New story: New Beginnings
Starsky and Hutch fan fic
Posted on Meandthee 16 April for the 'Silence Hutch' challenge
Type: Pre-slash
Many, many thanks to Fiona for the quick proof-reading. It was vey much appreciated.
"Warning": AU, a 19th century, European, romance kinda thing...
Disclaimer: The characters of Starsky and Hutch are not mine. This is for entertainment only.
A/N: It’s loosely set in the mid 19th century. Ruritania is the creation of author Anthony Hope and is situated ‘somewhere’ east of Bohemia.
New Beginnings
It was a dark and stormy afternoon. Dark clouds circled the mountain top on which the castle was situated, the rumblings of thunder could be heard in the distance, and it had begun to rain. Again.
Count Starsky of Ruritania stared out on the gloomy spectacle, feeling its desolation and dreariness to his very bones. He stood by a window in his library, situated in the largest tower of his castle. The view was magnificent from up here, and had the sky been clearer, he could have taken in the familiar sight of the mountainous landscape that filled the horizon. If he had looked down, he could just about have made out the narrow, steep road that ran through the little village further down.
It was a wild country, with sprawling dark forests interspersed with small fields and the occasional village or isolated farmstead.
‘Isolated’ seemed to be the word of the day, he thought, resting a hand on the cold windowpane.
As a child, the count had enjoyed the adventure that the surroundings could offer an energetic boy. Now, it only reminded him of the luxuries other places had to offer; people, lights, talk, warmth, beautiful women (and the occasional man), landscaped civilized parks, theaters, nightclubs, shows. All the entertainment the human mind could dream up.
He sighed. Here, there were only the annual amateur theater production, and that hardly qualified as entertainment by any standard.
And girls. There were some pretty ones in the village, but as the hereditary master of this little backwater society, he was far too feared and respected to get more than a blush and a giggle out of any of them. Had it been a couple of hundred years ago, he guessed he could have taken them anyway. He grimaced. There would be no joy in an unwilling girl and he’d end up feeling sorry for her anyway.
It kept raining.
The rain was particularly heavy this afternoon and reminded him of the strange thumping sound of frogs dropping onto a roof from a high level. Of course he knew it could be no such thing, not here, where everything was so dull. But once, when he was younger and had visited Palestine, he had experienced real frogs raining from the sky. No one could explain where the frogs came from, but he had seen it himself. This sounded a bit like that, and he decided to imagine he was back there, and that tomorrow, the sun would come out and burn away those heavy skies.
Sun, warmth, bright, clear light, the smell of incense and sweat and spices and donkey-shit and people yelling and laughing… Yes, that was more like it, he was almost there.
Plink.
Plink.
Sproing!!
Plink.
He’d have to have that hole in the ceiling fixed soon, or else his piano would be completely ruined.
By God, he wished he could go away and leave this old festering mound of a castle. Unfortunately, he was bound to the place by the family will and the promises he had made to his father on his deathbed. Now, he regularly damned and cursed the old man that had made him swear to stay here for the rest of his life.
He felt a strange satisfaction in the thought that no matter what he had promised his father, as a single child, their line would die out with him. His faint hope of finding a wife had dwindled to nothing as more and more of the old families moved away, and he was now positively without neighbors. And even if a suitable girl could be found somewhere else, he doubted that any girl he could actually like would want to live here. He didn’t even consider love, but if he had to spend the rest of his life in the company of someone, he’d at least want to find her likeable.
Immersed in these thoughts, a sudden flash of lightning startled him. It lit up the room and the instant crack of thunder told him that the storm had now descended on the castle. The gloom turned into a heavy darkness. Count Starsky felt a sudden sense of foreboding and a chill ran down his spine. He closed the heavy curtains and ran to the other windows to do the same. He couldn’t stand one more minute of it, and tonight he would fill this room with light and warmth to ward off the evil weather.
As he turned away from the window, it suddenly felt as if someone was in the room with him. The room was large, but the old, heavy furniture took up much of the space, and in the darkness it was hard to make out what could hide in the shadows.
Slowly, Starsky lit several lamps and carefully looked about the room. Whatever it had been, it was now gone and he let out a breath in a rush. He hated these old rooms and their ghosts. Last week, he had been certain he’d seen old great-great-great-uncle Boris in the hall. It always scared the wits out of him when the old man showed up like that, and the cold spots that he left in the wake of his appearances tended to stay for weeks afterwards.
