This was written for the "What if..." challenge on the Me and Thee list, to write a story about what would have happened if Starsky and Hutch had never met. This is slash, and there is some strong language, but knowing high school kids, I don't think there's anything that pushes it above a T rating.
I don't own Starsky and Hutch, and I'm not making any money.
Point of Divergence
Somewhere outside of time:
:Sister, what ails you:
-These threads confuse me. I can not detect their pattern.-
:Nonsense. The pattern should be clear.:
-But look. It all tangles.-
#These are important threads. #
:I know. But see? Here... and here... they tangle. I can not see how they should lie.:
-Much rides on the outcome. There is great darkness there.-
:I know. But the way is not clear.:
-Then... what are we to do?-
#We can give this pattern a trial. #
:A trial:
-Yes. A sample. We can see what picture forms.-
:If that is your will, Sisters, then let it be so. We shall try it like this.:
O0O
Vietnam, 1964
Sergeant David M. Starsky pushed himself as far back into the rocky alcove as possible, holding tightly to the sobbing form of Private Jonathan Falco. Outside, the roar of battle was receding. They had been lucky to find this shelter. Too large to be called an overhang, too small to be called a cave, it had just enough room to sit or lie down if they stayed close, not quite enough to stand. But it was more than enough to hide from the Viet Cong outside. They might survive this day after all.
How many of his men were dead? Starsky wasn't sure. They had been separated too quickly, scattered through the jungle when the attack came, its ferocity unexpected. Things had been quiet recently, and they had grown sloppy. Starsky quietly cursed himself for not showing greater caution.
At least two of his best men had paid for his carelessness, Kearns and Zimmer, Falco's two closest friends. Starsky had seen them both hit, and knew they were gone.
Falco knew, too. Starsky had had to pull him away from their bodies, force him to run. Now the youngster was near collapse. This was his first exposure to a real firefight, the first time he'd lost comrades, and the shock and horror had overwhelmed him. He lay trembling in Starsky's arms, his wracking sobs calmed to silent weeping now. Starsky held him and rocked him like he would have his little brother. The boy was so young, only 18, and so small that he seemed even younger. At 5'2" and around 120 pounds, he barely topped the army's minimum height and weight requirements, and although his body was wiry and masculine, like a dancer or gymnast's, his face was as delicately formed as a girl's, all big brown eyes, and a head of dark curls as luxuriant as Starsky's own.
As soon as Starsky had first seen him, he knew the kid was in for a hard time, looking like that. Men too long away from women would turn to any substitute, much less one so pretty, and there were those who weren't beyond using force if they couldn't get what they wanted any other way. Which Starsky felt sure they wouldn't. Falco, for all his tiny size and girlish good looks, was all male. Starsky had pulled Zimmer and Kearns aside, asked them to keep an eye on him, take him under their wings, knowing they could be trusted not to take advantage of his inexperience.
It had worked out better than he could have planned, for the threesome had clicked, and from an assignment had turned into real friendship. Now they were both gone at once.
Eventually Falco's crying stilled. At first Starsky thought that he had cried himself into an exhausted sleep, but then Falco shifted in his grasp so that he could turn his face up to him.
"Sarge?"
"Yeah, Falco?"
"We gonna' get out of this alive?"
"Yeah, sure we are, Falco. Gotta' get you home in one piece to that girl you're always writing to, what's her name?" Starsky knew perfectly well, but he wanted to keep the kid talking.
Falco managed a small smile. "Emmy. Her name's Emmy Mancusco, Sarge."
"Well, we gotta' get you back to Emmy, right? 'Sides, I got a job waiting for me back home, too." Distract the kid from his grief, get him into a conversation.
"Yeah? What are you gonna' do, Sarge?"
"What, didn't I ever tell you? I'm going to join the Bay City Police Department in California. Be a cop, like my old man was." A little bubble of happiness welled up inside him as he thought of that bright future.
"No kidding? You'll make a good one, Sarge."
Starsky laughed. "Thanks, kid."
"Sarge? I'm sorry about... well, about crying like this."
"Forget it, Falco. Happens to a lot of guys after their first action. First time I saw someone killed, I cried like a baby. And it wasn't even a friend. You got a right." And that was true enough. All things considered, Starsky thought Falco had acquitted himself pretty good. Hadn't broken down 'til they got to safety, at least.
Falco smiled sadly. "Yeah." There was silence for a moment. "Tommy and Mike... they were good guys."
"The best."
"I'm gonna' miss them. They took care of me."
"I know, kid." He patted Falco on the back clumsily. "You'll be OK."
