Life Is - Part I
callistosh65 is arriving TOMORROW and I have a lot to do. But I wanted to cross at least one fannish project off my list. Beneath the cut is one of the two Feedback Follies stories I owe. It's about 77K overall, so I chopped it up to make life easier on LJ. I hope you like it.
Life Is
By Ancasta
ancasta7@gmail.com
Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans
- John Lennon
This is one of two Feedback Follies stories I'm contributing. This fic is for Lorraine who wrote:
I like things to happen to H, I do so love him to suffer.
And:
[A]n assertive Starsky always appeals to me.
We aim to please. :-)
S/H, Drama, Hutch H/C, Angst, First Time, set some time after Gillian but before Hutchinson for Murder One
NC-17
(This story didn't start out as NC-17. It was one of those fics with a mind of its own.)
Superb beta and overall hand-holding came courtesy of the amazing Sheila, aka Callisto, who makes me look way better than I have any right to. Any issues with this story are due to my lack of knowledge and/or judgment, not hers.
Margie, you're next on my list.
*********************
He wanted to run.
There wasn't anything to run to, per se. He couldn't see anything. Not anything important anyway. Just a beat-up old fishing boat tied at the end of an equally battered dock. After fast-talking his way past Coast Guard, reporters, feds and a whole pack of Bay City's finest, this very lack of anything was enough to urge an already worried David Starsky one step closer to panic.
After all, if Hutch were all right, wouldn't they have let him off the boat by now?
And what the hell did they need with that ambulance?
"Hey!" Starsky said, trotting up to the two uniformed cops standing guard over Pier 19. They looked back at him calmly enough, though their hands hovered over their service automatics, just in case. "I'm trying to get some information on Detective Ken Hutchinson."
"What are you-a reporter?" asked the officer whose name tag labeled him as Riley.
Starsky dug in his pocket for his badge. He should have just left it out after flashing it a half dozen times at the entrance to the marina. "No. I'm his partner."
The boys in blue leaned in as one to inspect Starsky's ID. Riley's partner, whose nametag read Clemmons, raised his eyebrows with what looked like embarrassment. "Sorry about that, Detective. But you can't be too careful. This place has been crawling with news crews ever since the story broke."
Starsky couldn't argue with that. He'd nearly hit one of the impeccably groomed talking heads when he and the Torino had roared up to the docks not ten minutes earlier.
"So what's going on?" Starsky asked, shoving his ID back into his windbreaker. "Nobody will tell me a fucking thing."
Riley grimaced and looked over his shoulder at the small trawler tied little more than 50 yards away. "I doubt we have much more information than you do. The Coast Guard towed the Serendipity into the harbor about twenty minutes ago. The feds went on board, a couple minutes later they called for an ambulance. And that was it. Nobody else has gone in since, and no one has come out."
Starsky shielded his eyes against the setting sun. A brisk sea wind ruffled his hair and chilled his ears. He was thankful for the jacket covering his striped rugby shirt and jeans. It was going to be a cool night for mid-March. "Any word on who was injured?"
Riley shook his head. "Sorry, Detective. We don't even know for sure if there have been any injuries. Like I said, the paramedics went in. But nobody has gotten off the boat so far."
"That's gotta be a good sign, though. Right?" Clemmons chimed in, eagerly, as if to make amends for the whole reporter thing. "If anyone had been injured, they would have brought 'em out by now."
"Maybe," Starsky murmured, though he wasn't entirely convinced. Clemmons could be right. Maybe no one had been injured.
Then again, maybe whoever they had called the ambulance for was already dead.
No way. Not thinking like that.
"I gotta get in there," Starsky said, suddenly out of patience.
But before he could take more than a step, Clemmons stopped him with a stiff arm to the shoulder. The other cop was a big guy with a couple of inches and maybe twenty pounds on Starsky. Much as Starsky hated to admit it, his stiff arm was effective.
"Sorry, Detective," Clemmons said with what looked like real regret. "But we've got our orders. No one goes on the dock until the feds give the all-clear."
"Hutch is my partner," Starsky said, unable to make any more persuasive a case.
"I understand," Clemmons said, dropping his arm. "Really. I do. But we can't let you go anywhere near that boat."
Starsky glanced over at Riley to see where his loyalties lie. He wasn't surprised to see the other uniformed officer standing firm with his partner.
Lips pressed flat in frustration, Starsky was moments away from lowering his shoulder and pretending he was Jim Brown and the Serendipity was the Steelers' end zone, when he saw movement on the boat's deck. Two men whose dark tailored suits marked them as FBI ducked through the doorway leading from the vessel's cabin out into the open. A familiar blond trailed behind them, his head down, his back bowed with what looked like exhaustion.
But he was alive. Anything else was fixable.
"Hutch!" Starsky didn't even pretend to play it cool. His uniform brethren distracted, he angled around them, swift and slippery as an eel.
"Wait a minute!" he heard Clemmons shout from somewhere behind him.
Starsky ignored the demand and sprinted towards his partner. He wasn't pursued.
Yet, his approach didn't go unnoticed. Catching sight of him, the two federal agents froze and pulled their guns from their shoulder holsters. Upon hearing his name, Hutch's eyes had lifted. What they saw playing out before them made them widen in concern.
"Hold your fire!" he yelled, grabbing hold of the nearest agent's arm to spoil his aim. "That's my partner!"
"Take it easy! Take it easy," Starsky urged, arms out in front of him, palms forward.
Slowing his pace, he came to a stop at the end of the Serendipity's gangway, hands still out and away from his body. "I'm one of the good guys."
The taller of the two feds, a crewcut, square-jawed type, wasn't taking anything on faith. "Let's see your ID, Detective."
Starsky was quick to oblige. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Guess I'm just a little anxious to take this guy off your hands."
Yet again, his badge was scrutinized. When Agent Crewcut was satisfied with its authenticity-and not before-he returned his weapon to its holster. His partner, who was nearly a head shorter, yet looked to weigh just about the same, did likewise. "There's a time and place for that kind of enthusiasm, Detective."
"Yeah. I know. I know," Starsky said, nodding, badge tucked away once more. "What can I tell you? It's been a hell of a day."
Confident he was no longer in danger of being shot, Starsky turned his attention to Hutch, hungry for the sight of him. It had been over a week since they'd last been together. He felt like his eyes were starving and Hutch was an all-you-could-eat buffet.
He smiled up his partner. "Hiya, Blintz."
Dressed in a faded blue t-shirt and darker jeans, Hutch smiled back. But to Starsky's way of thinking it looked more like Hutch's lips were doing calisthenics-a quick stretch, lift, release-than the real deal. The smile never reached Hutch's eyes and he didn't hold it long. "Hey."
That wasn't good.
Yet, Starsky didn't get too upset by Hutch's behavior. At least not just then. Because while his partner hadn't come through his ordeal without taking a few lumps, the damage didn't look bad at all-a split lip, with a deep purple bruise on his chin directly below it, and another less livid bruise on the same half of his face, high on his cheekbone. Kid's stuff. They'd each suffered worse wrestling one of Madison Street's juvy purse snatchers to the ground. It looked like Starsky owed God a great big thank-you. Hutch was okay.
Still…
Something wasn't right.
Starsky had made a study of Hutch over the years, spending more time watching him than he did Wide World of Sports and the Saturday night Creature Feature combined. Sure, the big blond could be a klutz, his arms and legs sometimes seeming to surprise him with how long they truly were. But for the most part, he was easy to look at-a pleasure really-his movement fluid and free.
But not today.
He stood stooped and still on the Serendipity's deck, his posture strangely defensive. He reminded Starsky of a weary knight, holding up his dented shield, braced for the latest crushing blow. Only it didn't seem to him as if Hutch's invisible armor had the toughness of steel or chain mail. No. Starsky feared any sort of protection Hutch was relying on had been hastily constructed and was about as sturdy as paper in water. He knew it wouldn't take much to destroy something that fragile and leave exposed whatever the hell Hutch was trying so hard to protect.
You don't have to do it alone, babe. Not anymore. I've got your back.
"You mind if I get him out of here?" Starsky asked, wanting Hutch all to himself and far away from there. Starsky wasn't going to be able to fix whatever was wrong, hanging out with Agents Crewcut and Pudge.
Crewcut shrugged. "We were actually escorting him out to the senior officer on site. But you can take him off our hands if you want. We've gotten Detective Hutchinson's statement. If we need anything further, we know how to reach him."
Pudge added, "You'll need to talk to Bay City P.D., Hutchinson. But there's no reason that has to be tonight."
"You let us worry about our guys," Starsky said. "Hutch and me have been around the block a time or two. We know people."
Pudge almost smiled. "Why does that not surprise me?"
"Come on, Blondie," Starsky said, reaching out his hand as if to coax Hutch down the gangway. "Let me take you home."
Hutch ignored Starsky's hand. He didn't even tell Starsky fuck off, I don't need you holding my hand. He simply nodded his good-byes to the two feds and stepped carefully down the gangplank, his fingers skimming the rope railing as if he feared losing his balance, his gaze anywhere but on Starsky.
