Current Day:
"Man, I know I saw the pictures on the online listing, but I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't have seen it with my own eyes. This place is…" shaking his head, Huggy's sentence remained unfinished as he realized Hutch wasn't listening to anything he was saying.
Holding his iPhone in his extended hand, Hutch grinned wildly, scurrying from the empty living room to inspect the nearby bedroom alcove. Taking pictures along the way, his phone made a series of soft chimes as he texted one picture after another to an unsuspecting recipient.
Starsky probably, Huggy mused. He rolled his eyes, but a small grateful smile crept across his face. The knowledge that Starsky and Hutch were speaking again was too good not to appreciate.
While things between the two weren't exactly the same as they once were, they were a vast difference from where they had been. And in the two weeks that had passed since first reconciling, Starsky had slowly began allowing Hutch to increase contact. Contact which consisted of calls and text messages mostly, Huggy gathered, although they had spent a handful of evenings in each other's company. Talking walks together, watching movies, and hanging out, it was as if they were dating, Huggy noted, the way they were bending over backwards not to touch each other—although Huggy suspected that had more to do with Starsky's lingering uneasiness than anything else.
If the circumstances had been different it would have been cute; to see the two of them tiptoeing around each other with careful precision, and Hutch conducing himself in such an incredibly careful manner—it was as though he was terrified to say or do something which could be perceived incorrectly. But the behavior wasn't cute because they weren't dating, and Hutch's purposeful gentleness and Starsky's nervous apprehension had little to do with the excitement of new love and everything to do with the deep, persistent pain of fresh wounds.
"Incredible," Hutch said, emerging from the scant privacy of the alcove. "This place is incredible."
"It's something."
Taking a step back, Huggy leaned against the kitchen counter. Twirling the keyring on his finger, he gripped the key to the deadbolt door tightly in his palm. When he had volunteered his expertise as a licensed realtor on the sly, being dragged to a place like this was not what he had envisioned, and he was certain the apartment was not nearly as incredible as Hutch wanted to believe.
In fact, when Hutch had called at the crack of dawn, pulling him out of bed and away from the company of a particularly exquisite woman, to look at a property that seemed more fitting as backdrop of 70's TV show, Huggy had thought Hutch was joking. He had hoped he was joking. A hope he had firmly held on to when first arriving to the rickety building lining a quiet street in Venice, and a hope that had been quickly dashed when Huggy noted the excitement shining in Hutch's eyes.
Taking residence in the space atop an old boarded up restaurant, the apartment had sat vacant for years. Decrepit and dust filled, the interior was a time capsule. Wood paneling was everywhere, bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, living area, not a room had been left untouched. The bathroom was in shambles, with its worn sink and crumbling bathtub. The kitchen was a disaster; the open cabinets looked like homemade bookshelves and the lack of counter space was alarming—though that was universal problem affecting the whole apartment, as the floor plan was impossibly small. With no modern day appliances or in-unit laundry, Huggy figured all the apartment was really missing to pass for a 70's pad was a little macramé, a turn table, and wicker furniture. It was nauseating to say the least, and nothing more than a time intensive, frustration inducing money pit—an assessment Huggy was positive Starsky would agree with.
"Come on, man, let's get out of here," Huggy said. "Let me show you something a little more updated. A little more your style."
"But I love this."
"Well, Starsky is gonna hate it. It's old and dirty, and you know how much he likes to keep stuff clean. How particular he is. Besides, it's too small. I know he agreed to work things out, but I think you really ought to find something with two bedrooms—something that will allow him have some space away if things get to be too much."
"The apartment across the hall is for sale too." Hutch smiled, sticking his phone in the front pocket of his jeans as he moved to the kitchen. "What if I bought both, did a little renovation?" His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he moved his hands excitedly around, punctuating his words with unconcealed excitement. "We could move the main door to the top of the stairs, knock out the doors to the apartments and make the landing into a hallway. That would give us two bedrooms, two bathrooms—"
"And two kitchens." Huggy rolled his eyes. "You're gonna need appliances too. And knowing you, hookups for in unit-laundry. Where are you gonna put that Mike Holmes?"
"There's a maintenance closet in the hallway, between the apartments. We could put them there." We'll tear out one of the kitchens out anyway, we could always knock up a closet or a room for the washer and dryer there."
Crossing his arms, Huggy sighed skeptically. "Knocking down doors, putting new ones up, the cost to put in new appliances, not to mention the money you're gonna have to drop just to make this place livable, this sounds like an expensive endeavor." He eyed Hutch dubiously. "I know you're selling that beach house for a mint, but where are you gonna get money to renovate this place? You're not working, and I thought you already had a project you were dumping money into? A certain covert restoration job."
"Don't worry about the finances, Hug." Hutch grinned. "It's not an issue. Besides, just think about it."
"Oh, I am."