"You take care of me too, Sarge. Thanks." A small half-smile broke over Falco's face, and Starsky found his breath catching in his throat. Damn, the boy had no right to look so... beautiful. The sight of a face like that could rock you to your core. 'Specially when it had been so long since you'd had a woman. Or any relief besides your own left hand. The days were gone when Private Starsky could trade hand job favors with his buddies. Sergeant Starsky had to be more circumspect.
"Just part of my job, Falco." Starsky covered up his momentary distraction with gruffness. It wasn't the boy's fault he had the face of an angel. And an ass that could tempt a priest… Where the hell did THAT thought come from? Push it way down quick. It's been too long, Davey-boy, time to get a weekend pass and hit the whorehouses.
"So what are we gonna' do now, Sarge?"
"Gonna' spend the night here, Falco. Wait 'til I'm sure it's safe out there. Then get back to base, regroup." See who's still alive. "We should get some sleep now," he added. Outside it was getting dark.
"Yeah, OK. I'm pretty wiped anyway." Falco moved out from Starsky's grasp and lay down. Starsky stretched out beside him. The tight quarters meant the two men had to lie pressed up together, but Starsky figured the kid could use the closeness of human contact anyway. He could himself, to tell the truth.
Starsky fell asleep almost at once. It was a trick a soldier learned quickly, to sleep when there was time. It wasn't something Falco had had the chance to pick up yet, though, and in the middle of the night Starsky woke up to find him quietly crying again.
"Hey, Kid. Hey, hush..." Starsky made soothing noises, and pulled Falco to him. Holding him tightly, he rocked him like he had before. The crying died away again, and Starsky drifted off to sleep once more, still cradling the smaller man to his chest.
(o)
Starsky fell upwards through layers of consciousness, through dreams of warmth and moistness and sweetness, gasping as he woke to find himself pressed under Falco's wiry body. What the hell? He found himself responding as Falco thrust urgently against him, found himself hard and hot, more than halfway to completion already… Oh God, this is so wrong… But it felt so good, and it had been so long… Can't stop now… Just this once... Oh Falco… Above him, that beautiful face, like a woman's, eyes tightly shut… He can't be asleep, he must want this, oh kid, oh God… Starsky's hands found the smaller man's back, pulled him closer, slid down the arch of the muscular back, found the sweet curve of ass, pulled them together, yes, oh yes, grinding their crotches, feels so damn good, feeling the rasp of cock against cock through the cloth of their uniforms… Oh God, this is so wrong, this is different from just hand jobs, this is… He was drenched in sweat, pushing uncontrollably up… Shit, I'm his sergeant, this is so damn wrong… but he wants it too, is it so bad? It's just because it's been so long, it doesn't mean anything… the tiny, graceful body, slender, like a girls, pressed against him, but hard, all masculine, all male, strong… Oh God, I want him… NO! It's just because I haven't had a woman… He was gasping uncontrollably, long past the point of no return, and Falco was gasping too… Falco, Falco... And he arched upwards against Falco, with a final moan and cry, and shuddered his climax against his thigh.
Starsky fell back, panting, as with a final thrust Falco reached his own climax, eyes still tightly shut…
And sighed out "Emmy!" as his eyes blinked open, and suddenly widened in shock.
Oh God, oh shit. He was asleep the whole time, dreaming about the girl, he didn't know what we were doing. Oh crap, I as good as raped him…
With a mewl of horror, Starsky dropped his hands away from Falco's body. Bewildered, Falco flung himself off Starsky and as far away as the cramped area would allow.
"Sarge?" His voice trembled.
"Kid, I… Falco…" Starsky found himself lost for words to explain, and reached out his hands.
Falco edged away. "No..." he whispered in tones of horror. "No."
"It's OK, Falco…"
"NO!" Falco shouted, ducking out the opening of their shelter.
"FALCO!" Starsky cried, all other concerns suddenly sublimated by the fear that there still might be Viet Cong outside.
His larger bulk slowed him in the small space, taking precious seconds. By the time he got outside, Falco had taken off running in blind panic.
"Falco! Come back!" Starsky shouted, following. Not disaster yet. The kid had a good head start, but not so much that Starsky's longer legs couldn't catch him up.
But as he ran, Starsky's trained reflexes recognized what Falco could never have seen… the almost hidden trip-wire of a booby-trap.
"NO!" he shouted as he dove for the running form, knocked him to the side away from the deadly wire.
His own momentum carried him forward, onto the wire and down…
There was a roaring in his ears.
Oh shit, oh shit, this wasn't supposed to happen… there was supposed to be something waiting for me, something wonderful…
The world went white, then red, then black.
(0)
Jon Falco picked himself up from where he had been knocked, shaking his head, trying to clear it from the blast. He stared in horror at the remains of his sergeant. Oh God. All my fault. I fucked him. I fucked him, and I killed him. He died saving me. It's my fault. It's all my fault.
