raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Yeah, it was. It doesn't matter if we're wearing the badge or not. We took a vow to serve and protect. I didn't take my marriage vows as seriously as I take that one. Even after we threw our badges in the ocean, we couldn't turn our backs on that vow. It's a part of me. Maybe the only thing I ever held sacred in my life. We knew what our job was out there and we did it. And we'd do it again. I know that might be hard for you to understand, but--"

"Just like John...." Peter muttered. He wandered through the apartment, as if searching for an escape from the memories. "He always said things like that, too."

Hutch felt awkward, unsure of what to say. He felt bad that his actions had upset Peter, but he didn't regret what they'd done.

The music drifted through the apartment, snatches of mournful lyrics wandering through his awareness. Tears falling about love, falling without love.... He really ought to shut that damned thing off.

Peter seemed to be lost in his memories, so Hutch picked up his watering can and went back to his bedroom dresser to finish the fern. After a moment, Peter followed him and stood at the far end of the dresser. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He still looked upset, but his voice was more subdued. "He used to talk about you and David all the time, y'know."

Hutch looked up from the plant, startled. "You mean John? Used to talk to you about us?"

Peter nodded. "He thought the world of you both. Said you had more integrity and guts than the rest of the force put together. He especially thought the world of David."

"Johnny helped raise Starsky," Hutch said. "After his dad was killed, Starsky's mom couldn't handle him. He had a lot of anger; he was running the streets in New York. Getting into trouble." He had no intentions of revealing what kind of trouble, though the irony of his hiding the truth of those events from this man didn't escape him. "His mom sent him to live with his Uncle Al and Aunt Rose. So he could have a man's influence. John lived next door. Took a lot of interest in him. It was John's influence that made him want to go into the Academy."

"He was the son John never had," Peter admitted. "He worried about David. Said he took too many chances." He looked aggravated. "I never knew what he meant until I saw the news tonight. You two--" He couldn't find the words.

Hutch shrugged. They were just being themselves. And, he admitted to himself, it had felt good. It always felt that way, being there with Starsky, on the street, fighting the good fight. He'd do anything to keep that part of their relationship together. Including sending him off to another lover's arms. He sighed and pulled a browning leaf off the fern.

"John used to... marvel at your partnership," Peter said quietly.

Hutch thought he heard something odd in his voice.

"He used to say he'd seen a lot of partners, but he'd never seen two straight men as devoted to each other as you two. He said the love between you was palpable." Peter sounded wistful.

Hutch had to ask. "He thought--?"

"No," Peter said quickly. "He saw you as brothers, nothing else. You were sons to him. And... that's the last thing he would've wanted for his sons."

The statement surprised Hutch. "Why do you say that?"

"John was a different generation," Peter said, and the wistfulness in his voice couldn't be missed. "To John, being gay was something shameful. He would've never been able to take any pride in his sexuality. In his day, there was only one way for a gay man to survive. Find a good wife, settle down, be as straight as possible. Lock away your real desires. Survive on furtive meetings in private places to keep the loneliness at bay."

Hutch had never really thought about what John's life had to have been like. The revelation was painful. He'd cared a great deal about John and it hurt to think that he'd never known John's inner self. That there had been a dark, painful secret so carefully hidden by the mask of his perfect, middle-class life that neither he nor Starsky ever even suspected.

"Of course, John had never gone in for tea-room dalliances," Peter said quickly, as though afraid to tarnish his memory. "He had too much integrity for that. I was lucky to hook up with a decent man like that. For however long it lasted... what John and I shared was real." As though he'd revealed too much of himself, Peter turned away from Hutch. Prowling past the end of the bed, Peter walked to the window that looked down onto the street.

At this hour, Hutch knew, there wasn't much to see. It was dark and late enough so that even Venice was quiet. His car was parked out there, alone. The tiny compact probably looked lonely without her burly candy-cane colored companion to keep her company.

He put down the watering can and bits of dead leaf and moved closer to Peter. Leaning against the window frame across from him, he watched Whitelaw's tense features in the silvery streetlight. Talking about John hadn't brought him any comfort. It just reminded him of what he was missing. His loneliness was as palpable as Hutch's.

We're a pair, he thought. Each of us yearning to be with the one person we can't have--the only person we truly long for.

Wanting to comfort, Hutch said, "I miss John, too. He was one of the finest men I've ever known."

"He died because he was a cop," Peter said, never taking his eyes from the empty street. "It didn't look that way at first, but you guys wouldn't let up until you found the truth so you could clear his name. You almost died proving it. You gave John back his dignity. It would've meant everything to him. And it meant a lot to me. Even though... we hadn't been together in a while... I still... I still loved him."

"I could tell that the day we talked to you. That might've been the first time I'd ever had to face that kind of reality--that you might not get to live happily ever after just because your true love wasn't accepted by the rest of the world. It was a sobering experience."

Peter finally looked at him. "And that was before-- How do you feel about it now?"

Hutch frowned. "Baffled. Angry. Bitter. Sad. But I can't deny what's real. I can't pretend there's a magic island in this apartment that'll make the rest of the world go away."

With unerring accuracy, Peter said, "And you can't make David love you."

Hutch faced that truth and gave Peter back one of his own. "Any more than you could expect John to leave his wife."

"That's right," Whitelaw said without rancor.

Hutch found the strength to say something he couldn't have said to any other man. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to live in that world. A world where I have to deny who I really love, who I really want--who I might really be. I don't know if I'm brave enough." Peter laughed mirthlessly. "You can face armed killers without hesitation, but you're afraid of closets. Interesting. That's why I ran for office on an open platform. I knew, after I was exposed at school, lost my job, and had to give up John, that my own complicity in staying in that closet had contributed to what had happened to me. No one was going to let me sneak back into that closet. If I was going to be forced out, well, then I could show the world I was the same man who'd been locked in there. A man of honor. A good teacher. A person who wanted to serve his community."

Hutch nodded. "John would've been proud of that."

"He was," Peter said. "We talked on the phone a few times. He called me after I started my campaign. Said he was proud. I knew... his feelings for me... hadn't changed. It helped."

Enough? Hutch wondered. When you were all alone? When the bed was cold? When your body ached to feel him all around you? Inside you? Hutch suddenly felt hollow. And he realized that Peter understood that feeling.

"What about the future?" Hutch asked. Peter didn't seem to understand. It became intensely important for Hutch to know, to have some idea of what he was facing without Starsky. He couldn't imagine endless years of this emptiness. A life without love.

"John's been dead over two years," Hutch said. "In all that time, hasn't there been anyone else? You're a young attractive man with a good future. Surely, you've had other lovers?"

Peter shook his head. His even features told Hutch he wasn't looking for pity. "No. I've been busy with my work. Helping my constituents. There's been no one since John." He smiled wanly. "Who could measure up?"

"Peter," Hutch said irritably, "LA is full of gay men. I've waited on most of them over the last few days! In two years there hasn't been anyone you looked at twice? Not one man who turned your head, who attracted you, made you think maybe it could happen again?" He was arguing for himself. Trying to find a way to prepare himself for life without Starsky's love.

Peter's dark eyes shone in the reflected light as he gazed steadily at Hutch, his handsome face showing its strength. He didn't answer and that almost made Hutch press the issue again until he realized that Peter's lack of response was the answer.

Hutch heard Starsky's warning. He wants you.

It nearly broke his heart. After two years of mourning, Peter's fragile feelings had finally emerged only to run headlong into Hutch. Couldn't he tell that Hutch didn't own his own heart, that Starsky had it locked in his glove compartment?

Then he thought, Does this have to involve your heart? You had relationships after Van left. They helped blunt the pain. They were pleasurable for you and the women involved. They knew you were recovering from a bad break-up. You never hid that from them.

His mind was in overdrive, confused, searching for solutions to a problem he'd never faced before. In the living room, Bonnie Tyler was insisting that forever's gonna start tonight.... The phrase distracted him.

You like Peter, Hutch admitted. You like him more than a friend. You know that's true. Why are you so afraid of that? Because he was in enough pain without complicating this even more. And because Peter had had enough pain. He didn't need Hutch toying with him.

"Ken," Peter said softly, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Hutch shook his head. "I'm not uncomfortable."

Peter moved away from the window frame. He approached Hutch, who was amazed when he found himself meeting that approach halfway. He didn't worry about standing in front of the window when Peter's arms went around him. If anyone was awake to see, he didn't care. There would be no closet for him any longer. It felt good to grab onto an honest bit of emotion and flaunt it in front of the world.

Peter's long arms wound around him, pulling him close. Whitelaw was several inches taller than Hutch, an unusual situation for someone who was usually the tallest man in the room. It was unnerving to be held by someone he had to look up to. There was strength in Peter's slender form, power in his arms. It was odd, too, to tuck his head against Peter's neck, feel Peter's cheek press against his head. But it felt good. He could admit that as they fitted themselves to each other's bodies. It felt good to be held by another man, be comforted, even desired. Hutch tightened his hold on Peter, wanting to lend his own strength to their embrace.

Peter's breath blew across his ear. It was warm. Moist. Peter whispered his name. It was a hungry sound. Hungry for him. It felt good to be wanted at a moment when he felt so alone.

Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time, Bonnie cried out plaintively. Why hadn't he shut that damned thing off when he'd first thought of it?

There was nothing about Peter that reminded Hutch of Starsky and of that he was grateful. Holding onto Peter felt completely different. His frame, his build, his clothes, his moustache, his straight brown hair--there'd be no pretending, no substituting. No shadows of Starsky.

Peter said his name again. "Ken?"

He pulled back slightly, looked up--and felt odd that he had to. "Yes?" he asked, unsure of what Peter wanted. Then he saw the question evident in Peter's eyes. He wanted to be sure. He wouldn't assume anything.

Hutch's inner self was in turmoil. But Peter's soft brown eyes were still asking. He had to decide. Now. He said it again, without the question. "Yes."

After a moment's hesitation, Peter's mouth came down to touch his lips tenderly. He melted into the kiss, only realizing now how very much he needed someone's honest caring. He opened his mouth asking for more. Once upon a time I was fallin' in love But now I'm only fallin' apart There's nothing I can do A total eclipse of the heart Total Eclipse of the Heart--Bonnie Tyler

Chapter 17

He swore he'd take your love away from me He said our life was just a lie And two faces have I Well go ahead and let him try Two Faces--Bruce Springsteen

Starsky heard the phone ring five times before someone finally answered. "Detective Baylor!" came the slightly breathless response.

"Just the cop I wanted to talk to," he said.

"Well, if it isn't his royal highness," Baylor said jokingly, "who gets the cushy job while the rest of us peons have to slave in the dungeon."

He smiled. He always regretted that he never got a chance to take Linda Baylor to bed, but there was a part of him that suspected she was way too much to handle. "Find out anything interesting from those two bozos you arrested?"

"Only that they'll never have the stomach to watch another baseball game again," she teased. "No, really, they didn't have much to share even when Hutch," she coughed lightly, "leaned on 'em. The only thing we did determine is that whoever hired them was a real virgin. They're the only banditos involved. And since they failed so conspicuously, it's a good bet that there won't be anyone else interested at taking pot shots at the lady no matter what they're offered. You know how fussy mechanics are these days. Very skittish about having their faces bashed in and then having to go to jail besides."

Starsky chuckled but felt relieved. He had some concerns about how long his and Hutch's luck could hold out.

"So, uh," Baylor continued, "I'd say it was okay to call off the twenty-four hour guard. Unless you're just having a good time there...?"

"Jealous?" he asked, smiling.

"Maybe. Is the chow any good?"

Linda and he shared a love of Mexican food, the hotter the better. "Vegetarian," he said. "Without beer."

"Fuh-get it!" she said. "The job's all yours."

"Hey, Linda, I need to talk to Hutch."

"Sorry. He split. There really wasn't anything else he could do here and I didn't have the heart to make him write up the reports, seeing as how he ain't even gettin' paid." "He go home?"

"I guess. He didn't give me his schedule. He might've dropped by the Pits, but they're about to close soon, too."

"I'll find him. Thanks, Linda. For everything."

"That's okay," she said, and he could hear the grin in her voice. "Sooner or later you boys are gonna be back here, and then, oh brother, are you gonna owe me!"

Starsky hung up the phone quietly then moved back to the bedroom. Callahan seemed so small sleeping soundly in the middle of her bed, covers over everything but her face, ropes of red hair spread all over the pillow. She looked like a little girl curled up after a hard day of play. Her face was peaceful and her sleep untroubled. Curled against her belly on top of the covers was her cat.

Buddy opened one baleful eye a slit and focused on Starsky.

Don't worry, old man. My work here is done. She's all yours tonight. I won't be back.

He was still trying to decide exactly what it was he was going to say to Hutch, but whatever it was, he knew he had to say it tonight. It couldn't wait. He promised himself he'd be as truthful as he could. They had to find some real meeting point in their feelings and they had to do that out of bed.

Starsky still didn't know how he felt about Hutch or about anything, but he knew there wouldn't be any more experiments with innocent parties. Not until he understood all this better. Not until he figured it out.

He dialed the Pits.

"What it is?" Huggy said tersely. He sounded tired and irritable.

"How you doin', man?" Starsky said quietly.

There was a long pause but finally Huggy said, "Well, you are the very last man I expected to hear from tonight. I'd like to ask after the welfare of the lady, but I'm afraid the answer might be more than I could deal with."

"Ease up, Huggy, will ya? I'm looking for Hutch." Belatedly, Starsky wondered if that wasn't the worst thing he might've said.

"You're looking for Hutch? What the hell for? I thought you had your assignment! Or should I say assignation? I saw Hutch give you the job my own self!"

"Huggy--" Starsky pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't imagine what he would have to do to get back into Huggy's good graces, especially if he learned the details of this evening.

"Hutch ain't here. If he's drowning his sorrows over you, he's found another place to do it. Which is a good thing. Because I would have had plenty to say to him if he showed up. It's one thing for you two to be playing major head games and heart games with each other. It's a whole other thing to go tossing some innocent victim into the middle of your mess."

"She really liked the food, Hug," Starsky said, desperate to deflect his friend's anger.

"She did, huh?" Huggy said in grudging gratitude.

"A lot more than I did. What the hell happened to my Huggy special?"

He could hear the evil smirk in Huggy's voice. "The last time you ate red meat from my kitchen, you turned into a savage with a weak bladder. I wasn't about to risk that knowing whose company you were in. Just accept the fact that you will never get a scrap of beef out of this establishment ever again. Besides, vegetarian fare is good for you. You'll live longer. Unhappily, I hope."

Starsky decided Huggy was enjoying himself entirely too much. "Huggy, I need a favor."

The silence was deafening and he could imagine his friend staring at the phone wide-eyed in shocked dismay. Finally, Huggy managed to say, "It's true what they say about you. You've got more balls than...."

"I need to find Hutch," Starsky interrupted.

"I already told you--"

"I need to go look for him. But... I don't want to leave Callahan by herself." He couldn't bear to have her wake up once again to a vacant apartment. "I thought maybe you could rustle her up a decent breakfast."

"You think that's all it takes to heal the human heart?" Huggy said quietly. "A decent breakfast?"

"No," Starsky said honestly. "But I think a decent breakfast served by a caring friend can go a long way to make the day brighter."

There was another long silence. Finally, Huggy sighed. "Well, you're in luck. One of her volunteers is here. I can borrow the key from him. I'll be there by dawn. You're off the hook. For now."

"Huggy... I really appreciate--"

"Don't! Do not thank me. Just... don't make things any worse and maybe in a few years I'll stop being mad about this."

"Deal," Starsky said and quietly hung up the phone. He checked on Callahan once more, but she hadn't budged. He'd already showered again, so he slipped his boots on his bare feet. His dark tee shirt was a casualty of their street war and would only be good for washing the car, so he put on the sleeveless undershirt that was still in semi-decent condition, then donned his jacket and shut off all the lights before quietly exiting. He felt like he was leaving something behind. It didn't take Starsky long to cruise past the few late night watering holes Hutch might be hiding out in. Not seeing the midget car Hutch insisted on driving at any of his usual haunts and being unable to raise his partner on the radio, Starsky decided to stop by Venice Place just in case. He could make sure Hutch wasn't sulking in his greenhouse, and if he wasn't, take the opportunity to grab a clean tee shirt and some socks at the same time.

He tried to frame what he would say to Hutch when he saw him, but he didn't have the slightest idea. His feelings were just as chaotic as they'd always been. Hutch was the one with the power of words. Trying to frame his emotions into some kind of order he could explain seemed an overwhelming task.

But if he couldn't... he'd lose Hutch. Starsky wasn't sure what he wanted their relationship to be, but the one thing he did know was that there had to be one. He wasn't ready to consider the possibility of life without Hutch in it. He could at least admit that.

As he drove through the dark streets of Venice, he felt that same kind of electric charge he always got before he and Hutch faced down something heavy. He was edgy, tense. He imagined Hutch in his mind; saw his face soft with caring. He'd understand Starsky's confusion. Hutch always understood him best when he didn't understand himself.

He blinked and the vivid dream-image that haunted him night after night was in the forefront of his mind. Hutch. In his white leathers. Tall, lean, and golden. Standing before Starsky who was dressed in black. Then slowly going to his knees. Unlacing Starsky's fly--

NO! he ordered himself but it was too late. He was rock hard, strangling in his pants. He grunted in pain and shifted to adjust himself. What the fuck...? He rubbed his palm comfortingly over his suddenly throbbing rigid organ. Son of a bitch! Where the fuck were you when I needed you, huh?

The sudden realization of just what it was that woke up his sex drive was like a cold slap. Great. You'll have a real easy time discussing your relationship with Hutch if you can't do it without throwing a rod. You're an adult. Control yourself. Unfortunately, he was arguing with the most primitive part of himself, a part he never had had much luck controlling. The part that got him in more trouble than even his mouth.

There weren't any parking spaces in front of Venice Place so he pulled the Torino into a space across the street and halfway up the block. Good. The walk back should solve my problem. He left the car, adjusted himself more comfortably, and strode back up the street, spotting Hutch's Belle right in front of Venice Place parked behind some nondescript Chevy.

As he drew closer to the building, he saw that the lights were on in Hutch's apartment. Couldn't be better. He's home. We'll sit down, get this worked out....

He slowed as he drew abreast of the building, still across the street from it. Something flickered in the light of the apartment as though someone were walking around. Starsky stopped, his eye caught by the activity. The window was in Hutch's bedroom. He was probably getting ready for bed. Then there was another flickering shadow movement and Starsky realized there was more than one person in Hutch's place. He went still.

Several possibilities filtered across his mind. Some cop could've driven Hutch home and stopped in for a beer. That was no problem, how much longer could they hang out? Starsky would just wait. Or maybe Hutch decided spending the night alone was a martyr trip and went out and found himself some female company. That would be more awkward. He didn't know how to feel about that but he'd be damned if he'd interfere. After what they'd been through, Hutch was entitled. Starsky would just have to find another place to sleep, maybe a motel room, since he still wasn't ready to crash at his own place and--

The shadows moved again. One of them stepped right in front of the window. It wasn't Hutch. But it was definitely a man. A very tall man. He watched the shadow as though staring at it could make it disappear. Starsky's stomach roiled as if he'd been sucker punched in the gut. There weren't many men that tall with that build. Starsky closed his eyes, then looked again.

It was Whitelaw. He'd been a cop for too many years not to remember a prime suspect.

A second shadow stepped forward and this one was as familiar to Starsky as his own. Hutch moved toward Whitelaw and without hesitation, they embraced. The two men stood in the window, holding onto each other.

Starsky's heart hammered in his chest, making it hard to catch his breath. Of all the possibilities he'd considered, this one had never crossed his mind.

What a sap you are. What a pushover. You think you would've learned something after Kira, but no. You were the one who kept telling Hutch the guy was after him. So, you just walked away and left the door open....

He should go back to the car. Go find a hotel room. Get a good night's sleep and deal with this in the morning. It was only fair. He couldn't very well expect Hutch to act like an angel when he'd gone to bed with a woman tonight.

It was a very reasonable argument. The only problem was Starsky wasn't listening to it. He couldn't really hear it over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears.

As Whitelaw held Hutch in his arms then gave him a long passionate kiss, Starsky felt all rationale drop away. A tiny voice tried to reach him, telling him to go, to walk away, act like a civilized adult.

But the most primal part of Starsky thought, The fuck I will. Hutch is mine!