With a sense of determination, he lit as many lamps as he could find and put more wood on the dwindling fire, making a mental note to ask for more wood to be brought up later. The room was usually kept warm by a coal stove, but he preferred the ambience of the fireplace.
Feeling restless, he tried to settle in the good chair by the fireplace with a new journal and a glass of port, waiting for dinner time. Several times, he barely stopped himself from going to the window and flinging back the curtains. Something, something… made him to want to look out there, but he was determined to blank out the outside world this night.
After dinner, he played with the thought of going to the village pub. At least there would be people around, and talk and singing. But the last time he tried had been a disaster. His presence seemed to kill any talk in the room and no one dared to speak more than a few words to him.
Having had what he knew was far too much to drink, he decided to settle in early. He noticed he had done this more and more often lately and he figured that in a few years, he would end up sleeping away as much of his time as he could.
In the early morning hours he was woken suddenly by his head man-servant, Jakob.
“Sir! Sir, wake up!”
The elderly man, who always took so much pride in his appearance, looked rumpled and was improperly dressed. It was this fact, more than anything else, that made Starsky hurry out of bed.
“Speak up, man! Where’s the fire?”
“Oh, Sir. No Sir, no fire. It’s Hanna, Sir, she found something, someone. A man outside the kitchen entrance. It scared her so much her screams woke up the rest of us. You must come at once, Sir, to see him. He is very badly off.”
Running down the staircases, with Jakob right behind him, he said, “Hanna was scared by a man?” Starsky found that hard to believe, but by the looks of Jakob, something was certainly very wrong.
“Yes, Sir, but he looks like a madman. Tall and wild looking. And he’s mute. Won’t say a thing.”
When they reached the servants' quarters, Jakob led him directly to the kitchen. There, the cook and housekeeper, Mrs. Novotny, were trying to calm down the young maid Hanna, while calling out orders to the older maid and the other servants to have a bath drawn up and for someone to make tea. In the corner sat the gardener, obviously disturbed by the all commotion at this early hour, but clearly unable to stay away. In the middle of it all sat a strange figure by the table, hunched over and looking scared by all the commotion.
It was a man, and he was indeed wild looking. His clothes were torn and his light blond hair was matted and stuck out at all angles. He had some scratches on his neck and his arms, and his bare feet were bruised and bloody. What struck Starsky most was the frightened looking, light blue eyes. The man was shivering and Starsky noticed that his clothes were still wet. He couldn’t have slept here then, but must have been out in the rain last night. Starsky could hardly imagine being out in the wilderness on such a night, and he wondered why he’d come here instead of taking refuge in the village.
Seizing control of the situation, Starsky sent Hanna to her room and ordered one of the man-servants to take care that their unexpected guest was given a bath and a new set of clothes. Then he asked for his own breakfast to be served as soon as possible and headed back up the stairs, feeling strangely invigorated by the morning’s events.
Finally seated at the breakfast table, he called for Jakob to ask about the strange man. It appeared he had been quite a gentle creature, not putting up a struggle at all, merely letting them tend to him.
“He is clean and dressed now, you say? You don’t think he will cause us trouble?”
“Yes, Sir. No, Sir. He hasn’t spoken yet, but he doesn’t appear to want to cause anyone harm. Mrs. Novotny is making him breakfast right now, Sir. ”
“Serve it in here, Jakob. I wish to meet our guest properly, sooner rather than later.”
“Very good, Sir. Anything else?”
“Please see to it that his old clothes are brought to the library, before they are thrown out. They might tell us more of where he comes from.”
Soon, the man was brought to the breakfast room. He looked much better now, but still appeared timid and kept staring at the carpet. Even though his stance was hunched, it was clear that he was a big, tall, man, and Starsky couldn’t help thinking of how impressive he would look, given the right set of clothes and standing up straight. He also noticed with curiosity that the man easily accepted being assisted by the servants, and his table manners were those of someone well brought up.
“So, dear… guest. Welcome to my home,” he said with a smile, trying to start a conversation. He dearly wanted to know more about this stranger who had started to fascinate him. But all he got in response was a startled and slightly frightened look from those blue eyes.
He tried again. “You should know you’re very welcome here. I’m inviting you to stay for as long as you like.”
The man looked up at him, and this time his eyes stayed on Starsky for a little longer, until he finally looked down again. There had been intelligence in that look, and now he was certain that his guest was not the savage they had all assumed at first.