Blindly he stumbled off. Somehow he made his way back to the base; somehow he managed to survive the rest of his term of enlistment.
But it was a very different Jon Falco that finally went home.
O0O
Bay City, California, 1968
"You're sure you're going to drop out, Colby?" Ken Hutchinson said with some dismay, to the only close friend he had in the police academy.
Colby looked up from where he was packing his belongings into his suitcase. "Yeah, Hutch. This isn't what I'm cut out for. I shouldn't have even tried. Too many rules and regulations. This is for you white-knight types, not me."
"Think there'll be any fewer rules in the military?" Hutch pointed out.
Colby laughed. "More. But more ways to get around 'em, I've heard. And bigger rewards, too."
Hutch swallowed. It was going to be pretty lonely for him if Colby left. Somehow he hadn't managed to connect with anyone else here, just Colby. And in his more depressed moments, he wondered if most of Colby's interest in him wasn't less as a friend and more as a study partner. Someone whose brains he could pick when he needed to, nothing more.
The academy hadn't lived up to his expectations. He had entered with the feeling that he would find something here, some kind of fulfillment, a brotherhood, something that would connect him to a higher purpose, and it just hadn't happened. Just as his father had predicted, another failed attempt in his life.
"If you quit, maybe I will too," he sighed. "Van'll be happy, at least." His wife had never been pleased with his decision to sign up. And no one here would miss him. Not that he was disliked, for the most part, but aside from Colby, no one else was anything more than a distant acquaintance. He just hadn't fit in, he guessed. The story of his life.
Colby shrugged. "If that's what you want. What will you do instead?"
Hutch sighed again. "I don't know. Vanessa always wanted me to go to law school. That should make my father happy, too."
Colby clapped him on the back. "Might work out better for you, anyway." He went back to his packing.
"Yeah, maybe."
That night he talked it over with Van over the phone. The next day he put in his resignation.
0O0
Los Angeles, California, 1972
"You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you, Ken?" Vanessa's voice was shrill.
"No, Vanessa, I haven't," Hutch said with some asperity, looking up from his books spread out on the dining room table. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to study to pass the bar exam next week. That is what you wanted me to do, isn't it? Pass the bar and be a big money lawyer?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that's what I wanted, Ken. But I wanted to have a life along the way. I didn't want for you to start treating me like I was invisible."
"Be reasonable, Van. I have to study. I can't take the time to feed your every whim."
"You bastard!" Her voice rose to a shriek. "What do you mean, 'feed my whims'?"
"Just what I said, Van. I don't have the time to indulge you when you're acting like a spoiled brat."
Like a snake striking her hand flashed out in a slap, but after years of it he'd gotten faster, and caught her by the wrist.
"Enough, Van," he said wearily.
She pulled her hand away from his grasp, and stared at him in wordless fury. He stared back, tired of the constant fighting and sniping.
Van spun on her heel and marched off to the bedroom.
Hutch put his book down and stared up at the ceiling for a long time. Finally he got up and followed his wife into the bedroom.
Vanessa was throwing clothing into a suitcase. She looked up as he entered the room.
"That's it, Ken. It's over. I'm leaving."
"Van?" Hutch said tentatively. He didn't know if he should believe her or not. There had been so many fights recently. Or how he felt about it if it was true.
"I'll spend the night in a motel, and tomorrow I'll decide where I'm going next. I'll get the rest of my things as soon as I can."
He watched her slam out the front door, without saying anything. Then he slumped back down with his books. Eventually he got up again and poured himself a drink, and after he finished it, another one.
He didn't resume studying for the rest of the week. He did take the test, but his mind blanked halfway through.
When he received the results, he had, not surprisingly, failed badly. He never applied to retake it.
The divorce was finalized two years later.
0O0
Duluth, Minnesota, 1976
"Well, I think Reverend Lindgren gave a lovely funeral sermon, dear," Hutch's mother said, peeling her gloves off as they came in the house. "I'm sure it was a comfort to Jack's poor mother."
They had just come in from their visit to the Mitchell's home after the funeral of the man who had been Hutch's best friend in high school.
"Yes, very well done," Hutch's father agreed.
"Well, I'm going up to bed now. Are you boys going to be up late?" She smiled at Hutch and his father.
"No, I think I'll go to bed too," Hutch started to say, but his father over-rode him. "Yeah, I think we'll spend some time together. How about that, son? Want to join your old man for a night-cap?"
The last thing in the world Hutch wanted to do the night of his former friend's funeral was spend "quality time" with his father, but he realized that he'd been set up. His parents wanted something, and if he managed to avoid it now they'd just get him another time before he left. Might as well get it over with quickly.
"Yeah, OK, sure. I'll stay up for awhile." He followed his father into the den and sat on the couch.