God. He looks about 20 years older than he did when I left town.
I don't know what went down today, Hutch. But you and me-we've gotta talk.
Yet once he had his partner alongside him, and they fell into step together, Starsky hesitated, not quite sure what tack to take. He had jollied Hutch out of more funks than he could count, had needled him mercilessly when he knew it would be good for Hutch to just blow up already-even if it were at him-and release a little steam. But this…
Starsky didn't know what to do with this.
Hell. He didn't even know what this was.
Oh well. One surefire way to find out.
"You're really okay, huh?" he asked as they passed by Clemmons and Riley. The two officers waved them on. "This..." He gestured in the general direction of Hutch's face, "is all that's wrong with you?"
Hutch glanced in Starsky's direction and arched his brow. Only it didn't look like the usual Hutchinson Arched Brow of Intellectual Superiority. It lacked a certain level of cockiness for that. "Isn't that enough?"
"Yeah," Starsky said quickly, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets when the wind kicked up again. "Yeah, of course it is. Goofball."
Hutch was hunched against the blast of sea air, the force of it blowing his fine hair forward and up, exposing a bruise Starsky hadn't seen before. It was small and round and up high on Hutch's forehead, just above his temple.
"Wait a minute," Starsky said, stopping Hutch by putting his right hand on the other man's arm and reaching with his left towards the wound. "What's that?"
"What’s what?" Hutch said, even though Starsky could tell by his almost panicked expression his partner knew exactly what Starsky was talking about. Hutch batted Starsky's hand away. "It's nothing."
"I thought you said it was just the stuff on your face-"
"That’s on my face."
"Yeah, but I didn't see it before-"
"So what-that's my fault?"
"Don't be a dope. I'm not blaming you-," Starsky reached out again, thinking only to try and comfort his friend.
But Hutch wanted none of it. Using his forearm, he blocked Starsky's touch, hard, the same way he would have blocked a perp's fist.
"Knock it off, Starsky!"
Hutch fell away from Starsky a step or two, glaring at him, fierce and desperate. Like Starsky was the enemy.
"What is going on with you?" Starsky asked, giving Hutch plenty of room.
At first Hutch didn't answer. He just stood there, breathing fast, his eyes wide and nearly black in the fading light, his hair still dancing in the wind.
"Nothing," Hutch said finally with a sigh. He closed his eyes and lowered his head into his big hands. Starsky could see they were trembling. "Just…nothing, Starsk. Nothing."
Behind them, Starsky spotted the feds marching out what he could only imagine were Hutch's three captors: a beefy behemoth of a guy with a bald head and tattoos up both arms, a tall skinny dude with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and a bandage wrapped around his bicep, and a petite young girl, her brown hair cut so short she looked like a boy. She had a square of gauze taped to her forehead. All three had cuffs on them. Crewcut and Pudge had help herding the trio from two other agents. A couple of paramedics brought up the rear.
Shit.
Starsky didn't want to still be standing there when that crew paraded by.
"Babe…hey, babe." Starsky took a step towards Hutch and carefully-very carefully-took hold of his shoulders. Hutch didn't pull away. He dropped his hands and opened his eyes. Yet he still wouldn't look at Starsky. He was shivering now like it was January at the North Pole instead of a cool spring evening in southern California. "Jesus, Hutch. You turning into a popsicle on me?" Letting go of his friend, Starsky unzipped his windbreaker and shrugged it off as quickly as he could. Reaching up, he draped it around Hutch, pulling it closed in front.
"Come on," he said, wrapping his arm around Hutch's shoulders, as much to hold the jacket in place as to draw him close. Feeling Hutch sag against him as if in surrender, Starsky steered his partner towards the wall of squad cars and television vans separating them from their ride home. "It's been a long day. For both of us. Let's blow this pop stand, huh? All we gotta do is get past the reporters. Keep your head down and leave that to me."
Starsky couldn't decide if Hutch's willingness to go along with his little plan made him feel better or worse. Sure, Hutch's compliance made it a hell of a lot easier for him to maneuver the guy past the media, who were thankfully distracted by the crowd of people coming off the Serendipity. But under normal circumstances that kind of a move on Starsky's part-Let me play the hero, wouldja Hutch? You can be the damsel in distress-would have meant at best an ear blistering, at worst a punch to the kisser.
Only Hutch wasn't giving him either. Acting like it took every drop of concentration he had simply to put one foot in front of the other, he let Starsky bundle him into the Torino without so much as a peep. It wasn't until after Starsky had put the car in drive, cranked up the heat as high as it would go, and turned onto Pacific Blvd. that Hutch finally spoke.
"Thanks."
Starsky looked at him from the corner of his eye, half expecting Hutch would be looking back. He wasn't. Instead, he was staring out the window, his left hand plucking restlessly at the seam running up his pant leg.
Thinking about it for a second, Starsky decided this time to take a less direct approach. "I was pissed at you this afternoon."
That pulled Hutch's eyes in Starsky's direction. It even stopped his fidgeting. "For what? Getting kidnapped?"
"For not picking me up at the airport."
Hutch snorted, the sound close enough to a chuckle to make Starsky both pleased and proud. He'd always gotten a kick out of making Hutch laugh. Some times the humor was needed more than others. "I was otherwise engaged."
"I had to cab it," Starsky said, riding the conversation wave. "Do you know how much it costs from the airport to my place?"
"Well, don't look at me to pay you back," Hutch said, an almost smile flirting with his lips. "On top of everything else, those punks made off with my wallet."
"That's too bad. Hope you don't have anything embarrassing in there. The feds'll probably want to hang on to it for evidence."
"Great. There goes my emergency condom."
Starsky grinned, delighted with the results of his strategy. Hutch was bouncing back faster than a rubber ball. "Yeah? Well, you could have protected that lonely condom-and a whole lot else-if you'd only have come home with me to Brooklyn, like I'd asked you to."
"You're not going to say I told you so, are you?"
"Damn straight."
"I don't recall 'Come with me to New York, Hutch, or you'll be taken hostage in a hold-up' ever being part of the conversation."
"You must not have been listening too good."
Hutch's almost smile grew wider. "How is your mom anyway?"
"Good," Starsky said. "She's good. She sends her love."
They drove in silence then for a bit, Starsky fighting against the urge to fill it with chatter. He didn't want to disturb whatever it was Hutch had going on. It seemed like somewhere during the ride, after the tremors had stopped and those long legs of his had sprawled wide like they usually did in the Torino's front seat, Hutch's knight had laid down his banged-up shield. Starsky didn't know if it was their familiar banter, the car's heating system, or simple distance that had done the trick. But the further away they got from The Serendipity, the more at ease Hutch seemed to become.
And yet…
Starsky was pretty sure Hutch kept looking his way. He could feel it periodically all along the side of his face, prickling like an itch he couldn't scratch. He tried to catch Hutch at it, but his timing was never right.
What do you need, Hutch? Are you worried about something? Or do you have something you want to say?
About a mile from home, they stopped at a red light. Starsky glanced over and saw Hutch was sitting now with his eyes closed, like he had finally tired of their peek-a-boo game. His head was tipped back against the headrest. Almost as if he could feel Starsky's gaze the same way Starsky had felt his, he sighed, then said, "How did you find out what'd happened?"
Starsky tightened his hands on the steering wheel. "I called into the station. Thought maybe you'd been brought in on your day off. Minnie told me."
Hutch opened his eyes and looked over at Starsky. "What did she say?"
Starsky shrugged. "She said you'd gotten stuck in the middle of a robbery over at Manny's Mart, and that the bad guys had taken you along as a hostage when the black and whites showed up outside."
Hutch nodded, and smiled another one of those half smiles. Starsky would never say it to his face, but every time Hutch smiled like that, he looked like he was about six years old. "Yeah. Manny must have hit the panic button."
"Normally a good thing."
"Yeah. Normally. Not so much this time," Hutch said, closing his eyes again, and reaching up to rub wearily at his temple. "I was only going to be in there for a couple of minutes. Went in to buy some aspirin, if you can believe it. I'd had a headache."
Starsky's eyebrows flew towards his hairline. "You shittin' me?"
Hutch's lashes lifted and his hand lowered. "I shit you not."
Starsky grinned at him. "How's the head?"
"Pounding like a son of a bitch."
The light turned green. Starsky inched forward. "Don't worry about it. I've got aspirin at my place."
Now it was Hutch's turn for his eyebrows to rise. "Your place? I thought you said you were taking me home."
"I am. My home. You gotta problem with that?"
Hutch thought about it for a moment or two, his eyes lingering on Starsky's in a way they hadn't all night. Finally, he shook his head. "Guess not."
Starsky nodded. "Good."
It wasn't long before they pulled up outside Starsky's apartment. Shifting the Torino into park, Starsky got out of the car and went around to the trunk to grab his suitcase. Hutch was slow in getting out on the passenger side. And once he was finally up, he looked a little unsteady on his feet.
"You all right?" Starsky asked, coming up alongside him and taking hold of Hutch's arm just above the elbow.
