Disclaimer: This is a work of amateur fan fiction. The distribution of this work is not meant to infringe upon the copyrights held by anyone claiming ownership to the television series Starsky and Hutch, nor will it be distributed for profit.

Author's notes:
(1): Many thanks to my friend R.A. for her unfailing belief and for sharing my vision that Starsky, while boisterous, brash, and more than a little self-assured, has a complex heart and very old soul.
(2): A positive aspect of this story has been the 'meeting' of a new friend. A very special thank you goes to Steel for reading and for encouraging me. Also, I'd like to note that some emotions presented are a culmination of Steel's and my own thoughts. I would like to duly credit him for his suggestions. Thank you, my friend!
Story begins several months after the episode "Sweet Revenge".

Comments about this story can be sent to christina@att.net 

Milestones

By

Christa Rayne
April 11th 2002

   Today, I completed the final phase of physical therapy. Deep down, I knew I had regained the majority of the strength I lost after getting shot last year, but I still couldn't help but be nervous about the endurance stress tests. After all, these are the tests the police review board will use to determine my ability to return to the force. As always, Hutch was right there beside me, calm and level-headed, reminding me I could handle these exercises with one arm tied behind my back, that this was just icing on the cake considering all the blood, sweat and tears I've put into therapy over the last eight months.

   And he was right. I did all the sets with minimal discomfort and mastered the mountain climb setting on the treadmill, although I did trip when Robin pulled a sneaky by increasing the speed to maximum power. I damn near broke my neck on that thing. I thought about getting revenge by feigning a real injury but that would have given Hutch a heart attack, so I just stood there and let her grin like a Cheshire cat while she crowed about her little off the record payback for having to put up with months of my foul language and bad jokes.

   Nice girl, that Robin; couldn't ask for a better therapist . . . but, damn, she has a mean streak.

   This evening, at home, Hutch seemed a little restless, so I suggested we head over to The Pits for a couple of beers and some pool. But, Hutch had other ideas; said he wanted to stay in and celebrate--privately. I caught a gleam in his eyes as he said this and knew exactly what kind of celebration he was talking about. Shivers of anticipation and apprehension coursed through me. For so many months, I had no sexual desire--a gut full of bullet wounds and surgical incisions tends to do that to you--so Hutch and I made a mutual agreement to not even talk about making love until I was recovered. We both agreed that I had enough to worry about without adding sex to the mix. I just don't think either of us realized how much time we were talking about.

   When Hutch decides to have a celebration, he goes all out. He turned the lights down low and put on soft music then set about making my favorite meal, serving it with fine wine on a candle-lit table decorated with flowers. We talked about everything under the sun, bantering back and forth with the ease of a decade old friendship and laughed with the ease of lovers. I can't remember a more enjoyable evening.

   It just felt so good to be alive.

   Much later, after we had retired to the couch, I lay in Hutch's arms, the sound of his heartbeat calming me to a tranquil daze. He nuzzled my hair with his cheek and a low sigh escaped him. I looked up and saw his face softening as a smile curved his lips. He grasped my hand, interlocking our fingers, then raised his glass and offered one final toast of the evening; he toasted our lives, the good times and the bad; everything that had played a part in bringing us to that moment.

   Milestones, he called them.

   Milestones . . . .

   A low flash of heat lightening in the western sky interrupts my thoughts. I'm sitting wide awake by the bedroom window, hoping the breeze blowing in from the bay will lull me to sleep. I feel so tired and my body aches, and I realize I have a little further to go before I'm a hundred percent.

   My eyes flicker toward the bed and my breath hitches. Moonlight is pouring through the window and spilling over the bedcovers, bathing Hutch in a soft glow. He's stretched out on his back with the covers pulled to his waist, and I can see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Thanks to the summer sun, his skin is golden brown and seems to glimmer in the pale light; his hair--hair I love to card my fingers through--gleams white-blond and frames his face like an angel's halo.

   I smile at that. Anyone that knows him will tell you that even though he has a heart of gold, a halo and Hutch just don't match.

   God love him. He's always going on about how proud he is of me and how much he admires my courage. The awe I hear in his voice disconcerts me. I don't think he yet realizes none of this would have been accomplished had it not been for his unwavering faith and his determination that the long journey through Hell was not just mine alone, but ours to share.

   He rolls over onto his side facing me, murmuring in his sleep. He reaches out as though he's searching for me, then curls one arm underneath his head and lays the other over his chest, resting it on the bed.

   He looks like a Greek god.

   And he loves like one, too.

   A wave of pure love for this man washes over me, dizzying me, warming my heart and igniting like white fire as it spreads throughout my limbs. Memory of our earlier lovemaking floods my mind, bringing hot tears to my eyes and taking my breath. Neither of us has ever been rough or hurried with the other, and tonight was no exception. Slow and gentle was the course set as pleasure was given and received with first hands, mouths, and tongues; then calming and responding to gentleness only Hutch possesses, I welcomed him deep inside my body--where he belonged.

   I could have wept. Lightening didn't flash, thunder didn't boom, and I didn't see stars. Yet satisfaction coursed through me as we joined together as one body and soul. I felt as though the last missing part of me was finally whole again, that I was home. My best friend had healed the hole in my heart and eased a deep ache within my soul, and I felt a peace that I haven't felt in far too long.

   We reached another milestone.

   The lightening draws closer. A reflection of its flash bounces off the wall mirror, drawing my attention. Quietly, I stand and move over to the mirror, tilting my head so that it angles toward the outside light. I remember a time not so long ago when I couldn't bear to look at my own reflection, viciously hating the frail, scar-riddled ghost of a man that stared back.

   Hutch murmurs again and I start to turn toward him, gasping and closing my eyes as a sharp stitch rips through my side. The pain reminds me of the days when I was weak to Hutch's strength, the beast to his beauty, his cross to bear.

   And it also reminds me of the one scar that hasn't healed; the one that comes out to play in the middle of the night, keeping me awake. It's the one that taunts me and tells me there will always be pain and that no matter how much progress I make it won't be enough, for me or for Hutch.

   What if there are no more milestones?

   I feel a finger trace down my spine and I open my eyes, meeting another pair in the mirror--blue eyes that put the sky to shame; eyes full of concern; eyes that tell me they understand my late night self-doubt attacks.

   Of course they do. I've never been able to hide from Hutch.

   He wraps strong arms around me, pulling me to his chest, and I feel the warmth of his skin against my back. His hold is tender and gentle yet laced with a strength that will never let me fall. He lowers his head to kiss the juncture of my neck, his hair tickles across my shoulder like soft feathers. I reach up to caress that impossibly strong jaw and tilt my head, offering him more of my throat. I look into the mirror and smile.

   In his reflected eyes, I glimpse Hutch's soul, seeing only unconditional love and the promise that he'll be there through the good times and the bad, helping to heal all wounds--those of the body and those of the spirit.

   And within the safety of his arms, my doubts vanish because I know that he accepts me as I am no matter what.

   I turn to him, letting him see the love flowing through my eyes, and he silently reaffirms that what I have to offer is more than enough; it's all he asks for. I let him lead the way back to bed. And, this time, when he reaches for me, I feel no apprehension, only anticipation.

   And once again, we reach another milestone.

THE END