In a cold rage, Starsky crossed the street to Venice Place.

~~~

The taste of Peter's kiss was new and pleasant and Hutch felt arousal building leisurely in his blood as their tongues toyed cautiously together. After being denied Starsky's kiss, his craving for mouth-to-mouth contact would take a long time to satisfy. He was aware of everything, the fullness of Peter's lips, the shape of his tongue as it played with his, and the unique sensation of a moustache brushing against his own. So different. But good.

Loving this man wouldn't have the white-heat intensity that loving Starsky did, but he was glad of that. He wanted his senses about him while he was with Peter. He wanted to experience this with his awareness as well as his passion. He'd accepted the fact that he could be aroused by a man other than Starsky and that was the most shocking discovery.

He no longer heard the music, was no longer aware of anything but Peter's warm mouth and his large hands tenderly stroking his back and sides and playing with his hair. Peter wasn't rushing him. He was taking it at a leisurely careful pace. Hutch was grateful.

Hutch wanted to take it slow. Make out like kids. Discover the wonder of a new lover. He was beginning to think he could stand here and kiss this man for a very long time. Peter seemed more than willing to indulge him.

They weren't rushing things below their belts either, just gently rubbing, making sure they were aware of the interest their maleness was showing in the proceedings.

The heavy bang of the front door slamming shut sounded like a sudden gunshot. Both of them jumped apart. Hutch's heart climbed to his throat as he instinctively expected a violent attack. But as soon as he moved around the bed, he saw Starsky. This startled him even more than the sound of the slamming door.

He approached his partner, his emotions a turmoil of betrayal and anger. "Starsky, what the hell are you doing here?" Under his leather jacket, Starsky wore only his undershirt. His hair was unruly. He clearly had showered. "We agreed-- I told you--" Starsky wasn't wearing his blank nothing-about-this-can-affect me expression. He was furious. Sarcastically, he parroted Hutch's words at the crime scene. "'Take her home. Stay with her. Call me in the morning.'" His dark eyes moved to Hutch's side.

Hutch turned and found Peter standing beside him, looking amazingly relaxed, hands in his pocket as though this were nothing more difficult than a town meeting. "David," he said calmly in greeting, as though they were all good friends getting together for a few beers.

Be careful, Hutch thought. You don't know him.

Starsky glowered at Peter. "Pretty good view from Hutch's window, isn't it, Councilman?"

Hutch didn't like the deadly tone in Starsky's voice, but right now he was so mad himself, he didn't care.

"Actually," Peter said mildly, "I wasn't really paying much attention to the view."

It was the wrong thing to say. Starsky moved aggressively toward Peter, fists clenched, but Hutch stepped in front of him blocking his way. He had no illusions that Starsky wouldn't hit him, but he hoped he could at least slow him down.

"Starsky," he snapped, "why did you come back here? I told you not to."

It was enough distraction to regain Starsky's attention. "You sure did, didn't you! That was pretty slick, Hutch. Not many cops are together enough at a crime scene to set up not one, but two dates, never mind such complicated ones."

"Starsky--!" Hutch protested wearily, but his partner was on a tear. He wondered when it would occur to Starsky that he wasn't the offended party.

"Been here long, Councilman?" he asked Peter but never took his eyes from Hutch's face. "What did you do, call him from the station?"

"Believe me, David, I haven't been here nearly as long as I would've liked!" Peter said drolly.

"You son-of-a--" Starsky lurched forward again, fists up this time, but Hutch caught him by the upper arms and held him back.

"Will you two cut it out!" Hutch snapped. He gave Starsky a rough shake. "And what the hell are you so mad at him for? If you've got a problem, it's with me!"

Starsky nodded as if in agreement. "You made me think you were sending me away for my benefit. You put that head trip on me. But all along it was for you, for your own plans. And you sure couldn't have me around to make 'em happen."

"Starsky, you are so far wrong, you're not even--"

"Just tell me, huh?" Starsky demanded. "Was it the last kiss of the night or just the beginning? I want to know how big a jerk I've been." He wrenched away from Hutch's grip and stood a few feet away, chest heaving with pent-up rage.

"Oh, no you don't!" Hutch stormed after him, getting right in his face. "Don't you play the betrayed lover with me! You've been pushing me away with both hands since this started. How long did you think I would keep coming back for more? How many mornings was I supposed to wake up to your unrelenting guilt and regrets?"

Starsky's face was a mask of outrage as he glared at Hutch. The two of them stood squared off in front of each other for a beat, and in the stillness, the record on the stereo that had been forgotten suddenly filled the silence.

"If she can't love you the way I do," Bonnie's smoky voice sobbed, "God, I want you back again."

As though someone had flipped a switch, Starsky exploded into action. He darted over to the hapless stereo, knocked the needle off the record, ripped it off the turntable and smashed it on the corner of the set. It shattered violently into dozens of pieces. Next, he went after the stereo itself, as Starsky flung it to the floor.

Hutch ran over and grabbed him before he destroyed the speakers. When Starsky turned his rage on inanimate objects, he could demolish an apartment. "Stop it, damn it! Will you quit!"

Starsky turned on him, grabbed two fistfuls of his white leather vest and nearly yanked Hutch off his feet.

Suddenly, Peter was trying to force them apart. "Hey! Hey! Cut it out! Both of you!"

That just gave Starsky an excuse to vent his rage on his real target. As he shifted his weight and pulled back his fist, Hutch grappled him around the waist, lifted him off his feet and swung him around. His punch narrowly missed Peter's face.

"Starsky!" Hutch yelled.

"Listen!" Peter's commanding voice broke through to them as they struggled. "You two can't afford a police complaint. You know damned well they'd be happy to bust you for disturbing the peace. So simmer down!"

That seemed to get through to Starsky. He stopped wrestling with Hutch and pulled away. Yanking his jacket into place, he stood with his back to them. He and Hutch were both panting.

"Peter," Hutch said as he caught his breath, "I'm sorry. But you'd better go." He shot an angry glance at his partner. "I think it's pretty obvious we've got some things to clear up here."

Starsky glowered back at him then turned his attention to the floor. Hutch didn't kid himself. Starsky was still wound tight and likely to go off again. The next time it could be worse. He wanted Peter out of here before that happened.

Peter glanced between them and shook his head. "I'm not leaving you alone with him. He's violent!"

Hutch almost laughed. Truer words were never spoken. Starsky had murderous rages and there'd been more than one occasion when the two of them had gotten into a fight because of them. But it always ended in a draw. He could handle his partner. He was confident of that.

Hutch took Peter by the arm and led him to the door. "It's okay. We'll work it out. You don't have to worry." He could see concern in Peter's eyes. "Look... go on home. I'll... I'll call you."

Peter's jaw clenched as he looked at Starsky. His eyes met Hutch's evenly and Hutch could see doubt in them. And loss. "Sure," he said quietly. "Call me. Let me know you're okay."

"We'll talk," Hutch said. "I promise."

Giving his word seemed to reassure him. Peter nodded and left quietly. Hutch locked the door behind him.

The apartment was ominously still.

Starsky continued to stand in the middle of the living room, unmoving, his back to Hutch. Hutch leaned his back against the door and looked at his partner. He was staring at Starsky's back, at the three bullet holes stitched across the dark leather. Hutch could see Starsky's white undershirt through the holes.

Even though the pale scars were hidden by the shirt, Hutch could see them in his mind's eye. How long had he watched them grow from huge hideous wounds to smoother incision lines to rigid scars that eventually, over time, softened and smoothed out to subtle reminders of that ordeal? How much aloe had he rubbed into them to heal them? How often had he told Starsky that women would still find him beautiful even with his marks?

Hutch closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about that now. He didn't want to feel bad for Starsky. He wanted to hold onto his anger.

When he'd sent Starsky to guard Kelly, he'd had no illusions as to what the consequences would be. Starsky desperately needed to prove his heterosexuality. Hutch thought he'd known how it would go. He had fully expected not to see Starsky until the next day at the Parrot. He'd expected Starsky to bear all the tell-tale signs of a particularly good conquest. Starsky would then tell Hutch he'd either be returning to his own home or staying with Kelly. That was the only scenario Hutch had anticipated. He was willing to accept the inevitability of it. To keep Starsky's friendship, to keep their partnership, he would have to. He'd accepted all of that.

But he'd never expected to have Starsky show up at this hour, ready for a jealous confrontation over some imagined transgression of Hutch's. To Hutch, it was surreal.

You come back here after bedding a woman and act like I've violated your trust because I kissed a friend? Uh-uh. You can't have it all. You can't have her then claim me, too.

He decided to take the offensive. "Why didn't you stay at Kelly's?" Starsky looked over his shoulder as though he wanted to keep Hutch focused on the bullet holes. "Why weren't you honest with me about why you wanted me to go?"

"I was honest with you!" Hutch stormed, coming around to face him again. "I had no plans, no romantic schemes! Grow up! Peter saw our performance on the tube. It freaked him out. He came over to--"

"I saw what he came over for," Starsky growled.

Hutch narrowed his eyes. "You've got a lot of damned nerve. Are you going to stand there and tell me you didn't go to bed with Kelly tonight?"

Starsky flinched and lowered his eyes. "No. I went to bed with her."

"Are you going to tell me you didn't kiss her? That you didn't spend as much time as you could making love to her so you could prove to yourself what a stud you still are? Now, I'm supposed to be okay about that? That you had sexual relations with a woman, not because you cared for her, but because you were trying to convince yourself that sex with me didn't really mean anything to you?"

His honest anger seared his soul like a cauterizing knife on a bleeding wound. If their relationship was going to end, let it be shattered like that brittle album. Let it explode like a nova.

Hutch's voice got lower. "Obviously, you saw us in the window. Well, in that case, buddy, you saw it all. But I wasn't doing that with him to prove anything to myself about my manhood. And I wasn't doing it to prove that sex with you was meaningless. I did it because I like him and he likes me. And more importantly, he isn't afraid to admit having feelings for me. He was willing to not just kiss me, but to do it in front of the world. I wasn't just a guilt trip with him. He made me feel wanted. I haven't felt like that for a while."

Starsky's head snapped up. "I don't make you feel wanted? Where do you get off saying that to me? You turn me inside out in that bed and you know it. You take me through hoops, make me beg for it. So don't stand there and tell me I don't make you feel wanted."

Hutch nodded. "You're right. I know you want me. But don't forget, I've seen you with other lovers. I've been in the same bed with you. I've seen that same hunger come over you for the body of the moment. And the next morning you can't get out of there fast enough, as if you gave too much of yourself away and can't handle it. But you can't get away from me in the morning, can you? Because I'm your partner."

Starsky was shaking his head in denial. "That is not true. You can't compare it."

Hutch felt his anger surge anew. He went back to his original question, the one thing Starsky hadn't answered yet. "Why did you come back here? I asked you for one thing, to let me deal with it on my own. But even after having had Kelly, you had to come back here. And when you saw I was with someone, why the hell didn't you go on home?"

Starsky still wasn't looking at him. "I needed to see you. I needed to talk to you." Hutch ground his teeth. "To rub my nose in it? To let me know how well it went? How great it was to be with a woman again? That you were a real man again? That it was finally over between us?"

Starsky turned to him now. Hutch could see how furious he was. Starsky's pent-up rage was so tightly bottled he was shaking. His voice was forced out between clenched teeth. "You bastard. You were in the goddamned bed with us the whole fuckin' time. Your ghost was so real we could see it. I couldn't get you out of my head and neither could she. You think I proved I was a man tonight? That's a joke. I couldn't even get it up, not once, with a good woman like that. First time in my whole fuckin' life."

That announcement stunned Hutch and it showed on his face before he could stop it. He didn't think anything could come between Starsky and a sexual conquest.

"I didn't know what to do," Starsky said, his voice breaking. "I didn't know how to feel. And where do I go when I don't know what to do? How to figure things out? I come to you. My partner, the brains of this outfit. And the minute I turned the corner onto this block I threw a rod I'm still carrying. I didn't lose it even when I saw you wrapped around another man like you found your calling."

Hutch tried not to get too distracted by the painful revelation. But at the moment he had no idea what to say.

"I never felt so jealous in my whole life," Starsky confessed. "I couldn't see, couldn't hear anything, it was like a red haze fell over my eyes. And all I could think was, He's mine. Hutch is mine. I know I've got no right to feel that way, but it's the only feeling I've been able to really understand since--"

"That night," Hutch interrupted. "You kept saying that the first night. You were obsessed with it. Kept asking me if I was yours. If I'd ever had any other men. I thought it was just a weird backlash from the drug. But, maybe there's more...."

"I don't remember," Starsky said plaintively. He squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. "Can't remember none of it. God, don't you think I wish I could? You think hurting you is something I enjoy? You think none of this is hurting me?"

Hutch felt his rage sputtering away and clung to the shreds of it. He was too upset to forgive Starsky easily. He didn't want to forgive him. He'd had enough. He tried to focus outside himself just to clear his thoughts. "After everything that had happened to her tonight, not to mention everything we've put her through, how could you walk out on Kelly? Leave her all by herself? Alone?"

"I didn't just abandon her," Starsky argued. "I did make love to her, I won't deny that. I owed her that much. My failure didn't have to be hers, too. She felt bad enough. When I left, she was asleep." He sighed disgustedly. "For a woman jerked around by two assholes, she was doing okay. I... uh, asked Huggy to bring her breakfast. He said he would." He looked at Hutch defensively. "It's not like staying there with her would've made her feel any better, Hutch." He paused and in a quieter tone said, "She was the one insisted I talk to you tonight." Hutch looked at him, blatantly daring him. "So go on. Talk."

Starsky clenched his teeth then glared at him. "The whole way over here, that's all I tried to do. Figure out what to say. How to say it."

Hutch felt a reckless need to push him. "It's a pretty simple thing to say--goodbye."

Starsky looked pained. "That's the one thing I never wanted to say to you. Not ever. That's the only thing I knew for sure. I... I can't see my life without having you in it."

"In it, how? Best friend? Partner? Illicit lover? Perverted secret sex partner? The kind you can deny during the day, but who's always there waiting for you at night? What?"

Starsky shook his head slowly but Hutch couldn't tell if he were rejecting the choices or denying that he could make a choice.

Unable to resist the urge to live dangerously, Hutch approached his partner. "What made the difference, Starsky?"

He lifted his head, looked Hutch in the eye. Starsky obviously didn't understand the question.

"You said you couldn't get it up even though you made love to Kelly."

Starsky looked pained and nodded his head tersely in agreement.

"And then on the way back here, all of a sudden, you turn a corner and you're fully functional. What made the difference? In bed with a beautiful woman, you can't perform, but alone in your car... something happened...."

Starsky's face darkened and he turned away.

I'm getting close. "Come on, Starsky, give me something to cling to. Were you at least thinking of me? Did the thought of coming home to me turn you on? Or was it just some stray sexual image you wandered across in the dusty file cabinets of your mind?"

Starsky wouldn't look at him. "It was you. Thinking of you."

That's not the whole truth. The guilty look on Starsky's face triggered something and then Hutch realized what it had to be. I should've figured it out before. "No. It wasn't really me you were thinking of. It was the dream again, wasn't it?"

Starsky didn't move, didn't answer him.

"You can't get away from that thing, it's making you crazy. But it's not me, Starsky, it's a fantasy. Is that the way you want me? As a fantasy lover?" He snorted humorlessly. "A dream lover. Something you can't control. That fades away in the morning light."

Starsky squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't help my dreams, Hutch. I'd make 'em go away if I could. I came to talk to you, my partner, my best friend. I... I hate all this anger and confusion and bad feelings between us. I just want... I just want things to be like they were. When it was good between us, just you and me, with none of this crazy stuff." He swallowed hard.

The words were out before Hutch could pull them back. "I'm not confused. I'm in love with you, Starsky. I can't make that just go away. I can accept the fact that I can't have you. But if I can't, then you've got to let me find consolation somewhere else... 'til I can get over you."

The heat was back in Starsky's face. "You mean Whitelaw? You told me you didn't want him. You said you were never gonna want him or any other guy. So, what? You've changed your mind? You really want him?"

"He wants me," Hutch insisted. "Like the song says, You can't always get what you want, but sometimes you can get what you need."

"No!" Starsky said through clenched teeth. "You can't!"

"Why not?" Hutch asked coldly. "Because that might mean that I swing both ways? And that's too close to being gay to make you comfortable?" He moved closer to Starsky until they were nearly nose-to-nose. Using his height advantage, he loomed over his partner. "Or is it because I belong to you and you're not sharing?"

"Hutch!" Starsky choked out. It was a plea.

"The truth," Hutch insisted.

Starsky lifted his head and met Hutch's angry gaze. His expression was full of need, anger, and bewilderment. He couldn't answer and that made Hutch angrier.

"You branded me that first night," Hutch reminded him. "You put it right on the line. You're mine now, Hutch. Only mine. No one else. You wanted to be sure there was no question about the way things would be. You wanted to put flesh to the marriage of our partnership. You offered me your body then confessed how badly you wanted mine. I was afraid to go that far, afraid of how you'd feel about it in the morning. If I'd let you have your way... maybe that would've been something you wouldn't have been able to forget."

Starsky shook his head but the denial was half-hearted.

"Maybe you've never forgiven me for not giving in, for not going along with you. If you'd taken me that night... maybe it would've satisfied your need to possess me." Hutch paused, trying to put all the pieces together.

Starsky looked panicked. "Don't!"

Another piece fit into place. "That's what happens in the dream, isn't it?"

"NO!" Starsky shouted then seemed to realize how that loud denial betrayed him. He shook his head again. "No. No!" Hutch smiled, pleased with himself. "Oh, yeah. It's your dream. If things can't go the way you want in your own dream, where can they? Tell the truth, Starsky. You fuck me in the dream, don't you?"

"Stop talking about it!" Starsky snapped out, finally finding his voice. "It's a dream, just a stupid dream. It doesn't mean anything!"

"It's your subconscious trying to break through your thick skull!" Hutch insisted. "You can't let yourself admit what you want. You love me and want me, but don't dare let yourself feel those things in the day. Too scary. Too real. So, instead, you fuck me in your dreams--"

Starsky clamped his mouth shut and turned away, walking toward the door.

There was no way Hutch was about to let him leave now. He grabbed a sleeve of his jacket and pulled him back around. Starsky avoided his gaze.

"It's not that simple is it?" Hutch demanded. "It's not just a good thorough fuck.... There's more. And it must be hot, too. Look at you. You're like a bomb about to go off. You're still hard, aren't you? From that moment in the car 'til now? That must be some scene."

"I came here to talk. I came here to try to make sense out of what's happening to us."

"Passion doesn't always make sense, Starsky. You of all people should know that." Hutch suddenly felt compelled to get through to him, to fight his way through Starsky's anger and get his subconscious to release his memories. He wasn't sure why he felt so driven, unless it was partly due to his own frustrated dreams: himself, perpetually alone on a darkened beach, yearning for the ocean he could never satisfy, never touch.

He moved closer to Starsky quickly, not giving him time to react. Grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket, he pulled him near, close enough to feel his heat. Starsky resisted.

"You want to talk?" Hutch murmured low. "So talk. Tell me how it goes, in the dream. What I do, how I please you. Tell me that."

Starsky's jaw worked back and forth. He tried to pull away.

Hutch wasn't letting go. Keeping a good grip on the leather with his right hand, he slid his left down to Starsky's crotch, boldly cupping the rigid swelling there.

Starsky's whole body shuddered. In reaction, he grabbed a fistful of Hutch's white leather vest. "Please," he whispered. "Don't, huh?"

"There're two possible things that can happen here." Hutch said it slow so he wouldn't miss anything. "We can recreate the dream, and you'll get over it. Forget you ever had it. Or, we can recreate the dream... and you'll remember why you're having it."

"Or," Starsky said, an edge of desperation in his voice, "we can stop right now, right here. Before something happens we can't take back." Hutch frowned. "You're that afraid of loving me?"

"You don't get it, do you? In the dream... what happens in it... has nothing to do with love!" He was staring at Hutch, pleading with him to see the truth in his eyes. "I just... use you in the dream. The way I want. It's all for me. There's no love in that."

He's still locked into that whole New York scenario. He's thirteen-years-old and thinking only with his balls.

"You're wrong, partner," Hutch said. "It has everything to do with love. The love you don't want to believe in, the love you won't let yourself accept. I'm gonna prove it to you."

"God, no...." Starsky moaned.

"Oh, yes," Hutch whispered.

He realized it didn't matter what he did at this point. Starsky was so locked into his own fears, that he'd see the fulfillment of that nightmare in anything Hutch did. So, he murmured the same words he'd said to Starsky the first night they made love. The words he repeated like a vow the night they watched the film and faced their new reality. He wanted to make sure Starsky remembered them always.

"I love you. Like a mate. Like a spouse. Like the best part of me. I'm going to show you how much."

Then, if you can leave me after that, I'll accept it.

Starsky's hand locked onto Hutch's hair, and the fist hanging onto his vest tightened. He seemed desperate. He hadn't looked this upset since the morning Dobey showed them the film.

Hutch had to wipe that expression off Starsky's face. He almost leaned forward to kiss him before remembering how Starsky felt about that. For once, Hutch thought that not kissing him might be the best idea. While Starsky had carefully showered away any evidence of his passion with Kelly, he still carried the scent of her soap, a different smell than Hutch was used to. He knew he couldn't handle kissing Starsky and run the risk of tasting her in his mouth.

Instead, Hutch leaned forward and placed a soft kiss at the base of Starsky's throat, enjoying the thrum of Starsky's rapid heartbeat against his lips. Unfastening Starsky's jacket, Hutch slid it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.

"Hutch!" Starsky gasped, but he seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to stop what was about to happen. His expression was tense, anguished, almost fearful.

Like in the dream? Hutch wondered. Does he see himself helpless, unable to stop me? Hutch had trouble imagining himself as a demanding succubus, a role he thought better suited to Starsky. But if that's the way Starsky saw him in the dream, then that's the way he would have to be.

Having rid him of the jacket, Hutch moved around behind Starsky. He wasn't sure he could play the seducer under that plaintive gaze, and yet he couldn't stop. Moving up close against Starsky's back, Hutch slid his arms around his partner's body, fully expecting Starsky to bolt when he felt the reality of Hutch's erection pressing against Starsky's ass. But Starsky seemed rooted in place, unable to move, to participate, to comment. He stood still, arms hanging loose at his side, not encouraging, yet not resisting either. So Hutch's hands moved to the lacing on Starsky's leather pants.

Slowly, from behind, Hutch untied the leather thongs and pulled them free. Starsky's erection bloomed out of his pants, rampant and furious. He had to be in genuine pain, aching from having held the erection so long. Hutch took Starsky's cock in his palm, captured it, petted it, stroked it soothingly, possessively. He knew very well how to ease its anger, make it throb with pleasure.

As Hutch freed Starsky's cock of its confinement, Starsky's expression changed, some of the fear giving away to desire, to raw need.

Yes, Hutch thought. You need me. Let yourself feel it. I'm going to satisfy that need like no one ever has or ever will again.

He touched his mouth to the nape of Starsky's neck, tasting him, kissing him gently, tenderly, moving his lips along the tight cords of his throat. As he moved his lips to Starsky's shoulder, he slid his right hand under the hem of Starsky's undershirt, pulling it up to expose Starsky's broad chest, his beautifully defined torso and taut abdomen. He brushed his palm against a rigid nipple, feeling it tighten even more from the stimulation. After pushing the leather pants down enough to expose Starsky's genitals, Hutch watched his own hand continue to rub patterns of pleasure along Starsky's chest as his other hand kept stroking Starsky's cock slowly, gently, wanting to fan the ember into a blaze that would burn them both.

Starsky remained completely still, only the rise and fall of his chest giving Hutch any indication of the affect he was having.

Reluctantly, he let go of Starsky's cock to remove the undershirt completely. Starsky's erection seemed to pulse, nodding at him as if beckoning Hutch for more. He ached for Starsky to give him something, anything, a word, a sigh, but it seemed as if Starsky was locked in place as though the release of his tension might be more than he could handle.

But Hutch had no such restrictions. He ran his hands up and down Starsky's tense arms then moved around to face him once more. Leaning forward, Hutch kissed Starsky's chest, taking a moment to enjoy the sensation of that soft body hair against his lips. Then he kissed his way over to a small erect nipple and let his tongue feel its texture and sample the flavor there. After running his lips gently over the faint ladder of scars, Hutch stopped kissing the broad chest so he could look again at Starsky's face.

Starsky met his gaze, and grabbed hold of Hutch's white vest, gripping it like a lifeline. Now his expression was nearly panicked.

Feeling as though he were teetering on a dangerous precipice, Hutch kept watching Starsky's face as he eased slowly to his knees.

Starsky shook his head, looking frantic. He gripped Hutch's vest tighter trying to pull him up from the floor. That told Hutch he was on the money.

He knelt before Starsky and felt his own hunger surge, felt his erection come up so hard it hurt. He ignored it. His focus was totally on Starsky. "Watch me," he ordered. "Watch me please you. Watch me love you."

The tight black leather pants still clung to Starsky's rear and legs, the silver zippers gleaming, the chrome studs highlighting the unique curve of his calves. As Starsky stood there bare-chested, his heavy cock jutting from his open fly, Hutch thought he was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

When he grasped Starsky's erection at the base, Starsky lurched, overwhelmed by the sudden contact. Hutch didn't give him time to think, time to react, but fed the angry cock to his mouth. He was starving for it, so eager he was shaking. As Starsky's sculpted maleness filled him, as his tongue teased and tantalized the man he couldn't help craving, he knew with an aching certainty that he'd never feel this way about another lover again. Any act of passion he might ever share with another human being would never be more than a pale reminder of his union with Starsky.

Starsky's body was wracked with violent shudders as soon as Hutch went down on him. Almost immediately, he released his hold on the leather vest and slid both hands into Hutch's hair. His hands were trembling as he gripped the long strands. With a ruthless need, Starsky pulled Hutch onto him, demanding more, needing everything Hutch could give him.

Hutch gave it willingly. Relaxing his jaw, he took Starsky in deep, enduring the powerful thrusts that nearly choked him. His tongue kept working Starsky's rigid column, tracing the veins, teasing the ridge, pressing against the sweet spot beneath the head.

Starsky cried out softly, mournfully, but when Hutch looked up he saw Starsky's indigo eyes riveted on his face. It's hot, isn't it? Watching me blow you. Watching me on my knees, a man, light compared to your dark, giving you what you most desire but can't face. No woman ever made you feel like this.

Starsky went rigid, his hands tightening painfully in Hutch's hair as Hutch fondled his tight balls through the leather pants. Starsky gave a sharp bark of a shout and then came, the pent-up frustration of the night erupting in a searing flood of semen. Hutch drank it eagerly, letting it fill the hunger deep inside him.

You couldn't give this to her even though you wanted to. You had to save it for me. And I want it. God help me, I want it so bad.

Hutch expected the orgasm to give Starsky some relief. But that didn't happen. His body was still bowstring tight, his trembling hadn't stopped, and his erection was still achingly hard.

As soon as he finished coming, he pulled Hutch off his over-sensitized organ. With one hand buried in Hutch's hair and the other gripping his arm, he hauled Hutch up to his feet. Starsky was rough, hurried, and still showed that frantic urgency he'd had all night. But he didn't look panicked now.

Hutch's own erection was strangling in his pants but he couldn't pay attention to that. Not with Starsky's rage coming to the surface.

"You liked doing that to me, didn't you?" Starsky said, looking him directly in the eye.

Hutch couldn't move his trapped head so he smiled lazily and licked his lips. "Sucking your cock? Make no mistake. I loved it. Almost as much as you did. You belong in my mouth. In my bed. And you know it."

Starsky's jaw clenched and he moaned a low growl. He gave Hutch a short shake. "You never did know when to shut up."

Reckless, Hutch threw gasoline on the fire. "Don't you want to taste yourself in my mouth? I love your flavor. I love giving you head."

"Shut up!" Starsky ordered. "You think this is a game? You think you can keep pushing me?"

"I think you want to fuck. I think you need to."

Starsky shoved him so hard toward the bedroom, he nearly lost his footing. As Starsky propelled him toward the brass bed, Hutch suddenly shifted, pushing his weight back, stopping them before they got to the bedroom.

"Oh, no, we're not doing this dry because you're in a rush!" Hutch snapped.

Starsky looked baffled.

"Dammit, Starsky, contrary to your jealous fantasies, I've never done this before! The lotion we've been using is too thin. There's Crisco in the kitchen over the sink. Get it." This seemed to confuse him more. "Crisco...?"

"Don't be dense! We need lubricant! And Crisco works."

Understanding dawned on Starsky. "For someone who's never done it before, you sure know a hell of a lot about it," he snarled, hauling Hutch over to the kitchen so he could grab the blue and white can off the open shelf.

"You'd be surprised what a bartender can learn in just a short time," Hutch taunted.

"You think so, huh?" Starsky said, towing him toward the bedroom. He dropped the Crisco onto the night stand, then, as quick as a snake, grabbed the ends of Hutch's shirt and tore it open, sending buttons flying.

As Starsky rushed to drag the shirt and vest off his arms in one quick move, Hutch thought he should try to slow this down. The determined anger on Starsky's face hadn't thawed an inch.

"Starsky, wait," Hutch said softly, trying to cool some of that heat. "I haven't showered yet. Let's do that together before we--"

"You didn't worry about that with Whitelaw," Starsky said, going to Hutch's waistband. "You think I care about your sweat?"

Hutch had a jolting memory of lying in Starsky's arms, clawing at him while he was filthy, sweating profusely, trying to dry out from an enforced addiction in Huggy's upstairs room. No, Starsky wouldn't be the least bit fazed by a little hard-earned sweat.

As Starsky pulled the zipper of Hutch's leather pants down, Hutch ran his hands over Starsky's bare back to soothe his urgency but he was beyond that. He shoved Hutch onto the bed at the same time he yanked his white pants and underwear down around his thighs.

Hutch's cock surged at the sudden freedom and the tension of Starsky's enraged desire was making him incredibly hot. As Hutch reached for his own erection, wanting to soothe it with a gentle stroke, Starsky knocked his hand away and instead took hold of Hutch's sensitive flesh with a punishing grip.

The sensation of his warm palm and the tightness of his hold drove Hutch wild and he arched up. "Starsky!" he cried, gripping the bedspread.

"Yeah," Starsky said, his voice rough, "don't forget who you're with!"

As quickly as he'd captured him, Starsky released him. But before Hutch could react, Starsky pushed him further onto the bed then flipped him over onto his stomach. He pulled the white pants down past Hutch's knees.

Expecting Starsky to strip the pants the rest of the way off and remove his boots, he felt his first surge of alarm when Starsky, still semi-clad himself, clambered onto the bed behind him. Hutch looked over his shoulder, saw Starsky freeing his own cock and balls from the leather pants and reaching for the Crisco.

"Starsk! Hold it...!" He'd thought once he had Starsky in bed he'd be able to seduce him, satisfy him with a long slow loving, the way he'd done every other night. He'd never seen Starsky like this before, didn't think he could be this rough in bed. He'd always been a man to take his pleasure languidly and who was just as concerned with his partner's pleasure as his own. Suddenly, Hutch didn't know this stranger.

"You wanted the Crisco," Starsky said abruptly, "I got it. What else?"

"Starsky, come on, this isn't like you. Slow down. You don't have to rush me like this."

Starsky's eyes met his. They were nearly black with need, dark with all the passions tormenting him. "You wanted to do the dream, Hutch. This is it."

That hadn't occurred to him. He imagined that he'd been in control during the dream. Thought that was why it upset Starsky so much. That Hutch lured him into the act. Made him do it. He would've never imagined Starsky to be this out of control in his own dream.

This was your idea, hotshot. Get ready to take it like a man.

The pants wrapped around his calves were like leg irons as Starsky climbed between them. Starsky's own dark leathers were still on, with his fly open wide enough to allow his genitals complete freedom.

Is this why the dream always upset you? Because you took what you wanted? Because you forced me?

Behind him, Starsky put the can back on the nightstand then reached under Hutch with a slick hand. He grabbed Hutch's cock again and the wild sensation of the cool shortening against his heated erection brought him up on his knees. He hissed as Starsky stroked him, his hold slippery and strong. As apprehensive as Hutch was about what was happening between them, he couldn't escape the raw pleasure Starsky was giving him. He stroked Hutch hard, held him tight, pumping him evenly, forcing his excitement.

"Starsk! Oh, God, Starsk!" he gasped out, involuntarily surging into the stroke, feeling himself falling out of control, plummeting into the same frantic desire Starsky had to be feeling. His legs trembled but he kept himself elevated on his knees, wanting Starsky to have all the freedom he needed to make him insane.

"You like this?" Starsky demanded. "My hand on you? Is it making you hard? Making you hot?"

Hutch couldn't hold back his groan of pleasure. "It's always good with you," he gasped, knowing exactly what Starsky didn't want to hear. "You hold me just right. Stroke me like an expert. You're so good at this...."

Starsky's hand tightened so hard around his cock that for a moment Hutch couldn't breathe then he eased up again and continued pumping him smooth and steady. Hutch was almost dizzy he needed this so much.

Starsky reached and fumbled with something then he was back, barely missing a stroke. Hutch could hear his panting and knew he was incredibly excited. That pleased him so much he didn't care what might happen. Until a slippery finger stroked up and down the crevasse of his ass. He shuddered under that touch as it found his anus. Starsky rubbed a cool dab of Crisco around it carefully and then, less carefully, inserted a digit in up to the knuckle.

He lurched forward instinctively to escape the penetration but Starsky's unforgiving grip on his cock didn't allow him maneuvering room. He tried to stifle his cry of surprise but couldn't. Then the finger moved inside him, slowly at first then more forcefully, in and out, getting him used to the idea. He couldn't help resisting it; his body's reactions were largely out of control. Starsky just kept working his cock, rubbing and sliding against his overheated hard-on, and soon Hutch's ass relaxed. The finger taking him moved harder, deeper, making him open for it.

Starsky twisted his hand and suddenly his fingertip stroked something inside Hutch. His whole body lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh, jeezus!" It was electric, incandescent, and Hutch jerked away, needing to escape the incredible intensity of it.

But Starsky wouldn't let him. He had him trapped between his cock and his ass. Hutch grabbed the brass bars of the bedstead and moaned, clutching it like a lifeline.

Starsky lay across his back until his mouth was next to his ear. "You'd be surprised what a bouncer can learn in just a short time," he hissed.

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut, knowing things were not going to go the way he'd imagined. He'd lost all control of this situation. And the worst thing about that was his lack of control only added to the frighteningly pleasurable sensations rocketing through him.

"Starsky! Starsky!" he cried out, asking for something but he didn't know what.

"Keep sayin' my name," Starsky growled. "Make sure you don't forget who I am."

The digit left him with shocking suddenness but before Hutch could recover and catch his breath, it was back with more lube and a friend.

Starsky's two fingers pierced him like an arrow and he shouted, trembling wildly. The invading fingertips zeroed in on his prostate and he nearly came when they stroked it. But Starsky's hand tightened down on his erection, the same way Hutch had held him the other night to slow down his orgasm. He felt sweat break out all over his body as Starsky finger-fucked him into a mind- numbing pleasure. He could hear himself making low groans of delight against the brass bars he now clutched with all his strength. He wondered distantly if a man could die from too much pleasure as his heart drummed frantically in his chest.

"You like it, huh?" Starsky asked through his own panting. "Say it, Hutch. Tell me you like it."

"Starsky!" Hutch cried out. The sexual onslaught was drowning him. He could barely catch his breath. "Say it! I need to hear it, Hutch. I need to know."

He could hear an edge of pleading in Starsky's demands and struggled to give him what he wanted. It was his dream and Hutch had promised to fulfill it. "Your hands! Oh, God, your hands... you're making me love it. The way you're handling me... damn!"

Starsky rotated his fingers, making Hutch want to leap out of his skin. He did it again then forced a third finger in. Hutch grunted, the inescapable truth of where this journey was going filling him with sudden fear. He fought it, not wanting it to affect what was about to happen. This is Starsky. My partner. My lover. The only lover I want....

He tried to gather his fraying wits. Starsky kept demanding vocal assurances. He remembered Starsky's reaction when he went down on him. He'd wanted Hutch to tell him that he'd liked it, that he'd wanted to do it. He remembered Starsky's tortured expression when he insisted he loved blowing him.

He doesn't want to rape me, Hutch realized. He wants me to want it. He wants me to offer it to him... because I want to. That's the part that bothers him the most in the dream. That I could want to. That I could really like it.

It would be easy to tell Starsky the truth. Maybe if Hutch was honest, it would break through that black curtain around Starsky's memories. Maybe it would free the love Starsky felt for him.

He sucked in air desperately. "Starsky. Baby... come on... I'm climbing the wall for you. Quit teasing me, dammit." He looked over his shoulder; saw the intense expression on Starsky's face. He bit his lip, unsure for a moment if he could get the words out. "Go on! Fuck me, damn you. I need you...!"

Starsky squeezed his eyes shut as if he'd been shot. He bent over Hutch, touching his forehead to his spine. "I want you so bad," he groaned, sounding like a man in pain. "Been wantin' you. Don't ever think I don't want you. No matter what happens... don't ever think that."

Then he rose up over Hutch. Quickly, as though he simply couldn't wait another second, he removed his hand from Hutch's ass and instantly replaced it with his warm slick cock.

Reality crashed in.

He's really going to do this! Hutch thought with a fight-or-flight reaction he couldn't suppress. Starsky's going to--

Over-stimulated, hyper from everything they'd been through, Hutch reacted on pure instinct. He surged away from Starsky's advance trying to escape his grip.

Starsky responded with a predatory need to pursue. The two of them lurched across the bed together as Starsky clung to him tenaciously.

Hutch used the brass bedstead to pull himself up with the sheer power in his arms. As he knelt upright, clutching the metal framework, Starsky impaled him with one forceful lunge. The shock of that sudden stunning entry stopped Hutch cold. He cried out and flung his head back. It came to rest on Starsky's shoulder. Starsky gathered Hutch tightly to him, his chest pressed against Hutch's spine, his groin pressed against Hutch's rear, his left hand holding Hutch's cock painfully tight.

"Don't move," Starsky gasped. "Just breathe."

Hutch saw stars spangling behind his eyes as his body fought the ruthless invader. But there wasn't just pain. He expected pain; he could've handled just pain. It was the searing pleasure of Starsky's glans pressing against his sensitized prostate that nearly made him pass out.

I need to come! Oh, please, God, let me come!

But Starsky's grip on his cock made that impossible.

"Breathe, Hutch!" Starsky said, sounding angry. "Breathe, dammit!"

Hutch forced himself to obey, sucking in a lungful of air. Then he realized that the body supporting him was trembling.

He's losing it. It's too good for him. To his own amazement, Hutch started to smile. He likes it too much, fucking me, and that's making him crazy.

"You like being in there, don't you?" he whispered against the side of Starsky's face. "You like fucking me. Now you tell me. Give me that much."

Starsky shook his head mournfully and wouldn't look at him. But he said quietly, "Can't believe this. So good with you. Every time...."

The excruciating spasm in Hutch's ass suddenly surrendered and his lower body relaxed. The presence of Starsky's cock inside him was no longer painful, just tantalizing.

"Go on," Hutch told him. "Put your mark on me. Make me yours. I want you to. Starsky... be my lover... fuck me...."

Starsky moaned throatily behind him and shivered violently. But he did as he was told. As he pumped up into his body, Hutch was stunned to realize he wasn't all the way in yet. He hung onto the metal bedstead as tightly as Starsky hung on to him until he was fully sheathed. It was an amazing sensation. The stimulation to his prostate was relentless, so overwhelming that he didn't think he could take much more.

Having broken down Hutch's resistance, Starsky started fucking more strongly, pumping deeper, harder, steadily taking what he needed. When he combined his powerful penetration with a matching stroke from his hand, Hutch could do nothing but yield.

He'd never felt helpless in bed before, not even that first night. He'd always felt that as lovers, they were equally matched, just as they'd always been in their partnership. He couldn't say that now.

Hutch couldn't move. Impaled by Starsky's cock, kept in place by his controlling hand and the force of his compelling passion, all Hutch could do was cling to the support of the brass bars and the sturdy body behind him. His eyes were open but he couldn't see. All he could experience were the sensations within and without his body. Dimly, he thought, if this is what women had to experience every time they went to bed with a man, he wondered how they endured it.

"Starsky, please," he gasped, "let me come. I need to come so bad." It occurred to him that he'd willingly given up any control he might've had over his own orgasm. He accepted the fact that he wasn't his own man anymore. He wouldn't argue. He needed to come. "Not yet," Starsky ordered. "I'll tell you when."

The words rocked Hutch but only resulted in heightened sensation, something he'd thought impossible a moment ago. To his dismay, his body obeyed the order even as his need for release surged.

Starsky pressed his mouth against Hutch's ear. "You're mine now, Hutch. You belong to me. No one else. Only me."

Hutch nodded, in complete agreement. No one had ever made him feel half of what he was experiencing now. No one had ever taken him and made him love it. It was unthinkable that he'd ever let anyone else ever try.

"Yours," he gasped. "Only yours. Starsky, please...."

"Soon," he promised. "Not yet."

He wanted to weep and felt a sob escape before he could stop it.

"You make my cock so hard, Hutch," Starsky whispered as if it were a secret they were sharing. "Never felt like this before. You did that to me. Like you always do. There'll never be anyone else for me. I'm yours. Remember that. No matter what happens."

Hutch gasped as the promised vow ripped through him, tearing into his heart. Oh, God, Starsky. Say you love me. Please, just say it.

"Hutch..." Starsky gasped, his pumping nearly out of control. He moaned as if there were words on his lips he couldn't bear to release; then with a growl he bit the back of Hutch's neck, then his shoulders and his back.

Hutch had nowhere to go to escape the teeth punishing him for the pleasure he was feeling and the pleasure he was giving. He cried out even as he understood. You can't say it, can't release the truth from your own fear. Go on, then, hurt me because I love you. Anything you do to me now is pure pleasure anyway.

Then Starsky's mouth gentled and he kissed the stinging wounds he'd inflicted. "Hutch…" he whispered plaintively. "Oh, God, Hutch."

Hutch's eyes widened as he felt Starsky swell inside. He'll tear me apart!

Starsky's mouth moved to his ear as Starsky eased the pressure on Hutch's cock. "Come for me, Hutch. Come for me and take me with you."

Hutch's obedience was instant. He groaned low as he erupted powerfully, jetting against the brass bars and the wall behind it, splattering everywhere. His body tightened with every spasm, milking Starsky's cock with powerful contractions.

Starsky laid his forehead against Hutch's shoulder and tried to smother a long cry. He sounded like a man in pain, a man who couldn't bear the joy this was bringing him. The sound broke Hutch's heart.

The orgasm seemed to take so long but finally Hutch stopped baptizing the wall and the convulsive rocking behind him slowed and then stopped.

Hutch's legs felt like rubber, shaking hard, and he wondered how much longer they could hold him in this kneeling position. He wondered, too, if he'd have to pry his hands away from the bars he clung to.

Starsky didn't move and Hutch was grateful. If he pulled out too quickly, it would hurt like hell. Also he couldn't bear the thought of separating, afraid of what would happen once they did.

Starsky released Hutch's shrinking cock and wrapped both arms around him to support him. Hutch wasn't sure how he had the strength to do that but he wasn't about to complain. Starsky's hands gently rubbed his abdomen comfortingly. It felt good to lie against him like this, feeling warm and safe and more satisfied than he'd ever been in his life. For a few moments, the two of them stayed that way, enjoying the afterglow and holding each other close to their hearts.

Suddenly, Hutch became aware that Starsky was still trembling. His arms tightened around him then Hutch felt a drop of warm moisture strike his back. And then another.

Can I pretend those are tears of joy? he thought, though he knew it was a futile hope.

Then suddenly, Starsky's organ softened and slipped away from him. It hurt a little, but the sense of separation was far more painful.

Does he feel any of that or is he relieved it's over? Hutch found he craved some reassurance.

Starsky climbed over his legs, while still holding onto him. "Can you stay there just a minute more?" he asked, his voice soft. He was back in control of his emotions.

"A minute maybe," Hutch admitted. "I'm ready to collapse."

Without comment, Starsky left the bed and went into the bathroom. A moment later, he returned with a clean towel and wet washcloth.

"Hang on," he told Hutch, then carefully washed and dried his genitals. He was raw from the rough handling and couldn't help reacting even though Starsky was gentle. Then Starsky moved behind him and tenderly washed his ass. He struggled not to show his discomfort but he was really sore.

Starsky held the warm cloth against his bruised anus and let it soothe. "You're bleeding," he said tightly.

He sighed. "Virgins usually do, Starsky," he said drolly. "I've got something that'll help in the bathroom. I'll put it on later." Starsky nodded solemnly. When he removed the cloth, he must've been satisfied with the situation, since he carefully dried Hutch.

"I gotta lie down," Hutch said. It was either lie down or fall down.

"Hang on," Starsky said, and put the cloth and towel on the floor. He moved around to Hutch's feet and pulled off his boots and socks then removed the bunched up pants from around his ankles. Wedging his shoulder under Hutch's arm, he put a strong arm around his waist and said, "Okay, I've got you."

Where are you getting that energy from? Hutch wondered wearily as he released the brass bars and slung an arm around his partner. His freed legs didn't want to move but with some coaxing they finally cooperated. Starsky pulled the bedspread away, then the sheets, so Hutch could slide under them. He sighed with gratitude when he was finally horizontal.

Once Starsky had him carefully settled, he started to stand up and move away but Hutch reached out, grabbed his wrist and held on. "Where are you going?"

"In the condition I'm in... not very far," he answered evasively.

"Like maybe as far as the couch?" Hutch guessed.

Starsky looked guilty but didn't answer.

"Come on, Starsky," Hutch said, trying hard not to sound like he was pleading. "I need you right now. Here. With me."

Starsky seemed amazed. "You want me... to get in bed with you? After all that?"

Hutch was too weary for this. "Most especially after all that."

Starsky seemed torn but finally nodded. "Let me wash up, okay? I'll be right back." It was only then that Hutch realized Starsky had laced himself into his leather pants.

Keeping yourself safe? Hutch wondered. From me or from yourself?

Starsky kept his word and in a few minutes returned from the bathroom and removed his pants before climbing into bed.

Hutch moved against him, craving the comfort of his body contact. Starsky surrounded him with his arms, pulling him close, as if grateful himself. Hutch rested his head against Starsky's chest, enjoying the soothing sound of his steady heartbeat. Starsky's hands stroked Hutch's back with the same gentling touch he'd used on his abdomen after they'd orgasmed.

Hutch was still basking in the afterglow but he was worried too. He knew Starsky was troubled by the ferocity of their passion. He wanted to reassure him. And he wanted to deal with his own disappointment. He knew without being told that Starsky had had no profound revelation because of their lovemaking. "You won't have that dream anymore, Starsky. I'm sure of it."

Starsky's arms tightened around him. "I could have lived with that dream for a thousand nights rather than live with the memory of how I just treated you." His voice was tight, anguished.

Hutch leaned up on an elbow and stared into his troubled expression. "Don't regret it, Starsky, please. I don't think I could stand it if you did. It was good for me; I swear it was. Sure, it was a little rough but we're grown strong men. We can handle that--"

Starsky swallowed hard. He touched Hutch's cheek. "That's right, Hutch. We're men. But I sure didn't treat you like a man just now."

Hutch took hold of the hand caressing his cheek and pressed it to his face. "I felt like a man. A powerful man who could handle anything his lover needed. You didn't do anything to me I didn't want."

Starsky looked pained. "I was out of control. I couldn't have stopped if you'd begged me to. I was totally into my own need. If you'd fought me, I'd have still fucked you. That's not how lovers are supposed to treat each other. Even if they're both men."

"You needed me," Hutch insisted. "And I needed that from you. No one's ever needed me like that. For the first time in my life... I feel totally fulfilled."

Starsky looked alarmed. "If we've got to have sex like that for you to feel fulfilled--"

Hutch smiled tenderly. "I think what happened tonight was pretty unique. I can't imagine things will go quite like that again."

It didn't seem to help. Starsky still had that anguished look on his face. Hutch waited, knowing there was still something else he needed to reveal.

"I still don't remember the first night," he said. "It's still just a blank spot in my brain."

"Okay," Hutch said. "You don't remember. We'll live with it."

Starsky shook his head as if Hutch wasn't following him. "Don't you understand? Even after... what we just did... I could never do those things for you. I couldn't even make myself kiss you, even while-- I can't imagine being able to go down on you, never mind--"

"Let me fuck you," Hutch said bluntly. "Look, if that's all that's bothering you, let it go. I'm not keeping score. Not every couple is perfectly compatible. I can live with that."

"But I don't know if I can," Starsky said. "It's not fair. Our partnership has always been equal. We've had differences but ultimately things have always been fair between us. There's nothing fair about this. You're in love with me and willing to give me everything. And I'm willing to take it. There's nothing fair about that. Even... even fuck buddies fuck each other. It shames me that I can offer you so little after everything you've given me." He snorted a rueful laugh. "Weird, huh? You got fucked... but I'm the one who feels like less than a man." Hutch didn't think he could take much more rejection. "You regret it." He knew his voice sounded leaden.

"No," Starsky said, surprising him. "How could I regret the beautiful gift you gave me--all of yourself? No one ever gave me that much, Hutch. I'll never regret that. But I regret the way I treated you."

It was a relief. Hutch couldn't endure the thought that it had all been for nothing. He lay back down, surrounded Starsky with his arms and rested against his chest. Starsky held him close. "Don't regret it, Starsky. It made me happy. You wanted me for your own. That's what I wanted."

He felt Starsky's body finally yield and surrender to sleep. Just before he fell completely under its spell, he whispered Hutch's name. Hutch listened for a long moment, thinking that he might have something more to say but nothing else emerged except the sound of Starsky's steady breathing.

Hutch knew Starsky's sleep would be untroubled and, as he settled back down against his lover, thought his would be, too.

But when he finally yielded to rest he found himself back on that endless beach, walking the darkened shoreline alone. The tide came close but remained forever out of reach. At least tonight the waves were gentle, almost placid. Yet Hutch knew if he attempted to walk into the gentle surf it would recede from him and not even wet the bottom of his bare feet.

He paused suddenly, seeing something from the corner of his eye. A dolphin? Maybe a seal? A figure emerged from beneath the water.

It was Starsky. He was beautiful as water dripped from his dark tangled hair and his erect nipples. His lean muscular torso was shadowed with soft fur that surrounded his nipples and trailed down in a dark line to the water. Hutch couldn't see his groin, which was just beneath the waves, but the partial curve of Starsky's ass that he could see was as shapely as a sculpture. Hutch's heart cried out to him, his beauty making him ache.

Starsky did not look at Hutch, did not seem to be aware of his presence. As Hutch watched, Starsky's left hand dipped beneath the gently lapping water. His arm moved, the water rippled, and Starsky watched his own actions with total absorption.

Hutch knew that as he stood and watched, a distant voyeur, Starsky was pleasuring himself in the surf, yielding his seed to the sea, keeping both his pleasure and his treasure for himself. Hutch wanted to go to him, put his hand or mouth in the place of Starsky's hand and show him how much pleasure a lover could bring. But he knew if he tried to step into the surf it would only recede. Starsky was as bound to the ocean as Hutch was to the shore. And he understood that while they would meet again and again on this beach, they would never share a true union.

Starsky's hand stilled, and he loosed his seed into the sea with an expression of placid bliss. Hutch watched his rapturous face as it slowly disappeared beneath the waves. Then he turned and continued walking alone along the endless midnight beach.

For every new road there must be a friend For every broken heart there must be a mend And the rain only lasted so long It's over, the thing we had is gone…. Tears--Bonnie Tyler

Chapter 18

You say there's a better place for you to be. It's not with me. Take Me Back--Bonnie Tyler

When K.R. woke up right after dawn, she felt like Scarlet O'Hara the morning after Rhett had carried her up Tara's staircase. Her body was loose-limbed, satisfied, and a bit licentious. Not at all like her normal self.

Hang on to that feeling, she told herself. Who knows how long it'll be 'til the next time.

After a luxurious stretch, she realized she was completely alone. Drowsily, she patted the bed beside her and frowned when she found it empty. She looked around, confused. She knew David wasn't going to stay and didn't expect to find him there. But it was one thing to be abandoned by a man and another to be deserted by your cat. Buddy never woke up before her, not ever. Was he so annoyed by all the stress of last night he'd decided to find a more peaceful place to sleep? Or was he shunning her for having the nerve to show affection to another male? With that cat anything was possible.

Then she smelled something. Something... wonderful. Fresh coffee. Really good fresh coffee. It was way too early for any of her volunteers to be here. She wondered if David's guilt complex involved delivering breakfast to make amends. She hoped not. She wasn't ready to see him again. She'd never been in a situation like this before and wasn't sure how to act. As much as she was attracted to him, she genuinely hoped he and Hutch had been able to communicate effectively last night and come to some compatible arrangement. David Starsky was a very confused and unhappy man.

The aroma of fresh coffee and the mystery of her missing cat were too much for her to resist. Reluctantly, she shed her Scarlet O'Hara lassitude, found her robe and left her bed.

She opened her bedroom door to find an angular garishly dressed man spreading a variety of aromatic foodstuffs on her table as he poured steaming coffee into two mugs. As he worked, he kept up a dialogue with Buddy, who was attentively watching his every move.

"...And this," Huggy explained seriously to the cat, "is the finest French Roast in the city. Not that that would impress you, of course. But combined with the other delicacies of warm apple compote, scrambled eggs de la Bear, challah bread French toast--that's one of those mixed cultural things, you dig? A little French, a little Jewish, with a touch of cinnamon and sugar to make it all get along--fresh-squeezed orange juice and broiled grapefruit with orange blossom honey, and what you have here is the best breakfast money can't buy."

Buddy seemed enthralled. As soon as Huggy stopped talking, he let out a plaintive meow.

"Would I forget you?" Huggy asked. "I am hurt, I say wounded, that you could even ask such a thing. For you, my fine furry friend, I have brought something extra special. Your reputation precedes you, sir, and I am well aware that you cannot be easily swayed and certainly not by mere food. Therefore, for you, from my own private stash...." Huggy reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag filled with what looked like dried herbs.

K.R.'s eyes widened.

"This, my compatriot of color," Huggy said, sprinkling some of the green stuff on the floor, "is primo catnip. The finest in all of LA. Enjoy."

Buddy's nose twitched as he investigated the herb. Collapsing on the floor with a loud purr, he began to roll all over it.

"Isn't it a little early to be getting my cat stoned?" K.R. asked, leaning on the door frame.

Huggy looked up and grinned unashamedly. "It's never too early to feel good, m'lady. I hope it wasn't my catty conversation that woke you."

"Who could sleep through those incredible aromas?" she said, approaching the table. It occurred to her that this was the second time in twenty-four hours she was entertaining a man in her bathrobe. She hoped this wasn't going to become a trend. "If I'd known you delivered," she told Huggy, "I would have ordered breakfast from you long ago. Of course, I don't remembering ordering this one--"

"Sit! Sit!" he encouraged, as he placed a prepared plate before her. Everything smelled wonderful and was still hot. "Let's just say Providence provides."

"Providence... what is that?" she asked as she dipped a spoon into the sweet warm grapefruit. "Starsky's middle name?"

Huggy's expression turned wry. "You need to understand Starsky. Food's important to him. I think he has an oral fixation."

K.R. turned beet red to her hairline. Don't I know it!

He noticed her color but only smiled and said, "Poor choice of words, perhaps. But a gift of food is often his way of expressing... regrets."

"Mmmm," she said around the succulent fruit as she tried to regain her aplomb. Not that she could have much anyway as she sat with uncombed hair in her bathrobe. "It may have been his idea, Mr. Bear, but you were the one who followed through. You didn't have to do all this." She took a sip of the coffee and closed her eyes in bliss. "But I'm grateful you did."

Huggy's warm brown eyes fixed on hers. "I wanted to. So, enjoy."

She smiled at him and did just that. "Do you do everything with such panache? I can't believe you went to all this trouble."

Huggy had brought breakfast for two and was spearing a piece of French toast when he said, "Why, panache is my middle name! Huggy Panache Bear Brown. And it's not nearly as much trouble as you've gone through for friends of mine." She nodded and continued eating. "Lord knows I'm going to need this for energy. Thanks to your friends, my day's going to be pretty harried. I'm sure I'll have to be meeting with those detectives over what happened last night. And I'm going to have to go another round with the mayor's office. They're running me in circles. They won't bend on the issue of returning the guys to active duty together. They'll let them go back only if they work with other partners." She paused in mid-chew. "I never even got a chance to tell them anything about that last night."

Huggy made a sympathetic face. "Actually, those weren't the friends I was referring to. I was thinking of some of my regular customers who've had occasion to work with you."

She wondered again how he'd become so involved with the two detectives. "But... you have been friends with them for a long time?"

Huggy paused. "I've been friends with Starsky since he came from New York. We were both kids. Ran the streets together. Got into and out of too much trouble. Hutch came along later. After they met in the Academy."

They ate companionably for a while then Huggy finished and put down his fork. Holding the coffee mug in his long slender hands, he said, "Listen... I told myself I wasn't going to say anything... but I really have to. There's something you need to know about those two."

She had to stop herself from saying, You mean something I didn't learn last night?

"I've known them as long as they've known each other," Huggy said. "And right from the start, it's been rare that anyone's ever been able to come between them. One time, Starsky had a lady named Terry, a special lady... and suddenly the three of them were everywhere together. But she died... and that's really the last time anyone's even come close to being in the middle. Usually, women get battled over, competed for... and in the long run left behind.

"For years, I wondered if there were something--I don't want to say sexual, because it's heavier than that--so let's call it some special bond between them that the rest of us mere mortals could only observe. But every time I thought I'd figured it out, they changed the rules again. It pains me to see them going through this, when it should be so easy for them--so natural. But Starsky never did like doing things the easy way. And I know he can't handle seeing himself the way the world is viewing him now."

K.R. couldn't think of anything to say so she sipped her coffee and waited.

"They've always loved each other more fiercely than they ever loved anyone else," Huggy said. "I can't see that changing. Even if they break apart over all this, that won't change. They'll just be broken and alone, still loving each other. They're all they really have."

"I wouldn't like to see that happen," she said honestly, "them separating. Thanks for telling me that. It... helps."

He shrugged and smiled.

"How did you meet Sugar?" she asked, curious. His expression changed, warming even more. He seemed to be thinking back before answering as if figuring out how much to say.

"I met Sugar when she first started performing. Long time ago. I was young... and so was she. I hung with a mixed crowd--gays, straights, blacks, whites, never mattered much to me if the people were good at heart. But I'd never met anyone like her. She was altogether somethin' else. For about a year, she and I were, as they say, an item. Like I said I was young. I was in love. She knew better. Finally sent me back to the other side of the street. We've stayed friends all this time. Helped each other out of a few jams. We'll always be close."

Instinctively, K.R. knew he'd just shared more with her than he would've with most people. "She's been a good friend to me, too."

Huggy smiled, his gaunt face animated, his dark liquid eyes sparkling. "Considering all the good friends we share, it's amazing we haven't gotten to know each other before this."

"I think part of that is our business hours. Yours are late at night and mine normally are during the day. Isn't this early for you to be up?"

He nodded. "Haven't been to bed yet. I'll catch some zzz's a little later. Fortunately, I'm not opening up today, my other bartender is. I won't have to be at the Pits until late." He cocked his head to one side. "Right around dinner time, in fact. Any chance I could interest you in some supper--on the house?"

She laughed. "After doing all this? I couldn't possibly impose on you for another meal."

He was about to say something else when the phone rang. After lifting the receiver and saying hello, she was surprised by the strange voice she heard on the other end.

"It's for you," she told Huggy, handing him the phone.

He didn't look surprised to be receiving a call at her place. Taking the receiver, he said, "Excuse me," then, into the phone, "It's Huggy." He listened for a moment without comment, concentrating on what he was being told. "I hear what you're sayin'. What else? Uh-huh. Okay, I'll pass it on. Let me know if you find out anything else. You got it, cuz." He handed her back the phone but looked troubled.

"Everything okay?" she asked as she replaced the receiver.

He paused, again seeming to decide how much to say, then finally told her, "One of my cousins was looking into some info that was on that film spread all over town. He works in the industry, in one of the film labs. He thinks he knows what lab developed the original film."

"Great!" she said, then hesitated at the look on his face. "Isn't it?"

"The info's righteous," Huggy assured her. "My cousin knows his stuff. What's troubling me is my cousin says there are three guys in that lab who are part of Whitelaw's circle... and yours, too." She sat back, the information disturbing her. "You mean... some of my volunteers...?"

"Gay volunteers," Huggy said specifically. "And I know Whitelaw was talking to someone over there about this same information. I expected him to come up with the answers before my cousin did, since he was away on vacation. But so far, he hasn't and if his people are working in that lab, you think they would've told him immediately that it was their code."

K.R. didn't like where this was heading. "You... think that gays are trying to cover up the origins of that film?"

Huggy sighed. "Doesn't make much sense, does it? Unless ... someone in the gay community has a hand in this."

"Why would they? What could they gain?"

"Political advantage. Starsky and Hutch were two of the best known and best thought of cops in the city. With you on their side, the odds are not only that they will be reinstated, but with honors and become the city's first official gay cops."

"I can't accept that," K.R. said. "Gay people--of all people--know what it's like to have their lives ruined by exposure. Peter Whitelaw knows that better than anyone. He's the most ethical man I know. I can't believe he would ruin the lives of two men he barely knew."

"I'm not ready to believe that either," Huggy said quickly. "Not about Peter, anyway. It's not his style. But gays are just as capable of selling out as anyone if the price is right."

She couldn't deny that. "Political advantage is an odd motivation but...." Looking around the kitchen, she spied her briefcase where she'd dropped it last night when David had--Don't think about that now. Don't do that to yourself. She grabbed the beat-up bag and searched through it. Pulling out a notebook, she glanced at Huggy and decided to repay his confidence with her own. "A few nights ago, one of my contacts gave me this. He... uh... lifted it from a place he delivers to. It's a scratch pad from Gunther's current lawyer, Josh Cantrall."

Huggy's eyebrows lifted to his hairline and he whistled. "Well, I've got to admire the young man. That's a trick I've employed myself at a critical moment. Obviously, there's something in it that bothers you."

She flipped through the pages, her fingers finding the reference. "When he snatched it, he didn't really think it had anything relevant in it, but since the opportunity came up, he took advantage of it. There's a few notes so terse as to be incomprehensible, a few notations of 'See the old man today,' which probably refers to meetings with Gunther, and then there's this--"

She finally found what she was looking for. "It's a diagram with nearly indecipherable notes. I can't figure out what it's for but there are two different handwritings on it. Most of it is in the same hand as the rest of these notes. I'm assuming it's Cantrall's. But then below the diagram is a line jotted by someone else, as though this were drawn during a meeting and the other person had something to add. The line doesn't mean anything to me... but the minute I saw it, I thought the handwriting was familiar. I haven't had time to figure it out. But I know that writing. Which means I know who wrote it. And if I know the person that well... that means they work for me or that I'm working for them. So why is one of my volunteers or my clients having meetings with Gunther's lawyer and helping him draw diagrams? It's been on my mind ever since I picked it up."

"Can I see it?" Huggy asked.

She pushed it over to him. The second he looked at it, his face registered surprise.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

"This--diagram. It's really rough but that's a drawing of the inside of Starsky's apartment." He peered at the note scrawled on the bottom and shook his head in dismay. "That's an abbreviation of Starsky's address... and the address of my bar. So this note here, '20 min,' probably refers to the average amount of time it takes to get from my place to Starsky's."

Her eyes widened. "I don't get it. Why isn't there a diagram of Hutch's place? They had cameras planted there, too."

"Maybe that page got removed. There are pages missing; you can see where they've been torn out."

"Well, the guys are convinced Gunther had something to do with this, but this isn't anything concrete enough to do anything with."

"Yeah, but it tells us something else. Something I really don't like."

"Such as?"

"Whoever oversaw that film operation was in my bar when the guys drank that tainted brew. That person knew he or she had about twenty minutes from the time I left with the guys to get to the lab and get things cookin'."

"The bartender, maybe? The one who drugged the champagne in the first place?"

Huggy frowned. "Couldn't be. He was there all night. Left after closing and then didn't show the next night. Skipped town before everything hit the fan. But he worked the night through, like everything was hunky-dory. No, it had to be someone else. The bar was crowded... but it was mostly regulars. And everyone's comfortable at the Pits. There's at least a dozen of your volunteers or Peter's who drop in there often enough for me to know their names. And it's not like we can go through the gay community asking for handwriting samples."

"No. But we can pin Peter down. See who he's got working with him at the film labs."

Huggy shook his head. "I don't think we should tell anyone about this yet. I believe Peter is above something like this... but if there's one thing I've learned on the streets, it's never give up more than you have to. Let me see what I can turn up.... And in the meantime, you keep an eye and ear out. You might trip over the information if we're lucky. That okay with you?" She realized they were conspiring together but it felt right. She trusted him and her instincts were good. "Okay. For now."

"We'll need to get together again. I might be able to wring some details out of my contacts by tonight." He grinned unashamedly and batted his long lashes. "So, how 'bout coming around for dinner? Strictly business, of course!"

She had to laugh. "Mr. Bear, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were toying with me."

He grew serious. "Ms. Callahan, where affairs of the heart are concerned, I never toy. I think highly of you, lady. I'm asking you out for dinner. It's not the Ritz but the food is good, and... so are my intentions."

His response took her by surprise. She sat back and realized she was gaping at him.

"Okay," he said softly, "my timing may not be perfect. But who knows when I might have another opportunity to have your complete attention? If I've offended you, I apologize."

"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "How could I be offended? Your gesture is kind and I'm sure it's from the heart, but I don't need a consolation prize because of... last night."

It was his turn to look surprised. "Last night? You think I asked you because--?" He closed his eyes then reopened them and leaned forward. "I'll do a lot of things for Starsky, but if I was in the business of repairing the emotional damage he's done to the ladies of LA, I'd have died of exhaustion a long time ago. My interest in you has nothing to do with either of those clowns. It's just me, Huggy Bear, having breakfast with a lady he'd like to know better. Share another meal with me. Let's become better friends. And not worry about what comes after."

Beneath the table, Buddy had finally come out of his catnip-induced euphoria. He meowed weakly and stropped against Huggy's legs. She had to laugh. "Well, you've got his vote. That's saying something. Okay, Mr. Bear. I'll be there for dinner. Maybe one of us will have turned up something significant and we can confer."

He nodded, and leaned down to pet the cat. "Yo, bro', good job. I'll make sure you're supplied with all the catnip you can snort." Then he looked back at her slyly. "Now all I have to do is convince the lady that it's time to move this relationship to a first name basis."

~~~

The heavy door locked securely behind James Marshall Gunther as he entered the prison's private conference room. Cantrall was there already. He looked tense. A bead of sweat was trailing down the side of his jaw.

"If you'd have told me what you'd planned for them," Gunther said quietly, "I would've warned you. Do you have any idea how much money and effort I've put into trying to kill them only to have it backfire in my face?"

Cantrall swallowed. "I wasn't interested in killing them. I knew you wouldn't want that. It was... Callahan I wanted to eliminate."

Gunther was startled. "Callahan? You have so little confidence in your own abilities that you have to murder your legal opponents?"

Cantrall closed his eyes. "I don't think you appreciate how dangerous she is. She's getting the public on their side, something I wouldn't have believed possible."

"And you helped that along with your foolish attempt at killing her. You've made them heroes again--the very thing I wanted destroye--and you've recreated them in a new light. How does this help us?"

He sighed. "I... I still have a contingency. Something... I've been working on for awhile."

Gunther was intrigued. Cantrall was inexperienced but ambitious. Viciously so. "I think this time you'd better share the plan with me. I could've forestalled last night's disaster. If there are weaknesses in this other plan, I might have suggestions that could strengthen it."

Cantrall seemed interested. They sat across the table from each other. Finally, Cantrall said, "It involves the police...."

