Author's Notes: With gratitude to Cheryl, Judi et al at The Pits (you put up with a giant pain to get this story posted for me!) and to my editor, a special thank you - they knew how badly I wanted to share this story with other S&H people... I offer my first attempt at an S&H slash story - after having read slash stories, some very good, some... well, I wanted to try MY hand at it - hopefully this will touch you as much as it did me as I was writing it. I tried to convey the love and friendship between our guys that I always felt in each episode of the show.

Feedback, both good and not so favorable (I learn from constructive criticism!) would be welcome. Please mention the story title in the subject line. ENJOY!

Comments about this story can be sent to: siouxkhan@aol.com

Changed Forever

By

Mary Kay Hanus

Starsky blinked firmly at the lightening that lit up the kitchen, holding his breath for the rumbling of threatening thunder that was sure to follow. He cringed, wishing the storm away already. It had been building all evening, and now, looking up to the clock on the wall above the sink where he stood, he saw it was late, 11:20 p.m. to be exact. He should be getting ready for bed, but as long as the storm continued to build, there would be no sleep in Starsky’s future.

He'd hated storms all his life and hated being alone when they originated. He wished his partner and best friend, Hutch, was here to keep his mind off the damned thing. Sometimes, he wished he knew if it were the storms he hated so much, or if he was just angry with himself for being so ridiculous about his phobias.

Starsk had just finished a long stretch covering the streets of Bay City with Hutch, about ten hours straight, and had come home after dropping Hutch off at his place. Normally, they'd have dinner together at either detective’s place, but since it had been an early start and a long day, both were too tired to even contemplate spending time anywhere but their respective homes.

Starsky had changed into another pair of faded jeans, tossing a clean shirt on without bothering to button it up. Barefoot, he padded around the house, ending up in the kitchen where he had a light dinner and did a load of dishes, putting them away and wiping his hands with a towel, trying to keep his mind off the raging storm. Sighing, he hung the towel up, rubbing his sore eyes with his hands and leaned on the counter with outstretched arms, the unbuttoned shirt fluttering around him. All he wanted to do was go to bed, to escape everything, but his mind was racing.

He'd known his partner and best friend, Hutch, for a number of years now, ever since meeting him and rooming together at the police academy. They'd hit it off so well, amazing everyone around them as they were two very different types, but it was uncanny how they worked together, one finishing the other’s sentences, both thinking as one. They made great partners and even greater friends, closer than blood related brothers. They'd both gone through so much together over the years, good times and heartbreaking tragedies. They'd lay down their lives for each other, no questions asked. Starsky could still hardly believe, after all these years, that he could be so blessed with such a special friend that he hardly felt he deserved. So special.

Starsky sighed again, now barely hearing the storm rumbling and shaking the house. He was thinking about the years of their friendship, how much he cared for his best friend, how much he meant to him. And how differently Starsky was beginning to feel about Hutch lately, how every touch or smile from his partner made him literally shiver, more so than in the past. Just being in Starsky’s Torino now, together, gave Starsky thoughts he never knew existed.

Starsky was scared, he'd never found himself to have "feelings" like these for men. He prided himself, in fact, to be quite the ladies' man. But lately, after some of the fixes they'd been in, most especially after he thought he'd lost his friend when Hutch rolled his car down a valley on the outskirts of the city, a victim of a sick plot to kill him, Starsky came to feel very differently about Hutch; he awoke in the mornings after having dreamt about his partner; he longed for the end of their day, when any chances of injury (or God forbid, worse) on the job were gone, and they could spend time together, sharing dinner or a movie, sitting together on the sofa.

Starsky longed to tell Hutch about his new alarming feelings for his best friend, but how could he? He knew Hutch couldn't possibly feel the same way. For all he knew, telling Hutch how he really felt would drive his friend away, ruin their partnership, dissolve their friendship. How could he do that?

No, he thought to himself, these new feelings must never be allowed to surface, to be spoken of, or God forbid, acted upon. It would be the biggest secret of Starsky’s life. And he couldn't imagine keeping any secret from Hutch.

They'd shared everything in the past, that was one of the things that made their friendship so very special, something everyone around them envied. He hated the thought of keeping his feelings from Hutch. He wasn't sure how he was going to live day by day next to Hutch without him ever knowing just how much Starsky really...

Loved him. There. He said it, not out loud, maybe, but he thought the words to himself. He loved Hutch, with all his heart and soul and very being. So much so, it hurt. How could love hurt so much?

Starsky sighed aloud, standing back from the countertop he was leaning against as thoughts flowed through his mind. Everything was oblivious to him, the storm outside, the sudden chill in the house, the floor squeaking behind him...

