Angeline was in shock…
She had an early morning meeting –just a short drive really. Two flat tires later and it being nearly twelve-- she was getting a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Cars on the road, a short cut she thought herself so smart to have happened on to, whizzed by her without consideration.
Stranded.
At least it wasn't night time. She needed a phone and a tow truck and some good-natured friend or family member to get her to her office. All of this needed to happen by 3 pm. The session with David and Ken was critical. She wouldn't have canceled it for an earthquake. Headache starting …and her aspirin in her desk – another excellent reason to find quick passage to her office.
Two Flats?
Something about that didn't set well with her and she couldn't help but feel a tiny shudder when she tried to rationalize why --- today? –why now? Coincidence? Whatever the answers to those questions were –they would have to wait. At the moment, she was praying for one of those angels in waiting, her grandma always talked about showing up unexpectedly.
She heard the sound of tires on dirt and gravel. Some one had slowed down. The white man in his late fifties had skin made of leather, eyes black as coal surrounded by hideous yellow-- broken off teeth gave her a malicious greeting. "Looks like you got trouble, sweetheart," he said deliberately as if the words had hidden meaning and like he had intentions -- a man on a mission.
This was no angel. Angeline had wisdom and discernment—a gift of hers—one that had on many occasions put her on the other side of danger—instead of in the middle of it. She knew it was best not to give him the least bit of confirmation of the organic fear he sent through her. It was not the kind of fear that had to be debated in her head—it was out and out gut fear. Her spirit came to full attention…warning her of danger and…comforting her with the assurance of safe passage.
Would she need to run, Angeline wondered? She slowly slipped a heel out of one her pumps—ready to fling it off in a ditch or at his head …and then the other to take off into the woods behind her.
"M'Here – to help. Just say the word, little girl," the creep offered, leaning out his window and lustfully giving her body an intrusive once over while grinning even more of his discolored teeth to her. He spat brown liquid on the ground near her feet.
Angeline stared him down. She wouldn't let him know how much her insides were quaking.
Where was a cop when you needed one… she thought.
She heard the crunch of gravel…
"Hey—there, folks," another male voice announced.
It was Lt. Ryan Williams. His car pulled to the side of the road.
He had been one of the men at the meeting of police officials and staff psychiatrists that Dr. Benjamin had just attended.
The officer must have driven by Angeline's disabled vehicle and stopped to help her….
No-- there weren't any coincidences.
The doctor remembered clearly how during introductions that morning Lt. Williams had given her a warm two handed shake. The more-than-your-regular- handshake had caused her to look up into his face--- Time had stalled in that moment and she found herself drawn in by his twinkling warm eyes.
He didn't speak as he molded strong hands around hers. The lieutenant had given her a broad smile before releasing his grip. And then the moment was gone and another person had introduced themselves to her. But Angeline had watched the man who made his presence known walk back to his seat.
"Doctor Benjamin? You OK?"
She smiled into the face of broken teeth… The physical manifestation of evil glowered back at her. "Looks like-- my help is here," she attempted to say boldly but her voice was shaky.
And the man who had come out of nowhere to cause her harm didn't like the way things how turned out. He revved his dirty car's engine and spun tires…spitting dirt and gravel onto her legs.
The ghoulish driver pointed a crooked finger at her and sped off.
"What was that all about?" Lt. Williams asked with concern.
She found herself trembling and he stood closer to look in her face. "That guy messing with you?"
"He's gone now," she smiled weakly at her rescuer.
-oo-
Angel --the name was no accident. Angeline was a surprise to a woman in her late 40's who had never been pregnant. The pregnancy was considered to be Godly intervention. Divinity at work. "An angel come to earth," the child's father had exclaimed as he watched her arrival into the world. So it was Angeline to make it pretty—but all her family looked at her as a gift from heaven.
Most of them called her "Angel" but Angeline knowing the responsibility of the shortened version preferred the prettier moniker. But she always felt inside like carried something inside her—something special…and that something --one day would reveal itself to her. Angeline knew even as a child--that she had a purpose—a job to do—one she couldn't fail.