Gunther smiled. He always enjoyed irony.

~~~

When Starsky opened his eyes, he knew something had woken him but he couldn't tell what. He lay still, getting his bearings. He was alone, which didn't surprise him. The place where Hutch's big body had lain was cool, so he knew he'd had been up for awhile. He'd slept through Hutch's rising.

No wonder, he thought. His body felt more sated than he could remember. The memory of fucking Hutch was alive in every nerve cell, skittering along his skin, raising goose bumps. He forced his mind away from that and his mind was happy to comply. It wasn't nearly as mellow as his body.

But there were no dreams. Maybe Hutch was right. Maybe he wouldn't have them anymore. Maybe you'll even miss them. No, he rejected that betraying thought.

Then he heard something and concentrated. There were hardly any walls in Hutch's place, so there was little to stop sound. Hutch was talking to someone. That was what had woken him.

The sound was coming from the living room, a soft murmuring of conversation. One-sided conversation. Hutch was on the phone. Starsky immediately felt a stab of jealousy. He remembered Hutch reassuring Whitelaw that he'd call him. Starsky had no doubt that's who Hutch was speaking with now.

Stop it! Whitelaw probably thinks you murdered Hutch last night. It's only reasonable for Hutch to reassure him everything's okay. That almost made him laugh mirthlessly as he imagined Hutch's side of the conversation. Yeah, Peter, everything's just fine. My partner just about raped me last night, claimed total ownership of me, but still doesn't love me. And this morning he has to work up the balls just to face me. Yeah, everything's just peachy.

The least he could do was get out of the bed and shower and give Hutch the privacy he deserved. He flung back the covers and sat up. Glancing at the brass headboard, he was confronted with the stark evidence of last night's activities. The brass bars and the wall behind them were splashed with Hutch's semen, dry now and flaking. He wondered if it would stain the brass or the paint and be a permanent reminder of what he'd done.

He left the bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and any chance to overhear Hutch's conversation. What a saint, he chided himself as he stepped beneath the warm spray.

When he emerged he felt marginally better and hoped after drying himself that the phone call was over. He left the bathroom and found his faded jeans and pulled them on. He could no longer hear any murmured dialog and the apartment was now scented with aromas he had not enjoyed in a year. He frowned in confusion.

Quietly, he approached the kitchen. Hutch was bustling around the stove. There were two mugs on the counter and two plates. The toaster popped and Hutch wrestled with hot slices of bread, nearly burning himself. Taking a spatula, Hutch flipped something that was cooking in a frying pan then paused for a moment before sliding it out of the pan and onto a plate before doing the same thing to another one.

Starsky drew near cautiously, having no idea what his reception would be like.

Hutch was wearing his dove grey cords and a similarly colored tee shirt. Even those neutral shades looked good against his skin and the tight pants and close-fitting shirt outlined his body attractively.

It surprised Starsky that he could now see how attractive his partner was. How beautiful. Hutch's long blond hair trailed whitely over the shirt and the memory of his grabbing a fistful of it tingled in his hand. His groin pulsed, and he realized if he didn't do something he was going to throw a rod from staring at his friend. He hated himself for feeling physical desire without any emotional response other than friendship.

Friendship. You're quite a friend, aren't you?

He suspected Hutch had gotten fully dressed so Starsky wouldn't have to see the vivid evidence of the bruises and bite marks he'd inflicted last night. Hutch's fair skin marked easily but Starsky was used to seeing the tell-tale lines of women's fingernails written on Hutch's back. Not a man's rough hand marks. Not the impression of his own teeth.

Forensic evidence, he thought humorlessly. Stuff that could hold up in court.

"Breakfast is done," Hutch said without turning around. "Sit down. We're ready to eat." It didn't surprise Starsky that Hutch knew he was there. What did surprise him was his bland everything's-just-fine-here attitude.

He sat as Hutch turned off the stove and carried a mug of coffee and a plate of food to him. Returning for his own, Hutch set it on the table and sat across from him. Starsky was relieved to see him plop down and sit normally as if Starsky hadn't brutalized him last night.

But then Starsky looked at his plate. He stared at it as though he'd been given pheasant under glass. Dismayed, he finally said, "Bacon? Eggs? Hash browns? Toast?"

"Very good, Starsk," Hutch said as he cut into his eggs. The yolks ran thick, cooked perfectly, the way Hutch always made them. "And orange juice. You forgot that. Later we'll work on colors."

The near-normal banter was more startling than the meal. Starsky felt like he'd gotten his wish, that they'd been transported back in time to before and it was a typical Sunday after a Saturday spent doing nothing and they'd gotten up late after playing Monopoly too long the night before. But he knew that wasn't the case.

"I don't get it," he said. Part of him wanted to eat and pretend nothing had changed but he couldn't. Things had changed too radically. "You haven't let me eat like this in a year. If you're trying to kill me in revenge, I think this'll take too long to be really satisfying."

He picked up a piece of bacon as tenderly as if it were a work of art and smelled its aroma before taking a bite. It was cooked just the way he liked it, a little crisp, a little chewy. His mouth filled with saliva as the savory salty taste and the pleasurable texture overwhelmed his senses. He remembered Hutch going on about fine caviar that time they were working that bum Amboy. Those nasty fish eggs weren't worth anything compared to this, a fine piece of hickory-smoked bacon. There were four pieces on his plate. It nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Hutch smiled as if appreciative of Starsky's return banter. "Well, the last couple of mornings you've been making breakfast the way I like it. I thought I ought to return the favor. While you were sleeping I went out for a grocery run."

Of course. None of these forbidden foods except the potatoes had been in the house. What time did he get up?

Starsky cut into the eggs, admiring how perfectly they were cooked. The rich taste was part of his childhood and thoroughly entwined with his memories of a thousand mornings like this with Hutch. Mornings of innocence. Of before.

Before he could stop himself, he said, "Everything okay with Peter?" He congratulated himself on his civility. Too bad he couldn't have found any of that last night.

Hutch paused. "Yeah. He's fine." He took a gulp of coffee then put the mug down. "Starsky, I apologized to Peter for last night. For letting him think that... that I might be interested in him. I told him that I'd like to be his friend, his real friend, but that was all there could be between us. He's okay about it. He understands." He does? Starsky thought in anguish. Can he explain it to me? "Why'd you do that, Hutch? Because I was so crazy last night? He... he has real feelings for you. Not just...."

Hutch shook his head. "I didn't do it for you. I did it for me. It was wrong for me to try to find myself by using someone else's feelings for me--just like it was wrong for me to push you at Kelly. It wasn't fair to either of them. And in the long run, it wouldn't have helped me. I know how I feel, and who I feel for. Coming to grips with it--I need to do that on my own. No one else has the answers for me."

That's my Hutch. The Great Analyzer. All I can feel is panic and confusion while he's off figuring out what he needs to do to go on.

"Look, Starsky," Hutch said, again in that calm, matter-of-fact, don't-you-hate-the-Dodgers'-line- up conversational style, "I know you're sitting there tearing your heart out over what's happened. I wish you wouldn't. I don't regret anything. Well..." he smiled charmingly, "I wouldn't mind still having a functional stereo but I'm okay about it. I feel good this morning. Physically... and about myself. So if you're going through the hair shirt routine, do me a favor and spare me, huh?"

Starsky shook his head. "I'll never understand you if I know you for a million years. I acted like a maniac on steroids last night. I was as wrong as those guys who jumped you in the john. I couldn't think, I couldn't listen, all I could do was treat you like a piece of property I'd invested in that someone else was trying to snatch. And that's okay with you?"

Hutch had a funny look on his face. He seemed both distant and sanguine. As if he'd come to some understanding that truly satisfied him. "You acted like a man afraid of losing something he desperately needed. I'm in love with you, Starsky. I want you to need me. But I know how you feel later after you've been out of control. I feel bad about that."

Starsky finished his bacon and stared into his plate. "I'm scared of the way I need you. It isn't healthy. And it isn't fair. It'd be different if it was based on love. The kind of love you have for me. But it's not. It's just raw male need, like when you see some woman who's got something you just gotta have. And once you get it you're happy and never need to see her again or even think about her. Like when I was a kid and I needed Eddie. You mean too much to me. I don't want to feel that way about you."

Hutch shook his head. "There's more to it, Starsky, a lot more. You're just not ready to deal with it. And being on top of each other like this, it's not helping. I mean, most people, when they're coping with a difficult relationship, have some space to do it in. They see each other when they're ready to deal with the issues and they separate again when it gets too intense. That's why people date. We're like two old married folks who still have a lot of passion but who've become so incompatible they can barely stand being together... except at bedtime."

Starsky pushed his plate away. "So, Doctor Brothers, what's the solution? I know you've got one."

Hutch wiped his mouth and put his fork down. "We need some space from each other until we figure out where we're going. I think we should consider living apart for awhile." The statement hit Starsky like a bullet and he feared he'd lose the breakfast Hutch had so carefully made for him. Ain't this somethin'? You've been trying to get away from him for days, trying to sleep on the couch, thinking of going to hotel rooms, and here, when he comes up with the suggestion, you're ready to pass out.

"But, Hutch," Starsky said, striving to sound reasonable, "after that attempted hit last night, I'd say we're still in someone's crosshairs, probably Gunther's. Separating makes us more vulnerable. That's why we stayed together in the first place." His tone of casual logic didn't come off nearly as well as Hutch's.

Hutch sat back. He seemed surprised. "I... uh... I thought you'd be relieved."

"I just... I mean, it's just... we've been staying tight with each other for safety and we've been doing it for so long-- I just don't know if this is the right thing to… y'know... do... right now." He was stuttering as badly as Hutch ever did and felt himself blush. He frowned. Hutch was right. He should be relieved. But he wasn't.

A chill settled over Hutch's mood. He smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "Starsky, let me tell you this joke I heard in the Green Parrot. This guy goes bear hunting...."

Starsky started to open his mouth. Hutch wanted to tell jokes? Now?

Hutch held up his hand to forestall Starsky's protest. "He just can't wait to bag a bear. So, as soon as he spots a small brown bear he takes a shot at it. The minute he does, there's a tap on his shoulder. A big black bear is right behind him. The black bear says, 'You've got two choices, pal. I either maul you to death or we have sex.' Needless to say, the guy bends over and gets royally reamed."

Starsky went still. He didn't like where this was going.

"Well," Hutch continued, "he's sore for two weeks and now he's mad. He heads out into the woods, finds the black bear and shoots it. There's a tap on his shoulder. This time it's a huge grizzly. The grizzly says, 'That was a big mistake, pal. You've got two choices. Either I maul you to death or we have rough sex.' Again, the guy complies. He survives, recovers after a few months, then, outraged, he's back in the woods. Shoots the grizzly. He has a brief moment of sweet revenge, but then there's a tap on his shoulder. It's a giant polar bear. The polar bear smiles and says, 'Admit it, pal. You don't come here for the hunting, do you?'" He leaned forward, serious now. "Starsk... do you want to stay with me for the hunting... or what?"

Starsky's heart was beating as hard as if he'd run a race. "You really want me to leave?" His voice sounded small and he hated that.

Hutch's face softened. "No. I don't want you to leave ever. I want you in my bed every night, loving me, making me feel as needed as you did last night. But I want you there willingly. Right now, you don't feel like what's happening between us is something you want. Until it is... hunting season's over for both of us."

He's right. We already know what happens when I sleep on the couch. If I stay here I'll be nailing him to the mattress every chance I get. After having had him once, how could I not want him again?

"All you've wanted is for us to be partners again," Hutch reminded him gently. "I don't want to lose that. It's the most important thing to me. I'm just trying to find a way to help both of us cope." He sat back again as though he'd said it all. "Anyway... that's my idea. I'm not saying it's the best one. What do you want to do?"

Besides go back to bed and wake up later and try this all over again? He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just so... fucked up about all of this. Maybe you're right. I need to grow up and deal with it. A grown man should be able to sleep in his own bed in his own apartment by himself without needing a... hand to hold. Okay. We'll try it. After work tonight... I'll go on back to my place." But I'm not sleeping in that bed. I couldn't stand looking at myself all night alone.

"Starsky," Hutch said, looking hopefully at him, "eventually things will work out."

Yeah, but does that mean I'll make you happy by being your willing lover or you'll make me happy by being content to be my best friend? Starsky wished he could have Hutch's optimism, but couldn't. He felt like he was getting the let's just be friends speech from some woman who was dumping him. It only added to his confusion.

"Finish your coffee," Hutch said when Starsky sat there quietly for too long. "Sooner or later Baylor or Meredith is going to need your statement about last night."

He had a near-panic reaction as he imagined them pumping him for the details of his assault on Hutch, then realized Hutch was talking about the shooting. "Yeah," he said morosely. "I want to find out what's happening with Spike's... arrangements."

"I'm sure Sugar will know," Hutch said.

The phone range suddenly. Starsky was so grateful for the chance to talk to someone else about anything else that he nearly leaped from the chair. "I'll get it. It's probably Baylor."

Hutch took the opportunity to clear the table and start running the dishes under soapy water.

"Hello," Starsky said, picking up the phone on the third ring.

"Starsky, is that you?"

He wasn't sure he recognized the voice. "That depends. Who's calling?"

There was a sharp inhalation on the other end and a choked voice said tightly, "It's Sugar. Listen, we've got problems. Big problems."

He frowned. "What's the matter?" He could hear someone crying in the background. His gut tightened and with the heavy food in it, it wasn't a pleasant sensation.

"It's Tomas," Sugar said. "He's in the hospital. He was beaten within an inch of his life. He might die. Trixie just found out."

He realized the strain in Sugar's voice was her attempt not to cry while she was talking to him. "What hospital?" he said.

Hutch's head snapped around as he said that.

"Memorial. He's in intensive care."

Starsky was speechless as he envisioned Tomas fighting for his life. Who? Why?

Sugar interrupted his inner monologue. "Trixie says that he called her late last night, a few hours after the shooting. He wanted to make sure she was okay. He said he had something important to tell you two but that it could keep until morning. He said it had to do with other cops, but then she heard someone calling his name and he had to hang up. She waited for him to come home, but he never did. She wasn't worried since that's happened before when he's worked nights. But then the hospital called. Trixie's listed on his records as his brother, otherwise, she'd have never known."

The explanation helped him focus. "You stay put. Keep Trixie with you. We'll find out what's going on and call you. But until we know more, stay away from the hospital, understand?"

"Sure," Sugar said. "That's what I've been telling her but it's killing her. I'll keep her here."

"Right," Starsky said abruptly, eager to go. "We'll be in touch."

He slammed down the phone, all of his nervous energy surging inside. Hutch was staring at him, waiting for an explanation. "Tomas. He had something for us, but someone got to him first and tried to beat him to death. He's at Memorial. We gotta go."

The phone rang again.

"Go get dressed," Hutch said. "I've got this."

As Starsky dashed into the bedroom and scrounged for clean socks and shirt, he heard Hutch from the next room. "Right, Captain, we just heard. Never mind how. We're on our way. Of course I think it's involved with our case, don't be naive! Look, we can argue about it later. We'll meet you there. Make sure Baylor and Meredith are involved, will you? Thanks."

Starsky came out tucking his shirt in as Hutch hung up the phone and reached for his grey leather jacket.

"That was--" Hutch started.

"I heard. Let's move." Starsky snagged his bullet-riddled jacket on the way out.

They were in the Torino pulling away from the curb when Starsky said, "Put the light on, will ya?" He reached for the switch that would turn on the siren. Hutch grabbed his hand and stopped him. "Starsky. We're suspended. We can't."

He and Hutch locked eyes, then Hutch released him and flipped the switch himself. "Fuck it," he said and slapped the Mars light on the roof.

Starsky hit the gas.

Wild boys fallen far from glory Reckless and so hungered on the razor's edge you trail Because there's murder by the roadside In a sore afraid new world They tried to break us, Looks like they'll try again Wild Boys--Duran Duran

Chapter 19

When we found the things we loved, They were crushed and dying in the dirt. We tried to pick up the pieces, And get away without getting hurt, But they caught us at the state line, And burned our cars in one last fight, And left us running burned and blind, Chasing something in the night. Something in the Night--Bruce Springsteen

How many times have we come here for one another? Hutch thought as they hurried into the intensive care waiting area. As was typical whenever a cop was injured, a number of detectives and uniforms were milling around. Hutch wasn't surprised to see Russo and Wilson conferring off in a corner. It had become second nature for Hutch to place himself between them and Starsky so he moved into position hoping Starsky hadn't had a chance to notice them.

Baylor snagged his arm before he could spot her among the taller cops. She towed him off to the side and Starsky followed.

"What happened?" Starsky asked her.

Hutch didn't like the sound of his voice. Starsky was strung tight, anxious and wired.

Baylor shook her head. "It don't look good, boys. He's got a bad concussion. They can't say how bad yet but they had to relieve some of the pressure on his brain. He's got a bunch of broken ribs, a bruised heart, his jaw's broken real bad, his nose is too, his cheek is cracked... and he might lose the vision in his right eye. They don't know yet. He wasn't just beaten; he was stomped. One hand's broke up, one ankle is crushed, and... he's gonna lose a testicle.... His knuckles are all banged up so we know he tried to fight back, but he was obviously surprised and overwhelmed. Had to be more than one guy. More than one real big guy. Tomas had martial arts training."

Starsky swallowed a couple of times, trying to contain his emotions. "Was it some kind of random attack? A robbery? What?"

Baylor locked eyes with Hutch. There was something she didn't want to say in front of Starsky.

"Linda...." Hutch said. There was no way she could hold back with Starsky standing right there.

She glanced at Starsky nervously then looked around at the other cops. Quietly, she said, "Whoever got to him... knew he was gay."

Hutch felt the shock run up his spine like a current. "What?"

Linda clenched her jaw then admitted, "They marked his face. Cut him. 'Fag cop.'"

She'd been speaking more and more quietly until Hutch was forced to lean forward to hear her. But when she said the last two quiet words, they stunned him so much it was as if she'd shouted them. Hutch's mouth went dry. The pall of responsibility fell on him like an anvil.

Beside him, Starsky went stone rigid.

"Where...?" Hutch managed to choke out. You're a cop. Think like one. At least pretend.

"They found him in an alley near his place. He was off-duty on his way home. Someone heard them, called it in as a gang fight in progress, but by the time the black-and-white got there it was over. At least he got emergency medical care right away. Meredith's over at the site now, supervising the forensic team. And I got all his clothes from the emergency room. Something might shake out."

She didn't look like she believed that.

Hutch rubbed a hand over his face, trying to take it all in. "They were waiting for him. They'd targeted him. They had to know him."

Linda looked uncomfortable. "They took his wallet, his money, his watch, his badge--"

"Lame," Starsky said. His voice was tight, too controlled. "Lame attempt to cover it up."

Linda glanced around as if worried they'd be overheard. "Meredith found something."

Hutch stopped breathing. He knew he wasn't going to like this.

"A marksmanship pin," she said in a whisper. "At least one of 'em was a cop. A uniform."

"Who knows this?" Hutch asked.

"Me. Meredith. Dobey. Now you."

"Can we see him?" Hutch asked. He didn't know why that was important but it was.

"You sure you want to?" she asked.

The look they gave her was enough. She nodded. "Come with me. I already talked to the doctor on duty. I figured you'd want to see him."

She led them out of the waiting area to the nurses' station where she spoke to one of the nurses. The woman looked at both men then back to Linda and nodded. To Hutch and Starsky she said, "Ten minutes, that's it."

They nodded and followed Linda to a room entirely too much like the one Starsky had nearly died in. Hutch was beginning to feel like he was experiencing some hideous deja vu.

They entered silently. As with Starsky, there were tubes and hanging bottles, catheters and beeping machinery taking the measure of a wounded man's life. They would have to take Linda's word that this was Tomas' room. The man on the bed might've been anyone. He was splinted and bandaged to the point where he was unrecognizable. Hutch was struck by how small he was, as though he'd lost stature from what had happened to him. His face was obliterated by bandaging and much of his body was, too.

They approached silently as Linda hung back to give them a chance to see him.

Beside him, Hutch could hear Starsky breathing harshly and waves of tension rolled off him. Even though they were here to see Tomas, Hutch's focus was, as it had always been and always would be, on his partner.

Starsky approached Tomas silently. Without touching him, he leaned over and said, "Tomas, it's Starsky. Hey, amigo, can you hear me?"

No one moved for a moment. Starsky had turned away to look mournfully at Hutch when he thought he saw the flutter of eyelashes from the one eye that was not bandaged. His expression must've alerted Starsky, because he turned back in time to see the eye open, blink, and focus on his face.

"Hey, buddy," Starsky said with mock cheerfulness. "Tomas. Can you hear me?"

The eye slowly blinked closed then opened to signal his understanding.

Baylor moved up beside Hutch. "He awake?" She sounded incredulous.

Hutch nodded never taking his eyes off Tomas' face. "I think."

Starsky leaned close. "Can you tell us who did it, Tomas? Can you give us anything?"

"Starsky," Baylor said patiently, "his jaw's wired and his lips are so swollen...."

Starsky looked pained over his inability to communicate.

Hutch was so intently watching Tomas' face that he almost missed it. Then, a flutter of movement caught his attention. He stared, trying to understand it. "Starsk. His hand."

Starsky pulled his gaze away from Tomas' eye reluctantly and glanced at the hand closest to him, Tomas' right hand. His arm was splinted to keep the intravenous catheters in place and the bandages covered him to the knuckles. But the fingers that were free were moving, gesturing, flexing and shifting. Starsky gazed at them as Tomas stared fixedly at him.

"The letter 'C'," Starsky muttered.

"What?" Hutch said. He had the feeling he was missing something he should be able to figure out.

Starsky looked at Tomas' face again. "Are you using your hand to spell? Is that the sign language alphabet?"

Tomas' eye closed slowly and then reopened. Yes! Hutch thought, memory and awareness flooding back. He and Starsky had both had a brief exposure to sign language when they had solved that case with the phony priest. Starsky had been fascinated with sign language for a short spell after that, reading about it, practicing some of the letters until he could successfully spell a few rude words.

Hutch turned to Linda. "You've gotta find someone who knows sign language, at least the alphabet. But you've got to keep it quiet. If anyone finds out he might be able to communicate, even a little...."

"No kiddin'," Baylor said. "I'll find somebody. Don't worry. I'll be careful."

"Tomas," Starsky said, his expression intense, "was it Russo?"

The eye blinked twice and his head moved fractionally back and forth.

"No?" Starsky said. "You sure?" He seemed incredibly distressed.

Tomas shook his head slightly again.

"Starsky," Hutch said warningly.

The nurse who'd granted them the visiting privilege opened the door. "Time's up, Officers."

Hutch turned to her. "You might want to call the doctor, ma'am. I think he's awake."

She approached the bed, saw Tomas' eye drift close. "I don't think so," she said quietly.

Hutch took her arm and walked to the door. "This man was nearly killed. The people who did this to him are still at large and dangerous. They might be masquerading as police officers. He attempted to communicate with us. Get word to the doctors that he had a moment of consciousness, but to protect his life, be discreet. It would be better if no one outside this room thought he had any awareness."

The nurse glanced at the three detectives. "Of course. I'll explain it to the doctor."

"You hang in there, Tomas," Starsky said, even though he was sleeping again. Starsky's voice was rough. "We'll get these fuckers."

Starsky turned on his heel and strode to the door. Hutch was right behind him but felt like he was playing catch up. He didn't like the set of Starsky's back or the tension in his jaw.

Once they left the room, they spied Dobey standing by the doorway of the waiting area. When he saw them, he met them halfway. He looked as stressed as Hutch had ever seen him.

"What the hell is going on here?" he growled. "What happened to my detective?"

"Cap'n," Hutch began, wanting to stave off Starsky's impending explosion. But before he could say another word, Russo was marching up to them with his partner, Wilson, riding his wake, grabbing ineffectually at his elbow. "What the hell are you doing conferring with them?" Russo demanded loudly of Dobey. "Diega was working with me and Wilson. He's our concern. They've got no part in this. They shouldn't even be here! They're on suspension. They're not even cops--"

Hutch grappled Starsky in mid-lunge, needing all his strength to contain him in a full body hold. "Starsky!" Hutch hissed, "not here!"

Hutch could see by the sparkle in Russo's eye that he'd gotten the reaction he'd wanted.

Dobey spun on Russo, his face dark with anger. "Since when do you tell me how to do my job?" he bellowed, facing him down. "If you don't want to be suspended for insubordination right now, Russo, you'll watch your mouth."

Starsky was panting in anger but he backed off. Hutch released him but continued to use his body to block him. He knew better than to trust Starsky when he was this wired.

"Still playing favorites?" Russo barked. "Even after finding out the truth about these two--?"

Baylor had to help him restrain Starsky this time.

Before Dobey could lose his cool, the head nurse brought a halt to everything.

"If you all aren't off this floor in thirty seconds," she snapped, fearless in the face of men taller and broader than herself by half, "you'll be forcibly removed by Security. And if you think I can't have the police arrested, think again. Out of here! Now!"

Stunned into sense by her anger, they subsided. Russo allowed Wilson to pull him toward the waiting area. Dobey, Hutch, Starsky, and Baylor followed at a discreet distance.

Dobey passed the waiting area and all the deathly quiet cops within it. Obviously, they'd witnessed the altercation--and Russo's accusation of favoritism. Hutch didn't like it.

Dobey kept going with a familiarity borne of too many vigils in this place. He came to a closed door and tried the knob. It opened and he ushered them all in. Hutch recognized the room as the place Dobey had used for his base of operations when Starsky had been lying near death. Dobey sat heavily in a chair and mopped his face with his handkerchief.

"Does anyone have anything for me?" he asked wearily.

The three detectives exchanged a look. Hutch realized that for some reason, they were waiting for Starsky to speak first. He was the one who'd gotten the response from Tomas. It was up to him to reveal it or not if he didn't trust Dobey.

Starsky exhaled in a rush. "Tomas had a moment of consciousness, Cap. He tried to communicate. We think he knows sign language. He kept moving his hand like he was trying to spell something out."

Dobey looked interested. "His mother is deaf. He learned sign language in the crib. Can we get an interpreter up here?"

"I'm gonna make the arrangements, Cap'n," Baylor said. "We're keepin' it quiet. No one knows about Tomas coming to except the cops in this room and some of the medical staff."

"We think it should stay that way," Hutch said.

Dobey nodded. "I agree. Now if someone could just tell me why someone would attack this detective--?"

Starsky got tense all over again. "You know damned well why! It was a warning. To us. Someone targeted Tomas for the sole purpose of rattling our cage. Last night it was our lawyer. Today, a friend who was supporting us. Tomorrow.... Baylor? Meredith? Or any of the other half-dozen cops who are on our side? And you know something else you don't want to face. Cops are behind this."

"I'm not ready to accept that," Dobey insisted.

"You know about the marksmanship pin!" Starsky snapped.

"You know how many cops have had altercations in that neighborhood, on that street, in that alley?" Dobey said. "It's a war zone that neighborhood. And even if I agree that the evidence points to a cop's involvement, that doesn't mean there's some vast conspiracy. It could be one bad cop. We just don't have enough evidence yet. I can't very well arrest the whole department!"

"Okay, let's all cool down here, huh?" Hutch said as tempers flared. "We don't need Florence Nightingale throwing us out of here, too."

"Cap," Baylor said quietly, "Meredith talked to the person who called in the complaint. He's a night watchman. He just got home after his shift and was getting ready for bed. His bedroom window looks out over that alley. He said at first all he noticed was some normal noise, like some folks having a conversation outside his window. He noticed it right away, since at that hour even LA is pretty quiet." Linda moved closer to Dobey. "Me and Meredith, we both figure that means Tomas had to know at least one of the guys who beat him. A cop out of uniform would've been wary of anyone approaching him on the street at that hour--except someone he knew... or a cop in uniform. It would account for the sounds of normal conversation at first."

"I'll go along with the probability that he knew at least one of his attackers," Dobey said, "but to assume that the person he knew was also a cop is presuming too much."

Hutch was surprised when Dobey said. "They told me... about his face. Is... Diega gay?"

Before Hutch could respond, Starsky was in Dobey's personal space. "Does it matter? He's a cop! A good honest cop. A cop who might die, and if he doesn't die, might be permanently disabled because someone believed he was gay. If you find out today that he's gay, is he not as good a cop as he was yesterday when you didn't know? If he is gay, has he somehow earned what's happened to him? And if he's not gay, is it only then that this becomes a crime worthy of the department's attention? Or, if he's not gay, does that make what's happened to him worse?" Dobey was out of the chair and ready to return fire. "Starsky, calm down! I asked because it will help me if I know. It's bad enough that this is a crime against a police officer, but I have to know if it's complicated by Diega's sexuality. But whether he is or whether he isn't, as far as I'm concerned he's a police officer with a perfect record who graduated top of his class and has several commendations, and who has now been mortally injured in a felony assault. He's my detective and I'll fight for him every step of the way. Just like I have for you!"

To Hutch's surprise, Starsky backed down.

"Look," Hutch said, "we're not going to solve anything in this room. We need to get out in the streets, pass the word around, shake things up--"

Everyone turned to look at him and the reality of his suspension hit him again hard. He was really tired of this. "There's no law that says we can't talk to people on our own time!"

"But there are laws against interfering with an ongoing investigation," Dobey reminded him. "I'm not going to tell you not to do it, because frankly you two are the best qualified to handle this-- but you don't have a badge or a gun to back you up. And if there are any complaints, either by the public, the press, or other officers... there won't be anything I can do to save you. Walk lightly. Both of you."

Dobey looked at Baylor. "I want Meredith to stay on top of the forensics team. I don't want anything to happen to that evidence. If it's mislaid or lost or delayed in testing, I want Meredith to be able to figure out where it went and who's responsible for side-tracking it." He turned back to Hutch and Starsky. "The two of you need to turn up leads, so get on it."

Hutch moved closer to Dobey. "Is anyone going to question Russo about his whereabouts while Diega was assaulted?"

"I already know where he was," Dobey said tiredly. "He was in the squadroom filling out paperwork with Wilson. They'd sent Diega home ahead of them while they finished up. There were other witnesses. I already checked. Besides... I know there's no love lost between you two and them, but Wilson and Russo seemed to be working fine with Diega. They got along well enough in the squadroom. Diega made no complaints. And I was told that when Russo heard about the marks on Diega's face, he went into a rage, furious that someone had 'ruined the rep of a good cop'."

Hutch decided to level with Dobey. "Russo and Wilson have been staking out the Green Parrot when they have the time. The other night, they sent Diega in to shake up the bar and see how we were doing. It could've been a ploy. If they had anyone on the inside when Diega came in, it would've been obvious to them that he had friends there. That he was a regular. If Russo then believed Diega was gay.... It's a lot of extrapolation, Captain, but Russo's behavior at the crime scene after the shooting is on film. You can't deny his prejudices."

Dobey sighed. "I'll talk to Internal Affairs. I'll make sure there's follow-through on this. I'll arrange to be there during the questioning."

Starsky nodded as though satisfied. He glanced around and said impatiently, "We're not solving anything here. Hutch and me have to get on the street if we're gonna find anything out."

Hutch felt an unexpected surge of poignancy at the phrase, "Hutch and me." And it reminded him again of the importance of the partnership they shared, a relationship so significant it would be worth sacrificing anything for. As they left the room together, he hoped he could remember that tonight when he was alone.

~~~

By the time they got to the Green Parrot to talk to Sugar and Trixie, the closed bar was full of people. When he and Starsky walked in, the whole place went silent and every eye turned to them. Hutch recognized some of the regular customers he had served. He saw friends of Spike. He made eye contact with Joey, the man he'd met in Kelly's apartment, and nodded in greeting. Roland's crew and other leathermen were there. Roland made a closed fist sign at him and Hutch nodded back.

Sugar was sitting on the bar in the center, wearing everyday clothes and his male persona. Hutch always had a little trouble dealing with Sugar when he was being male. When he'd first met her, during the Blaine investigation, she was doing her routine, and the abrupt change from female drag to male had been something he'd never been exposed to before. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it.

As soon as they were near enough to be heard, Sugar asked, "How's Tomas?"

Hutch said to the crowd, "He's critical."

A slender young black man on a barstool near Sugar turned to Hutch. His eyes were puffy; he'd been crying. In a choked voice, he asked, "When can I see him?"

Trixie? Hutch thought, stunned, then tried to hide his dismay. "Whenever you think you can handle the heat from the cops. They're all over the place. Someone's going to ask you who you are and what your relationship is to Tomas. He was attacked by more than one assailant. Everyone who goes in there will be suspect."

Trixie looked at Sugar but before he could say anything, Starsky spoke up.

"You don't have to talk to them," he said.

Hutch was surprised. He'd never heard Starsky warn anyone off his brother cops.

"If they stop you before you enter his room," Starsky continued, "just put 'em off. Tell them you'll talk to them after you see your brother. Don't let them interfere with your visit. If you're listed as immediate family, they can't stop you from seeing him. And don't let them go in there with you. See him by yourself. Tell them you'll talk to them when you're done. But if you do talk to them and suddenly you don't like the questions they're asking or if you think they're trying to focus on you as a suspect, stop answering and insist on a lawyer. And stick to it. They'll have no choice then but to back off." Sugar looked at Trixie sympathetically. "Can you do that, honey? Can you be strong in the face of those cops?"

Trixie wiped a tear away. "You forget. I live with a cop. I can handle those guys. If it means seeing Tomas, you better believe I can."

"We're going to work the streets for information," Hutch told the group. "If anyone here knows anything about the assault on Tomas, or if you even think you know something, you've got to let us know. We need leads to find out who did this."

There was grumbling among the group. Sugar's jaw tightened. "You think the cops will do anything even if you do find out?"

"Our captain will," Hutch said. "He'll make it happen. But first we've got to find them."

It was Starsky who asked the question that was sitting in the back of Hutch's mind.

"Why are you all here? What's going on?"

Sugar waved a hand at the crowd. "It was your idea. These are the volunteers for our civil disobedience."

Hutch stared at the leathermen and his eyebrows shot up. They noticed it and laughed. "Uh... Sugar, you did explain to everyone that this was a passive demonstration." The leathermen laughed some more.

"They know what the plan is, honey," Sugar said. "Good thing you guys are here. Class is about to begin."

Before he'd finished, the door of the bar opened and several people walked in. As they approached, he realized it was Peter Whitelaw accompanied by Tsuka and Yoshi Watanabe.

Hutch glanced at Starsky, but he was too busy watching Whitelaw's approach. After wrestling with his partner in the hospital, Hutch wasn't ready for a repeat performance over Whitelaw. When Peter got closer, Starsky went to meet him halfway. Peter stopped and waited, his face calm, almost serene, while Hutch's heart rate climbed steadily. He followed Starsky closely, hoping to avert disaster.

Starsky, don't do this!

Hutch's heart ached as he remembered Peter's words during their conversation this morning. "I won't lie and say it doesn't matter to me, Ken. You matter to me, a lot. I really care about you. But I've been gay all my life, so it's not like any of this is much of a surprise to me, either. I knew last night things weren't going to work out for us. Your feelings for your partner are far too intense. I understand, really. Maybe someday, if your feelings for him change...."

Hutch had hung up after telling Peter he hoped they could be friends. It had sounded so trite in his mouth he was ashamed. Peter had agreed and Hutch knew that he'd meant it. He would be Hutch's friend if he could.

Hutch didn't know if Starsky would permit that. And he didn't know how he'd react if Starsky wouldn't.

Starsky paused in front of Peter, his body tense. Hutch moved up beside him, his eyes boring into him, but Starsky ignored him. Peter glanced at Hutch but he knew who to pay attention to.

"Councilman..." Starsky started, then stopped. "Peter. I want to apologize for last night. I was out of line. I was hoping... we might be able to put it behind us."

Peter glanced at Hutch, who only shrugged in confusion. Whitelaw asked Starsky bluntly, "Are you serious?"

Starsky smiled. "Yeah. No kiddin'. I mean it. I'm sorry." He held out his hand.

Still looking wary, Peter shook it firmly. "Okay. I appreciate it, Dav... Starsky. Let's forget it."

Starsky nodded and without another word, turned and walked back toward the bar, leaving Hutch and Peter staring at one another in surprise. Finally, they followed him.

Tsuka and her husband were conferring with Sugar, who'd come down from the bar. When they were finished, Tsuka turned to the group.

"Thank you for coming. You are volunteering to do a difficult but courageous thing. Let me explain about civil disobedience." She discussed the philosophy of passive resistance then outlined the risks and dangers, including injury and arrest.

As she painted the bleakest picture she could, Hutch began to wonder just what he'd gotten these people involved in. But he couldn't ignore Huggy's warning and he couldn't turn his back on what had happened to Tomas.

Tsuka assigned Starsky, Hutch, Whitelaw, and Roland the roles of aggressive cops, as she proceeded to drill the group on passive resistance techniques and ways to protect themselves if the police used force.

As she walked through the crowd, showing them safer postures, warning them of what an active encounter would be like, she encouraged the "cops" to harass the demonstrators and then chided them when they weren't rough enough. She taught the demonstrators how to conquer their own fears and panic reactions. She also taught them how to calm themselves and how to resist passively.

Hutch found these drills no less intensive than their regular workouts in the dojo. After nearly an hour, Tsuka had everybody go into deep relaxation then answered questions from the demonstrators. After that, she and Sugar worked out a plan on how demonstrators could safely buy time for the customers who needed to escape. Sugar told Hutch that he'd already contacted regular customers who simply couldn't risk exposure. He'd actually encouraged them to take their patronage to a safer bar, warning that the Green Parrot could be the victim of police harassment.

"This can't be good for business," Hutch said.

Sugar looked away, as if it were too difficult to talk about. "Look, honey, after that shooting there isn't too much we can do to help business anyway. Gays are tough and loyal to their bars. We'll put up with a lot of problems--watered down booze, bad sound system, poor service, crummy neighborhoods---but random assassination attempts have a tendency to discourage patronage."

"Look," Hutch said, distressed, "maybe Starsky and I should bail out of here. It's crazy to endanger these people any further and destroy your business!"

Sugar sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you. Quite a few people I talked to today suggested we do just that. Many of them are angry about Spike, about the other people hurt, about the whole scene. It helped when I explained that they were really after K.R., but...."

"They wouldn't have been after her if she weren't our lawyer," Hutch finished. He knew many of the bar's regular patrons had bitterly resented the presence of both him and Starsky since they arrived. They made no secret of it. Hutch imagined they were really angry now--having to give up their place of refuge from the world just to support two men who represented one of the most hateful factions in the life of many gays--the police.

"And if this goes on for weeks?" Hutch asked. If the bar failed, what would they have proven?

Sugar patted his arm. "Some things are more important than the bottom line. Even to me."

He tried to distract himself by focusing on his partner. Starsky had always played the role of bad cop well, which had never surprised Hutch. It was a role he obviously enjoyed and had honed to a fine art. How often had they had to use it in interrogations? But how did Starsky really view all of this?

Tsuka brought the training session to an end.

"Tomorrow," she said. "We'll do it again. And the next day. Then we'll go to every three days. Tomorrow we'll work out signals. Something we can all recognize instantly in a crowded, noisy place."

Sugar sighed theatrically. "Well, I don't know how crowded it will be now."

As the group began to mill around, talk, or leave in small groups, Hutch walked up to Roland. The man waited for him, his mountainous bulk impressive by any standards.

"Yes, sir," Roland said respectfully, "what can I do for you, sir?"

"Well, you can drop all that 'sir' shit, for starters," Hutch said amiably.

Roland smiled. The swelling on his face had gone down, but he still looked as if he'd been in a brawl. "Okay, bro'. What's your pleasure?"

Roland's inflection made Hutch shudder. "Listen, be square with me. Can these guys," he indicated the other leathermen with a nod of his head, "really handle this? Passive resistance?"

"You mean can they contain their natural tendencies to kick the ass of any pig who lays hands on them?" Roland grinned unabashedly, showing teeth, even the missing ones. "Sure. They've got incentive."

Hutch looked dubious. "I hope you're right. If they break training, it could get ugly."

Roland shrugged. "We'll handle it." He gave Hutch a friendly punch on the arm.

Hutch resisted the urge to rub the spot and knew he'd have a bruise there tomorrow. To match my other bruises-- He looked for Starsky.

His partner was in a conference with the group of young punks who'd been close friends of Spike. Whatever they were telling him, he was listening to it intently, his entire being focused on this conversation. Finally he answered them with a few brief words and the small group of gay men and women embraced one another and Starsky in a community hug. Hutch wasn't surprised to see Starsky's display of camaraderie with these people. His ability to deny his own prejudices to befriend those who were different from him was one of the things Hutch had always admired in him. But what he was surprised at was how emotional Starsky seemed when the embrace ended and the group wandered away, arms slung around each other. Starsky stood looking after them, his face a mask of conflicting feelings.

Hutch approached his friend cautiously. This whole day had been a roller coaster of intense emotions, starting with breakfast. Hutch couldn't imagine what had just happened to make Starsky wear this expression on his face. "Hey, partner," he said softly. "What's going on?"

Starsky's eyes were dark and stormy, his face a mixture of anger and grief. He nodded toward the retreating group. "They... uh... said the medical examiner might release Spike's body today. They've made arrangements to have her cremated. They're gonna spread her ashes over the water. That's what she always wanted, to go back to the sea. She loved the beach, Hutch. I didn't know that. They're gonna do it right near your place in Venice." Starsky stopped speaking, as though he couldn't say anymore.

"Is that what her family wants?" Hutch asked. "To cremate her and scatter her ashes?"

Starsky blinked. "She doesn't have a family anymore. They disowned her when they found out she was gay. They didn't care if she shaved her head or wore a million tattoos or put safety pins in her ears--but when they found out she was sleeping with Denise, they threw her out." He paused for a minute then looked at Hutch again. "The kids... wanted to know if I'd carry her urn to Venice in the Torino."

Hutch had to physically stop himself from pulling Starsky into a powerful hug--an embrace he knew they both desperately needed. But he couldn't, not after everything they'd been through; still, he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to grasp Starsky's shoulder, wanting to give some kind of touch.

When Starsky saw it coming, he stepped away before Hutch could complete the action. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Hutch. Not right now. I couldn't handle it."

Hutch understood. Things were too raw between them. There wasn't any such thing as an innocent touch between them now and Hutch wasn't sure there ever would be again. Of all the things that were going wrong between them, this might be the one that hurt the most.

He nodded. "You ready to hit the streets?"

"Oh, yeah," Starsky said. "I'm ready."

~~~

The streets weren't very cooperative. After connecting with a number of people who might've had something for them and getting nowhere, they realized they were running out of time. Deciding to eat before they went back to the Parrot to work, they headed for the Pits.

To Hutch's surprise, Starsky didn't balk at entering the bar where all their problems had started. When they discovered Huggy wasn't in yet, they decided to forego the food. Using the Pits' phone, Hutch called Huggy at home.

He sounded half-asleep. "Uh... yeah... it is... what?"

"Boy, you sound rough," Hutch said.

"Mmmm," Huggy agreed. "It's the middle of the night. What now?"

Hutch grinned. "Why, Huggy, it's the middle of a beautiful LA afternoon. The sun is shining, the birds are singing--"

"And Huggy's hanging up the damn phone if you don't get to the point right quick."

Hutch sobered and, making sure he wasn't being overheard, gave him the news about Tomas. That woke Huggy up.

"I always knew being friends with you guys was a risky proposition, but--damn!" Huggy said.

"You definitely want to watch yourself," Hutch warned, "but I think this is one time when you're out of the line of fire. We need information, maybe more than ever before. We can't risk what happened to Tomas happening to anyone else. Watch your back but see what you can find out. We couldn't turn up a thing today."

"I hear you," Huggy said. "Well, I'll be at work in a few hours. I'll make some calls before then; see if I can find out anything."

Quietly, hoping Starsky couldn't hear him, Hutch asked, "How's Kelly?" There was a pause then Huggy said, "She's fine. Very, very fine."

Hutch stared at the receiver. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing for you to worry about, my friend. Ol' Huggy's got everything under control."

"You scare me when you say things like that!" Hutch said, then hung up the phone.

It wasn't until he and Starsky were going back to the car that Hutch realized Huggy hadn't said anything to him about whether he'd been able to come up with any info about their tape. Neither had Whitelaw. Was that just another dead end? He decided not to worry about it. It was time to go to work.

~~~

The day seemed interminable. The bar was less than half-full and there wasn't enough to do to keep Hutch's mind off their troubles. There was no change in Tomas' condition. Baylor had found an interpreter, but Tomas had not regained consciousness. By the end of the night, Hutch ached all over. He couldn't wait to get home, shower, and crawl into bed.

Alone?

He'd forgotten about that. As Starsky pulled up in front of Venice Place, the realization that he'd be staying all alone hit him unexpectedly.

Starsky sat in the idling car, looking straight ahead, saying nothing. He'd been incredibly taciturn all day, speaking rarely, not at all like his normal voluble self.

They sat in the car, both dressed in fresh leathers, like two kids on a date that had ended badly. Realizing that Starsky wasn't going to say anything, Hutch finally took the initiative. Might as well get it over with. "Thanks for... taking me home, Starsk. Will you pick me up tomor--"

The sound of a gun's report suddenly shattered the stillness and the two of them flattened against the seat, Starsky blanketing Hutch's body with his own. They froze in position when it sounded again, closer this time. On the third repetition, Starsky lifted his head.

"Hutch," he muttered, sounding relieved, "it's a car backfiring. That's all." He sat up, and Hutch did, too, his heart slamming in his chest.

He watched an ancient poorly maintained Volkswagen crawl by, backfiring repeatedly. He sagged against the seat wondering if he were getting too old for this.

Starsky shook his head. He turned in the seat to face Hutch. "We're not doing this."

Hutch felt confused. "Doing what?"

"This," Starsky said abruptly. "This... this stupid thing. We're not separating at night or ever. Not after what happened to Tomas. I've been working it out in my head all day, and there isn't any solution except the one we found a year ago. We've spent the day warning people about the danger of being alone, getting cornered, not trusting anyone who comes up to them... but we're getting ready to do just that. Go off alone. Separate. We supposed to run from the sight of every cop we know? Have a heart attack every time some car burps? It's crazy."

Hutch turned away from the intense expression on Starsky's face. "Starsk--"

"I can't do it, Hutch. I can't face the chance that tomorrow I might have to go to the hospital to see you looking like Tomas. Or worse. Seeing you in the morgue. You ready to do that with me?"

Hutch shut his eyes, the vision of Tomas more dead than alive too vivid in his mind. "Starsky, that isn't fair."

"I know it's not fair. Not fair to Tomas, not fair to K.R. last night. But if someone's going to try to nail us, we'll make much better targets by ourselves. You know that. They know it, too."

Of course he did. But he knew himself as well. "What do you think I am, some kind of plaster saint? Do you think I can lie next to you at night and not ache for you?"

The raw statement hung there between them.

"I'm no saint either, Hutch," Starsky said quietly. "And if you don't think I'll be feeling the same, you're wrong. I know it's not fair to you to put this pressure on you, but we've got no choice. I'm either sleeping upstairs on that couch or down here in the Torino. You decide. But I swear to you, Hutch, on my mother's heart, if you let me stay upstairs, I won't lay a hand on you. I won't go near you. I promise."

Even if I want you to? Hutch thought. No, things were too confused between them. They needed time apart. But he knew, too, that Starsky was right. Separated, they were targets. He wondered if that wasn't part of the plan.

"Okay," he said, his gut twisting. "We'll stay together. But we're sleeping separately. I'm holding you to your promise. And I'll make the same to you. I won't touch you or approach you, no matter what. Not 'til we can figure out what's going on between us."

Starsky shut off the car and the two of them walked up the stairs to Hutch's Venice Place apartment just as they'd done a thousand nights before. But as familiar as it was, it was still different. Because never before had they stayed together as two completely separate men.

Careful of each other's space, more respectful of each other's privacy than they had ever been before, they were like two strangers forced to share a hotel room. Conversation was minimal as they prepared for bed. Both of them donned pajama bottoms after their showers. Starsky made up the couch without saying anything. And finally each man went to his separate corner and bid each other a hesitant good night.

As Hutch lay restlessly awake in the dark, he knew Starsky was too. It struck him as painfully ironic that it should come to this--both of them sleeping together in the same apartment in a relationship far less intimate than when they were just buddies. But even so, he found his partner's presence oddly comforting. No matter how awkward things were between them, they were still acting as partners, watching out for each other. He was glad Starsky had insisted on it. Listening to the repetitive sounds of Starsky's sighs and his tossing and turning on the couch, and wanting him with the fiercest need he'd ever had for anyone, Hutch finally dozed fitfully alone in his bed.

Holding you a feeling I never outgrew Though each and every part of me has tried Only you can fill that space inside Here I Am--Air Supply

Chapter 20

Mister, I ain't a boy no I'm a man And I believe in a promised land Promised Land--Bruce Springsteen

Hutch saw Starsky leaning over the bar to get his attention. "Baylor and Meredith need to talk with us," he said. "Maybe they've got something." It was nearly midnight, two days after Tomas' attack. "Can you take a break?"

Hutch went over to Kevin, the nearest bartender. "Can you cover for me?"

"Sure," Kevin said. "Slow as it is, no problem. Take your time."

"Thanks," Hutch said and came out from behind the bar.

Starsky was waiting for him. "They're gonna meet us in Sugar's dressing room."

They wandered to the back, knocked on the door, then went in. The other two detectives were already there. Baylor was making Meredith grin by holding up one of Sugar's outrageous outfits against herself and sashaying around.

"I don't know," Baylor was saying, "d'ya think it's me?"

"Honey," Meredith said, laughing, "that is so much not you it's not worth talking about."

"Hey, fellas," Baylor said, hanging the dress back up, "thanks for coming."

Starsky snorted a laugh. "You kiddin'? Like we'd stand up the only two straight women in the city who'll talk nice to us?"

They all smiled at that but there wasn't much humor in it. None of them had much to laugh about lately. And Hutch knew that of all of them, Starsky seemed the most affected. His smile never touched his eyes anymore. He was tense, wound up all the time, with no outlet for release.

Earlier that day, they'd participated in Spike's funeral. Starsky had carried the small urn on his lap, right by the steering wheel. But before they'd settled down to the trip to the beach, he had taken the Torino on one of the fastest, most hair-raising rides Hutch could remember, leaving the rest of the funeral procession in his dust. Hutch still couldn't figure out why they hadn't been pulled over. When they'd finally arrived at the beach and met the rest of the mourners, the group cheered when Starsky came to a swerving stop right against the curb. Hutch's knees had been weak when he'd crawled out of the car but there had been no joy in Starsky throughout the terrifying ride. He'd just clung to the urn without expression and said nothing as he put the car through its paces.

When Starsky released Spike's ashes to the sea as Denise read Spike's favorite poem--something startlingly romantic from Edna St. Vincent Millay--the only one who wasn't crying was Starsky. "Well, as nice as you are," Hutch said, "I know you didn't call us here for the company."

Baylor nodded. "Tomas woke up for awhile tonight. We were able to get the translator over there. He was conscious but pretty fragile. He recognized his brother, Roberto, so that was good."

Roberto was Trixie's real name. Trixie was spending all her time at the hospital now. Sugar had had to replace her in the chorus.