"This could be our place," Hutch said, ignoring Huggy's displeasure. "His and mine, and we could make it how we wanted it." He peered excitedly out of the kitchen window at the cement block walls of the enclosed greenhouse. "There's even a patio area for the dog. It's perfect."
"I still think you ought to run it by him. Maybe bring him by before we put in an offer."
And as if on cue, Hutch's phone chimed loudly, alerting them both to a new text message. Pulling it out of his pocket, Hutch's smile grew as he read the words on the shining brightly on the screen. "We don't have to," he said. "Starsky's fine with this place."
"He actually said that?" Huggy frowned. Leaning over he tried to peer at the iPhone screen, but Hutch pulled it from view. "Man, are you sure you read that right? That does not sound like him at all."
Turning away from Huggy, Hutch ignored his friend's words, as well as the uneasiness the rest of Starsky's out of character response elicited.
Xx
Months Prior:
Cursing his way through the dense early evening traffic, Hutch returned home in record time. He had tried to calling Starsky countless time on the way home—frantically trying to make contact to verify his partner's safety—but each call remained unanswered, spiking Hutch's anxiety and filling him with full-bodied dread. Speeding into the driveway, he hastily threw the Camaro in park, before pulling the keys from the ignition, spilling from the vehicle, and sprinting toward the beach house he shared with his partner.
"Starsky!" he shouted bursting through the front door. Laying lazily on the sectional, Lucky's head darted up inquisitively as Hutch repeated the frantic word, "Starsky!"
Slamming the door behind him, Hutch's eyes darted around the empty living area and connecting kitchen as the house remained quiet. Why wasn't his partner responding? What if he was too late? What is Starsky was already gone?
"Starsky!" he shouted again, and Lucky jumped off the sectional, letting out a series of low whines as he briskly followed Hutch's heels.
"Starsky!"
Looking out backdoor, Hutch took in the patio and the empty backyard before moving down the hallway. His apprehension was unbearable and increasing steadily with each area of the house he found vacant. Rushing to their closed bedroom door, he threw it open and the last flicker of hope died in his chest.
The room was empty, and Starsky was gone.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head as Marcus's words weighted heavily on his mind: You have already have given him to me. "No, no, no, Star—"
"What!" Starsky yelled. Pulling the master bathroom door open, he stood shirtless in the doorway. "Jesus Christ, Hutch! Tone it down will you? You're gonna upset the neigh—" the terse statement was cut off as Hutch wrapped him up in a frantic hug. "What's the matter with you?"
Closing his eyes, Hutch sighed in relief. He wasn't too late; Starsky was fine and Marcus was wrong. He had to be wrong.
"Hutch?" Starsky asked worriedly as his partner's tight hold didn't waiver. "What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"It doesn't feel like nothing. Babe, you're shaking."
"Why didn't you answer me?" Hutch whispered accusingly, his voice gruff and stern as he pressed his chin into Starsky's shoulder. "I really hate it when you don't answer me."
"Well, I really hate it when you take my car without asking me," Starsky countered, his gentleness fading as he pulled back and frowned. "Where did you go this afternoon, huh?"
"Nowhere," Hutch lied, his gaze dropping to the floor. The automatic action was a problem; he never could look his partner in the eye and lie to him. Setting his eyes on Lucky, who lay at their feet, Hutch could feel Starsky's simmering anger and frustration, but focusing on the dog's spotted fur, he held his breath and ignored his partner's silent fury.
They should probably talk about things, Hutch knew that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, buried under fear fueled self-preservation and avoidance, he knew this would be a perfect opportunity to share what they both knew about Simon Marcus and his power.
But something stopped him. A little tiny sliver of an idea which gave his fear a voice. What was the point of talking about Marcus now? Starsky was safe and Hutch had no intention of seeing Marcus again, and Marcus had no way of making him do anything—he was powerless as long as Hutch decided not to comply.
Together he and Starsky were safe; nothing bad could happen if they remained that way.
"Nowhere," Starsky snorted. "Is that what they're calling the Marcus place these days?"
Hutch's head snapped up. How had Starsky known that?
He knows, Marcus's words rushed through Hutch's thoughts, eliciting a wave of panic. What did Starsky know, and how did he know it? Had Marcus been controlling him too?
"How would you know?" Hutch asked, his voice tense and deep. Regret rushed through him as he realized his tone was all wrong and so were the words. There were a million other things he should have said—and a thousand other things they needed to talk about.
Starsky's face darkened and his eyes sparkled with fury as he lost control. "How would I know?!" he exclaimed. "Well, I sure as shit didn't hear from you!" He stalked to the closet, and pulling a clean button up shirt from the rack he thrust his arms angrily through the sleeves. "In fact, there's an awful lot I found out today that I didn't hear from you."