Her grandmother, Gladys, had pulled her aside one day to tell her so. "Child, you is a gift, for sure. But remember now—not everyone's happy that you're here. Things will happen 'round you, you won't understand. Just know God's gotcha honey. Always'got a hedge of protection around you, Angel. You're one of his special ones, baby. Don't never let them things scare you."
"What things, grandma?" the puzzled eight year old child asked.
"Just 'member-- you don't never have to scared of nothin'."
Not be scared—for a kid—that was a hard nut to swallow. She was scared of spiders, of falling off her bike. Scared of Jake—the bully down the way, a few mean teachers or failing surprise quizzes…and of course—her aunt Tia and her mysterious husband.
Angel was also scared of the things she felt but couldn't verbalize—the presence of maliciousness and evil. It made her pulse race--- sometimes she could sense it in the people that passed by her, or the cashier that handed her coins of change. She tried to pretend it was her imagination—but those individuals that made her skin crawl would squint or frown back at her. Didn't matter --they always recognized her. She could tell by the way they pointedly studied her—transmitting quiet messages of their disdain for her.
Those quiet communication—unspoken threats came through clearly and she understood them perfectly. Her Aunt Tia, although she did a good job of keeping the disregard for Angel from her face—Angeline could read it in her dark eyes. A tempest of hate…carefully manipulated to hide it from anyone else—but Angel always knew it was there. She had never told anyone—but often times her Grandmother would always increase one hundred fold the hugs and gentle squeezes when the malevolent couple would be near her precious grandchild. Reminding her not to be afraid.
Angeline Benjamin, a grown woman and a doctor to boot, had thought that the battle between principalities was no longer her fight.
Years had passed with out any of the paranormal incidences. Still-- she always had her discernment-- a well exercised muscle that had become instinct –intuition.
Don't go in there, stay away from that person… drive that route… stay home tonight. Dr. Benjamin incorporated the silent messages into her regular everyday living… Every young woman living alone in a big city had to be mindful of protecting themselves against predatory attacks.
Ken and Dave…her new patients had stirred up some stuff Angeline had thought she had put to rest. Angel—no one called her that much anymore—was going to have to recalculate the importance of the gifts her Grandmother had assured her would always keep her out of danger. And she had the promise –her grandma had given her—help was always on the way--There would always be rescuer.
Just like it had today.
The woman doctor had a lot of things to think about...
Then there was the absolute attraction she felt for Ken Hutchinson—apparently he was attracted to her too. They had a long talk about it. Weighing the plus and minuses of them pursuing an ongoing relationship of some kind. The handsome detective's lists of only pros --he read off to her with a solicitous grin. She was more that tickled at some of the reasons he'd listed – a few salacious ones had made her whole body tingle. But the woman—who took her job as a doctor very seriously—couldn't move past the complete unprofessionalism of becoming romantically involved with a patient. No matter how much her heart wanted her to take the leap.
Yes—there was a good possibility Ken could be the love of a lifetime... but then there was also the fact that he was a cop. She knew firsthand the horrors of the job and what stress it put on relationships-- and then the whole black and white thing—interracial couples had to be prepared to face a world of dissaproving glances and verbal assaults --and even physical confrontations.
When all had been said-- Angeline had decided to be a good doctor. She had kissed him on the cheek…and sighed, knowing that she might be passing up something wonderful. And so they were doctor and patient again.
Doctor Benjamin wasn't happy about that, but it was the right decision for now… and maybe someday the circle of life would be kind enough to bring a healthy and healed Ken Hutchinson back to her. Hopefully he'd still have a list of reasons why they should give it a go and she wouldn't put up a fight –next time.
-ooo-
Starsky hung up the phone. He was solemn and his mind was quickly trying to devise a plan.
Angeline had just called. She wasn't going to be able to meet with him and Hutch. She sounded tired and was vague about the reasons why she was a no show. The doctor, sincerely apologetic, rescheduled the appointment for 10 am the next morning. The dark-haired man ran a hand through the forest of ebony curls on his head. He silently cursed the situation. Hutch had a right to know the truth and there wasn't any way the man, Starsky knew as his best friend, would stand to wait another day to hear it.