"The doctor says that he might've lost some memories since he woke up that last time. Anyway, we asked him some questions. Like, did he know any of the attackers? He said no."

Starsky's frown deepened. Hutch knew he was convinced Russo was involved in the attack, but his alibi was tight and there was no way Tomas wouldn't have recognized him.

"He did tell us something," Baylor said. "When we asked him if he recognized any of his attackers, he spelled out, 'cop.' When I asked him if he meant uniformed cop, he said yes. So there was at least one uniformed cop--or someone pretending to be a uniformed cop--at the scene. It was painstaking to get the information, but it seems like the uniform was the decoy. Coming up to Tomas like one cop recognizing another. Called him by name, so he was definitely targeted. Then three others jumped him from behind while he was just rappin' with the uniform. But the cop definitely participated in the beating. Tomas says he'd recognize the cop if he saw him, but never saw the others clearly enough in the dark."

"So the marksmanship pin did come from a uniform," Hutch said.

Meredith nodded. "We've got some fibers that match standard police issue uniforms, too. The rest of the stuff could've been in the alley or from such normal everyday clothes that it's impossible to pull any information out of it. We did get one other blood type besides Tomas', so that might help us pin down one of the guys if we ever get any suspects."

"Next time he wakes up," Baylor said, "we're gonna show him ID pictures of every cop in the precinct, uniformed or otherwise."

Starsky looked up. "Start with Metro," he agreed, "but if he can't recognize the Judas, then you'll have to get pictures from every other precinct, too."

They all turned to him in surprise. "You think other cops are involved, besides the ones at Metro?"

Starsky shrugged. "Why not? Sure, the guys at Metro are taking a lot of heat over us. But we put a black mark on every cop in LA, every cop in the country. And some of these guys are crazy when it comes to the whole gay thing. I was a radical liberal compared to some of the stone rednecks we worked with. People who hate hang out together so they can shore up each other's stupidity."

Baylor nodded. "That's a point. But that'll take time. He's still floating in and out of the ether. And when he comes to, he's only aware for a short time before he gets exhausted and goes back under. It's gonna take a while just to get through the IDs at Metro."

"Still," Meredith agreed, "it's our best shot."

"Have you guys gotten any leads on the origins of that tape?" Baylor asked suddenly. "If we could make any connections at all--"

Hutch shook his head. "Peter Whitelaw hasn't turned up a thing and even Huggy hasn't produced. Seems like it's a total bust."

"I don't like this," Meredith said glumly. "The streets are never this quiet. You can't beg, borrow, buy, or steal info now. If the Bear can't turn anything up, you know it's dry. It's almost like... everyone's too scared to get involved."

"Yeah," Baylor agreed, "and that scares me."

"Something's gonna happen," Starsky said ominously. "We know that. But what, when, why, or how--?"

"Be careful, you two," Hutch said. "We might be the bigger targets here, but that doesn't mean our friends won't get hit with shrapnel."

"D'jou hear?" Baylor asked them. "Higgins broke up with his partner."

Hutch glanced at Starsky but he was staring at his shoelaces. "They've been working together almost ten years," Hutch said.

Baylor nodded. "They were too divided over recent... politics. Right now, Higgins is working alone."

That wasn't good. If anybody wanted to target him, that would make it so much easier. "Tell him to be careful, will you?" Hutch asked them.

"Any change with the legal situation?" Meredith asked.

Hutch shook his head. "They're stalling. They keep putting Kelly off. We've got a tentative meeting scheduled in two weeks, but she's warned us they'll probably postpone it that morning. She's thinking they'll just keep postponing it into infinity. So, she's gone ahead and filed suit. Ten million dollars in damages."

Baylor whistled. "Hey, from now on you guys are pickin' up the tab at lunch!"

Hutch smiled. "Of course, the first hearing on the suit won't be for three months. Enough time for any favorable publicity from the shootout to fade from the public's memory."

The information only cast a greater pall on the group. The possibility of neither man ever getting his badge back was too real.

"Well, that's all the bad news fit to print," Baylor said, moving to the door. "If you turn up anything, let us know. We'll do the same with you. And watch your step, boys. I think things are gonna get worse before they get better."

Hutch suspected she was right.

His concerns weren't alleviated when later that evening Tsuka made a point of telling Starsky his chakras were so far out of alignment they were dangerous, particularly to his mental health. The look he gave her was positively bleak but he said nothing. For some reason, she never said a word to Hutch about his.

The hours after work brought no relief, either. Hutch listened to Starsky tossing on the couch hour after hour and it broke his heart. All he wanted to do was go to him, hold him, offer him the same comfort he always had in the past, but that was impossible now. Finally, he couldn't stand it and asked from the bedroom, "Want to talk about it?"

There was a long pause from the couch, but then Starsky said, "Don't think I can."

Hutch waited a beat. "I'm ready to listen when you are. I'm still here for you, Starsky."

"I know, Hutch. I just can't right now. You know?"

He wasn't sure he did but he agreed anyway. "Sure. Just remember. We're still partners."

Starsky sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember. Thanks."

For what? Hutch wondered, then settled down and tried to sleep, knowing he'd be walking on another dark empty beach tonight.

~~~

"I talked to Steve Bookman," Peter told K.R. They were sitting in the Athens in K.R.'s booth, having lunch. She was just picking at hers and Peter found he didn't have much appetite either. "He's the one I always go to for information about the industry. He took the numbers from the tape and did what he could but it was a dead end. He said it could've been his lab or another lab licensed to develop film for them. They have at least five licensees right now and they all use the same identification code since they're licensed under the main lab."

K.R. seemed tired. "I don't know Steve."

"He doesn't hang out at the Parrot. He frequents the Crystal Ball. He's been a big help to me before and he's a supporter of my campaign. There're a few other people I know who work there but none of them are as well situated as Steve, so I don't think they could help us, either. Maybe I'm missing something but I just don't see where this is relevant to anything."

"I'm probably grasping at straws," K.R. admitted. "I was hoping somebody there might help pinpoint someone important. Somebody had to develop that film, run that equipment, and make the distribution connections." Peter stared at her and his gut knotted. "You don't think it was someone gay, do you?"

"I don't want to," she admitted. "I was hoping one of our people might've heard something, anything...."

"I'll talk to Steve again," Peter agreed. "See if he can figure out how many people had access to the equipment, had the time.... But I'm getting the uncomfortable feeling you know something you don't want to tell me."

K.R. shook her head. "I trust you, Peter. We've worked together too long for me not to. But I can't shake the feeling that someone is involved in this that shouldn't be. Someone playing both sides. If we could find out who, we might be able to get to the bottom of it. But it's not like I'll be able to get any information out of Gunther's people. And meantime, we're stalled."

Peter sat back. "And you're worried about them. Starsky. And Hutch."

She looked at him. "Aren't you? How long can they hold out, under siege emotionally, financially, physically? How many other people will get hurt? That's the part that weighs the heaviest on them. Whoever fingered Tomas knew exactly what they were doing. The effect on them has been devastating."

Peter nodded. He almost found it funny in an ironic way that he and Kelly were nursing wounded hearts over two dishonored cops and yet still working hard to help them. It was going to take him a while to get over Ken Hutchinson. But he would. He had learned that from John, that he was strong enough to survive anything. But it didn't stop him from hurting.

K.R. looked at her watch. "I'm going to be late if I stay here another minute. I'll call you if I find out anything new. Keep your ear to the ground."

He nodded and drank the rest of his coffee as she left the diner.

~~~

When K.R. left the diner she walked to the corner, turned left, and kept going, moving briskly. About five minutes later, a long white Cadillac pulled up along side her.

"M'lady, your carriage has arrived," Huggy said from the driver's seat.

She grinned as he halted the car, exited, and went around to open the passenger door for her. "Good thing you're going my way," she said.

"Yeah, funny about that," Huggy agreed as he got back behind the wheel and took off. "You find out anything?"

"Not really. Peter's reasons were sound and I don't believe he's lying to us. I don't know if his connection to the lab is being square with him, but I think it's just a situation where this time his connection couldn't provide what he needed." "So you don't think he's covering up anything?" Huggy asked.

"I'm partial to Peter but my bullshit meter didn't go off. If you can't tell when someone's lying to you in this business, you'd better get out." She turned to her unexpected partner in conspiracy. "Did you find out anything?"

"Yeah," he said, as he turned a corner. "I found out that lab has a bunch of subsidiary labs and more employees, associates, and contracting agents than you wanna think about. Lucky for us, my cousin is going out with a pretty girl in the personnel office and he was able to get us a list of the employees, including those involved in the other five labs. That's the good news. The bad news is that the computer printout looks like a telephone directory. And we gotta get it back in twenty-four hours."

"Well, fine print's my specialty," she said wearily, "so that sounds like my evening."

"I sure don't have time to go through it while managing the bar, but the least I can do is provide an early breakfast," he offered. "If you're interested, that is?"

She smiled. He was charming, he was sophisticated, he was a gourmet chef, and he was a genuinely kind human being. And while actively conspiring with her, he was courting her like crazy. It was incredibly flattering but after having had her world shaken by two devastating cops, K.R. was moving more slowly these days.

That didn't seem to bother Huggy. He was patient, he said. And that was the one thing about him that affected her the most--he didn't push. Right now, that meant everything.

"If you can handle the early hour," she said, "I'd be happy to share breakfast with you. And if that printout is as thick as you say, that might be how long it takes me to go through it."

"You just looking for names you're familiar with?" he asked.

"No, that won't be thorough enough. I've got lists of gay social activities from Sugar and another list of Peter's volunteers that I can compare it to."

"Okay," Huggy said, "it's all we've got to go on. Let's hope we find something. And... let's pray the name we're looking for isn't Zeus Z. Zuckerman!"

She laughed and he laughed with her.

~~~

The next day, Tsuka and Yoshi's dojo was broken into and ransacked while they were at the Parrot drilling the demonstrators. The storefront window was destroyed.

Hutch walked beside Meredith as they went through the crime scene inch by inch. "Were they carrying a lot of money?" she asked.

Hutch shook his head. "Most of the clients pay by check. They deposit the day's earnings daily so they won't have cash hanging around."

"What else is there to steal from a martial arts school?" Meredith wondered.

"Records," Starsky said, coming up behind her. "They took all the files, the Rolodex, notes about students, all the personal stuff."

Hutch felt his blood pressure drop. "Did they have copies?" They would have to warn every current and former student. It would be impossible to safeguard all those people.

Yoshi came to stand beside Starsky. "We keep copies of our records at home. There will be some of the most recent that we have not had a chance to duplicate that will be lost, but most of them have been copied."

"Martial arts must involve incredible mind control," Meredith said admiringly. "You don't look very disturbed, Mr. Watanabe."

"We have a good insurance policy," he told Meredith. "This damage is unfortunate but students of martial arts understand about hardship, and they understand how to react when under attack." He smiled then coldly, and his expression surprised Hutch. "The looters clearly didn't look at the records when they stole them. So they may only now be learning how worthless they will be to them."

"Sensei," Hutch said respectfully, "the information in those records could target your students for harm from these same men."

"I don't think so, Hutch," Yoshi said. "Tsuka and I employed our own abbreviated code in the records that would be hard for anyone besides ourselves to interpret. In addition, the records are all in Japanese. Unless one of the thieves is adept at translating the written language, they can't use them. It's unlikely they can get those records translated in the Japanese community. We will contact our students for safety, of course. But our students are the best in the city. Why would anyone attempt to abuse them? It would be foolish. I suspect, Hutch, these people were after information about you and Starsky. Because you often worked as undercover police, we didn't keep your records here. So if that's what they were looking for specifically, they've failed on three accounts."

"Well, that's a relief," Hutch agreed.

"Sensei's right about one thing," Starsky grumbled. "Whoever these guys are, they're definitely three time losers!"

~~~

Later that night at the Green Parrot Hutch was told that, while on duty, Higgins was nearly struck by a hit-and-run driver. He got clipped and bruised up but nothing was broken. He managed to get a partial license plate and when they matched it with the type of car, they found it had been stolen from police impoundment. ~~~

Two days after that, the phone rang in Hutch's apartment during breakfast. They had both come to dread phone calls so much that neither of them moved.

"Your turn," Starsky reminded him expressionlessly.

Grimacing, Hutch left the table and picked up the phone. "Hello."

"This is Dobey," the gruff voice answered. "Ready for some bad news?"

Hutch had to laugh. "You kidding, Cap? We've cornered the market on that. It's all we ever get. Go ahead."

"I've received an official warning from the Chief," Dobey said. "Apparently, I've been accused of favoritism. It's on my record."

Hutch frowned. "About us, right?"

"You got it," Dobey said.

"I'm sorry, Captain--"

"Don't be. Why the hell shouldn't I favor my two best detectives, the two men who turn out more work off duty than half the rest of them do on duty? But it just makes things harder, Hutch. The Chief's totally opposed to your return. His feelings about it are public record."

"And now you're in the hot seat because you're on our side," Hutch said.

"I'm on the side of what's right!" Dobey snapped. "And that's never gonna change. Not as long as I'm carrying this badge. We'll have to be discreet though, Hutch. If someone sees me interacting with you two...."

"Or talking to us on the phone--?" Hutch said.

"I'm at home making this call. I didn't feel comfortable making it from the station."

"You know you can always get us information through Baylor or Meredith."

"Or I can call Huggy Bear," Dobey said. "I just wanted to warn you about contacting me. It's obvious that I'm being watched; I just don't know how closely."

"We're not going to be able to call you directly," Hutch realized.

"Hutch, I'm worried about you two. And the precinct's like a divided nation, everyone taking sides. It used to be us--the police--against them--the bad guys. Now, the us against them is all contained within the police department."

"Stay clear of it, Cap," Hutch said. "We need you to stay above it all. If we lose you, too--" He didn't want to think about that.

"You boys be careful now," Dobey said. "Make sure you know who your friends are."

"You, too, Cap," Hutch said.

Starsky's expression said he already knew what this was about.

~~~

"It's about time you called me," Cantrall said. "You've been hard to get a hold of lately."

"I thought we were finished," the small voice on the other end of the phone said.

Cantrall could hear the tremor in that voice. His eyes narrowed in pleasure. This is why he was willing to risk everything for Gunther. He was willing to do it for moments like this when he was in total control. When his actions made things happen, made people react, made men tremble before him. Once he got Gunther out, it would be the two of them, side by side, rebuilding the dynasty. He wasn't weak like Bates had been. He wouldn't make the same mistakes. He was strong and that was what Gunther needed. They'd be invincible.

"I... I thought you didn't need me anymore." Now the timid voice was whining. Fear did that to a man. Cantrall was sorry he wasn't in that room, to smell that fear, to see it for himself. He could get hard thinking about it.

"I bought you," Cantrall reminded him, "with cold hard cash. I own you. I will never be finished with you. Years after this is over, when you think I have forgotten all about you, if there is something I need that you can provide, I'll reach out for you and you will answer."

There was silence on the line except for the sound of heavy breathing. Another fear reaction.

"Are you alone?" Cantrall asked. He knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

"You know I'm not." The voice cracked. "Was it necessary to do that? To... send them?"

"I left you a message. You didn't answer it. You thought you could slip the leash. So I sent the big dogs after you. That's what happens when you don't answer my message." His voice dropped lower. "They didn't hurt you. They didn't do anything to you that you haven't done a million times before willingly. You just didn't get paid for it this time. But they did frighten you. That's what they got paid to do. You know... they would have happily done it for free. Think about that the next time you hesitate to answer my message."

He could hear a restrained sob on the other end and it made him smile. "Okay. I'll answer. I promise. What--what do you want?"

"Something complicated," Cantrall said. "Can you do something complicated?"

There was a pause, then the sound of a short scuffle, then quiet weeping. "Yes. Yes, I can do it. Just please don't--" "Don't beg," Cantrall ordered. "It makes me think you can't handle the job."

"I can! I swear it!" The man sounded nearly hysterical. That was good. It pleased him.

"Okay," Cantrall said. "I need information. I need schedules. I need to know when they're coming and going. And I need you to tell us these things so we can accomplish our goal. You're still in favor of our goal, aren't you? You haven't lost your focus, have you?"

"No! No, I haven't lost it."

"You still want to destroy them, don't you?" Cantrall needed to hear him say it.

The voice was steady now. "Yes. I want to destroy them. But... I'll need more money."

Cantrall smiled. This was a man after his own heart. Honest in his greed. "Good. You'll have more money. Now, I'll tell you what we're going to do. You. Me. And our friends who are with you. Now that you all are so intimate with each other, you won't mind working with them, will you?"

~~~

Hutch turned in the dark, startled awake, but he wasn't sure by what. He'd been sleeping fitfully, as though anticipating something that he couldn't articulate. It was playing havoc with his rest. He moved in the bed, trying to see Starsky on the couch, only to bump into him solidly. This startled him even more.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position. Starsky was perched on the edge of his bed, sitting quietly, unmoving. "What's going on?" Hutch asked softly.

At first Starsky only shook his head. But then after a moment he said, "Listen, Hutch, there's something I need to say to you."

Hutch didn't think anything good could come from a conversation that started that way.

"We've been through so much together," Starsky said. He wasn't really looking at Hutch but looking outward. Hutch didn't move, afraid to disturb the moment. "You know, through all the years, all the cases, all the close calls, we've been up and down, you and me, but we've always been together. We even worked it out after Kira. And after Gunther, we were stronger than ever. There's never been two cops like you and me, Hutch. I don't think there ever will be again. If we can't be cops anymore, well, I think that's LA's loss, not ours. But that's not that important. That's not what I came to say."

He turned on the bed and looked at Hutch, stared at him as though afraid he was going to disappear. "I... uh, I just needed to tell you--I'm sorry about all of this. I'm sorry I don't love you the right way, the way you need. It hurts me that I don't have that in me. 'Cause you've always given me exactly what I needed and it hurts that I can't do this for you. But even though I can't, I wanted you to understand one thing. I love you more than anyone in my whole life. That's what's inside me and that hasn't changed. Not one bit. Not from the day before all this shit went down to right this minute. I really love you. It might not be enough but it's all I've got. I just wanted to be sure you understood that."

Starsky started to leave but Hutch put a hand on his shoulder. "I know you love me. But it's nice to hear it. What brought this on?"

Starsky looked confused. "I just felt like I had to say that. Like I've got a bad premonition. Something's coming down. And I felt like I had to get that said."

In case one of us doesn't make it, hung in the air like a pall.

"Good night, Hutch," Starsky said casually. "We really need to get some sleep."

"'Night, partner," Hutch said, a little dazed. He spent the rest of the night staring at the couch and trying to figure out what had just happened.

Endless juke joints and Valentino drag Where dancers scraped the tears up off the street... Some hurt bad some really dying At night sometimes it seemed You could hear the whole damn city crying Blame it on the lies that killed us Blame it on the truth that ran us down You can blame it all on me It don't matter to me now Backstreets--Bruce Springsteen

Chapter 21

Nothing is forgotten or forgiven, When it's your last time around, I got stuff running around 'round my head That I just can't live down Something in the Night--Bruce Springsteen

When Starsky woke up the next day, he lay awake for a few quiet minutes before rising. There was something different about the day but he couldn't say what it was. For days now, he'd been anticipating something that never came yet his apprehension didn't fade. Today he felt like Gary Cooper in High Noon. Waiting for a confrontation that could be fatal either to his soul or to his body.

Then again, maybe it was his imagination.

He wondered during breakfast if Hutch felt it too, but didn't ask. They weren't talking much these days or at least Starsky wasn't. He couldn't find the words anymore. Maybe because he couldn't find the sense of anything anymore. His whole purpose in life had been wrapped around being a cop and now that was over. He'd accepted the fact that whatever happened the chances of them going back to active police work were thin. He'd accepted that but he hadn't really adjusted to it. If he wasn't a cop then what was he? Who was he?

He tried not to think about that much. Whenever his mind got on that track, he just found himself sinking lower and lower into depression. There were no answers for that yet. Maybe there would never be.

He and Hutch went through the paces just like they had been doing. Shower, breakfast, then touch base with their friends. Tomas was slowly improving. He'd gone through half the photos from Metro but no positive ID yet. Baylor and Meredith had nothing new for them. Higgins was stuck at the station on light duty, manning the radios. Starsky thought that was funny that they'd put a guy on the radios that nobody wanted to talk to. Dobey, Huggy, K.R., nobody had anything new for them. Starsky felt no surprise, no new disappointment. He really expected nothing different.

Early in the afternoon, he and Hutch went to the Green Parrot to practice with the demonstrators. It was hard for Starsky to do that since pretending to be a bad-ass cop was more painful than he could've ever imagined it would be. Accepting the fact that pretending to be a cop was as close as he might ever get to the role again was the hardest part. And as enthusiastic as Hutch was about this passive resistance stuff, Starsky just didn't get it. Why would anyone willingly sit their butts down and wait for some crooked cops to come beat on them? How could anyone just roll into a ball and take it and not fight back? Especially when the people volunteering to do that had only minimal involvement in their issue. Some of them weren't even gay! It was the most alien notion Starsky had ever come across.

Yet, he admired the demonstrators. They still believed in something. They were willing to put their own bodies on the line for that belief in the hopes that their personal sacrifice might improve the world for others. He was humbled before their strong conviction. He could remember feeling like that once. When he was a cop. When he was willing to die to help others, to sacrifice himself for his partner.

He glanced at Hutch. Today Hutch was a demonstrator, sitting hip to hip with the others. He'd crossed his arms and clasped the wrists of the demonstrators on either side of himself. They were singing some Christian hymn and swaying back and forth. It reminded Starsky of some kind of bizarre campground. All they needed was a bonfire and some hot dogs.

Hutch would look beautiful highlighted by a midnight bonfire, all gold and bronze.

Tsuka was walking through the crowd, reminding them what to do when the police came--how to curl up to protect their heads and faces and groins, how to make themselves dead weight to make it harder for the police to forcibly remove them, how to hang on to each other to prolong the removal. And she continually reminded them of how to keep their attention focused on their higher objective. How not to lose their patience. How not to get angry or fight back. She was so little, Starsky thought, yet her mind was like a clear running stream, clean and full of purpose. He admired her strength but knew his own mind was too full of anger and turmoil to be trustworthy.

Yet he went through the exercise and did as he was instructed. He couldn't let these people down. If they were willing to risk everything for him, the least he owed them was a little effort.

Starsky was surprised when Sugar approached him after the class. He was in his "regular guy" outfit, but the twinkle in his eye was pure Sugar.

"Hey, big boy," Sugar breathed, doing Mae West. It was an uncanny interpretation even without the benefit of wigs, clothes, and props. "How's about comin' back to my kitchen and seein' what I got? The chef's put together a juicy big one, red and beefy, just for you. Hutch's busy right now. What he don't know won't hurt him!"

Starsky smiled tiredly. It made his face hurt. "Thanks, Sugar, but I don't act right when I've been eating beef. Like the Incredible Hulk says, 'You wouldn't like me when I'm angry....'"

Sugar dropped the artifice and looked disappointed. "Starsky, honey, you're making Sugar worry and that gives her wrinkles. You don't want me to have wrinkles, do you? You're not eating, baby. Don't think Mama Sugar hasn't noticed. Come on; choke down a burger for me. I'm scared to death you'll lose some of that prime padding in the rear we all love so much."

He couldn't maintain the smile so dropped it. "Thanks, but I can't. I had a good breakfast and I'll probably eat something light later on. But I couldn't handle anything heavy like that right now. It's nice of you to worry, though."

Sugar put a hand on his arm. "Starsky. Look. I give you a hard time and all, but... I feel like I'm watching you fade away right in front of me. Your old spark has gone and it's been replaced with something... scary."

Maybe that was why no one told him jokes anymore or tried to pinch his butt. He hadn't gotten a good proposition since the shooting. "Something's gone wrong between you and your partner," Sugar continued, "and it's tearing you both up. I just wish I could do something to make it right again. I mean that."

He patted Sugar's shoulder. "Don't worry about us. Me and Hutch, we've been up against lots of bad times. We always get through them." He hoped she wouldn't see through the words he didn't believe himself. He walked away before her mournful look got to him any worse.

The day went on, hour by hour, as uneventful as Starsky could hope for. He did his job as well as ever, but part of him wasn't even there. He was pleased to see more people in the bar tonight. Everyone was beginning to relax as the days went on and nothing occurred. Some of the regulars who'd stayed away in fear started drifting back in and the place seemed livelier than it had since the night of the shooting. He took some comfort in that. If Sugar lost the bar due to them, Starsky thought it would be more than he could handle.

It amused him that he had come to a point in his life where a gay bar had become his refuge from the world. A world that despised him because he had dared to feel desire for the person he loved most.

He knew he was letting it work on him too much when the deejay responsible for playing dance music in the bar suddenly put on "Take Me Back" from Bonnie Tyler's latest album. He found himself in the booth without remembering how he got there. He ripped the needle off the album, making a screech resound through the speakers. Without looking, he knew that everyone in the bar had stopped dancing and had turned toward the booth.

He leaned threateningly over the slender young deejay and growled, "I don't give a damn what you play but under no circumstances will you ever play anything from this album again. Do you understand me?"

The deejay went white and eased back as far away from Starsky as he could get. "Yes, sir," he stammered. "Whatever you say. Never again from this album. Yes, sir!"

"Thank you," Starsky said politely and stormed out.

As he exited, he spotted Hutch looking at him sadly. But when their eyes met, Hutch turned away to serve another customer. Starsky left to do his rounds.

~~~

K.R. trudged up her stairs, feeling tired in body and spirit. Nothing was working out right. She'd spent hours, a few days ago, pouring over that printout to have it end up as wasted time. She had followed thin leads and questioned so many people, she was dizzy. Huggy had pulled so many markers in to try to learn anything, he was working in the red, and all for nothing. It was like they had both moved to another part of the world where they couldn't speak the language yet needed to have precise depositions completed on deadline.

She was beginning to feel like a failure, that she might actually make things worse for these guys. She hated considering a settlement and knew she'd never get them back on the force if she did but her lawyer's mind was telling her it was the logical thing to do. Good thing she hardly ever listened to her lawyer's mind.

She opened the door tiredly and smiled as Buddy charged up to greet her. At least there was one comforting bit of stability in her life. She leaned down to stroke him hello when a familiar voice greeted her from the living room.

"'Bout time you're home," Joey said to her. "I was getting worried."

"Have you been here long?" she asked as she came into the living room and deposited her heavy briefcase.

He took the briefcase from her and moved it out of the way. Then he leaned over and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and a hug. "A few hours. Managed to reorganize those files you had spread out all over. Sorted the mail. Your due bills are in the front. Re-filed all the stuff in the outbox stack."

"Boy, you've been busy!" She grinned. "That really takes a load off my mind, Joey. I haven't had time to deal with that stuff lately."

"I know," he said, helping her off with her jacket. "You've been working harder than usual. Did you eat? Want me to make you something?"

"No, hon, thanks. Huggy fed me before I got home." Mushroom stroganoff. If he kept this up, she wouldn't be able to get up her stairs. "What about you? I've got a ton of leftovers...."

"No, I'm fine. I'll probably go over to the Parrot and eat something later."

She wandered into her bedroom to change but kept talking to him through the door. "I've got something for you to deliver to Sugar if you wouldn't mind." That would save her a trip. She wasn't avoiding David or Ken but it didn't bother her not to have to see them, either.

"Sure," he said. "I've got to pass the dry cleaners on the way. Isn't it time you sent some things out? I could drop them off."

"You are a doll!" She stripped off her blouse and donned a clean tee shirt. After slipping her skirt off, she peeled off her panty hose and traded them for jeans. "I've got a ton of stuff that needs to go out. Let me get it together."

"Sure. I'll put on some tea for us."

"Great." Buddy was rolling around the worn blouse she'd just dropped on the bed and purring like crazy. She rubbed the cat's belly and chided him. "Yeah, I know you miss Huggy and his mystical catnip. He'll be here in a day or so. You look forward to his visits more than I do, you traitor!" She turned back to her closet and started yanking out suits that needed cleaning and emptying the pockets. The third one she grabbed made her clutch for a moment. It was the suit she'd worn the night she was shot at.

Just thinking about that moment still gave her pause. She sighed, trying to work past the memory and looked at the suit critically in the light. Amazingly, it wasn't torn anywhere, just dirty. The blouse had been damaged enough that she'd had to throw it out, but except for a loose button, the suit came through just fine. Too bad. She would've loved to have an excuse to trash it but her thriftiness wouldn't let her waste a relatively new, costly business suit just for nerves. Well, maybe when it came back from the dry cleaners, its aura would've changed and she could view it differently.

She checked the inside jacket pocket then the two outside ones, finding odd bits of paper with her typical tiny scrawl on it, reminding her of the millions of things she could not forget to do. She pulled out a larger note and opened it, making sure it wasn't something important.

She started when she realized what it was. Joey's note about feeding the cat... that night when David-- She closed her eyes as a shock of sensation traveled up her spine. Rubbing her arms, she recalled the feel of his hands. His mouth. It was still so vivid. Of course, it is. You were so wired from the shooting, every nerve ending on edge. She shuddered and started to crumple the note, wanting to put the memories on a shelf where they wouldn't touch her when she least expected it.

She had balled the paper in her fist and was ready to toss it in the trash when something made her hesitate. She frowned and opened her hand. The ball of paper sat there innocently.

Carefully, she unwrapped it and looked at it again.

"Filed all the reports that were on the kitchen table. Assembled a list of cross-references for the AT&T appeal. Fed the cat. Talk to you tomorrow. Joey."

K.R. looked more closely at it. "Assembled a list...." Something...about the letter 's'. Each one was written separate from all the others and while the rest of the note was script, the letter 's' was always a funny cursive style, looking almost like a figure eight. Very distinctive and different. Her heart started beating faster.

She went to her underwear drawer and dug underneath her cotton panties. Pulling out the notebook that had been stolen from Josh Cantrall's office, she laid it next to the crumpled paper. There were two 's's on Cantrall's pad, a large one and a small one. The large one was all by itself, and when she had first seen it, she'd thought it had been the number eight. But Huggy had recognized the diagram as being the layout of Starsky's apartment, and that this was a capital 'S', for "Starsky." The other letter 's' was part of the word "this," which was written in script... except for the 's' which was separate, cursive, and looked like a small eight.

She had to sit down on the bed. Her palms were sweating and she felt herself trembling.

A sharp whistle sounded in the kitchen and she jumped guiltily.

"You ready for tea, K.R.?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't answer him. Taking a deep breath, she collected herself emotionally. Steeling herself as if she were bracing for a difficult court battle, she took the notebook and Joey's crumpled paper and went into the kitchen. "I brought some real lemons," he said. His back was to her while he poured the tea. "I know how much you like fresh lemon in your Earl Grey and they looked really good today."

Placing the notebook from Cantrall's office on the table and his note right beside it, she waited for him to turn around.

"It'll need just another minute before it's ready," he said, smiling at her. When he saw her strained expression he had a moment's confusion then glanced down to where her hands framed the evidence. It took him about fifteen seconds to recognize what he was seeing. "From the Office of Josh Cantrall" was stamped on each page of the notebook, so there was no question as to its origin.

When he realized what it was she had, the color drained out of his face so fast she thought he was in danger of passing out. He sat heavily in the nearest chair as if he feared that, too.

"Wh-wh-where did you get that?" he stammered, indicating the notebook.

"That's not important." She was amazed at how clear her voice sounded, how steady. She was trembling like a leaf. "What's important is this," she pointed to the incriminating handwriting. "Joey! The man who owns this is Gunther's lawyer. What the hell are you doing involved with him? And why?"

"N-n-n-no, I'm not, I swear! I didn't write that! It's not me!"

"You're lying! You've been lying to me all along! How many years, Joey, have you been up here, going through my things, going through my confidential records, pretending to help me when all the time you've been working for this despicable snake?" She came around the table to corner him in his seat.

He gripped the edges of the chair as though his world were tilting. He was pale, sweating, his voice quavering in fear. "I had to. You don't know him. What he's like. What they did to me. Kelly, you can't tell anybody. They'll kill me if they find out I talked."

Rage gave her strength. She moved in closer, staring unblinkingly at him. "You listen to me, you miserable spy. You've not only betrayed two honest cops, two genuinely decent human beings, you've not only betrayed my friendship and trust, you've not only sold out every gay person in this city, but you've collaborated with the Devil himself. And if you think this Irishwoman is afraid to look the Devil in the eye, then you don't know me very well. Now, you've got one choice and one choice only. You're either going to sit here and tell me everything, on tape and on the record, or I'm going to call Starsky and Hutchinson and tell them to come over here. And then I'm going to leave you alone with them. Now you tell me. What's it going to be?"

Tears fell heedlessly from his eyes, one after the other in a steady stream, as though someone had turned a faucet on and couldn't turn it off. "Kelly. I can't. And it's too late anyway. Way too late." He started to sob. "But... but I can at least tell you why...."

~~~ "Got a radio for me, Higgins?" Patrolman Jay Green asked.

"Right here," Higgins said, logging the number of the unit on his form. Green handed him his dead one. "It'll be charged and ready tomorrow morning." He recorded that unit and Green's badge number then slipped the radio into the charger.

Green didn't thank him but few of the men did. As Green was leaving the room, Higgins watched him fiddle with his radio.

He frowned. That was the third man he saw doing that tonight. Higgins wasn't positive but it looked as if they were moving the frequency knob. That didn't make much sense since all police communications were regulated to go out over very specific frequencies. There was no reason to adjust that knob. Other frequencies were available but the department was not authorized to use them. Higgins suspected that as the frequencies got crowded the others would be made available, but they weren't yet.

Higgins looked back at the radio Green had just given him. The frequency knob was set correctly as were all the radios in the charging units.

It was quiet for a moment so Higgins decided to call Dobey. He knew the captain would be in late, since he'd been keeping extremely late hours ever since the whole situation broke loose about Starsky and Hutch.

"Captain Dobey's office," he growled.

"Captain, this is Higgins. Have we authorized certain units to change frequencies on their radios?"

The question must've caught Dobey off guard. "I don't think so. Why would we?"

"I can't say, sir. I was just worried that it was on a memo I missed."

Higgins could almost see Dobey frowning. "Well, now you've got me worried that I missed it, too. Let me get my file...." There was a pause and Higgins could hear Dobey opening drawers and shuffling papers. He could also hear the groan of Dobey's over-abused chair. "I can't find anything on it, Higgins. I've glanced through all the memos from the last three months. Why are you asking?"

"Not sure, sir. I'm new at radio detail. It just seemed to me that some of the men were changing their frequencies. I thought it was something new I hadn't heard of. I must've misinterpreted what I saw. Sorry to bother you."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Okay, no problem, Higgins. It's always good to check on these things."

They hung up. Higgins looked at the bank of charging radios and thought, Yeah, it's always good to check on these things. Taking a charged unit from the rack, and glancing around to be sure he was alone, he set the volume to low and put the radio beside him. He turned the frequency knob one click and listened. After ten minutes, there was nothing but dead air, so he turned the knob another click. Another ten minutes passed and nothing but silence. Well, he figured he had little enough to do on this detail so it wasn't like he was wasting time. He turned to yet another frequency.

He got distracted by some paperwork he remembered he had to complete and realized he'd been on that frequency almost twenty-five minutes without hearing a thing.

He was just about to turn it to the last frequency setting when there was a soft crackle. Then a voice said, "Unit Fifteen is in place. Waiting further instructions. Over."

Another voice said, "Unit Fifteen, we copy. This is Unit Four. All units now in place. Waiting final orders. Stand by. Unit Four will lead. Over."

There was dead space then, "This is Unit Nine. We're not sure we're at the right place. What's your twenty, Unit Four?"

After a beat, Unit Four answered. The address was a rough area on the strip known for violent busts that needed heavy backup. It was just a few blocks from the Green Parrot.

The radios went silent again. All units in place? For what? As far as Higgins knew, there were no major stakeouts going on, no major drug busts going down, no large operations scheduled. Since the shootout at the Green Parrot, the city had been pretty quiet.

He picked up the phone again.

~~~

As Peter walked up to the bar, Hutch saw him coming and got his beer ready. "Evening," he said amiably and handed him the cold brew.

"Hey, that's service," Peter said and gave him a friendly smile. He reached into his pocket for a bill but Hutch stopped him.

"That one's on me," he said. "I owe you."

Peter shook his head. "Not at all. If anyone owes anybody--"

"Okay, let's skip the mutual gratitude routine," Hutch said, "but the beer's still on me." He paused as Peter took another sip then said quietly, "You okay?"

"You mean have I gotten over the crushing disappointment of not winning your heart?" Peter said jokingly. "No. But I'll live. I guess I've got a weak spot for sadder-but-wiser cops."

"Boy," said Hutch in a kindly way, "do you need to get over that."

Peter looked at him pointedly. "Are you okay?" Hutch figured it was only fair of him to ask. "If you mean have Starsky and I resolved our differences, then, no."

Peter looked surprised. "But I thought-- I mean, when you called me--"

"Starsky and I have been together a long time. We've had our conflicts, our hard times. This is just another one. I know how I feel and who I am and that helps a lot. But Starsky's still working it out. Nothing can get resolved between us 'til he does."

Peter looked worried. "You think he will?"

"I don't know. But if he doesn't, I think it'll be harder on him than it will be on me."

The phone rang and the other bartender, Kevin, answered it. Then he called over to Hutch, "Hey, it's for you."

Hutch picked up the extension nearest him. "Hutchinson."

"Hutch. It's Higgins...."

~~~

Starsky stood on the landing between the Black Parrot and the Rainbow Parrot and looked over the dancers downstairs in the main bar. It was almost a normal crowd and he was surprised. It was nothing like Ladies' Night, but still, there were more people than had been at the Parrot lately.

Life goes on, he thought wryly.

Even though he couldn't see them, he knew Sugar and the other dancers were lining up behind the curtain for the ten o'clock show and quietly going through their routine in one final rehearsal before the deejay finished the last song of the set and the curtains went up.

Both Tsuka and her husband, Yoshi, sat at a table drinking tea. They'd been here every night since she'd started doing the civil disobedience training.

At the bar, Hutch was serving Peter a beer and the two of them were talking. Starsky could feel a stir of jealousy but it was a pale shadow of his previous insanity.

Can't stand anyone getting too near Hutch, can you? You hypocrite. That's not love, it's ownership. I was always flattered by it when women got that way about me, at least 'til it got on my nerves and I dumped them. I always knew it had nothing to do with real love. Like with Kira. It was all ownership and territory, which is why me and Hutch were going head-to-head about it. Kira was just the symbol.

He suddenly had trouble remembering what she looked like, how she felt under his hands. It was something that had happened a long time ago that was only the vaguest memory now.

As he watched Peter and Hutch interact, he felt a pang of disquiet. Peter had real feelings for Hutch, real caring. That might've worked out for his partner. God knows, women never did.

Hutch reacted to something Kevin said to him, then reached for the phone behind him. He spoke into it for a minute then his expression changed, and his whole body went rigid. Starsky went on alert and started down the stairs.

Hutch put two fingers to his mouth and blasted out one short sharp whistle.

Starsky nearly stumbled. That was the signal to the demonstrators. What's happening? When? Now? It had never seemed real to him before this.

The music stopped and the dancers came out from behind the curtain, looking apprehensive.

Hutch leapt up onto the bar. "Get in position! If you can't participate, get out of here now! We might only have seconds--"

The front doors burst open as he said that. Cops poured in. All of them in uniform.

So they'll be harder to identify, Starsky realized.

One of the cops was yelling something about a raid. Everyone was under arrest.

Bar patrons raced up the staircase following the planned escape route. Starsky urged them to hurry as he ran down past them. The escapees would go out through the Rainbow Parrot, up the fire escape, onto the roof, and over four buildings. They'd enter that building and wait on the top floors until someone came and gave them the signal to leave.

The people in the two upstairs bars came pouring out like ants from a hive. Most of them would mass together side-by-side on the bottom of the stairs and jam it, passively resisting and preventing the cops from going upstairs, buying time for the others to escape.

Hutch was directing activities. People were laying tables on their sides and curling up around them, using them for shelter and making it harder for the cops to move around.

Starsky ran toward the front doors. He stood before the line of cops, making himself a target. It rattled him that he didn't recognize any of them.

"What are the charges?" he demanded. "Where's the warrant? We haven't violated our license or broken any laws. This is an illegal raid!"

The cops in front of him just laughed and four of them grabbed him roughly and pulled him into their midst.

"We've got all the charges we need, faggot," one said, as he swung his billy club. "Don't you know cocksucking's against the law?"

Instinctively, Starsky raised his hands to fight back but fought that urge as he remembered what Tsuka had taught him. Instead, he curled into a ball and dropped heavily, making himself a dead weight. He covered his head and the back of his neck with his arms and covered his groin with his legs, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. It made it difficult for the uniforms to grab hold of him, and while the billy club landed hard on his side and ass, his most sensitive parts were protected.

He felt like an armadillo, being rolled around on the floor ineffectually as they tried to move him. He couldn't see anything happening around him, just glimpses of blue-clad legs and action. He could hear the tables being dragged, moved, overturned, chairs falling, people crying out as they were struck, high-pitched screams.

Over all that, he could hear Hutch's clear tenor voice, Tsuka's thin soprano, and then Peter's rich baritone calling out instructions to the resistors. But cops kept pouring in.

The sounds of shattering glass rent the air, as the cops smashed the new front window that had been replaced after the shooting. Starsky heard the stained glass over the bar going next then the mirrors. Then there were individual explosions of glasses shattering on the floor. It had the eerie resonance of Kristallenacht in Germany. He suddenly felt as though he were plummeting back through time, as though hatred could alter dimensions and keep making the same events occur over and over.

Just then, the cops mobilized a united effort against him as many hands lifted him bodily. He tightened his posture, expecting to be carried outside and tossed into a wagon. But that didn't happen. The rough hands moved him through the mass of cops then tossed him into a corner. He landed hard but held back any sound, not wanting them to have the satisfaction. He focused inward, found his center, and hummed his Om. He would not let them win.

His arms were wrenched away from his body and one was twisted high on his back. Then a hand tightened cruelly in his hair. His head was pulled back hard, and he was forced to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut to prevent tears from welling up from the pain.

"You got 'im?" someone asked.

"Yeah, we've got him," a familiar voice said.

His heart dropped as he recognized Russo's voice.

He felt like he was trapped in a vise, in an unyielding machine. He tried to move, tried to pull away, but he was completely imprisoned by a man who was more machine than human.

"I've got you good, don't I, sweetheart?" Russo's hated voice dripped sarcasm. He opened his eyes and tried to look behind him, but could only see Russo's profile and his leering grin. He looked to the front and was stunned to find Wilson standing there. Wilson's face was dark with rage and hatred.

Starsky blinked dully. "You're part of this?" He'd always respected the older cop, felt bad for him being stuck with Russo. He thought Wilson had been the reins on Russo, holding him back from being even more corrupt than he was. He was stunned to realize how wrong he'd been.

"You are so stupid," Wilson said contemptuously. "I'm not part of this. I am this." "Thought you knew, silly faggot," Russo purred. "You always said it. Wilson's the brains of this outfit. I'm the brawn." He twisted Starsky's arm harder to emphasize his point.

Starsky barely managed to stifle his gasp. Stars danced in front of his eyes as pain lanced through his arm, shoulder, and back.

"Wilson organized everything," Russo gloated. "He made the contact with Gunther's lawyer. He knew all the brothers who would be willing to lend their help. He orchestrated the whole thing. There isn't a cop in LA that isn't with us in spirit right now."

"You two thought you could just laugh it off," Wilson said. His voice shook with anger. "All those years together, throwing it in the face of normal men. Real cops. You think we didn't know? Touching each other right in front of us. Miserable queers. How'd you ever get through the army? The Academy?"

Russo yanked on Starsky's hair to make sure he had his attention. "Probably got all those medals for giving the generals the best head they ever had, right? Know what we need, Wilson? We need a demonstration. Starsky needs to show us the fine technique we saw in that film. Probably been a few hours since you had some, huh, Starsky? Feelin' hungry?"

He froze, stunned and dizzy. He couldn't believe that all these years later he would once again find himself on his knees, tortured by bullies, just like in Brooklyn.

Wilson moved close enough for Starsky to smell the detergent in his uniform. He ran a thumb over Starsky's lower lip, then gripped his chin cruelly.

A surge of fear curled in his belly and he lurched to escape but Russo was immovable.

"That's what I like about you, Russo," Wilson said darkly. "You always get right to the point." He reached for his zipper.

"Do it," Starsky swore, trying to ignore the quaver in his voice, "and I'll bite it off."

Wilson smiled and it was a frightening sight. "You ever give head with a broken jaw? It's a lot more unpleasant, trust me." He showed him the billy club to emphasize his point.

Around them raged a noisy war. People were being hauled out of the bar. Screams of anger rang through the air. A dozen voices were singing, some were chanting against police brutality. It was a scene out of Hell.

But Starsky's own private Hell was about to get a lot worse.

As Wilson reached for his zipper with one hand, he dug a thick thumb into the flesh where Starsky's jaw hinged, forcing his mouth open. The blood was pounding in Starsky's ears, and instinctively he called Hutch. It just made him look weaker to these bastards.

"You wanna pretend he's Hutch, honey," Russo murmured, "you go right ahead. It'll just encourage you to do a better job." Starsky thought he should close his eyes, that it would be worse if he didn't, but he couldn't make himself look away.

You were right, Hutch. It's nothing but rape and it's gonna happen to me right here within yards of you and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

Wilson had exposed his short ugly dick and the smell of sour musk hit Starsky hard, nauseating him.

Fine. Let's see how well you like being puked on, you fucker.

Suddenly, there was a roar, as if a wild animal had been unleashed, something big like a tiger. That sound wasn't human and it cut through all the other chaotic noises. Wilson and Russo turned, startled by its rage. And as they did, Hutch landed on Wilson in a full body tackle and bore him to the ground.

Starsky's eyes widened. He'd seen Hutch in a million fights and seen him mad as hell besides. But he'd never seen him like this. His long hair was flying as his fists pounded Wilson senseless. He kept roaring in fury as he beat Wilson into unconsciousness.

Even Russo was impressed. He started backpedaling like crazy, dragging Starsky with him across the floor. Russo was yelling for help, sounding near panicked.

Hutch bolted off Wilson's senseless body and launched himself at them, shouting, "LET HIM GO NOW!"

A sea of blue descended on Hutch just as he drew back to punch Russo in the face. Five cops landed on Hutch's back, his arms, but anger gave him strength. Starsky watched in stunned amazement as Hutch was nearly buried under the mass of men, only to rise up, yelling Starsky's name, and throwing the cops off. But it only lasted a minute as others joined the fray and subdued Hutch under their sheer numbers.

