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They Come In My Dreams - Part Three
By
Jerrye
They come in my dreams,
And there They will stay,
Unless my soul's own partner,
Can take Them away.
Hutch had been so wired for so many hours, his mind was in neutral for most of the drive to Metro. He concentrated on driving, because even with the siren and Mars light, the sidewalk was never considered part of the road.
All he wanted to do was put that damn stone together, grab Starsky and run, pretending that this was all a bad dream. Nearing headquarters, some of Millie's words anxiously echoed through his mind.
Hurrying down the hallway, he hoped that somehow he could get past Dobey. Darting through the doors he moved everyone aside with a glare. Bolting to Starsky's desk, he didn't notice the gawking from all sets of eyes in the squad room. With one yank from his powerful arm he pulled the drawer out, flipped it upside-down emptying the contents on Starsky's desk. "Damn." The stone was not there. "Damn." Then, Hutch looked up as a shadow towered over him, Dobey was blocking his exit. Hutch was trapped at Starsky's desk.
"Captain, ah, Starsky needed his, ah…"
"He certainly needs something from all I've heard. Whatever was in there he's already got. Course nothing's in the drawer anymore is it?" Stuffed animals, papers, pens, candy wrappers, and notes as old as two years were scattered on top of Starsky's desk.
"Well," Hutch muttered, cleared his throat, and said, "I guess I'll get back to work now."
"On your days off? Commendable. Would you mind telling me what case that would be? And why your crazed partner came in mowing down anyone in his way. From what I heard, driving erratically even for him, and in some old caddy with the bumper hanging off." Dobey bellowed. "With clothes half torn off and blood running down his leg!" Dobey was getting louder as Hutch tried to inch around him. "I want to know what the hell is going on."
"Captain, we'll have to talk about it later. Take my word, I gotta go." Dobey moved, trusting Hutch, but worried out of his mind.
"Hutch," he called as Hutch pushed open the door, "I'm here if you need me."
"I know, Cap'n. We know."
"Go take care of that partner of yours, just be sure you take care of yourself, too."
Hutch took time to throw him a salute as he flew out the door. Dread pushed him frantically down the hall.
Pulling the Torino from the parking garage, he raced toward Huggy's, knowing Starsky wouldn't be there. Praying he would. Not knowing what to do if he wasn't. Where would the bastards that forced him to retrieve the stone send him? Those things that could move his exhausted, bruised body… how much control did they now have? Hutch felt nauseous. Slamming his fist against the steering wheel, he said, "Damn, Starsky, oh, damn."
What would I do to save him?
Hutch, what would I not do?
Forgive me babe, but you can't face Them.
And there's only one way to stop you.
Try to understand buddy,
There's something you must know.
We'll be together through eternity,
But for us now, I must go.
Starsky was so tired and his leg burned like hell, which was a pretty good description of what he was going through. Knowing what he had to do gave him a focus and for a while, They waited. He drove till he was at his apartment. As the old caddy labored up the hill, confusion again gripped him with the realization that he wasn't driving his striped tomato. Then the perplexed pursing of his brow was smoothed and the clinched mouth relaxed as a smile played at the edges when he remembered the time Hutch first called it that. Through the smile came tears, knowing many memories were already gone. "Please, whatever happens, wherever I go, let me remember Hutch, please."
Starsky knew the Hungry for what They were, and what They wanted. They would take all he was and loved. Then, They would give the shell that was left of him to Hutch to care for till their bodies died together. No, he wouldn't put him through that. He wouldn't ruin Hutch's life at any cost.
No matter what happened this day, their friendship wouldn't cease. The Needful had unwittingly shown him that. Hutch and he would be friends through eternity, close to each other forever. Knowing this as a certainty gave Starsky the strength to do what had to be done.
Climbing the steps gave focus -- pain in his head, his leg, his whole body helped keep the terror at bay. At the doorway, he felt an overwhelming sadness. Going from object to beloved object -- artwork, his boat Hutch had patiently helped him finish, pictures of his Mom, favorite records. Then lovingly lifting a picture of Hutch and clutching it to his heart, he cried. Hurting so badly his legs turned to Jell-O, he crumpled to the ground. Holding the picture against himself so hard the glass broke, making small cuts on his arms. He spoke to the empty apartment, "Hutch, this can't be happening. When will I wake? I'll just call you like I always do when dreams turn nasty." Then, with a heartbroken cry of, "Oh, Hutch," he climbed to his feet.
Turning toward the door, he noticed a picture of Huggy, Hutch, and himself taken at one of their losing softball games. Standing arm-in-arm in their dirty jerseys and hats, their smiles so beautiful. Then Starsky remembered Huggy. Seeing the begging, horrified eyes that he had been blinded to before, Starsky was ready to end the nightmare anyway he could. "Hutch, Huggy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was ever born."
Running out the door and down the steps, he forgot the hurt in his leg and the exhaustion. Still clutching the picture of Hutch, he whirled the car around in the middle of the street and headed to a place where the things could have their stone and him, but never Hutch. Something kept tugging in the back of his mind. Something Hutch had told him, barely still a memory. Death isn't a choice here, only life. "No pal, my death is the only objective here. Your life and my death."
Don't you dare mess,
With this man's partner,
For suckers beyond hell;
Now I've got your number.
Hutch knew Them well now, too, and he felt the warmth from the stone in his pocket. Millie had given up the protector. Realizing how much she had sacrificed, Hutch vowed to do all he could to close the portal. It could be done, but right now all that mattered to Hutch was Starsky. Huggy had been patched through and could barely whisper. Thank God he was okay; but it was a sure thing Starsky was thinking he'd killed Huggy. "Oh, God!"
Hutch had called Starsky's apartment and Venice Place. He didn't expect an answer. Flying up the 405 ramp, headed to Starsky's apartment, Hutch was afraid to consider what he might be capable of in his tormented frame of mind. Tears of fear and frustration burned his eyes, and he didn't know where to look.
Then, he felt an emotion stronger than his fear or frustration. Hutch felt anger, as he had never known it. Fury at himself for not being there, Starsky, for not waiting; fury at the Dream Things from beyond hell that was only equal to the love he shared with his partner. Rage for their testing the boundaries of human endurance on Starsky.
He fished the stone out of his shirt breast pocket, and sure enough it felt warm and comforting. Warmth flowed over him as fingers of calm touched his being. Starsky's love for him and his for Starsky was stronger then the needful cold things. Warmth given by the stone gave more hope. Pulling off the road, trying to get the shaking under control, he took a deep breath and tried to feel Starsky.
Hutch felt Starsky so clearly -- scared, confused, and all alone. He felt Starsky's tears as his own ran unchecked down his cheek. Then Hutch ached; knowing Starsky's desperate need to protect him and that he was capable of anything to save his partner. Hutch heard the surf pounding, and felt the spray from the breakers on the rocks, and knew where Starsky was.
With Mars light and siren, Hutch screeched the Torino into traffic. Skidding off the freeway onto the South ramp, he pointed the car toward the ocean. Please, please, wait, Starsky. And with the helper, he felt Starsky's blinding headache from being pulled in so many directions. The Needy wanted the stone thrown away and Starsky's despair terrified Hutch. He knew that even with his unfathomable love for life and will to live, Starsky would not hesitate to die for his best friend. The despised suckers enjoyed playing with his mind and soul, and didn't want their Chosen to die. However, they wanted that stone far away so it could never join with the comforting one in his pocket.