Starsky had spent most of the afternoon trying to avoid telling him anything about the session with the doctors the night before and what it told them about why Hutch couldn't get a full night's rest. Or why he had the panic attacks. It was annoying the hell out of the tall blond man. Finally Starsky suggested a nap might make him less cranky and had ordered him to bed.
Hutch must have been extremely tired – because even though the demand made him sputter off some expletives in response—he had shuffled rather than stomped his way back into his bedroom. But now it was nearing 3pm and Starksy could hear him moving around again-- probably awakened by the ringing phone.
The dark-haired man only had a few seconds to come up with a plan—a scheme- a miracle- to distract his partner until 10 am the next morning.
"Terrific." Starsky cynically muttered to himself.
"Who was that?"The voice startled Starsky mainly because his mind had drawn a blank on the plan he was supposed to formulating. He spun around to find Hutch studying him intently.
The chances of using pizza or a movie as a ruse of distraction quickly vanished under the stare Hutch gave him. The swarthier cop calculated there was actually only a few minutes between that hard stare and Hutch confronting him about last night… and what his dreams had revealed.
There was no way an offer of pizza piled high with his partner's choice of veggies, or a trip to the nearest college to attend the showing of some old French film with subtitles--not even the report of an alien invasion of the planet-- would stop Hutch from expecting Starsky to come clean here and now, without delay about what he had been trying to keep secret.
"Uhmm—that was..ahh Dr. Benjamin," Starsky admitted reluctantly.
"Great." Hutch moved to the closet to grab a jacket. "Let's get this over with," he said sternly.
Starsky in two steps came to stand next to him. He gently touched Hutch's reaching arm.
"What?" Hutch's brow furrowed as he wondered why Starsky was stopping him.
"Angeline cancelled us—for today, buddy," Starsky said softly, knowing the words would surely upset his friend.
"What's wrong? She alright?" Hutch asked with concern.
"Sure—she ran into some problem. Nuthin' she couldn't handle. Just-- she needed to reschedule us-- to tomorrow…"
"No." Hutch's voice was low, but the emotion in it made Starsky wince.
What Hutch needed to come terms with wasn't something you discussed over coffee. It was serious business. Both doctors had talked about the fact that an individual's mind had a way to protect a person from things they weren't ready to deal with. Angeline wanted to make sure that Hutch was ready to face what he'd been trying to block for weeks. It could go badly.
"Starsky – I'm not waitin' to the morning."
"Hutch I don't think…"
"Don't think what!" Hutch was frustrated and soon Starsky expected he'd be angry.
Although the emotion that flitted across Hutch's face wasn't all anger. The look attempted to mask the recognition of the proverbial two-ton elephant in the room. It was a confession of sorts.
Starsky's gut twisted and he realized that neither him nor Hutch could pretend for another second the presence of the invisible pachyderm didn't fill the space between them.
The shorter cop surveyed his haggard friend and decided --doctor or no doctor—it was time to close that space. But, was Hutch ready for it was the question?
"Hutch--I'm not really sure. We shouldn't do this without the doc…"
"Sick of this!" Hutch raged. "This is bullshit! What was she gonna tell me?" He nervously raked a hand through his hair. Obviously preparing himself for the news, the blond detective squared his shoulders. "Just say it."
Starsky, struggling with uncertainty, answered. "I don't think I…"
"Tell me!"
It was a standoff until the slighter man, acknowledging that his partner wasn't going to back down, nodded his surrender.
"Sit down." Starsky pointed him toward the kitchen table.
Hutch immediately took a seat at the table and then watched and listened to Starsky take his time dragging one of the metal and vinyl chairs across the floor to sit close by him.
"You're stallin'-- just spill it. You're starting to piss me off, Gordo."
Starsky gave him a small smile and lightly patted his hand. "Ok."
Hutch's eyes impatiently searched his partner's face. "What?" he demanded.
"Alright—I'm gonna tell ya." Starsky paused to study his friend's face again. He sighed lightly before he continued, "Hutch-- when I ahh– when I woke up in that hospital on the island and Huggy told me…" Starsky shook his head, finding it too hard to speak the memory out loud.