Suddenly, deep in thought, before he could react with his training as a cop, a hand roughly clamped over his mouth and another arm came around to clasp him across his chest, hard. He realized he couldn't move to free himself, his back was firmly against another body behind him. He tried to pull free, attempting to shout, but all that came out was a muffled scream. If he could only reach the knife lying on the countertop.

Starsky began to shake, he was scared. His gun was hanging up in his closet, too far to be of any good to him. He couldn't withdraw his arms to fight the intruder. No matter how hard he squirmed, the arm pulled tighter across his chest and throat. The hand clamped tighter over his mouth. He tried in vain to control his rapid breathing as sweat began to pour down his face, stinging his eyes. He wished Hutch would come to his rescue, as always.

"Stop it or I'll KILL ya'..." a husky male voice whispered into his right ear as the arm across his chest pulled back, snapping Starsky’s head back viciously.

I'm gonna die, Starsky thought to himself. This creep's gonna kill me, right here, right now, in my own kitchen. But his fear wasn't in dying, it was the thought that Hutch would be so upset with the fact that he'd left his house open to intruders, to just waltz in the front door and...

Wait a minute, Starsky thought with a frown, he NEVER left his front door unlocked! He kept a key above the doorframe, as did Hutch at his place, but no one knew bout the spare key, not even Huggy, only Hutch.

Starsky was confused, who was this intruder who entered his house without a sound, no glass breaking, no wood splintering?

"Now, pretty boy," the voice growled menacingly, "you've had enough time to figure out in that curly little head of yours what must be going on." The arm was pulled even tighter across Starsky’s chest, causing a sharp, jabbing pain. The hand drew firmly across his mouth, nearly cutting off his airway.

Just as Starsky began to really panic, the threatening voice spoke again. "I just have ONE more thing to say before things get REALLY interesting... gotcha', Gordo!!!" And with that, both hand and arm were pulled away, freeing Starsky.

Jumping back, Hutch laughed maniacally, clapping his hands together.

"HAH!" he shouted, pulling on Starsky’s loose shirt to spin him around to face him. "Did I getcha?" he asked. Hutch had a stupid grin on his face as he waited for an answer, waving the key to Starsky’s house in his hand.

Starsky stared at Hutch with wide eyes. He couldn't believe it - it was HUTCH, pulling a stupid prank on Starsky, scaring the life out of him! But it was more than that, Starsky could still feel the touch of Hutch’s hands on his body, his left hand on Starsky’s bare chest, his soft hand pulling across his right nipple... Hutch’s hot breath so close to his ear, the lips to Starsky’s face... oh, God...

Starsky began to shake uncontrollably, his knees buckling as sweat still poured down his face, blinding the vision of Hutch in front of him. He blinked hard and shook his head to clear his sight.

Starsky began to slip to the kitchen floor, stayed only by an alert Hutch, who lashed out to catch his partner under his arms.

"Hey, hey!" Hutch shouted, the smile on his face vanishing, quickly replaced by a look of concern. "Starsk! You okay? Hey, it's only me! Take it easy!"

But Starsky began to fall backwards, towards the countertop he'd been leaning against a few minutes earlier, even with Hutch holding onto him firmly.

"C'mon, let's get you onto the sofa," Hutch directed, putting an arm around Starsky’s waist, and directing Starsky’s right arm around his neck. "C'mon, Starsk, you can make it," Hutch muttered encouragingly. But Starsky’s legs felt like rubber, he could barely will each leg to move, one in front of the other. Starsky tightened to the grasp Hutch had on his waist and he leaned into Hutch. God, how he loved this man - Starsky knew he should be FURIOUS with Hutch’s sick idea of a joke, scaring the life out of him, but all he could do was lean his head on Hutch’s shoulder and drink in the sweet scent of his best friend.

"Down, slow..." Hutch ordered, pulling Starsky’s arm from around his neck, letting go his hold on Starsky’s waist. No, Starsky thought to himself, don't pull away, please. I NEED your touch...

But he did as he was told and sat down on the edge of the sofa, reclining back to rest his head on the pillow Hutch set behind his neck on the arm of the sofa. Starsky allowed Hutch to lift his legs across the sofa and drew up his left leg to lean against the back of the couch. Hutch knelt on the floor near Starsky’s head, and carefully, tenderly, ran his hand across his friend’s brow. Starsky shook again with the touch.

"Hey, buddy, I'm sorry I scared you, you gonna be allright?" Hutch asked, worriedly, absently setting his hand on Starsky’s bare chest. He felt a shudder under his touch and drew his hand away. Looking deep into Starsky’s eyes, he frowned, confused.

"Starsk? What's wrong? It's me, Hutch..." Starsky was breathing hard, trying to catch his breath as he reached out and fumbled for a hold on Hutch’s jacket.

Once again, Hutch laid his hand tenderly on Starsky’s chest, this time rubbing small circles near Starsky’s pecs.