Millie had helped him to learn more about Them and the stone she gave showed him much. He had also peered into his partner's soul and saw Them there. He saw what They wanted and what They would do to get it.
Hutch spoke to Them. "No damnit, not my partner, you're going to let go of my partner." And gripping the wheel tighter, he added, "Starsky, Starsk, don't you dare leave me!"
Starsky, you hear me, don't dare leave me.
In swirling, dizzying nauseous places,
They'll take you far beyond the sea
Where you'll feel their freezing faces.
Unspeakable terror,
Unacceptable loss,
But not lasting forever,
That's saved for our love.
Come back to me, Starsky.
Warmth bathed the car and caressed Hutch, and he knew Starsky heard him. The helper was with him too, like their love, crossing time and space, still just as strong as a touch from a loving hand. Don't go, babe, without saying good-bye, 'kay? Let me say goodbye and then I'll let you do what you feel you need to do. This was the first real lie Hutch had ever told his friend.
Starsky heard him, and he wanted his Hutch. For that minute, with Hutch touching his heart and thoughts, Starsky desired only to look in those blue eyes the color of the sea and sky. Then he would be safe, close to Hutch. Unthinkingly, he put the stone back in his pocket. Climbing over the rocks jutting into the sea, slipping, his leg bleeding again, but not stopping or climbing more carefully, he moved toward a place of safety and peace. His only thought was Hutch's haven, and he headed to Venice Place.
Hutch took off the light, turned off the siren and headed home.
A place called home,
Is a place of the heart.
There, never really alone,
Never truly apart,
There you are welcome,
And let the outside cease,
In my small garden
Of rest and peace,
Starsky made his way home, to Hutch's. Dragging his tired body up the steps. He let himself in with the key above the door without bothering to close it. That would be a waste of his energy and his energy was fading fast.
As Hutch was pulling onto Washington, Starsky made his way through the rooms he knew so well. Willing his body to go a little farther, he moved to the door leading to the little garden, Hutch's refuge. The cold was gathering, and pushing around him as he went back into the damp air. It was hard for him to breathe, the frigid air hurting his lungs, and he was so cold.
The Needful came and brushed his skin with icy needles. Frantically looking for Their stone, the frost They left in Their wake killing many of the beloved plants, as the air was now an Arctic mass. Water began freezing in the tin watering can. Starsky quickly used up his reserve of energy fighting the chills, wrapped himself in Hutch's love, slumped in a ball to the ground, and went to sleep… unaware of the cold searching through his clothes, wrapping around him, taking his warmth. Peace came as death neared, and They left him, not wanting this. This Chosen still had so much more to offer.
If only I can see you, Hutch,
Then I'll wait in eternity,
If I can have one more touch,
To hold on to me and thee.
Hutch squeezed into a parking space near his entrance and ran. He knew where he would find Starsky, sensing the green plants around him, and the peace. The small area of beauty, and the strange cold lulling his friend to the sleep of nothingness where the nightmares didn't come and love wasn't felt. Hutch felt the penetrating, deadly cold as he slammed the car door. Then, his heart stopped for a beat -- he no longer felt Starsky and half of his soul was gone.
He hurried. They wouldn't have Starsky, he would see to that. Starsky had a stronger will than They dreamed. No, They wouldn't have him, but Hutch still knew Starsky would stop at nothing to protect him -- including taking his own life. Hutch didn't know how many times he could stop him even with the helper. Running up the stairs to the opened door, panic gripped him. Following in his friend's steps, he saw the broken framed picture of himself where it had been tossed. Picking it up, he swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. Carefully setting it back, he moved silently to the back door.
Love can be,
The ultimate sacrifice.
This I give willingly,
But I don't want to die.
~~~~~~~~~~
They came in my dreams,
I wished Them away,
They'll come back again,
Then Hutch'll have his say.
Dread like ice in my blood flowed,
Time stopped at that moment,
For only death could be so cold,
Starsky, curled so still in my garden.
Hutch hesitated at the doorway. Cold emanating from the balcony garden took his breath and iced his blood with dread.
"Oh, God," he cried and in that second a lifetime passed. Clinching his eyes shut in agony and prayer, he tried to believe that the helper had not brought him to Starsky unless there was hope. Starsky had to be alive -- he had to.
Brown light from an overhead bulb reached with short fingers into the dark. Hutch moved through the doorway and began his trek through the twisting trail of pots filled with growing foliage. Surreal shadows constantly changed from the bounty of leaves blowing in the light freezing wind. Hutch pushed his way past the deathly cold on that short twisting trail. Surely this all was just a dream. Then he saw him. Starsky was curled in the shelter of a potted palm, deathly still and silent, his back facing Hutch.
On his knees bending over the still figure, Hutch managed to whisper, "Starsk," the freezing air turning his breath to smoke.
Hutch shuddered from the lingering cold and sickening apprehension. He touched his beloved friend's arm. Starsky's skin was as cold as death beneath the soft cotton shirtsleeve. Hutch jerked back his hand in horror… forgetting to breathe as time stood still in that frozen garden until Hutch's lungs screamed for air. Gulping until he was able to shriek from the depths of his being, "No, no, Starsky!"
With fear he didn't know he was capable of, Hutch forced his hand to cup the bristly chin and press his fingers to Starsky's neck. Tears of joy flowed as he felt a pulse, faint but steady. Relief pushed his arms around his unfeeling partner's shoulders, and Hutch waited for his own shudders to stop. Now there was no hesitation, only Hutchinson determination, and nothing could come up against that and win.
Putting his arm under Starsky's shoulder, Hutch pulled him tightly into the warmth of his hug. "Starsky, wake up. You gotta get warm," but there was no response.
Still clutching him, Hutch relaxed his hold enough to allow Starsky's head to rest against the crook of his arm. With a calm in his voice he didn't feel, he said, "Starsk, come on, wake up for me," and Starsky's eyes fluttered and then closed. Just can't do it, huh? 'S'kay And thanking God and that helper Millie sent, Hutch put his other arm under an icy leg and picked up the limp body. He carried him through the little maze of a garden in the dissipating cold and through the apartment. Gently laying him on the bed, Hutch covered him with the spread and went into the bathroom to turn on the warm water in the shower. Steam was fogging the room making it toasty as Hutch went back to his partner.
Love as tangible as skin and bone,
To lose it would be like losing the song.
Unique as the souls it lays bare.
Needed as one needs the air.
You'd give your life for me,
Wouldn't you?
Oh yes, if you needed me to.
No greater love has man,
Then the love of a true friend.
Starsky rallied as Hutch began peeling off his clothes. Warming enough to shiver, he made a small sound as Hutch pulled the shirt off his shoulders. Dark blue eyes caught the ones of sky and the care and love felt was a tangible thing.
"Hutch," Starsky said weakly. Confused and trembling, lips still blue, he sought Hutch's eyes as a ship seeks and depends on the beacon over the waterway. "'uutch, coold," he tried to mutter more, but shuddering grunts were all he could manage.