"Here you go, Ken, have a drink." The elder Hutchinson poured a healthy four fingers of scotch and handed it to his son. Hutch accepted it and took a gulp. It was the good stuff. His father must really want something from him.
"So, Ken. How has life been out there in sunny California, huh?"
"Good, Dad. Everything's been going just great."
"I'm glad to hear that. But your mother and I, well, we're worried."
Hutch took another gulp of the scotch. "There's nothing to be worried about, Dad. I'm doing fine." If a dead end job, no social life, and a six pack of beer a night is doing fine. But why tell them that? Besides, there was one compensation. "I'm finally playing some of my music in public." Not getting paid for it, but two nights a week for an hour is better than nothing.
"Well, that's very nice, I'm sure, Ken," his father said patronizingly. "But it's not really what we expected and hoped from you."
I'm sure it isn't. "I'm sorry you're disappointed," Hutch said.
"We're not disappointed. Just... concerned. Thinking maybe you need a hand."
"Thank you, but no."
"Hear me out, Ken. This is for you."
Hutch sighed. "OK, go on."
"Well, it's a pity that you never retook the bar exam. It's not that uncommon to fail on the first attempt, many lawyers do. But there are things you can do with a law degree even without passing the bar."
Hutch made a noncommittal noise.
"You remember Robert Cranston, don't you? My college friend?"
"Yeah."
"Well he's running for the senate. Needs some good reliable people for his campaign, and probably after that for his office, assuming he wins. I told him about you, Ken, and he said you sounded like just what he needed."
"Dad, I... wish you hadn't done that." I'm in my middle 30s; I don't need my father running my life any more.
"Someone needs to keep after you, son. Not right to havea good mind like yours going to waste," his father said, with a horrible sort of mock joviality. "This would be a good use of your potential. And a chance to do some of that 'service' to people that you were always talking about."
That was before; when I still thought I could make it as a cop. "I don't know Dad; it doesn't sound like quite..."
His father over-rode him again. "And it would mean a lot to your mother to have you back here for awhile. Of course, you'd be in Washington a lot if he wins, but I'm sure there'll be opportunities for you to come and work in his local offices too."
"I do have a life in California."
His father made a dismissive gesture. "Nothing that important, is there? If you have a girlfriend, you haven't told us about her. And that job of yours doesn't sound like any great shakes."
"There's my music."
"Now, Ken, I'm sure you can find a place to play your guitar in Washington. It's not as though your career is in music, after all."
But what if I wanted it to be?
But he knew it was a lost cause. Eventually he gave in, and joined Robert Cranston's campaign. He comforted himself with the thought that he was exactly what Cranston needed, and he was a major reason for his win.
He was promoted to one of the top staff positions, and moved to Washington with Cranston.
But he never found another public venue for his music.
0O0
Washington, DC, 1985
Late evening by the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Hutch sat slumped down on a bench, with his legs stretched out in front of him, and took a swig of the beer he had in a paper bag.
Since the monument had opened in 1982 he had started coming in the evenings after work. He didn't know why. As far as he knew no one he knew was listed on the wall, not unless Colby had died in the war. Occasionally he thought of checking to see, but he knew the names were listed chronologically rather than alphabetically, and he never carried through.
But still something drew him here. The war he hadn't gone to. Maybe his life would have been better if he had. Or maybe he would have been killed, and not have to worry about it.
Not that life was really bad. Senator Cranston was now on his second term, and with his proposed investigation into the wealthy industrialist James Marshall Gunther, was poised to achieve greater prominence. Hutch's position with him was secure.
So what if he went home alone every night and drank a fifth of vodka? He was still functional. It just helped him sleep better, that's all. He didn't have a drinking problem. He had a bottle in his pocket now, but he wasn't drinking it. He could wait 'til he got home, that showed he didn't have a problem, right? Everything was fine.
But still something brought him here. Not every night, but some nights, when he didn't feel like going back to his empty apartment just yet. He always left well before it closed at midnight, but he just liked to sit here. Feel some connection between himself and... what?
It was too much work trying to think about it. It was time to go now, anyway. Hutch finished the beer and pulled himself to his feet.
It was as he turned to go that he noticed a crumpled figure at the base of the monument. For a moment Hutch was torn between a desire to just go home, and the feeling that he should do something to help. Eventually some vestige of the time when he had wanted to be a policeman won out, and he went over to the small form.
"Hey, you OK?"
The person turned its face up to Hutch. In the dim light Hutch could see it was a man, despite his small size. He looked like he'd been living on the streets, dirty, unshaven and ragged. The small of cheap whiskey floated off him, and shiny tear tracks ran down his cheeks.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm OK. I was just..." The little man trailed off. "Look, here." He pointed to the wall.
