Legacy 2 (A What-If story related to the episode Sweet Revenge)
by TLR
Plot: Set 14 years after Hutch's death, Starsky has a surprise visitor on his doorstep.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It was the first day of December, and David Starsky stood looking down at a box of Christmas decorations in his coat closet, a tangible link to the past, a reminder of shared laughter and deep connections, some lost but not forgotten.
The nostalgia was thick as he picked up a few ornaments, dust-coated because he hadn't really decorated for the holiday since Hutch's death. It had been fourteen years since his partner stood by his side, cut down a year after they recovered from Gunther's bullets.
It was a selfless act of protecting his partner in the police parking garage, a sick replay of Gunther's first attempt a year before that, yet with its profound and tragic differences. This time Hutch shoved his partner down and shielded him when the guns came out, taking the bullets himself.
Starsky couldn't help but smile when he saw a small wooden reindeer with a red nose. Hutch had teasingly called his partner Rudolph, and Starsky teasingly called Hutch Snowman.
But he put the reindeer back in the box and closed the closet door.
Maybe next year.
It wasn't depression. Something more romantic, like melancholia. But it had taken a long time to feel like he could function properly after Hutch died. He had lost people close to him before. His father, Helen, Terry, his brother Nick, his mother Rachel. But Hutch...Hutch was the hardest. Hutch was his heart.
Starsky had felt like moving to a different house would help ease the pain and the memories, but no. Hutch was with him wherever he went, like a sweet ghost. Most days were fine. But there were occasional days when the memories got the best of him and all he could do was curl up on the sofa, lose himself in the memories or old pictures, or sleep. Other times he'd get his old records out and listen to them, or drive around their old haunts.
On those days, he just let it happen. No sense in denying his grief. He felt it. Owned it. And then he'd get up and go about his business the next day. He had to. Because life was precious. Hutch died so that he could live, and he wasn't about to disrespect Hutch's sacrifice by staying down in a hole. Hutch would want him out living, doing, and thriving, and that's just what he was doing as an instructor at the Bay City Police Academy.
It was then that he heard a vehicle pull to the curb. Kiko Ramos, now a plainclothes detective with the BCPD, emerged alongside his sister, Molly, who preferred the name Pete, now a Bay City paramedic.
Though Starsky got together with them for lunch now and then, and their paths occasionally crossed on the job, their presence today was unexpected. He opened the front door and smiled at the two standing on his rustic wooden porch.
"Hey," he said giving them each a brief hug. "On a Saturday. What's goin' on, guys? Want some lunch?"
"Starsky," Kiko began, his voice holding a hesitancy and a heaviness that was uncharacteristic of the confident detective he had become. "We have a situation. You might want to sit down."
Starsky's smile faded some. "Bad news?"
"It's Kira," Pete said. "She and her husband died in an auto accident a couple weeks ago, and...we just now heard. They lived in San Francisco. We're sorry."
He let the news sink in. He hadn't thought of her in years. He hadn't heard anything about her, nor had he asked about her. She was a chapter best left in the past.
"Um..." He glanced down, trying to gauge how he felt about the news. "Okay."
"There's more to it, though," Kiko said.
"What do you mean?"
"She uh...had a kid that she gave up to the state fourteen years ago at the hospital when he was born. Never saw him after that. He never knew her. So he grew up in foster homes until about two years ago, when he ran away. And when he did that, the police picked him up off the street and put him in a boy's home. That's where he's been the last two years."
Starsky nodded. "Yeah, well, there are agencies who can help you get in touch with his relatives or-"
"No," Pete said. "You don't understand."
They moved apart so Starsky could now see Kiko's extended cab truck and the young teenage boy leaning against it, head down and waiting with his hands in the pockets of his slightly baggy clothes.
"He's Hutch and Kira's son," Kiko said. "The nurses at the hospital named him Oliver. You know. Like Oliver Twist the orphan. Oliver Smith. He never knew his dad was Hutch, and Hutch never knew about him, am I right?"
Starsky was too stunned to say anything. Of course Hutch hadn't known.
"Her acquaintances said Kira left the police force after that," Pete explained. "Turned to the bottle and became an alcoholic. Her doctor husband tried to help her, but it was no good."
"We called Hutch's parents in Minnesota," Kiko said. "They weren't interested in hearing about the kid."
Starsky took a step out the door and onto the porch, to go toward the boy, propelled by his heart, but Kiko and Pete each took an arm.
"Let us pave the way," Kiko said.
"Yeah," Starsky said just above a whisper, as if on the verge of losing his voice, and maybe his mind. "I'm sorry. Wasn't thinkin'."
Starsky stood at the threshold and watched as Kiko and Pete went to the truck to talk to the kid. Starsky's eyes reflected pain, surprise, and a kind of bewildered joy all at once as they lingered on Oliver's Hutchlike features. Unspoken questions hovered in the air, his heart reaching out to the boy who was suddenly so much more than a stranger.
After Kiko and Pete spoke to Oliver, the boy reluctantly followed them up to the door, carrying a small brown paper bag of clothes. He was about two inches shorter than Starsky. And although angelically handsome, Starsky thought the kid looked pale, hungry, and alone.
Starsky had to fight the tears that threatened to rise up. His mind wanted to short-circuit, but he had to keep it in hand for the boy's sake.
"Hey," he said putting his hand out. "I'm Dave Starsky."
The boy looked hesitantly from Kiko to Pete, then carefully extended his hand, and when Starsky gripped it, he saw the light scars across the boy's wrist, but kept deadpan.
"Come in," Starsky said finding a small smile amidst his swirling emotions. "Let's talk inside."
The boy looked from Pete to Kiko again, as if unsure of what to do or say, and they nodded.
"We've known him for years," Pete told the boy. "He's one of the good guys."
But they all knew from experience that the boy had probably heard those betraying words before, and that trust under these circumstances didn't come easy, if ever.
"Well," Pete said looking from Starsky to the boy, "any questions? If not, guess we'll be going now."
"Thanks," Starsky said, but Oliver didn't say anything. He didn't even look their way when they left. He just stood with his paper bag of clothes in his hand.
"See you around," Kiko said to him. "Hope it works out for both of you."
Starsky nodded and opened the door for the two on their way out.
When they were gone, Starsky quietly closed the door and turned to look at Oliver.
"You hungry?" he asked going to the kitchen. "I got frozen pizza. Pepperoni or supreme. Or we could order delivery. Or if you don't like pizza, then my freezer, fridge, and cabinets are full of food. Up to you."