Again, Hutch felt an immediate shudder, his touch causing his best friend to tremble. But why? Hutch knew he hadn't frightened Starsky THAT much to make him AFRAID of him. Had he? Starsky had never been afraid of Hutch’s touch before - or WAS it fear? Hutch certainly didn't see fear in his partner’s eyes, not THAT kind of fear.

Oh, God... Hutch drew a sharp intake of air as he stared deep into his friend’s eyes. He knew now what he saw - it wasn't fear, not at all.

In fact, Hutch knew EXACTLY what was happening, or rather, what was ABOUT to happen. Hutch didn't know how Starsky felt, but he knew how he himself felt over the past few weeks, ever since rolling his heap of a so-called car down the valley into the thicketed gully, nearly killing himself, or at least possibly losing a leg in the process, all thanks to another slimeball they were unlucky enough to cross in their dealings. Hutch had come to feel VERY differently about his partner and best friend. Starsky had saved him from certain death, and once home, had nursed him back to health, helping him through his physical therapy, not even flinching when Hutch lashed out angrily and cruelly at him, verbally and physically from sheer frustration over his condition. No one had ever cared that much about Hutch...

It certainly wasn't the first time one of the dynamic duo had been there for the other, that was the story of their lives. Indeed, it was just another in a long line of incidents that only served to bring them closer together, closer than blood related brothers. Their relationship had always been based on trust and honesty. Hutch could still hardly believe, after all these years, that he could be so blessed with such a special friend that he hardly felt he deserved. So special...

The house was completely quiet now, save for the occasional rumble of thunder of the storm that was still alive and well and building in intensity. The sound of thunder, along with their combined breathing, deep and even.

Starsky swallowed hard and spoke for the first time since Hutch arrived.

"Hutch?" he whispered, meekly, his voice trembling on the next word. "Please?" He tugged almost imperceptively on Hutch’s jacket to pull him closer and closer, slowly, ever so slowly.

Oh my God, Hutch thought. Maybe Starsky DID feel the same way Hutch was beginning to feel about his best friend; he'd hoped so, he prayed so, he thought as he again rubbed Starsky’s chest lovingly, now softly caressing the hardened nub under his touch, causing Starsky to inhale sharply as he trembled. Hutch bit his lower lip and asked quietly, "Are you sure?" Starsky nodded, tears now forming in his eyes, threatening to roll down his face. Hutch knew this could change their friendship forever, for the better or worse.

"Please?" he repeated, although Hutch could barely hear him, even in the stillness of the house.

Hutch left his hand on Starsky’s bare chest and set the other on the side of Starsky’s head, deep in his curls, where Starsky pressed into the touch. It didn't surprise either of them that the other knew what they were each feeling, it was a long time coming, building in intensity, and this would be the night. Everything would come together in one very special, very passionate, intense moment.

Hutch moved up from his knees to sit next to Starsky lying on the sofa, never moving his hands from Starsky’s face or chest. But Starsky tried lifting his upper body to meet Hutch - he never realized it would finally come to this, he was both afraid and thrilled. God, he prayed, don't let Hutch pull away. Ever.

Slowly, Hutch leaned forward, his hand that rest on Starsky’s chest now moving, trailing downward, Starsky once again shuddering under his touch. Another sharp intake of air. Another beg. "Please, Hutch?" Only this time there wasn't even a whisper, just pleading lips. Begging eyes.

Hutch’s hand came to rest at the top of Starsky’s skin-tight jeans, at his waist. Hutch didn't dare move his hand any further, Starsky was shaking enough as it was against his touch.

He moved the hand that was tangled in Starsky’s dark brown curls to fumble for Starsky’s free hand, the one that wasn't grasping Hutch’s jacket with a death grip. Interlocking fingers, Hutch swallowed hard, leaning forward. Here goes, he thought. The beginning of something new, exciting, beautiful. Or the end of what they've always had together...

Please, God, he winced. Don't let this be the end of us.

Just as Hutch’s lips were about to meet Starsky’s, he stopped long enough to search his friend’s eyes one last time. Is this what you really want, buddy? Do you realize what's about to happen to us, to our future together?

As though reading his friend’s mind, Starsky nodded almost imperceptively again, never taking his eyes off Hutch’s. Slightly parting his lips, he blinked once, his brows pulled up in question. I know, Hutch. I know what this simple gesture will mean to us.

God, let this make us only stronger, one instead of two. Us, instead of me and thee.

Swallowing hard again, Hutch leaned forward, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, as his lips met his partner’s for the very first time.

Hutch wasn't sure WHAT to expect, actually, but he thought it seemed nicer than what he WAS expecting. Starsky’s lips were unbelievably soft, inviting.

Starsky had been thinking the very same thng about Hutch’s lips - he would always find himself staring at Hutch’s perfectly shaped lips, when he spoke or smiled or... they were hypnotizing.