Hutch squinted to make it out in the dim light. The man's fingers bracketed three names next to each other. "Thomas Eliot Kearns, Michael Robert Zimmer, David Michael Starsky," he read off.
"They were my friends."
"I'm sorry."
"That's when my life went to hell. That's when it all changed, so I ended up like this." He indicated himself, unshaven, drunken, dirty, and smelling of alcohol and sweat.
Hutch knew he should just walk away at that point. The man was obviously one of the homeless veterans one saw around, and there wasn't really anything he could do to help. But something kept him from leaving.
"Look, you can't just sit here all night. Do... do you want to talk about them?"
The small man considered for a moment. "Yeah, maybe I do." He started pulling himself to his feet. Hutch held out his hand to help pull him up. The other took it and heaved himself up. "Thanks. Name's Jon Falco. What's yours?"
"Hutchinson. Ken Hutchinson."
"Pleased to meet you. Whatta' you do?"
"I'm an aid to Senator Cranston."
The two men sat back down on the bench Hutch had just left. Moved by a sudden feeling of hospitality, Hutch pulled out the vodka from his coat.
"Want some?" he asked, opening it.
"Yeah, thanks." Falco took a deep swig. "So you're in politics, huh?"
"In a way." Hutch shrugged, and took a swig himself from the bottle.
"Never very fond of politicians myself. Don't seem to get much good done, if you know what I mean."
"Depends on the politician. Senator Cranston is just going to start an investigation into a very dangerous man." Hutch was proud of that, it had largely been his prompting that had spurred Cranston into the Gunther inquiry. It was one of the few things he'd gotten enthused about lately, and it felt good to care about something. He passed the bottle back to Falco.
Falco shrugged and drank. "If you say so. The guys I knew, they were never that into politics. More direct action was their thing, ya' know what I mean?" He smiled reminiscently. "The Sarge even wanted to be a cop when he got out. Officer Starsky. Woulda' been a good one, I bet." He sighed. "Bay City's loss. And mine."
"Bay City? Bay City, California?"
"Yeah."
"Huh. Small world. I was going to be a cop in Bay City. Dropped out of the academy." He laughed, in a moment of whimsy. "Hey, maybe if your sergeant had been there, we would have been friends, and I would have stayed." It was an attractive thought, no matter how unlikely.
Falco laughed without humor. "Another thing to blame myself for." He took another large swallow of Hutch's vodka.
"Blame yourself?"
"It was my fault he died. He died saving my life after I did something..." The small man trailed off. "Something I shouldn't have," he finally finished. "It was all my fault. But he died and I lived... for what? He should have let me die, and come back himself. I'd be better off dead than what happened after. Then they sent me home." He laughed bitterly. "Home to what? Couldn't go back to Emmy after that. So here I am..."
Hutch swallowed. He didn't want to ask, but something drove him to it. "What happened?"
Falco laughed. "What didn't? Look at me! My size. And you wouldn't know it by the way I look now, but I used to be good looking. Good looking enough that the guys said I was pretty like a girl. Not too easy looking like that, with no friends. There was one night... there were these two drunk Marines..." Falco's eyes looked far away. "That was the first time. After that... Oh crap. Why even talk about it? I guess I deserved it anyway, after what I did." He took another huge swallow of the vodka.
Hutch drew in his breath in shock, realizing that what Falco was talking about was rape. He had been raped. More than once, apparently. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he stayed silent.
They sat for awhile. Finally, Hutch said "Look, I'm really sorry, but I have to get going. Do you... do you have a place you're staying? I could drive you there."
"Now that's a friendly suggestion, and I thank you. Yeah, I got a room." He named what Hutch knew was a cheap residential hotel.
"I know where that is. Come on, my car's this way."
Slightly unsteadily, the two men got to their feet.
(0)
Near by, two men stood in the shadows. "That him?" one asked the other.
"Yeah. The blond. Ken Hutchinson." The second man laughed shortly. "What a come down. The great Hutch drinking cheap hooch on a park bench with a bum."
"You know him?"
"Yeah. That's why the boss particularly wanted me on this one. He was always so stuck up, and high and mighty... look at him now. Maybe it's better that it ends here." The second man fingered the gun in his pocket under his coat.
"Shit. Why does the boss want him dead anyway? It's the senator who's investigating, not this lowlife."
The second man shook his head. "Killing a senator is big news. Killing a senator who's just about to launch a major investigation is even bigger news. But a staff member?" He laughed again. "This is Washington D C. One of the highest crime rates in the country. Just another dead body. But the senator hopefully is smart enough to get the message."
"OK, OK, so let's do it."
"No, not here at the monument. That would draw attention, too. We'll wait til he's getting in his car."
They watched the two men walk unsteadily off, Hutch in the lead, and followed at a distance.
