Current Day:
"Are you really going to stay here forever?" Huggy groused, from the opposite side of Rosie and Al's backyard picnic table.
Eyes widening behind his dark sunglasses, Starsky hesitated. He hadn't expect his childhood best friend to ask the question so readily or in such a disappointed tone. Of course he should have expected it; it was the same question Uncle Al and Aunt Rosie had been asking in not so subtle ways over the last week.
It wasn't that they wanted him to leave, they just didn't want him to stay stagnant, or so Rosie had said last night, as they sat around the dinner table, right before Al looked him seriously and told him it was time to think about going home.
"It isn't fair, Davy," Al had said. "If Hutch were just your work partner or even a friend it would be different, and we wouldn't be pushing you to talk to him. But he's more than that, both to you and to us. I know you're upset and angry over what happened, but it isn't fair to leave him hanging like this."
With his heart sinking, Starsky knew Al had left unsaid: decide to work it out or walk away, but either way the time had finally come to make a move.
"Of course," Huggy continued, tilting his head. "The way your Aunt cooks, I can see why you wouldn't want to leave. How much do you think I'd have to cough up to convince her to stop teaching and come cook at my bar?"
"Don't know." Starsky shrugged. "She's close to retirement; you may not have to pay as much as you think."
Watching him expectantly, Huggy waited for Starsky to comment on Rosie's soup making ability or to grin while dropping a smartass comment comparing the rewards of teaching elementary school to cooking in a bar. But neither came, and Huggy was disappointed as Starsky awkwardly averted his gaze and wiped at the condensation on the side of his ice tea glass.
"Well, food aside, your family's probably thrilled to have you here. What with your charming conversation and your inspiring lack of enthusiasm for doing anything outside of watching daytime TV—"
"Hutch won't let me have cable," Starsky objected lamely, his finger dropping from the side of his glass. "He says it's a waste of money; I'm just catching up on everything I haven't seen."
Gaping at the absurdity of the statement, Huggy had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Under normal circumstances he would have called Starsky's bluff. But taking in his friend's poorly masked anxiety and the absence of strength in his tone, Huggy decided on a softer approach.
"Okay," he agreed. "But, man, it's been three weeks. I think you've done about all the catching up you can. Don't you think time to unwrap yourself from your security blanket and—"
"I don't have a security blanket."
Huggy smiled at the note of indigence in Starsky's tone. "Yeah?" he challenged, lifting a hand he pointed at Rosie and Al's house. "What do you call that?"
"A house," `Starsky shrugged noncommittally, "a nice, big—"
"Blanket of security," Huggy finished before talking a drink of his tea. "Man, I remember a time you were itchin' to leave. Now all you want to do is stay?"
Starsky stared at Huggy for a moment. Though he didn't want to admit it—and it pained him to do so—Huggy was right; he was clinging to the house and his Aunt and Uncle like a scared kid. Ignoring his problems and fear, he had effectively hidden away from the world and everyone in it. Seeking respite in the one place he was certain Simon Marcus's evil hadn't touched.
Simon Marcus.
Just thinking of the man was enough send icy chills up his spine. Shifting uncomfortably, Starsky pressed his palms to the table and pushed out a heavy breath. He didn't want to talk about Marcus or the things he'd endured, but time he had been allotted for avoidance was quickly coming to an end.
Six visits to his psychiatrist had come and gone, all with him feigning ignorance and conveniently dodging the truth of what he knew. And while her demeanor was eternally gentle and supportive, Doctor Evans was growing tired of his lack of disclosure. She was only going to put up with it for so long before writing him off one way or another, and while either way Starsky was sure his visits with her would continue, his window of opportunity to eventually return to work would be indefinitely closed.
Yet, even knowing his career was on the line, wasn't enough to make him talk about what had happened—not now and maybe not ever—and these were the moments where, although still avoiding him, Starsky ached for Hutch and an understanding willing ear regarding trauma that couldn't be shared on the record.
The things he remembered were mixed up, memories of pain and violence intermixed with desperation and fear. A lot of things that hadn't made sense at the time made even less sense now. But somehow Starsky knew—he felt it with unwavering certainly—that Marcus had been inside of him. Without lifting a finger, he had shattered his heart and bruised his soul, leaving behind a mixture of impossible emotions and a devastating truth.
Though Marcus had mockingly called Hutch Starsky's white knight, in the end he hadn't come rushing into save Starsky from what Marcus had intended to do. Hutch had come out of duty and honor but it was Marcus who he had remained loyal to in the end.