The boy's eyes flickered skittishly, almost defensively around the house as if expecting someone else to come from another room.
"It's okay, kid," Starsky said gently, purposely keeping his distance. The boy looked overwhelmed. "It's just you and me. I'll show you your room and around the house, and then we'll figure out the food."
Oliver followed him through the house, listening and watching as Starsky introduced the rooms and showed him where things were. The boy's eyes were big, as if he'd never seen anything like it before, his gaze flitting from Starsky's guitar, to his clipper ships, to his model cars, his stereo, CD player, camera, laptop, cellphone, pictures on the walls, etc. If Starsky didn't know any better, the kid was casing his home of all its valuables, intent on stealing them or hocking them, but he did know better. The boy had seen little of ordinary things in his life, things that most people took for granted.
"Make yourself at home," Starsky said as he showed Oliver the guestroom. "It's all yours."
Oliver's response was a small, almost imperceptible nod, and he set his bag of clothes on the nightstand.
Starsky noted his frayed sneakers. One of the shoes had no shoestring. Were shelter, food, and safety enough to start a new chapter for the boy? Starsky knew it would be challenging, but he hoped it would be a time of healing for the kid, and maybe, in time, a sense of home, and if David Michael Starsky were to be so blessed with one again, a family.
Oliver just stood looking around, his eyes roaming every detail, from floor to ceiling, from one corner to the other. The room had warm earthy colors, maple furniture, the wallpaper a throwback repetitive sketch design of an older man teaching a young boy how to fish from a rowboat on a lake.
"You okay?" Starsky asked. "You need anything? Probably a lot to take in right now."
"No, it..." The boy lifted his eyes to Starsky's and said with a slight stammer, "I've nev...never had my own room before. Or stuff. I could only look. I wasn't allowed to touch anything or use it. Is this my bed?"
"Yeah, sure is. It's a guest room. You're my guest. For as long as you want to be."
"Nobody else lives here?"
"Nope. Just us two chickens. And if you want to change the decor, we can do that."
Oliver's eyes were drawn to the wallpaper again. "What are they doing?"
"Trying to catch a fish," Starsky said with a pang of heartache and near disbelief at how culturally deprived and delayed he seemed in some areas. "Come here, I'll show you somethin'."
Starsky led the way back to the living room and over to the coat closet, where he opened it and pulled out two rods and reels, holding one upright toward Oliver, who held it between two fingers.
"This one was your pop's" Starsky said as he pointed out the parts of the rod and reel. "Hold it by the grip. Like this."
The boy followed suit.
"And," Starsky continued as he demonstrated. "This is the reel, and the line, and the..."
Starsky stopped when he saw Oliver looking at the box of Christmas decorations and ornaments.
"Can I see those?" the boy asked.
"Um, sure, I mean, they're a little dusty, but..."
Oliver went and knelt by the box, picking each ornament and decoration up and looking at it as if he'd discovered a treasure chest full of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. He turned his blue eyes up to Starsky, and it was the first time Starsky had seen any emotion in them besides pain and mistrust. "Can we...we put these up for Christmas? I'll clean them off first."
"Sure, let's take 'em over to the kitchen sink. You spiffy 'em up while I put a supremo in the oven. I could eat a yak."
A slight smile formed on Oliver's face. Another first. Starsky saw that the kid actually had small dimples in his lean cheeks.
Starsky went to the freezer to pull out a pizza, while Oliver carried over a handful of ornaments to clean, but on the way a glass one dropped and shattered on the floor.
"I...I'm sorry," the boy said backing up. "I didn't mean to. It fell." He kept walking backward, until he tripped over the box of decorations and landed on the floor, his arm going protectively over his head and bracing himself for a blow.
"Hey, hey," Starsky said softly as he took a step toward him. "Oliver. It's okay. It happens. Look here. Look at me."
Panting, Oliver brought his arm down and looked up at him from the floor with tears in his eyes. "I'm sss...sorry."
Starsky's hand went out toward him, as if calming a frightened, cornered animal. "Buddy, it's okay. Your pop was my best friend in the whole wide world. I loved him more than my own brother. I would never hurt his kid. I won't hurt you. Ever. Things drop. They break. It's okay. We can clean it up."
Oliver swiped at his eyes with a baggy sleeve, but didn't offer to get up.
Starsky put a hand down to him.
"Give me a chance, kiddo."
The boy looked at his hand for a long time, then moved his head no and turned over, pushing himself to his feet without any help.
"You okay?" Starsky asked.
Oliver held his own arms close to his chest, stiffening when Starsky put a caring hand on his shoulder and guided him back toward the kitchen.
Starsky took the broom and dustpan from the broom closet and handed Oliver the broom, while he stooped down with the dustpan and looked up at him.
"It'll be okay, Oliver."
They swept up, and Oliver returned to cleaning the ornaments in a kitchen sink full of warm sudsy water while Starsky finished baking the pizza.
"Any friends?" Starsky asked as he took plates from the cabinet. "You could invite one over if it'd make you feel-"
Oliver, still standing at the sink with his back to Starsky, released a small giddy laugh. "Friends? No."
"Why not?"
One of Oliver's shoulders hunched in a shrug as he continued to wipe an ornament. "I...I'm a loser. Losers don't have friends. It's...okay. I know what I am. I'm ugly. Nobody wants me." He still wouldn't look at Starsky, keeping his eyes down on his task.
"Except..." Starsky proposed the leading question.
"Except..." Oliver looked a little confused. "For you?"
"Yeah, boy. You got it. Except for me. You're no loser. You're a survivor. And you're not ugly. I don't know what you see in the mirror, but you look fine. And as long as you're here, I'm gonna do all I can to help you."
Oliver finished the ornaments and held up a red one frosted with fake snow. "I like this one best."
"Me too."
The timer sounded on the oven.
"Pizza time," Starsky said, and put an oven mitt on. "Hey, can you grab the pizza cutter out of that top drawer? And the silverware?"
Oliver did as he was asked, and they sat down to a quiet, tentative meal. The boy noticed a snapshot taped to the refrigerator, of Starsky with a blond man standing at a coffee machine in the squad room of the BCPD.
"Is that my dad?" Oliver asked.
Starsky glanced over his shoulder at the fridge. "Yeah."
"What was his name?"
"Ken Hutchinson. I called him Hutch. A lot of people did. You look just like him. But I don't guess you ever knew that."