Hutch's car was some distance away, and in a darkened street. There was no one else around.
"Perfect," the second man murmured. "You grab the bum while I deal with the target."
While Hutch fumbled for his keys, the two men pulled their guns from under their coats and moved forward.
"Hello, Hutch," the second one said as the first one circled around behind Falco.
Hutch looked up, startled. An expression of disbelief came over his face. "Colby?" he gasped.
"In the flesh. But I'm afraid your boss has made a bad enemy, and you get to pay the price." He shook his head. "You should have stayed in Bay City after all, and out of Mr. Gunther's business." And before Hutch had a chance to react, Colby had fired. One shot, silenced. Hutch's body slumped to the ground.
The first man had grabbed Falco as soon as Colby spoke. Now Falco was whimpering in horror. "Don't hurt, me, don't hurt me, please! I didn't even know him, it has nothing to do with me..."
"Shut up," the first man snarled. He hit Falco behind the temple, knocking him out.
"What are we going to do with him?"
"He heard my name," Colby pointed out. "He heard the boss's name. He's got to go. But not here. We'll take him somewhere else and dump him. For now, we can carry him back to the car, like he's passed out." He sniffed fastidiously. "Phew, he smells bad enough."
They hoisted the unconscious man between them and left, not even looking back at the body on the ground.
(0)
The body of ex Private Jonathan Falco was found some days later, knifed, in an empty lot. There were no clues, and not much interest in the death of a drunken street person.
After a cursory investigation, his body was shipped to his family in Teaneck, New Jersey. The funeral was sparsely attended, mostly by family, and by Emeline Mancusco, a former girlfriend, now a first grade teacher.
His death was never connected with that of Kenneth Hutchinson, aide to Senator Robert Cranston, and if any connections were made between that murder and the millionaire James Marshall Gunther, no one was foolish enough to make them publicly. Senator Cranston got the message, though, and his planned investigation was discreetly dropped.
And Gunther went on growing quietly stronger.
0O0
Somewhere outside time:
-No! That's not how it should go! If that happens, see what comes next! Here... and here...-
#A total destruction of the pattern. No, that certainly can't be right.#
:This is where it begins to go wrong. See?:
-Such a tiny thing.-
#But how can we change it? That is a matter of free will, not our designing.#
-We can hint. Suggest. Whisper in his ears. -
:Then do it.:
0O0
Vietnam, 1964
Starsky fell back, panting, as with a final thrust Falco reached his own climax, eyes still tightly shut…
And sighed out "Emmy!" as his eyes blinked open, and suddenly widened in shock.
Oh God, oh shit. He was asleep the whole time, dreaming about the girl, he didn't know what we were doing. Oh crap, I as good as raped him…
With a mewl of horror, Starsky dropped his hands away from Falco's body. -No, you fool! If you let go, he'll run!-
What the? In response to that strange premonition, Starsky clamped his arms tightly around Falco's struggling body. -Talk to him. Calm him down.-
"Falco, calm down!" Starsky gasped. "It didn't mean anything, I'm sorry, we were both dreaming, that's all."
"Oh God. Let me GO!" Falco squirmed and fought.
Starsky held on tighter. "No, damn it, not til I know you aren't going to do anything stupid. Calm down, Falco. That's an order, Private!"
Falco went limp in his arms. Starsky relaxed a little, but didn't let go. "Are you OK now? If I let go, can I trust you not to run out there until we know it's safe?"
Falco nodded.
Starsky gingerly let go. Falco rolled as far away from him as he could, but showed no signs of bolting.
"OK, we gotta' talk, kid. What just happened, it was nothing. It doesn't mean anything. You were dreaming of your girlfriend and I was -Lie to him! tell him you were asleep too- , I was dreaming about some hooker at Madam Chow's House." I knew it was him. I wanted him. Shove that as far down in my mind as I can. Forget about it. It didn't mean anything, just too long without a woman, that's all.
Falco's panicked face calmed a little.
"I swear, Falco, it didn't mean anything. It was just one of those things that happen. We'll never mention it again." A surge of disappointment as something inside died. Doesn't matter. Shove it down, bury it.
Falco swallowed. "Yeah. OK, Sarge. Whatever you say."
"I tell you what, Kid. We get back to base safely, I'm gonna' put in for weekend passes for both of us. I'll take you to Madam Chow's. You'll see what I was dreaming about." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.
"Well, I don't know, Sarge, there's Emmy back home..." Falco said dubiously.
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her, Kid." Starsky ruffled Falco's hair. " But if you really don't want to, they still have the hottest dancers in 'Nam. You can just watch, if that's all you want."
"Yeah, OK, then. That sounds like fun." He grinned, a real smile for the first time since the firefight yesterday.