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry!" Starsky snorted. "Oh, that helps. I can't fucking believe you would do this, Hutch! You made me look like a moron in your reports." Buttoning his shirt he advanced on his partner. "It was fine you that didn't believe me," he added, his voice low and angry. "I didn't like it, but I was okay with it because I know how much you want to be a skeptic, the cynical one, the strong one who knows everything there is to ever know about anything—"
"Starsky—"
"Save it!" Starsky flung a warning index finger inches away from Hutch's nose. Glancing between the finger and Hutch he snorted. "Cute move, huh? I got it from you."
Hutch looked at the floor. Starsky's words had left a guilty ache in the pit of his stomach and awakened the nervousness he only just repressed. It was terrible, the things he had done, the things Marcus still believed he would do.
There was no denying Starsky was right; he had conducted himself inappropriately. Turning the investigation into a full-blown private party, he had disrespected Starsky as a work partner and deliberately disregarded the damage his cynicism and secrecy were inflicting upon their personal relationship. And there was a mountain of damage, Hutch knew it by the way Starsky was avoiding his gaze. His partner's anger and frustration was still palpable, and Hutch was at a loss of what to say.
"Starsky," he whispered softly. "I don't want to be any of those things."
"Oh, but you are," Starsky growled. "So maybe you oughta think about that a little." Turning away abruptly, he strode to the door. "And when you can decide who you are and how you want to be let me know."
"Wait, where are you going?"
Hutch wasn't eager to continue their agreement, but the idea of Starsky leaving made his stomach flip. Marcus's words still lingered, seeping into his mind they fed the anxiety in his chest and a panic in his heart.
What if Marcus was right?
What if by some insane twist of fate he had actually gifted Starsky to him? It sounded impossible, but then again so were things Marcus had forced him to experience earlier. The dread he had felt was incomparable to anything else Hutch could recall, as was the unsettling fact that Marcus had been in his head. Fingering through his thoughts and controlling his body the experience had been petrifying—and those were only the things he had remembered from that afternoon. How many other times had Marcus done that? During his uncontrollable sleepwalking spells how many other things had Marcus whispered to him? How many other things had Marcus influenced him to do?
He didn't know. Panic bubbled in his chest as Hutch realized he didn't know.
Hesitating in doorway, Starsky didn't respond immediately. Inhaling deeply, he pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed all the air out of his chest, as he struggled to hang on to what was left of his patience.
Crossing his arms, Hutch pressed his palms to his sides. His mind was racing—screaming—to make Starsky stay. He felt as though he was stuck in a terrible dream—a horrible nightmare—where somehow he could feel the dreadful things which were to come, but was powerless to stop it.
In exchange for the burden of your secrets, you have given him to me, Marcus's haunting statement came rushing back, and Hutch considered the words he had been quick to forget.
Marcus believed his hold over Hutch something to do with the secrets he carefully guarded for years—things Hutch longed to forget, the details of which he never wanted to share with Starsky. But looking at his partner's turned back, Hutch had new thought. If Marcus was someone feeding off the deep fear he felt over the threat of Starsky knowing what had happened all those years ago, then maybe sharing it would somehow void the claim he thought he had? And for a moment, he didn't think about the repercussions of doing such a thing, letting his arms drop he took a step forward.
"Starsky, I-I have to tell you something."
"I need a night off from this, Hutch. I'm done talking."
"But—"
"Jesus, everything has to be your way, doesn't it?" Starsky fumed. "I said no. I need a break from this. A second to think about all this shit that's been stuck between us without having to worrying about the repercussions of what I say, something you obviously don't think about!" Grinding his feet against the floor, he exhaled a tense breath. "Look," he added, his tone softening. "I'm sorry your dad died, babe, but it doesn't give you the right to do half the shit you did. It doesn't mean you get to check out and ignore everything important around you. To yell and scream when it suits you or treat me like a dumbass and a complete stranger. It doesn't mean you get a free pass for lying to me about your visits with Marcus and it doesn't make selling me out to Dobey okay."
"I know."
His partner's soft words were disarming and Hutch fought guilty tears as Starsky' shoulders sank. All the time he had spent ignoring his pain over the past had been wasted, just like all the other opportunities that had come and gone—too many over the years to count—all much better moments he could have chosen to disclose the truth of his past with his partner. Before Hutch had told himself he wasn't ready, but now it was Starsky who was choosing to hide.
An all at once, his terror was gone, leaving him with an overwhelming sadness and grief. The case was over. His dangerous interest in Marcus was gone, vanishing to make place for a deep-rooted fear, because now he knew what Marcus had been after—he finally understood the power the man held. And it was only now that Hutch fully realized the price he had paid to learn such a thing. He had discovered Marcus was someone to be genuinely feared but it had cost him the ease of Starsky's love.
"Can you at least tell me where you're going?" Hutch asked.