But kissing Hutch was something he never expected he'd be doing, not in his wildest dreams.

The kiss was short lived, but tender, soft... Hutch pulled back a bit to open his eyes to search his friend’s face... Starsky lay there for a moment, his eyes closed, his lips partially open, breathing so hard Hutch thought he may start hyperventilating. Before long, though, Starsky opened his eyes as well, and Hutch could see the longing that shone in them. Starsky wanted more...

Hutch leaned in again, more certain, only this time the kiss was harder, longer, as they moved closer to each other, their grip tighter on their hands, Starsky letting go of Hutch’s jacket long enough to press his trembling hand to Hutch’s chest. Not to push him away, rather to express what love he was feeling.

Hutch moved his steady hand from Starsky’s waistband slowly, deliberately down to the area between Starsky’s parted legs, rubbing slowly at first on the hardened area, then with more force, causing Starsky to moan softly as he pressed up against Hutch’s hand.

God... he DOES love me like I love him, Starsky thought to himself. He was beginning to fall into a deep chasm, tumbling faster and faster, his head spinning dizzily as he pressed his lips to his best friend’s. Love me, Hutch, he pleaded in his mind. Love me like I love you...

Starsky didn't know if it were the way they were situated, him on the bottom, Hutch on top, but it seemed as though Hutch was the dominant one, touching, massaging areas of Starsky’s body he never thought Hutch would ever be touching. That was fine by Starsky, he didn't mind being submissive. He knew Hutch would always be tender with him, dominant or not. As long as Hutch loved him, that was all that absolutely mattered...

Hutch, in turn, could hardly believe what was happening, between simple kissing and petting, he was feeling lightheaded himself, wondering if all of this was only experimenting, or if he and Starsk had started a new life together. Hutch had never felt this excited, this alive, not with any of the women he'd been with his whole adult life.

The kiss was lasting so long, they both had to break their hold at the same time to gasp for air.

"God..." Starsky inhaled sharply. "Hutch..."

"Babe..." Hutch smiled back, licking his lips.

"Hutch, I love you..." Starsky finally admitted aloud, reaching his hand from Hutch’s chest to touch his face. But in a sudden, unexpected move, Hutch pulled away sharply and sat up.

Oh God, Starsky had said the words, THOSE words, Hutch thought with a chill. Even though he had admitted special feelings for Starsky simply by the motions they were going through, Hutch now realized how serious this had become in a short amount of time.

Of course, he LOVED Starsky, but did he really love him like THAT, like Starsky admittedly loved HIM? Could he ever? Could he change his entire life, commit himself to Starsky? Hutch began to tremble with fright, what was he doing? He had to leave, he needed to be alone, away from Starsky, to think things out before they went any further. Before he ruined everything. If everything wasn't ruined already, he prayed.

"I can't, I don't... Starsk, I gotta' go, I'm sorry..." Hutch stumbled over the words, pushing himself away from his friend and running out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving a very confused Starsky alone once again.

"HUTCH!" Starsky sat up, calling after him, but it was too late. Hutch was gone and Starsky was alone. Blinking hard, tears suddenly stinging his tired eyes, he searched around him for an answer.

Did I move too fast, scare him away, force something onto him that he wasn't ready for, may NEVER be ready for or even be able to accept, he asked himself.

Realizing he may have just ruined the best relationship in his miserable life, Starsky gasped, the tears now overflowing and running down his face onto his lips - he licked the saltiness of the tears away, licking lips that were still warm from Hutch’s lips; they still tasted like Hutch.

The thunder shook the now still house, as Starsky slowly got up, the shirt fluttering around him as it slipped off his shoulders. Shrugging it absentmindedly back up, he tripped his way over to a glass fronted cabinet in the corner of the living room. There was nothing left to do but drink, and keep on drinking to try to forget this God forsaken night ever happened, he decided. Hopefully, come the morning, he and Hutch could act as though nothing ever happened between them and they could return to their partnership, their friendship.

Fuck partnership. Fuck friendship, he thought angrily, hurt and hurting the more he thought of it.

Through the tears, he couldn't find the latch to the cabinet, no matter how much he fumbled. Fuck this thing, too, he screamed in his head, making a fist and shoving his left hand through the pane of glass on the left side of the cabinet, shattering glass shards driving deep into his hand. although he felt no pain. His pain was deeper right now, his heart was breaking, nothing else mattered. He had revealed his love for his best friend and was promptly rejected. Life was over as far as he was concerned. From this moment on, he didn't give a shit about anything, even if he bled to death in his own living room...