Starsky tried a few times more to get his guest to provide a name and tell what had happened to him, but the man still wouldn’t say a word. He began to look worried and frightened by all the questioning, so Starsky decided to change tactics and kept up a steady stream of small-talk, talking about himself and the place. The man relaxed visibly, but then, just as Starsky had decided that the next thing to do was to show him around the castle, he slumped down in the chair and fell asleep in an instant.
Starsky called for Jakob, and gave orders for a room to be prepared and for someone to help his guest. A little later, feeling restless and impatient for the man to wake up again, he remembered the man’s clothes and hurried to the library.
What he found was a pair of trousers, a linen shirt, a jacket and a long, heavy woolen cape. It was all in a very bad state and would have to be thrown out, but the cloth was of good quality and not very worn, apart from what looked like recent tears. This raised his hopes and after searching a little he found a tailor’s mark. The name was unfamiliar and Starsky thought it looked British. More searching revealed a set of embroidered initials in the shirt; “K. H.” and he found the same on the handkerchief that had been stuffed into a deep pocket. So, his guest might be British, or he had spent time there recently. And there must be, or had been, money somewhere, to buy these clothes. And his name was “K. H.” As soon as possible he must speak more with him, show him this. And if he was British, or had lived there, maybe he would understand the English language better.
Starsky was excited at the prospect of speaking English again. It must have been ten years since he last had the opportunity. He must brush up his skills immediately. Maybe his guest had just not understood him at breakfast, but now he would, he was certain. Digging out an old text book, he called for a servant and asked for lunch to be brought to the library and for someone to call him immediately, when his guest woke up.
In the end, Starsky had to spend the rest of the day and evening in his own company. His guest slept through it all and didn’t stir until early the next morning. When Starsky awoke, he was informed that his guest had already been spending some time in the library. As he seemed not to harm anything in there, the servants had let him stay and waited for their master’s orders.
Starsky was excited that his guest appeared interested in his surroundings and went directly to the library.
“Good morning!” he said in English, startling the seated man enough to drop the book he was holding. Nervously, the man picked it up quickly and put it back from where he took it. Then, taking a deep breath, he faced Starsky and stood up slowly.
Finally, thought Starsky, he is going to tell me who he is. Then he couldn’t help noticing the broad shoulders and the way the early sun lit up the blond hair. God help me, he thought.
The man still didn’t say a word, but went forward towards Starsky in a dignified manner and solemnly held out his hand in greeting. The silence made Starsky feel a little strange, as they shook hands and exchanged a slight bow. “Welcome to my home,” he said again, this time in English, looking expectantly at the man.
The man only gestured towards his mouth, opened it, and clearly tried to say something, but no words, or even sounds, came out. Clearly he was mute, but Starsky wondered if it was a permanent condition since he had tried to talk.
As Starsky tried out more of his English, it was obvious that the man understood him, and with many gestures on the man’s side, and many questions and a lot of talk on Starsky’s side, they finally managed to get a little better acquainted.
His guest, it appeared, was indeed British and was travelling for study and leisure. His father had been a merchant and had left enough money for his younger son to live as a gentleman. The idle life had soon bored him though, and he had taken up traveling and the study of foreign cultures.
Since this region was so remote, he had been travelling by himself for a week, stopping in villages or sleeping out when he had to. Then he had suffered some kind of accident. Starsky could not quite make out exactly what had happened, but it was clear that it involved falling and that his horse and baggage were lost.
When presented with the initials embroidered on the shirt, he gestured for something to write on, and produced the name “Kenneth Hutchinson” in a flowing script. This was followed by “I am sorry that I cannot speak.” and “What is your name?”
Starsky was about to reach for the pen himself, but stopped himself in time. “My… My name is David Michael,” he said. “And yours is… ‘Kenneth’” He tried valiantly to pronounce the unfamiliar name correctly, but the smile that suddenly appeared on his guest’s face, told him he had failed miserably.
A little annoyed, he tried again, but this only brought out a bigger smile. Starsky couldn’t help smiling back, it was an infectious smile and soon they were both laughing. Kenneth’s laugh though, Starsky noted, was still without sound. But he looked happy, and Starsky had a sudden vision of the man he used to be. And could be again. He hoped he would stay a very long time. Maybe he would even be able to speak again, but it didn’t really matter. Not if they could laugh together like this.