Starsky didn't answer, nor did he turn, and for a terrible moment Hutch was afraid he wouldn't tell him at all. Watching his partner grip the doorframe tightly, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea that Starsky hadn't intended to come back.
"I'm gonna go shoot pool at Huggy's," Starsky whispered. His tone had lost its edge, but a hint of sadness had crept in. "Probably have a couple of drinks and blow off some steam. And tomorrow, you're gonna have a sit down with Dobey and then you're gonna have one with me."
Not trusting his voice, Hutch nodded as Starsky disappeared down the hallway.
Xx
"What are you gonna do about it, huh?" Huggy asked. Standing at the edge of the pool table, he eyed Starsky skeptically and chalked the end of his pool cue. "Leave him?"
Scanning the sparsely filled back pool room of The Pits, Starsky sighed heartily. He had no intension of leaving Hutch—as if he ever really could. Recent strife aside, untangling himself from Hutch was out of the question. Their romantic connection was too strong, their work partnership too cohesive, and notion of removing Hutch from his life was as appealing as cutting off a limb. They were too good together to ever be apart.
"No. I'm not going to leave him. I just want him to stop being such a cynical smart-ass."
"I thought you liked his cynicism." Leaning over the pool table, Huggy hit his cue off the white cue ball and proceeded to pocket the two remaining striped balls. "In fact, I think I recall you saying you loved him for it," he added, walking around the table to quickly pocket the eight ball. "That it was a nice refreshing quality to balance the two of you out."
"I do." Starsky looked the pool table in disgust. "But I wish it wasn't so fucking annoying. I swear sometimes I don't even understand why he does half the shit he does."
"He'd probably say the same about you," Huggy mumbled, striding to sit at their high top table. Drinking the remaining contents of his beer glass, he watched Starsky re-rack the balls. "Though, the guy does come off like an island, doesn't he?" he added moment later, reaching for the pitcher of beer next to Starsky's glass. "The way he doesn't like to need anybody."
"Island? Shit, ever since his dad died, he's been his own fucking planet. Stoic. Avoidant. Arrogant as ever—"
"That's to be expected, right? I mean, it's Hutch. He did lose his Dad and stoicism when he's really hurting is kind of his thing. You being offended about that is like him getting upset because you threw an angry tantrum instead of talking about something."
"I do not have tantrums!" Starsky snorted indignity, forcefully moving the full ball rack on the pool table. The balls knocked against each other and series of satisfying solid clicks filled the room before he finally pulled the back rack away. "I just happen to be a very passionate person."
"And so is your partner. That's what makes you so good for each other. But you know what they say, man, when it's good it's good, and when it's bad it's bad."
"Yeah."
"Besides, this isn't the first time you guys have had a bad rumble, and it won't be the last. You're both stubborn as hell and determined to do things your own way. I don't think you should let this get you down too much. I bet if you put yourself in Hutch's shoes you would have done the same—"
"I wouldn't have," Starsky seethed, stalking to the table he shook his head vehemently. "I never would have iced him out for this long or made repeat contact with a suspect without his knowledge or made him look like a gullible moron in an official report."
"Uh, huh." Huggy looked unconvinced. "Look, all I'm saying is, you've both done things to each other over the years. And it isn't exactly like Hutch was hiding how he felt about Simon Marcus. Maybe he was doing the meets alone because he knew how you felt about the guy. Maybe it was his way of protecting you from someone you're obviously afraid of."
"I'm not afraid," Starsky lied contemptuously. Ignoring Huggy's eye roll, he gripped his beer glass in-between his hands. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a validity to Huggy's words. And while it didn't ease the sting of knowing official reports would forever document his fear of Simon Marcus and his nightmares, it did make him feel slightly better.
After all, Hutch had a fierce protective streak—especially when it came to him—and occasionally his shielding behavior was borderline absurd. Starsky had lost count of how many times Hutch had grasped him by the arm and thrown him on the ground or pulled him away from some threat on the job. He was always doing stuff like that—putting himself between Starsky and whatever they were up against. Though often annoying, Starsky had never commented on the behavior, because he knew he had his own compulsions when it came to ensuring his partner's safety.
"Hutch has a good heart," Huggy assured. "He may not always execute his behavior or show his love in the right way, but his motivation always comes from the right place."
"I know that, and I don't think he's a terrible person." Planting his elbows, Starsky leaned heavily against the table. "I just wish it wouldn't have gone down like this. Weeks ago we were carefully dancing around the fact that his father died and how he felt about it, and now…" Shaking his head he lifted his hands. "Somehow we're here. Fighting about nightmares and a stupid fucking case we couldn't even solve."
Raising his eyebrows, Huggy leaned over the pool table and paired the cue ball for the break.
"Well, talk it out, and give it another few weeks." Huggy smiled at Starsky's confused expression. "By that time this particular problem will be long gone, and you guys will have found a whole new thing disagree about."