Sobbing he grabbed a bottle of whiskey with his bloody left hand, and cutting his hand even more as he withdrew the bottle through the jagged glass still left in the door frame, he staggered back over to the sofa and falling back onto it, he grasped the lid of the bottle and loosened it, no small feat with his right hand, as his left was now bleeding freely down his arm, the blood covering the bottle making it sticky and hard to grip. He angrily threw the bottle cap across the room, and rubbing the tears from his face, tilted the bottle back and drank greedily from it as he drew his knees up to his chest.

It burned his throat going down, but as he continued to drink, it numbed everything, his throat, his bleeding hand, the memories...

End of Part One,,,

His eyes were bleary, his ears ringing. But still, after about an hour, he thought he could hear the swish of the door to his left. Even the ticking of the wall clock and the rumbling of the thunderstorm, that by now, was finally dying off could barely be heard by him. He was thankfully reaching that part of being drunk that was total bliss, the part after remembering why you were drinking in the first place, and before you woke, riding the inevitable porcelain bus.

Even in the light of one small lamp lit in the room, he could tell he was through almost the whole bottle of raw whiskey. Maybe if he was really lucky (and wasn't he just about the luckiest son of a bitch lately?), he'd be so sick the next couple of days, he could beg out of working with Hutch, and hopefully after time, Hutch wouldn't be nauseous at the sight of his so-called friend who tried to seduce him.

"Hmm..." he chuckled, intoxicated, to himself in the darkness, grasping the blood covered bottle with his bloody left hand, while hugging his knees with his right. "Mrs. Robinson..."

Starsky wiped the trail of whiskey from his chin drunkenly with the back of an unsteady hand.

"Starsky?"

He could barely hear a voice in the background, his head was pounding so hard by now. He blinked hard, his bloodshot eyes feeling gritty and sore from unending tears. Of couse, the whiskey wasn't helping clear the cobwebs in his head.

"Starsk?"

The voice was stronger, closer. Clutching the bottle protectively to himself, Starsky let his head drop to his chest, it felt as though it weighed a ton on his shoulders.

Hiccups now replaced the sobs shaking his body. He struggled to lift his head as he once again heard a voice call him.

"Hey, buddy?" Hutch’s tender voice echoed in his ears as he felt the sofa dip. Someone was sitting next to him, facing him, touching his face gently, lifting his chin...

Through blurry eyes he tried to focus on the figure next to him. It was Hutch. He'd come back to him... Starsky thought, bringing on a new rush of tears streaming down his face.

"Hush..." his speech slurred, reaching his bloody left hand out to touch Hutch’s arm.

"Oh my God, Starsk! Your hand!" Hutch’s voice shook as he realized Starsky’s hand was bleeding. Wide eyed, he carefully grabbed his friend’s wrist to get a better look. Starsky’s hand was a mass of cuts, blood running down his arm, soaking his shirtsleeve.

"Babe, what hap...?" he began to ask before he saw the blood covered near empty whiskey bottle now laying on the sofa next to him. Whirling around, he saw the shattered cabinet door in the corner, glass shards lying around it. "Oh, no..." he thought to himself, turning back to his partner.

Starsky’s breathing seemed labored, the blood finally beginning to clot in the cuts on his hands.

"Aw, Starsk..." Hutch sighed, gently touching his friend’s tear stained cheek. "Why?"

Starsky took a couple of deep breaths before he said anything. Hiccups still coming. Tears still flowing. Bloody hand still flailing.

"You... you left me. You rejected me..." he whispered, hurt, pained. "You hate me..." The tears began to flow as he turned and fell to the back of the sofa, away from Hutch.

Starsky didn't want Hutch to be near him, didn't even want Hutch to LOOK at him.

"Go..." was all he said, between sobs, pulling his bloody hand away from Hutch’s grasp. "Jus' go..."

Hutch’s heart was breaking. He didn't mean to reject Starsky, not at all. In fact, it was just the opposite, he'd LIKED what had occured between the two of them, maybe too much. He wanted to take it further, as far as they could go IF Starsky was willing. That's why he ran, the thought of this new relationship going to a higher plateau scared him, scared the CRAP out of him. What if it were one-sided, if Starsky didn't want THAT kind of a relationship? Then what? Hutch had to leave and think things out without Starsky to tempt him. He knew looking into his best friend’s eyes could make him do things, think things, FEEL things... he couldn't trust his feelings around Starsky right now.

Hutch opened his mouth to say something, anything to try to explain his sudden departure, but thought better - it could wait. Starsky was in no condition to hear him rationally, not to mention that Hutch had to do something about Starsky’s bleeding hand before... he shuddered at the thought.

Swallowing hard, Hutch took a different route.

"Let's get that hand taken care of," he said, reaching for it.

"I don't need you..." Starsky muttered, pulling his hand away with a moan. Who was he kidding? His hand burned even through the drunken haze he was in. It hurt, hurt so bad, although not as much as his heart pained him.