Hutch pulled free, but not with the same violence as before. This time, he was almost gentle, his expression equally mild. "Yeah. Just tired."
"Well, come on then. Let's get you squared away."
With that, Starsky led the way up the stairs to his place. He hit the light switch as soon as he opened the door. Everything was as he had left it, with the exception of the mail piled on the floor beneath the slot.
"I know I need to go shopping," he said, stepping around the mound of paper and closing the door behind them. "So I'm not sure there's anything much to eat outside of maybe some stale chips. But I think I've got a couple of beers in the fridge if you want one."
"Actually…do you mind if I take a shower?" Hutch asked, having hung Starsky's jacket on the hall tree. He was standing in the middle of Starsky's living room and looking…lost.
"Help yourself," Starsky said, thinking maybe a shower would be just the thing to wash away some of the cobwebs from Hutch's brain. "There are towels in the closet. I'll loan ya a pair of sweats and a t-shirt to sleep in."
"Thanks."
With Hutch in the bathroom and the shower running, Starsky set about making his apartment feel more like home. Humming Stayin' Alive-and God, weren't those Bee Gee tunes catchy as anything?-he boogied as he worked, cracking open some windows (and trying to find a balance between airing out the place and making it so drafty Hutch got another case of the shivers), sorting through his accumulated mail, and taking his suitcase into the bedroom.
It wasn't until the suitcase had been unpacked and everything put away that he realized he'd never brought Hutch the clothing he'd promised. He also noticed the shower had been turned off.
Shit.
Stowing his luggage where it belonged in the back of his closet, Starsky rifled through his dresser drawer. It took a minute, but he pulled out a pair of gray sweats he was pretty sure had been Hutch's to begin with and a clean black t-shirt, and headed towards the bathroom.
When he got there, he found the door was open an inch or two. Starsky figured Hutch had left it ajar to allow some steam to escape. When he peeked inside, he saw Hutch, towel wrapped low around his hips, staring into the mirror above the sink, his hands curled around the edge of the bowl. Starsky couldn't figure out what the hell he was looking at. The glass was completely fogged over.
"I wouldn't worry about it, you big lug," Starsky said, leaning against the door jamb. "It'd take more than a couple of lucky punches to ruin your handsome puss."
Hutch stiffened when he heard Starsky's voice, every muscle in his body going tense for a beat before they released. But rather than turn around and face his partner, he held his position and dropped his head, slowly, like he was afraid something might spill out if he moved any faster.
And just like that, Starsky was worried again. "Hutch?" He tossed the clothing on top of the toilet tank, and crossed to stand behind his friend. Reaching out, he put his hand on Hutch's shoulder. Hutch flinched at the contact. His skin was warm against Starsky's palm from the shower and still slightly damp. Hutch didn't say anything, but it seemed like he was breathing funny. "Babe?"
Taking a deep breath, Hutch pushed upright, and with what looked like a concerted act of will, lifted his head. But he still didn't turn around. Not until Starsky reached out and did that for him. When Starsky saw Hutch's face, his heart plunged like a runaway elevator.
Hutch was crying.
Starsky didn't hesitate. He pulled Hutch into his arms. Hutch stood there for a moment, unmoving, before latching on to Starsky with a grip that rocked them both, Hutch's arms heavy and fast around Starsky's shoulders, his face buried against Starsky's neck.
"Hey…what's this, huh? What's this?" Starsky practically crooned. "It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay. You're all right. You're fine."
Though his breathing was quick and ragged, Hutch remained silent, which kind of freaked Starsky out. Hutch was crying like his world had ended, but he wasn't allowing himself to make a sound. So Starsky decided he needed to make some noise for the both of them.
"I gotcha," he murmured, his hand petting slowly through Hutch's wet hair. "You don't have anything to worry about. I'm here."
Yet all the while he was reassuring his partner, Starsky's mind was racing.
What the hell are we up against here? Hutch might have seemed a little shocky back on the boat. But once we got out of there, everything was fine.
Wasn't it?
What the hell could have brought this on?
Starsky didn't know how long they stood there, him mumbling nonsense and Hutch weeping like Starsky hadn't seen him do since Gillian had died. It didn't matter, though, how many minutes had passed. Starsky was willing to spend the entire night in that fucking bathroom if he had to, holding Hutch close. Anything to get him past whatever this was.
Eventually Hutch's breath slowed and his tears tapered off. With what seemed like reluctance, he pulled himself from Starsky's embrace, and looked at his partner, his cheeks wet and flushed, his eyes searching Starsky's face.
"I'm such a coward," he whispered.
Sighing, Starsky reached out and laid his hand on Hutch's cheek. He swept his thumb from side to side to rub away some of the moisture there. "Are you out of your mind?" Starsky asked, doing all he could to keep his voice gentle.
Hutch shrugged and tried a wobbly smile. "I don't know. Feels like I could be."
"And maybe you're just tired, huh?" Starsky said, curving his hand around the back of Hutch's head and giving him a little shake.
"Maybe," Hutch said, wiping impatiently at what remained of his tears.
"No maybe about it," Starsky said, his hand dropping now to Hutch's shoulder. He gave it a firm squeeze. "'Cause you sure as hell ain't no kind of coward. Getting kidnapped can take a lot out of a guy. You wait-a good night's sleep, and the world is gonna make a lot more sense to you in the morning."
Hutch didn't look convinced. "You think so?"
"I know so," Starsky said, releasing his friend to reach over and retrieve the sweats and t-shirt. "Here, finish drying off and put these on." He handed the clothes to Hutch. "I'll call in to the station. I shoulda done it already, but I got distracted."
Hutch nodded, then looked down at the clothes in his hands. "Thanks, Starsky."
"It's all right, Hutch," Starsky said. "Everything is all right. I promise you."
Starsky gave one last look over his shoulder as he left the bathroom. Hutch just stood there, the clothes forgotten and crumpled in his hands, staring back at Starsky as if he believed nothing would ever be right again.
Oh yeah? We'll see about that.
Starsky hit it lucky and got through directly to Dobey, who was still at the precinct working late.
"Tell Hutchinson I'm glad he's all right," their captain said, his voice characteristically gruff. "Bring him by tomorrow morning to give his statement. Otherwise, you can both have the day."
"Thanks, Cap'n," Starsky said. "We appreciate it. Hutch can use the rest."
Actually they both could, Starsky thought, running his hand through his hair as he returned the phone to its cradle. He'd been up since 7:00 a.m., East Coast time, and it was now after 9:00 p.m. West Coast time. Add to that a six hour flight and all the headaches that went along with it, and Starsky was pooped.
And speaking of headaches…
Starsky rooted through his kitchen cupboards until he found an open bottle of very old, very good whiskey.
"I thought there might be some of you still left."
It had been a gift from Nicky during one of his rare visits. The kid had won some money hustling cards, and had decided to treat his big brother to a little thank-you-for-your-hospitality gift.
Of course, in true Nicky fashion, he had been the one who had first sampled the sauce. Still, that didn't change the fact that Nick had sprung for a bottle of damned smooth booze.
Given the circumstances, it seemed to Starsky like the perfect thing to wash down a few aspirin.
Starsky poured a couple of fingers worth, swung by the bathroom for his bottle of Bayer's, and went into the bedroom.
Hutch was already there. He had turned the light on low and folded back the covers to the foot of the bed. When Starsky walked in, Hutch was sitting on the side nearest the door, dressed in the clothes he had borrowed, his elbows braced on his thighs, his head in his hands. He looked up when Starsky entered.
"Here," Starsky said, handing him the whiskey and pouring two aspirin into his palm.
"Get these down you. I'm betting you didn't take anything."
Hutch swallowed the aspirin, eyes closing against the whiskey's burn. "No. Guess I forgot."
Starsky set the aspirin beside the lamp and reached over to push back some hair from Hutch's forehead. It was nearly dry. "Yeah? Well, that's no big surprise. Seems like you've had a lot on your mind."
Hutch attempted a chuckle. Starsky had witnessed better efforts. "Suppose you could say that."
Starsky sat beside him on the bed. "You want to talk about it?"
Hutch stared down at the glass in his hand. Starsky could see his jaw clenching and unclenching in a way that made Starsky's own teeth ache. "Not really."
Starsky nodded. "Okay-"
"But I probably should," Hutch said, looking up to meet Starsky's eyes.
This was what Starsky wanted, what he'd been hoping for. That Hutch would explain why, when everyone had walked away from the Serendipity with little more than a scratch or two, he was acting like the afternoon had ended in tragedy.
Yet, Starsky wouldn't be the friend Hutch deserved if he didn't say, "You sure you feel up to it tonight? I'll still be here in the morning, you know."
Hutch smiled. It was one of his gentle ones, the kind he gave crime victims when they were hurting, and little kids, when he was trying to convince them he was their friend. It was one of Starsky's favorite varieties of Hutch smiles.
Only this time he couldn't enjoy it. Hutch's eyes were too sad.
"I'm counting on that, Starsk. I'm really counting on it."