Pulling off Starsky's pants, Hutch was desperate to get him warm. He wanted to hold him close and make the nasties go away, but the quickest way to warm his friend would be to get him into the waiting hot shower. Grimacing as he slid his pants over bruises and the bloodied knee, Hutch said, "Hey, buddy, how bout a nice warm shower?" The tiny answering smile warmed Hutch's heart as he pulled his friend to his feet and helped him to the steamy bathroom.
Hutch grabbed the discarded clothes thrown in a pile by the bed. Starsky had put the damn stone somewhere. Knowing his partner so well, a ghost of a smile brushed across Hutch's mouth as he thought of places Starsky might hide a stone.
Staying nearby as the water warmed and strengthened Starsky, Hutch searched through his filthy clothes. It would be a pleasure to toss the jeans caked with blood. Again, Hutch stuck his head into the steam of the shower. Starsky was leaning on the palms of his hands pressed against the wall enjoying the heat from the warm spray on his body. Hutch breathed normally for the first time since leaving Metro. Starsky tilted his head toward Hutch enough for their eyes to briefly join. Thanks, partner, it's okay now.
Moisture plastered Hutch's hair against his forward, and glued his shirt to him as he smiled. Closing the curtain, he returned to his search through Starsky's grimy clothes. There was no stone. Damn pulling the shower curtain back again, "Starsk, you okay?"
Starsky said plaintively, "Hutch."
"Yeah buddy," Hutch answered, water spraying his face. He saw a very bruised Starsky, gauze hanging off his leg, and blood being washed away from the cuts. He had circles under his eyes and stubble from many hours without a shave. Minor cuts and scratches were numerous from his head to his toes. Eyes closed from exhaustion, Hutch wondered how in the world he was still standing. His hair was full of suds. Did you forget to rinse the shampoo out, or too tired to manage it?
"Hutch…."
Leaning into the stream of water, Hutch said, "I'm here Starsk. Keep your eyes closed." Hutch guided the soapy head under the water, and began rinsing.
"No problem," Starsky drowsily replied. Hutch smiled and made sure he was rinsed all over.
Starsk, enough is enough.
It's time to kick ass,
You're too tired to stay tough.
And I need to rest
Listen, I know how,
To send the vile Things on.
We can do it now.
Buddy, where's the stone?
Hutch was as soaked as Starsky as he pulled him out of the shower. Holding him, he wrapped him into a huge towel then plopped him onto the closed toilet seat. He finished pulling off the hanging wet gauze. With a couple of small moans the nasty mess was discarded. Hutch reached for the antibiotic cream he had put on the sink as Starsky's eyes pulled at his. Don't want it to hurt Hutch. "It's okay, Starsk. It's just cream, see," he said holding the bottle in front of him as he unscrewed the top. Starsky relaxed and held onto his hurt leg with both hands above the knee as Hutch gingerly applied the medicine.
Hutch's big hands were so gentle and quick, a couple of moans and minutes later, the wound was clean and medicated Looking pointedly at his handiwork, avoiding the nervous cobalt eyes, Hutch asked, "Buddy, what'd you do with stone?"
Starsky hummed, "Hmm," and closed his eyes. Hutch knew it was the only answer he'd get from him for a while.
Trying once again, Hutch asked, "Buddy, where's the stone?"
"Whatstone?" Starsky said, exhaustion pushing the words.
Hutch knew they wouldn't find the stone tonight, maybe never. He still knew the Garbage Ones were going to quit messing with his partner; he meant that. So, some warm soup in both their stomachs was needed now, then rest
Starsky's body was getting more lax by the minute now that he was warm. In fact, he looked flushed. Hutch felt his forehead and he did feel a little warm, probably from the bath, Hutch reasoned. Starsky leaned into Hutch's arms. Pulling him up and walking him into the bedroom, Hutch said, "Come on, pal, rest while I get us something warm to eat.
Hutch pulled back the covers and Starsky slipped between the clean sheets, pulling the top one to his nose and sniffing it, Starsky said contentedly, "HMM, smell' good."
Hutch tugged at the blanket till it joined with the sheet he'd worked up to his nose. "It's the store brand. It is a good clean smell though." And pushing the wet curls from Starsky's face, Hutch said, "Rest, I'll have some food in a minute."
"S'kay, sound' good," Starsky sleepily replied.
Hutch set the soup can on the counter and put the pan on the stove. His wet, clinging clothes felt cold and uncomfortable, and he stripped off his shirt. On his way to check on Starsky he hopped on one foot pulling off his shoe. Leaning on the bed beside him, Hutch removed his other shoe. Standing there he scrutinized the sleeping man, he popped the buckle and undid his own pants He decided the odious Things or a 9.9 earthquake wouldn't wake his friend, so he tugged at the pants stuck to his skin, skimming them off as he headed to a warm, but quick shower.
Stinging water pounded the bruises on his legs, arms, butt, and especially his hip. Remembering that moment he bolted over the bonnet of Starsky's car, knocking him out of the road, made him weak and ill. Okay Hutchinson get over this fast, you gotta get a grip. It's going to take all you've got to keep Starsky from Them. Turning off the water, he made himself relax. Hutch knew that the one Millie sent was guiding and Starsky was strong. He breathed deeply and evenly, and stepped out of the shower and into a towel.
Rummaging through his dirty clothes, he pulled out the cleanest pants he could find, and pulling on the grubby jeans, he smiled Getting too much like you, Starsk. The soft clean flannel shirt felt warm and fuzzy, one of Starsky's contributions to Hutch's limited wardrobe.
Water dripped from his hair as he felt Starsky's sleeping face. He was still warm, but sleeping peacefully. Hutch's stomach's growling moved him into the kitchen.
Hutch left the pan in the sink a short time later and grabbed the two steaming mugs. He started to the bedroom with them in hand, and noticed the dull light still on outside. Retracing his steps, he set the mugs of soup down. Burn his mouth anyway Fishing the flashlight out of his junk drawer, which could be the label on most of them, he went out back to search. Okay, Helper, how 'bout some now? Oh, please, let that damn stone be here.
Hutch wasn't sure how long he looked. For the first time he wished the garden wasn't so lush. No stone on the ground or in the plants. He even poked a stick through his neighbor's cat's litter box.
The fruitless search took long enough for the soup to form a cold skin slicing the top. Hutch retrieved the pan, dumped the contents from the mugs into it and tried to make it again tasty enough to get some of it down his partner.
"Starsky," Hutch said softly, setting the mug of soup on the night table. After taking another sip of his own, and pulling the cover off, baring Starsky's chest and resting his hand there, he called louder, "Starsky," He rubbed his fingers against the fevered skin creating a tickling sensation that finally caused some reaction.
Starsky swatted at him as he would a mosquito, or irritating partner, then rubbed his eyes. Hutch sat on the edge of the head of the bed. "Hey, I've been slaving over a hot stove here for you, how 'bout a taste?"
With the corners of his mouth turned up, the beginning of a sweet grin, Starsky rubbed his eyes and peered out from heavy eyelids. Hutch smiled, took the mug and moved up on the bed till they were shoulder to shoulder.
"Starsk, got some warm soup for you. It's tomato."
Starsky muttered, 'Hm cold…still cold," and his lower lip trembled. As he became more alert, his eyes darted around the room nervously, finally catching Hutch's.