"You were cops?"
"Yep."
"Good ones?"
Starsky drank from his bottle of root beer, and opened Oliver's for him. "What do you mean?"
"Like...you weren't crooked?"
"Hell no. We paid for it too sometimes."
Oliver picked up his slice of pizza and took a bite. "A bad cop be...beat me up once."
Starsky's face remained neutral, but his eyes burned blue cinders. "What happened?"
The boy's shoulder hunched again. "It was when I ran away to the street from the foster home. They were looking for me and he found me and cuh..cuffed my hands behind my back and...I reported it. Nobody did anything. Nobody cared about it."
"Two years ago?"
Oliver nodded.
"I care," Starsky said rising from the table and reaching for his jacket, escalating. "I'll have his badge. I need his name, his precinct, a partner or-"
"He's dead. I read it in the paper. He was some...decorated officer shot and killed during a bank robbery."
Starsky sat back down, quieter.
"Ferris? Bill Ferris?"
"Yeah. Maybe."
Starsky's heart was in turmoil. He hated the thought of a twelve-year-old Oliver being beaten by a cop everyone thought was a shining example, but at least the kid trusted him enough to tell him about it.
"You didn't deserve that, kiddo. There are some twisted people in this world. Histories like yours can turn people bad. Don't let your past carve out your future. I was kicked around some too, but you can't let it defeat you."
Oliver sat up a little straighter. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. My pop died when I was ten. Didn't know which way was up. Ma did what she could, but she needed help too. I was rowdy, restless. She sent me out here to live with an aunt and uncle. I had my ups and downs. I was a street kid too. So you and I've been to the same school."
Oliver's forehead creased when he frowned. "School?"
"You know the school. Hard Knocks."
The boy nodded as he picked up his root beer and took his first drink, his shoulders relaxing a little, his appetite picking up. "Was my mom pretty, Dave?"
Hearing the kid use his name for the first time brought tears to his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.
"She was beautiful. I got some pictures. Wanna see after we eat and put up the decorations?"
Oliver nodded as he picked up his second slice of pizza. "And sss-some more pictures of my dad."
"After that," Starsky said, "we'll go to the 24-hour mall and get some new duds."
"What are duds?"
"Clothes, man. Clothes." Starsky picked up his root beer. "To us, kiddo?"
Oliver picked up his bottle and they clinked. "To the man who sss...saved my life."
::
Starsky pulled the small Christmas tree from the closet and set it on the stand, then climbed onto a stepladder to drape some garland on nails that he'd driven years ago. "Hey Ollie, will you turn the CD player on? There's a Christmas disc on top of the lid."
The boy looked up at him. "Did you just call me Ollie?"
Starsky smiled a little. "Does it bother you? It just kind of came out. I used to call Hutch that once in a while, and he'd call me that too now and then. Plus I have a teddy bear with that name. Ollie is from the comedy team Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. You know 'em?"
"Yeah, I know 'em, but...I never know which is which."
"Ollie's the big guy. Stan's the little one. Me and Hutch used to go around to the schools once in a while and entertain. I have some VHS tapes of those two if you want to watch."
Oliver smiled a playful smile. "I'd rather sss...see you and my dad as them."
"Sorry, kid. That doesn't exist."
"Hey, you re...remember this one, Dave? 'Hello, folks! Going on a picnic!'"
Starsky jumped right in with the line, "'You got a lovely day for it'."
"'Yeah, you bet'."
"'Well, goodbye'."
"'Goodbye'."
"'Goodbye'."
"'Bye'."
"'Bye'."
"'Enjoy yourself'."
"'Goodbye'."
"'Goodbye'."
"'Bye'."
"'Bye'."
"'Well, goodbye'."
"'Goodbye'."
"'Bye bye'."
"'Bye bye'."
"'Bye'."
"'Bye'."
Oliver started laughing, and it sounded like music to Starsky. The painfully shy, mistrustful kid looked happy, so caught up in a shared moment of fun he actually leaned his head back and held his hurting stomach from laughing so hard. It put a smile on Starsky's face too.
"You're okay in my book, kid," Starsky laughed. "Say. Gonna put that Christmas CD in?"
Oliver inserted a Dean Martin CD, who began to croon Christmas classics.
Starsky hopped off the ladder, then said, "Let's get this tree decorated, then we'll head to the mall."
It didn't take them long to wrap the lights around the tree and add the ornaments.
They stood back to admire their handiwork.
"Lookin' good," Starsky said as he held his hand up for a high five.
Oliver obliged. "Yeah. First one I ever decorated." He looked at a stack of photo albums in the top of the closet. "You said we could look at pictures before we go to the mall, right?"
"Definitely."
::
They sat next to each other on the sofa so Starsky could answer questions, or point out people, places, and things in the photos, but Starsky left some space between them, as touch could make the boy uncomfortable. Oliver studied each image carefully, as if mentally filing it away for safekeeping.
"On the next page is your mom, kiddo. You ready? You don't have to look if you don't want to."
"No, I do want to."
Oliver turned the page, and saw photos of his beautiful mother and father and Starsky too.
"Can I have these three for my room? One of each of you?"
"Sure. I have frames around here somewhere."
"You take cool pictures. Can I look at your camera?"
Starsky retrieved his camera from his desk and handed it over to the boy, who examined it with curious fascination.
Oliver carefully turned the camera in his hands, feeling the weight of it, examining all the parts. "I guess you can fr...freeze time with this," he said. "And people."
"Sure can."
"I've never used a real camera before."
Starsky leaned in and showed him the basics. "This is an easy digital camera. See this button? That's the shutter release. You press it to take a picture. And this dial here lets you choose different settings. I have another camera that uses film and you can develop the pictures yourself in a darkroom. Go ahead and take some shots around the house if you want."
Oliver nodded and rose to his feet, walking around and looking at the camera with a newfound sense of adventure, scanning for things to take pictures of.
After a time of looking and not taking pictures, the boy lowered the camera and looked at Starsky with vulnerability in his eyes. "You know what I wish, Dave?"
"What do you wish, kid?"
"I wish there could be a picture of me and you on the...on the fridge, like the one you have of you and my dad."
Starsky smiled warmly. "You know what? We can make that happen."
Oliver looked puzzled. "But we don't have anyone to take the picture for us."
"Well, here's a secret. This camera has a timer on it. We can set it, and it'll take the picture for us in about thirty seconds."
Oliver's eyes lit up. "Really?"