Starsky laid his hand on Hutch's arm, and gave him a little squeeze. His own curiosity could wait. Hutch didn't look ready for true confessions. "Then what's your rush, cowboy?"
Lifting his glass in a toast, Hutch emptied it, grimacing as he swallowed. Starsky could only imagine how the alcohol felt against Hutch's split lip. When Hutch spoke, his words sounded roughed by the liquor, like the whiskey had been steel wool and his voice was soft pine. "No rush. I just want to take advantage of some very fine Dutch courage."
Starsky sighed with exasperation. "What is with you and bravery tonight? You don't need some kind of fake courage to talk to me. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say, Hutch. You and me-there are no limits."
Hutch dropped his eyes and shook his head. When he looked up, he was smiling again, that same poignant smile. "I love you, you know."
That made Starsky stop for a minute. Hutch and he didn't say stuff like that. Well, that wasn't true. They said stuff like that all the time.
It's a good thing I love you, buddy, because you are a pain in the ass.
But not seriously, not like it was something they needed to put out in the open for everyone to hear. A guy didn't walk around saying, "I need to breathe." That was a given.
Starsky wanted to make that clear. "Yeah? So? Love you too, you dummy."
Hutch didn't say anything at first. He just looked at Starsky and nodded. "Will you do something for me?"
Easy question. "Name it."
"It's kind of weird."
"Like that's a first."
Hutch chuckled, then pushed to his feet. Looking awfully nervous, he said, "Lie down on the bed."
That was kind of weird. But not enough for Starsky to say anything. He toed off his shoes, and pulled his rugby shirt over his head. "Don't want to lay on this," he said, tossing the shirt in the direction of the hamper, then stretching out on his back. "You got me kind of wet before.
Hutch blushed. "Sorry about that."
"It's okay."
Hutch nodded, then crossed to the nightstand. He set down his glass and turned off the lamp before circling around the foot of the bed and lying down next to Starsky.
"Okay," Starsky said once Hutch was settled. "Now what?"
Hutch didn't answer at first. But he reached out and laid his right hand on top of Starsky's left. Hutch's palm felt cool and a little damp against Starsky's skin. Starsky took Hutch's hand and brought it over to rest on his stomach, pressing it between both of his hands to warm it up.
Hutch cleared his throat before he began. "You asked me before what was going on."
"Yeah. I've been worried about you."
"I know. I know and I'm sorry."
Starsky squeezed his hand. "Ain't nothing to be sorry about. That was a bad scene today. Anybody'd be a little messed up."
"We've been through worse," Hutch said.
"Maybe. But bad is bad. It's not like there's some kind of line in the sand-to this point whatever it is can't get to you, but take one more step and it can. It doesn't work like that, Hutch. You know that. You can't tell when or how something is going to hit you. No one can."
"I guess," Hutch said, his voice quiet, almost thoughtful.
Starsky waited for a second or two, listening to Hutch breathe and the fainter whoosh of traffic outside. He kind of liked this, just the two of them, lying side by side in the dark. He had almost forgotten why they were doing it when Hutch continued.
"You already know it all started at Manny's."
"Yeah," Starsky said. "But who were those guys? And what were they doing holding up a busy joint like that in broad daylight?"
Hutch sighed. "I don't know the whole story. Hell-I can't even remember their full names. Though I'm pretty sure the feds mentioned them when they put everyone under arrest. The big guy with the tattoos is Joe; the one with the ponytail is named Mickey. I think they're related somehow."
"What about the girl?" Starsky asked.
"Grace. Her name is Grace. Though Mickey called her Gracie."
"Was it a thrill crime? Something spur of the moment?"
Hutch shook his head. Starsky could hear his hair whispering against the pillowcase.
"No. It had to do with drugs. They needed to score and were out of cash. I guess Manny's looked like an easy mark."
"So why were the feds involved?" Starsky asked, frowning up at the ceiling. His eyes were getting accustomed to the lack of light. He could differentiate now between the room's countless shades of gray. "Were the three of them dealing as well as using?"
"I don't think so," Hutch said. "At least that's not what caught the FBI's interest. They were there for Grace."
"Why Grace?"
"She's a minor from Nevada, just outside of Las Vegas. Her parents had reported her kidnapped."
Judging from Hutch's tone of voice, Starsky was pretty sure those parents had gotten it wrong. "Was she?"
"No. Not anymore. Maybe never."
"She go all Patty Hearst?"
"Minus the assault rifle. Though as it turned out, she was pretty handy with a 38-caliber."
Hutch's hand had begun to tremble in Starsky's grasp. Starsky still didn't know what was wrong, but he knew now it had something to do with that girl.
"What happened, babe?" Starsky whispered.
Hutch's voice rumbled low and soft when he said, "After it all went down at the mart, I got them to take me instead of Manny. I practically bullied them into it. It wasn't until they'd shoved me in the back of their car that they'd realized I was a cop."
"Didja have your gun?"
"No. Left it in the glove compartment. I wasn't on duty. Remember? I didn't think I'd need it. They found my badge."
"They knew you were a cop?" Starsky murmured, his stomach twisting at the thought.
His defenseless partner, alone with three armed punks, on the run and jonesing for a fix…
Jesus.
It was a wonder he had gotten Hutch back at all.
"Yeah," Hutch said with a small huff of laughter. "As you can imagine, they weren't too pleased. Still, it wasn't long before they had half a dozen squad cars on their tail. So they decided to hold on to me. Guess they figured they needed every bargaining chip they could get."
"That's what I don't understand," Starsky said, letting go of Hutch's hand and rolling over to face him, his head propped on his hand. Hutch was lying on his back, his eyes bottomless in the darkness. "How did you get from inside some getaway car on the east side onto a boat a couple of miles out on the Pacific Ocean? That's a hell of a long way to go. You had to have run into some cops along the way."
"Sure," Hutch said nodding, but not looking at Starsky. His hands were folded now across his middle. "BCPD was on the scene in a hurry. I didn't think we'd get more than a couple of blocks from Manny's before there'd be some kind of standoff. Only Joe-he was the one behind the wheel, and really the brains of the outfit-he’s from Bay City, and knew the streets on that end of downtown pretty well. Between his driving and a couple of lucky breaks, we managed to get out of there."
"And down to the waterfront."
"Yeah. The boat belongs to one of Joe's buddies. The guy had told him where it was docked and said that if he needed it, it was his."
"And this afternoon, his old pal Joey needed it bad."
"He thought so," Hutch said. "While we'd managed to escape pursuit, the units that had chased us had gotten a pretty good look at the car. Joe wanted to ditch it. He figured no one would be looking for us on the water."
"Much as I hate to admit it, the guy had good instincts," Starsky said, "Minnie told me it was finding the car at the marina that had tipped off the feds."
"I thought it might be something like that."
Hutch didn't say anything after that. He only reached up and, sighing, scrubbed his palms over his face. Starsky knew the poor guy had to be just this side of unconscious. Part of him felt bad for not insisting Hutch hold off telling his story until morning.
But Starsky had a feeling what was coming next was important. Hutch hadn't had any trouble relaying the chain of events leading up to him boarding the Serendipity. He'd sounded cool and calm, like he was on the witness stand, testifying to the facts.
It meant something that he was hesitating now.
Sure, it might be simple exhaustion. But that didn't explain what had happened in the bathroom, or Hutch's outburst on the dock, or his sudden thirst for single malt whiskey. Starsky had been giving Hutch an out before, suggesting that might be the case. But he didn't think he'd ever really believed it.
What came next was obviously hard for Hutch.
So Starsky decided to help him out.
"What happened when you got on the boat?"
Hutch lowered his hands and looked at Starsky for a moment. Just looked at him as if searching for something in his expression. Starsky couldn't imagine what it might be. Hutch didn't give him any clues. He moistened his lips with his tongue and swallowed hard before he spoke.
"Joe was the only one who knew anything about boats. He told Mickey to take me below. Grace came along with us."
"They tie you up?"
"Yeah," Hutch said, eyes aimed at the ceiling again. "I hadn't been to that point. But they found a length of rope in one of the storage cubbies. Mickey held a gun on me and Grace tied me to a chair."
Starsky waited for him to continue. But Hutch was hesitating again. Feeling a little bit like a border collie herding sheep, Starsky prodded him. "How long were you on the water for?"
"Nearly…uh…nearly two hours."
"They leave you alone?" Starsky asked quietly, already pretty sure of the answer.
"No," Hutch said with a quick shake of his head. "I mean…yeah, at first."
"But not the entire time?"
"No. No. Grace got…bored."
Starsky pressed up onto his forearm so he could get a better look at Hutch's face. Cloaked as it was by the room's shadows, it told him nothing. Starsky had half a mind to roll over and turn back on the lamp. "Bored? What did she think this was-a pleasure cruise? Exactly what kind of entertainment was she hoping for?"
Hutch laughed, the sound pained and sharp like a gunshot. "Well, as it turned out…I was the floor show."
Oh shit.
What did she do to you, babe? What did the bitch do?
Reaching out, Starsky laid his hand on top of Hutch's, and squeezed. Hard. Hutch squeezed back. "What happened, Hutch?"