Hutch set his mug on the table and lifting Starsky's shoulders, scooted between him and the headboard. He leaned Starsky back against his shoulder. Reaching, he retrieved a mug of soup and put it in Starsky's hand, wrapping his fingers around it. "Careful, it's still pretty warm." He squeezed Starsky's other hand and brought it to the mug, "Hey, pal, this is a two handed operation." Hutch tried to ease his own hand away, but Starsky's were too loose, and Hutch sighed, glad to hold onto his hand until Starsky found the strength. This was something Hutch prayed he would be always be able to do for this friend he loved so.
"Feels good," Starsky murmured. They stayed like that for a few minutes, until Starsky's body began feeling a little like a warm wet noodle in Hutch's arms. Hutch took the mug from his hand and replaced it with a glass of water from the table. Scraping up two aspirin off the table, he poked them into Starsky's mouth. "Drink," Hutch commanded. Finishing most of the water, Starsky rolled his head off Hutch's arm and buried in the pillow. "Sleep, Starsk, we'll go hunting for that stone later."
Drowsily Starsky asked, "What stone?" Then he shivered. "I'm cold, Hutch." Hutch put the glass on the floor and shifted enough to wrap an arm around his partner, and lying beside him, held him -- sharing his warmth and strength.
Sometime later, Hutch sighed, climbed over his friend and rested on top of the covers. Starsky grunted and turned his warmed body away from him. Hutch, not able to keep his eyes opened, reached out to the lump under the covers beside him, "Starsky, please, just sleep awhile."
Starsky, already beyond responding, moved closer to the warm comfort there, and the partners slept.
They come in vile swarms,
I keep brushing off,
Hot stinging worms,
Hutch, please make Them stop.
They came and Starsky tried to brush them away, but they were like flies around his head and hot worms again crawling on and under his skin. His fever made him hurt too much to open his eyes. Restless and stirring enough to wake Hutch, who watched him with tired eyes, unable to see Starsky's hand kneading the sheet or the silent tears wetting his pillow. Hutch was exhausted and his bruised body demanded a time to heal. So he patted the shoulder under his hand and went back to a sleep.
Hutch help me, I'm losing,
They're making me dream,
Though I open my mouth,
They won't let me scream.
~~~~~~~~~~
Seeing unspeakable terror,
They showed him Hutch's horror.
And now fevered and confused,
"Please Hutch, what can I do?"
Even in his restless sleep,
Starsky begged for release,
Death now sounding so sweet.
Only there could he find peace.
The stone lay colder than ice, colder than the outermost part of space. Safely tucked away, wrapped in the young growing vines that were taking hold of the banister in the little garden, soon they would grow profusely along the spiral staircase with the little stone trapped tightly in them. There it would be out of sight, falling over the ledge and, as with the vine, soon out of reach.
Starsky ached with fever, the touch of the soft sheet causing him to flinch with every movement. He slept a restless sleep, but for a while they left him alone. His fever continued to climb, but he didn't stir, and Hutch slept without dreams.
Needful things gathered and planned. Never had they experienced such joy as with this one. They wanted the stone, but for now the helper had found a place out of their collective minds' reach to hide it. Yet, Suckers of Souls knew where the stone's mate was. Oh, yes, this was a powerful enemy. The one that loved the soul of their Chosen more than life or the glories of the universe carried the other half of the whole that could close the portal to these living mortals forever. Existence wouldn't be worth the effort without feasting on mortal souls. Ecstasies of pleasure and pain and laughter and tears were known only from souls of life. And in all the Needfuls' searching and travels throughout the universe and this dimension called time, never had They encountered two such as these. Hateful Things yearned and drooled for the battle with this one that could save both the Chosen and the entire universe from the Needful. Oh, yes, these souls were sweet tasting, but that battle could never be. This blond beauty must be taken from this life; he had the stone's made and that made him far too dangerous.
Timeless Hungry Things now knew his name and for the first time since the existence of man, They moved atoms and formed a word. Whispering cold in the small warm space between friends' shoulders, the partners heard the sound in their dreams, Hutch, Hutch. Hutch groaned and turned away from Starsky. Starsky wept; neither man woke.
They came as tiny creatures crawling on his skin and he tried to brush them away. Soon they swarmed and began stinging. Oozing into his ears, eyes, and every part of his stiffening body, the Scum of the universe bit him with disembodied images of mouths from memories taken from many mortal men. Burning into him, They turned into swimming things, aching cold blue flames. In his sleep, he cried for release, even death sounded sweet.
If only Hutch had not been so tired, maybe he would have heard the sharp intake of air and the jerk of his friend lying close beside him, but he slept on, disturbed only enough to turn over--and horror filled their lives.
They hurt him so,
Hideous things
Aching cold,
Burning flames,
Blinding white light filled Starsky's mind. They were playing there, using taken memories they had twisted, and the unreal they had promised. Through images changing faster than clouds in a storm, Starsky saw Hutch, his eyes pleading in agony. Mouth opened in pain, Hutch's screams drowned by the sound heard where time doesn't exist. The sound of nothingness, the loud ringing in Starsky's ears that resounded through his head. Blaring, sharp, buzzing like those swarms of biting things and wailing like Hutch's pain.
Then the wailing stopped and the ringing became indistinct. Hutch could no longer scream. His mouth closed as his body bled, his skin became raw, and the torture in his eyes went far beyond words. White flames then engulfed him. Starsky tried to close his eyes, but this horror was inside him, in his mind and soul. Through the glaring blues and blaring white was the vision of Hutch, his skin now blackened, but eyes still pleading through their torture. Starsky knew then what eternal damnation would be like, and be pleaded to wake.
His eyes,
Blue and true as the heaven.
At times,
As cold and hard as steel.
His gaze,
For me softly comforts,
My anchor,
To all that is real.
Starsky knew what he must do and they let him rest, knowing the strength that he would need. Wrapping him in their vile cold breath, his fever was pushed deep inside. Hutch woke from his exhausted sleep and looked at his partner. Leaning on one tired elbow he scrutinized Starsky. Although his precious face was far from peaceful, his friend slept. Touching Starsky's cheek, Hutch was relieved at the coolness he felt. Starsky leaned into his hand. Finally pulling the covers over his shoulders and combing his fingers through the dark curls, Hutch felt at ease enough to once again close his eyes, soon asleep again. This time, the Sickening Ones whispered coldness only to Starsky. Hutch, Hutch
Whimpering softly, Starsky watched the illusions of Hutch's torture grow dimmer. Blue images began to swirl and the light became brighter, and They whispered in his thoughts.
We will have his mind, but he is strong and it will take unspeakable pain. He will hurt and know agony... tortured beyond comprehension. We can't touch his soul... but his mind we'll have... and he'll know torture.
They became louder in the sweet soul of the Chosen, and they screamed in his head.
Agony, such that no heart can withstand... we'll have his mind... and finally his body will show him mercy and die. And you, who are part of his soul, whom he loves unconditionally, you are who he will go through this torture for, and you alone can stop this... only you. End this for him. Show your love... you can make it painless... and eternity can be yours together.
They whispered,
But he already knew,
Eternity with Hutch,
Was wonderfully true.