A couple of other cops grabbed hold of Starsky, keeping him contained, but one of them snapped, "This wouldn't have happened if you two didn't have to play around!"

Starsky strained to see what was happening to Hutch as the uniforms around him grew denser. Suddenly, there were shouts of anger from the back of the bar. Starsky heard Roland yell, "They've got Hutch!" and every patron of the Black Parrot responded. Leathermen converged on the cops restraining Hutch.

No! Starsky moaned, knowing that would only give the police the excuse to be rougher and give them more charges for the raid.

But it was too late. There was chaos all around them. The rest of the demonstrators held their positions but the cops engaged the leathermen in a war only the cops could win.

As Starsky was dragged bodily out of the bar, he lost sight of Hutch who was drowning in uniforms and finally disappeared. An unreasoning panic gripped Starsky's heart and he couldn't stop himself.

"HUUUUTCH!" he screamed as they were separated. "HUUUUUTTTCH!"

In the midst of a dozen black-and-whites with their lights flashing stood several paddy wagons waiting for their human cargo. He was tossed bodily into the back of one and had the doors slammed and locked in his face. He threw himself mindlessly against it, shouting for Hutch, rattling the bars like a wild man.

Arms came around him but not to restrain. He turned and realized he'd been thrown into the wagon with all the drag queens, no doubt as a sign of contempt. The dancers gathered around him, hugging him, holding him, struggling to console him.

Sugar had been doing Marilyn tonight but right now her voice was just herself. She stroked his hair, his face, and he realized he must've seemed insane to them. They were worried about him. Afraid for him.

"Easy, baby, easy," Sugar cooed. "Calm down. Just take it easy."

He was panting frantically, his heart racing. "They've got Hutch! They...they've--"

"I know, baby," Sugar said. "But freaking out isn't going to help him. It'll just give those pigs an excuse to beat on you some more. You've got to calm down. We've got to think. The kids that got out, you know they're gonna call K.R. She'll get us out of this. But you've got to pull it together, honey."

His arms stole around Sugar and he hugged her to him. He wanted to weep into her shoulder, wanted to explain just how afraid he was for Hutch. The dancers crowded all around him, holding him tight, giving him a strange sense of comfort and security. They kept murmuring meaningless phrases, telling him it would be all right, it would be fine.

You stupid pigs, Starsky thought. These people have more integrity and guts every goddamn day than any of you ever had in your whole miserable lives.

For the first time, Starsky felt something he'd never been able to understand before. He felt hatred for the police.

Tonight I'll be on that hill 'cause I can't stop I'll be on that hill with everything I got Lives on the line where dreams are found and lost I'll be there on time and I'll pay the cost For wanting things that can only be found In the darkness on the edge of town Darkness on the Edge of Town--Bruce Springsteen

Chapter 22

There's a dark cloud rising from the desert floor I packed my bags and I'm heading straight into the storm Gonna be a twister to blow everything down That ain't got the faith to stand its ground Promised Land--Bruce Springsteen

As the heavy barred doors of the lockup clanged shut behind him, Starsky gripped the bars and felt his barely banked fury climb. The place was unfamiliar, which meant it was out of his jurisdiction. The institutional green paint was cracked and peeling from the walls and the bars. There were no windows.

"Where's our goddamn phone call, you bastards?" he shouted after the horde of cops who'd thrown him in here. "We haven't even been booked! We're entitled to a lawyer and a fuckin' phone call! I want it now!"

"Just pray we don't gas all you queers in the shower," one of the uniforms said. Laughter drifted down the hallway as the cops left, the heavy metal door clanging locked behind them.

Still frantic after being held in the truck outside the bar for almost an hour then confined longer after the brief ride to the detention center, Starsky paced the long, narrow cell. It was a community tank like the ones on either side of him and it was filled with the Green Parrot protestors. Starsky had been delivered last even though he'd been one of the first detained. They knew he'd give them more trouble than anyone else, even the leathermen, and he'd been forcibly carried in by an army of cops.

He stormed over to the cell on his left. Roland was there along with most of his boys. When Roland spotted him, he walked over.

"Hutch in with you?" Starsky asked, peering through the thick group of men. He knew he wasn't, since his white leathers would've been easy to spot in the throng of black skins.

"I thought he was with you," Roland said glumly. He was going to have a huge shiner the next day to add to his other battle scars. Some of the leathermen were bleeding. It looked like they'd gotten roughed up pretty badly.

"They hauled me out of there after he Pearl Harbored Wilson," Starsky said. "All I saw after that was him going under a dozen uniforms. Then they carried me out. What did you see?"

"It got pretty rough there for a while and Hutch was givin' as good as he got or better," Roland said with pride. "They had their hands full with him. He kept calling your name and fightin' off cops. It was something to see. But they finally subdued him and carried him off. Some of the guys saw him tossed into a wagon but I don't know who he ended up with."

"He's not in here," Starsky said worriedly. "I'll check the other cell." But he knew Hutch would have to be unconscious not to be searching for him. "Hey, Starsky," Roland said.

"Yeah?"

"Man, you two got something pretty amazing together, you know that? I never saw a man fight like that for a lover before. It was spectacular." He made a fist as a salute.

Starsky felt as though that fist was squeezing his heart. He nodded, and went to the other side of the cell. He saw some of Spike's people there but Hutch was not with them.

Peter was and approached him. "Looking for Hutch?"

"Did you see what happened to him?" Starsky asked.

"I saw him attack that cop," Peter said. "The other cops overwhelmed him and carried him out bodily. I don't know how many of them it took. He was fighting like a one-man force of nature. They tossed him into an empty wagon. It left as soon as they locked the doors. Did they take some of us to another lockup?"

That hadn't occurred to him. "I can't think of anyone who's missing but Hutch."

Peter looked concerned. "You're right. Everyone else seems to be here. Why would they take him somewhere else?"

"Why would they do any of this?" Starsky asked impatiently. "It's crazy."

"Rousting gay bars is an old police tradition," Peter reminded him. "Some cops do it for sport. The charges are always trumped up. People get beat up just for the sheer fun of it."

Starsky looked at him worriedly. "I know all about that, Peter. I never did it and neither did Hutch. Whenever we rousted a bar, we only did it to get information or find a suspect. It was always legit. I don't understand this. You don't roust a bar with fifty cops and a half dozen wagons. No one could justify that much manpower. And I didn't recognize any of those cops except Russo and Wilson. Where did they come from? Russo and Wilson haven't been in uniform in years. None of it makes any sense."

Peter seemed pensive. "Sounds to me like you're describing a conspiracy."

"Yeah, but what's the point? There's got to be an objective to it." Neither of them could think of anything else to say. Hutch's absence took on a more sinister cast.

"David," a soft voice called.

He turned to find Tsuka behind him. Somehow, she'd gotten through this without a single ebony hair out of place. She was like an apparition, a single spot of calm in the center of a typhoon.

Her serenity seemed to mock him. "Please, don't tell me about my chakras right now, huh? I don't think I could take it." She looked pained. "You've lost your center. You're burning up energy at a frightening rate. You must calm yourself. David, please, sit with me and try to regain your--"

He shook his head, unable to listen to her. He didn't want to be calm. He wanted to tear this cell down bar by bar and find Hutch.

Suddenly Yoshi was beside his wife. He placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. "You're asking a soldier to be calm in the heat of war. He can't do that right now."

She rejected that opinion. "Even the samurai maintains his center, his focus, if he wants to defeat his enemy. He must--"

Starsky walked away from them, unable to listen to anything that didn't pertain to his most immediate need. Sugar and the dancers were in with him but they'd done all they could for him in the wagon. They knew enough to let him pace, grip the bars, and worry.

He had walked to the back of the cell to get a drink from the fountain, when he heard the hallway door clang open then shut again. Thinking that they were bringing Hutch in at last, he turned around to see. They must've worked him over pretty bad but if they'd just let them be together--

But it wasn't Hutch or more prisoners. It was only a single cop sauntering down the aisle toward the cell. Starsky recognized Russo's distinctive bulky silhouette immediately. His blood chilled down ten degrees.

"Hello, ladies," Russo said with false civility as he stood before the bars. "Hope everyone finds the accommodations to their liking. Especially you, Starsky."

Starsky came forward but didn't get too close. He didn't want to give Russo any excuse to work him over or to brutalize any of the people in lockup with him. His every nerve was on hyper- alert. Russo was here to gloat.

"You don't think you'll get away with this, do you?" Starsky asked. "There's still a justice system in this country. Something to balance out stupid bigots like you."

Russo chuckled. "Still the little rooster, performing for all your hens. Well, at least you won't be lonely, Starsky. You've got enough company to keep even a stud like you satisfied."

He ached to know where Hutch was but that was the only reason Russo was here, to taunt him with that knowledge. He wouldn't play.

"Ain't'cha gonna ask, Starsky?" Russo wondered, grinning. "Where's your sweet blond, huh? Or have you been so distracted by your other lovers that you haven't noticed he's missing?"

Starsky clenched his teeth. Russo wasn't the only one here who could gloat. "How's your buddy Wilson? Is he conscious yet? Hutch barely touched him and he went down like a tree. Hope someone remembered to zip him up."

Russo's face darkened, letting Starsky know he'd gotten a hit. As Russo moved closer to the bars, Starsky marveled that he was still able to get into his uniform. Needing to keep a safe psychic distance, Starsky took a step away from the front of the cage. If Russo wanted him, he was going to have to come in after him.

"Don't you worry about Wilson," Russo grumbled. "He's gonna be okay. You won't be able to say that about your blond bitch."

Starsky froze and all three cells of prisoners grew quiet. He's just goading you, wanting to see you lose it. Don't believe him. He was born a liar. But he knew he couldn't hide the tension that ran through him.

"Still won't ask, huh?" Russo taunted. "Don't wanna know or don't care? Outta sight, outta mind? And I thought you guys were tight. All those years dickin' each other. I always knew there was no loyalty among queers."

Starsky's jaw worked back and forth. If he just stood here and listened to this son-of-a-bitch he was going to lose it and that was just what Russo wanted.

If Hutch was here you know what he'd say. Focus on that place between your eyes, your inner eye. Find your center and don't let him get to you. That's what Hutch would tell you to do. So do it.

He turned his back on Russo as if in contempt, gathered his inner resources, centered his focus and hummed his Om. He focused on Hutch, on his face, bringing his features to the forefront of his mind and held the image there.

Hutch, shining bright and beautiful, dressed in white leather, soft hair glowing. Hutch.

Ooooooommmmm.

"You can't turn your back on this one, Starsky," Russo said, raising his voice to make sure he was heard. "Can't pretend it ain't happening. Not such a glory hound now, are you? Let's see, what time is it...? Nearly midnight. Oh yeah, it's been going on for awhile. Probably even done. Depends on how much fun they were having."

Starsky kept the image firm. Beautiful Hutch. Powerful Hutch. Fighting an army of men to save him. His Hutch.

Ooooooommmmm.

"You ever heard of the Christians in the lions' den, Starsky? Oh, I guess not--you're Jewish. Yeah, well, us God-fearing Christians know all about that. How the Romans threw the Christians in the lions' den and the lions ate 'em up. Like a yummy snack. We couldn't get any lions, Starsky. But we didn't have any trouble finding us a den of big hungry bulls."

Hutch's eyes were so blue, so deep, and they held so much. They held honor and truth and strength and all the wonderful things Hutch believed in. Starsky knew Hutch believed in him, too. He kept on believing. Believed that someday I'd remember how I'd felt about him that night. If I only could've done that.... Ooooooommmmmmmmm.

"Ever been down to County lockup, Starsky?" Russo's voice was like silk, as if he were tantalizing him with something wonderful.

Starsky's focus wavered.

He knew all about County lockup. It was the oldest one in the city, a place so dismal he hated going there. Its labyrinth of cells was deep underground and the lighting system was so old it was always dim and dank. Used as a transfer station, its cells were usually overcrowded, full of some of the most vicious dangerous men being held in the city. They kept violent offenders there during long court trials or until they could move them to whatever facility they'd be serving their sentence in. Some of the men stayed there for months, with nothing to do but vent their rage on each other. Suicides were a regular occurrence, though most cops knew they were usually cover- ups for murder. Rape was so common, none of the cops in charge paid any attention to it.

Hutch believed working there was a punishment and Starsky agreed. The cops manning the place were often one step away from being fired. It was a special little corner of Hell, and the men that ended up there--both police and prisoners--usually deserved it.

"It wasn't hard to arrange a special party just for Hutch at County," Russo purred.

Starsky turned slightly and glanced at Russo over his shoulder. Russo was enjoying every minute of this, grinning like a fool. He'd moved closer to the bars, pressing his face against them, to be sure Starsky heard every syllable.

"Took just a little grease on the right palms," Russo said, talking slowly, savoring the story. "Set up a special welcoming committee just for your big pretty blond. Cell about this size. All the way in the back of the lowest level. Walls this thick. Natural sound-proofing. Put maybe thirty bulls in that cell. Hard-core guys with nothing to lose. All of 'em waiting to go away for the rest of their days. Some of them, Hutch put there himself. They were the most eager. You never saw a cell full of hard-timers look so happy when they were told what to expect. They couldn't have been more pleased if we'd put Hutch in a cake and had him jump out naked."

Starsky turned away and clamped his eyes shut, needing to blot out Russo's glee. He's lying, isn't he, Hutch? Yeah, he's lying all right. No cop, no matter how crooked, would ever do something that crazy. How could anybody hate us that much--?

The image of Hutch wavered and the sacred word lodged dryly in his throat.

There was total silence in the cells. No one moved. Everyone was too mesmerized by the horror Russo portrayed.

"Hutch was the first one taken in," Russo told him. "The rest of you were held at the bar 'til we had everyone restrained and the place secured. Then we transported you here and let you stew awhile in the wagon before we moved everybody, one wagon at a time into lockup. All that time and Hutch was in County. Just him and thirty lonely guys. Thirty really mad guys. Now Hutch is tough, we all know that, don't we, Starsky? Big man. Strong man. How long d'ya think he could last against thirty guys?"

This is a lie, Starsky told himself but his fear was overwhelming. It's just a big fat lie he's telling me to make me crazy!

It was working.

"I figure it took them maybe thirty seconds before they had his blond ass stretched over that bench and got the party going! Thirty guys who ain't seen anything that pretty in a long time--"

Starsky couldn't take it. The image was too powerful, too visual. He had seen Hutch buried under a tide of uniforms. It was too easy to imagine him being hauled out of the bar, helpless under the force of all those men. All those men.... His Hutch.... Alone.

In terror and grief, Starsky succumbed and fell to one knee, curling in on himself, his mind going black.

Hutch! Oh, God, Hutch!

The only thing left for him to respond to was Russo's voice.

"I tell ya, Starsky, they couldn't wait. I figure, as crazed as they were to get at him, the party's probably winding down just about now. Or maybe it's over. 'Cause there was a definite end point and the bulls didn't wanna drag it out too long. You know how they are. They like to take it hard and fast then end it just right with one last big violent rush."

Starsky moaned, unable to stop the involuntary sound from passing his lips. And as he did, the release of pent-up anguish did something to his mind. He felt as if he were shattering into pieces, as if he were being destroyed atom by atom.

But when atoms split, don't they make an explosion?

"So," Russo continued on blithely, "after each of those boys had a sweet taste of Hutch's ass, they were gonna do the one thing every one of them had always wanted to do to a cop. But I figure that was a kindness really. After all that fun Hutch had just had, he'd probably be pretty damn grateful to have it brought to a final end. I'd like to say a merciful end, but I don't think that's in the cards for Hutch. And looking at the time, I figure that's either happened already or maybe it's happening right now."

Right now? This was happening to Hutch right now? While he stood helpless, trapped in this cell miles away, the most important person in the world to him, the one human being he loved the most was being raped and tortured to death at the hands of some of the worst scum the city could produce? Starsky's body shook violently and pressure built dangerously behind his eyes. He swayed, in danger of passing out.

"Hey, Starsky," Russo chided, "tight as you guys were, you think you'll feel Hutch's spirit when the last fatal blow finally lands in his gut and the last gasp of air is choked from his lungs? Think you'll feel his soul passing when he finally croaks for good?"

Something tore in Starsky's mind. It was physical, like a stroke, but clean. He could hear the tearing like a curtain being rent from hem to hem. It hurt, physically and he cried out, a sharp, clear sound.

And then he remembered.

Everything.

That night--me and Hutch--my hands on him--my mouth on him--the way I wanted him--the way I loved him. Oh, God, how I love him!

The shock was too sudden and he staggered, falling forward onto his hands. Sugar and Tsuka ran to him, tried to gather him in their arms, but he was rocking in place, mad with grief. Insane with the memories flooding his mind. Memories of passion so powerful it had overwhelmed him. Memories of a need he thought he could never satisfy, for how could he ever get enough of Hutch? And the most painful, the memories of a love so strong it had staggered him with its beauty and perfection. His love. For Hutch.

Russo was chuckling happily and Sugar turned on him in a rage as she tried to comfort Starsky. "Will you shut up, you sick fucker?"

"If you don't behave yourself, you little candy-ass bitch," Russo said, pushing his face through the bars to taunt her, "I'll come in there and show you what a real man can do."

"You'll never get away with this!" Peter shouted. "Every person in this place will bear witness to the crimes you've committed! Every one of us will testify to what you've said."

"Yeah, like anyone's gonna give a damn about what a bunch of queers has to say," Russo spat back. "You ever look up the stats on how many complaints homosexuals put in every year against cops and how many of those complaints ever come to anything? And hey, if Hutch ended up in the wrong lockup, well, that was just a mix-up in the paperwork, right? Unfortunate error. Suspended fag cop gets accidentally put in a cell with some real men. Outcome can't be good." Russo laughed. "And a lot of good your testimony will do to Hutchinson's cooling corpse."

Russo's attention turned back to Starsky. "And what better way to render this pansy useless but to take his favorite piece of ass away from him? We got a pool going on the precise date. Most of us figure he'll be good for maybe a month before he sucks off a gun."

"Don't listen to him, baby," Sugar said to Starsky. "He's a lying asshole and you know it. Hutch is gonna be fine, you'll see."

But Starsky could tell by the quaver in her voice that Sugar didn't believe that. Just as he didn't.

Wasted. All that time wasted. Hutch doing everything he could to make me love him, and me, not man enough to recognize my own feelings for him. All gone now. All wasted. Oh, God, Hutch, how I let you down. My partner. My best friend. My only love. "Now, don't you worry, Starsky," Russo continued relentlessly. "We'll make sure you're out of here in time to identify the body. Somebody's gotta look at that mess and put a name to it. Too bad he won't be so gay-boy pretty anymore. Wonder if you'll be able to stomach giving that sorry lookin' sack of cold meat one last juicy goodbye kiss."

Starsky came up off the floor like a cobra.

His reaction was purely physical since he never thought it through. But in the space of a syllable, he was on the bars and had Russo's head in a punishing grip.

Russo jerked back, using the bars for leverage, but Starsky had him by the chin and the back of the head and his anger gave him a strength he'd never known before. At this moment, he was Death, and by the shocked look in Russo's eyes, Starsky knew Russo recognized that. The big man was pushing hard on the bars, trying to break Starsky's grip. But Starsky kept a counter-pull on his head, so if Russo relented even a little bit, his face would smash into the bars. It made it difficult for Russo to get any leverage. He didn't dare release the bars.

Every muscle in Starsky's back, shoulders, and arms strained, as he struggled to either break Russo's neck or smash his face into the bars hard enough to drive the bones in his nose into his brain. Russo resisted with his own formidable strength, but the sudden attack had taken him by surprise and fear was working against him.

The cells erupted as all the leathermen cheered wildly, shouting encouragement, telling Starsky to "Kill the fuckin' pig!" and "Avenge Hutch!" They began chanting, "Do it! Do it!"

But Starsky was only dimly aware of that. His focus was clear.

Suddenly, there was a weight on his back but that was easy to ignore. He felt Russo's arms begin to weaken, felt his powerful thick neck give slightly. He increased the pressure. He would never tire, never suffer fatigue. Death was unyielding and he was Death.

"David, stop!" It was Tsuka shrilling in his ear. He blotted it out, not letting the voice of reason interrupt the execution of his vengeance. "You can't do this! Hutch wouldn't want you to do this! David, please!"

She clambered up his back bodily, searching for the pressure points in his own neck, which were hidden under the collar of his leather jacket. She could render him unconscious; he tensed against the blow. But suddenly she was gone. Someone had pulled her off him.

He could hear her husband, Yoshi. "He has the right to avenge Hutch! Don't interfere!"

"Have you gone crazy, too?" Tsuka shouted. "This isn't feudal Japan, it's California! They'll execute him for this!"

"Tsuka, stay out of it! Without Hutch, how much longer do you think he can live anyway?"

What a smart guy, Starsky thought. How long could he live without Hutch now that he knew his true feelings? Not long at all. Russo grunted softly and the slight sound of weakness gave Starsky another surge of adrenaline.

Behind him, the other prisoners were shouting wildly. Part of him realized some of them were calling for help, wanting to stop him before he murdered this man, but afraid to interfere. Insanity was like that. It scared people. And at this moment, he was truly insane. You had to be crazy to assume the mantle of Death. His muscles protested the constant pressure but he ignored them and twisted harder, turning Russo's chin a little more.

His eyes never blinked as they bore into Russo's tiny close-set ones. He was grimacing with effort, but that must've looked like a shark's smile. Russo was sweating, his body trembling. But Starsky was made of steel and never quavered from his objective. He would not be stopped until Russo was dead in his hands. After that, he didn't care what happened. He had no life without Hutch anyway.

There was a loud clang and a familiar voice bellowed his name. Dobey. He never looked up, never took his focus off Russo's perspiring beet-red face. He was so glad he'd learned how to focus all his energy.

"STARSKY!" Dobey shouted. "Starsky! Let him go! The whole thing was caught on camera, on tape. We've got everything Russo said. And Callahan's got a witness singing his heart out. He's fingered Russo and Wilson, and Higgins ID'ed two of the cops from Metro who were involved. They're all talking a blue streak trying to make deals. It's over, Starsky! Let him go!"

It meant nothing to him. If all the cops involved got a hundred years of hard time with the hardest cons in the world, what did it matter? Hutch was dead. Starsky's life was over. And if he was doomed to spend eternity in Hell he was going to make sure Russo was right beside him so Starsky could abuse him forever more.

"Can't any of you stop him?" Dobey shouted at the prisoners, as he tugged ineffectually at the steel bands of Starsky's arms.

"Why would we want to?" Sugar asked wearily and numerous voices agreed.

Dobey's meaty hands grasped Starsky by the wrists, trying to break his hold. But Death could not be defeated by mere human hands. Starsky's grip remained firm.

It was almost over he realized with a pang of regret. Russo's body began to go slack and his eyes fluttered and started to roll up. Just a little bit more and Starsky could force the final snap that would separate the vertebrae--

Russo began to sag. Starsky prepared to make his move.

The hallway door crashed open again. A voice rang out in one beautiful clear tone: "STARSKY! STOP!"

Tears filled Starsky's eyes. One final torment. That he should hear a voice so much like Hutch's when his task was almost finished. It broke his concentration. Russo's eyes rolled up and he lost consciousness. Starsky struggled to force the snap but the big man's weight was dragging him out of his grasp and the sweat on Russo's skin made his fingers slip. But he was determined to do it. He shifted to get a better hold.

Powerful hands grasped Starsky's wrists. "Starsky, don't! Let him go! I'm begging you!"

Tears blurred his vision. He saw a swirl of gold and stared. His insanity was making him hallucinate. He imagined Hutch before him, grabbing his wrists, trying to pull him off Russo. It was a beautiful hallucination. He wondered if it would disappear when Russo died.

"He thinks you're dead!" Tsuka shouted.

"Starsky, snap out of it!" the vision of gold demanded. "It's me, dammit. It's HUTCH! I'm here, I'm alive. Let him go!"

"He's lost it, Hutch," Dobey said.

Hutch...? He squeezed his eyes closed and when he opened them his vision cleared. The hallucination grew solid, substantial. Hutch!

He released the unconscious Russo without a second thought. He fell like a dead weight and Starsky instantly forgot him.

Others must've entered with Hutch, because Dobey was yelling orders. "We need medical help! Get Russo away from those bars but be careful. Stabilize his neck and head. He's out cold but he's alive."

Starsky thought he heard Baylor's distinctive accent and Meredith's cultured voice but he didn't care enough to pay attention.

Hutch walked a few steps away from where Russo collapsed and Starsky followed him along the bars like a shadow. He was afraid to blink, afraid to find out he was dreaming.

"Hutch? How...? What...? He said you were dead...!" Starsky was nearly incoherent, his rage and grief and hopelessness too raw to let him believe in miracles.

"I never got to the cell," Hutch said, grinning. "When they pulled into the lockup, Kelly was waiting for them with Baylor, Meredith, and a really pissed-off judge. Kelly had an informant who knew everything and was talking a blue streak. It took a while to sort it all out down at County, but the cops who brought me in were arrested right then. They've busted Gunther's lawyer. And all the cops involved with this are going to take a heavy fall. Every precinct had some guys involved, from rookies to old timers ready for retirement. Every rotten egg in the city, all in one basket."

Starsky realized he was crying and didn't care. He swabbed at his face to wipe the annoying moisture away. "Hutch, I've got to tell you--" He swallowed, the words jamming up in his throat. "Oh, God, Hutch. I thought I'd lost you. Thought you'd died the most horrible death." "Ssshhh," Hutch soothed, reaching through the bars to stroke his hair. "It's all over now, buddy. Try to relax."

Starsky shook his head. "Can't. Gotta tell you--"

Hutch turned around for a minute and yelled behind him, "Can't somebody get the goddamned key and open these doors?"

Starsky reached through the bars to grab a fistful of white vest and pulled Hutch around to face him. "Hutch! Listen! I love you!"

Hutch's face softened into the warmest smile. "I know that, buddy. I love you, too."

He's not getting it, Starsky realized, frustrated. "No. Not like that!" He closed his eyes, tried to collect his scrambled thoughts. "Hutch! I remember!"

Hutch only looked more confused, as if trying to figure out a complex puzzle that he was missing critical pieces to.

At a complete loss, Starsky reached out, grabbed the back of Hutch's neck, and yanked him foreword. His mouth met Hutch's firmly as their faces pressed against the cold bars.

Hutch stiffened in surprise but only for a second. Then his arms snaked through the bars, grabbing at Starsky's jacket, the same way Starsky was clutching at his arms and his long hair. Their mouths opened at the same time, as their tongues clashed together hard as they attempted to climb down each other's throat.

The desperate kiss was just as beautiful as Starsky remembered. Hutch moaned softly into his mouth and Starsky went as hard as the bars surrounding him. They pulled apart to catch their breath just long enough for Starsky to say, "I love you!"

This time, Hutch understood. His beautiful, healthy, breathing blond's eyes filled and spilled over, then they were kissing again and Starsky swore he'd never let him go.

The blood was pounding so hard in Starsky's ears, he barely registered the cheering and clapping going on all around them as his cellmates celebrated Hutch's return from the dead and their blatant display of love.

Dobey must've been really preoccupied with giving first aid to Russo, because he suddenly snapped, "What the hell--?" as he spied his two best detectives trying to copulate through the cell bars. "Starsky! Hutchinson!"

They pulled apart reluctantly but didn't release their grip on each other's clothing.

"We're on suspension, Cap," Starsky said. His voice was ragged. "That means we're on our own time."

"You tell 'im, babe," Hutch said, grinning, resting his forehead against the bars. His face was flushed red, his sexual excitement so obvious it just made Starsky ache for him more.

"The hell you are!" Dobey blustered. "I'm petitioning the deputy chief of police to reinstate you retroactively from your suspension and he doesn't dare refuse me now."

They both turned to him, confused. "The deputy chief...?" Hutch muttered.

"The chief has been implicated in encouraging these rogue cops in their illegal activities," Dobey told them. "He's suspended and under house arrest for the time being. Since you two are credited with helping to uncover this huge conspiracy of illegal activities, the deputy chief, who is now in charge, wouldn't dare deny me your reinstatement."

"What about the mayor?" Starsky asked, afraid to hope.

Dobey grinned hugely. "The mayor is backpedaling like crazy, scared to death that someone's going to finger him as being involved." His expression grew stern again. "So, as far as I'm concerned, you two are on the clock. I expect professionalism from my men, especially if they're going to continue to work together! But...what the two of you do on your own time is your own damned business."

They gave each other an awkward hug through the bars and separated enough for decorum. But Starsky couldn't bear to pull his eyes away from the solid form of the man he loved and Hutch had trouble looking elsewhere also.

"Captain," Sugar said, sidling up to the bars. Her voice was a low and throaty Marilyn purr. "What a towering example of manhood you are! Can you tell us just how long us poor helpless girls are going to have stay in this dump?"

Dobey smiled and drew himself up the way he did whenever he was in the presence of attractive women. "Well, ma'am, we're working on that right now. The cops who incarcerated you unjustly also took the keys, probably to ensure you weren't released too soon."

Hutch glanced at Starsky, amused. "Uh...think we should tell Dobey that Sugar--?"

"Not on your life," Starsky said. Hutch grinned.

The hallway door opened noisily. Starsky looked up to see Kelly hurrying toward them. The minute she got within reach, Starsky grabbed her arm and towed her close. "You're the most beautiful lawyer in the whole wide world, you know that?" He got choked up again as he tried to embrace her through the bars.

She blushed and looked flustered but smiled. "Listen, this thing's not over yet. You have no idea how much chaos there is. We've got the keys and you all have to appear at a hearing now, so we can sort the whole thing out. The judge doesn't want to release anybody without getting everything on record. So, all of you will be going upstairs before the judge--"

"Hold it," Starsky said indignantly. "You mean, we have to prove our innocence? That's not how it works. This was a false arrest. We weren't given due process, we weren't even booked! And we were subjected to serious police brutality. We should not only be released without question, but the judge ought to come down here to personally apologize to everyone in these cells. We've had our civil rights violated to the max and the city can expect a civil suit--" he looked at her expectantly, "as soon as our lawyer can draw up the papers!"

She smiled. "Of course. They know that. But the judge insists on seeing everyone--"

"Then he can damned well come down here and see us. See how banged up we are. How much punishment we took. We're innocent. We're not going before some judge and proving it to his specifications. K.R., you know damned well this is because we're a group of gays. If we were part of a nice straight civic group, they would've opened the bars and carried us out." Starsky gave Hutch's arm a squeeze. "I'm sorry, babe, but this is all wrong." He turned to the group behind him. "We're not leaving!"

Walking back to stand in their midst, he lowered himself into a lotus, crossed his arms and held out his hands. Tsuka immediately sat beside him and took one hand, while Sugar sat gingerly beside him and took the other. In the cells on either side, Roland led his men in the sit-down, linking arms through the bars with Starsky's group and Peter did the same with the group in his cell so they formed one continuous band of humanity.

"Why do sit-ins always have to happen on the floor in dreary places like this?" Sugar complained. "Why can't they have sit-ins on some nice attractively-upholstered divans in a well- appointed room?"

"I don't remember the words to the song," Starsky confessed to Tsuka.

"That's all right, David," she assured him. "You remembered the really important words."

"What the hell is he doing?" Dobey demanded as Baylor and Meredith came forward with the keys. As Baylor looked on dazedly, Meredith just grinned and gave Starsky a power salute. He nodded at her as the group began to sing.

"He's leading a peaceful civil disobedience in protest of the unjust treatment he's been subjected to and the violation of his civil rights," Hutch said. Starsky could hear pride ringing in his voice. "And I'm going to join him!"

"No, you're not!" Kelly said, tugging excitedly at Hutch's sleeve. "You're coming with me before the judge. This might actually work out better for us. Since we have proof that your arrest was a conspiracy to murder you, your statement will carry a lot of weight. Their peaceful protest shores up their argument that they were unjustly incarcerated by a rogue group of cops acting illegally. Let's go talk to the judge, just you and me. We'll tell him what's happening and why and see his reaction. It'll make terrific press! Barbara's upstairs with a camera crew and C.D. Phelps and her photographer are waiting! I called them with the story and they beat me here. Come on!"

Hutch could barely stand to pull his eyes away from where Starsky sat as the rhythmic voices of the protestors chanted slogans and sang spirituals.

Starsky mouthed, "I love you," as Hutch left, and the expression on that beautiful face filled his heart with joy.

Hutch was alive. Hutch was his. Nothing else mattered. Life was a wonderful thing. And as soon as all this bullshit was over, Starsky was going to show Hutch just how wonderful it could be, in every way he could imagine. Every day and night of their lives.

Every now and then I know There's no one in the universe Who's as magical and wondrous as you Every now and then I know There's nothing any better, There's nothing that I just wouldn't do Total Eclipse of the Heart--Bonnie Tyler

Chapter 23

Blame it on the lies that killed us Blame it on the truth that ran us down You can blame it all on me... It don't matter to me now When the breakdown hit at midnight There was nothing left to say But I hated him and I hated you when you went away And after all this time to find we're just like all the rest Stranded in the park and forced to confess Backstreet--Bruce Springsteen

Starsky entered the stark, white interrogation room without knocking and closed the door.

A slight-built Caucasian male in his mid-thirties sat huddled in one of the chairs behind the table. The man was turned away from him, one knee drawn up on the chair, head resting on it. His posture reminded Starsky disturbingly of himself just a few hours ago, when he had curled up in self-defense against the nightmarish images Russo hurled at him. The man didn't turn to look at Starsky or acknowledge his presence in any way.

It should've all felt familiar but it didn't. How many times had he stepped into these interrogation rooms to question a witness, harass a suspect, or work an informant? He must've spent half his life as a cop here, sometimes alone, sometimes with Hutch, doing the good-cop/bad-cop bit, or playing tennis with some guy's mind until he gave up the goods.

But that was before he'd experienced prejudice, discrimination, and police brutality first hand. He'd never view these rooms the same again. He was a different cop from the one who'd stepped into them so nonchalantly a few weeks ago. He hoped it would make him a better cop. A better person.

He was tired. They'd left the lockup less than an hour ago and the amount of energy he'd expended tonight had drained him. But he couldn't put this off. K.R. wouldn't let him and Hutch agreed that it was something he had to deal with right away. He knew they were right but he ached with fatigue, and the bruises he'd earned from the rogue cops were making themselves felt. Hutch had to be hurting, too.

It was hard to believe that this nondescript mousy little man had been the lynch pin of all this trouble. Playing with the world's most dangerous man, Gunther, and his ambitious lawyer, the guy was lucky to be alive.

Starsky stared at him, filled with turmoil. He wasn't ready to accept everything K.R. told him. It was too hard to believe. This was his chance to find out if this guy had buffaloed her.

He walked around, picking a spot as far from the man in the chair as he could so that he would be less threatening. Leaning back against the wall, he crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Aren't you going to say hello, Eddie?"

Without looking at him, the man in the chair said, "My name's Joey. Joseph Simmons. 5375 Wilshire Boulevard, Los Angeles, California--"

"You're not a prisoner of war. You don't need to give name, rank, and serial number."

"Oh, yeah?" Joey said. "That's what you think. That's exactly what I am. A prisoner of war."

"Well, according to the information I have, it's a war you volunteered for."

His slim shoulders started to shake. A tear fell to the floor then another.

Starsky had suffered too much heartache lately not to be affected. Gently, he asked, "Eddie... what happened to you?"

He was crying hard now. "You happened to me, David." He rested his forehead on his raised knee and sobbed softly.

Starsky let him cry, unable to provide any comfort. But inside, he ached.

"Tell me," Starsky whispered. It had taken all his resolve to get those words out.

"You remember what it was like when we were kids?" the man who'd been the boy he'd known as Eddie asked. He kept his face turned away, not letting Starsky see him cry.

Starsky swallowed. "I remember." I remember your mouth. Most times, I was barely aware of the rest of you.

"It was perfect, when we were kids. You--you were so good to me. So kind, so gentle. And so beautiful. I loved you so much."

Starsky closed his eyes. He felt again the deep shame he'd suffered when, after they were separated, his mind had replayed the passion he'd felt for that boy. He'd fostered the illusion of feelings to ensure the pleasure his young body craved. Now, it made him cringe.

"You loved me, too," Joey continued. "At least, that's what I thought. I could see it in your eyes, the way you looked at me when I was loving you. But then... after they caught us... I waited for you to get in touch with me. Drop me a note. Something. You never did. I waited so long. For just one word."

Joey took a deep breath to get his emotions under control. "I knew you went to California. After I finished school in Florida, after I grew up, I changed my name. I decided to be someone different. I tried to forget you and how much I loved you. But I was kidding myself. Every time I put my mouth on a man, I was putting it on you. Whenever I found someone like you, with your hair, your eyes, I made his life paradise on earth. And when they walked away from me--and every one of them did--I knew I wouldn't hear from them the same way I never heard from you. That's what happens when you grow up. You figure out your place in the scheme of things. And my place was on my knees, worshipping men who would use me and then forget me. Because you happened to me."

On some level, Starsky believed he deserved this. But even so, he couldn't help protest. "Eddie... we were kids. That's all I was: a kid, hot, horny, dying for someone to touch me."

"I told myself that a million times," Joey said. "But it didn't help. My love for you never went away. It was just a hollow ache inside me. After college, I worked for some film studios but knew I couldn't have any kind of career unless I came here. And, God, I didn't want to. You were here. I was terrified of what might happen if we were in the same city. But then the studio I worked for wanted to promote me--and transfer me out here. I almost didn't accept... but later... I decided to take the chance.

"Just being in the same city as you, breathing the same air--I felt more alive than I had in years. After I'd been here for a while, I started checking around, trying to find you. When I couldn't, I figured that was a good thing. And then you were shot."

Starsky blinked. That's how you found me?

"I got hysterical when I saw the pictures in the paper with your name and the low possibility of your survival. I asked around the bars and found someone who worked as an orderly in that hospital. For a few bucks and a regular blow job, he was happy to tell me how you were doing, whether you would live or not. He even got me your home address from your records. After you were out of intensive care, he got me your room number and I'd act like I was visiting someone and walk up and down the halls so I could get a glimpse of you in your room. Every time I went- -he was there. Your big blond. I saw how you looked at him--how you looked at each other. And I knew you loved someone else. Then you moved in with him. Hutchinson, your partner."

Joey grew calm as he told his story. Wiping his eyes, he took a steadying breath and continued.

"The orderly told me about Huggy Bear so I knew you hung out at his place. I became a regular, and as you got better I'd see you there. Always with Hutchinson. He'd touch you so often, making sure everyone knew who you belonged to."

Starsky racked his brain, trying to recall seeing this man at the Pits and he couldn't. Just another patron, Joey had been invisible, blending into a sea of other invisible faces.

"I started to hate you with as much passion as I once loved you," Joey said softly. "If you had been straight, I think I could've handled that better. But knowing you were living as a straight cop while being with him every night made me crazy. Eventually, all I wanted was to hurt you in the worst way."

"Through Hutch," Starsky said quietly.

"The gay grapevine said that someone would pay good money to prove you two were gay. Most of us thought it was some kind of celebrity revelation thing, since you'd been in the paper so much. But I had proof. So I followed the rumor and met Josh Cantrall." Joey laughed mirthlessly. "You would've thought I'd have learned something after all this time. He was so nice at first. Paid me well. We danced around each other, but soon discovered our agenda dovetailed perfectly. I thought it was wonderful irony--ruining both of you by proving you were gay."

Starsky's jaw clenched. "Was killing Hutch always part of the deal?"

Joey looked up. His eyes were swollen from crying. It had been years since Starsky had seen him, but he was able to recognize the boy who had introduced him to the wonders of sex so long ago.

"No. I swear. I had no idea. It was just the exposure. Proving you were gay. I had the perfect job in the film lab I worked for. Cantrall set up a dummy corporation with fake employees--he used names of people who'd worked for some of Gunther's corporations as a mask. It was this corporation that contracted to rent part of the lab where I worked. My name was never involved. Cantrall bankrolled the whole thing. He got the cameras from one of Gunther's defense contractors. I handled the technical end, making the film, editing, and distributing it."

"Did you enjoy watching it?" Starsky asked coldly.

Joey started to cry again. "It broke my heart. You were so beautiful. And... the scars on your chest were so frightening. But... the way you loved each other. No one's ever shown me a fraction of that kind of caring in my whole life--not since I lost you."

"How did Callahan feature into all this?" Starsky asked.

"Accidentally," Joey said. "A lot of really nice gay guys volunteered with her. Giving her a few hours a week was a good way to meet them. But soon I came to admire what she was doing for the community. I started working for her because I wanted to help. When I got hooked up with Cantrall, he paid me extra for information I could glean from her files, but there wasn't anything there that could really help him. As I got in deeper and deeper, I knew it was a good cover for me."

He met Starsky's gaze. "That's all it was supposed to be--the exposure of you as lovers. That's all Cantrall ever told me about. Until I was so involved I couldn't get out."

"You could've gotten out!" Starsky snapped. "You could've told Callahan. She nearly got killed!"

Joey ran his hands through his hair, grief-stricken. "I had no idea he would do that! I wasn't involved in that part. He connected with those killers through the cops. They told him who to call and how to do it so he couldn't be caught. And I didn't know about the connection with the police department until--" He sobbed and fell apart, hiding his face in his arms.

Starsky let him cry for a minute, then asked bluntly, "Until what?"

"Until Cantrall told me about it. How he'd connected with this guy, Wilson. How the cops hated you both so much they wanted you dead. He said it was perfect. That you were the loose cannon and all they had to do was kill Hutchinson and then you'd be useless. Maybe even kill yourself. I panicked! I told him that was more than I'd signed on for, that I was out of it. I was so scared, I started packing. I was gonna go back to Florida, just run. So he sent Russo and Wilson over to convince me. And it was Brooklyn all over again, only all grown up, so it was that much worse."

Starsky's stomach dropped and he closed his eyes. He relived the repulsive moment when he was held helpless by Russo for Wilson's sick pleasure. His anger evaporated.

"I was trapped. I never knew when they might show up. Those sadistic bastards! They had so much fun with me! And I performed, you better believe it. Whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it, as good as I could do it. They let me know if I didn't dance, I'd end up busted up, dead in some dumpster, just another John Doe. I was living from minute to minute, every one of them filled with terror. Cantrall was loving it. Everyone was having a real good time. Except me. They beat Tomas just to impress me. Show me how much pain you could inflict on someone without killing him."

"You told them Tomas was gay?"

"I didn't want to! They told me to be at the Parrot the night they sent him in. I didn't dare not do it. I guess they weren't satisfied with what he told them about you after he left the bar. So they dropped in on me to find out what I saw. By the time they were done with me, I would've given them my mother. When I told them Tomas was gay, I didn't think it mattered. I didn't know they worked with him. I got a bonus for giving him up. Cantrall always paid me so I couldn't say I was being cheated."

Starsky ran a hand over his face. "The night Callahan nearly got shot... didn't you have regrets?"

"Regrets?" He barked a humorless laugh. "The night Hutchinson dated K.R., I freaked out. I was in a panic, terrified I'd been wrong all along, that neither of you were gay, that I'd sold my soul for the worst possible reason. But Cantrall didn't care if you were gay, straight, or virginal. He was on a speeding train with one track and I was tied onto the engine with him."

"Were you in the Parrot a lot?" Starsky asked. He had no memory of seeing him there even now.

He nodded. "Just to watch you. See you move. Walk around. You were always wearing that damned jacket with the bullet holes. And the more I was there the more distant you and Hutchinson got. I could tell Whitelaw was interested in him and that seemed okay with him. I just kept getting more confused. When it hurt too bad, I'd go back to the Pits. Neutral territory. The night K.R. was shot, that's where I was. Saw it on the news. I called her in a panic, just to make sure she was really okay. And she said one of the cops was with her. I figured it was Hutchinson again, that maybe they were really developing something. But it wasn't him--it was you. You were there alone with her-- I didn't know which end was up anymore. Until I went home and got another visit to keep me focused...."

Starsky shuddered. Russo was furious when his attempt to arrest Starsky had been thwarted. He didn't want to think about how Russo and Wilson might have taken their frustrations out on Eddie.

It wasn't that different a story, Starsky realized. Malleable guys getting dragged into the wrong things by the sharks around them. But he'd never really understood it before. Why they couldn't get themselves out of it by walking away. By deciding not to cooperate. He remembered being overpowered and delivered to Russo to be abused however he and Wilson wanted. He tried to imagine that happening to him regularly. With no escape. No refuge. No Hutch ready to fight to the death to save him.

Callahan told him just before he entered this room, I don't care what preconceptions you have. You let him tell his story. The whole thing. Then you decide how to punish him. Even though Eddie had betrayed her, she would be his defense lawyer.

"Eddie... I mean, Joey... this is some serious shit..." he said lamely. "There are going to be penalties--"

"You think I don't know that?" he yelled. "You think I don't know what they are? Years locked up with men like Russo and Wilson, doing whatever they want with me whenever they want? You probably think that's appropriate, huh?"

The reality slapped Starsky hard. Joey wouldn't last a week in prison. He'd be passed around like a pack of smokes. That's not my fault, he told himself. Is it? He didn't know.

Callahan had said, You owe him something, David. Only you can figure out what that is.

Hutch had argued with her, insisting that Starsky was just as scarred by what had happened to them, but Starsky had stopped him. He knew that wasn't true. He'd had a good life. A worthwhile career. Fulfilling relationships with women. And he'd had Hutch. Even before they were lovers, he'd had the best friendship, the best partnership, anyone could've wanted. This man never had anything like that.

Thinking of the years of loneliness Joey had endured, clinging to a distorted view of their relationship and an empty longing for him, affected Starsky profoundly. It was too close to what he'd put Hutch through these last weeks.

"No," Starsky said, "I don't want you to go to prison. I think you've already paid a heavy price for making some bad decisions."

Joey turned away again, as if unwilling to believe Starsky's sympathy.

"Listen," Starsky said, "we've got some serious hard evidence on Wilson and Russo." Russo would be in a neck brace for weeks, but he'd live. "If you'd testify to their... coercion, it would go really far to ensure strong penalties for them. We've got others willing to testify, some of the cops involved in the plot. You should know, Joey, that when you scratch a bully there's always a coward underneath. Half of them are trying to sell the other half out for a deal. Your testimony is critical, since it links Gunther, Cantrall, Wilson, and Russo together."

"Cantrall will have me killed." His voice was low with fear.