Hutch looked over at his, his eyes huge and shining in the darkness. "Did you see The Deer Hunter, Starsk?"
*******
Continued here
Life Is
By Ancasta
ancasta7@gmail.com
Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans
- John Lennon
This is one of two Feedback Follies stories I'm contributing. This fic is for Lorraine who wrote:
I like things to happen to H, I do so love him to suffer.
And:
[A]n assertive Starsky always appeals to me.
We aim to please. :-)
S/H, Drama, Hutch H/C, Angst, First Time, set some time after Gillian but before Hutchinson for Murder One
NC-17
(This story didn't start out as NC-17. It was one of those fics with a mind of its own.)
Superb beta and overall hand-holding came courtesy of the amazing Sheila, aka Callisto, who makes me look way better than I have any right to. Any issues with this story are due to my lack of knowledge and/or judgment, not hers.
Margie, you're next on my list.
*********************
He wanted to run.
There wasn't anything to run to, per se. He couldn't see anything. Not anything important anyway. Just a beat-up old fishing boat tied at the end of an equally battered dock. After fast-talking his way past Coast Guard, reporters, feds and a whole pack of Bay City's finest, this very lack of anything was enough to urge an already worried David Starsky one step closer to panic.
After all, if Hutch were all right, wouldn't they have let him off the boat by now?
And what the hell did they need with that ambulance?
"Hey!" Starsky said, trotting up to the two uniformed cops standing guard over Pier 19. They looked back at him calmly enough, though their hands hovered over their service automatics, just in case. "I'm trying to get some information on Detective Ken Hutchinson."
"What are you-a reporter?" asked the officer whose name tag labeled him as Riley.
Starsky dug in his pocket for his badge. He should have just left it out after flashing it a half dozen times at the entrance to the marina. "No. I'm his partner."
The boys in blue leaned in as one to inspect Starsky's ID. Riley's partner, whose nametag read Clemmons, raised his eyebrows with what looked like embarrassment. "Sorry about that, Detective. But you can't be too careful. This place has been crawling with news crews ever since the story broke."
Starsky couldn't argue with that. He'd nearly hit one of the impeccably groomed talking heads when he and the Torino had roared up to the docks not ten minutes earlier.
"So what's going on?" Starsky asked, shoving his ID back into his windbreaker. "Nobody will tell me a fucking thing."
Riley grimaced and looked over his shoulder at the small trawler tied little more than 50 yards away. "I doubt we have much more information than you do. The Coast Guard towed the Serendipity into the harbor about twenty minutes ago. The feds went on board, a couple minutes later they called for an ambulance. And that was it. Nobody else has gone in since, and no one has come out."
Starsky shielded his eyes against the setting sun. A brisk sea wind ruffled his hair and chilled his ears. He was thankful for the jacket covering his striped rugby shirt and jeans. It was going to be a cool night for mid-March. "Any word on who was injured?"
Riley shook his head. "Sorry, Detective. We don't even know for sure if there have been any injuries. Like I said, the paramedics went in. But nobody has gotten off the boat so far."
"That's gotta be a good sign, though. Right?" Clemmons chimed in, eagerly, as if to make amends for the whole reporter thing. "If anyone had been injured, they would have brought 'em out by now."
"Maybe," Starsky murmured, though he wasn't entirely convinced. Clemmons could be right. Maybe no one had been injured.
Then again, maybe whoever they had called the ambulance for was already dead.
No way. Not thinking like that.
"I gotta get in there," Starsky said, suddenly out of patience.
But before he could take more than a step, Clemmons stopped him with a stiff arm to the shoulder. The other cop was a big guy with a couple of inches and maybe twenty pounds on Starsky. Much as Starsky hated to admit it, his stiff arm was effective.
"Sorry, Detective," Clemmons said with what looked like real regret. "But we've got our orders. No one goes on the dock until the feds give the all-clear."
"Hutch is my partner," Starsky said, unable to make any more persuasive a case.
"I understand," Clemmons said, dropping his arm. "Really. I do. But we can't let you go anywhere near that boat."
Starsky glanced over at Riley to see where his loyalties lie. He wasn't surprised to see the other uniformed officer standing firm with his partner.
Lips pressed flat in frustration, Starsky was moments away from lowering his shoulder and pretending he was Jim Brown and the Serendipity was the Steelers' end zone, when he saw movement on the boat's deck. Two men whose dark tailored suits marked them as FBI ducked through the doorway leading from the vessel's cabin out into the open. A familiar blond trailed behind them, his head down, his back bowed with what looked like exhaustion.
But he was alive. Anything else was fixable.
"Hutch!" Starsky didn't even pretend to play it cool. His uniform brethren distracted, he angled around them, swift and slippery as an eel.
"Wait a minute!" he heard Clemmons shout from somewhere behind him.
Starsky ignored the demand and sprinted towards his partner. He wasn't pursued.
Yet, his approach didn't go unnoticed. Catching sight of him, the two federal agents froze and pulled their guns from their shoulder holsters. Upon hearing his name, Hutch's eyes had lifted. What they saw playing out before them made them widen in concern.
"Hold your fire!" he yelled, grabbing hold of the nearest agent's arm to spoil his aim. "That's my partner!"
"Take it easy! Take it easy," Starsky urged, arms out in front of him, palms forward.
Slowing his pace, he came to a stop at the end of the Serendipity's gangway, hands still out and away from his body. "I'm one of the good guys."
The taller of the two feds, a crewcut, square-jawed type, wasn't taking anything on faith. "Let's see your ID, Detective."
Starsky was quick to oblige. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Guess I'm just a little anxious to take this guy off your hands."
Yet again, his badge was scrutinized. When Agent Crewcut was satisfied with its authenticity-and not before-he returned his weapon to its holster. His partner, who was nearly a head shorter, yet looked to weigh just about the same, did likewise. "There's a time and place for that kind of enthusiasm, Detective."
"Yeah. I know. I know," Starsky said, nodding, badge tucked away once more. "What can I tell you? It's been a hell of a day."
Confident he was no longer in danger of being shot, Starsky turned his attention to Hutch, hungry for the sight of him. It had been over a week since they'd last been together. He felt like his eyes were starving and Hutch was an all-you-could-eat buffet.
He smiled up his partner. "Hiya, Blintz."
Dressed in a faded blue t-shirt and darker jeans, Hutch smiled back. But to Starsky's way of thinking it looked more like Hutch's lips were doing calisthenics-a quick stretch, lift, release-than the real deal. The smile never reached Hutch's eyes and he didn't hold it long. "Hey."
That wasn't good.
Yet, Starsky didn't get too upset by Hutch's behavior. At least not just then. Because while his partner hadn't come through his ordeal without taking a few lumps, the damage didn't look bad at all-a split lip, with a deep purple bruise on his chin directly below it, and another less livid bruise on the same half of his face, high on his cheekbone. Kid's stuff. They'd each suffered worse wrestling one of Madison Street's juvy purse snatchers to the ground. It looked like Starsky owed God a great big thank-you. Hutch was okay.
Still…
Something wasn't right.
Starsky had made a study of Hutch over the years, spending more time watching him than he did Wide World of Sports and the Saturday night Creature Feature combined. Sure, the big blond could be a klutz, his arms and legs sometimes seeming to surprise him with how long they truly were. But for the most part, he was easy to look at-a pleasure really-his movement fluid and free.
But not today.
He stood stooped and still on the Serendipity's deck, his posture strangely defensive. He reminded Starsky of a weary knight, holding up his dented shield, braced for the latest crushing blow. Only it didn't seem to him as if Hutch's invisible armor had the toughness of steel or chain mail. No. Starsky feared any sort of protection Hutch was relying on had been hastily constructed and was about as sturdy as paper in water. He knew it wouldn't take much to destroy something that fragile and leave exposed whatever the hell Hutch was trying so hard to protect.
You don't have to do it alone, babe. Not anymore. I've got your back.
"You mind if I get him out of here?" Starsky asked, wanting Hutch all to himself and far away from there. Starsky wasn't going to be able to fix whatever was wrong, hanging out with Agents Crewcut and Pudge.
Crewcut shrugged. "We were actually escorting him out to the senior officer on site. But you can take him off our hands if you want. We've gotten Detective Hutchinson's statement. If we need anything further, we know how to reach him."
Pudge added, "You'll need to talk to Bay City P.D., Hutchinson. But there's no reason that has to be tonight."
"You let us worry about our guys," Starsky said. "Hutch and me have been around the block a time or two. We know people."
Pudge almost smiled. "Why does that not surprise me?"
"Come on, Blondie," Starsky said, reaching out his hand as if to coax Hutch down the gangway. "Let me take you home."
Hutch ignored Starsky's hand. He didn't even tell Starsky fuck off, I don't need you holding my hand. He simply nodded his good-byes to the two feds and stepped carefully down the gangplank, his fingers skimming the rope railing as if he feared losing his balance, his gaze anywhere but on Starsky.
God. He looks about 20 years older than he did when I left town.
I don't know what went down today, Hutch. But you and me-we've gotta talk.