Starsky helped Oliver set up the camera on a stable surface, adjusting the timer settings. Then, they both stood in front of the lit Christmas tree, side by side, waiting for the camera to snap the picture.
"Say an 'O' for Ollie," Starsky grinned.
They both said "Oh" when the camera clicked.
As the shutter clicked, capturing their "Ohs" and the warm glow of the tree, Starsky couldn't help but feel a deep sense of connection with Oliver. It was indeed a moment frozen in time, a memory of the beginning of their journey.
"Do you have a darkroom?"
"I do," Starsky said. "In the basement. I'll show you later. But first, ever see a camera plus a laptop print pictures?"
"What?"
Oliver watched intrigued as Starsky went to the laptop on his desk and used a cable to connect his camera to it.
"Ohhhh," the boy said as he sat down slowly at the desk when he saw the picture of him and Starsky materialize on the laptop screen. "Man." He was speechless when Starsky clicked Print and the Epson printer produced a photo on glossy paper.
"Oh wow," Oliver said picking the picture up from the printer tray and holding it in his hands. "This...is so cool."
"Tape's on top of the fridge."
Oliver practically ran to the kitchen to find the tape and affix their photo alongside the one of Starsky and his father.
The boy stood back to take a look, and Starsky joined him.
Oliver looked at him. "Dave, does this mean...we're family now?"
"For as long you want it to be."
Oliver's hand slowly and hesitantly came up, and at first Starsky thought the boy was going to put it on his shoulder, but he ended up extending it for a handshake.
"Thank you, Dave."
Starsky gripped his hand and shook it. "No, Oliver. Thank you. Now go get showered and changed and we'll go to the mall for some clothes and stuff."
As the boy disappeared into the bath and turned on the shower, Starsky looked around at his new home, the one where the presence of Hutch's son had changed the course of his life. It already looked different: Two plates and two drinks at the table. Their picture on the fridge. Photos strewn here and there. Decorations were up and the CD player was playing holiday songs. His life had changed in an instant, and he could only hope that he could do justice to the change, and the boy.
He would need to talk to Sheila Peterson from the BCPD Child Abuse Division. He needed legal custody of Oliver, and he needed a family therapist. Already he loved the boy as if he were his own, but he needed to give the kid every advantage. The boy would be going to a new school on Monday, and that could be a challenging time for any kid in any situation.
As he unplugged the camera from the laptop and reached for his phone to call Huggy, and the Dobeys (except for Harold, who had passed), to tell him of the new addition to his home, he heard Oliver down the hall humming a Christmas song as he came from the bath.
Steam following him, and a towel wrapped around his hips, the boy crossed the hall to his bedroom, but before he disappeared inside, Starsky caught sight of long, thin scars on his back.
Even though it was Saturday, Starsky, fighting a knot in his stomach and rage at whoever put the scars there, took Sheila Peterson's card from one of his desk drawers and phoned her. Like cops, she often worked weekends.
::
"Starsky," she said to him over her office phone. "I'm looking at Oliver Smith's case file, and it's skimpier than it should be for a kid who grew up in the system. It shows his placements and a couple of legal documents, but no child abuse reports or investigations. Somebody sure slacked off on the appropriate forms and notes, or had them scrubbed, or didn't do anything at all. This kid fell through the cracks. There are gaps miles wide in his records. Hard telling where he's been or what's happened to him."
"He's been through hell, Sheila. And the worst part is he told people and they didn't do anything, so he got used to it. I'm not a cop anymore, but I'll be damned if I let this go."
He didn't give her time to say anything else. He hung up and looked down the hall, then walked back to Oliver's door and calmly knocked on it.
"Oliver? Can I come in?"
The boy opened the door with a shy smile. He was now dressed in the only other outfit he owned, jeans and a white undershirt with a rip in the left sleeve.
"Look, kiddo. I don't want to dampen the good mood going on here, but I'd be a bad fath...I mean guardian, if I let this go."
Oliver looked at him without saying anything.
Starsky continued. "I um...saw your back as you were walking across the hall and um well..."
Oliver sat on the edge of his bed. "So?"
"So I want to know what happened, who did it, where it happened, when...everything."
The boy's voice was soft, reasonable. "What difference does it make?"
"Whoever hurt you needs to answer for it. What about the next kid he or she hurts?"
"I already told sss...somebody. And again, it was the cop, Ferris. He whipped me with his rawhide bootlaces. It's like I got this curse on me, Dave. Easy for you to say tell. I did. I had people threat...threatening me, hur...hurting me for speaking my mind...just...just forget it. It's over."
Starsky would have preferred tears, or rage, or a demolished bedroom over this submissive fourteen-year-old.
"I get it," Starsky said softly. "You had no one in your corner." He stepped over to the bed, fingers hovering over but not touching the boy's scarred wrists. "Is that why this happened? You had no way out?"
Oliver's gaze was on his worn sneakers. "Yeah," he whispered. "I didn't want to die, I just...wanted the hurt to stop. It let the bad feelings out."
"When was the last time?"
"Last year. I'm okay now. But...but these remind me where I've been. And..." He looked up at Starsky. "I'm not there anymore."
It was then that the boy broke, spilling tears locked inside because no one cared if he cried or not, and it was easier to hold them in than let them out. He had learned to let his pain out in other ways. Torn, he reached up for Starsky, who sat down next to him and pulled him into a tight hug.
"It's okay, Ollie," Starsky soothed as he patted his back. "Let it out. It's gonna be all right."
Oliver did something he'd never done before in his life. He cried on someone's shoulder. He let someone in. He let go. He allowed himself to trust. And it was terrifying.
Starsky let him cry himself into exhausted sleep on his shoulder, then when he was sure the boy was deeply asleep, eased him down onto his side on the bed, covered him, and left the room.
Starsky wished he could go back in time, and take Oliver with him, so that he could hold him as a baby, nurture him with love and affection, teach him to be brave and confident. Take his pain away, and protect him from his future. But he couldn't. The only thing he could do was try to do that from this point.
::
Starsky was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper in his easy chair when Oliver came walking into the living room three hours later looking rested and relieved, as if his cathartic release had done a small wonder.
"Hey," the boy said running both hands through his cream-colored hair. "Hello."
"Hey yourself. Sleep well?"
"Yeah. I needed that."
"You look refreshed. Coffee?"
"Nah. I'd take a root beer if you have more."
"Couple left."
Starsky returned to his paper and sipped his coffee, but the boy still stood in the same spot.