Did he love him enough,
Could he be that strong,
To pick up the gun,
And make heaven their home?
Hutch slept, and Starsky carefully slipped out of bed. Barefoot steps made no sound as he made his way to Hutch's gun. Shaking from the fever, now burning brightly again, he removed the gun from the holster, freezing as the click of the snap was heard loudly through the silence. Standing there in the light from the window, he looked out at the garden. Squinting his face, he tried hard to remember something. It had to do with the garden and something Hutch wanted to know. The helper tried to whisper to him about the stone; but he had suffered too much shock to hear. He was exhausted and sick.
Resting the gun in the palms of both hands, he looked at it, confused. His head hurt and his mouth was dry. The gun seemed heavy, and he held it against his chest, feeling the cold metal on his bare skin. Whimpering again, he moved to the garden door, and felt the coolness of the night air, heard the distant roar as a plane lifted over the ocean. Life. Hutch had said, "Always choose life, Starsky, always."
Hutch, Hutch I just want to hear you, please, Hutch.
His eyes brimming with tears, he moved back toward Hutch, the only person who could make sense out of their world. Me and thee, Hutch Starsky needed Hutch's touch and to see his eyes, look into blue the color of beautiful things -- the sea on a sunny day, and the sky. Hutch, I'm scared and I feel so sick, please wake up. I don't know what to do. He stood looking at his best friend, the other half of his soul. Wanting only to touch and wake him, Starsky began lowering the gun to the floor. Knowing his Hutch would take care of everything, all he wanted to do was reach out to him.
Starsky was not allowed to lay down the gun. He tried to scream as the apartment began to spin, and cold slithered up his naked legs and thighs pulling him into an icy tunnel. Reality slipped away as icy wind gently blew the hair on his body, making him aware of the gun again. Moving with a breeze as cold as the grave, he again lifted the Magnum and looking at this man he cared for beyond comprehension, he knew clearly how to save him.
NO! Screamed through his head, but Those with so much of his memory screamed Hutch's name into his mind and blinded him with the blue of Hutch's eyes, pleading in agony... and Starsky lifted the gun... aimed it at the blond head... but he couldn't pull the trigger.
Ancients marveled at the strength of love it took to break out of the tunnel. Starsky ran through the apartment and rushed to the door, gripping the gun. He grabbed the doorknob and fought with the lock, winning, swung the door opened and fled down the steps.
Hutch your eyes,
The color of beautiful things,
The sea on a sunny day,
And the sky.
I'm scared Hutch,
And feel so sick
I need your touch
I'll be safe in it.
When his hand found an empty space instead of the warmth of his partner, Hutch tried to come back from the peace he felt. His body and mind needed rest, and didn't want to let go of sleep. Trying harder as he felt his friend staring and willing him to wake, he called to him with his mind, but was not yet conscious enough to mouth the words. The helper magnified the barely audible creaking of the door in his hearing jolted him fully awake, scared senseless. Damnit Starsky!
The stone felt warm in his pocket as he pulled on his shoes and ran out the door with shoelaces flapping, yelling, "Oh, shit, Starsky, no!"
Taking the steps three at a time and bouncing against the wall, Hutch hit the street as Starsky was rounding the corner headed to the beach. He was easy to spot with the bright moonlight bouncing off his nude body, scaring Hutch more. Starsky, what is in your head? What would make you bolt in middle of the night without even pants?
They ran the long three blocks to the beach full speed. Hutch was closing the distance till he stumbled onto the sand. Then, Starsky stopped a few feet short of the water's edge. Hutch, close now, stopped also, startled at the eerie sight of the man naked in the moonlight with the surf pounding in front of him and the reflection of the moon reaching endlessly into the black expanse of the sea. He had a disturbing ethereal beauty. Pure, childlike, what the Hungry vile things yearned for.
Hutch whispered, "Oh, my God," and slowly moved toward him.
Starsky sensed him and turned, gun in his hand, finger on the trigger. The wind wildly blowing his curls and sand whipping into their eyes, Starsky looked at him, disoriented and afraid.
Breathe, Hutchinson, you got to breathe. the wind whipped Hutch's hair into his eyes and sand stung his face and arms. Amazed that Starsky didn't flinch as the sand pricked his skin, Hutch realized this was probably insignificant discomfort compared to what this man, his best friend, had suffered that night.
"Starsky," Hutch yelled over the surf. Starsky took a few steps toward him, trying to hear; or maybe he was moving toward love and safety. "Hey, aren't ya cold, Starsk?"
Starsky tilted his head to one side like a puppy, trying to hear and understand the words.
Hutch swallowed, and tried to breathe evenly. "I know you're hurting. Put the gun down and I promise it'll be okay. Starsky, I promise. I've never lied to you." Well, only once.
Hutch watched Starsky as he circled him. The moon gave light enough to see his eyes; so cobalt blue they were nearly black. Who was this person? There was little of his partner in the man before him. Even the movements were foreign.
Starsky saw his best friend and wanted to throw the gun down and run to him, the only one with whom he shared his fears. The person he would protect at all costs -- costs far greater than just his own mere life. But the visions of Hutch in agony superimposed the hair glowing in the moonlight, the bright eyes full of love and fear, and the outreached arms. Starsky saw through blues and swirls, his world still spinning, and he still circled his partner as tears washed the sand from his eyes; and he remembered only the unspeakable horror that awaited Hutch if he didn't pull that trigger.
Hutch saw his eyes and understood, but had no time to react as Starsky stepped backward, lifted the gun and aimed, both partners yelling, "NO!" together.
Starsky's mind and soul wouldn't let him kill Hutch, he couldn't. At that second he knew his own death would save his partner, and he began pulling the gun up to his own head, but Hutch's gun was heavy, and Starsky was tired. The gun fired prematurely, shocking Starsky, and the kick from it knocked him backward. Hutch felt the wind from the bullet whizzing past, closer than an inch to his head.
Hutch moved as the gun went off, tackling Starsky before he hit the sand. Grabbing his hands and the gun, Starsky's finger still on the trigger, Hutch forced his hands over their heads stretching all four of their arms across the sand. Struggling as the gun went off again and again, each time Starsky yelped with pain as the force cracked at the bones in his wrist and fingers, but he wouldn't let go. Hutch's weight as he wrestled for the gun crushed the breath out of Starsky, but he couldn't let go. Finally prying his finger off the trigger, Hutch wrenched the gun out of his hand, not worrying about fingers that might be broken.
Tossing the gun far away from them, Hutch rolled to the side with his hands still grasping Starsky's arms. They stayed like that for a few minutes, side by side, both in shock, till Hutch relaxed. Then Starsky sat up screeching and began scrambling toward the gun. Hutch pulled at him knocking him back and wrapped his arms around him tightly.
Starsky struggled and screamed, "Let go, let go, let go! You don't understand, Hutch. You don't know!"
"Starsky, Starsky, listen."
Not screaming now, but crying hysterically, "You don't understand, you don't understand!" He leaned into Hutch's embrace. Hutch rocked him and gently rubbed his neck and the back of his head, competing with sand finding its way through thick curls. Finally pulling slightly away, they both sat, Hutch, less than a hand reach away. Starsky brought his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and curled into himself.