Yet once he had his partner alongside him, and they fell into step together, Starsky hesitated, not quite sure what tack to take. He had jollied Hutch out of more funks than he could count, had needled him mercilessly when he knew it would be good for Hutch to just blow up already-even if it were at him-and release a little steam. But this…
Starsky didn't know what to do with this.
Hell. He didn't even know what this was.
Oh well. One surefire way to find out.
"You're really okay, huh?" he asked as they passed by Clemmons and Riley. The two officers waved them on. "This..." He gestured in the general direction of Hutch's face, "is all that's wrong with you?"
Hutch glanced in Starsky's direction and arched his brow. Only it didn't look like the usual Hutchinson Arched Brow of Intellectual Superiority. It lacked a certain level of cockiness for that. "Isn't that enough?"
"Yeah," Starsky said quickly, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets when the wind kicked up again. "Yeah, of course it is. Goofball."
Hutch was hunched against the blast of sea air, the force of it blowing his fine hair forward and up, exposing a bruise Starsky hadn't seen before. It was small and round and up high on Hutch's forehead, just above his temple.
"Wait a minute," Starsky said, stopping Hutch by putting his right hand on the other man's arm and reaching with his left towards the wound. "What's that?"
"What’s what?" Hutch said, even though Starsky could tell by his almost panicked expression his partner knew exactly what Starsky was talking about. Hutch batted Starsky's hand away. "It's nothing."
"I thought you said it was just the stuff on your face-"
"That’s on my face."
"Yeah, but I didn't see it before-"
"So what-that's my fault?"
"Don't be a dope. I'm not blaming you-," Starsky reached out again, thinking only to try and comfort his friend.
But Hutch wanted none of it. Using his forearm, he blocked Starsky's touch, hard, the same way he would have blocked a perp's fist.
"Knock it off, Starsky!"
Hutch fell away from Starsky a step or two, glaring at him, fierce and desperate. Like Starsky was the enemy.
"What is going on with you?" Starsky asked, giving Hutch plenty of room.
At first Hutch didn't answer. He just stood there, breathing fast, his eyes wide and nearly black in the fading light, his hair still dancing in the wind.
"Nothing," Hutch said finally with a sigh. He closed his eyes and lowered his head into his big hands. Starsky could see they were trembling. "Just…nothing, Starsk. Nothing."
Behind them, Starsky spotted the feds marching out what he could only imagine were Hutch's three captors: a beefy behemoth of a guy with a bald head and tattoos up both arms, a tall skinny dude with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and a bandage wrapped around his bicep, and a petite young girl, her brown hair cut so short she looked like a boy. She had a square of gauze taped to her forehead. All three had cuffs on them. Crewcut and Pudge had help herding the trio from two other agents. A couple of paramedics brought up the rear.
Shit.
Starsky didn't want to still be standing there when that crew paraded by.
"Babe…hey, babe." Starsky took a step towards Hutch and carefully-very carefully-took hold of his shoulders. Hutch didn't pull away. He dropped his hands and opened his eyes. Yet he still wouldn't look at Starsky. He was shivering now like it was January at the North Pole instead of a cool spring evening in southern California. "Jesus, Hutch. You turning into a popsicle on me?" Letting go of his friend, Starsky unzipped his windbreaker and shrugged it off as quickly as he could. Reaching up, he draped it around Hutch, pulling it closed in front.
"Come on," he said, wrapping his arm around Hutch's shoulders, as much to hold the jacket in place as to draw him close. Feeling Hutch sag against him as if in surrender, Starsky steered his partner towards the wall of squad cars and television vans separating them from their ride home. "It's been a long day. For both of us. Let's blow this pop stand, huh? All we gotta do is get past the reporters. Keep your head down and leave that to me."
Starsky couldn't decide if Hutch's willingness to go along with his little plan made him feel better or worse. Sure, Hutch's compliance made it a hell of a lot easier for him to maneuver the guy past the media, who were thankfully distracted by the crowd of people coming off the Serendipity. But under normal circumstances that kind of a move on Starsky's part-Let me play the hero, wouldja Hutch? You can be the damsel in distress-would have meant at best an ear blistering, at worst a punch to the kisser.
Only Hutch wasn't giving him either. Acting like it took every drop of concentration he had simply to put one foot in front of the other, he let Starsky bundle him into the Torino without so much as a peep. It wasn't until after Starsky had put the car in drive, cranked up the heat as high as it would go, and turned onto Pacific Blvd. that Hutch finally spoke.
"Thanks."
Starsky looked at him from the corner of his eye, half expecting Hutch would be looking back. He wasn't. Instead, he was staring out the window, his left hand plucking restlessly at the seam running up his pant leg.
Thinking about it for a second, Starsky decided this time to take a less direct approach. "I was pissed at you this afternoon."
That pulled Hutch's eyes in Starsky's direction. It even stopped his fidgeting. "For what? Getting kidnapped?"
"For not picking me up at the airport."
Hutch snorted, the sound close enough to a chuckle to make Starsky both pleased and proud. He'd always gotten a kick out of making Hutch laugh. Some times the humor was needed more than others. "I was otherwise engaged."
"I had to cab it," Starsky said, riding the conversation wave. "Do you know how much it costs from the airport to my place?"
"Well, don't look at me to pay you back," Hutch said, an almost smile flirting with his lips. "On top of everything else, those punks made off with my wallet."
"That's too bad. Hope you don't have anything embarrassing in there. The feds'll probably want to hang on to it for evidence."
"Great. There goes my emergency condom."
Starsky grinned, delighted with the results of his strategy. Hutch was bouncing back faster than a rubber ball. "Yeah? Well, you could have protected that lonely condom-and a whole lot else-if you'd only have come home with me to Brooklyn, like I'd asked you to."
"You're not going to say I told you so, are you?"
"Damn straight."
"I don't recall 'Come with me to New York, Hutch, or you'll be taken hostage in a hold-up' ever being part of the conversation."
"You must not have been listening too good."
Hutch's almost smile grew wider. "How is your mom anyway?"
"Good," Starsky said. "She's good. She sends her love."
They drove in silence then for a bit, Starsky fighting against the urge to fill it with chatter. He didn't want to disturb whatever it was Hutch had going on. It seemed like somewhere during the ride, after the tremors had stopped and those long legs of his had sprawled wide like they usually did in the Torino's front seat, Hutch's knight had laid down his banged-up shield. Starsky didn't know if it was their familiar banter, the car's heating system, or simple distance that had done the trick. But the further away they got from The Serendipity, the more at ease Hutch seemed to become.
And yet…
Starsky was pretty sure Hutch kept looking his way. He could feel it periodically all along the side of his face, prickling like an itch he couldn't scratch. He tried to catch Hutch at it, but his timing was never right.
What do you need, Hutch? Are you worried about something? Or do you have something you want to say?
About a mile from home, they stopped at a red light. Starsky glanced over and saw Hutch was sitting now with his eyes closed, like he had finally tired of their peek-a-boo game. His head was tipped back against the headrest. Almost as if he could feel Starsky's gaze the same way Starsky had felt his, he sighed, then said, "How did you find out what'd happened?"
Starsky tightened his hands on the steering wheel. "I called into the station. Thought maybe you'd been brought in on your day off. Minnie told me."
Hutch opened his eyes and looked over at Starsky. "What did she say?"
Starsky shrugged. "She said you'd gotten stuck in the middle of a robbery over at Manny's Mart, and that the bad guys had taken you along as a hostage when the black and whites showed up outside."
Hutch nodded, and smiled another one of those half smiles. Starsky would never say it to his face, but every time Hutch smiled like that, he looked like he was about six years old. "Yeah. Manny must have hit the panic button."
"Normally a good thing."
"Yeah. Normally. Not so much this time," Hutch said, closing his eyes again, and reaching up to rub wearily at his temple. "I was only going to be in there for a couple of minutes. Went in to buy some aspirin, if you can believe it. I'd had a headache."
Starsky's eyebrows flew towards his hairline. "You shittin' me?"
Hutch's lashes lifted and his hand lowered. "I shit you not."
Starsky grinned at him. "How's the head?"
"Pounding like a son of a bitch."
The light turned green. Starsky inched forward. "Don't worry about it. I've got aspirin at my place."
Now it was Hutch's turn for his eyebrows to rise. "Your place? I thought you said you were taking me home."
"I am. My home. You gotta problem with that?"
Hutch thought about it for a moment or two, his eyes lingering on Starsky's in a way they hadn't all night. Finally, he shook his head. "Guess not."
Starsky nodded. "Good."
It wasn't long before they pulled up outside Starsky's apartment. Shifting the Torino into park, Starsky got out of the car and went around to the trunk to grab his suitcase. Hutch was slow in getting out on the passenger side. And once he was finally up, he looked a little unsteady on his feet.
"You all right?" Starsky asked, coming up alongside him and taking hold of Hutch's arm just above the elbow.
Hutch pulled free, but not with the same violence as before. This time, he was almost gentle, his expression equally mild. "Yeah. Just tired."
"Well, come on then. Let's get you squared away."