"Everything okay?" Starsky asked.
"Yeah, just..."
"Just?"
Oliver offered a quirky half-smile. "You sitting in that chair. Drinking coffee, reading the paper. Like the dad stuff in a movie. Like it's real. It's kind of weird but...kind of cool."
"Don't worry, kiddo. This is real. You'll be doing this too one of these days."
"You have any...any chores you'd like me to do around the house?"
"Um, sure. Always chores. Laundry. Dishes. Cookin'. Car washin'. Mowin'. Trash. We can take turns, play it by ear. You hungry?"
"Yeah. Do malls have food?"
"Food courts. First time for this too?"
"Yeah," the boy smiled, trying to make a joke. "I've been divested."
"I noticed something," Starsky said with a winking smile as he rose to his feet. "As deprived as you were, you're still smart as a tack."
"I read a lot. Kind of makes...makes up for it."
"To a point, kiddo. There's book smarts, and there's life smarts. You need more life smarts. And the mall is a good place to start."
"I'm up for it."
"Let's go. We'll grab a bite to eat there too."
As they went outside and into the garage, Oliver stared at the Ford Torino.
"What the-"
"Is that good or bad?"
"Good! Look at this car!"
Oliver ran his hand along the car. "What a baby."
"Well, don't just stand there. Let's go."
Oliver smiled as he got into the car on the passenger side.
For a second, for Starsky, it was the ghost of Hutch getting in the car and settling in next to him, saying, "Morning, partner. Let's hit it."
"Did my dad like your car?" Oliver asked when he got in and closed the door.
"No," Starsky said. "Matter of fact, he disliked it very much."
::
Starsky watched as Oliver's eyes took in the sights and sounds of the 24-hour mall. Starsky couldn't help but notice how he soaked in every detail like a sponge, yet didn't offer to pick anything up or ask for anything.
"Americana," Starsky said as they strolled through the shops and merchandise.
Starsky offered to buy Oliver new bedding, wallpaper, curtains, rugs, and other decor for his room, but the boy said, "No thanks. I grew up with my clothes in a trash bag. What you have is...more than enough."
"Yeah, okay. Just let me know if you need anything."
When they neared an entertainment shop, Starsky said, "Want to stop in?"
They went in and looked around at the movies, music, and books.
"Pretend it's your birthday," Starsky said. "Pick something."
"My birthday is on the 15th."
"No kidding? Gotta have a party then."
"No. No party, Dave. Please."
"Well, okay. How about a nice dinner somewhere, or a movie?"
"No. I don't want you spending money on me."
Starsky took his arm, to emphasize that it was okay for him to want and need and ask for things, or to refuse them, but Oliver gave a pointed look down at his hand, then stepped aside a little. Starsky realized his mistake, and let go. Oliver wasn't ready for casual, friendly gestures of warmth and comfort, and, Starsky sadly realized, maybe never would be.
"Ollie. Listen. We're goin' to the courthouse on Monday before you go to school, so that I can get legal custody. It'll be transferred from the state, to me. You know what that means?"
"Yes. It means you'll get to tell me what to do, and can say or do anything you want to me, and I can't do anything about it."
Starsky knew then that they had a long way to go. That a legal document couldn't magically fix everything overnight. But it was a necessary start. One step at a time. He kept his voice low and patient.
"You must be a little scared right now, kiddo. But it means we're a legal family. I can do things for you. Make decisions with you, not against you. It means I can be your legal father, if you want that, and do what's best for you. I will never be Hutch, and I will never be perfect. But I promise that I will never hurt you, and I'll do everything in my power to be the kind of dad he would want you to have."
"You know something?" Oliver asked as he looked at the man yearning to be his father, and looked at him for a long time. "I believe you."
Starsky put his hand out to shake. "Good."
The boy looked at his hand, and shook it.
"Now for the school clothes," Starsky said. "Come this way."
As they walked toward the clothing section, Oliver said, "You don't have a wife?"
"No. I was in love a time or two. Now I date a lot. In between girlfriends right now. Last girlfriend I had took off with an island-hopping playboy, you believe that? What about you?"
Oliver shrugged a shoulder. "I liked a girl once, but she was in foster care too and she was moved to New Mexico where her grandparents were. Her name was Rosalee."
"Yeah, that sucks. Those hard things happen, but I guess you can put it down to experience. Just keep your options open, and don't close any doors. Did she-"
"Hey, Starsk!"
Starsky spun at the familiar voice, turning to see Huggy Bear with his son Aaron.
"Hey, Hug! Come here, guys, I want you to meet somebody."
As Huggy came closer, he began to stare at Oliver, then gave Starsky a look of confusion and disbelief. "And this would be?"
"Oliver Smith. Hutch and Kira's boy, and my soon-to-be..." He looked at Oliver for confirmation.
"Son," Oliver said as he put his hand out to Huggy. "Soon to be Oliver Starsky."
"This guy," Starsky said to Oliver as he put a hand on Huggy's shoulder. "My other brother. Huggy Bear Brown. We go way back, don't we, Hug?"
"Hey man," Huggy said in a faint, bewildered voice as he took Oliver's offered hand. "Nice to meet you. Hutch was a great guy, and Starsky is too. And, this one here is my boy, Aaron. We're here gettin' school threads."
"Hey," Starsky said, "that's what we're doin'. Maybe we'll all go for a bite to eat later."
"Pops," Aaron said. "They don't say 'threads' anymore."
"I like the word 'threads'", Oliver said smiling. "Sounds groovy. Like 'duds'. And 'turkey'."
"Mom doesn't know what's in style," Aaron said. "Pops does."
"Oh," Oliver said with interest as he put his hand out to the other boy, "you have a mom? That's nice."
"Yeah, her name is Marissa."
"Mine was Kira, but...she died. I never really knew her. You have a brother or sister?"
"Nope. They broke the mold with me. Which school you going to?"
"Bay City. But I don't know anybody there. I was in Old Town Boy's Home."
"Dude. That's tough. But you know one person that goes to Bay City High School."
"Yeah? Who?"
"Me, man. I'm in the 9th grade."
"Me too. So...help me find some clothes?"
"And you need a backpack, and notebooks..."
Huggy and Starsky watched in near awe as Oliver and Aaron headed off into the racks of clothes talking away and getting acquainted as if they'd known each other their whole lives.
"That easy, huh?" Starsky asked. "Took me all day before we were talkin' like that."