If the taller man thought his partner was playing the sympathy card it didn't show. Hutch quickly responded, "Look, Starsky—we don't have to go through all that. We both know…"
"No—buddy we both don't know anything… that's the problem with this craziness. Maybe… just maybe-- I could forgive myself for letting that bastard get under my skin-- only cuz I know you don't want me walkin' around feelin' guilty. Don't matter none--it's too hard not thinking about what I –what I did…" The man talking self-consciously looked down at the hands Hutch had just watched him discreetly tuck under the table.
"Stars… don't. I-I don't need you to do this."
"No..." Starsky cut him off. "You're havin' these dreams 'cuz we got some stuff to talk about. Plain and simple. You said you wanted to know what's going on with you--so-- just let me get this out. Right?"
Starsky could see Hutch's body tense at the request –but the pale guy with dark circles under his eyes gave him a nonchalant shrug and sat back in his chair.
Starsky smiled to himself. His partner's attempt at casual annoyance failed completely. Hutch's light blue eyes skittered past looking him in the face.
Still blocking it, buddy
The dark-haired man continued anyway, "You know… aah Huggy had to explain it-- over and over again—cuz I wouldn't believe it…that I had tried to hurt you like that. Couldn't believe that I had tried to do anything to bring an end to you being here…" Starsky eyes glistened to deep blue glass.
"Starsk…you don't hafta to do this—I know you. Hutch leaned in closer to him. "I know you," he said softly.
"I appreciate that, buddy. But…" Starsky paused, "…me and you have battled all kinds of enemies. This guy—he beat us. Got between us. Damn if I know how he got to me… I hate that I let him…"
"You didn't let … you couldn't stop it. I don't what Papa Theodore used or did to get to you Starsk…"
Starsky cut him off again, "Don't you wonder why?"
"Yeah. Of course I wonder how he did it…"
"No…" Starsky hesitated as he thought carefully about what to say next.There was quiet until he spoke again. "You know...told ya I--ahh went to that victim support meeting?"
Hutch's expression immediately soured. Anger fired off. "I'm no helpless …"
"Ain't sayin' that," Starsky said sincerely enough to diffuse the fair-haired man's ire.
"We both didn't ask for this-- I get that. But all I'm sayin' is some of what those ladies said about what happened to them—how it made them feel—has got to be some of what you're feeling. When sumpthin' creeps out of the dark—trying to take you out—you have a response to that. Hutch…" Starsky paused, "--as much as you keep trying to play like you don't have a response to it—the more it's gonna keep trying to get outta ya…"
Hutch was still. Only the fluttering of his wheat-colored lashes gave away that he was pondering the sage wisdom of his partner. "Guess I never thought of it that way," he straightforwardly admitted.
Realizing his statement had made a dent in his partner, Starsky smiled warmly.
"Pretty smart guy-- I don't care bout what other people say about you," Hutch lightly kidded.
"Those the same folks that are always tell me I'm the smart one?' Was what Starsky replied in the same spirit of good-naturedness.
They both chuckled and then Starsky got serious. He sighed, looked into his friend's face and told him. "Your dreams…are 'bout you killing me."
The somber comment stunned Hutch—his mouth dropped open and the shock of the words twisted his features and physically shook him. "N-n-oo. No--I--that's not…poss—possible—I- wouldn't…"He stood up and Starsky, uncertain as to what his partner would do next, got up with him.
Hutch looking horrified searched his partner's face for explanation.
Starsky, protectively slipped an arm around his shoulder. Speaking quietly he told him, "Buddy, this whole thing don't make sense. The other night… you told us what you've been dreamin'. In the dream-- we're here-- me and you-- in this apartment. Not on Playboy Island. I come after you—and you do—what you didn't do there. In the dream—you… try to protect yourself and ahh… I guess you can figure out the rest…"
Hutch's struggle to breathe brought the soliloquy to an end.
"Babe?" Starsky asked.
The blond-haired man shot out from under him and into both a physical and emotional corner.
"Hutch." Starsky sought after him.
"N-no. I-I c-couldn't. I couldn't—I wouldn't do that…Starsk..I-I. Ohh no. Oh god." Hutch's lamented sorrow echoed his cries from the night before, when Miranda had tried to walk him through the dream that haunted him.