"OK, me and you, then, Falco. I know you miss Kearns and Zimmer, but stick with me and I swear, I'll get you back home alive."
Falco laughed, a little shaky but real. He put on a Bogart accent. "This could be the start of a beautiful friendship."
Starsky laughed too. "A Bogey fan, huh, kid? Knew you were all right. Come on, I think it's safe, let's go."
They carefully made their way out from the alcove they'd been in and looked around. Cautiously they started back to base. Starsky took the opportunity to point out the hidden trip wire on the booby trap that had been planted outside, and how to go around it and disarm it.
They made it back by evening.
O0O
Bay City, California, 1968
"So Colby's really quittin' huh?" Starsky asked Hutch. They were sitting in the dorm's lounge area.
"Yep. I just helped him pack. It's a pity. I'll miss having him around."
"Well, it's not like he's the only friend you got." Starsky elbowed Hutch in the ribs.
"Yeah. Thanks to you pulling me into the middle of everything." Hutch laughed.
Starsky laughed too. "I'm gonna' be your partner someday, right? That means I have ta' take care of you."
Hutch smiled, feeling warm inside. He thought how different his academy experiences might have been if it weren't for this curly-topped lunatic. He would miss Colby, but if one of his two best friends here had to quit, he knew which one he'd rather keep.
"So, are we going out for pizza tonight? Van's away for the weekend, back to her folks, so I'm on my own."
"Sounds good to me. Long as you're buying, Blondie. I'm broke."
"You got it, pal. That's what partners are for, isn't it?"
0O0
Bay City, California, 1976
After Hutch flew back from Duluth after Jack Mitchell's funeral, Starsky picked him up at the airport.
"So how'd it go?"
Hutch shrugged and sighed. "Pastor Lindgren did a good job on the sermon. Jack's parents were pretty upset. He hadn't told them about the tumor, either."
"Must have been a shock."
"Yeah. Starsk, I wish you could have known him when we were kids. He wasn't like the way he was in Vegas, nothing like that. I should have known straight off that there was something wrong, he was like a different person."
Starsky put a comforting arm around his shoulder. "People change for lots of different reasons, Hutch. You couldn't have known what caused him to change."
"I guess not."
Starsky made a deliberate effort to change the subject. "So how are your folks?"
Hutch shrugged. "About the same. Still not happy with my career, still wishing I'd come home. My dad's friend Robert Cranston is running for the senate, and Dad wanted me to quit and go to work for his campaign."
"And are you going to?" Not that Starsky was really concerned.
Hutch laughed. "What, and miss out on the good life here in sunny California? Not a chance. I told my dad, 'I have a life there, a career, my partner...'"
"Damn straight. Come on, I'll buy you a pizza for dinner."
"Sounds good to me, pal."
0O0
Bay City, California, June, 1979
Starsky looked up from his hospital bed as Hutch walked in. He was much earlier than usual.
"Hey Hutch, what's the news?"
"There actually is some for a change, Starsk. Don't know if you'll think it's good or not though."
"Lay it on me, Partner."
Hutch took a breath. "They told me when I got to the station today, and I came over to tell you as soon as I could get away. Gunther killed himself last night. They found him hanging in his cell."
Starsky grinned. "Hey, what's the down side to that? Saves the cost of a trial."
"Damn it, I wanted to see him on trial for what he did to you, Starsk," Hutch said fiercely. "I wanted to see that bastard pay legally for what he did."
Starsky shrugged as well as his wounds would allow. "Woulda' been nice, Hutch, but at least we're sure of the outcome now. Juries can be funny, you know that. And even if he had gotten life, you know as well as I do that a lot of criminal action gets directed from inside the pen. This way at least we know he's gone."
Hutch sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. Still..."
"Don't worry about it, Hutch. I'm alive, you're alive, and he's gone. That's all that matters, right?"
"There's still his whole operation to clean up and put away, though."
"Look on it as a challenge."
"It's amazing what seems to have been part of his organization," Hutch continued.
"Starsk, it was huge. That whole thing with Durniak's murder, that seems to be tied in, though the Feds are putting the lid down on that part of it. And maybe even the bunch that Colby was working for."
"Huh. So Colby was working for Gunther?"
"Looks like he might have been. Funny we were crossing his path that far back."
"Like it was fated or somthin'."
Hutch laughed. "Three's no such thing as fate, Starsk. We make our own destinies."
"Long as my destiny is with yours, Hutch, that's OK."
Hutch leaned down and pressed his forehead to Starsky's. "I think we can safely say that's the case."
0O0
Bay City California, August 1979
They had become lovers the night before, after so long of dancing around the issue. Starsky finally felt like all the pieces had fallen together in his life. But something lay on his conscience.
"Hutch, I didn't exactly tell the truth about somethin' last night."