"You know kids, Starsk. They cut right through the bull. How come you didn't call me about him, man? This is big news."
"Hey, easy. Kiko and Pete brought him to me from the boy's home just this morning. I wasn't expecting it either. We've had a big day. He's had a rough time of things, but he's gonna be all right. We made some strides today. I was gonna call you tonight, after the mall."
"I dig, no sweat. You got a lot on your plate. If there's anything Marissa and I can do for you two, just let us know. And come around the place anytime."
"Yeah. His birthday's the 15th, but he doesn't want anything big, so I just may bring him to your place for a good meal."
"He sure reminds me of Hutch."
"Yeah. He has his differences, though. He's sharp. But he's...I don't know how to explain it. One minute he acts like a naive little kid, and the next he acts like a college professor. And man, what that kid's been through...he thinks he's less. His wrists and his back tell a story."
Huggy put an arm around him and jostled him close. "He couldn't be in better hands, brother."
"I'm all in, and, I can only hope he is too. I love that kid."
::
Oliver was on Cloud 9 when he and Starsky got home.
"Hi, beautiful house!" the boy said with his arms out toward the Christmas decorations.
If Starsky didn't know any better, he'd say the boy was drunk or high, but he did know better. The boy was happy. An emotion he wasn't used to feeling.
Starsky enjoyed the Christmas lights reflected in Oliver's eyes.
Right then and there, Oliver shed his undershirt and put on a handsome hunter-green pullover shirt he'd gotten from the mall. "I think I'm going to like Monday very much, Dave. I made a new friend today. I'm going to be a Starsky. And I got a bed of my own to sleep in." He put a hand out for Starsky to shake. "Thank you for the clothes."
Starsky shook his hand, the most affection Oliver was capable of giving on his own at this stage.
Then Starsky said, "I'm goin' for a beer. You want anything?"
"I don't drink. Whenever my foster father drank, it turned him into a rage...raging monster."
"Sorry to hear that. But I wasn't offering you a beer. More like a cream soda or a cola."
"Nope, thanks. I'll take my sss...stuff to my room."
Oliver gathered his two bags of school clothes and his backpack and took everything to his room, as if creating distance between himself and alcohol.
Starsky noticed that his stammer was more prominent when he seemed stressed about something, like the possibility of Starsky becoming drunk and lashing out, or discussing traumatic incidents, or dealing with strong emotion and conflict.
Starsky did drink the beer, and left the empty bottle on the kitchen counter, to show Oliver that beer didn't have to equal violence, and that one beer was all he'd wanted. Then he turned the late news on, his mind half on it, half on the events of the day. "Hey, Ollie! Wanna see other dad stuff?"
Oliver came walking back in, almost hesitantly, looking around the kitchen to see how many beers Starsky may have consumed. So far it looked like just one.
"Um, what dad stuff?" Oliver asked.
"Me watching the late news before lights out."
Oliver realized Starsky was trying to be funny, and smiled. "Yeah. From what I read and watch, that's dad stuff."
"You need anything before I crash?"
"Well...maybe."
"What is it?"
"I kind of want to sleep on the sofa where the Christmas decorations are."
"What if we put some in your room?"
"That would be even better."
Starsky rose to his feet and went to the coat closet to find more decorations. He had plenty.
"And," he said looking Oliver's way, "if you see anything else you want to put in your room, to make you feel like it's yours and not just a guestroom, let me know."
"You mean it? Like...what about two of those classic car pictures on the wall over your desk?"
"Sure thing. Found the picture frames too, for your mother, father, and my pictures like you wanted."
"Good. And can I use that radio to listen to some Christmas music to help me sleep?"
Starsky nodded.
"And," Oliver added, "one of your clipper ships?"
"Be my guest."
The two added the items to Oliver's room, and then stepped back to admire it. It did have more of what Oliver liked and admired, but still appeared more Starsky than Oliver.
"It's a beginning," Starsky said. "Add whatever you want. Except nudies. Nudies not allowed."
Oliver smiled. "Yeah. Those are for under the bed."
"Goodnight, kiddo. Let me know if you need anything."
Oliver lay down in his clothes, drifting off to sleep with the radio on his nightstand playing instrumental Christmas music.
Starsky began to close the door, but the boy murmured, "Can you leave it open halfway? I don't like a closed dark room."
"Sure," Starsky said as he left the door half open.
As he turned to go to his own bedroom, Oliver said, "Dave?"
Starsky turned back. "Yeah?"
Voice heavy with fatigue, slurring more than speaking, the boy asked with his eyes closed, "My dad didn't know about me, and he died, so I know that's why he couldn't be there, and that wasn't his fault. But why did mmm...mom give me away?"
Starsky stood thinking about the question, and finally decided to just say the truth. "I don't know, kiddo. I don't have an answer for that. I do know you got me now, and I wouldn't give you away for anything in this world."
::
The next day was Sunday.
Starsky called his therapist friend Hank, who agreed to see them on such short notice, then he and Oliver had drive-through breakfast and coffee on the way to see him.
Starsky offered to go in and sit with Oliver for the tests, evaluations, and lend support, but the boy said, "No, I want to do this by myself, thanks. I know where you are if I...if I need you."
Alternating between reading and listening to his portable CD player via headphones, Starsky waited patiently in the waiting room while Hank conducted his assessments and gathered records and information via computer access, including a phone consultation with Sheila Peterson of the Child Abuse Division of BCPD, The Old Town Boy's Home, school records, and the three foster homes Oliver had lived in.
The testing and information-gathering lasted almost all day.
When Hank's office door opened and Oliver stepped out, Starsky lowered his headphones to curve around his neck, noting that the boy looked a little subdued, even though he did come and sit next to Starsky. "I fff...feel like I've been hit by a truck, Dave."
"It's okay, Ollie," Starsky told him. "You took the first step."
Hank motioned for Starsky, "Now it's your turn, Dave. Then we'll schedule family sessions that we can do together."
Oliver raised his head and attempted humor by smiling and saying, "Want me to go in with you?"
Starsky smiled back. "I'll let you know if I need you."
::
Starsky listened closely to Hank, wanting to help Oliver as much as he could.
"His IQ is at near genius level, but he has deficits in socialization and communication skills. He's a quick study, so he can catch up in his developmental delays. His school records are perfection. He has PTSD and anxiety from trauma, but we can work with him on that. He has self-harmed, but in my assessment, it wasn't a suicide attempt in the classic sense. More of a cry for help and a form of release. But he agreed to let you know if he feels like hurting himself again."