As soon as the dark-haired man laid hands on him, Hutch jerked away and seemingly from the very truth that Starsky had just spoken.
He didn't get very far before the existence of that truth manifested itself. Backing into a wall and crumbling to the floor, Hutch uttered a grunt of protest and the sad scene played out in his head.
Swirling color twisted and turned—settling into bold images—plain as day. Starsky pawing at the leather jacket Hutch wore. His arm locked under Starsky's chin and the dark curly hair on his cheek was damp with sweat. The body of his partner twisted against him – but Hutch more firmly squeezed his forearm across Starsky's throat. He heard the choking and gasping and kept the pressure there –watched Starsky's blue Adidas sneakers kicking out an effort to push up off the floor. He couldn't see his face –but Hutch felt the man in his grip's fight for life weaken…
The Venice Street apartment was in shambles…wrecked by the battle between the two men. Starsky had attacked and Hutch had fought him with everything in him…
He was terrified and horrified… he was killing his partner--- killing Starsky – Hutch's own soul dying with Starsky's last gasps.
How could he choose his own life over that of his partner
"Hutch."
His spirit wept…he wept…and mourned out loud as Starsky's body slumped against him.
"Hutch."
Nooo… Noooo! Nooo!
"Hutch?"
A hand touched his face… what? He pulled away…from it. Starsky's hand from the grave—
Noo!
"Hutch."
The hand and fingers slid down his cheek… they were warm…and loving
—not cold and angry…
He wanted to look up to see who they belonged to but… he knew them…
"Starsk?"
"Yeah."
Hutch took in a deep breath and then another. Drawing his legs up to his chest, he looked once more to his partner for resolution.
"The dream," Starsky told him as he took a seat on the floor facing his friend.
"We had a fight… I h-hurt you…and you—you…I can't believe I…did…" Hutch voice was shaky.
"You didn't do anything—it was a dream, buddy." Starsky, tilted his head to peer into his friend's face. "You ok, now?"
"I think so," Hutch answered softly. He hadn't run off and he didn't have the panic attack that normally happened. But the vivid revelation of the dream that had been inside him since Playboy Island had left him feeling disturbed and disoriented.
Starsky massaged fingers into the bunched muscles of Hutch's shoulders. "Yours is a dream. That's all, partner," he gently assured.
Hutch nodded.
"But –me-- I actually did hurt you…"
"Starsk…"
"I don't remember nuthin' about doin' that to you," Starsky revealed sadly. "Hutch, I asked you before--Aren't you wondering why I didn't fight em off."
"That bastard –he put something in your food!" Hutch said with more than a hint of vengeance.
"This woman from the group- Marilu-- said she couldn't ever forget or forgive the person she trusted—who did to her what I did to you."
"Starsky…I don't blame you."
"OK. So maybe you don't blame me. But that's not all of it. Is it? This woman, Marilu-- said she wondered why the person she trusted couldn't have fought off what ever demon it was that possessed them."
Starsky watched Hutch shut his eyes.
They were finally gonna talk about it…
About the damage done to their relationship- about how Hutch really felt about what Starsky had done to him…about how he feared Starsky would hurt him again.
"Is that what you think, Hutch?"
There was silence.
Instead of talking, Hutch coughed hoarsely.
Starsky looked him over. Hutch was washed out…like a man who hadn't slept in forever. The gray coloring of weariness tinted his pale skin.
"Wait." Starsky told him, getting up off the floor. The dark-haired man began searching the kitchen, fridge. He returned with a tall glass of iced water with lemon.
Hutch, gratefully downed the liquid coolness.
"Ok," Starsky said, as he lowered his body back to the hardwood floor. "Talk."
Hutch worriedly scanned his friend's face. And even though the thought of what he was about to say made Starsky's heart sink the chestnut-haired cop gently encouraged him. "Sokay, partner—you can tell me anything. You know that-- right?"
Guilt rising to Hutch's face made him look extremely vulnerable.
"Sokay, say it. It ain't gonna change anything between us," Starsky softly assured.
"I'm scared," Hutch said.