"But I need YOU..." Hutch frowned, holding out his hand, palm upturned. "I don't hate you, babe, I could NEVER hate you..." he mumbled barely above a whisper, a frown on his face as he shook his head.

Hutch didn't hate him? But he left him, nothing made sense... all Starsky knew was he still loved Hutch, even through the hurt he felt, and he needed his best friend. Hutch came back, that must mean something, Starsky thought to himself. God, what had happened tonight? Did everything move too fast? Should it never have happened at all? Or maybe they just needed to talk first, before acting on their impulses. But it seemed so RIGHT...

He turned to stare at Hutch’s waiting hand. Hutch came back, he thought. Hutch came back. Lifting his eyes, he gazed tiredly into Hutch’s deep blue ones. Hutch wanted to help, and Starsky was exhausted. He couldn't fight anymore. He just couldn't...

Painfully lifting his wounded hand, he held it out to Hutch, who tenderly grasped it.

"Lie back down," Hutch ordered quietly, helping his friend to recline back on the sofa, as he carefully wiped Starsky’s brow.

"I'm gonna go get some first aid supplies, Starsk, I don't want you to move, okay?" Hutch asked, shrugging out of his jacket after carefully, gently setting Starsky’s bloody hand back down on his partner’s chest with a pat on his wrist. "You understand, Gordo?"

Starsky nodded slowly, his head beginning to pound. The whiskey was doing its job by now, his head hurt, his stomach queasy. He swallowed hard. Please, God, don't let me be sick in front of Hutch, he pleaded silently, closing his eyes, sighing heavily. Hutch came back...

Hutch washed the blood from his hands when he made it to the bathroom. Where had things gone wrong? he thought to himself as he stared at the stranger in the mirror. Leaning on the sink after wiping his hands on a towel, Hutch hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. It was already early into the morning, according to his watch. He needed sleep, Starsky needed sleep. Best get moving before they BOTH fell asleep. He grabbed the supplies he thought he needed, hoping, praying Starsky wouldn't need stitches. He didn't want to take Starsky out into the storm to a place he hated, yet another hospital. It just wasn't fair, Starsky had been through so much already. So much...

Hutch rubbed his tired eyes and drew his hand down his face to his lips - lips that had kissed his best friend. Lips that wanted to keep on kissing him, to explain hidden feelings and desires to him. He did love Starsk, and wanted to show him in so many ways. But whether Starsky would want anything more to do with him, that was another thing altogether. Hutch hoped so. He couldn't bear to lose his best friend. They'd have a lot to talk about later, but first things were first. Hutch had to fix Starsky’s hand, then they'd go from there. Take things one step at a time.

Sighing heavily, he grabbed the medical items and made his way back to sit on the edge of the sofa, where Starsky was now sleeping fitfully, moaning and breathing heavily. Sweat was again pouring down his face in beads.

"Starsk?" Hutch whispered, carefully shaking his shoulders. "C'mon, babe, wake up for me."

Starsky’s eyes fluttered open as he frowned, looking around him. He looked up into Hutch’s eyes again, seeing a tenderness in them that he'd seen earlier in the evening. Hutch again laid his hand on the side of Starsky’s face.

"You 'kay?" he asked, smiling.

Starsky nodded slowly, his head pounding.

"Gonna work on your hand. This is gonna hurt, buddy," Hutch warned as he gingerly picked up Starsky’s injured hand and set it in his lap. He could barely make out the ring on his friend’s smallest finger, it was so covered with blood.

Hutch figured Starsky couldn't feel too much anyway, not after finishing off all that whiskey. He'd already decided he wasn't leaving his friend alone the rest of the night (or was that morning?). He was staying right next to Starsky until he sobered up enough to talk everything out. Hutch dreaded what Starsky might have to say, but together they could make it. They HAD to...

Hutch knew Starsky was going to be a very sick man before the sun rose again. There was enough whiskey in his system to possibly cause alcohol poisoning. Hutch wondered what he was thinking, doing something so foolish as putting his hand through glass and then downing almost a whole bottle of liqour.

What was he thinking? Starsky must've thought he just lost his best friend in the world, and he had no other choice but to try to forget ANYTHING that happened, he'd remember allright, he'd just feel terrible physically at the same time. Feelings that Hutch was just as guilty about causing.

"Here goes, buddy," he warned, starting to work on cleaning the blood and pieces of glass from Starsky’s hand. Starsky flinched slightly a few times, gritting his teeth, but thanks to the alcohol clouding everything, he basically felt very little. For now.

After wrapping gauze around his hand, Hutch set it back down on Starsky’s chest with a sigh. "All done, buddy. You did real good..."

Starsky attempted a weak smile. "Thanks," he whispered sleepily.

"C'mon, buddy," Hutch said, tossing the first aid items behind him onto the coffee table. He'd take care of cleaning everything up in the morning. "Let's get you into bed."