"I don't think so. Cantrall kept meticulous records. We're going through them now, but we're pretty sure we'll find hard evidence tying him into the mechanics that tried to hit Callahan. He's going down hard. Wilson and Russo, too. You could be the one to nail that lid on."

"So I can end up as their cell mate?"

It was a fair question. "Callahan's asking for immunity for you since your testimony is so important. You don't have a record, not even a parking ticket. All you wanted to do was reveal what you thought was the truth about me and Hutch. Cantrall never told you the rest until you were in too deep. I think she'll get it. Especially... if Hutch and I tell Dobey to agree to it. If she does... will you testify?"

There was a long pause, then Joey asked, "It means a lot--to you?"

"Putting those guys away--yeah, that means a lot to me." So, I guess no matter how I feel about it, I'm still a cop. Wanting to do the right thing. Put the bad guys away. "They hurt a lot of people. Our friends at the Parrot. Callahan. You. They don't deserve to be free."

Joey nodded. "Okay. I'll testify."

He had to be honest. "You'll have to talk about your involvement. You'll have to talk about the things they did to you."

"I figured that. I'll do it."

"Hold out for the immunity," Starsky said.

"Okay," he said listlessly. He looked up at Starsky again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." I owe you that much.

"Are you? Gay?"

Starsky hesitated, collecting his thoughts. The answer wasn't so simple. "I'll tell you the truth, Joey. After... after you and I separated, I never did anything with another guy. I wanted to put that behind me. Not because I didn't love what you'd done for me, but because the consequences had terrified me so much. So, after that, I definitely was as un-gay as I could be. Racked up the ladies, developed a rep as a stud. Was proud of that."

Joey's expression told Starsky he had his complete attention.

"Me and Hutch, we'd been together as partners, I don't know, seven, eight years, and had known each other for years before that. We were tight. He was the best friend I ever had. I really loved him but as my friend, not in a romantic or sexual way. Until the night we were drugged. That made us, made me, realize the love we felt didn't have to have boundaries. But when that night was over, I couldn't accept it. All I could do was focus on the consequences. So I tried to pull away, put it behind us, so I could be straight again. But real love is hard to deny. Real true love.

"Coming so close to losing Hutch made me understand something I was too young to understand with you. That love is too precious to waste. That it doesn't matter what the consequences are because love is enough to get you through. So if you had asked me the night before we were drugged, was I gay? I'd have said no and copped an attitude besides. But you're asking me now. And I'm a different man than I was then.

"I'm in love with Hutch, and I'm happier about it than I could've ever imagined. I have you to thank for that in an odd way. But in the world we live in, if a man chooses another man, there's only one thing he can be, no matter what he might've been before. So, now the answer is... yes. I'm gay. I've got too much respect for the people who wear that label to deny it."

Joey looked stricken. "Will... will they let you be policemen anymore?"

"We think so. There was so much corruption involved in all this that we've become the shining examples of courage under fire. The press has been amazingly supportive. Looks like we're about to officially become LA's first gay cops. We're hoping Tomas will eventually recover enough to work. So, he'll be the third. Police department will have to make some major attitude adjustments. But me and Hutch are good at adjusting attitudes. I'm looking forward to it." He smiled amiably.

"I'm glad," Joey said, his voice cracking. "I--I really am. I... I don't know why I ever wanted anything bad to happen to you. Now that you're here... now that I've seen you again, talked to you... I could never want that for you."

Loving someone who can't love you back is painful, Starsky thought. It can make you crazy.

"Eddie," Starsky said, deliberately using his childhood name, "there's one other thing I want to say to you. I want to apologize. I abandoned you in Brooklyn. Kid or not, I was wrong to do that, to leave without trying to talk to you, to find out if you were okay. I never even knew what happened to you that day.... I'm ashamed that I didn't try to find out. I've lived with that all these years. It changed me. And part of me has been trying to make up for it and failing. It's pretty inadequate after all this time, but... I'm sorry."

Joey's face crumpled and he turned away again, facing the wall to cry like a child.

Suddenly, Starsky was a child again, too, a confused kid filled with wants and needs he couldn't understand, but who knew when another friend needed something from him he could provide. He went to where Joey sat and pulled his huddled form out of the chair and enveloped him in his arms, cradling the broken man against his chest. He hugged him tight, saying, "I'm sorry, so, so sorry," over and over again into his hair.

~~~

LOS ANGELES TIMES

GARRITY'S GRIPES By Michael Garrity Associated Press

"I was beginning to think that everyone in our city government had lost their minds, especially when it came to the politically delicate situation surrounding the city's most controversial cops, Dave Starsky and Ken Hutchinson. After these guys--who've been suspended without pay since their involuntary movie debut--subdued and arrested two hired killers attempting a mob-like hit in a public place, I figured this story was dead. Any politician--and our dear mayor never stops being a politician even on his best days--would have to use some common sense and give these boys their badges back.

"But no. We found out, after discussing the situation with their lawyer, the notorious K.R. Callahan, that the mayor's office only reluctantly met with her to negotiate the situation. Even after the shooting (in which an innocent young woman was gunned down and left to die in the street), the mayor's office never changed its inadequate offer: i.e., to allow these two dedicated cops to return to desk duty only after having been separated as partners.

"After the unbelievable events of last night (see C.D. Phelps' article, page A1), which exposed a nest of corruption in the police department of staggering proportions, we now have to wonder whether or not the mayor's unrelenting stance reflected his possible involvement in this conspiracy.

"Over fifty police officers took the law into their own hands and trampled the civil rights of dozens of law-abiding citizens--some of whom just happen to be gay. This situation has practically ensured Callahan a lifetime career in civil suits based on discrimination. The mayor is answering a lot of embarrassing questions this morning.

However the voting public might feel personally about homosexual issues, one thing is for sure-- LA isn't ready to be the United States' answer to Hitler's Germany. We're not about to see any group of citizens singled out for persecution.

"The Police Department's motto is 'To Serve and Protect.' Apparently, the only cops who took that oath to heart were Starsky and Hutchinson. The mayor isn't answering phone calls this morning, and there's a possibility he might step down--be still my heart. The deputy mayor is left handling an ugly embarrassing situation and the entire country is waiting to see what he will do.

"It's pretty easy, Mr. Deputy Mayor. GIVE STARSKY AND HUTCHINSON THEIR BADGES BACK! Let these honest cops do the job they're good at. It's obvious to everyone these guys need to work together to be the most effective. Considering how INeffective we've repeatedly shown the police department to be, the city wants its best cops back on the street.

"But what about the real issue here--or at least as real as some supposedly straight-laced, clean- living politicos have painted it to be? What about their personal lives? Is LA ready for two openly gay cops?

It's the same question I'm ashamed to say I've been asking in these pages these last few weeks. But after last night, all I can say is, if we could find more cops like Starsky and Hutchinson, this city wouldn't care if the entire force were gay.

Personally, it doesn't matter to me if those guys are making it with pink elephants. They've proved repeatedly they're willing to put their lives on the line to protect each other and the people of this city. Let's not wait until we can only return their badges posthumously. These guys deserve more from this city than that. "The Spartans knew the truth of it. An army of lovers cannot be defeated."

~~~

Starsky folded the newspaper quietly as he sat in the front seat of the Torino. Dobey had made sure the media got their hands on film from the lockup camera. Michael Garrity told Callahan the cop in the film was the one who'd shaken him down and cost him his marriage. So Garrity's article didn't surprise Starsky much.

He looked again at the front page. There was a big blow-up of one of the film frames. Russo stood there, face pressed against the bars, taunting Starsky, who had turned his back on him. The bullet holes in Starsky's jacket were plainly evident. Every article and news report, he knew, would mention them and rehash the Gunther hit. Everyone else in the cell was clustered in the back as far from Russo as they could get. The dancers all looked like frightened vulnerable girls.

The accompanying article--written by C.D. Phelps--detailed the contents of the film. She explained how the cops were so used to ignoring the security camera that routinely filmed prisoner abuse that they'd completely forgotten it was running when they had unjustly incarcerated the people from the bar. Starsky didn't know about it either. Not every facility had one and this one was out of his jurisdiction.

He wondered how Russo felt about being the star of a movie he didn't know he was making. The film was grainy but Russo's bulky body was easy to identify as was Starsky's leather-clad one. His stance was one of passive resistance, as if he were struggling against responding to the bully threatening him. Everyone else in the cell looked terrified and Starsky had placed himself-- without thinking about it--between Russo and them.

Starsky thought it was interesting how C.D.'s article never mentioned his attack on Russo or what happened after. However, there was a smaller picture of himself leading a passive resistance demonstration. He wondered how much she was enjoying making her editor eat crow. The stories about them after the hit on the bar had been too hot for him not to run them, especially since she had been an eyewitness.

Starsky thought of that day in the locker room. It felt like ten years ago since they'd taken the last of Gunther's cartel down. Russo had called them "glory hounds," complaining that they were always garnering media attention. That would never change now. They would be forever in the media's eye. He didn't kid himself: That same media would turn on them in a heartbeat if they ever fucked up. From now on, he and Hutch would always be "those gay cops."

What was it Helen had said to him a million years ago when she had complained about how difficult it was to be the lone female detective in a squad of resentful males? Oh, yeah. They would have to be twice as good to be considered just as competent. Fortunately for them, that wasn't difficult. Starsky planned for them to live long enough to be the first gay cops to retire with honors and a comfortable pension besides.

He tossed the newspaper gently into the back seat. He didn't want to disturb his Sleeping Beauty. Not yet. Hutch had fallen asleep after Starsky had stopped for the morning paper on the ride home. His exhausted partner had collapsed against him, which is where he rested now, slumped bonelessly, head nestled on Starsky's shoulder, his body held securely by Starsky's right arm.

Having arrived at their destination, Starsky couldn't bring himself to wake him. Hutch was sleeping so soundly and he was so tired. So Starsky contentedly read the paper to get the pulse of the city.

Hutch had told him about the media feeding frenzy in the courtroom as he and Callahan presented the facts to the judge. The judge had had no choice but to witness the demonstration himself. Everyone was released with a flustered apology. Sugar milked it for all it was worth. She was thrilled to be featured on the morning talk shows. She didn't even care that her hair was no longer perfect.

Starsky should have been drop-dead exhausted himself but he was too wired. His mind was working like a guinea pig on a treadmill. The reclaimed memories were still so new, so raw, so immediate. He felt like he was watching a film overlaid by another film. He mentally compared the footage he'd seen of them making love with the scenes in his restored memory, filling in all the missing parts, all the intense dialog, his confused and impassioned feelings for Hutch. And the love. It was like being hit by a truck. Just as shocking, just as disorienting. He was still reeling.

The sun was rising on a day so new that no one was stirring. It was quiet in a way LA was rarely quiet. He could hear birds singing and little else. Even the ever-present highway noise was absent; it was too early on a lovely Sunday morning.

He looked at Hutch and felt that warmth spreading through him again. His Hutch. His.

Hutch's eyes were tracking beneath his lids. He was dreaming. But it wasn't a good dream. Starsky could tell by the furrowed crease in his brow, by the frown beneath his moustache. It pained him. There had been enough bad dreams. He didn't want Hutch to ever suffer through another one, and certainly not on his account.

Hutch made a small pained noise and Starsky thought this might be a good time to wake him so they could go upstairs. But then he'd remember the dream too vividly. Starsky thought about that.

Leaning over so his mouth was nearly pressed against Hutch's ear, he said softly, "You're walking on a beach. It's a beautiful beach, pristine, white. The sky is blue, bright and beautiful with big fluffy clouds. And the water's calm...."

~~~

It was warmer on the beach than the last time Hutch had been here. But it was still dark and that made it feel chilly. He looked up at the sky. It was black with no moon, the stars twinkling faintly under the LA smog. Then as he watched a thin crescent of brilliant light cut through the darkness. He blinked as the crescent grew thicker, brighter, and the sky began to lighten.

It wasn't night at all. The sun had been in total eclipse and the sky had imitated nighttime but now the day was breaking through again. Soon, his eyes were squinting from the sunlight that grew stronger by the minute. All those nights he'd wandered the beach in darkness--had the sun been there the whole time, hidden by the moon?

The breeze coming from the water rustled his loose white cotton shirt and pants. His feet were bare as he walked on the warm white sand. It was a perfect day. Except that he was alone.

The sea was calmer than he could remember it being in a long time. Tiny waves lapped a few feet away, almost entreating him to step into the ocean. But he couldn't face having the ocean retreat from his advance. He wouldn't subject himself to that again.

Something made him look out on the horizon, and he saw the ocean parting around a lone figure. It was Starsky rising out of the sea. Hutch ached to look at him, his beautiful body, his natural grace. Starsky was nude, and water streamed from his tangled curls, dripped provocatively from his nipples, ran through the fine mat of brown hair decorating his chest and abdomen. Hutch had never wanted anyone or anything the way he wanted this man. Who could never be his.

He waited for Starsky to masturbate under the water, sharing his treasure with the ocean, with anyone but him. But the water swirling around Starsky didn't stop at his groin. Instead, it kept receding and Starsky kept rising. Water streamed off the tip of his cock, down his powerful thighs and his seductively bowed legs until he stood completely exposed, sunlight framing him against the blue water.

Hutch was breathless with futile wanting.

Then Starsky looked up and saw him on the lonely shore. Starsky grinned that wonderful, lopsided grin, the one he reserved only for Hutch, and it lit up his face and Hutch's soul. To Hutch's surprise, Starsky walked forward, out of the ocean. He was bound to the ocean and it would not leave him, lapping gently around his calves, following wherever he went.

Hutch was immobilized, unable to come forward or to leave. He lifted his arms, held them out as he had done so many nights only to be left empty-hearted.

But this time, Starsky walked willingly into his embrace, gathered Hutch in his arms and held him tight. The warm ocean water splashed around them, joining them in a wet embrace, but Hutch barely noticed. His arms were full of Starsky. It seemed like a miracle.

As Starsky lifted his face, his mouth partially open, waiting for a kiss, Hutch moaned and met his lips. The sun burned warm on their skin, blessing them, as the ocean swallowed them up, keeping them forever safe in the sanctity of its deep.

Hutch blinked as the dream sensation of breathing underwater shocked him awake. He could hear someone whispering something but then that stopped. The dream images had been so vivid he glanced about worriedly, expecting to see nothing but water and Starsky.

Starsky was there, but so was sunlight, air, dashboard, car seat, and the gleaming red hood of the Torino. He felt disoriented.

"You awake?" a gentle voice asked.

He turned, looking up at Starsky, and realized he was resting all his weight against him. He sat up and Starsky let him go. "Did I fall asleep?"

"On the way home." Starsky was smiling, as if having Hutch lay all over him in the car was the most charming thing in the world.

Hutch's brain wasn't working yet. "How long have we been here? It was dark when I crashed."

"Over an hour. You were sleeping so soundly I didn't want to wake you. I read the paper."

Hutch blinked. "Aren't you tired? I feel like I could sleep for a week." He stretched and some of the aches and pains he'd earned made themselves known.

"I'll probably fall apart in an hour," Starsky said, "but right now I'm wired. Lot on my mind."

That reminded Hutch of something he'd been too busy to think about after endless rounds of reports and statements. He rubbed his eyes and looked at Starsky. His need to know the answer to a single question was suddenly the only reality in his world. His mouth went dry but he forced himself to say it anyway.

"Tell me...what you remember."

Starsky grinned with an openhearted joy that Hutch hadn't seen for weeks. He felt like his own heart would expand just on the power of that smile.

"Like I told you," Starsky said. "I remember everything. Take me too long to tell you here in the car. Come on. Let's go home."

Starsky opened his door and moved around the front of the Torino to open Hutch's. Starsky had an agile grace he had no right to display after all they'd been through. He took Hutch's elbow and urged him to his feet. It was only then that Hutch realized where they were. He had assumed Starsky had taken them to Venice Place. But now he stood squinting up at Starsky's house, its wooden facade warm in the California sun. Hutch thought he'd never willingly come here again.

Starsky just kept smiling. "I remember Huggy driving us home, while we clung to each other, singing, and poor Huggy having his hands full just getting us up the stairs. I remember being full of myself, too. Knocking out Russo had been such a rush. I was excited, blood pumping, and wanting something I couldn't define. At least 'til we got upstairs."

He took Hutch's elbow and led him up his steps to his front door. They entered the still house. It was stuffy in the closed-up building, so Starsky opened windows, letting a cleansing breeze waft through the rooms. It immediately seemed more like the comfortable place it had always been.

But Hutch was still wary. Some of it was exhaustion, but some of it was the unreasoning fear that this was all temporary. Whatever Starsky remembered he could just as easily forget after a good night's sleep.

"I remember looking at you. I think it was while we were hanging around the kitchen after Huggy left." Starsky walked around, examining everything as though it helped him recall the events. "You were staring off into space and I came over to you. Ended up nearly falling on you. I'd started saying something about that time in Brooklyn--and then I realized what it was I was feeling." He walked up to Hutch and moved in close, chest to chest, placing his arms around Hutch in a loose embrace. "I realized how much I loved you. And then I realized how much I wanted you."

Hutch stared, knowing his expression was one of worried concern. He had prayed for this, wanted it fiercely, to have Starsky remember what had occurred that night. But now that it had happened he was having trouble trusting it.

"It's okay, Hutch," Starsky said. "I won't forget again. I'm not ever gonna forget a single good thing that ever happened between us. I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been all along. I was just too scared to let myself know it. But I know it now. And that's never going to change."

Hutch felt like he was falling, like nothing around him was real. Some of it was the after-effects of too much adrenaline and sleep deprivation, but some of it was trying to adjust to something he'd wanted but never believed would happen. "Starsk...?"

"Ssssh," Starsky soothed, rubbing his hands up and down his back. "You're thinking too much, Hutchinson. It's hurting your head. I can tell you're two seconds away from complete panic. Everything's okay now. We can relax. We can be happy. We can be in love."

Hutch could only shake his head. It was too overwhelming. He didn't know whether to shout in joy, weep in relief, or bolt from this place and never come back. He was too afraid to believe.

"Okay," Starsky said resolutely. "I guess I'll just have to show you."

Starsky's arms tightened around Hutch's waist as his left hand slid up Hutch's spine. Starsky buried his fingers in Hutch's hair and grabbed a fistful of it, holding his head prisoner so Starsky's lips could capture Hutch's yearning mouth. Hutch made a small, helpless sound as Starsky's mouth took him. Starsky's kiss was aggressive, strong, taking what he wanted, and what he wanted was Hutch. There wasn't a hint of hesitation as Starsky's tongue demanded entrance.

Hutch moaned and yielded without a fight. This moment was just as electric as that shocking instant in the jail when Starsky had kissed him in front of everyone. Starsky's tongue was slippery sweet and its teasing, taunting presence in his mouth was intoxicating.

Suddenly, Hutch's entire body came to, responding to what it had been craving for so long. He clutched Starsky hard, his arms tightening possessively, his hands roaming, all his motions frantic with need and near panic. He was groaning through the kiss, which was too fantastic to believe.

He realized dimly that he was pulling Starsky so hard against him, Starsky was forced to stand on tiptoe but he didn't complain. He just kept kissing Hutch as though he could never tire of the taste of his mouth, the feel of his lips.

Eventually, Starsky pulled away, panting. Hutch nearly cried at the loss but Starsky released his hair and put his fingertips over his questing mouth. "It's okay, babe. There's lots more where that came from. Much as you'll ever want, ever need. Can't believe I could forget something as wonderful as that. Damn, can you kiss."

Hutch surged forward, craving Starsky's mouth. "Don't pull away," he implored. "I've been wanting this from you for so long."

"I'm here," Starsky assured him, "but you're taking my breath away. And I've got so much more to give you. Everything I remember."

Hutch had no idea what Starsky was talking about. All he wanted was to feel their mouths meeting, feel the incredible sensation of the man he loved kissing him. Distantly, he remembered the taste and feel of Peter's kiss, how pleasant it had been, how nice. Comparing that with Starsky's kiss was like comparing the tiny jolt you might get from a penlight battery to a hit of white-hot lightning. He wanted more lightning.

"Hutch, wait," Starsky said, laughing. "God, I love how you want me! But I've got something for you. Something I'm aching to give you. Just wait, okay?"

The words made no sense to a man in a fog of desire, even when Starsky slowly eased to his knees. But when Starsky unfastened Hutch's white leather pants and pulled his zipper down reverently as though unveiling a work of art, Hutch finally caught on.

He's doing the dream--Starsky's dream--only he's switching roles.

Hutch's organ pulsed so hard, he thought for a dizzying moment he might actually come. His face must've shown his inner turmoil.

"It's okay, Hutch," Starsky soothed, as he gently lifted Hutch's erection out of his briefs. "I've done this before. I remember... how wonderful you taste, how strong you are in my mouth, how hot it made me to do this to you. I want it so bad. Just watch. Just stand still and watch."

As if Hutch had any other choice. He stood mesmerized, horrified, tantalized, as Starsky handled him as though it were something he'd always done. Hutch's eyes grew wider as Starsky's tongue slowly ran around the raging red head of his cock. He was so excited, his hard-on leapt in Starsky's hand. It made Starsky smile, so he did it again, moving his tongue wetly over Hutch's crown, teasing his slit, then sucking gently on the tip.

Hutch moaned helplessly while sensations rocketed up his spine and down his legs. Then Starsky's mouth took him deeper, swallowing the head completely then half the shaft. His hand gripped Hutch tight, grasping his barrel, stroking where his mouth couldn't reach. Hutch's legs trembled as this erotic vision in dark leather tortured him wonderfully with his mouth and tongue.

Starsky watched Hutch as he sucked him. His indigo eyes, dark with passion, barely blinked; they just stayed focused on Hutch's face. Those eyes were smiling as Starsky made sex magic on him. He was having a wonderful time driving Hutch to the edge of his endurance.

Hutch couldn't take it anymore. If he came, he'd be finished. He was too wild, too exhausted to have more than one shot left in him. He growled in protest, then reached down and clamped his hands around Starsky's upper arms and yanked him to his feet. Starsky complained wordlessly, but the expression on Hutch's face forestalled any arguments. Hutch knew Starsky could recognize when Hutch was at his limit.

"No more playing!" Hutch snapped, and reaching down, lifted Starsky under the knees and around the shoulders and carried him bodily to Starsky's bedroom.

The surprise of being carried must've been a turn-on for Starsky because he snarled, "Goddammit!" and flung his arms around Hutch and pulled him into another searing kiss.

Hutch deposited him rudely in the middle of his own bed then climbed on top of him, never letting their lips separate. They rolled around, kissing, fondling each other, both of them frantic.

Then Starsky pushed Hutch onto his back, looming over him. "Gotta get this shit off!" He tugged at Hutch's shirt, undoing the buttons with hands that were suddenly clumsy.

Hutch decided cooperation was the best course and helped Starsky strip his white vest and shirt. He wondered if Starsky was as eager as he'd been the last time and wouldn't let him get his boots off. Then Starsky moved down his legs and pulled off one boot, then the other. Hutch pushed the tight leather pants and briefs over his hips as Starsky grabbed the leather hem and yanked them off.

As Hutch shed the last of his clothes, Starsky stopped and stared. His expression went soft and he seemed to be straining for words.

Hutch held still, unsure of what Starsky was thinking or feeling.

Finally Starsky whispered, "Jeez, Hutch, why'd you have to be so damned beautiful?" Hutch swallowed and answered, "So I could make you love me."

Starsky gasped.

Then, as if they'd agreed on it, Hutch sat up and the both of them attacked Starsky's clothes, flinging them off the bed, getting dark shirt and leather pants and bikini briefs and boots off in record time. When they were done, Hutch tackled him, pinning him to the bed.

"I've ached to feel you against me again," Hutch swore and aggressively took Starsky's mouth in another ravaging kiss.

Starsky moaned and yielded willingly, writhing under Hutch's body, thrusting against him, searching for more sensation. Then Starsky lurched and they rolled over until he was on top. Their mouths never separated for a second.

Finally, Starsky pulled back, sitting on his knees. He looked over Hutch as if scrutinizing a fine possession. That was okay with him. Starsky had owned him long before that first night.

Suddenly, Starsky frowned. "Damn, babe, they really worked you over, didn't they?" Lightly, his fingers traced wheals of bruises on Hutch's arms, his ribs, his thighs. Hutch had been feeling them earlier, but now the only sensations he was aware of were pleasurable ones. But Starsky was upset by them.

Hutch's hand trailed over similar darkening marks on Starsky's body. "They'll fade," he said. "We lived through it. We won!"

Starsky's eyes gazed at his. "When Russo said you were dead, taunted me with how you'd been killed... I knew I couldn't survive without you. I went crazy. Without you... there's nothing for me."

Hutch had seen the film of Starsky's attack on Russo. It had been a frightening transformation from a man who was obviously trying to control his turmoil to a man possessed by a demon of rage and vengeance. He should've been repelled by Starsky's out-of-control attempt to kill Russo with his bare hands, but he couldn't help it. He thought it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen--a visual manifestation of the depths of his grief for someone he loved. Hutch hoped he would be worthy of that kind of love.

"It's okay," Hutch soothed, pulling him in for another kiss, a gentler one, a reassuring kiss full of promise and a million tomorrows. "I'm here now. I'm never going to leave you."

"Damn, I'm lovin' this," Starsky muttered, as he pulled away. "Gonna make you love it, too." He stretched across Hutch, reaching for the nightstand drawer.

Hutch didn't know how much more love he could wring out of his body, but for Starsky's sake, he'd try. Starsky's reach lifted his chest above Hutch's face, so Hutch rubbed against the softly furred pectorals, found a convenient nipple and nursed gently.

"Oh, yeah," Starsky breathed, opening the drawer and fumbling around. Hutch assumed he was looking for the lotion. If Starsky was thinking of giving him a rubdown, Hutch's vote was no. He couldn't afford to relax now, he'd fall asleep. And he had no intentions of going to sleep before he'd had the best orgasm of his life.

Hutch's teeth toyed with the hardening nipple and Starsky made a hissing sound of pleasure then crowed, "Got it! Ah, babe, now just hold still a minute--"

Something cool encircled Hutch's right wrist with a click. His brain was too fogged with lust to really register what Starsky was doing. Hutch released his nipple and tried to see what was going on, but Starsky's upper body blocked his view. Starsky pulled Hutch's arm over his head, then reached for his other one. Starsky's tongue slithered a long, wet line up under that arm, making him sigh and cooperate. As Starsky's tongue traced a teasing circle in Hutch's palm, he hardly noticed when the other wrist felt something cool enclose it.

When Starsky pulled away this time, it was to move his mouth slowly down over the other upraised arm, then Hutch's jaw, down his neck and over his chest. His mouth kissed and nipped and licked wherever it landed.

Hutch watched him map his body with passion and twisted in the velveteen bedspread, the pleasure was so intense. That's when he realized his arms weren't free. Dazedly, he looked over his head.

Starsky had handcuffed him to the bed, running the short chain of cuffs around a slender sturdy carved spindle in the headboard. Hutch just stared at it as if it were the hardest thing to comprehend. Vaguely, he remembered a morning when he'd handcuffed Starsky to the bed just to be cute. Clearly, Starsky remembered it, too.

"I think this might be a good time for us to talk about some stuff," Starsky said, grinning.

Hutch looked at him as if he had an IQ of ten. "Talk? My whole body's screaming to come and you want to talk? Have you gone crazy?"

"You started it," Starsky protested. "You wanted to know what I remembered. Well, I want to tell you. But I don't want you distracting me. Y'know, Hutch, you get kinda single-minded when you're hot."

Hutch ground his teeth and rattled the cuffs against the headboard. "You'd better uncuff me in about three seconds, buddy, or you're gonna see single-minded in a major way!"

Starsky chuckled and gently bit one of Hutch's nipples, sending him into orbit. "Just wanted to make sure I had your attention."

I'm going to kill him, Hutch promised himself. But not before he made him scream for mercy. "So, tell me already!" Hutch snapped.

Starsky ran his fingers down the center of Hutch's body from his throat to just above his groin then back up. Then he did it again. Hutch's whole body pulsed with need and being restrained only heightened his frustration and anticipation. "Starsk... please...!" "You've been wondering all this time about why I've been so crazy jealous," Starsky said, "even though I wasn't willing to be your lover. I remember why now." His fingers kept tracing patterns of pleasure over Hutch's body, over his abdomen, his pectorals, his hips.

Hutch's heart was pounding so hard he wasn't sure he was going to be able to follow what Starsky was trying to tell him.

"That night we were drugged," Starsky said, pinching Hutch's nipple to focus his attention, "I realized just how much I was in love with you. I wanted you like I'd never wanted anything in my life. All of a sudden, all the answers I'd been looking for my whole life were all there, wrapped up in you." He leaned over and kissed Hutch but just for a second.

"In fact," Starsky said, "it all made so much sense to me I couldn't understand why you couldn't see it, too. You kept resisting, backing off. It just made me crazier. I knew you wanted me but I knew you were hesitant. So, I got the idea that maybe it was just the heat of the moment for you, just the sex, in spite of what you were saying. That you knew it would be good between us because we cared for each other so much but that you weren't serious. Not like me. It panicked me. To find what I'd been searching for... and not be able to keep it. Even as I made love to you, I was tortured with fears of what would happen the first time some pretty lady gave you the eye. I couldn't compete with that. That's why I wanted you to fuck me. I thought if I gave you that it might be enough to hold you."

"That's why you kept asking me, demanding--? Why you got so wild over Peter...?"

Starsky's eyes bore into him. "I thought I would lose you to women--the thought of having to worry about both women and men was more than I could handle. Only, I didn't consciously realize that, once I forgot everything the next morning. But the insecurity was still there. Even though I was the one constantly driving you away. My insecurities, my need to possess you never left. Still haven't."

So, handcuffing him wasn't just to hold him in place until Starsky could say what he needed to. It was to make a point.

Hutch's heart melted. He would've never believed his over-confident partner would be so afraid of losing him. He relaxed and smiled. "You've got nothing to worry about, Starsk. You're all I'll ever want. All I've ever wanted. So, go on. Possess me. Make me yours. I surrender."

Starsky made a small sound then leaned over and took Hutch's mouth. Hutch yielded, offering himself completely. If Starsky needed to put him in leg-irons, bolt the door, keep him chained to the bed, that was okay with him. He'd been chained to Starsky's heart long ago.

"I need you to be mine, only mine," Starsky whispered against his mouth, his hands roving, learning every inch of him. "No one else's!"

Hutch writhed under his tantalizing touch and made his promise. "Yours, babe, yours. Anything you want. Forever. Always. Yours."

Starsky kissed all over Hutch's face, down his cheek, then attacked his ear. He sucked the lobe then licked all around the shell before suggestively probing deep with his tongue. Restlessly, Starsky's mouth moved lower, down the column of his neck, his collarbone, then over his chest, toying with nipples already hardened with excitement.

"Starsky, your mouth! Your mouth!" He was incoherent with desire and felt dizzy at the constant battering of pleasure as Starsky traveled slowly down his form. He rattled the cuffs, aching to touch, feel the dense curls tangle around his fingers. But Starsky needed to own him so he stopped fighting the cuffs and accepted Starsky's need.

"Mmmmm," Starsky purred, "my mouth... and your big, sweet cock." And without warning, he grabbed Hutch's organ and went down on him with determination.

Hutch rocked helplessly, then, remembering the mirror, looked up. He could see Starsky's beautiful spine bowed over him as his head worked up and down. They were a picture of passion with Hutch's arms restrained over his head, his body stretched diagonally across the colorful bedspread, with Starsky feasting on him. He was a willing prisoner to Starsky's passion and the picture of them like this was burned forever into his mind. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

He watched Starsky going down on him with amazement. Except for the sensations exploding within him, he might as well be watching a fantasy, since he could still barely believe it.

When Starsky's wet finger stroked his anus, he knew that was stark reality. He froze, his eyes widening, and realized Starsky was watching his reactions from the corner of his eye. Starsky's hand shook as he tenderly penetrated him and, for a heartbeat, Hutch thought he might come. He was helpless to stop it as his gut churned and his balls tightened up hard. But Starsky's other hand clamped down on his shaft, preventing his release, and the orgasm roiled inside him, stalled and angry, building power.

"I'm yours!" Hutch said helplessly. "Can't stop you. Don't want to. Oh, God, Starsky. Yours!"

Starsky's finger plunged deep inside him and the erotic sense of being taken, of being helpless in Starsky's hands, made Hutch wild. He thrashed, pulled against the bed, but that must've turned Starsky on because he sucked Hutch harder, his tongue lashing his over-sensitized crown.

"You do that so good," Hutch moaned. He was trembling as though his body couldn't hold all the pleasure inside it.

"Mmmm?" Starsky hummed around Hutch's shaft and the vibration of it traveled right to his balls. Starsky pulled off for a second and the cold air striking Hutch's burning erection made his organ jump in protest. "You like that? What I'm doing to you? You really like it?"

Hutch shuddered as the finger kept fucking him, slowly enough to torment, deep enough to delight. "Yes!" he gasped. Can't you tell? You're making me insane, you bastard. "Please, Starsk- -" He wasn't sure what he was asking for but he was ready to beg for it, whatever it was.

"More? You want more, Hutch?" The question aroused him insanely. He writhed on the bed, moaning low, but couldn't make himself speak. It was as if Starsky had stolen his will to resist and his voice to protest or even agree. More? Oh yes, he wanted more!

"I've got more for you," Starsky promised. He slid in another finger as he tightened his grip on Hutch's erection, forestalling the explosion that he desperately needed.

Hutch shouted, arching up, and Starsky's mouth was there, moving lower on his needy flesh. He teased Hutch's crown with his teeth, his tongue, his lips... the same lips that kissed him so powerfully.

"Suck me, damn you!" Hutch shouted. "Make me come! Ah, jeezus!"

Starsky chuckled around Hutch's throbbing cock and teased the ridge with his tongue tip. Starsky would be the one to decide when Hutch could come and Hutch knew it. He was Starsky's to do with as he pleased. The price of his surrender. God, he loved it!

Hutch's body bloomed with sweat. He was breathing like a racehorse, heaving for air. I need to come so bad! Had anyone ever possessed him so completely, controlled him so ably? He stared up into the mirror, dismayed at his own appearance. Panting, he was flushed all over, sweat dripping off him in rivulets, long hair fanned out over the pillow. While Starsky, still patiently bowed over him, seemed cool, calm, totally in control. Only his head and arm moved slowly, methodically. Hutch couldn't believe the reaction that slight amount of activity was causing inside him.

"Mmmm," Starsky murmured, pulling off Hutch's hard-on. "I'm having such a good time. How about you, Hutch? Is it good? You likin' this?" Starsky grinned, his eyes heavy-lidded. He ran his tongue over his lips and Hutch could see they were swollen from kissing, from sucking him. He was pure satyr, Hutch realized, endlessly inventive and confident in Hutch's need for him. "You want more?"

The question made him throb. When Starsky brushed his bristly cheek against Hutch's raw crown, then toyed with the slit with the tip of his tongue, the truth was ripped from his throat. "Yes! Damn you!" He tried not to think what more he was pleading for.

But Starsky knew. Without taking his eyes from Hutch, Starsky promised, "I've got more for you, Hutch. I've got so much more--" and gently inserted a third finger.

Hutch thought he might faint. He'd never experienced such a sexual rush and for a minute the room swirled around him as he was lost to the power of Starsky's hand.

"You're so tight, Hutch," Starsky whispered as if in awe. "So incredibly hot inside. And you look so beautiful lying there. Giving yourself to me. Bet you don't have any idea what you're doing to me. I'm so hard...!" As if he couldn't say anything more, Starsky went down on Hutch again frantically, taking him deep into his mouth, his tongue rubbing so hard against him, he wanted to shriek.

Put it all in me, Hutch thought, feeling his mind slip into a fog of pleasure. The rest of your hand, your whole fist, I don't care. Reach inside and pull out my soul. It's yours anyway. As if there could ever be anyone else.... I need you!

The need was real, no fantasy. And it was cresting hard inside him. He'd already been pushed far beyond his endurance. But he still needed to have his hunger satisfied. Reluctantly and with considerable effort he shifted in the bed, turning on his side, pulling up his knees, drawing away from Starsky's mouth. Starsky seemed dazed and looked at him confused and a little hurt.

"Need you!" Hutch sighed. He knew he was beyond speech at this point. All he wanted was one thing. "Starsky, please!"

Starsky crawled up closer, leaning over him on hands and knees. "What, babe? I'll give you anything you need."

"Good," Hutch said, smiling, looking down the length of Starsky's trim body to the hardened club of his sex. "Need you. Right now. Starsky, come on...." He yanked at the cuffs, aching to handle him. Instead, he shifted, slid a leg under him, so that Starsky was perched between his spread legs. Lowering himself, Starsky nestled his body full length atop Hutch until their erections nestled erotically beside each other.

Hutch kissed Starsky quickly, not wanting to get distracted. "Do it again. Take me. I need that from you now. I want to be yours. No one else's. Ever again. Put the flesh to our marriage."

Starsky still looked confused.

This is a helluva time for you to get dim on me. "Starsk!" he snapped impatiently. "I've got two good minutes left in me. Fuck me, dammit! Right now!"

"But--but I thought we'd... that maybe you'd, or I'd--"

Hutch wrapped his legs tight around Starsky's waist. He didn't want to speak, to say another word. If Starsky didn't do this soon, the rocket was going to take off without him.

"I mean--" Starsky was still stammering, "if you really want.... Don't we need something...?"

"Starsky," Hutch said, gritting his teeth. "You're leaking all over me! Just do it!"

"You sonovabitch," Starsky growled, suddenly surging to the task, "you make me so fuckin' hot I can't think straight!"

Starsky reared back on his knees, grabbing Hutch's right leg under the knee and pulling it up to get better access. Hutch felt him fumble with something then felt his blunt moist probe rub against his anus, wetting him, getting him ready. Starsky positioned himself, the action so intimate it made him shudder.

Then, without another word of warning, Starsky met Hutch's gaze and pierced him straight to his heart. His voice was ragged as he claimed him. "Mine! All mine...." Hutch was totally unaware of pain as a searing burning pleasure tore into him, blinding him with waves of delight. He blinked, watching them in the mirror as Starsky drove into him again, his strong legs enabling his cock to combat any remaining resistance Hutch's body might've had.

"Yes!" Hutch cried out. "Yes! Yes! Oh, Starsk!"

Starsky moaned, losing himself in Hutch's body. He drove into him, gasping, grunting, sounding like a man who was desperate to get somewhere he couldn't quite reach.

Hutch clawed at the headboard, calling Starsky's name in a mantra of building passion.

Starsky reared up, pulled Hutch's other leg up, then pushed forward, nearly bending Hutch in half. He was pounding into him mindlessly, racing to his goal. Hutch felt the incredible sensations building then cresting hard. Amazingly, Starsky's organ grew larger inside him and that was too much. Shouting in surprise, Hutch came, spraying them both as his cock erupted with the force of a firehose.

Starsky gave a short sob, rasped Hutch's name and slammed into him one last time, his body tensing. Hutch could feel his organ pumping, filling him. It was wonderful. It was frightening. He wasn't sure he was going to live through it.

Starsky clutched him and collapsed. They were both gulping air.

Somehow, Starsky managed to find the key to the cuffs and liberated one of Hutch's wrists. Hutch took the key from him, then shed the other cuff and dropped the hardware over the side of the bed. He'd remember that trick and surprise Starsky with it... next time they slept at Venice Place.

Hutch eased his aching arms down and cradled Starsky's shaking body, petting him, kissing his forehead. "I needed that."

"Not as bad as I did," Starsky insisted. His words were half-muffled by Hutch's chest, which was where his face was buried.

They lay without moving, trying to get more oxygen to their brains, to slow their hearts from their hyperactive state. Hutch knew they were being glued together by his own semen but he didn't care.

"We need to hire someone," Starsky mumbled against his nipple.

Hutch frowned in confusion. "Huh?"

"If we're always gonna get this crazy in bed," Starsky explained, "then we need to hire someone to take care of us when it's over. I need to wash up and wash you up but I don't think I can move."

Hutch kissed him gently on the head. "I don't want you to move. Not ever." "Ummmm," Starsky grunted. "Think we wrecked the bedspread?" Without moving, he tugged at the patchwork velveteen cover, grabbing enough of it to surround them in a soft comforting cocoon.

Hutch smiled, holding Starsky against him. He stared at the mirror. Starsky's dark body blanketed him, his thick curls cuddled just below Hutch's chin. His bullet scars seemed faint and Hutch stroked them with his fingertips then pulled the bedspread tighter when Starsky shivered.

"We look like a giant papoose with two heads," Hutch said.

"Papoose?" Starsky mumbled, seconds away from sleep. "Loose as a goose... or a papoose.... Why'd'ja do that, huh, Hutch? Make me fuck you? Wanted you to come in my mouth. Then, I figured we could fuck for a long time...."

Hutch laughed and kissed the top of his head. "Glad you've got such a high opinion of my ability to perform. Maybe after about twelve hours sleep we'll try it again."

"And again," Starsky agreed, "and again.... You know, Hutch, you might not want to hear this, but I plan to cut you off alcohol completely. No beer. No nothin'...."

Starsky's words were slurring more so Hutch wasn't taking them too seriously. He was watching patterns of sunlight cut through the room, brightening the colorful bedspread and making rainbows as it reflected off the mirror. "No beer? That's cruel and unusual--"

"Nope," Starsky insisted, snuggling closer. "You can't get it up when you've had too much to drink, Hutch. Can't risk nothin' like that...."

Hutch smiled as Starsky's body went boneless as he slipped into sleep. His organ softened and left Hutch's body. Hutch rolled them in their plush cocoon onto their sides but Starsky never noticed. As the sun warmed the room and the traffic noises and sounds of a sleepy LA rising became more noticeable, Hutch let sleep take him. They had a lot of time to make up for. He'd need his rest.

And I can't wait 'til the morning has come And I know now the time is just right And straight into my arms you will run When you come my heart will be waiting To make sure that you're never alone There and then all my dreams will come true dear there and then, I'll make you my own Moondance--Van Morrison

Chapter 24

Welcome to the Hotel California, We are programmed to receive, You can check in any time you like, But you can never leave. Hotel California--Eagles

"Hey, old man," the prison guard said brusquely as he smacked his club against the bars. "Gunther!"

Gunther turned to see what he wanted. It was only six-thirty in the morning and they hadn't had breakfast yet.

"Let's go," the guard said. "You've got a visitor."

Only his lawyer could get access to him at this hour. His heart pounded. Had it worked? Had Cantrall finally defeated them? Obtained his release? His palms started to sweat. Rubbing them against his prison-issued clothes, he stepped out of the cell and preceded the guard to the conference room.

There was no one waiting for him when they got there.

"He'll be here in a minute," the guard said in that same disinterested voice. "Make yourself cozy." Then he chuckled at his own witticism and left. The door locked behind him.

Gunther listened to the clanging doors and clung to hope. But when it opened again, he didn't recognize the person who entered. It was a young man, startlingly handsome with bright blue eyes, his red hair perfectly groomed. Two other bigger men stood behind him, shoulder-to- shoulder. Gunther didn't need to be told who they were. They might as well have had FBI stamped on their foreheads.

Gunther waited, saying nothing. Where was Cantrall? What was going on?

"Mr. Gunther?" the young man said. "My name is Robert Kincaid. I'm your lawyer."

A cold flash ran through Gunther's spine. "No, you're not. Josh Cantrall is my lawyer."

"Mr. Cantrall is in police custody," Kincaid said matter-of-factly. "He's been charged with several counts of conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to undermine the authority of the state, conspiracy to overthrow the police department... well, let's just say he's going to be too busy working on his own defense to be worrying about yours." Kincaid cocked his head to one side and gave Gunther a small smile. "These gentlemen are here to serve you with some subpoenas."

Without another word, one of the FBI agents stepped forward and placed legal papers on the table in front of Gunther. He did not look at them. Instead, he kept his eye on Kincaid. "Since Mr. Cantrall," Kincaid went on, "is currently unable to serve as your attorney, and since his law firm is currently under orders to freeze all its assets and records for the court, and since Mr. Cantrall claims that you are involved in the alleged conspiracies with him, the court has assigned me to represent you."

"You're a public defender," Gunther said, staring at this boy who couldn't have been out of law school more than a year.

"That's correct, sir," Kincaid said respectfully. But the subtle body English that went along with that statement chilled Gunther even more than the lawyer's inexperience.

You're a public defender fresh out of law school--and you're gay. The drab room suddenly seemed ten degrees colder.

"I have the right to choose my own attorney," he insisted. "As long as I can afford...."

One of the FBI agents stepped forward and placed a blocky finger on one of the papers. "The remains of your personal assets have been frozen by the courts, Mr. Gunther. Mr. Cantrall has indicated those assets have been used in an ongoing conspiracy and to fund other crimes. While our investigation proceeds, your remaining assets are unavailable. If it is determined that those assets were, in fact, used to facilitate a crime, they will confiscated."

"So, I can't afford a private lawyer," Gunther said, trying to keep the defeat out of his voice.

"In addition to the freezing of your funds," Kincaid said, "I must advise you that the courts have found ample evidence that you have repeatedly used your assets to corrupt your legal advisors. You need to know that while you still maintain the right to private counsel, our interactions will be under the court's scrutiny. If there is any suspicion that you have again attempted to coerce illegal activity from your legal counsel--me--the courts will remove me and reassign another lawyer in my place."

To ensure that my defense is perpetually fractured, Gunther realized. As if there were anything in this smirking faggot that he could use to his advantage. It was not the first time Gunther had felt a frustrating hopelessness when going against his two adversaries, but it was the first time it felt so final.

"What happened to the policemen, Starsky and Hutchinson?" He shouldn't ask this man but now he had no other source to the outside world.

"I brought you this," Kincaid said in a kindly way. He snapped open his elegantly appointed leather briefcase and brought out several newspapers. Dropping them on the table, he said, "These should give you the information you need. I'd like to set up an appointment with you for a consultation after I've gone over your court records. I know I have a lot of work ahead of me to prepare for your defense."

Gunther barely heard that. Any "defense" this ridiculous baby would come up with could only be slightly better than nothing. His attention was captured by the garish headlines and bizarre photographs on the front page of the daily papers.

"GAY COPS UNCOVER VAST CORRUPTION IN POLICE FORCE."

"GAY COPS SAVE THE CITY AGAIN."

"MAYOR MAY RESIGN UNDER CONSPIRACY CLOUD."

"GAY COPS USE PEACEFUL PROTEST TO WIN JUSTICE."

Once again, their pictures were staring him in the face. Happy. Smiling. Hugging. Touching each other right on the front page. Winning. Beating him. Again. His eyes roved the page and he saw a quote.

"'Justice isn't for only a select group,' Detective Hutchinson said. 'Justice is for everyone. That's what Starsky and I will always fight for. Whether we have a badge or not.'"

Gunther felt the blood drain from his face. He sat heavily in the nearest chair, not really hearing the FBI men take their leave or his new lawyer assure him he'd be back within three days to plot their defense. The door clanged shut behind them as Gunther sat alone and stared at the taunting newspapers spread across the table.