How was Starsky supposed to go home? Return to the house Hutch had owned for years, the very place Starsky had been taken, to live with the man whom had coordinated his abduction?
"I saw Hutch the other day," Huggy said casually. "He came down to the bar, asked if I'd seen you since..." He paused, and noting the pained looked on Starsky's face, he considered abandoning what he'd really come to say, but deciding Starsky didn't need another person tiptoeing around him he continued, "Well, since shit hit the fan with you two. He looked okay. Sad. Kept lookin' at the door like it was a normal Friday night and he was expecting you to come sauntering in—"
"I can't go home, Hug," Starsky said, his voice painfully tight.
"Why not?"
Bottom lip quivering, Starsky pressed his palm to his mouth, and as his fingertips grazed the white bandage covering his cheek he fought another wave of unwanted tears. The absence of pain pills left his trauma and hurt too close to surface. Impossible to ignore or control, overwhelming terror and sadness assaulted him at any given time, leaving him struggling to combat memories and emotions he desperately wanted to conceal and forget.
"Because," Starsky sighed. Finally grasping a sliver of control over his wayward fear, he hitched a breath beneath his palm. "It isn't safe there."
"Why?" Huggy asked. His eyes sparkled with understanding as leaned forward on the table to hear Starsky better. "Because of Hutch?"
"Yes—No..." Pausing, Starsky slipped his index fingers under his sunglasses, wiping away a few stray tears as he pushed out a series of deep calming breaths.
"Why then?"
Clearing his throat, Starsky shook his head. Then eyeing Huggy carefully, he looked for a sign that his old friend was baiting him into speaking about his irrational feelings in order to dismiss them. But seeing the genuine concern in Huggy's face, Starsky remembered that Huggy was his friend—his best friend second only to Hutch. Loyal and loving Huggy would never trick him into talking only to throw his disclosure in his face. The sudden knowledge was heartwarming and comforting, but it also made Starsky recall something else.
Huggy believed the stories about Marcus and his powers. Confiding in him would be easy; he wouldn't need convincing to believe the truth of what Starsky endured and he wouldn't think he was crazy afterword.
"Starsky?"
"They were true," Starsky said, his heart beat quickening as more tears formed behind his eyes. "All the stories we heard about Marcus while we were growing up were true."
Xx
Months Prior:
Lucky's barking woke him. Frantic and insistent, it made Hutch's heart lurch before he opened his eyes to see the dog nervously pacing in front of the sliding glass door. Face falling in shock, Hutch shot up from the couch, sending Blackwell's journal to spill haphazardly to the floor; he could not believe was he was seeing.
Folded compactly to one side, the vertical blinds had been pushed open, allowing the dog to see to the backyard. Striding purposefully to Lucky, Hutch gazed between the door and the hallway leading to the bedroom he shared with Starsky, struggling to understand how the blinds had been opened.
Had Starsky awoken and opened them?
Though it seemed to be the only logical explanation, Hutch dismissed the thought quickly; Starsky wouldn't have done such a thing, he was adamant about keeping the blinds drawn at night, and if he had ventured to the living area, he wouldn't have left without first coaxing Hutch to return to bed.
"Shhhh, Lucky!" Hutch hissed.
But Lucky wouldn't be calmed; pacing in front of the door he let out another series of warning barks intermixed with violent growling.
"Lucky, st—"
Looking through the window, the words died on Hutch's lips and his heart skipped a beat as he finally saw what Lucky was so intent on warning him about. The back gate was wide-open and standing in the middle of it was Simon Marcus, his face set in a neutral expression as Hutch gaped at him.
"Come." Marcus's mouth didn't move, but Hutch heard his voice in his head. "Come to me."
Hutch should have been frightened, but he wasn't. Calming his nerves, Marcus's words enveloped him in sense of cathartic peace. Staring at Marcus for a beat longer, he felt the last of his worry melt away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of rightness.
Marcus had come for him, just like Hutch somehow knew he would.
"Come," Marcus whispered in Hutch's ear once more. "I have much to show you."
And opening the door, Hutch strode thoughtlessly to Marcus, following him out of the open gate into the backyard, to communal walkway, and eventually the beach. Leaving the door wide open and Lucky lingering on the patio, letting out whimpers of distress.
Xx
"Babe?"
Starsky's hushed voice filled Hutch's ears but it wasn't enough to make him open his eyes. Holding his crossed arms closer to this body, he snuggled his face further into the back of the sectional.