He looked like it hurt him to say the words and Starksy immediately slid over to his side. He threw an arm over the back of Hutch's neck. "There you go…"
Hutch shook his head, shamefully tearing up at the admission and how much it had pained him to admit it.
"Scared --I might come at you again, right?"
Hutch slowly nodded. "Happy now?" He tried for sarcasm but his eyes flooded with tears.
"No," Starsky answered. "No. I just don't want you punishing yourself anymore for being human. That's what the dreams are about. I don't need Angeline or any shrink to explain to me how Ken Hutchinson works or what he thinks. Partner-- I guess I forgot that."
Hutch's expression softened and he allowed Starsky to draw him closer.
They sat for a minute as Starksy ran a comforting hand up and down the length of Hutch's arm.
"You think you can ever trust me again?" Starsky said in a near whisper.
"I know I can… I will… in my heart I do…" Hutch told him.
"I don't how all this happened, buddy. Wish I could tell you how it ended with me trying to squeeze life outta you. It kills me...thinking about what you musta been thinking-- knowing it was me…"
Starsky stopped talking.
"Papa Theodore didn't beat us, Starsk. He just messed with our heads. Look at us—it's still the both of us. Backed into a corner maybe—but it's still me and thee, partner."
Starsky thought it over and decided he had to face some truths, too. It had been incredibly painful living with what the Bokor had made him do to his best friend. But here they were. And the real deal—the gospel truth was-- nothing on earth or beyond, or below could separate them. They'd been chased down, shot at, kicked, punched, drugged, beaten and more by the worst of them --- but nothing had or could ever destroy the bond…the love that they had for each other.
The curly-haired detective turned his head slightly. Giving Hutch a three quarter profile and flashing his partner a mischievous grin he said, "So lest we run into another voodoo priest…"
"Or vampire… "Hutch feigned with a dramatic delivery.
"Or werewolf…"
"Right…or demonic possession," the taller man suggested with a devilish grin.
"Right… alien possession, too." Starsky nearly giggled after he'd said the words with deadpan seriousness.
"Yep. Can't leave them out."
They smiled at each other even though both had eyes glistening bright.
Starsky said somberly, "I'd fight 'em all – to the death, Hutch."
Hutch gave him a grace-filled nod. "Me, too, buddy."
Starsky cast his eyes down, "If you had tried to...umm- protect yourself back on Playboy Island…"
"I don't want talk about that,"Hutch told him.
"Ok—for now. But that's a talk we're gonna have to deal with—and soon."
"I know." Hutch sniffed and zipped a finger under the damp corner of his right eye.
"Guess maybe we should let Dr. Benjamin handle that one. Give you two a little bit longer to find out how much you like each other."
"You're crazy—you know that?"
"Well right now—I'm hungry. How about you?"
"I could eat."
Starsky got up. "Man, I got a mad pizza craving—with veggies."
"Really?" Hutch replied with disbelief. "Guess I'm rubbing off on you after all. Maybe now we can work on that thing you like to call charm—help you with the ladies…"
"Well, Blondie—I ain't never had any trouble in the ladies department. I wouldn't mind givin' you a few pointers though if that's what you're hinting at."
"That'll be the day," Hutch playfully muttered under his breath.
Starsky winked back at him. "I'm not kidding about the pizza though," he confirmed.
"Are you asking me if I want pizza –without a half inch of grease floating on the top?"
"Nope-- I'm tellin' ya. I'm making the call right now… onions, mushroom peppers, broccoli, tomato, maybe, eggplant? or…"
"Starsk, didn't think you could even name five vegetables."
"Sure can pal—wait and see," he announced as he made a deliberate swat at Hutch's ducking head. The energetic man simultaneously jumped up to make the short trip to the phone.
Before he walked away, Starsky took a moment to give his partner empathetic scrutiny. A last inspection for any secreted pain.
Hutch bowed his head, warmly offering, "We're gonna be fine, Starsk. I promise I'm not gonna let this get in our way."
The dark-haired cop nearly blushed at his friend's quick translation of Starsky's need to have things be right between them.
"Right. Ummh- I- I-m gonna get-- make that call," the slightly embarrassed man said as he scurried out.