Hutch met his limit; Starsky's hurting had gone beyond Hutch's endurance level. The fury at the shithead Ancients came to him with inhuman force. Growling, he reached around Starsky, and grabbed his shoulders, "Starsky, stop! Listen to me." Starsky started a mournful wail. "Starsky, I need you to help me make Them go away... Starsky, please!"
"It's too late, it's too late, Hutch," Starsky moaned and looked at Hutch with wide Starsky tried bolting. Hutch, anticipating the move, held his upper arm as he struggled to get away.
"It's okay, Starsky. It's okay, babe, we're going to be fine. Easy, buddy, easy," Hutch soothed.
Starsky looked at him with utter hopelessness. Then, trembling touched Hutch's face.
Hutch said softly, "They want the stones, Starsky." Starsky looked at him shaking his head no.
"Starsky!" Hutch yelled.
"No stone, Hutch," he said, his voice echoing his confusion.
Their eyes connected in the moonlight, the partners, the two halves of the whole. The helper had whispered into Hutch's ear, it was time. Forget the stone, hold on to each other's soul, Starsky's time was running out.
The partners,
Two making a whole,
Hold on to each other,
Protecting their souls.
Blood and tears,
Share them with me,
I'm in your soul here;
We'll make you free.
Starsky was becoming limp, his eyes never leaving Hutch's. Hutch grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. The blood from his knee smeared on Hutch's sleeve and seeing the dark smear, Hutch felt cold fury, as cold as these translucent creatures. Jerking Starsky forward and giving him strength, Hutch said through gritted teeth, "Starsky."
Starsky looked at him with unfocused eyes. He was too sick and shocked to stand on his own. His empty look laced fear through Hutch.
Hutch shook him, and yelled loud enough to be heard over the roaring surf or a 747 attempting a landing in his backyard. "STARSKY"
"Hutch?" Starsky said.
With a hint of a smile, relief filling his voice, Hutch said, "Starsky, we can do this. Stay with me."
Starsky found himself in those eyes that were the color of heaven even in the moonlight, and was anchored. Then They came.
Screaming things,
Scream in your mind.
Burn in your veins.
Put your hand in mine,
Our trusts is for eternity,
Just hold my hand Starsky.
They screamed in Starsky's head and burning needles flowed in his veins and all the horrors of his life ran through his mind like an old movie, the light starting to blind him with the blues swimming there.
"Hutch, Hutch, I can't see you," Starsky cried.
Lacing his fingers with Starsky's, and holding tight, "I'm here, buddy. Hold my hands, Starsk, hold tight. They're not pulling us apart, and they can't take any of you if you'll just hold on to me. Babe these things are going to let you go."
"'Kay, Hutch," Starsky said with absolute childlike trust, tightly entwining his fingers with Hutch's, letting him take his weight and hold him there. So much like the first time he held him when They came. Starsky knew he needed all his Hutch's strength and he thought of their love, solid, forged together through trust.
"You damn suckers, you think I'm giving him to you? For things that've been around so long, you're pretty stupid," Hutch's tone startled even things in nightmares.
They had never experienced anything so delicious. Knowing if they couldn't break the bond of these two, they would have to leave for now, They gorged as never before. They were not worried, even if They were forced away, for the stone wasn't here. They could come back. And for now, They would use the forces of time to break the bond of these, with the one soul. Yet the Hateful would think of this feast when they gathered and feel for a space. Then They would come back to these. Oh yes, They would come back. But for now, the joy of the battle was exquisite.
"I know you, you! You're the scum of the universe, the pick of eternity's nose. I'm not letting go of him; you've seen his soul. It's beautiful and it's his and he lets me share it. You nasty things, take your stink away."
They threw blinding light in his head, and they hurt the partners together. Searing pain, electrical jolts, skin peeling back, and bone eaten away by disconnected mouths; but they held onto each other.
They sent depression and depravation, and tearing of flesh, and noise that made them both scream. Still they held on.
They were confused and sickened, minds filled with searing hot lights, and faceless eyes. Partners' hands never slipped.
Hurtful things were heard and betrayal between the partners, mean vicious things done that only the Hateful could imagine, but the hold and love never wavered. Starsky was getting too tired to hold, Hutch could feel him beginning to slip.
"Damn't you're not getting him. I won't give him up, and I fucking well won't let you have him. You can't take me, cause I just don't come up to your standards. I have hang ups I still try hiding from him. My heart doesn't play like his, and I'm sure as hell not naive. My soul's not all that simple, you found his isn't either, didn't you, suckers of worms and beetles?"
Hutch had their attention as none ever had in all the history of the world. Starsky leaned on Hutch to rest. Yep, his Hutch would take of it.
Then Hutch stopped yelling and said with an even, deathly voice that rivaled demons, "The best you could take from me is my love and loyalty to your Chosen. I'll tell you again, assholes of all space, cause you might have missed it the first time, I'll never give that love up. So, my pitiful ones, you can huff and puff yourself right back through hell to that place of never-never land.
Hutch didn't blink at the horror eyes, or terror mouth they projected. He glared into the eyes of nightmares and held onto Starsky, body and soul.
They hurt Starsky, burning his bones and tissues, tearing his flesh as he felt the bullet pass into his back, crying for his dad, and holding Hutch when he was in such agony. All the memories they had stolen were returned and he was in shock, overwhelmed.
Hutch held Starsky and went into his soul, and stood with him there. I'm here. Starsk, I feel all you do, I'm bringing you out, and this time they won't be able to play with your mind again. Come on, Starsk, follow me this last time. And Starsky grasped Hutch and They burned their hands, and tore at their lungs. Me and thee, Starsky, wherever you're going, I'm with you. Starsky held the hands clutching his and Hutch glared at Them, and They gloried in the battle lost.
His hands opened, and Hutch caught him as he slipped toward the sand, pulling him into his arms. The wind raged and blue lightning lit the sky. Sand whipped around them and blues swirled, and they stayed in each other's arms. With a roar louder than the sea, and one strong whip of wind knocking them into the sand, the Hungry ones were gone.
On the ground, Hutch still embraced his friend while they cried. As the tears slowed, Hutch lightly brushed a kiss across the top of Starsky's head. "It's over, babe, we won this battle," feeling of his face, he looked appalled, "Starsk, you're burning up."
"I'm okay now," Starsky said smiling. "We make a damn good team, don't we?"
"You better believe it, buddy."
Hutch helped him up and glanced at his leg, still raw and clothed in sand, "Let's get you home, got aspirin with your name written all over it."
"I'm not arguing," and with a look of unbelief, Starsky looked up and down his nude body and said "Shit, Hutch, I'm naked."
"Gee, Starsk, I never would have noticed," Hutch said, and he laughed at the slight look of horror on his partner's face. "But come on, it's hard to tell with all the sand plastered on you."
"Thanks, pal. I'm glad the sand didn't coat everything," Starsky said with a grin.
Taking off his own shirt, Hutch looked him over and chuckled, saying, "Pretty damn close," then tied the shirt around Starsky's waist.
Retrieving his gun from the sand, Hutch sighed and said, "Starsky, maybe I need to get the car, you don't looked so hot, well actually you look like you've got a high fever."
"It's only a few blocks." Starsky snorted and looked up and down the beach nervously. Hutch knew they would both be uneasy for some time. Looked like he had a roommate for a while.