He lay with his head cushioned on Hutch's chest, and Hutch absently stroked his hair.
"What do you mean, Starsk?" he asked.
"When I said there had never been another guy. There was one, kinda'."
Hutch shifted to look at him, surprised. "Another man that you slept with?"
"Well, sorta'. I've never been sure exactly how to count it, as sex or not, cause it was more an accident that anything else."
"How do you 'accidentally' have sex, Starsk?" Hutch asked dryly.
"Well, like this." And he told him about that day in Vietnam, and what had happened with Falco.
Hutch listened in silence. Afterwards he said "I don't think that's anything you have to waste time on feeling guilty about for not having told me, Starsk. I didn't think it was possible to have accidental sex, but you do seem to have managed it."
Starsky looked up at him anxiously. "You're not mad I didn't tell you last night?"
"For God's sake, of course not, Starsk. It really would have broken the moment to go into all that then."
"Yeah, that was kinda' how I figured it."
"So, what finally did happen to Falco?"
"Well, I did what I said. I took care of him like Kearns and Zimmer had before. I don't want to make it sound like the kid was a wimp that wasn't good for anything, either. It was just his size and his face, you know? But he was the best sniper shot I knew. Taught me a few things. And because he was so small he could sneak like a cat. Very useful sometimes. It was just because he was so little and pretty that sometimes, some guys got... ideas... about him."
"Ideas? Do you mean what I think you mean?" Hutch asked queasily.
"Yeah. Like 'substitute woman' ideas. One night there were these two drunk Marines, they jumped him... if I hadn't been there, it woulda' been nasty. I mean, he got to be pretty good in a fight, but they were just to big for him, and there were two of them. But together we were able to take care of them."
"So what finally happened?"
"Finally he got hit. The kinda' hit that we all hoped for, though. Bad enough to send him home, not so bad to leave him crippled. I put him on the chopper... that was the last time I saw him but we kept in touch for awhile. He married his girlfriend about six months after he got home. I was out too by then, and they sent me an invitation, but I didn't go." He stopped and thought, then added reflectively, "Felt kinda' funny, almost like getting invited to an old girlfriend's wedding."
"Old girlfriend?" Hutch lifted an eyebrow.
"Yeah. I guess I really was a little bit in love with him, Hutch. Couldn't admit it to myself then, but, I guess I was. It doesn't bother you, does it?"
"Nope. Before my time, babe. Long as you aren't planning on running out to find him and tell him about your change in lifestyle." Hutch smiled.
"Not a chance, Blondie. You're all I want, now and forever." He proved his point with a kiss. Then he lay back down.
"Still, though, I wonder how he's doing. They sent me Christmas cards for a few years afterwards, til I moved, and I guess I forgot to send them the new address. So I haven't heard from them for a few years. I hope he's doing OK."
0O0
Teaneck, New Jersey, August 1979.
Jonathan Falco winced a little as he moved. His old wound didn't bother him often, but sometimes when the weather was changing, it gave a twinge.
It was just enough to make him start thinking of the old days as he got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom to take a couple of aspirins.
He had seen on the news reports about the Sarge getting shot at work. He hoped he was OK. The news reports said he was alive after the shooting, and he hadn't heard anything about him dying since. Most of the coverage had been about the arrest of James Gunther by the partner. Still, he assumed that something would have been said if he had died.
Maybe he should send a get well card, or something. After all, Sergeant Starsky had saved his life on several occasions, he should do something. It shouldn't be impossible to find out where to reach him.
As he took his aspirin and washed them down he thought back to that day after the firefight. He'd long since figured out that, despite what he had said then, the Sarge had been awake and known what he was doing that day, but it didn't bother him now. Maybe it would have, if he had realized it at the time, but maturity had made him more tolerant. The Sergeant was a good man. If his interest in Falco had been a little less than pure friendship, well, he had never, except for that once, let it come out in their interactions. And that one time, it was so obvious how horrified he was that at the time Falco had blamed himself for it. Later he'd come to recognize Starsky's reaction as guilt for what he thought he'd done to Falco.
But what had he done, really? The sex had been good. Not the best he'd ever had, but good. He hadn't hurt him, or forced him. Falco kept the whole incident in a special place in his memory. Not something he wanted to repeat, but not something he regretted, either.
He'd told Emmy about it before they were married, figured she ought to know everything about him, and she hadn't minded. It had been her idea to invite Starsky to their wedding, in fact.
He padded quietly back to bed and snuggled up beside her. She rolled over and curled around him, still a perfect match after all these years.
Starsky had done what he'd said he would do, kept him alive to get home to Emmy, his soul mate. He could only hope that, whatever had happened to the Sergeant, he had found someone, male or female, it didn't matter, who could be the same for him.