~~~

Starsky opened his eyes to see bright sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. Birds were singing, fresh air was gently blowing the curtains around, and he could hear some kids playing street hockey on noisy roller skates. All of it perfectly normal. He was comfortable in spite of the cool breeze. He was still encased warmly within his velveteen patchwork bedspread and around his back was wrapped the man he loved.

The man I love.

He rolled that thought around his brain for a few minutes.

Hutch clung to him like a spider, his arms wound securely around Starsky's chest and middle, trapping his right arm, while his left remained free to hold Hutch in return. Their fingers were entwined, gripping firmly. Hutch's legs were so thoroughly entangled with his it felt like no inch of his skin was not in contact with Hutch's warmth and smoothness. The ball of Starsky's right foot idly rubbed against the top of Hutch's in a reassuring caress.

He lay still, assessing his surroundings on this new strange day. His head was nestled comfortably by his pillow and Hutch's shoulder. Against his ear, he could feel the warm draft of Hutch's breath whistling against his neck. It felt good. He didn't want to move, knowing that the minute he did the aches he'd acquired from last night would remind him of everything he'd been through at the rough hands of the rogue cops. Better to just lie here and feel the texture of Hutch's golden skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the security of his strong gun hand. Much better to feel all those things--along with the steady bloom of arousal from Hutch's impressive shaft currently growing along the crack of his ass. He shivered uncontrollably, unable to stop his body's reaction to the subtle suggestion Hutch's body presented.

I offered it to you once out of fear of losing you. Can I find it in me to offer it again out of love? Because you're deserving and so worthy? Because I want to give you all that I am?

The involuntary shudder must've roused Hutch. His arms tightened protectively as his mouth moved against the shell of Starsky's ear. "'Kay?" he mumbled groggily.

"Ssssh," Starsky soothed, cuddling back. "Everything's fine." His shifting caused Hutch's now substantial morning erection to nestle confidently in the furrow of his body.

God, you're big, he thought with trepidation. He moved his ass slightly, testing the length of it, the breadth. Could that really fit in me? Could I possibly like it?

He felt a stab of guilt. Hutch had taken everything from him without complaint. Even when he'd been too rough, too hurried. It didn't matter whether Starsky could handle it or not. They were partners. He would not let their love affair--he ran those words through his mind again, love affair--alter the basic fairness that had always been part of them right from the beginning.

"You keep wigglin' 'round like that," Hutch said sleepily, "and things'll be a whole lot more than fine before you know it." He tightened his already possessive grip and shifted his hips subtly, deliberately rubbing his hard-on against Starsky's crack.

Starsky hissed at the sensation and managed to whisper, "It's yours if you want it." Then he closed his eyes and froze.

Hutch kissed the edge of his ear. His voice was still thick with sleep. "You said that that first night. Do you remember?"

Starsky sifted through his memory warehouse. He saw himself in the mirror, sprawled, wanton, hotter than he'd ever been. They'd been tickling, wrestling, playing around, and Hutch's heavy cock had found its cradle just as it had now. It's yours if you want it.

"I remember," he told Hutch. "I meant it."

Much to his own surprise.

Starsky recalled the white-hot desire curling inside him, the craving to give himself to Hutch, to use their passion to bind Hutch to him forever--his desperation to make that happen--his fear that their passion was just a romp for Hutch, a one-time aberration he would not be willing to repeat. Was any of that fear still there?

"I still mean it." Whatever else he felt, that was the truth. Hutch deserved it. Deserved anything he wanted. It didn't matter what Starsky feared, how it felt, what the consequences were. He belonged to Hutch. Hutch deserved to know that.

"I'm yours, babe. All of me. Now and always." His own cock rose to the promise. Hutch's hand found him, gathered him up in his big palm. Starsky swelled larger at the warm attention, pulsing in Hutch's loving grip. Hutch breathed a purr of pleasure against his ear. "Waking up with you every day is going to be a test of stamina."

Starsky grinned to hear the easy banter in his sleepy lover's voice. "Think you're up for it, cowboy?" he teased back.

Hutch chuckled wickedly and warned, "Don't push your luck."

They hugged each other and rested in mutual warmth, letting the excitement skitter enticingly along nerve endings.

"I could make us breakfast," Starsky offered. He wanted to give Hutch everything. Comfort, food, coddling, endless hours of long loving.

Hutch's hand tightened warningly around his cock. "Haven't you heard? You're breakfast. The perfect health food. Quick. Convenient. Warm. Nutritious. Cholesterol free. High in protein. And packaged so beautifully." He nuzzled the juncture of Starsky's neck and shoulder, making electricity dance along the knobs of his spine.

"Who's quick?" he challenged, affronted.

Hutch tickled him with his nose, making him snort in laughter and scrunch up his shoulder.

"We both need a shower," Starsky said. Hutch's semen was now a flaking dry patch on his belly, gluing his body hair to his skin.

"Ummm. You're right. Okay. One wet breakfast coming up." Hutch's hand slid lower to toy with Starsky's balls, making his eyes roll up.

"Hutch!" he breathed as Hutch played with his testicles with an expertise that amazed him.

"Feel good?" Hutch murmured, even though he obviously knew the answer.

Starsky shifted his legs, spreading them, slinging the outside one over Hutch's. If Hutch kept that up, he'd have Starsky begging for it. Fill me up with you. Possess me and make me love it.

Hutch shifted, his cock slipping between Starsky's thighs, his crown sliding back and forth against his perineum, the wet tip kissing the back of his balls. "Starsky...?" Hutch said softly, a sudden edge of urgency in his voice.

Starsky gently enclosed Hutch's long shaft with his thighs, deliberately stimulating him. "Yes...." He shuddered, not wanting to think too much. Not wanting to examine the unreasoning fear that stoked his adrenaline that much higher.

Hutch shifted, his arms tightening around Starsky, making him feel trapped.

Isn't that the way I made you feel the night I took you before you were ready for me? Go on, Hutch. Hold me down. Make me take it. I know I'll love it from you. "Starsk--?" Hutch breathed.

The phone rang, startling them both.

"Goddammit!" Hutch swore, wide awake now.

"Should I let it go?" Starsky asked, praying Hutch would say yes while his cop's instinct screamed at him to answer it.

Hutch paused for another ring before muttering disgustedly. "Could be Dobey. Kelly. Better get it."

Shit! Starsky swore silently then grabbed it on the fourth ring. "What?" Just because he'd answered the damned thing, didn't mean he had to be nice about it.

"Starsky?" a breathy voice asked. "That you?"

"Yeah," he said grumpily, trying to place the voice. He propped himself up on one elbow and moved the phone to his other ear.

"It's Trixie. Tried to get you over at Hutch's but no one answered. I've got a surprise for you."

Yeah, we already got it, he thought, annoyed. But he softened his voice when he said, "This better be good, Trixie."

He felt Hutch's curiosity as he sat up and leaned over to share the earpiece.

There was a rattling sound over the phone as if Trixie were handing it off to someone else. Then suddenly a voice rough with disuse rasped, "Hey, amigo, que pasa?"

Starsky's eyes widened. "Tomas? Is that you?"

"Sort of," the voice said with a slight laugh. "I'm kinda in pieces here, bro'. But I'm doin' better. ID'ed the cop who set me up today. Thanks to Baylor and Meredith. And, Starsky, they think they're gonna save my eye."

He was surprised when his chest suddenly tightened up hard and he couldn't answer.

Hutch took the phone from him as if realizing Starsky was too overcome. He held it where Starsky could hear what was going on. "That's great news, buddy! The best. We'll try to get over to see you today, okay?"

"Not today," Tomas warned. He was sounding tired already. "I'm going in for surgery on my leg. That's why we wanted to call you now. Trixie'll let you know how it goes. She told me about everything that's happened. You get your badges back yet?"

"Not yet," Hutch said, "but Dobey thinks it's going to happen. Don't you worry about us. Just get well and get out of there, okay?" "You got it," Tomas said. "And, hey, we heard about the scene in the lockup. Trixie's all kinds of mad she missed it. Wants a rerun just for her. So, like, uh, when's the wedding?" He chuckled delightedly.

"Soon as we can find enough bridesmaids," Hutch said, grinning.

Starsky could hear Trixie let out a squeal in the background.

"Good luck, Tomas," Hutch said. "We'll talk to you tomorrow." Hutch leaned past Starsky to hang up the phone, then put a big hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "You all right?"

He was being Hutch, the old Hutch, his partner, checking on him, making sure he wasn't in too much pain inside. It felt good to know that was still there.

Starsky nodded. "Still hurts, y'know. What happened to Tomas. 'Cause of us."

"Not because of us," Hutch said wisely. "Because of Gunther. Because there were cops so crooked they could do that to another cop."

Hutch was right. Starsky leaned against him. Hutch slung a long arm around him and gave him a hug then a quick kiss on his cheek. That wasn't quite like the old Hutch but who was he to complain about new and improved? He turned his head, wondering if he dared try a morning kiss before brushing his teeth.

Then someone knocked on the door.

The two of them collapsed back on the bed in dismay.

"Didn't you put out the Do Not Disturb sign?" Starsky asked irritably.

"Thought that was your job," Hutch fired back. The knock came again.

"We'll never be allowed to make love in the morning, will we?" Starsky asked plaintively.

"Doesn't look that way, does it?" Hutch agreed mournfully.

Starsky got out of bed, accepting reality. He grabbed his robe and donned it hastily. "Why don't you catch that shower and let me see if I can get rid of the bad news in a hurry."

"You're on," Hutch agreed, shedding the quilt and moving stiffly toward the bathroom.

The sight of all that golden skin covering the body he was so desperately in love with nearly caused Starsky to walk into the door. Hutch grinned and shook his head as he closed the bathroom door.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Starsky called at the front door, wishing ruefully that was true. His erection had subsided during the phone call, so at least he wasn't sporting a tent pole under his robe. He scratched his hands through his unruly curls, probably only making them worse, just before he squinted through his see-through at the offending visitor. "Did I wake you guys?" Peter Whitelaw said, as he took in Starsky's sleepy countenance.

"Oh, no," Starsky said, opening the door and ushering Peter in. "The phone call just before you did that."

Peter smiled. "Sorry, Starsky. But a lot of stuff's been going on while you've been catching your beauty rest." He grinned wider. "And by the looks of things you could probably use some more."

"Cute," Starsky said, but smiled back. Peter was in the same suit he'd been in when they'd been arrested last night. His face was covered with a day's growth. "You haven't been to bed yet!"

Peter shook his head. "If I'm lucky I'll get there soon. A lot's happened this morning after you guys were released. K.R. and I have been in a bunch of meetings.... And the mayor resigned an hour ago."

Starsky blinked and settled on the arm of his couch. "He resigned?"

"Cantrall fingered him hoping to make a better deal. Was able to show a transaction of Gunther's stock trading hands. Of course, it'll have to go to court, but the suspicion was enough for the DA to demand his resignation."

"Hard to believe how far reaching this is," Starsky said, a little stunned. "All of that, just to get rid of two street cops?"

"Two street cops who'd consistently undermined Gunther's operations, who'd brought a halt to his illegal activities over and over. This time, it looks like you've ended them totally. His assets have been frozen. He's going to have to use a public defender since he can't be trusted not to corrupt his private ones. Uh, listen, I really wouldn't have bothered you guys but before I went home to collapse I wanted to show you this. I figured I owed you after bringing you the bad news that first morning."

He opened his briefcase and tossed six papers onto the coffee table. Three were local and one of them Starsky had seen. But there was also The Chicago Tribune, The New York Daily News, and The Dallas Morning Times. They were national news again but this time in every paper the words "GAY COPS" were equated with heroism, with protecting and serving their city. Starsky stared at the headlines.

Peter waited then said quietly, "Are you okay with this, Starsky? The label?"

He smiled in reassurance. "You kidding? Hell, it's nothing but the truth now, right?"

Peter had witnessed so much between them. Starsky couldn't help but wonder how confused he was by it all, by them, by their relationship.

"You don't know what to think about us, do you?" Starsky asked.

Peter shrugged, looking tired and confused. "I guess I don't. It's not like you two have followed a typical pattern for gays coming out late in life. You really think you're gay now?" "Well... I can't imagine cruising the guys at the Parrot on Friday nights but I know how I feel about Hutch. I'm in love with him. And I feel great about that."

"I...uh...never saw two men show the ferocity that you two showed for each other when you were both under attack. When we were in the bar during the raid and Hutch broke position to go after the cops assaulting you... I realized I didn't know him, didn't know either of you at all. It was... kind of sobering."

"That was an extreme moment," Starsky said. "But Hutch and me, we've had many of those. Each of us would die for the other; we've always known that. This other thing... the passion... the love--we're still working that out. Trying to handle it. But we'll figure it out. Now."

"Uh...is Ken... is Hutch here? I went to Venice Place first but no one answered. Or," Peter smiled wryly "do you have him stashed somewhere, handcuffed to the bed?"

Starsky felt the blood rush to his face but before he could answer, Hutch said behind him, "No, not this morning anyway. How are you, Peter?" He squeezed Starsky's shoulders in greeting as he had a million mornings before. He was showered, shaved, long hair wet and combed back out of his face, moustache trimmed neatly. He looked beautiful.

Starsky wondered how long it would be before he could get him alone.

Hutch plopped a few aspirin in Starsky's hand. "Here. Go take those, you'll feel better. Why don't you hit the shower?"

So you can be alone with Peter? Starsky wondered for one traitorous moment then realized Hutch probably had some ends to tie up there. He deserved the chance to do that. He tossed the aspirin to the back of his throat and swallowed them dry, then excused himself to see if hot water would work some of the kinks out of his bruised body.

~~~

"I don't know about you," Hutch said, genuinely happy to see Peter, "but I need some coffee." He went to the kitchen to set up the pot. Peter followed him.

"I feel like I'm always asking you this," Peter said, "but are you okay? Those cops really mauled you last night."

Hutch shrugged dismissively as he turned the heat on under the pot. The aspirin and hot shower had eased some of his aches, but it was the anticipation of loving Starsky that made him feel like a nineteen-year-old with a perpetual hard-on. Even now, the whisper of Starsky's offer thrummed through his blood like an illicit drug. It's yours if you want it. Had there ever been anything he'd wanted more? Unless it was the thought of Starsky taking him again.

Don't think about that or you'll throw a rod you'll never be able to hide in this robe.

But he couldn't hide from the truth that bewildered him even as it excited him. If Starsky discovered he didn't like it or couldn't tolerate Hutch possessing him that was okay. He'd discovered the blissful freedom of giving himself totally to Starsky. The joy of that voluntary surrender to someone he loved and trusted implicitly was unlike anything he'd ever known, even with the women he'd really loved. He'd be happy if they were limited to that. Labels meant nothing. When he was under Starsky he was free to truly love and be loved in return. There was nothing like it in this world.

He collected his thoughts enough to answer Peter. "Me and Starsk, we've had hairy scenes before. A little out of the ordinary, but--"

"Just part of the job," Peter finished for him. "Hutch... I've never known any men who would really die for each other. It was a pretty incredible thing to see."

Hutch paused. He tried to imagine himself from Peter's point-of-view. When he'd interviewed Peter about John's death, he'd been thoroughly professional, interested only in facts he could assemble to get to the bottom of a good cop's suspicious end. The next time Peter saw him was on film making love to his partner.

Then they met again at Venice Place. Hutch was rattled, confused, but still professional and calm. Between him and Starsky he was the rational one of the team. Even after the shootout at the bar, Hutch had once more been cool and collected when Peter had come to see him afterwards. Through all the passive resistance training sessions at the bar, Hutch had been almost Zen-like in leading the classes, playing at being a bad cop, a demonstrator, showing a strong, centered togetherness he'd learned from yoga and martial arts.

And then in a heartbeat he'd lost it all completely when he saw Starsky on his knees, imprisoned by Russo, being offered to Wilson. It wasn't as if he couldn't remember what had happened then. He could remember every second. The rage had filled him like a demonic spirit. He'd nearly levitated from where he'd been sitting in lotus, knocking people out of his way like bowling pins. He'd had no time to think. All he could see was Starsky facing the terror of rape again just like in Brooklyn. There was no way he could let that happen.

Peter had been near him when he'd broken formation. Hutch had been urging calm to those around him just before he'd acted. Peter must've thought he'd been possessed. No doubt Peter had never seen anything like that before.

Hutch smelled the coffee boiling and turned off the heat. Reaching for three cups, he tried to remember what kissing Peter had felt like and realized he couldn't. He couldn't remember Peter's kiss... or Kira's... or Abby's... or even Gillian's. He couldn't remember anything before the magnetic pull of Starsky's mouth in that jail cell, the feel of those lips against his, the sweet taste of his tongue, the erotic touch of his teeth--

"Hutch?" Peter asked, pulling his attention back, "are you happy?"

His face split into an easy grin, one of the most genuine he'd had in a long time. "Oh hell yeah, I'm happy. I'm the happiest man in the world." Or rather he would be if he could get everyone the hell out of here and off the phone so he could be alone with Starsky, preferably for the rest of their lives. He poured three cups, doctoring Starsky's with sugar the way he liked. Distantly, he heard the shower turn off and worked at not imagining Starsky exiting the tub, wet as a seal, water dripping off the end of his cock, like some kind of god emerging from the sea. Damn, he had it bad. His face began to hurt from smiling.

"I'm glad for you, Hutch," Peter said sincerely. "I mean it. Happily ever after doesn't happen that much in our community. I think it's great whenever it does."

Hutch met his gaze, feeling poignancy for this man who hadn't found anyone worthy of his love since John Blaine. "It'll happen for you, too. Once you stop mourning and let John go."

Peter looked startled and the shadow of pain passed over his eyes.

Impulsively, Hutch grabbed him in a comforting hug. Peter stiffened then relaxed and accepted the comfort, hugging back.

~~~

Starsky had just finished toweling his hair when the smell of fresh coffee permeated the bedroom. He cinched his bathrobe--his jeans were too confining right now and he didn't want to give Hutch the idea he wasn't ready to climb back into bed at a moment's notice--and moved toward the kitchen. That's when he saw Hutch and Peter embracing.

Hutch was grinning, his face a study in joy. For a half-second, Starsky's jealousy reared up hot and furious but he clamped down on it and stepped back into the bedroom, giving Hutch privacy. He and Peter had to say goodbye on their own terms and Hutch was a hugger. It was Peter's loss anyway so what did he have to be jealous about?

About six foot one of Nordic blond god, he thought, clenching his jaw. Starsky's Nordic blond god. No one else's.

Grow up. The guy's given you all of himself. Don't make him crazy with your insecurities.

Okay, fine. But if they didn't break that up in two minutes, Starsky wasn't sure how reasonable he could be.

Then the phone rang. He rolled his eyes and called out to the kitchen, "I've got it!" He jogged around the side of the bed and snatched the receiver up. "Grand Central Station. The next train leaves at 12:02 on track three for New York, Albuquerque, and Middle Earth...."

"I'm disappointed," Sugar said in her best Mae West. "You're not even breathin' hard. I thought I'd catch you halfway to heaven."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Starsky said, grinning at the phone. "There's not enough privacy in this place. Hutch and I are gonna have to sneak out to a hotel or accept a life of celibacy since there's always folks at the front door and the phone won't stop ringing."

"Always happy to do my part, big boy," she said. "Hutch is the big boy, Sugar. I'm just a few inches better than average. What can I do for you?"

"Don't even ask; you'd just break my heart. Having been part of the gay scene since the Pre- Cambrian age, I know what happens when two boys fall in L-O-V-E for the first time. They climb into bed and don't come out 'til their little treasures threaten to fall off. So, I'm taking the precaution of calling you to be sure you're going to be at work tonight."

Starsky's eyes widened. "Work?" he yelped. "You're opening the bar?"

"New glass is being installed even as we speak. I considered going for bullet proof but decided that would take all the fun out of it. Place has been cleaned, set back up, Huggy sent over two cases of glasses for the bar, and while we won't have our stained glass backdrop in place for a few days, we're putting in a movie screen temporarily. Thought we'd show news footage of the demonstration. I was wondering if I could prevail upon you and the golden one to pose nude for the new stained glass. A study in contrasts. Light and dark. Broad and built. Beautiful blond and bountiful butt. What do you think?"

"Uh..." Starsky stalled, "Sugar, look--can't we call in sick? Just tonight. We only had a few hours sleep and--"

"Let's remember who was willing to give you two a salary when the rest of the world only wanted you to disappear, shall we? Where's your loyalty? Look, I know you would like to stay home for about a year and discover the outer limits of your sexual stamina but you're going to have to do that on your own time. We need you tonight."

"Sugar--" Starsky said warningly.

"That movie screen over the bar and the ones flanking the walls? Starsky, darling--if you're not here tonight I can assure you we'll forget the newsreel and Judy Garland and be running a continuous loop of the short but illustrious movie career of Studly Starsky and HotLips Hutchinson. We'll call it 'Cops on the Make.' In Technicolor. Kapeesh?"

"That's blackmail. As an officer of the law--"

"Don't give me that. You don't have your badges yet. I'll cut you a break, Starsky. You don't have to be in on time. But your adorable worn-out little ass had better be in here by eight p.m. And make sure you wipe that smug satiated smile off your face before you get here. It's too painful to see for those of us sleeping alone. Oh. One more thing. After you get your badges back, don't forget you have to give me two weeks' notice! Ta!" She hung up before he could reply.

"Who knew such a nice lady could have such a mean streak?" Starsky said disgustedly to the phone.

He peeked around the corner toward the kitchen but Hutch and Peter had separated and were sitting over coffee at the dining room table. Sauntering out, he found his coffee waiting on the counter and took a long sip.

"Who was that?" Hutch asked. "Sugar," Starsky said. "Wanted to be sure we didn't forget to come to work."

"Tonight?" Hutch asked in dismay and Starsky almost cracked up at his forlorn expression.

"We can go in late but if we're not there, well, let's just say Sugar really knows how to appeal to our better natures."

"She's blackmailing us?" Hutch said, eyebrows climbing to his hairline.

"It's not like it's hard to do," Starsky reminded him. Hutch sighed in disgust.

"Well, if I don't get home I'm going to fall asleep on the spot," Peter said as he stood. "Thanks for the coffee--and, even though it's pretty inadequate, thanks for everything."

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other in the way they had a million times before, whenever they'd come out on the other side of a case that should have ended disastrously and hadn't. Only this time, seeing that look on Hutch made Starsky's testicles tighten.

Peter walked toward the door and Hutch walked with him to see him out. Starsky, wanting to preclude the possibility of another long clutch, moved to Hutch's side.

Peter opened the door then stood framed there for a minute, half in and half out. He seemed hesitant then finally spoke. "You know, I've been gay all my life. This is all new to you. I just want to tell you--" he looked at them both squarely, "love each other as hard as you can for as long as you can. I wish you the best."

There was loss in Peter's voice and it touched Starsky in a way little else could. He had a sudden rush of memory--Johnny Blaine teaching him to swing a bat, swing a fist... and stand up for what was right. He missed Johnny, had never stopped missing Johnny, and for the first time he understood that Peter had never stopped missing him either. It didn't matter that the feelings behind their loss had different origins. Johnny's death had left a void in both of them. Before he could think about it, he found himself hugging Peter really hard. He felt a little flustered when they disentangled.

Hutch shut the door quietly behind Peter and cast a curious look at Starsky. "Brazen, aren't you? Hugging handsome men right in front of me! Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Starsky stared open-mouthed at his partner. "Me? But, you--! Peter--! In the kitchen--!"

Hutch advanced on him threateningly, wagging his finger in Starsky's face. "Let's get some things straight, you should excuse the expression. I know you, Starsky. I've watched you operate for years. I've seen you flirt and tease and twitch your ass for attention. I've seen you take a girl out for the evening and pick up two new phone numbers while you were with her. You need to understand that whatever patience I might have had where you are concerned has definitely run its course. You are mine, Starsky, my love. And I'm not sharing."

Starsky had backed up slowly until he bumped into the kitchen counter. "Now wait a minute," he protested, dismayed that his innocent hug with Peter would pull this kind of reaction from Hutch. "I saw you two wrapped around each other like a roll around a hotdog in my very own kitchen! Did I carry on like a--?"

"Jealous lover?" Hutch asked, grinning shamelessly as he moved into Starsky's personal space, pinning him to the counter. "Sure you did. You hid in the bedroom and fumed until the phone distracted you. I just didn't want you to think you were the only jealous lover here. I meant what I said. I'm not sharing you."

Starsky's blood pressure climbed. "Don't worry, babe. You'll never have to."

Hutch's big hands cupped his face and then his lips were being kissed by that warm broad delicious mouth. He opened for the questing tongue and sucked it deep inside, tasting its sweet flavor, its unique, intoxicating Hutch-taste. His blood sang in his ears.

Hutch pulled out of the kiss long before Starsky had had his fill--as if he ever could. Grabbing Starsky under his arms, Hutch hoisted him up onto the kitchen counter, knocking assorted canisters and utensils out of the way. He pushed Starsky's legs apart and yanked open the belt of the robe. After parting the robe and exposing his body, Hutch leaned over and inhaled Starsky's growing cock into his mouth. Starsky shouted in delight and flung his head back, bonking it hard into the cabinet behind him. He didn't care. His whole world centered on the searing heat and slippery wetness of Hutch's incredible mouth.

"Hutch!" he rasped, frantically twining his fingers in clean silken strands of long blond hair. He felt each separate sensation--Hutch's wet mouth tightening on his growing flesh, sucking with perfect pressure, slipping up and down his swelling heat while Hutch's tongue teased and tormented the vein along his shaft, the ridge of his crown, his already moist slit. One of Hutch's hands toyed with Starsky's balls in a way designed to bring him up to maximum hardness in minimum time, as Hutch's other hand twisted and tweaked Starsky's nipple to painful delight. Starsky banged his head on the cabinet again as he cataloged every intense feeling inflicted on him. It was like listening to a wonderful concert and being able to pick out each separate instrument playing perfectly together.

He was fully hard now and loving what Hutch was doing to him. Would he make him come right here in the kitchen? Was this to make up for the Peter hug? Starsky hoped so. And he hoped he could catch Hutch in lots of friendly hugs in the future.

Hutch pulled off him for a moment. His eyes were glittering, the pupils huge in all that cool blue ice. His mouth was wet, the lower lip a bit swollen. Starsky couldn't stop staring at it.

"Am I a good cocksucker, baby?" Hutch asked, smiling. He had a look of hunger on his face, his expression that of a starving man.

Starsky's cock bobbed as if pleading for Hutch to return to it. Struggling to catch his breath, he ran his thumb over Hutch's moist lower lip. "You do that... you do that so good...."

"Say it," Hutch demanded, as if determined to exorcise the last of his demons. "Ask me for it."

Starsky could see the word emblazoned on his locker. COCKSUCKER. He remembered the humiliation he'd felt the first time he'd seen the film of them going down on each other. It seemed a million years ago. The embarrassment seemed at the time more than he could ever deal with. He hadn't known how he would ever have the courage to face another man again.

Now all he had before him was the beauty of Hutch's love, his generous willingness to do this for him. That harsh blunt word seemed so inadequate to describe the incredible reality that was Hutch making love to him. But it was all they had. Sugar had told him they could reclaim ugly words and take the power out of them. Words like queer and faggot and--

"I'm not afraid of words or labels anymore," Starsky said. "I'm not afraid of anything as long you keep loving me. My beautiful cocksucker." His heart swelled at the expression of delight on Hutch's face. "Put your mouth on me, Hutch. Suck my cock. Please--"

Hutch went down on him before he could ask again. Starsky groaned, feeling every muscle in his body tighten in pleasure.

The loud knock on the door made him slam his head again, only this time he felt it. "Ow!"

They looked at each other and said simultaneously, "Forgot the Do Not Disturb sign!" Just then the phone rang.

"I would've thought our karma would have been better than this by now," Hutch complained, moving away so Starsky could get off the counter.

Starsky knew there was no hope of hiding his erection so he settled for pressing it against his belly. Whoever was outside knocked again.

"I'll get the phone," Hutch offered, and went to the one near the couch.

Starsky opened the see-through. He didn't recognize the tall slender black woman standing on his porch.

"Mr. Starsky? I'm Huggy's cousin, Theda. I've been cleaning your place for the last few weeks. This is usually the day I do it. Are you busy?"

"Right now?" Starsky asked. "Well, actually, yes. Very busy. Uh... we had to work all night and we're, uh, just trying to catch up on our sleep. Could you come back tomorrow?"

"Well, I'm over at the Johnsons' tomorrow. But I might be able to come back the day after in the afternoon."

"That'll be great," Starsky said with a smile. He'd have to remember to make sure they were at Venice Place by then. "Sorry to make you come up here for no reason."

"No problem, Mr. Starsky," she said pleasantly. "You get some rest now."

Gee, I hope not, he thought. He turned and scrounged around his desk for a piece of paper and some tape. He scrawled in a hurried hand "DO NOT DISTURB!" then taped it securely to the front door. He finished just as Hutch was hanging up the phone.

"That was Huggy," Hutch said. "He called to tell us a dozen things we already knew, but I got the feeling he just wanted to make sure we were okay. You know. About us. I told him we'd be a lot more okay if he'd get off the damned phone and let us go back to bed. He sounded pleased as punch. Wanted to know if this time he could have the film rights."

Starsky nodded. "Take that damn phone off the hook, will you?"

Hutch hesitated. Cop habits were hard to break. The phone rang.

"Told ya," Starsky scolded and picked it up. "Hello?" It was more of a bark than a greeting.

"Davey?" a male voice answered. "It's...Nicky."

Starsky sat on the couch, stunned.

The phone call was brief and awkward but by the time it was over, Starsky knew he still had a brother who cared about him and, in an odd way, was proud of him.

Hutch took the phone from his hand and this time followed his advice and took the receiver off the hook. He took Starsky by the wrist and pulled him off the couch. "Any idea where we were before we were so repeatedly interrupted or is the mood totally wrecked?"

Starsky looked into Hutch's loving expression and smiled. "You were proving to me that cocksucker was the most beautiful word in the dictionary. I was just about convinced, too."

"Liar," Hutch said gently. "You were such a true believer you were singing the Hallelujah chorus."

"Sign's up," Starsky reminded him. "Phone's off the hook. Can we go back to bed now?"

"I do believe it's your turn to carry me, Romeo," Hutch reminded him teasingly.

"Yeah, you're right." Without giving Hutch a chance to react, Starsky grabbed his wrist, tucked his shoulder against his abdomen, and pulled him into a classic fireman's carry.

"Oh, now that's romantic!" Hutch protested, as Starsky hauled him into the bedroom. Before he could put him down, Hutch had grabbed hold of the mounds of Starsky's ass and kneaded them as he walked. "However, it does have compensation."

Starsky dumped him unceremoniously on the bed and clambered over him, yanking open Hutch's robe and pulling it off his shoulders. "Admit it. You love my ass." Starsky stripped his own robe off and tossed it onto the floor.

"I admit it," Hutch said without a fight. "I love your ass. I love the way it rolls around in your impossibly tight jeans like two puppies in a gunny sack. I love the way it tightens up when I touch it. I love the way you twitch it around when you're trying to get my attention." "I do not twitch my ass!" Starsky protested.

"You twitch it whenever you think anyone's looking at it. Those twitches had better be reserved for yours truly from now on, buddy, or that beautiful ass is gonna find itself in a sling."

"Promises, promises," Starsky taunted, then deliberately twitched his ass back and forth over Hutch's groin.

Hutch grabbed his shoulders and wrestled him over onto the bed until he was flat on his back then loomed over him. "I love the smooth ripe curve of your ass. I love the long sweep of your spine. I love your incredible eyes. I love your heavy thick dark cock. I love sucking it 'til you come in my mouth and I love drinking you down and keeping that part of you in me. And I especially love when you pound your cock into me and make me yours."

Starsky was nearly breathless at the poetry of Hutch's confession. "What? You don't love me for my mind?"

Hutch laughed wonderfully then covered Starsky's body with his and devoured his mouth. The unique feel of that powerful masculine body pressing him into the bed was terrifying and thrilling all at once. Starsky took his time experiencing this, realizing with every part of him that he was a man loving a man. As his erection rubbed enticingly against Hutch's, he accepted the amazing change in his life as desire traveled like lightning down his legs and arms then back into his groin. He wanted to weep in excitement and need.

He was trembling with nervous anticipation when Hutch pulled out of the kiss for air. "You ever gonna fuck me?" Starsky struggled to ask. The fear was there immediately, making his cock jump, making his anus tighten down in defense. Hutch's large cock pressed against his, reminding him of its size. You're so goddamned big. You'll tear me apart.

Hutch's expression softened. "We never have to do that, Starsky."

Starsky felt the surprise all the way to his toes. Immediately after came a startling disappointment. Just like I felt the first time.

"You don't want me?" he asked in dismay. At the same time he reminded himself, Be careful what you ask for.

"Of course I want you," Hutch said. "More than anyone I've ever wanted. But you're afraid. I can feel it in your body whenever you bring it up. See it in your eyes. Even the first time. You were offering me something you thought I wanted but you were afraid. You're still afraid. Starsky, I love you. I never want to do anything that puts that look on your face. Maybe someday you won't be afraid. We can do it then. In the meantime, we can still fuck. I love it when you take me. I'm happy doing that with you."

"But, Hutch, that's not fair--"

"Starsk," Hutch interrupted him. "When we were in the bar... and the cops came in--I did my job, just like Tsuka taught me. And you did yours. I got everyone into position, encouraged them to stay put, hunker down, and maintain their calm. I watched you, my heart in my throat, as you helped the customers get out of there then confronted the cops themselves. I didn't know what they'd do to you and I was worried sick. I was afraid they'd do to you what they did to Tomas. Then they grabbed you and instead of fighting back you resisted, collapsed into your lotus, and the uniforms surrounded you. I couldn't see you anymore. I was still doing my job but I was scared. Then all of a sudden the crowd cleared from my line of vision--and there you were... in Russo's grip. I saw his grinning face. Saw Wilson confronting you. You were on your knees. And you had that look of fear. I've known you a long time, Starsky. I've seen you face down some serious bad guys. And I've never seen you look like that. So, I knew what was about to happen. And I lost it completely."

Starsky smiled. "You looked like a lion coming after Wilson. I thought my heart would burst when you attacked him."

"Do you think I could ever do anything to you that put that look on your face?"

"Hutch, it's not the same thing. I'm just scared 'cause it's new, not because I don't want you. I love you so much I can't find enough ways to say it. And I always said that kind of thing best with my body anyway. I'm glad you like it when I fuck you because it's so good for me I could die. But I want you to have that feeling. I want to give you something I never gave anyone else and never will give anyone else, except you. Take my virginity, Hutch. Seal our marriage for good. I want you to."

"Starsk...I don't think we--" Hutch was well into his argumentative phase.

Starsky knew he'd have to work harder. "I had a jar of Vaseline in the medicine cabinet. I put it in the nightstand. Think it's as good as Crisco?"

"Starsk...." That was a warning.

"It's all I could think about when I woke up this morning, 'specially once you got hard."

"Starsk...." His voice softened and his expression did, too.

"I bet if I rolled over now," he struggled to turn under Hutch until he was belly down beneath him, "and pressed up against you like I was doing then," he demonstrated by shifting his ass until Hutch's cock nestled deep in his furrow, "that pretty soon it would start feeling so damn good to you it'd be hard to think about anything else, wouldn't it?"

"Starsk...." That was a plea. Starsky ignored it.

He moved his ass slowly, rocking Hutch's hardness back and forth imitating a slow fucking stroke. "You really like my ass, Hutch?"

"Starsk...!" That was a gasp.

Starsky smiled. "Feels nice like that, doesn't it?" He pitched his voice low, seductive. He spread his legs, letting Hutch nestle between them suggestively. "Think of what it would be like inside. I'll be so tight around you--"

"Starsky!" Hutch growled, his voice ragged. "You conniving, little--" He rolled off him as if only now realizing he wasn't trapped there. He sat up as if to collect himself, but when Starsky looked up in the overhead mirror he could see Hutch staring at his ass as though he were famished and Starsky's butt was a rare steak.

As Hutch stared at him hungrily, Starsky twitched his rear from side to side, flexing the muscles in his legs, tightening his butt then relaxing it again, clenching it in invitation.

With a cry of exasperation, Hutch pounced on him, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He pinned Starsky's shoulders to the bed as he climbed between his legs, and shoved them farther apart with his own.

Oh, shit! Starsky trembled, fear uncoiling in his gut like a snake.

"You think you can get whatever you want out of me just by twitching your rear, don't you?" Hutch snarled while pressing him hard against the bed. Starsky had pulled the bedspread off before, so his erection rubbed roughly against a jumble of dark blue linen. It felt good but not good enough. And certainly not as good as the crack of Starsky's ass had to feel to Hutch's cock, which rode it deliberately.

Hutch dug a heavy hand into Starsky's hair and pulled his head back. "You think I'm helpless when I'm in bed with you, don't you?"

Not right now, Starsky thought, fighting a rising panic. Maybe he should've listened to Hutch before. He wondered if he brought up those previous arguments if Hutch would have any patience for them. Probably not.

"You think you've got my number, don't you?" Hutch persisted.

"The only number I'm thinking of right now is sixty-nine," Starsky confessed.

"Think of another one," Hutch said, then plunged his tongue into Starsky's ear as he shifted his hips so that his cock slipped under Starsky's ass to massage his perineum.

Starsky moaned as Hutch's broad glans pushed against his balls. Hutch lapped the shell of his ear and the soft skin behind it. Starsky leaned into the teasing tongue, his blood boiling. He tried to pull his legs together so he could give Hutch's erection more stimulation, but Hutch wouldn't let him, keeping him spread wide.

"You gonna fuck me?" he asked, hating the tremor in his voice.

"Maybe," Hutch whispered into the ear he kept licking then nipping. "Maybe not."

Starsky shuddered helplessly. Not knowing was making him crazy. He never did have any patience and Hutch knew it. "You scared?" Hutch asked, giving his hair a firm tug.

There was no point in disseminating. "Yeah."

Hutch made a soft sound and Starsky couldn't tell if it was regret or pleasure. His adrenaline level kicked in another notch.

Hutch released his hair and his over-stimulated ear so both hands could play over Starsky's body. He stroked Starsky's sides, his arms, his flanks, then rubbed the sides of his buttocks possessively.

Starsky bucked. Hutch handled him more, stroking, petting, pinching him lightly at the very bottom curve of his ass where the skin was especially soft. He cried out and lurched but couldn't unseat his rider. Hutch lightly tickled the same area and Starsky thought he'd go insane.

"Please!" he called out, the sensation driving him wild.

"Please what?" Hutch asked as he nuzzled the back of Starsky's neck under his hair, then kissed and licked his way down his spine.

Starsky didn't know so he made something up. "Touch my cock. It's burning for you."

"Mmmm," Hutch purred. "Love hearing that." He pressed his lips against the uppermost bullet scar on Starsky's back in a gesture that was almost reverent.

That nearly did Starsky in. Hutch was stroking his ass so sweetly as he kissed and nuzzled the scars along his back. How long was he going to drag this out?

Starsky went still, just enjoying his weight and presence, cataloging every gentle touch of lips to skin. He imagined the scars fading under Hutch's loving kiss, smoothing beneath his healing mouth and becoming perfect skin again. Hutch could do that, his love was so strong.

I want you so much, Starsky thought, the sentiment clear in his heart. I want you in me.

Hutch's mouth traveled lower, curing the scars on his back and in his soul. He gripped the pillow and waited, his cock throbbing, his balls drawn up painfully tight. He felt a kiss in the small of his back just before the rising swell of his buttocks. Hutch's hands were still kneading his ass as if they couldn't bear to stop. Then Hutch took hold of his buttocks with both hands as if holding them in place. His thumbs rested near the join of ass and thigh, right near the crack, while the rest of his palm cupped the mounds, holding them firmly, as if to let Starsky know who owned them.

Hutch kissed the high swell of one buttock then the other. Then his tongue wrote a wet line of sensation over both.

The teasing touch was killing Starsky and he squirmed. That hot tongue wrote another line, then the edge of Hutch's teeth took a possessive little nip and Starsky bucked. Hutch chuckled and did it again. Starsky felt a surge of pre-come dribble from his cock and wet the bed. He was dying. "Hutch! Come on! Quit fooling around!"

"Uh-uh," Hutch said. "I love fooling around. Especially when I'm fooling around with you."

"You gonna fuck me or what?" He was demanding now, tired of being tortured into delirium.

"Or what, I guess," Hutch said, a smile in his voice. Then the tip of his tongue lapped at the top of Starsky's crack.

Starsky flattened against the bed, stunned by the bold sexual move. He wouldn't! Would he?

Hutch's thumbs moved up the crack of Starsky's ass from the bottom and pulled his cheeks apart as Hutch's tongue tip traced its way down that deep valley from the top. The wet assault was so delicious, so surprising, that for a minute Starsky was afraid he would come. He slid his hand down his belly and grabbed hold of his weeping cock. Sharp teeth came down hard on his tender ass and he jumped.

"Don't you dare!" Hutch ordered. "That's mine to play with, not yours."

"Hutch...?" he whined, so hot he thought he would faint.

"The cuffs are still in the drawer," Hutch reminded him.

Starsky released himself immediately as a thread of fearful excitement traveled down his spine. Sliding his hands away from his body he held them out, fingers spread as if Hutch were holding a gun on him. Thinking of himself cuffed and helpless while Hutch took him was more than he could handle. And somehow Hutch seemed to know that the threat alone was all he needed. Hutch had his number.

Hutch kissed the bite mark to soothe its small hurt. "Better. Hold still."

Starsky knew that was impossible when that tongue went back to tasting him, sliding over skin so sensitive he couldn't bear it. Hutch was driving him insane with his mouth, with the thumbs spreading him wide, baring him for Hutch's sweet torture. He rocked and squirmed, rubbed his cock against the sheets, and it was all good but none of it was enough. He moaned into his pillow, insane with pleasure.

Then Hutch tongued his anus.

Starsky shouted and tried to lurch away, the pleasure sexy and scary and oh so hot. Hutch hauled him back easily, controlling him as if he had no strength, no power in his legs, his arms, as if only Hutch had those things. Those big possessive hands spread his ass wide, making him available to Hutch's mouth and tongue. He felt the soft sensual wetness, the hot tongue lapping at him, felt his body's irresistible response as he spread his legs wider, felt the betrayal of his own nerves as his anus clenched and relaxed, loving that wet seduction. Hutch's tongue controlled him, battered him, reduced him to a shaking, leaking sexual toy, something he could do anything with. Starsky was heaving, writhing helplessly under that simple touch, that licking tongue, and Hutch wasn't even breathing hard. Starsky knew he was finished, that Hutch could do this to him for hours without tiring yet leave him a shaking wreck, weak and limp without ever having come. And, oh God, did he want to come. His hand moved to touch himself but a sharp pinch at the tender junction of ass and thigh reminded him sharply of his lack of privileges. He gripped his pillow and humped the sheets uselessly while Hutch lay between his thighs, feasting on him, driving him not-so-slowly insane.

It wasn't long before Starsky was out of control with need. "Hutch! Goddammit! Please, please-- make me come!"

Hutch pulled away just long enough to say, "Maybe. Maybe not."

Starsky cried out then cursed him soundly. "You fucking sadist! You sonovabitch!" Then that tongue was back at work and all he could do was sob in pleasure. "It's good, Hutch. So goddamn good. Can't take anymore!"

But apparently he could and Hutch knew it. Hutch reached under him, then gripped his cock tight at the same time that he penetrated Starsky with his tongue. The fact that Hutch would do that to him was enough to make him come and Hutch had foreseen that and prevented it. The pleasure was so intense it was painful but Starsky was in such a sexual fog even that felt good. Whatever made him think he could manipulate this man in bed?

Hutch waited until Starsky was a trembling, shivering mass on fire with pleasure. Then, when he had given up resisting, had decided that this would last forever and he would just have to endure it, Hutch pulled away from him. Before Starsky could collect his wits about him, Hutch grasped his knee and pulled him over onto his back.

The sight of himself in the mirror, heaving, sweating, taut with desire, with his cock controlled by a blond demon clearly determined to drive him insane, was so hot his balls twisted.

He found enough breath to ask the only question he cared about. "You gonna fuck me now?"

"Maybe," Hutch said. "Maybe not."

Before Starsky could cuss him out again, Hutch took his enraged cock deep in his mouth. At the same moment, he slid his middle finger up inside Starsky in one smooth move. Starsky remembered doing something similar, making Hutch insane with it, but then the onslaught of sensation was too much, especially when Hutch's finger stroked his prostate.

Starsky yelled in shock and surprise, feeling as if every nerve ending in his body were standing straight up. He came hard, flooding the back of Hutch's throat. The sensation was so powerful, he found himself shoving Hutch's head hard onto his cock, wanting to drown him in the come Hutch wouldn't let him release before.

Hutch didn't stop Starsky from controlling his head even when his thrusts forced Starsky's cock down his throat. Somehow he swallowed everything Starsky had without choking. Hutch's hand kept fucking him slow and smooth, hitting his prostate on every inward stroke. It lasted until Starsky felt wrung out and collapsed bonelessly on the bed. Only then did Hutch release his cock and slide his hand out carefully. Starsky actually mourned the loss of that hand and the feeling of possession it had given him.

Previews of coming attractions? It was a tantalizing preview if it was.

And I need you now, tonight And I need you more than ever And if you'll only hold me tight We'll be holding on forever And we'll only be makin' it right 'Cause we'll never be wrong Together I really need you tonight Forever's gonna start tonight Total Eclipse of the Heart--Bonnie Tyler

Chapter 25

Every now and then I know You'll never be the boy You always wanted to be Every now and then I know You'll always be the only boy Who wanted me the way that I am And I need you now tonight... Total Eclipse of the Heart--Bonnie Tyler

"Incredible," Starsky whispered, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked all fucked out but that hadn't happened yet. Was Hutch trying to kill him?

Hutch left the bed but there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't have the togetherness to ask where Hutch was going or what he was doing. An incredible lethargy crept over him and his body drifted into sleep. He welcomed the rest and let his eyes shut.