"Hutch, come on," Starsky said, his voice gentle and insistent as he smoothed his hand through Hutch's sweat matted hair. "We're gonna be late."
Turing his head, Hutch opened his bleary eyes to find Starsky crouching in front of him. Having trouble reconciling his smiling partner with the strange feeling in pit of his stomach, he frowned. He had no memory of returning to the couch after being woken by Lucky's obnoxious barking; in fact, Hutch realized he had no memory of anything after shutting the blinds and returning to Blackwell's journal.
Starsky let out a disapproving grunt and Hutch followed his partner's gaze to find Blackwell's journal forgotten on the floor. Laying in front of the sectional, some of its pages had come loose as it fell and others had torn as it landed, and now it rested face down in a pile of its damaged contents.
"Well, babe," Starsky said. Picking up the scattered contents of the journal, he tossed it on the coffee table and assessed Hutch carefully. "You look like you had a rough night."
Thoughts of Simon Marcus swirled around in Hutch's mind and as he struggled to push them away he could swear he heard the man's deep chested laughter. While he couldn't quite put the fragments of the night together, Hutch was sure about one thing: Blackwell's writings had left some unsettling thoughts in his head and coupled with his exhausted state it had made for some really wild nightmares.
"What time is it?" Hutch asked.
"Almost eight."
"Eight? I thought we were gonna head in later today."
"We are, but it's Saturday, and you promised Keiko we'd go watch his basketball game."
"Shit, I completely forgot about that."
"I know you did. That's why I made a point to remember."
Despite intentions otherwise, Hutch had missed nearly every one of Keiko's previous games. Today was the final game of the season, and Hutch hadn't just promised Keiko he would come, he had sworn—up and down, on Lucky's life and Starsky's Xbox—to his 5th grade "little brother" that he would see his final YMCA basketball game. And with a slight smile, Hutch briefly considered the other sports Keiko could try now that he would be too old to participate in YMCA basketball. Maybe he could finally convince the kid to play baseball.
"How long do we have?"
"'Bout an hour." Trailing his index finger over Hutch's stubble covered cheek, Starsky frowned. "You have stop sleeping on this couch. You're gonna end up hurting your back."
"I already have back problems."
"I know; that's why we bought that fancy bed you never seem to want to sleep in."
Ignoring the note of annoyance in his partner's tone, Hutch waited patiently for Starsky to lean in and kiss him good morning, but was left disappointed as he stood instead.
Barely suppressing a frown, Starsky planted his hand on his hips and looked down at Hutch.
"What?" Hutch asked, feeling like he'd done something terribly wrong.
"You know what."
"No, I don't," Hutch denied. Propping himself on his elbows he followed Starsky's gaze to the other end of the sectional.
"I don't even want to know what would make you want to run barefoot on the beach in the middle of the night, Hutch," Starsky said tiredly, pointing first at the dried sandy footprints leading from the sliding glass door to the sectional, then to the streaks of dried sandy mud staining the cushions under Hutch's dirty feet. "But I'm not cleaning that up."
"I—I…" Struggling to reply, Hutch's breath caught in his chest. The strange events of the night flashed through his mind, Lucky's insistent barking followed by the blinds being opened. And looking at his dirty feet he realized he must have gone outside and to the beach from the looks of it. Closing his eyes, he dropped his back to the sectional, grasped the sides of his head and struggled to recall why he would have done such a thing.
"And you left Lucky outside," Starsky's chastised, nodding at the sliding glass door. "Poor guy was crying outside the backdoor when I got up. How could you do a mean thing like that, Hutch? I know you've been short tempered lately, but that dog adores you."
"I didn't mean to," Hutch offered lamely.
"Well, you did."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me." Starsky pointed to the dog laying lazily on his side in front of the TV stand. "Make it up to your buddy, there."
Recalling the intensity of the dog's barking, Hutch wondered if he really had intended to leave Lucky outside. After all, the dog had been barking incessantly, maybe in his exhausted state he had finally let the dog go outside and bark at whatever was bothering him so deeply.
"Didn't you hear him bark last night, Starsk?" Hutch asked.
Starsky looked at Hutch like he was out of his mind. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," Starsky assured, moving to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. "I heard you, though."
"What do you mean?"
Pulling the reusable coffee filter from the back of the coffee maker, Starsky grimaced, rinsing the day old grounds down the sink before flicking on the garbage disposal. Hutch wouldn't let him have Keurig, citing that the plastic single use cups were too wasteful, yet his partner didn't seem to have any problems leaving old grounds to rot in their equally expensive traditional coffee maker.