"Change your mind?" Starsky asked sarcastically. Immediately, even in his drunken stupor, he regretted saying it, seeing the look on his friend’s face. "I'm sorry, Hutch..." he gulped. "Forgive me?"

Hutch merely smiled. "We're gonna be okay, babe," he whispered, nodding, laying a tender hand on Starsky’s cheek. "I promise you."

Starsky felt a heavy burden lifted from his heart. If Hutch said everything would be okay, it would be okay. He trusted Hutch. Trusted him with his life and his heart...

"C'mon, buddy," Hutch ordered, lifting Starsky from the sofa, careful not to bump the wrapped hand. "Let me do the work."

Slowly, Starsky’s head pounding, they made their way up the few stairs to Starsky’s bedroom, where Hutch carefully set Starsky down on the edge of the bed.

"Need the bathroom yet?" he asked cautiously. If Starsky was gonna end up tossing his cookies, he may as well do it sooner than later, so hopefully he could fall asleep and get some much needed rest.

But Starsky shook his head. If at all possible, he was going to make it through this night/morning without incident. His stomach was telling him something else altogether, though. He could swear he was on a ship at sea during a storm - everything in the bedroom was swaying.

"Hutch?" he asked meekly.

"Hmm?" Hutch looked up from pulling Starsky’s loose shirt off over the wrapped hand.

"You really don't hate me...for what I did?"

"Seems to me we were both there, Gordo." Hutch smiled, the feel of Starsky’s lips still warm on his own. Truth be told, he wanted it just as much as Starsky probably did, but now was not the right time. They needed to talk this out. "You didn't exactly twist my arm, so to speak."

Starsky smiled tiredly, letting Hutch remove his shirt.

"And I already told you, I don't hate you, I could NEVER hate you. You're the best friend I've ever had." Hutch’s voice trailed off, looking deep into Starsky’s eyes where tears glistened.

"I was wrong, Hutch. I DO need you..." Starsky whispered, holding out his right hand for Hutch to grab. Holding Starsky’s hand to his chest, Hutch smiled warmly.

"It's nice to be needed," he whispered back. "I promise, I'll always be here for you, Starsk, I'll never leave you." Hutch gently sat Starsky’s hand back down to his friend’s side and pushed Starsky’s shoulders, forcing him to lie back on the bed.

"You need some sleep, Gordo. I'm gonna go check your coffee supply. I've got a feeling you're gonna need some come the morning," Hutch said, standing up and drawing the blankets up to Starsky’s neck.

"Hutch?" Starsky asked excitedly, sitting up unsteadily on his elbows, wincing at the pain in his head.

"What is it, buddy?" Hutch asked, stopping at the doorway, a questioning look on his face.

"You... you're gonna stay this time, aren'cha?" Starsky asked in a tiny voice, a pleading, scared look in his bloodshot eyes. "Please don't leave me again... I thought you were never coming back to me..." His voice trembled on the last sentence.

With a smile, Hutch turned and made his way to sit back on the edge of the bed next to his best friend. Starsky strained to look up pleadingly into Hutch’s eyes.

Leaning over, Hutch set his hands on either side of Starsky and bent over to meet his friend’s lips. This kiss, their third (third time's a charm, right, Starsk?), took Starsky by surprise, but he pushed up into it, into the warmth of Hutch’s lips. He couldn't believe it was happening again. After Hutch’s abrupt departure earlier, Starsky wasn't sure Hutch would even want to SEE his partner again, let alone KISS him.

But Hutch did kiss him. Tenderly at first, then more forcefully, enough to push Starsky off his elbows and flat onto his back, his head buried in the pillow. It took Starsky’s breath away, Hutch was kissing him with such strength, his chest now resting on his friend’s, careful to avoid Starsky’s gauze-wrapped hand.

Starsky moaned with pleasure, he loved Hutch with all his heart, yet he feared... feared the future, their unknown future together. He just wanted to enjoy the here and now...

Hutch moaned a bit, as well, not quite believing the strength he had in him, to be as forceful as to kiss Starsky on a whim like this. He enjoyed the touch of his lips against his best friend’s, and judging from the moans coming from his partner, it sounded as though he was enjoying it his own self.

Taking it one scary step further, Hutch took a chance and parted his lips, gently darting his tongue into Starsky’s willing mouth, his friend accepting it and doing likewise with his own. Bringing up his good hand to touch Hutch’s face, Starsky pushed into Hutch’s kiss.

Too soon, it seemed, Hutch hesitantly broke free. With one last tender kiss to his friend’s lips, Hutch leaned back, only mere inches from Starsky’s face.

Licking his lips, Starsky smiled warmly up into Hutch’s eyes, again touching Hutch’s face with his good hand and gasped aloud.

"Now what was that about me leaving?" Hutch whispered.