"I'm okay," Starsky assured him again.
"Well, buddy, you're barefoot, too, in case you didn't notice. I just don't wanna have ta carry ya."
And as they started back up the beach to walk the few blocks home, Starsky said, "But ya will if I need you to."
Hutch wrapped his arm around Starsky's and smiled, "You got that right, babe."
"Love ya."
"Love ya too, buddy."
~~~~~~~~~~
Clad in cutoffs, Starsky stepped in the path of Hutch heading to the bedroom with an armful of clean clothes. "What now?" Hutch asked with a touch of impatience. He was hungry and wanted to finish the laundry. Before Starsky had a chance for a sound to come out of his opened mouth Hutch answered him, "Yes, Starsk, I washed that red shirt. Look, I'll be done here in a bit, watch TV or something, 'kay?"
Starsky snorted and grabbed a clean shirt of Hutch's from the top of the pile.
Hutch smiled as he watched Starsky limp to the couch and throw his bare feet gingerly on the coffee table. He knew his partner couldn't help with the chores. The man looked like he'd spent the day being thrown off the side of a mountain. He was covered with cuts, scratches, and unidentified marks and bruises that were turning from black to many different shades and colors. Hutch tried not to imagine how sore he partner must be. Probably still should let the doc see that knee. Hutch sighed; he hurt himself with nearly every move. This hurt feels good, though. We're alive and gonna be just fine.
"I know, who'd have ever thought being hurt would feel okay?" Starsky replied to the unspoken thought, "and really my knee's okay."
Hutch noisily opened drawers and put away clean shirts, boxers, and socks, filling the drawer designated to Starsky. Not that it mattered where he put the shirts; Starsky would wear what and whose he wanted. Which, Hutch thought, was okay, too. Man, I'd like some coffee.
"That'd be great," Starsky said trying to roll the sleeves of the T-shirt over his shoulders. That was hard to do with swollen fingers, but Starsky was nothing if not tenacious, or damned stubborn according to his partner. "Hutch, would you throw me another donut, too?"
Hutch muttered from the kitchen, "No I won't. Hug's on his way." He smiled as put the water on the stove. Life is good.
"Sure is, ain't it?" Starsky answered from the living room, unaware that Hutch had not given voice to this thought.
"Coffee'll be ready in a minute," Hutch said as he pulled coffee mugs from the cabinet. He moved a couple looking for one with a big handle that would accommodate Starsky's enlarged fingers.
"Mmm hmm," Starsky said reaching for the guitar on the other end of the couch. "That'll be nice."
Hutch, finding just the right mugs, set them by the stove and scooped up the last of the laundry to be put away.
When I can't seem to go on,
You're right there with me.
Somehow you've always known,
Just where you need to be.
Hutch put the towels in the linen closet and fought with the closet door, damn thing never would close. Angrily banging his hip against the door, the catch clicked into place and the door stayed shut, probably afraid not to.
Smiling, Hutch sensed Starsky on the guitar trying to figure out the chords of some silly song he'd heard. Tears of thankfulness filled his eyes as he thought of his friend being whole again. Having put the wash away, he turned to join his partner in his rendition of "Time In a Bottle." Hutch brushed the closet door and smiled at the creaking noise as it again slid open. If that damn door liked being open that much then, so be it. He figured even a door should be allowed to live in the realm of its own nature. Damn I gotta get a grip here.
Remembering the walk home from the beach in the middle of the night gave Hutch comfort. He had been exhausted and expecting to be forced to carry his sagging partner at any second, had still felt unbridled joy. He had even broken into a quiet song at one point. Nothing like fighting Nasties from beyond hell, and winning, to put him in good spirits. Starsky had just leaned on him more heavily and smiled.
Later, he'd put Starsky to bed after another warm bath and eased his own tender body onto the couch. That hadn't lasted too long. When Starsky's yelps came from the bedroom, Hutch was more than ready to find security beside his shaking friend. With those soft curls against his arm, sleep came easily for them both. Side by side they had slept away the morning in peace.
Now Hutch felt pleasure in doing something as normal and everyday as washing dirty clothes. Extra effort would be needed while this hyper part of his soul was a roommate. Someday they could again both sleep in an apartment alone.
Then a wave of emotion flowed over Hutch so unexpectedly and powerfully he staggered. Crushing the small bundle of clean clothes he found himself confronting the what ifs and the nearlys. His ribs were still sore from the impact of Starsky's body as he snatched him from the path of that car on Pacific Coast Highway. Again he felt the deathly cold and saw Starsky, pale and still, nearly frozen in the little garden. Hutch saw the Needful's eyes made from distorted human memories looking through him. What if? Oh, God, that loaded gun ... the shots ringing out ... nearly...
Hutch hadn't heard Starsky softly come into the room, but when his legs turned to mush and just wouldn't hold his weight, Starsky was there. With a mere whisper, "Hutch." Clean clothes fell to the floor and Hutch had strong, bruised arms wrapped tightly around him. Few words were needed and those were shared silently as were the tears. Together they began healing.
Life is full of miracles,
We're blessed with our share,
On my cheek those soft curls,
My greatest is right here.
Feelings and thoughts so close,
Our souls make one pair.
Holding when you need me,
Our lives we'll always share.
"Hey, thought you two were hungry. Anyone home, or with all this food should I say any army home?" Huggy croaked from the front door.
Lifelines were to get you to shore and this time they had kept their heads above water. Arms sliding slowly, towels retrieved where they had cascaded, and Starsky's gentle voice, "Babe, you okay?"
Hutch looked into his partner's concerned eyes, "Yeah, you still starving?"
"Are chickens still flying?"
"Wha, what?" Running his hand through his hair, Hutch wondered, as he did on a daily basis, Does he do that on purpose?
Starsky grinned, "well, chickens do fly ya know."
"Only to roost Starsky, you want to eat, not sleep."
Starsky snorted. "Hutch, my Golden Boy of Knowledge. And I cannot read your mind." I sure hope ya don't mind me roosting here, my pal.
"Yeah, right." Hutch smirked. "Can't read yours either, maybe because of its small contents," Then he looked levelly at his partner, smiled broadly and said, "Yes I'm very glad you're roosting here."
Fondly squeezing his friend's shoulder Hutch carefully lifted and examined his hand. They looked at each other as Hutch held Starsky's bruised hand, careful not to touch the swollen fingers, and more was said without a word spoken then many brothers speak in a lifetime. Then Hutch's lips curled into a sweet smile, "I know, buddy, sometimes we sure don't want anyone reading our minds."
"No, but, yes, maybe, and shit," Starsky said with a grin.
"No, Starsk?"
"No, Hutch, I am not going to argue over the mind thing. Yes, I hope he brought more beer. Maybe I'll drink that stupid stuff you fixed for me -- you sure can be gross sometimes."
Hutch opened his mouth, but not a sound came out. Why bother?
Starsky led the way to the kitchen, Hutch's aim was pretty good, and most of the clean towels made it on the bed, the others on the floor close by. So what? He draped over Starsky's shoulder, and knew their world was stable again. Well, as much it could be.
Huggy had a feast ready at the table, salads, hamburgers, fries, beans, cheese, and a fruit platter. Carefully negotiating around the salads, Starsky grabbed a hamburger and some grapes, as Hutch dug into the green stuff, filling a plate to overflowing.