Posted on Meandthee 16 April for the 'Silence Hutch' challenge
Type: Pre-slash
Many, many thanks to Fiona for the quick proof-reading. It was vey much appreciated.
"Warning": AU, a 19th century, European, romance kinda thing...
Disclaimer: The characters of Starsky and Hutch are not mine. This is for entertainment only.
A/N: It’s loosely set in the mid 19th century. Ruritania is the creation of author Anthony Hope and is situated ‘somewhere’ east of Bohemia.
New Beginnings
It was a dark and stormy afternoon. Dark clouds circled the mountain top on which the castle was situated, the rumblings of thunder could be heard in the distance, and it had begun to rain. Again.
Count Starsky of Ruritania stared out on the gloomy spectacle, feeling its desolation and dreariness to his very bones. He stood by a window in his library, situated in the largest tower of his castle. The view was magnificent from up here, and had the sky been clearer, he could have taken in the familiar sight of the mountainous landscape that filled the horizon. If he had looked down, he could just about have made out the narrow, steep road that ran through the little village further down.
It was a wild country, with sprawling dark forests interspersed with small fields and the occasional village or isolated farmstead.
‘Isolated’ seemed to be the word of the day, he thought, resting a hand on the cold windowpane.
As a child, the count had enjoyed the adventure that the surroundings could offer an energetic boy. Now, it only reminded him of the luxuries other places had to offer; people, lights, talk, warmth, beautiful women (and the occasional man), landscaped civilized parks, theaters, nightclubs, shows. All the entertainment the human mind could dream up.
He sighed. Here, there were only the annual amateur theater production, and that hardly qualified as entertainment by any standard.
And girls. There were some pretty ones in the village, but as the hereditary master of this little backwater society, he was far too feared and respected to get more than a blush and a giggle out of any of them. Had it been a couple of hundred years ago, he guessed he could have taken them anyway. He grimaced. There would be no joy in an unwilling girl and he’d end up feeling sorry for her anyway.
It kept raining.
The rain was particularly heavy this afternoon and reminded him of the strange thumping sound of frogs dropping onto a roof from a high level. Of course he knew it could be no such thing, not here, where everything was so dull. But once, when he was younger and had visited Palestine, he had experienced real frogs raining from the sky. No one could explain where the frogs came from, but he had seen it himself. This sounded a bit like that, and he decided to imagine he was back there, and that tomorrow, the sun would come out and burn away those heavy skies.
Sun, warmth, bright, clear light, the smell of incense and sweat and spices and donkey-shit and people yelling and laughing… Yes, that was more like it, he was almost there.
Plink.
Plink.
Sproing!!
Plink.
He’d have to have that hole in the ceiling fixed soon, or else his piano would be completely ruined.
By God, he wished he could go away and leave this old festering mound of a castle. Unfortunately, he was bound to the place by the family will and the promises he had made to his father on his deathbed. Now, he regularly damned and cursed the old man that had made him swear to stay here for the rest of his life.
He felt a strange satisfaction in the thought that no matter what he had promised his father, as a single child, their line would die out with him. His faint hope of finding a wife had dwindled to nothing as more and more of the old families moved away, and he was now positively without neighbors. And even if a suitable girl could be found somewhere else, he doubted that any girl he could actually like would want to live here. He didn’t even consider love, but if he had to spend the rest of his life in the company of someone, he’d at least want to find her likeable.
Immersed in these thoughts, a sudden flash of lightning startled him. It lit up the room and the instant crack of thunder told him that the storm had now descended on the castle. The gloom turned into a heavy darkness. Count Starsky felt a sudden sense of foreboding and a chill ran down his spine. He closed the heavy curtains and ran to the other windows to do the same. He couldn’t stand one more minute of it, and tonight he would fill this room with light and warmth to ward off the evil weather.
As he turned away from the window, it suddenly felt as if someone was in the room with him. The room was large, but the old, heavy furniture took up much of the space, and in the darkness it was hard to make out what could hide in the shadows.
Slowly, Starsky lit several lamps and carefully looked about the room. Whatever it had been, it was now gone and he let out a breath in a rush. He hated these old rooms and their ghosts. Last week, he had been certain he’d seen old great-great-great-uncle Boris in the hall. It always scared the wits out of him when the old man showed up like that, and the cold spots that he left in the wake of his appearances tended to stay for weeks afterwards.