Hearing this from someone else validated Starsky's own theories and assumptions about Oliver, but it also caused him grief, because he knew his boy was wrestling with a lot.
::
Oliver and Starsky were quiet for the first half of the drive home, then Starsky ventured a conversation by saying, "We got the courthouse in the morning, then you got school. You okay with everything so far, buddy?"
"Yeah. I guess. It'll be fun hanging out with Aaron again. But don't worry so much about me, Dave. Like you said, I'll be okay."
::
They were both tired when they got home. Starsky got a beer from the refrigerator, which Oliver barely noticed, so Starsky knew the boy was on his way to trusting and healing.
When Starsky sorted through the mail in the kitchen, the boy went to the guitar propped next to Starsky's desk, sat down in the easy chair, and began to play quietly and sing softly to himself, obviously a way of unwinding that he had done before and was meaningful to him.
When Starsky heard the boy's hidden talents, he froze with the mail in his hands and looked toward the living room.
Oliver had a voice that could touch the soul, and his fingers strummed the guitar with a natural ease that spoke of self-taught nights in lonely rooms.
"Hey," Starsky said gently as he walked into the living room and sat down in the easy chair. "I didn't know you could do that. It's beautiful, Ollie. Reminds me of your dad."
The boy stopped playing and looked up. "He could play?"
"One of the best."
"Can you play?"
"Not like you. And not like him. I dabble."
Oliver set the guitar aside. "Do you have him recorded?"
"Sure," Starsky said. "Come over to the CD player. Got a cassette you can listen to."
Eyes full of anticipation, Oliver followed Starsky over to the CD player, where he inserted a cassette tape into the deck, then pushed Play. The boy listened with the wonder of a five-year-old as Hutch's voice and guitar came rich and mellow through the speaker.
"That's him?" the boy asked with a smile in his eyes.
"That's him."
Starsky turned it off, ejected it, and handed it to the boy. "You can have it."
"Thanks." Glancing down, Oliver seemed to hesitate with his next question. "Can you tell me about him, Dave? You haven't told me much. If it's too hard, you don't have to."
Starsky looked around the room, then settled on the boy again. "Come here." He motioned for Oliver to follow him to the laptop on the desk, where he turned it on and searched online for a particular newspaper article.
The boy slid the cassette tape in his shirt pocket, and sat down on the sofa next to him.
"Okay, kiddo," Starsky said. "When I turn this laptop around, you're going to see a newspaper piece about your dad. Do you want to read it? It's kind of intense. You don't have to if you don't want to."
The boy thought about it for a long time, then nodded. "I do want to."
Starsky turned the laptop around to show him.
Oliver read the headline out loud: "Bay City Cop Sacrifices to Save his Partner."
"Ollie?" Starsky said. "This is your dad."
The boy read, and when he was finished, he looked at Starsky with tears in his eyes, his voice breaking. "I wish I could have known him."
"Yeah," Starsky said with tears in his own eyes. "I wish you could have too."
This time it was Oliver who reached out to comfort Starsky, placing an awkward, vulnerable hand on his arm briefly, then removing it.
::
That night, Oliver went to sleep listening to the cassette of his father's singing and guitar.
::
The meeting at the courthouse with the lawyer and judge went without a hitch. When they walked out, Starsky was his legal guardian, and the adoption papers would be expedited and signed following a home study.
::
Bay City High School.
At about 10:00 am, Starsky walked into the school's office with Oliver, copies of the guardianship papers in a manila envelope. The school needed the documentation to get the boy enrolled.
"Welcome," the secretary smiled. "Happy to have you, Oliver. Here's your class schedule with the teachers' list, and your books are right here, along with the lock for your locker. Good luck. Oh, and your personal tour guide is waiting."
Oliver turned to see Aaron.
"Hey man," Aaron smiled as he helped Oliver put his books into his new backpack. "Come on, I'll show you around."
As Oliver turned to go with Aaron, he put his hand out for Starsky to shake. "See you later, Dave. We live close enough to the school that l can walk home with Aaron every day. Official latchkey kid."
Starsky smiled, shook his hand, and handed him an extra housekey. "Have a good day, Ollie. See ya, Aaron."
As Starsky watched the two walk down the hallway of the school, he realized his new son was making good progress.
He raised a goodbye hand to the secretaries and left the school.
::
Oliver and Aaron walked out of Bay City High School that day knowing they were fast friends.
As they crossed the school grounds and headed for the sidewalk to walk home, two girls about their age looked their way and waved. Oliver smiled shyly at the blonde girl who waved at him, while Aaron was a bit bolder, blowing the brunette kisses before the girls went their way.
"You need to meet my mama," Aaron said to Oliver. "She makes the best pizza. She and Pops run the restaurant."
"I love pizza."
"Me too. So what do you do for fun?"
"Read. Play guitar."
"What? Guitar? I play drums. Bring your guitar over sometime."
"Yeah, I will."
"I got video games. You?"
Oliver shook his head no. "Never played one."
Aaron stopped in his tracks to stare at him. "What?"
Oliver looked a little self-conscious. "Boy's home was sss...strict on that kind of stuff. I mostly read and studied, watched movies and TV in our room."
Aaron continued to walk, and Oliver followed suit. "What was that like? I mean, living in a place with a bunch of kids in one room."
"I don't know. Loud sometimes. Every...everyone out for themselves. Staff sucked. Too many rules. You try to follow them but..."
"Foster home bad too?"
"Homes. More than one. Worse than the boy's home. Duplicitous. They pretend to like you, pretend they're your family, but they...they lie."
Aaron glanced at Oliver's left wrist, since he was walking on his left side. "I saw your wrists yesterday at the mall, man. Must've been bad."
Oliver swallowed, finding his mouth dry. it wasn't easy talking about this, but Aaron was his friend, and seemed to care. "Yeah, it was. But it's okay now. Dave's cool."
"Yeah. My mama and my pops are cool. Man, I got lots of games. You have to hang out at my house. I'll set you up. What about pool?"
"We don't have one."
"No, not a swimming pool. I mean billiards pool."
"Never played."
"We're gonna remedy that, dude."
"HEY NEW KID!"
Oliver gave a furtive glance over his shoulder and saw about four older boys from school following them.
"Ignore 'em," Aaron said. "Just keep walking."
"Don't worry, I am."
The older boys laughed and whistled as they walked some distance behind.
"New boy!"