"Hutch, I..." Starsky stammered.

"I know, Starsk. I love you, too." Hutch smiled, wiping away a stray curl from Starsky’s forehead. "I really love you." There, he had finally admitted it, like Starsky did just a few hours ago. And to Hutch’s surprise, it didn't hurt to say it. In fact, it felt good. It felt natural. It felt... right.

"We've got a lot to talk about, don't we, Blintz?" Starsky asked quietly, looking away as he played with the sheet drawn up to his chest.

Hutch laid a gently hand over Starsky’s, stilling it. Lifting Starsky’s chin to meet his own gaze, Hutch answered with a nod.

"Yep. But we've got a whole lifetime ahead of us to talk. And whatever else..." He grinned evily, shrugging his shoulders.

Starsky smiled back. But the smile quickly faded. "You know... this changes us. You. Me. Us."

Hutch nodded. "I know. And it scared me, too, buddy. But I think... I KNOW it's gonna be okay. Hell, it's gonna be great!" He grinned his thousand volt grin.

"I can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend my life with than my best friend," he added honestly, wiping a sudden tear away from Starsky’s face.

"Me, neither," Starsky whispered. "But you, me, we're not... gay, are we?"

Hutch shook his head firmly. "Nope. Don't think we've EVER looked at other guys before. I think we just discovered some hidden feelings for each other that we've both been denying for a long, long time. I love you, Gordo, and you love me. And we'll take this whole new experience one day at a time. It'll be fine, buddy, I know we will..."

Starsky sighed nervously and let out a deep breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"I'm scared, Hutch. I don't want to ruin us."

"Not a chance, partner." Hutch smiled, bringing up the blanket to tuck around Starsky’s neck once again. "We won't let that happen. We've known each other too long and have come too far together to let anything ruin us. As long as we have each other, we're gonna make it. Now you need to get some sleep, we'll get that hand checked out in the morning."

Starsky’s eyes began to close slowly, sleep finally overtaking him. "Hutch?" he muttered, holding out his hand.

"I'll stay. I'm not going anywhere," Hutch whispered, knowing just what his best friend was about to ask. Rounding the bed, Hutch climbed in the other side to lie next to Starsky, turning out the light. Lightening lit the room as it was still raining outside...

Hutch placed a hand on Starsky’s forehead. "You're warm," Hutch noted, concern in his voice. He didn't like the thought of Starsky developing a fever, but after everything he'd been through this evening, he wasn't surprised. From having the bejeezuz scared out of him with Hutch’s practical joke gone astray, to feeling like he'd been rejected by his best friend, to losing blood and his sanity to a bottle of whiskey, Hutch wasn't at all surprised that Starsky wasn't one hundred percent. And it had all been Hutch’s fault. He felt terrible, he felt responsible. Moving closer to his friend, Starsky turned and lay his throbbing head on Hutch’s chest. It brought back so many memories to Hutch of SO many times, TOO many times, that they had been so close like tonight, through illnesses, shootings, poisonings... they depended more upon each other than anyone else in times such as these. There were more times than he could count when they fell asleep next to each other. Who could've ever imagined, in their wildest dreams, that their relationship would come to this? Hutch didn't know how coherent Starsky was to know just exactly what was happening between them, but Hutch himself could believe it, they'd been too close all these years - even their friends and coworkers could believe their relationship might reach this level, everyone was amazed at the closeness between the two detectives... suddenly, something else occured to Hutch.

"I didn't hurt you with my sick idea of a joke, did I?" Hutch crooked his head around to face Starsky’s head on his chest, referring to his return to Starsky’s house earlier in the evening. Hutch had quite a hold on his friend...

"Um, um...," Starsky mumbled sleepily, as he lifted his sleepy eyes to meet Hutch’s gaze. "You scared... scared me. But you didn't hurt me. You could... never... hurt me." Starsky sighed, his head falling back down on Hutch’s chest.

"No, I would never hurt you, Gordo. At least, I hope I never will...," Hutch said quietly, thoughtfully as he smoothed Starsky’s hair tenderly. "Anyway, I'm sorry about that whole idiotic practical joke. It was stupid of me. And I'm sorry I ran out on you. I was just taken by surprise... forgive me?"

"Always," Starsky mumbled. "Today. Tomorrow. Always..."

Tomorrow.

"Tomorrow's another day, Scarlette," Hutch sighed in his best Clark Gable, putting his arm around Starsky’s shoulder and rubbing it as Starsky rolled over onto his side to face Hutch, snuggling close. "Tomorrow's another day..." Hey, if Starsky had his Bogie...

The last sound Hutch heard before falling asleep himself was Starsky’s even breathing. It was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world to Hutch. All was well with the world, and tomorrow would be the first day of their new, exciting, frightening, thrilling life together.

Tomorrow would indeed be another day...

THE END