With a sense of determination, he lit as many lamps as he could find and put more wood on the dwindling fire, making a mental note to ask for more wood to be brought up later. The room was usually kept warm by a coal stove, but he preferred the ambience of the fireplace.
Feeling restless, he tried to settle in the good chair by the fireplace with a new journal and a glass of port, waiting for dinner time. Several times, he barely stopped himself from going to the window and flinging back the curtains. Something, something… made him to want to look out there, but he was determined to blank out the outside world this night.
After dinner, he played with the thought of going to the village pub. At least there would be people around, and talk and singing. But the last time he tried had been a disaster. His presence seemed to kill any talk in the room and no one dared to speak more than a few words to him.
Having had what he knew was far too much to drink, he decided to settle in early. He noticed he had done this more and more often lately and he figured that in a few years, he would end up sleeping away as much of his time as he could.
In the early morning hours he was woken suddenly by his head man-servant, Jakob.
“Sir! Sir, wake up!”
The elderly man, who always took so much pride in his appearance, looked rumpled and was improperly dressed. It was this fact, more than anything else, that made Starsky hurry out of bed.
“Speak up, man! Where’s the fire?”
“Oh, Sir. No Sir, no fire. It’s Hanna, Sir, she found something, someone. A man outside the kitchen entrance. It scared her so much her screams woke up the rest of us. You must come at once, Sir, to see him. He is very badly off.”
Running down the staircases, with Jakob right behind him, he said, “Hanna was scared by a man?” Starsky found that hard to believe, but by the looks of Jakob, something was certainly very wrong.
“Yes, Sir, but he looks like a madman. Tall and wild looking. And he’s mute. Won’t say a thing.”
When they reached the servants' quarters, Jakob led him directly to the kitchen. There, the cook and housekeeper, Mrs. Novotny, were trying to calm down the young maid Hanna, while calling out orders to the older maid and the other servants to have a bath drawn up and for someone to make tea. In the corner sat the gardener, obviously disturbed by the all commotion at this early hour, but clearly unable to stay away. In the middle of it all sat a strange figure by the table, hunched over and looking scared by all the commotion.
It was a man, and he was indeed wild looking. His clothes were torn and his light blond hair was matted and stuck out at all angles. He had some scratches on his neck and his arms, and his bare feet were bruised and bloody. What struck Starsky most was the frightened looking, light blue eyes. The man was shivering and Starsky noticed that his clothes were still wet. He couldn’t have slept here then, but must have been out in the rain last night. Starsky could hardly imagine being out in the wilderness on such a night, and he wondered why he’d come here instead of taking refuge in the village.
Seizing control of the situation, Starsky sent Hanna to her room and ordered one of the man-servants to take care that their unexpected guest was given a bath and a new set of clothes. Then he asked for his own breakfast to be served as soon as possible and headed back up the stairs, feeling strangely invigorated by the morning’s events.
Finally seated at the breakfast table, he called for Jakob to ask about the strange man. It appeared he had been quite a gentle creature, not putting up a struggle at all, merely letting them tend to him.
“He is clean and dressed now, you say? You don’t think he will cause us trouble?”
“Yes, Sir. No, Sir. He hasn’t spoken yet, but he doesn’t appear to want to cause anyone harm. Mrs. Novotny is making him breakfast right now, Sir. ”
“Serve it in here, Jakob. I wish to meet our guest properly, sooner rather than later.”
“Very good, Sir. Anything else?”
“Please see to it that his old clothes are brought to the library, before they are thrown out. They might tell us more of where he comes from.”
Soon, the man was brought to the breakfast room. He looked much better now, but still appeared timid and kept staring at the carpet. Even though his stance was hunched, it was clear that he was a big, tall, man, and Starsky couldn’t help thinking of how impressive he would look, given the right set of clothes and standing up straight. He also noticed with curiosity that the man easily accepted being assisted by the servants, and his table manners were those of someone well brought up.
“So, dear… guest. Welcome to my home,” he said with a smile, trying to start a conversation. He dearly wanted to know more about this stranger who had started to fascinate him. But all he got in response was a startled and slightly frightened look from those blue eyes.
He tried again. “You should know you’re very welcome here. I’m inviting you to stay for as long as you like.”
The man looked up at him, and this time his eyes stayed on Starsky for a little longer, until he finally looked down again. There had been intelligence in that look, and now he was certain that his guest was not the savage they had all assumed at first.