"Sissy!"
"Pretty boy!"
"You look like a girl!"
"Faggot!"
Oliver's face flushed with embarrassment as he tried to ignore their taunts, but past experience told him ignoring didn't always help.
His heart sank, and he felt a growing sense of shame and vulnerability. He had experienced bullying before, but being humiliated and singled out in front of his first best friend Aaron was hard to take. His guts churned inside and he felt on the verge of imploding.
"Just go," Oliver mumbled to Aaron with his head down. "You don't need me for a friend. I don't want you hurt because of me. They'll have their fun with me, then...then it'll be over."
The older boys kept laughing, walking faster behind them now.
"Get lost!" Aaron said over his shoulder.
But the bullying didn't stop there. As Aaron and Oliver walked on trying to ignore them and put space between them, the older boys grew bolder.
One ran up and flipped the back of Oliver's hair, while another chucked a baseball at his back, which made Oliver cringe and cover his head with his arms.
Aaron turned around and said to the group, "What the-"
"Blondie got the wrong color friend!" another boy shouted. "Stay away from non-white people, Blondie!"
This made Oliver instinctively turn around and run at the boys, growling and tearful, as angry as he'd ever felt in his life because it was easier for him to take up for someone else than himself, and because he wasn't going to let anyone hurt his new friend.
Two of the boys caught him by the backpack and turned him around toward the other two, to face a beating with fists and feet.
Aaron ran back, using a few well-placed boxing jabs on the two who were about to attack Oliver.
"Jerks," Aaron growled as those two landed on the ground, one on his knees, the other on his back.
Emboldened by Aaron, Oliver turned to defend himself against the two that held him, by taking a swing for the first time in his life and landing a punch to one's nose, which made him stagger back.
The remaining boy backed up-"I'm done, it's cool"-and ran away.
A few students also walking home had gathered to watch, including the two girls they had seen after the dismissal bell.
Aaron picked up Oliver's backpack and handed it to him. "I box and wrestle too. I can teach you."
Oliver nodded, and they continued to walk down the sidewalk.
"Thanks, man," Oliver said as he did another first, which was drape his arm across someone's shoulders. It felt new and different, but if felt good, and right.
Applause from the students followed them down the sidewalk as they made their way to, first Huggy's place, then home.
"We'll be heroes in the morning," Aaron told him. "Those guys terrorize everybody, and no one has stood up to them till today."
::
"You are one fine looking young man," Marissa Brown said as Aaron introduced Oliver to his mother behind the counter at Huggy's Place. "You know, I never knew your dad Hutch, but does my Hug ever have the tales to tell. Sweetheart, if you ever need advice from a mama Bear, you know where to find me."
Oliver nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"Now what will you two gentlemen be having for dinner? Your fathers are supposed to join you shortly."
"Pizza," the boys said in the same voice.
"The works," Aaron added. "We kind of worked up an appetite on the way home." He made boxing jabs at the air.
"Hm?" Marissa asked in a bit of confusion.
"Never mind, Ma," Aaron said. "We're just hungry."
"Then you guys best go grab a booth before this place fills up. You know these after-school crowds."
"Just give me a Reserved sign," Aaron said. "I want to show O some games."
"'O'?" Oliver asked.
"My nickname for you. O. Gotta have a nickname now that we're in high school."
"You have one?"
"Not yet."
"I got one for you."
"What is it?"
"Rocky."
Aaron smiled. "Rocky. I like it. Rocky and O." He held out his hand. "Ma, can I have some coin for the arcade?"
She reached into her apron pocket and produced a handful of quarters for them. "Have fun."
Huggy's Place was beginning to grow boisterous with conversation and customers, mostly junior high and high school students, along with some families too, customers coming and going. The aroma of pizza and other good foods was in the air, and the muffled sounds of video games and jukebox served as the soundtrack.
::
Oliver and Aaron made room for Huggy and Starsky when they gathered for pizza an hour later.
After the boys relayed the after-school bullying incident, Aaron said, "Those dudes. I know they come from rough homes, y'know? I mean, but still. That doesn't give them a pass to mess with us. If they do, we have a right to defend ourselves, right?"
"Spoken like a wise man," Huggy said.
Oliver looked at Starsky. "You aren't mad?"
"Not at you. At them for startin' it. Proud of you for standin' up for Aaron, kiddo."
"Goes for you too," Huggy said to Aaron.
As the blonde and brunette girls from school walked past their booth and headed for the arcade games in back, Oliver smiled and raised a hand in greeting.
"Hi," the blonde girl said as she and her friend reversed and came back to their table. "I'm Jasmine. You're Oliver, right?"
"Right."
"Yeah. And this is my friend Lacey. Want to come play games with us? Marissa has Ace Driver."
"Of course," Oliver said as he got out of the booth, with Aaron following.
Then Oliver turned back and said, "Jasmine, meet my dad, Dave."
"Pleasure," he said clasping her hand. He reached into his hip pocket and handed Oliver some cash from his wallet. "Gonna put me in the poorhouse."
"Get used to it, Starsk," Huggy said.
As Oliver headed to the coin changer to get quarters for the video games, Starsky looked at Huggy and said, "Can't believe what a difference two days has made. He's really comin' out of his shell."
"Boy's gonna blossom," Huggy smiled. "Just wish Hutch were here to see his legacy."
::
When Starsky parked along the street in front of his house, Oliver said, "Oh, I forgot to ask you. Aaron asked me to sleep over tonight. He has bunkbeds. Marissa and Huggy said it was okay if it's okay with you."
"Sure, kiddo."
::
Starsky sorted through the mail and checked phone messages while Oliver put what he needed for the next day in his backpack.
When the boy came out of his room with the pack on his shoulder, he smiled at Starsky. "Doin' dad stuff again I see."
"Need some money?"
"No, thanks."
"Need a lift?"
"Nope. I like to walk. It's kind of...freeing."
"Yeah. That's what your dad said about running."
"Oh. Can I borrow the guitar? Aaron has drums."
"Not a problem. Now I know what to get you for Christmas."
Oliver picked up the guitar and carefully placed it in its case. Carrying his things to the door to leave, he stopped and turned around to look at Starsky.
Setting his things down, he stepped over to Starsky and gave him a hug for the first time. "You already gave me everything for Christmas, Dave. Your name. A home. A dad. A family. I love you."
Starsky patted his back, choked with tears at the boy's display of affection. "Yeah, Ollie. I love you too."
The End