"Starsk," Hutch pressed insistently. Standing, he strode to the kitchen and leaning on the counter across the coffee maker he watched his partner expectantly. "What do you mean you heard me?"
"I heard you pacing by the door," Starsky said absently. Scooping a mountain of coffee grounds into the filter, he placed it the machine before filling the reservoir with water.
"You heard me?"
"Yeah. God, you were loud too. You weren't the only one having trouble sleeping last night. I came out to talk to you, just in time to see you open the back gate and head to the beach." Starsky shook his head. "Hutch, I know this neighborhood is safe, and you feel invincible being a big strong cop and all, but I really wish you wouldn't do that. You've lived in the city long enough to know that running on the beach at night is a damn good way for the two of you to disappear."
"The two of us?" Hutch asked, feeling increasingly troubled by Starsky's account of the night.
"Yeah, you and Lucky. You remember taking him, don't you? I mean, I watched the two of you leave."
"You watched me leave," Hutch pointed at the sleeping dog, "with him?"
"Yeah, I saw you."
"Did you see me come back?"
"No. I wasn't in the mood to wait up for you; I locked the door and headed back to bed."
Shoulders sinking, Hutch assessed the sliding glass door uneasily, considering Starsky's version of events and the uncomfortable questions they left him with. If Starsky had locked the house, how had he gotten back in? He was sure his house keys were in the same place he'd left them the night before—in the pocket of his discarded jeans on their bedroom floor. And what about his departure with Lucky? He had left accompanied, Hutch was certain of it, but he was just as certain that it hadn't been Lucky who had joined him.
But Hutch didn't get a chance to ask Starsky more, as a knock on the front door startled him from his thoughts, and he watched helplessly as the deadbolt was unlocked from the outside before the door opened slightly.
"Are you Dudes decent?" Huggy asked.
"What is he doing here?" Hutch hissed. Gaze snapping back to his partner, he grabbed Starsky's shoulders.
"It's Keiko's last game," Starsky said calmly. "He was gonna come watch and then take him for pizza after because we have to work…" Tilting his head, he frowned. "We talked about this, Hutch—"
"I said: are you Dudes decent?" Huggy asked, through the crack of the closed door.
"You're safe, Hug," Starsky assured. Grinning, he ignored Hutch's outraged expression and his quickly reddening cheeks.
"You should have never given him that damn key," Hutch complained, quickly finding his lingering apprehension over his unknown nighttime activities being chased away by the renewed embarrassment over the outrageous deeds his partner's childhood best friend had inadvertently interrupted the last time he decided to drop by announced.
It had only been that one time, but Huggy seemed intent on never letting him forget it. How was he supposed to know that Starsky had given just him a key—something that Starsky really should have disclosed before allowing Hutch to get so hot and heavy on the couch. Not to mention that Starsky should have maintained a sliver of embarrassment; after all, Huggy had walked in on both of them, but looking at Starsky's smiling face and his sparking blue eyes, Hutch realized his partner still didn't feel nearly as scandalized as he should.
"Aw, it was just once," Starsky said with an electric smile. "Besides, Huggy doesn't really care, and who else are we gonna trust to check in on Lucky when we're stuck on a job?"
Rolling his eyes, Hutch grabbed some clean coffee cups from the dishwasher. Setting them on the counter, he filled then, avoiding Huggy's gaze.
"Who says I don't care," Huggy said indigently. "I care, that's why I give you ample warning now. I love you guys, and I love that you love each other, but that is not something I want to see again—"
"Why are you here so early, Hug?" Hutch asked flatly.
Huggy's face fell in mock disappointment. "What? I need a reason to come visit my oldest friend in the world?" Pulling Starsky into an abrupt half hug he nodded at Hutch and continued in a low tone, "I mean your man is equally enjoyable too, but maybe you ought to take him in the bedroom and do what I saw him doing to you, it might loosen him up a bit."
Sputtering on his coffee, Hutch glared at Huggy.
"Aw, that's sweet, Hug," Starsky laughed. "But maybe you shouldn't be making jokes at Hutch's expense, he hasn't had his coffee yet and he's liable to bite you're head off in a second."
"That's just fine," Huggy said. "Just as long as we're talking about the one on my shoulders…"
"You're the worst," Hutch seethed, leaving the pair of old friends laughing in the kitchen. "The two of you together are the worst."