Starsky tried a few times more to get his guest to provide a name and tell what had happened to him, but the man still wouldn’t say a word. He began to look worried and frightened by all the questioning, so Starsky decided to change tactics and kept up a steady stream of small-talk, talking about himself and the place. The man relaxed visibly, but then, just as Starsky had decided that the next thing to do was to show him around the castle, he slumped down in the chair and fell asleep in an instant.
Starsky called for Jakob, and gave orders for a room to be prepared and for someone to help his guest. A little later, feeling restless and impatient for the man to wake up again, he remembered the man’s clothes and hurried to the library.
What he found was a pair of trousers, a linen shirt, a jacket and a long, heavy woolen cape. It was all in a very bad state and would have to be thrown out, but the cloth was of good quality and not very worn, apart from what looked like recent tears. This raised his hopes and after searching a little he found a tailor’s mark. The name was unfamiliar and Starsky thought it looked British. More searching revealed a set of embroidered initials in the shirt; “K. H.” and he found the same on the handkerchief that had been stuffed into a deep pocket. So, his guest might be British, or he had spent time there recently. And there must be, or had been, money somewhere, to buy these clothes. And his name was “K. H.” As soon as possible he must speak more with him, show him this. And if he was British, or had lived there, maybe he would understand the English language better.
Starsky was excited at the prospect of speaking English again. It must have been ten years since he last had the opportunity. He must brush up his skills immediately. Maybe his guest had just not understood him at breakfast, but now he would, he was certain. Digging out an old text book, he called for a servant and asked for lunch to be brought to the library and for someone to call him immediately, when his guest woke up.
In the end, Starsky had to spend the rest of the day and evening in his own company. His guest slept through it all and didn’t stir until early the next morning. When Starsky awoke, he was informed that his guest had already been spending some time in the library. As he seemed not to harm anything in there, the servants had let him stay and waited for their master’s orders.
Starsky was excited that his guest appeared interested in his surroundings and went directly to the library.
“Good morning!” he said in English, startling the seated man enough to drop the book he was holding. Nervously, the man picked it up quickly and put it back from where he took it. Then, taking a deep breath, he faced Starsky and stood up slowly.
Finally, thought Starsky, he is going to tell me who he is. Then he couldn’t help noticing the broad shoulders and the way the early sun lit up the blond hair. God help me, he thought.
The man still didn’t say a word, but went forward towards Starsky in a dignified manner and solemnly held out his hand in greeting. The silence made Starsky feel a little strange, as they shook hands and exchanged a slight bow. “Welcome to my home,” he said again, this time in English, looking expectantly at the man.
The man only gestured towards his mouth, opened it, and clearly tried to say something, but no words, or even sounds, came out. Clearly he was mute, but Starsky wondered if it was a permanent condition since he had tried to talk.
As Starsky tried out more of his English, it was obvious that the man understood him, and with many gestures on the man’s side, and many questions and a lot of talk on Starsky’s side, they finally managed to get a little better acquainted.
His guest, it appeared, was indeed British and was travelling for study and leisure. His father had been a merchant and had left enough money for his younger son to live as a gentleman. The idle life had soon bored him though, and he had taken up traveling and the study of foreign cultures.
Since this region was so remote, he had been travelling by himself for a week, stopping in villages or sleeping out when he had to. Then he had suffered some kind of accident. Starsky could not quite make out exactly what had happened, but it was clear that it involved falling and that his horse and baggage were lost.
When presented with the initials embroidered on the shirt, he gestured for something to write on, and produced the name “Kenneth Hutchinson” in a flowing script. This was followed by “I am sorry that I cannot speak.” and “What is your name?”
Starsky was about to reach for the pen himself, but stopped himself in time. “My… My name is David Michael,” he said. “And yours is… ‘Kenneth’” He tried valiantly to pronounce the unfamiliar name correctly, but the smile that suddenly appeared on his guest’s face, told him he had failed miserably.
A little annoyed, he tried again, but this only brought out a bigger smile. Starsky couldn’t help smiling back, it was an infectious smile and soon they were both laughing. Kenneth’s laugh though, Starsky noted, was still without sound. But he looked happy, and Starsky had a sudden vision of the man he used to be. And could be again. He hoped he would stay a very long time. Maybe he would even be able to speak again, but it didn’t really matter. Not if they could laugh together like this.