Then Hutch was back, sitting behind him, lifting his head and shoulders, jostling him. He blinked and turned to him drowsily.

"Feel good?" Hutch said, smiling.

Starsky couldn't even answer such a ridiculous question. Good didn't begin to touch the way he felt. He struggled to nod. Hutch raised Starsky's shoulders and supported him with his body as he put a glass to his lips.

"You need fluids, boy," he said cheerily. "Drink this."

He was afraid it was some health elixir but if it was, it was cleverly disguised as orange juice. It tasted great--sweet and tart and cold. He hadn't even realized how thirsty he was. Good thing Hutch did. But then if Hutch was going to try to kill him in bed it was his responsibility to make up for it. He drained the glass.

Starsky became aware of Hutch's heated erection pressing against his side. At the moment, he couldn't think of a single thing he could do about it. He felt bad for Hutch but his current condition was Hutch's fault so he had no one to blame for this dishrag of a lover except himself--

A light began to dawn. He tested his theory.

"Can I sleep for a minute?" he asked.

"Nope," Hutch said cheerily. "But you can rest. I want you to recover."

A coil of apprehension twisted inside him but it was the merest reaction. Which, no doubt, is just what Hutch wanted. "Gonna fuck me now?" Starsky asked.

Hutch smiled. "Not right now." "But soon."

"Maybe."

Starsky smiled back, shaking his head. "No way I can stop you. Not in this condition."

Hutch grinned. "Want to taste yourself in my mouth?"

Starsky was amazed to feel a quiver of excitement flutter in his gut. Hutch had taunted him with that the night Starsky had fucked him by force. The suggestion had aroused him insanely then but he couldn't deal with kissing a man yet. Now he had no such compunction.

"Come here," he ordered, holding out his arms.

Hutch eased him back onto the bed then slid down beside him. His kiss was soft, inviting, letting Starsky take the lead, if tiredly.

The flavor was sharp and vaguely familiar with a hint of musk. He recognized his essence in Hutch's mouth, changing its flavor, as if both of them were living in there now. He moaned and tasted every bit of Hutch's mouth, their tongues wrestling, petting one another. It was a long, loving kiss, and by the end of it his cock started to twitch as if there was still a little life left in it.

"Mmmm," Starsky said, approvingly. "I taste good."

Hutch laughed. "Glad you think so."

With a sigh, Starsky turned over onto his stomach cradling his head on Hutch's chest. Hutch was propped up on some pillows, which, Starsky realized, gave Hutch an excellent view of his ass. Use your advantages, Starsky thought with a smile.

He ran his cheek over the broad expanse of Hutch's smooth chest, loving the differences between them. Hutch sighed and from the corner of his eye Starsky saw his cock bob in response.

"Your skin's so soft," Starsky said quietly. "Love that." He nuzzled Hutch's chest, marveling at the amazing differences between Hutch's body and a woman's and enjoying that as well. He found a small brown nipple and ran his tongue over it then delighted in how quickly it hardened. He sucked it into his mouth, nipped it lightly and heard Hutch make a sound of pleasure.

One of Hutch's big hands slid down his spine, petting him, then gently stroked the curve of his ass. Yours if you want it, Starsky thought, knowing Hutch was remembering the offer. His touch was reverent, gentle, almost worshipful. And you want it in the worst way, don't you?

Starsky shifted so he could lean over and toy with the other nipple, already hard and waiting for him. Hutch's other hand cradled his head, showing his appreciation for the teasing touch of his mouth. This was nice. He was enjoying himself. Appetizers, he thought, amused. He started kissing his way down Hutch's sternum, his intention obvious.

Hutch grabbed his shoulder to stop him and tensed all over. "Starsky, don't." He looked up, surprised and disappointed.

"I'll go off like a rocket if you do," Hutch said apologetically. "I'm right on the edge."

"So, what were you planning? Maybe fuckin' me quick and getting it over with?"

"Thought it might be easier on you that way," Hutch admitted. "I mean... if we did it at all...."

"Sorry, buddy," Starsky said, frowning. "We're gonna do this right. You're going to take your time, all the time you want."

"Starsk...!" Hutch said warningly, but Starsky was already honing in on his target.

"Let's take the edge off this monster," Starsky said, moving over his groin. "Then we can slow this party down. Take our time. All night. All day."

"Wait... don't!" Hutch tried pulling away from him.

Starsky was getting annoyed now. "What's the matter with you? You're acting like my going down on you is the worst idea in the world."

"It is. I won't be able to control it. And you hated it the last time I came in your mouth."

Starsky blinked and then the memory was there in front of him. Hutch was right, he had hated it. "Hey, come on. That was my first time and I was under the influence." Then he thought of something. "How come you don't hate it?"

Hutch looked like he had to think about that for a minute. "Maybe I got used to it. Or maybe... because it's yours."

That statement went right to Starsky's groin. It wasn't a big reaction but something was definitely stirring. "Why don't you stop worrying about how I'm going to feel about it and let me worry about that? In fact, I think you ought to just lay there and--"

Hutch tried to stop him again. "I don't think--"

"That's a good idea, Hutch. Stop thinking."

"Starsk...."

He loomed over Hutch's groin and blew a stream of cold air over his raging cock. It jumped at the sensation and Hutch hissed. "Listen, hotshot, if you think you're running our sex life, I got news for you. Let me tell you what's about to happen right now. I'm gonna get you off big time. I'm going to make you so crazy you won't have time to worry about how I'm doing one little bit. You'll come like a freight train but you're so hot all it's going to do is take the edge off. So then you'll be all ready for a nice long slow fuck."

"Starsk...!" "And that's the way it's gonna happen. You. Fucking me. Nice and easy and real, real slow."

"Stop it!"

That was definitely an order, Starsky thought, and a rather frantic one at that. He laughed, ignored the near panicked expression on Hutch's face and fed that big weeping red cock into his mouth.

Hutch arched up frantically, digging his fingers into Starsky's buttock. His moan was low and restrained and Starsky could tell he was fighting his need to come.

Think you can resist me? Just try.

He took Hutch in as deep as he could until every muscle in Hutch's body was corded with tension like a man in pain. He slid his tongue around the head and sucked gently, knowing Hutch had to be so sensitive right now too much pressure would be painful. Starsky brushed his knuckles against Hutch's taut sac then cupped the heated testicles, rolling them gently against his palm. Hutch cried out and buried his hand in Starsky's curls, forcing his head down hard.

A thick jet of bitter fluid flooded Starsky's throat and mouth and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He forced himself to relax, to swallow, and to continue tonguing the pulsing shaft.

Hutch was out of control, writhing, pumping, crying out his name again and again as he poured himself down Starsky's gulping throat.

I'm gonna drown, he thought, then managed to suck some air in through his nose for a second before having to swallow down more of the sharp scalding fluid. So strong! So bitter! So much of you!

Dimly he grew aware that his cock was half hard again, that he was breathing frantically because of excitement. He kept licking, sucking, pulling on Hutch's heavy maleness, not just to please Hutch but now to please himself.

It's good. Goddammit, Hutch. It's good for me, doing this for you.

The painful grip Hutch had on his hair didn't ease. Instead, Hutch pulled Starsky's head off him and only then did Starsky realize he'd stopped coming.

"No more!" Hutch pleaded. "Please, Starsk, no more!"

He felt bereft, lost without Hutch in his mouth. He looked up at his panting sweating lover. Running a tongue over his lips, he said in a rough voice, "Damn, babe! I love the way you taste. I love going down on you!" He only now realized that himself.

Hutch made a strangled sound and grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him over his body. Wrapping those long strong arms around him, Hutch kissed him hard, searching for himself inside Starsky's mouth. Starsky pulled away for a moment, panting for air. "Look at you. You're as hard as a brick. That just took the edge off, didn't it? Just like I said. No more maybes. You need to fuck."

Hutch pulled him back into another bruising kiss and Starsky matched him in ferocity. They devoured each other, nipping at their tongues, clashing their teeth together.

Hutch pulled away this time. "You're hard, too."

"Yeah," Starsky agreed, realizing that was true. His heart was pounding frantically. "Hard for you! Can't you see how bad I want you?"

Hutch stared at him, his face full of uncertainty.

"Long and slow and easy," Starsky reminded him. "The way I know you'll love it."

"You sure?" Hutch's hesitancy was making Starsky crazy.

He slid out of Hutch's grip and moved beside him, lying on his stomach. Yours if you want it. And I know you do. He didn't have to say the words. The look on Hutch's face and the tension in his body said it all.

Gently, Hutch ran a hand down Starsky's back to his ass. His voice was strangled as he said, "I want you so much it scares me."

Starsky grinned at the honest admission. "That's just the way I want you to feel."

Hutch licked his lips, his eyes narrowing. He seemed to get control of himself. "Get the Vaseline." His voice was tight, clipped.

Gonna make me participate, huh? Give me every chance to back out. Okay. I can handle it. I hope. Starsky pulled open the drawer and took out the jar. Without being asked, he unscrewed the lid and held the jar out to Hutch.

Hutch took a finger-full of the gel and cupped his hand around it, warming it. "You've got to be honest with me, Starsk. If it's too much for you, if you don't like it. This is something we've got to do together, and if it's not working for you then it's not working for me."

Starsky nodded. "Okay. That's fair." He felt a frisson of fear invading his anticipation.

Hutch leaned over his back and pressed his lips against Starsky's spine between his shoulder blades. It was tender and sweet and all Hutch. It made Starsky weak and he sighed blissfully.

"I love you," Hutch whispered. "I love your heart. I love your fierce pride. I love your courage." He placed a tender row of kisses all along Starsky's vertebrae until he was nuzzling the small of his back.

The delicate touches made Starsky warm inside, made him feel cherished. He relaxed, cuddling a pillow under his head and peered up over his shoulder to watch Hutch worship him in the mirror. "Don't you love my ass?" he asked plaintively.

Hutch chuckled and placed a sweet kiss on one buttock. "Oh yes, I most certainly do love your ass." He slipped his lubricated hand in between Starsky's cheeks and stroked up and down the crevasse, making him slick.

It was so reminiscent of Hutch's tongue that it made Starsky throb and arch into the touch. Hutch kissed his ass again and kept sliding his fingers up and down, over and over, as if to get Starsky used to the feel of it.

"'S good, Hutch," he said softly, wanting to reassure him of the pleasure it was giving him.

"I'm glad," Hutch agreed. Then his fingers danced around the sensitive ring of his anus.

He hissed, lifting his rear. It felt dangerous but so good. He felt fear but pleasure overrode it. He wanted more.

"Hutch--!" he breathed, looking back at him, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. In the mirror, he was a picture of wantonness, on his belly, legs spread, slowly humping in response to Hutch's incredible touch.

"Starsk," Hutch said, "I need more lube."

If Hutch needed more it could only be for-- Starsky clutched as he found the jar in the bed. "Do you hear someone at the door?"

Hutch smiled. "'Fraid not. You put up a sign, remember?"

"Oh, yeah...." He held out the jar dutifully. "Was that the phone?"

"Off the hook," Hutch reminded him. "Your idea." He dipped into the gel. "All you've got to do is say stop. At any time. Promise."

Starsky nodded and shivered.

Hutch didn't warm it this time, just applied it directly to his anus. It felt cool and slick and good. "I love you," Hutch said as he inserted the tip of his finger inside Starsky's body.

He groaned at the strange invasion and tensed. Hutch kissed his buttock while toying with him, slipping his fingertip in and out, giving him time to adjust. In minutes, Starsky was writhing, tortured by that fingertip. The back of his knees ached, the soles of his feet. He couldn't pretend. It was good. He was loving it.

"You okay?" Hutch asked in a whisper, as if afraid to believe that might be true.

Breathing hard, Starsky managed to rasp, "I want more, Hutch. More of you."

Hutch shuddered behind him. Without being asked, Starsky held out the jar. He never realized how long Hutch's fingers were until one of them pierced him so slowly it felt as long as Hutch's arm. His gasp of pleasure was sharp as sensation shot up his spine and down his legs. He clutched his pillow and tried to force himself to relax as Hutch teased his opening into unclenching, into letting him work back and forth easily. He was so careful, so gentle, Starsky barely realized when he was pierced by a second finger, then a third.

"You okay?" Hutch asked, working him steadily.

Okay? You kidding? I'm dying it's so good. He couldn't say a thing, could only moan in pleasure and spread his legs wider.

Hutch shifted his hand and pressed against something inside Starsky. His cock jerked in delight and his whole body felt as if it had been electrified. He cried out Hutch's name.

"I'm here," Hutch assured him. "Right here."

"Do it!" Starsky ordered. "Stop making me crazy and make us both happy, will ya?"

He heard Hutch swallow audibly. He shifted in the bed. "Wh-where's the gel?"

Starsky fumbled around, found it. Didn't he have half that jar in him already? If it got anymore slick in there Hutch would have to worry about slipping out.

Hutch moved beside him then eased Starsky over onto his side. "It'll be easier this way."

You think? Starsky wondered.

Hutch moved close against his back, nuzzling his ear, whispering his love over and over. As he did, he slipped his hand out of Starsky's body, replacing it immediately with the blunt probe of his glans.

Starsky's heart pounded wildly. As Hutch's cock kissed his ass, he was flooded with a touch of fear that nearly overcame every other emotion.

"Hutch!" he called out, needing reassurance.

"Right here," he said calmly. "We don't have to do this. I told you that. Change your mind?"

This is no time for you to be noble, you bastard. Just do it! He dug his nails into Hutch's hip and demanded, "Now! Do it now!"

Hutch shuddered and obeyed.

Starsky's eyes widened as Hutch entered him, slowly, smoothly, so very carefully. In spite of all their preparation, a painful spasm rocked Starsky as his ass locked down, causing spangles to dance before his eyes. The pain shot up his spine, making his entire body go rigid.

"Easy," Hutch soothed. "Try to breathe. Give it a minute. It'll pass." A minute? he thought, panicky. As Starsky tried to imagine how he could possibly survive being torn in two, Hutch's lube-filled hand gathered up his erection and stroked him. The sensation of Hutch handling his cock while invading his body was unbearably good. All at once, his rear relaxed from the pleasure, allowing Hutch deeper penetration.

Deeper...? Starsky thought dimly, still rattled. God, no! He bit his lip to keep himself from saying that out loud.

Hutch was incredibly patient, taking it slow, agonizingly slow, entering him inch by inch as he kept stroking his cock. Starsky couldn't imagine where Hutch got the control. By this point, Starsky would've thrown Hutch onto his face and fucked him senseless. Not that it would take that much effort, since Starsky was convinced he was minutes away from passing out.

Suddenly, Hutch's groin pressed against his ass and he realized Hutch was fully inside him.

Inside me.... Damn, Hutch is inside me!

Hutch didn't move, just held perfectly still, waiting. The sense of fullness, the strange pressure inside Starsky was extraordinary.

"You're so tight!" Hutch gasped.

"You all the way in?" Starsky asked, just to be sure. He could barely get the words out.

"I've got your cherry, babe. Right here." Hutch sounded astonished. "You okay?"

"Hell, no," he sighed honestly. "I'm being fucked by a real man. You're so goddamn big."

Hutch's response was a low growl and a long slick stroke along Starsky's cock. The feeling was heightened by the incredible pressure filling him. The sense of fullness was intense and alien. He was being assaulted by so many new sensations he wasn't sure how he felt about any of it. Then Hutch's hand got more serious and he began to fuck.

The combination of being masturbated outside and fucked inside was nothing Starsky could've ever imagined. He cried out helplessly and gripped Hutch's wrist.

"Want me to stop?" Hutch asked, panting roughly.

Starsky shook his head. "No! Hell, no!" And at that moment he knew it was true. He wasn't sure what was happening to him or how he felt about it but the one thing he did know was that he didn't want it to stop.

"Thank God," Hutch breathed.

"Do it, babe," Starsky encouraged him. "The way you like best. Long... slow... oh, jeezus...!"

Hutch seemed happy to grant his wish. His hips pumped steady smooth strokes like a powerful machine, being careful but complete, as if wanting to be sure Starsky was being thoroughly fucked. And he was. "You're gonna last forever, aren't you?" Starsky asked worriedly.

"Oh, yeah," Hutch promised. "You made sure of that, didn't you?"

Seemed like a good idea at the time....

Starsky was excruciatingly aware that Hutch was rubbing his prostate raw with the heavy head of his cock on every stroke. The hand fisting him was a punishing torment Hutch seemed to really enjoy, making Starsky hotter and wilder than he'd ever felt in his life. A bubble of pre-come leaked from his slit. Hutch's thumb was right there, catching it, rubbing it slickly over his already over-stimulated glans. He was in an agony of pleasure, thrusting up into Hutch's hand and then arching back onto his cock in perfect rhythm with his lover.

Starsky had slung his top leg over Hutch's hip, trying to spread himself wider, wanting to grant Hutch the deepest penetration. And by his reaction, Hutch was appreciating that. Starsky heard this low rumble of sound, like an animal moaning in need, and then realized it was himself, keening for the incredible miracle he was being subjected to.

"You sing so sweet for me," Hutch breathed in his ear. His voice was frayed. "And you dance so good on my cock." He bit the lobe of Starsky's ear, making him cry out and tighten down around the flesh splitting him in half. He saw stars and heard Hutch groan behind him. "Starsk? Is it good for you? I need to know."

He sobbed helplessly, trembling all over with the intensity of it. "Hutch! God, I'm loving it. Can't believe it, but I am. You're fucking me and I'm loving it. Loving you. My mate. My spouse. The best part of me. Show me... show me how much you love me...."

Hutch shuddered and plunged deep inside Starsky as his hand tightened painfully around Starsky's cock. He lurched, crying out from the shock as Hutch did it again.

They had surpassed long and slow. Hutch was obviously shifting into overdrive.

Suddenly, Starsky found himself on his belly, his arms and legs spread out, fingers gripping the sheets. Hutch kissed his neck, his cheek, his shoulder. His actions were hurried and frantic.

Starsky closed his eyes, wondering if he'd survive. Go on. Whatever you need. Take it.

Hutch plunged deep into Starsky's heat and tightness, pulled nearly out then plunged in hard again.

It was incredible, unreal, and all Starsky could do was struggle to handle it. He looked over his shoulder, glancing up at the mirror, watched the muscles rippling in Hutch's broad back and ass as Hutch took him. It was beautiful and terrifying.

Watch me. Watch me please you. Watch me love you.

He moaned, wanting Hutch to know how good it was but incapable of speech. Hutch grasped Starsky's hand with his free one, clutching it tight. Hutch's hips pumped hard, pistoning in and out, unrelenting. Starsky's cock rode in the palm of Hutch's hand, adding more pleasure to an experience that was already unendurable.

He was helpless in bed, a new experience, and Hutch didn't need any handcuffs to make him that way. Just his powerful cock and the strength of his body. The amazing thing to Starsky was how exquisite it was to be helpless beneath the one you loved.

He regained his voice. "Hutch! Give me more! More of you. I can take it. Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard!"

It made Hutch crazy the way Starsky knew it would. With a cry, Hutch rose up on his knees, pounding into Starsky like a man insane with lust. "Love you..." he gasped.

Amazingly, Starsky felt Hutch swell even larger inside him. He shouted from the intense sensation. Hutch matched his shout, then suddenly, without warning, they both came painfully hard in perfect sync. Hutch pumped powerfully into him, filling him, driving his seed as deep inside Starsky as he could. Starsky flooded the bed, the heat and wetness of his essence a sudden surprise to him.

The spasms subsided slowly as if their bodies needed to come down easy. It took a few minutes, but eventually they were reduced to two worn-out men desperately in need of extra oxygen. They were heaving like racehorses, drenched in sweat.

Hutch enveloped Starsky in his long arms and hugged him tight. "I love you so damn much," Hutch swore.

Starsky felt warm moisture splash his shoulder and turned his head. "Hutch?" He remembered how overcome he had felt after coming inside Hutch, how his emotions and regrets and fears had just crashed down on him after the incredible high of being inside Hutch.

Hutch's big body shuddered, worrying him. "Don't cry," Starsky soothed. "I'm okay. In fact, I'm great." Just not sure I'll ever walk again, that's all.

Hutch shook his head, managing to choke out, "We came so close to losing everything-- Nearly lost you...."

"But we didn't. We won it all. The million-dollar prize, the brass ring, the happily-ever-after, the whole enchilada. Don't cry, Hutch."

His sentimental partner was too overwhelmed, Starsky realized, as Hutch hugged him tight and shed more tears before getting a grip on himself. At least his emotional outburst had one benefit. As Hutch collected himself, his erection subsided and gently slipped out of Starsky's abused body.

Starsky hissed at the change of sensation and suddenly his anus had a whole world of complaints to tell him about. He shifted uncomfortably.

Hutch seemed to realize the situation all at once. "Damn! I'm sorry, Starsk. Don't move. I'll get a warm cloth."

Don't move was the one thing Starsky could actually manage. He felt destroyed and tried to figure out how he was supposed to resurrect himself well enough to work tonight. He ruefully remembered that this had been his idea.

He heard water running in the bathroom when Hutch came out with cloths and towels and tenderly warm-soaked him. He hissed at the contact on his tender tissues.

"Yeah, I know," Hutch commiserated. "I'm running a warm bath for you. I think you should soak for a little while."

"You're assuming I can stand up."

Hutch smiled. "Well, if you can't, I can always throw you over my shoulder in a fireman's carry."

"I think my ass has spent enough time up in the air, don't you?"

"Never enough," Hutch insisted, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on Starsky's face. Then he got that worried look again. "You okay?"

"I ought to say no then I might be able to milk this for some real guilt and get some mileage out of it--but I'm too honest for that. I'm sore and aching, probably the same way you were, not that you would ever admit it. But it was worth it. Just to give you that much pleasure. It was good for you, Hutch, wasn't it?" Please, let me know that.

Hutch stroked Starsky's hair and his face went all soft. "It was so much better than good. Being inside you, Starsk--no one ever gave me so much of themselves. It just made me love you so much more." He choked up a little at that declaration and rolled up on one hip so he could hold out his arms for his tenderhearted blond. Hutch moved into his embrace without encouragement and they kissed tenderly, sharing their love and promising more in the future. Starsky felt his heart swell and wondered if there had ever been a time when he'd felt half this happy.

Finally, Hutch pulled away and grinned with the sappiest expression Starsky had ever seen, even worse than the one he had after busting Gunther. "Come on. Let me get you in the tub before it overflows. Then we just might have enough time for a decent nap before show time."

That sounded great to Starsky. And it was, too.

~~~

"What's gotten into you?" Hutch asked but couldn't hold back his grin.

"You mean, besides you?" Starsky said. He was standing in front of Hutch, looking up with those captivating indigo eyes through long dark lashes.

"If you don't stop flirting with me," Hutch said warningly, "we'll end up right back in bed and never get to the Parrot."

"I'm not flirting with you, ya big blond beauty," Starsky insisted coyly, "I'm trying to dress you."

"You're taking an awful long time to do it," Hutch warned, suppressing a laugh as Starsky fussed over him. "I don't know why you insisted we do this. Or was it just an excuse to fool around with my fly?"

"I don't need an excuse to fool around with your fly. It's my fly now and I can fool with it whenever I want. Like getting you dressed… on stakeouts in the Torino--"

"Like hell!"

"--in the men's room at Metro--"

"Starsky...!"

He finished adjusting the leathers and tied the black lace thongs neatly over the fly. "Hmmmm. Dunno if this is gonna work. Looks like you're barely lashed in there."

Hutch sighed and adjusted himself. "Well, it took you so damned long I got half hard! Tell me again why we're doing this." He turned to look at himself in the mirror.

"I told you. It's symbolic. And damned if that isn't the sweetest looking symbolism I've ever seen."

Starsky stood beside him as he checked out their forms in the mirror. It was an interesting bit of symbolism, and Hutch was surprised at how well they both looked. Starsky's black biker pants fit Hutch like a second skin and the sleek tight-fitting black tee shirt accented his arms and shoulders and made him seem that much more blond. The outline of his cock was plainly visible and the pants were so tight you could see the crack of his ass.

I might as well be nude, he thought. He looked like one of those hyper-masculine bikers in the photos in the Black Parrot's bathroom, all muscular arms, ass, and crotch.

"You look so hot," Starsky breathed. "Let's not go. Let's stay home. I've got plans for you."

"After all the time you spent zipping and lacing me into these things?" Hutch protested. "Forget it. Besides, Sugar will come here after us."

"Oh yeah. You're right. Maybe we can get off early."

Hutch looked at the yearning in Starsky's face and nearly lost his resolve. "You were born to wear white," he said, hearing the huskiness in his own voice.

"Yeah? You think so?"

Hutch's soft white leather pants outlined Starsky's narrow waist and beautiful ass erotically. The white leather vest accented his prominent crotch in a way his jeans never did. "What I think is that your religion is evident in those pants. I ought to cuff you to the bed and leave you here 'til I get back. Those guys are gonna die when they see you."

"Hope I don't get too flustered behind the bar," Starsky said. "I never played bartender before."

"Just make sure you know where all the cut-up fruit and the little paper umbrellas are and you'll be fine," Hutch reminded him.

Starsky laughed. "It's pushing eight o'clock. We'd better get moving." He handed Hutch the black leather jacket he'd appropriated from the Parrot's clothes rack when he first took the job, and then slipped his own brown jacket over the white leathers.

"You feel good?" Hutch asked.

Starsky shot him a look. "For the fourth time, yes, I feel fine... for a person who had an intimate encounter with a telephone pole."

"Very funny."

As they walked out the door and headed for the Torino, Starsky mentioned casually, "I think this might be a great opportunity for me to pick up all those wonderful tricks of the trade you seemed to learn so quickly. I've got to keep up with the latest in the field, right?" He smiled crookedly as he got behind the wheel of the car.

"Sure," Hutch agreed too easily. "While you're picking up those tricks, I think I'll have a few beers with Roland and his crew. Maybe I can learn some new techniques with handcuffs and other restraints. I hear ankle manacles can be lots of fun!" He grinned toothily at his suddenly suspicious-looking lover.

They were still teasing each other when they pulled up to the bar. Hutch thought it was amazing that the battered place had been restored so quickly. The colorful green parrot gracing the front windows was freshly painted.

Emil was at the door and clapped them both on the shoulder and gave them hearty handshakes. He laughed at their change in attire and said, "That'll blow some minds. Go on in. They're waiting for you."

Hutch glanced at Starsky. Waiting for us? But the comment seemed to roll off Starsky so he paid it no mind.

As they strolled through the bar, Hutch was surprised at how full it was. After the debacle of the false police raid Hutch feared the business would never recover. But the disco ball was flashing rainbows everywhere and Donna Summer's suggestive music throbbed through the bar as men and women danced riotously with lovers and friends. Hutch found himself almost overcome with emotion and realized that in some ways he now felt as if he belonged here with these people far more than he did at Metro.

As they got about halfway to the bar, someone suddenly let out a sharp whistle, much like the signal they had used to notify the protesters that the police were raiding. It startled Hutch and he looked around, clamping a hand protectively on Starsky's arm. Beside him, Starsky stiffened and froze, equally anxious.

Two spotlights flashed on, roamed the room, then found them in its center, nearly blinding them. The music stopped abruptly then restarted with a different number. Freddy Mercury's piercing tenor cut through the crowd noise as Queen belted out We Are the Champions at maximum volume.

Everyone in the bar stopped and turned, focusing on them, and all at once a cheer resounded through the room as everyone applauded the two cops standing in their center.

Hutch felt blood rush to his face as Starsky bumped his hip. "Can you believe this? We've been set up!"

The crowd parted and Sugar strolled up to them. She was dressed to the nines, Bette Davis at her fiercest. Her gleaming red sequined dress was dazzling. "You're late!" she complained, grinning. "I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up!"

"Now, would we do that?" Hutch asked, feeling flustered.

"Considering that you both have a lot of good lovin' time to make up for," Sugar drawled, "most definitely. But you're here. So the party can begin!" She eyed their attire, suddenly realizing they'd switched uniforms. "My, my, my! Who knew the other side of you? An angel in black. A devil in disguise. Hutchinson, you are a picture. A pornographic one. And Starsky... why don't you come pour me a drink."

"Be happy to... in a minute," Starsky said. "But I promised Hutch the first dance."

"You did?" Hutch said, coloring even more. Before he could react, Starsky took him smoothly into his arms and began moving them around the floor, taking the lead before Hutch could do anything about it. Hutch was so dazed he just went with the flow, dancing smoothly to the rousing song.

"If you try to dip me," he warned Starsky, "I'll split these pants."

"Mmmm," Starsky said, grinning. "And you're not wearing any underwear."

"That's because there isn't any room for underwear."

"Tempting," Starsky murmured then he pulled Hutch into a loving kiss.

The bar erupted into another raucous cheer.

When Starsky deigned to release him, Hutch realized he was hard, strangling in the leather pants, and flustered as all hell. Starsky smiled smugly aware of all of those things.

"Stop playing to the crowd," Hutch grumbled, but it was halfhearted and Starsky knew it.

"Where's your romantic spirit?" Starsky chided.

"Turning gangrenous in my pants," he said.

They took a few more spins around the floor and Hutch realized he was enjoying himself immensely. Starsky was in his arms, warm, alive, and loving him. They were in public, unabashedly showing the world their commitment to each other. It was making Hutch dizzy. In spite of the music and the noise around them all Hutch could focus on was the dynamic man in his arms.

The music suddenly lowered and came to a halt. The lights in the bar came up and everyone stopped and looked around. Sugar appeared beside them like a genie. They'd stopped dancing but kept an arm around each other.

"We've got a few surprises for you boys," Sugar said, smirking.

"Considering the kind of surprises we've already had in this place," Starsky said, "that's a scary threat, Sugar."

Everyone laughed and when they settled down Sugar said, "Oh, I think you'll find these more to your liking." She raised her arm and waved to someone at the bar and in a few minutes the patrons once again parted for someone.

Hutch spotted Dobey walking through the crowd and gaped in dismay. Dobey? Huggy was beside their captain as was another man Hutch couldn't see clearly yet. As they drew near them, Hutch realized he and Starsky were still holding on to each other.

"Starsky, m'man," Huggy said cheerily. He was all grins, clearly a major player in all this. "Hutch, my blond brother! Isn't it a fine thing to celebrate a grand victory with all of our friends and loved ones? But I knew the party wouldn't be complete without our very good friend, Captain Dobey of the Metro Police Precinct. When I invited him to this little shindig, he insisted on bringing a friend of his."

Huggy stood to the side and gave the floor up to Dobey. The captain looked genuinely happy to see them and didn't seem the least uncomfortable standing in the middle of a gay bar with two of his detectives embracing right in front of him. Hutch supposed that after that scene in the prison little they could do would rattle him now.

"It's good to see you boys again," Dobey said, beaming. "And it's good to celebrate with you too. I brought something for you... and the person who insisted on delivering it in person. Starsky. Hutchinson. This is the Deputy Chief of Police, Derek Goodwin."

The short swarthy rotund man stepped forward and extended his hand.

Starsky and Hutch, stunned at this turn of events, remembered to let go of each other and leaned forward to shake hands and greet him.

"I insisted on coming with Captain Dobey tonight," Goodwin said, "as a way to show the community that the police department supports all its citizens and as a way of making amends. And I wanted to come to right a wrong. Detective Starsky, Detective Hutchinson, I am here to officially end your suspension and return your badges and weapons. Your suspension has been removed from the books and you will receive all your back pay. In addition, you've both been granted a special commendation from the city for work above and beyond the call of duty in protecting our citizens." He brought forth their badges and guns from a briefcase and handed them over.

Hutch stood there, staring at his familiar Python and the worn leather of his badge wallet. He had thought for a while that he would never hold them again, that his career as a cop had been finished. He would feel like a fool if he burst into tears in this bar but right now he couldn't speak without losing it.

Dimly, he heard Starsky make an impromptu speech about how all they ever wanted to do was their job and back each other up and then Starsky was nagging him about putting on his holster. He shed the black jacket in a fog then fitted the familiar leather over his back and shoulders, putting the jacket on over it.

A burst of applause rang out from the crowd as he slipped his badge into his jacket pocket. There was no way he could get it into these pants.

"I'll bet this is the first time this bar has hosted a return party for a couple of cops," Starsky said.

Hutch could only grin then exchange handshakes with Dobey and the Deputy Chief. Sugar took hold of the Deputy Chief's arm and started to lead him toward the bar,but before she disappeared into the crowd, she looked back at them and held up her fingers in a "V." Hutch assumed it was for "victory" and grinned, nodding at her. But Starsky only groaned.

"What's the matter?" Hutch asked. "Sugar. She flashed those two fingers to remind me...." He looked at Hutch forlornly. "We've got to give her two weeks' notice!"

Hutch's eyes widened as he tried to imagine doing a full shift at Metro then doing another eight hours here at the bar.

Beside them, Huggy chuckled. "Sugar's gonna have some time tryin' to replace you guys. Have some sympathy."

Before Hutch could argue just who here needed the sympathy, Kelly emerged from the crowd and stood beside Huggy. When Huggy slipped a possessive arm around her and gave her a better-than-friendly squeeze, Hutch realized he was staring in surprise. She smiled up at Huggy, comfortable with his attention.

Before Kelly could greet them, Starsky moved in to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Our hero! You really came through for us, lady."

"Well, it's not over for us yet, boys," she reminded them.

Hutch frowned. "It's not? We're going to drop the case now, aren't we?"

"No, we're not," Kelly insisted. "There's more involved in this suit than just your immediate problem. We have to go through with it. The city owes you damages for what it did to you. If we pull the suit, it gives a message that you weren't wronged, when you were."

Hutch couldn't argue with the logic, but-- "Kelly, me and Starsky... we don't want money from the city. We just wanted our jobs back. We just wanted to be partners again."

Kelly nodded as if expecting this. "Listen, guys, this isn't just about you. It's about the whole gay community. Keeping the suit active will accomplish two things. It will make the city more sensitive to the way it treats its gay citizens. And it will help ensure that six months from now, when all the positive publicity dies down, some homophobic bureaucrat won't separate you as partners or find some excuse to fire you. It's insurance for you and Tomas and other gay cops currently in the closet. If we win any money, you don't have to keep it for yourselves if that makes you uncomfortable. You can use it to establish a foundation, something like a gay police officers' labor organization, so that gay cops have a bargaining unit where they can file grievances and get support."

Starsky looked interested. "That's a great idea! It'll keep the issue out there in front so gay cops can't be harassed or singled out or overlooked for promotions."

Hutch turned to him in surprise. "Well... if that's what you want, Starsk."

"Sure! It'll be a great thing to do with the money. Who knows, Hutch... maybe if Johnny Blaine had had an organization like that he could've gone to, things might've turned out differently for him."

Kelly seemed pleased. "You guys can organize it and direct the organization if you want. The policeman's union can probably be convinced to help you. It would be a very positive thing."

"You're such a smart lady!" Starsky said, moving in to give her another kiss.

Huggy blocked him, placing a hand on Starsky's sternum before he could make the connection. "Hey, you've had your one kiss allotment, Starsky! Hutch, I thought you'd start keeping a tight rein on him now. Not letting him run rampant over the populace."

Hutch took hold of Starsky's arm and hauled his partner back to his side. "Sorry, Huggy. I'm still getting used to the job."

Huggy's casual embrace of Kelly became more possessive. She leaned into him, enjoying the banter. She seemed more relaxed than Hutch had seen her since all this started.

"If you gentlemen--and I use the word loosely when it comes to you, Starsky--will excuse us," Huggy said, "they're playing our song."

The current tune was the ever-popular "I Will Survive."

As Starsky stared in pure dismay, Huggy swept Kelly into his arms and danced off with her. Hutch had to call his partner's attention back. "I think this is our song, too, isn't it?"

Starsky turned to him and a slow smile spread across his face. "Yeah. I guess it is."

As Starsky fitted himself against his partner, Hutch grinned and said, "This time I'll lead."

"You know, Hutch," Starsky said, as he spotted Tsuka and her husband, Yoshi, dancing in the crowd, "I think we finally got our chakras realigned for good. Or at least I did."

"Oh, is that what that was this afternoon? The realignment of your chakras? Hmmm. I thought it was the earth moving."

"I'd pinch you but I'm afraid of splitting your pants," Starsky warned.

Hutch grinned. "Good thinking."

He and Starsky moved confidently among the other dancers, gliding smoothly, swaying their hips in perfect sync as they clung to one another. Starsky pressed himself boldly, proudly, against Hutch, his expression a delightedly naughty smirk. Tucking his head against Hutch's shoulder, Starsky ground his pelvis against Hutch's in the same blatantly sexual way the other gay men did. At the same time, they were aware of the weight of the guns once again hanging at their sides. Dobey and the Deputy Chief were still in the bar, possibly watching them, but Hutch didn't give a damn. His arms were full of Starsky. He was happy.

He gazed distantly over Starsky's shoulder while holding him close, not really focusing, concentrating on the way they moved together. The lights were dim, the disco ball rotating, throwing rainbows over everyone.

For just a second he thought he saw Gillian standing off to the side while everyone danced around her. He blinked in surprise as she smiled then was gone. A chill ran down his spine as his eyes roved the room, trying to find her apparition again. He wanted to tell her, wanted to say--

Starsky looked up at him questioningly then glanced around the room. "You okay?"

It was the partner thing Starsky had reacted to, feeling Hutch go tense like that. His body language said it all. Are we in trouble? I'm here, partner.

Smiling, Hutch cuddled him close. "Everything's fine, babe."

Starsky relaxed into the embrace, accepting Hutch's word, and once again they were a single moving unit.

I should have listened to you, Gillian, Hutch thought. You were right. He really does love me. No matter what happened that love was always there. I'm a lucky man to have someone love me so much....

Now if you're lookin' for a hero Someone to save the day Well, darlin', my feet They're made of clay But I've got somethin' in my soul And I wanna give it up But gettin' up the nerve Gettin' up the nerve Is a man's job Lovin' you is a man's job, baby Man's Job--Bruce Springsteen

Epilog

Well, we all fall in love But we disregard the danger Though we share so many secrets There are some we never tell Why were you so surprised That you never saw the stranger Did you ever let your lover See the stranger in yourself The Stranger--Billy Joel

"You were the last one with the Ramos file," Hutch said pleasantly. "Where did you put it?" It was late in the afternoon and the squadroom was empty except for them. The after-effects of the corruption scandal were still impacting manpower.

"If I knew where I put it," Starsky said irritably as he dug through the file cabinet, "it wouldn't be missing, would it?"

Hutch rifled through the disorganized files on their shared desk. "If you would put things away when you were done with them--"

"Yes, Mom, I promise I'll clean my room tomorrow. Just help me find it, will ya?"

The squadroom doors suddenly opened and Linda Baylor's voice called out, "TA-DA!"

Hutch looked up to see her pushing a wheelchair. "Starsky! Look who's come to visit! It's Tomas!"

His partner turned away from the files with a grin. "Hey, amigo! Welcome home!"

Baylor pushed the chair close to Hutch's desk.

Joan Meredith was behind her, smiling, helping her with the doors. "Review board just cleared him for desk duty," Meredith said.

"That's great!" Hutch said.

Tomas nodded. "Half days, but it'll be good just to go to work every day." He was still wearing dark shades to protect his injured eye but that would only be temporary. "My physical therapist says I should be able to handle crutches in two weeks. Then four weeks after that, I'm supposed to be back on my feet. I've got to get back in condition but at least I can see the end of the tunnel now."

"That's really terrific," Starsky said, beaming. "You need anything from us? You've got a way to get back and forth to work?"

"Trixie can drop me off and pick me up," Tomas said. "And Linda and Joan have offered to help."

"He's a smart guy," Linda cracked. "He'll do anything to stay out of that Torino. Hey, isn't it about time you settled-down-types started looking at station wagons?"

Starsky looked appalled. "Station wagons?"

They all laughed.

"Did you hear?" Meredith asked Hutch. "Higgins and his partner got back together."

"Oh, yeah?"

She nodded. "His partner had no part in the scandal and when he found out about it and how Higgins was so pivotal in busting it open, he really had to re-think his attitude. He went to Ray and asked him if they could get past their differences and work together again. Said he wanted to have an honest cop watching his back. They're talking about taking the detective exam together."

"That's great," Hutch said, genuinely pleased. A lot of other cops in the precinct were still uncomfortable around them but many were warming up, especially when they realized Starsky and Hutch were still the same two cops they'd been before all this started. Hutch wouldn't exactly say things would ever be back to normal but they were tolerable.

Just then, Dobey came barreling out of his office as if he were about to start bellowing for his two favorite headaches. When he spotted Tomas, he broke into a huge grin and came over to shake his detective's hand.

"Thanks for talking to the review board, Captain," Tomas said. "I know you influenced them a lot."

"You think I can afford to lose a good detective? We need every honest man we can get, son."

That was the truth, Hutch thought. Even on half days on a desk, Tomas would be a valuable addition.

Dobey turned to Starsky and Hutch. "I need you two to go downtown and deal with the depositions on the Luray case. It's backlogged so bad the felon might be released because we couldn't get the case heard quickly enough. I need you to get the witnesses lined up so we can move forward with it."

Starsky groaned. "Wasn't that one of Wilson and Russo's old cases?" Those were some of the hardest to deal with, the ongoing cases of the cops currently under arrest.

"I know that one," Tomas said. "I was with them when the bust went down. Show me the files. I might be able to clear some things up for you. Maybe even testify."

"Great!" Starsky said. "Lemme see if I can find them."

Hutch rolled his eyes. The files were in chaos, just one more thing affected by the corruption scandal.

"Starsky!" Dobey barked, as Starsky turned in his direction and he got a good look at his chest. "I thought you promised me you weren't going to wear any more political tee shirts on duty. You know the rules!"

Hutch shot him a look. I told you Dobey would notice it.

Starsky zipped up his leather jacket to obscure the message. "Sorry, Cap. Ran out of clean--"

"Forget the laundry excuse! Next time you show up here with one of those political statements across your chest, I'm going to send you home without pay. I mean it!"

The big man went back to his office, slamming the door as he did.

Tomas looked at Starsky. "Political statements?"

Keeping his back to Dobey's office, Starsky unzipped his coat. His shirt carried the logo for their new organization, The Bay City Gay and Lesbian Police Officers' Alliance. The motto, "Justice and Fairness for All," sat beneath the logo.

The out-of-court settlement from the city was substantial. Huggy had talked Kelly into moving out of her five story walk-up into a larger place with an elevator and a small office suite. Huggy had them hysterical, complaining that after having traversed those stairs just to see Kelly, he was then too tired to do anything with her. He was also determined to see her start separating her private and business life more. Hutch wondered what Buddy was thinking about all of this and if they were going to have to start looking for wedding presents in the foreseeable future.

Tomas smiled. "Can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

Starsky smiled crookedly. "Hey, will you be at the meeting tonight, Tomas?"

"Meeting?" Hutch said in surprise.

Starsky looked at him, exasperated. "I told you about it! Seven o'clock. We're meeting at Peter's office to work out the demonstration at that hotel that fired their head chef when they found out he was gay. The hotel manager's a real jerk. That new guy Peter's started seeing, that lawyer, what's-his-name--"

"Kincaid," Hutch reminded him, "Robert Kincaid."

"Right. Robert suggested that a peaceful public protest in front of the hotel would bring them so much bad publicity they would reconsider even before Kelly hits them with a discrimination suit." Starsky was animated, totally involved in the situation.

Hutch sighed. Just what he always wanted--a professional civil rights agitator for a lifemate. He wondered again about his bizarre karma. "Starsky, you're a cop! You can't get involved in every civil--" "I know, I know," Starsky said impatiently, "but that doesn't mean I can't help with the planning. They need to know about fire zones and safety ordinances that could cause them problems they don't need during the demonstration."

"Trixie's going," Tomas said. "But I'm still under enough medication that I'm in bed pretty early."

"Don't worry about it," Baylor said. "Starsky can cause enough problems for the entire police force. Ain't that right, Starsky?"

"Anything you say, doll!" He winked at Tomas. "Me and Hutch are gonna be owing her for the rest of our lives. So the answer to anything she says is automatically yes."

"And I'm loving it," Baylor admitted. "Come on, Tomas. Bus is leaving. Trixie said she'd be downstairs in the car in ten minutes and that was twenty minutes ago."

They waved goodbye as Tomas rolled out of the squadroom and down the hall.

Hutch snagged Starsky's sleeve. "I thought we were going to have dinner at home tonight. Alone!"

Starsky's smile warmed Hutch to the pit of his stomach. He wanted to have that smile all to himself tonight and get to see it in his favorite lighting--their bedroom.

"You're insatiable, you know that," Starsky teased.

"And you make sure I stay that way, don't you?" Hutch shot back.

He tried not to react to the flash of memory from this morning's intense lovemaking. The mental image of Starsky riding his cock with a rapturous smile on his face, while murmuring pornographic pillow talk designed to drive Hutch insane was enough to make him squirm. All he'd been able to think about all day was the moment when he would offer his own complete surrender in reciprocation. That was still his favorite thing. Giving himself body and soul to Starsky. Having the freedom to do that. A chill ran down his spine in anticipation.

Starsky's crooked grin broadened. "Damn right. Look. Just come with me for an hour tonight, that's all. Then we'll pick up some carry-out and a bottle of wine and still have the rest of the night to ourselves." He winked. "Put out the Do Not Disturb sign. Take the phone off the hook...."

"Cut that out," Hutch grumbled quietly. Starsky knew all the trigger words that could get Hutch to throw a rod in public. "Okay. An hour. No more. No getting involved in Kelly's latest cases. No stopping off at the Parrot for a quick cold one just to 'keep in touch with our community'."

"Promise. 'Sides... it's not like I need any prompting to spend time alone with you."

"Okay," Hutch said, mollified. "Now, how about you keep looking for that Ramos file, and I'll see if I can dig up the Luray information?" Starsky blew him a kiss and sauntered off to the file cabinet. Hutch surreptitiously watched him go. He missed the leather biker pants, but Starsky's typical overly-tight jeans were still a thing of beauty.

Hutch didn't realize that he'd fallen into the trap of staring at Starsky's mesmerizing rear until Starsky suddenly twitched it enticingly, deliberately trying to aggravate him.

"Starsky!" Hutch growled.

His partner only snickered and waved the rediscovered Ramos file at him.

Hutch's only remaining wish was that he'd have many many years to watch that twitching rear and be aggravated by his one true love.

You're in my heart You're in my soul You'd be my breath Should I grow old You are my lover You're my best friend You're in my soul You're in My Soul--Rod Steward