Hutch, spitting through a mouthful of green, mumbled happily, "Huggy this is beautiful," taking the next bite with near rapturous eyes, "Oh, uugy, man, outdid yourself," he added, mouth full with crunching.
Starsky was a little more polite; he did repeat clearly 'beautiful' before the rest of the compliment was in spurting food grunts.
"What it is here? You two don't eat less the Bear serves? I tell ya, fasting just don't become Bay City's finest."
Starsky, half through with his burger, gulped down the beer the Bear handed him and grabbed some grapes. Those were good, so he got a handful and began pitching them up and catching them with his mouth ... most of the time. Deciding they were good enough to share, he pitched two into Hutch's mouth when his partner finally removed his nose from the salad plate. Somehow he caught one of the grapes and didn't choke. Huggy deducted they'd practiced this game before.
Hutch was not one to turn down a challenge and shot into Starsky's amazingly momentarily empty mouth. Somehow he made a basket and tried for another. As that shot made its goal he gleefully announced, "Damn, I'm good."
The grape basket game went on long enough to spread grapes from the table to the couch. Friends were soon satisfied and sat in comfortable silence in the living room. Starsky again lounged on the sofa, feet propped on the table and guitar in hand strumming the strings gingerly with his sore, swollen, purple fingers. Huggy parked on the other half of the coffee table and grimaced at the bandaged leg and silently gasped at the fingers. Hutch had told him about wrenching the loaded gun from Starsky's hand. Shuddering, he took the coffee offered by Hutch, their eyes connecting with a moment of understanding.
Huggy said, "You know, my friends, Millie says you two are one of a kind, unique, marvelous, hell I can't begin to think of all the fine stuff she said." And with a little awe in his voice, he added, "She might have something there." The partners grinned and looked at each other.
"I don't have any more, Starsky," Hutch replied to the unasked question. Their eyes locked, blue sparks flew.
"You don't have to be so testy, it's just..."
"Starsky, I don't have any..."
"You do, too," Starsky argued.
"If I had them I would give them to you." Hutch was getting irritated.
Huggy was watching this banter like a Ping-Pong game -- his head bobbing from one partner to the other.
Starsky got louder. "I know I'm a grown man, and I happen to like cookies... I did not, just leave me alone."
"And then what? Starsk, you... hey, calm down. Don't you use that tone with me, partner!"
Huggy, who was often left hazy with these two, now sat, chin dropped. This partner mind thing was far beyond him. "Whoa, here, what is going on?" Huggy managed to ask.
They both turned with wide eyes at Huggy's incredulous expression. Then it hit them; they had been doing this all day. There was no other word for it; they were reading each other's minds. No way would they admit this, especially Starsky.
Thinly he asked, "What?"
"Give it a break, you know what I'm talking about. Just wait till I tell Aunt Millie," Huggy said in a loud whisper, bringing his hand to his sore throat. Looking at an appalled, Starsky he managed to squeeze out, "Hey, man, it's okay."
"I know, Hug, but damn I wish it hadn't happen."
"Starsky, we all wish none of it had happened," Huggy said softly.
"Oh," Hutch mildly exclaimed.
"Don't need it," Starsky muttered as Hutch continued to get to his feet.
"Starsky you know..."
"Fine, then..."
"No."
"Come on, buddy..."
Huggy finally held up both hands and scratched out, "Stop. Enough. Just think to yourselves, please."
Both detectives stared at the man again casually sipping coffee.
"Wait a minute," Starsky said with wide eyes. "You think..."
Hutch raised an eyebrow, and said, "We can read each others minds, really?"
Hutch crunched up his face giving it serious thought as Huggy nodded and spread his hand broadly from one partner to the other. Starsky and Hutch leaned toward him as he whispered, "Aunt Millie said you two were capable of anything. Man, she thinks you hung the moon and made it bright."
"Well, she sounds like a marvelous lady," Starsky beamed, "but I am eternally thankful that I can't read his mind."
"I agree," Hutch chimed in. "If I were you I would never want mine read either."
All three looked from one to the other, then all shrugged and went back to what they were doing. Huggy drinking coffee and trying not to notice Starsky's fingers as he strummed the guitar and chewed on the pick. Hutch playing with his hands touched his fingertips together and smiled.
After a few minutes, Starsky spit the slobbery pick into his hand and snapped at Hutch, "What!"
Hutch smirking and shaking his head, cheerfully replied, "Nothing."
The exasperated Starsky exclaimed, "No, I can't. Shit, you wouldn't use it now, and, yes, I do."
Hutch laughed and asked, "And you?"
"Do not," Starsky said sullenly.
"Yeah, so glad you do not know what I'm thinking," Hutch said as he smirked.
Starsky focused his blues fully on him, and no one but his partner will ever know what was said, but Hutch grinned broadly.
Laughing, then, Hutch said, "No, you can't play it with fingers the size of baseball bats, and, no," Hutch moved across the short distance and took the offered guitar, "and, yes. Shit, give me that slobbery pick." Hutch took the pick from him, swiped it against Starsky's jeans. "No, it doesn't."
Huggy shook his head and Starsky gave a lopsided grin to Hutch. "Thanks, I don't."
Hutch eased onto the couch sitting close to Starsky. "Starsk, a little thing like losing a stone that could save mankind wouldn't keep me from being your friend and partner." Hutch smiled gently at the pitiful look on his partner's face. "You did something no one had before, you hung on with strength no person should have to have."
"I had you, Hutch," said as the universal truth that it was.
Hutch touched the curls as they looked into blue pools of their shared souls.
"Sounds like the stuff I got from Millie, who by the way can't wait to meet the pair of you. Said you made a damn good team," Huggy said with admiration, trying to make it sound more like irritation.
One team member squeezed the other's shoulder and accepted the offered guitar.
"Sing..." Starsky began.
"I know, buddy," Hutch said, and as Starsky had silently suggested, Hutch did a fine job of "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown", in spite of the help from his two buddies' voices, one sounding much like the chicken referred to earlier.
They enjoyed a few beers and the companionship of close friends. Huggy left feeling much better about his friends and all their futures including Aunt Millie's. He had known real fear when Starsky had put his hands around his neck. Aunt Millie would like the report he could now give her, soon as he got his voice back again.
It's meant to be you know,
In Hutch's garden,
The vine grows so strong,
Wrapping tight into itself,
Like our love and bond.
Hutch, in this lovely place,
Full of growing wonder,
You share your sweet space.
With only me, my brother,
Here I find peace and rest,
And answers I need, too,
Life's now at its best.
Surrounded here by you.
"How are we doing that? I mean we always kinda read each other's minds, but this is getting scary."
"I don't know, Starsky, but it won't stay this strong."
"Don't care."
"Give me my pillow, Starsk. I know you're not asleep. One fake sore and I'm going to the couch and you can face the boogie men alone."
Hutch got a pillow in the face. They would be okay in a few days; the anxiety of going to sleep would lessen. Maybe their telepathic ability would dim. Whatever, it didn't matter. They usually knew each other's thoughts anyway. Souls shared would never stray too far.
"Love ya."
"Love you, too, buddy."
THE END