With that, Starsky led the way up the stairs to his place. He hit the light switch as soon as he opened the door. Everything was as he had left it, with the exception of the mail piled on the floor beneath the slot.
"I know I need to go shopping," he said, stepping around the mound of paper and closing the door behind them. "So I'm not sure there's anything much to eat outside of maybe some stale chips. But I think I've got a couple of beers in the fridge if you want one."
"Actually…do you mind if I take a shower?" Hutch asked, having hung Starsky's jacket on the hall tree. He was standing in the middle of Starsky's living room and looking…lost.
"Help yourself," Starsky said, thinking maybe a shower would be just the thing to wash away some of the cobwebs from Hutch's brain. "There are towels in the closet. I'll loan ya a pair of sweats and a t-shirt to sleep in."
"Thanks."
With Hutch in the bathroom and the shower running, Starsky set about making his apartment feel more like home. Humming Stayin' Alive-and God, weren't those Bee Gee tunes catchy as anything?-he boogied as he worked, cracking open some windows (and trying to find a balance between airing out the place and making it so drafty Hutch got another case of the shivers), sorting through his accumulated mail, and taking his suitcase into the bedroom.
It wasn't until the suitcase had been unpacked and everything put away that he realized he'd never brought Hutch the clothing he'd promised. He also noticed the shower had been turned off.
Shit.
Stowing his luggage where it belonged in the back of his closet, Starsky rifled through his dresser drawer. It took a minute, but he pulled out a pair of gray sweats he was pretty sure had been Hutch's to begin with and a clean black t-shirt, and headed towards the bathroom.
When he got there, he found the door was open an inch or two. Starsky figured Hutch had left it ajar to allow some steam to escape. When he peeked inside, he saw Hutch, towel wrapped low around his hips, staring into the mirror above the sink, his hands curled around the edge of the bowl. Starsky couldn't figure out what the hell he was looking at. The glass was completely fogged over.
"I wouldn't worry about it, you big lug," Starsky said, leaning against the door jamb. "It'd take more than a couple of lucky punches to ruin your handsome puss."
Hutch stiffened when he heard Starsky's voice, every muscle in his body going tense for a beat before they released. But rather than turn around and face his partner, he held his position and dropped his head, slowly, like he was afraid something might spill out if he moved any faster.
And just like that, Starsky was worried again. "Hutch?" He tossed the clothing on top of the toilet tank, and crossed to stand behind his friend. Reaching out, he put his hand on Hutch's shoulder. Hutch flinched at the contact. His skin was warm against Starsky's palm from the shower and still slightly damp. Hutch didn't say anything, but it seemed like he was breathing funny. "Babe?"
Taking a deep breath, Hutch pushed upright, and with what looked like a concerted act of will, lifted his head. But he still didn't turn around. Not until Starsky reached out and did that for him. When Starsky saw Hutch's face, his heart plunged like a runaway elevator.
Hutch was crying.
Starsky didn't hesitate. He pulled Hutch into his arms. Hutch stood there for a moment, unmoving, before latching on to Starsky with a grip that rocked them both, Hutch's arms heavy and fast around Starsky's shoulders, his face buried against Starsky's neck.
"Hey…what's this, huh? What's this?" Starsky practically crooned. "It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay. You're all right. You're fine."
Though his breathing was quick and ragged, Hutch remained silent, which kind of freaked Starsky out. Hutch was crying like his world had ended, but he wasn't allowing himself to make a sound. So Starsky decided he needed to make some noise for the both of them.
"I gotcha," he murmured, his hand petting slowly through Hutch's wet hair. "You don't have anything to worry about. I'm here."
Yet all the while he was reassuring his partner, Starsky's mind was racing.
What the hell are we up against here? Hutch might have seemed a little shocky back on the boat. But once we got out of there, everything was fine.
Wasn't it?
What the hell could have brought this on?
Starsky didn't know how long they stood there, him mumbling nonsense and Hutch weeping like Starsky hadn't seen him do since Gillian had died. It didn't matter, though, how many minutes had passed. Starsky was willing to spend the entire night in that fucking bathroom if he had to, holding Hutch close. Anything to get him past whatever this was.
Eventually Hutch's breath slowed and his tears tapered off. With what seemed like reluctance, he pulled himself from Starsky's embrace, and looked at his partner, his cheeks wet and flushed, his eyes searching Starsky's face.
"I'm such a coward," he whispered.
Sighing, Starsky reached out and laid his hand on Hutch's cheek. He swept his thumb from side to side to rub away some of the moisture there. "Are you out of your mind?" Starsky asked, doing all he could to keep his voice gentle.
Hutch shrugged and tried a wobbly smile. "I don't know. Feels like I could be."
"And maybe you're just tired, huh?" Starsky said, curving his hand around the back of Hutch's head and giving him a little shake.
"Maybe," Hutch said, wiping impatiently at what remained of his tears.
"No maybe about it," Starsky said, his hand dropping now to Hutch's shoulder. He gave it a firm squeeze. "'Cause you sure as hell ain't no kind of coward. Getting kidnapped can take a lot out of a guy. You wait-a good night's sleep, and the world is gonna make a lot more sense to you in the morning."
Hutch didn't look convinced. "You think so?"
"I know so," Starsky said, releasing his friend to reach over and retrieve the sweats and t-shirt. "Here, finish drying off and put these on." He handed the clothes to Hutch. "I'll call in to the station. I shoulda done it already, but I got distracted."
Hutch nodded, then looked down at the clothes in his hands. "Thanks, Starsky."
"It's all right, Hutch," Starsky said. "Everything is all right. I promise you."
Starsky gave one last look over his shoulder as he left the bathroom. Hutch just stood there, the clothes forgotten and crumpled in his hands, staring back at Starsky as if he believed nothing would ever be right again.
Oh yeah? We'll see about that.
Starsky hit it lucky and got through directly to Dobey, who was still at the precinct working late.
"Tell Hutchinson I'm glad he's all right," their captain said, his voice characteristically gruff. "Bring him by tomorrow morning to give his statement. Otherwise, you can both have the day."
"Thanks, Cap'n," Starsky said. "We appreciate it. Hutch can use the rest."
Actually they both could, Starsky thought, running his hand through his hair as he returned the phone to its cradle. He'd been up since 7:00 a.m., East Coast time, and it was now after 9:00 p.m. West Coast time. Add to that a six hour flight and all the headaches that went along with it, and Starsky was pooped.
And speaking of headaches…
Starsky rooted through his kitchen cupboards until he found an open bottle of very old, very good whiskey.
"I thought there might be some of you still left."
It had been a gift from Nicky during one of his rare visits. The kid had won some money hustling cards, and had decided to treat his big brother to a little thank-you-for-your-hospitality gift.
Of course, in true Nicky fashion, he had been the one who had first sampled the sauce. Still, that didn't change the fact that Nick had sprung for a bottle of damned smooth booze.
Given the circumstances, it seemed to Starsky like the perfect thing to wash down a few aspirin.
Starsky poured a couple of fingers worth, swung by the bathroom for his bottle of Bayer's, and went into the bedroom.
Hutch was already there. He had turned the light on low and folded back the covers to the foot of the bed. When Starsky walked in, Hutch was sitting on the side nearest the door, dressed in the clothes he had borrowed, his elbows braced on his thighs, his head in his hands. He looked up when Starsky entered.
"Here," Starsky said, handing him the whiskey and pouring two aspirin into his palm.
"Get these down you. I'm betting you didn't take anything."
Hutch swallowed the aspirin, eyes closing against the whiskey's burn. "No. Guess I forgot."
Starsky set the aspirin beside the lamp and reached over to push back some hair from Hutch's forehead. It was nearly dry. "Yeah? Well, that's no big surprise. Seems like you've had a lot on your mind."
Hutch attempted a chuckle. Starsky had witnessed better efforts. "Suppose you could say that."
Starsky sat beside him on the bed. "You want to talk about it?"
Hutch stared down at the glass in his hand. Starsky could see his jaw clenching and unclenching in a way that made Starsky's own teeth ache. "Not really."
Starsky nodded. "Okay-"
"But I probably should," Hutch said, looking up to meet Starsky's eyes.
This was what Starsky wanted, what he'd been hoping for. That Hutch would explain why, when everyone had walked away from the Serendipity with little more than a scratch or two, he was acting like the afternoon had ended in tragedy.
Yet, Starsky wouldn't be the friend Hutch deserved if he didn't say, "You sure you feel up to it tonight? I'll still be here in the morning, you know."
Hutch smiled. It was one of his gentle ones, the kind he gave crime victims when they were hurting, and little kids, when he was trying to convince them he was their friend. It was one of Starsky's favorite varieties of Hutch smiles.
Only this time he couldn't enjoy it. Hutch's eyes were too sad.
"I'm counting on that, Starsk. I'm really counting on it."
Starsky laid his hand on Hutch's arm, and gave him a little squeeze. His own curiosity could wait. Hutch didn't look ready for true confessions. "Then what's your rush, cowboy?"