-oo-
Hutch felt good. Relaxed and hopeful. Somehow his best friend had managed to exorcise his burden. One he hadn't even realized was weighing him down…dragging his spirit to the ground with it. He took a deep breath of the sea air. A person could exist on adrenalin, love, thrills, or passion- but no one could ever have a meaningful life-- living in fear. That's what he had been doing. Fear was a consuming fire--it demanded all your attention – all your dreams…your soul…the very air you breathed.
It had been choking him.
He wasn't born to live that kind of life—to serve that kind of cruel master. Not when life had so many and wondrous things to offer. A fulfilling job he knew gave him the opportunity to make a difference in the world. There was good food, and drink, laughter—and most important of all – great friendships. What more could a person want?
Maybe, Hutch thought to himself—it wasn't just a cliché-- maybe Love does conquer all.
-o-
Hutch, stretched out long and lean on his back—hands behind his head -- quietly studying the sky, had fallen asleep.
-o-
It had been a very hot day—so even though it had turned dark hours ago-- the sand was still warm under him. Starsky sank his toes into it.
He and his partner had walked from Hutch's apartment and onto the beach. Had eaten, shared a few philosophical observations, and watched the sun set.
His gazed meandered over the empty beer bottles and the cardboard pizza box—the lid flopped open showcased only bits and pieces of crust, and one lone slice drying up into a curl.
The men hadn't talked much more since they had plopped down on the beach with the pizza box and a six pack of beer between them. They didn't have to. They were back in sync.
Hutch lying on his back had pensively been studying the stars until he had gone to sleep. Now, Starsky was pensively studying his best friend. The lines of tension in Hutch's face since they had returned back to the mainland—were gone. Finally.
Starsky was grateful for that and more.
He watched the sleeping man, Hutch's flaxen hair gently feathered by the warm sea breeze, his chest rising and falling in blissful respite.
Starsky frowned when he thought about the last time they had been on the beach together. He shook off the memory and let his eyes rest back on the man who had been more than friend to him for the past 6 years.
Good years…
More of Hutch's platinum strands flicked in the wind and Starsky jutted out a hand to push them back. The tender act flashed a neon sign of realization.
He would never have imagined doing that for any the other buddies he had known in his life.
A man like himself shouldn't get such comfort from gazing at another man's restful slumber.
A Brooklyn-born native son shouldn't want to lay flat blond strands made rebellious by gentle gusts.
A tough guy like David Starsky shouldn't be driven to near madness when Hutch's life was in peril… not unless..
unless…
Yes…
Yeah...
He could say it.
Admit it.
He he was enamored with the guy. Where did the blond Blintz come from anyway?
His best friend was like some mythical Nordic beast walking in present day.
Starsky thought the guy was a hero. One who had mystical powers that gave him the power to conquer every adversity—dropping his mighty hammer on every battling foe—time and time again victorious.
Yet still his best friend's gentle and nurturing spirit was a constant source of strength to him. His love unconditional—even in the worst of times.
Starsky had immense respect for him—loved to be in his company—around him. Sometimes in a room full of people the dark-haired man would find himself watching his pal make his way from person to person—carefully weighing the interaction and what new thing it might reveal about his best friend. He wouldn't make any apologies about it either. Hutch would often smile his acknowledgement of such monitoring—knowing full well he was capable of dishing out the same--keeping Starsky under such circumspection.
Hutch was his hero—he had measured up and surpassed all of Starsky's expectations of him.
Out of no place the blond-haired man could turn jokester--- or out of nowhere shy and clumsy. It made Hutch a bit of an enigma and Starsky found all of the sides of his complex friend pretty fascinating.
Hutch had brought laughter and cleansing joy to the dark-haired man--a brother to stand by, a friend to confide in and so much more…
Plainly—Starsky was unabashedly fond of his partner.
Being a man—He would never make such declarations out loud -- but he was man enough to admit them to himself.
Hutch let out a heavy sigh and with zombie like motion turned to lie on his side. He mumbled something indecipherable that burrowed troublesome lines in his brow
"Don't worry 'bout it," Starsky said, dipping his head close to Hutch's ear to deliver the words. "The battle's won, buddy."
Starsky watched the worry lines smooth out and smiled valiantly.
-oo-
The End