Lifting his glass in a toast, Hutch emptied it, grimacing as he swallowed. Starsky could only imagine how the alcohol felt against Hutch's split lip. When Hutch spoke, his words sounded roughed by the liquor, like the whiskey had been steel wool and his voice was soft pine. "No rush. I just want to take advantage of some very fine Dutch courage."
Starsky sighed with exasperation. "What is with you and bravery tonight? You don't need some kind of fake courage to talk to me. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say, Hutch. You and me-there are no limits."
Hutch dropped his eyes and shook his head. When he looked up, he was smiling again, that same poignant smile. "I love you, you know."
That made Starsky stop for a minute. Hutch and he didn't say stuff like that. Well, that wasn't true. They said stuff like that all the time.
It's a good thing I love you, buddy, because you are a pain in the ass.
But not seriously, not like it was something they needed to put out in the open for everyone to hear. A guy didn't walk around saying, "I need to breathe." That was a given.
Starsky wanted to make that clear. "Yeah? So? Love you too, you dummy."
Hutch didn't say anything at first. He just looked at Starsky and nodded. "Will you do something for me?"
Easy question. "Name it."
"It's kind of weird."
"Like that's a first."
Hutch chuckled, then pushed to his feet. Looking awfully nervous, he said, "Lie down on the bed."
That was kind of weird. But not enough for Starsky to say anything. He toed off his shoes, and pulled his rugby shirt over his head. "Don't want to lay on this," he said, tossing the shirt in the direction of the hamper, then stretching out on his back. "You got me kind of wet before.
Hutch blushed. "Sorry about that."
"It's okay."
Hutch nodded, then crossed to the nightstand. He set down his glass and turned off the lamp before circling around the foot of the bed and lying down next to Starsky.
"Okay," Starsky said once Hutch was settled. "Now what?"
Hutch didn't answer at first. But he reached out and laid his right hand on top of Starsky's left. Hutch's palm felt cool and a little damp against Starsky's skin. Starsky took Hutch's hand and brought it over to rest on his stomach, pressing it between both of his hands to warm it up.
Hutch cleared his throat before he began. "You asked me before what was going on."
"Yeah. I've been worried about you."
"I know. I know and I'm sorry."
Starsky squeezed his hand. "Ain't nothing to be sorry about. That was a bad scene today. Anybody'd be a little messed up."
"We've been through worse," Hutch said.
"Maybe. But bad is bad. It's not like there's some kind of line in the sand-to this point whatever it is can't get to you, but take one more step and it can. It doesn't work like that, Hutch. You know that. You can't tell when or how something is going to hit you. No one can."
"I guess," Hutch said, his voice quiet, almost thoughtful.
Starsky waited for a second or two, listening to Hutch breathe and the fainter whoosh of traffic outside. He kind of liked this, just the two of them, lying side by side in the dark. He had almost forgotten why they were doing it when Hutch continued.
"You already know it all started at Manny's."
"Yeah," Starsky said. "But who were those guys? And what were they doing holding up a busy joint like that in broad daylight?"
Hutch sighed. "I don't know the whole story. Hell-I can't even remember their full names. Though I'm pretty sure the feds mentioned them when they put everyone under arrest. The big guy with the tattoos is Joe; the one with the ponytail is named Mickey. I think they're related somehow."
"What about the girl?" Starsky asked.
"Grace. Her name is Grace. Though Mickey called her Gracie."
"Was it a thrill crime? Something spur of the moment?"
Hutch shook his head. Starsky could hear his hair whispering against the pillowcase.
"No. It had to do with drugs. They needed to score and were out of cash. I guess Manny's looked like an easy mark."
"So why were the feds involved?" Starsky asked, frowning up at the ceiling. His eyes were getting accustomed to the lack of light. He could differentiate now between the room's countless shades of gray. "Were the three of them dealing as well as using?"
"I don't think so," Hutch said. "At least that's not what caught the FBI's interest. They were there for Grace."
"Why Grace?"
"She's a minor from Nevada, just outside of Las Vegas. Her parents had reported her kidnapped."
Judging from Hutch's tone of voice, Starsky was pretty sure those parents had gotten it wrong. "Was she?"
"No. Not anymore. Maybe never."
"She go all Patty Hearst?"
"Minus the assault rifle. Though as it turned out, she was pretty handy with a 38-caliber."
Hutch's hand had begun to tremble in Starsky's grasp. Starsky still didn't know what was wrong, but he knew now it had something to do with that girl.
"What happened, babe?" Starsky whispered.
Hutch's voice rumbled low and soft when he said, "After it all went down at the mart, I got them to take me instead of Manny. I practically bullied them into it. It wasn't until they'd shoved me in the back of their car that they'd realized I was a cop."
"Didja have your gun?"
"No. Left it in the glove compartment. I wasn't on duty. Remember? I didn't think I'd need it. They found my badge."
"They knew you were a cop?" Starsky murmured, his stomach twisting at the thought.
His defenseless partner, alone with three armed punks, on the run and jonesing for a fix…
Jesus.
It was a wonder he had gotten Hutch back at all.
"Yeah," Hutch said with a small huff of laughter. "As you can imagine, they weren't too pleased. Still, it wasn't long before they had half a dozen squad cars on their tail. So they decided to hold on to me. Guess they figured they needed every bargaining chip they could get."
"That's what I don't understand," Starsky said, letting go of Hutch's hand and rolling over to face him, his head propped on his hand. Hutch was lying on his back, his eyes bottomless in the darkness. "How did you get from inside some getaway car on the east side onto a boat a couple of miles out on the Pacific Ocean? That's a hell of a long way to go. You had to have run into some cops along the way."
"Sure," Hutch said nodding, but not looking at Starsky. His hands were folded now across his middle. "BCPD was on the scene in a hurry. I didn't think we'd get more than a couple of blocks from Manny's before there'd be some kind of standoff. Only Joe-he was the one behind the wheel, and really the brains of the outfit-he’s from Bay City, and knew the streets on that end of downtown pretty well. Between his driving and a couple of lucky breaks, we managed to get out of there."
"And down to the waterfront."
"Yeah. The boat belongs to one of Joe's buddies. The guy had told him where it was docked and said that if he needed it, it was his."
"And this afternoon, his old pal Joey needed it bad."
"He thought so," Hutch said. "While we'd managed to escape pursuit, the units that had chased us had gotten a pretty good look at the car. Joe wanted to ditch it. He figured no one would be looking for us on the water."
"Much as I hate to admit it, the guy had good instincts," Starsky said, "Minnie told me it was finding the car at the marina that had tipped off the feds."
"I thought it might be something like that."
Hutch didn't say anything after that. He only reached up and, sighing, scrubbed his palms over his face. Starsky knew the poor guy had to be just this side of unconscious. Part of him felt bad for not insisting Hutch hold off telling his story until morning.
But Starsky had a feeling what was coming next was important. Hutch hadn't had any trouble relaying the chain of events leading up to him boarding the Serendipity. He'd sounded cool and calm, like he was on the witness stand, testifying to the facts.
It meant something that he was hesitating now.
Sure, it might be simple exhaustion. But that didn't explain what had happened in the bathroom, or Hutch's outburst on the dock, or his sudden thirst for single malt whiskey. Starsky had been giving Hutch an out before, suggesting that might be the case. But he didn't think he'd ever really believed it.
What came next was obviously hard for Hutch.
So Starsky decided to help him out.
"What happened when you got on the boat?"
Hutch lowered his hands and looked at Starsky for a moment. Just looked at him as if searching for something in his expression. Starsky couldn't imagine what it might be. Hutch didn't give him any clues. He moistened his lips with his tongue and swallowed hard before he spoke.
"Joe was the only one who knew anything about boats. He told Mickey to take me below. Grace came along with us."
"They tie you up?"
"Yeah," Hutch said, eyes aimed at the ceiling again. "I hadn't been to that point. But they found a length of rope in one of the storage cubbies. Mickey held a gun on me and Grace tied me to a chair."
Starsky waited for him to continue. But Hutch was hesitating again. Feeling a little bit like a border collie herding sheep, Starsky prodded him. "How long were you on the water for?"
"Nearly…uh…nearly two hours."
"They leave you alone?" Starsky asked quietly, already pretty sure of the answer.
"No," Hutch said with a quick shake of his head. "I mean…yeah, at first."
"But not the entire time?"
"No. No. Grace got…bored."
Starsky pressed up onto his forearm so he could get a better look at Hutch's face. Cloaked as it was by the room's shadows, it told him nothing. Starsky had half a mind to roll over and turn back on the lamp. "Bored? What did she think this was-a pleasure cruise? Exactly what kind of entertainment was she hoping for?"
Hutch laughed, the sound pained and sharp like a gunshot. "Well, as it turned out…I was the floor show."
Oh shit.
What did she do to you, babe? What did the bitch do?
Reaching out, Starsky laid his hand on top of Hutch's, and squeezed. Hard. Hutch squeezed back. "What happened, Hutch?"
Hutch looked over at his, his eyes huge and shining in the darkness. "Did you see The Deer Hunter, Starsk?"
*******
Continued here