Patshy

   Starsky was deeply bored in his bed in the hospital. He was missing Hutch, who should have arrived an hour ago. Looking over the last weeks, when pain governed his life, he would have preferred to just let go and join his father and Terry.

   Now, in the distance, he could see that his choice was the right one. Although his suffering, the misery of the world, the fear of other Gunthers and dangers, the uncertain future of his job, and the long recuperation were all things he knew he must face, Starsky discovered--not for the first time--that all those problems evaporated when he saw Hutch's smile. Or when he felt Hutch's hand on his cheek, checking to see if he had a fever.

   Hutch had always been the whole world for him, but now Starsky was totally dependent on Hutch. He was his lifeline. He was his engine, and to Starsky's own surprise, Hutch was the core of his heart. That badly hurt heart, which only started to beat again for Hutch. Yes, he came back to life for Hutch. How could he thank him, make him understand that his life revolves around Hutch's life? How could he say that the love he was feeling was stronger and went deeper than a simple friendship?

   Through the shared years, that union that was formed in the Academy, became the closest liaison one could ever imagine. Maybe the medication made him feel this way. Death changes your life.

   Starsky was more thoughtful lately, as if his wounds had opened his mind instead of his flesh. In that moment, Hutch entered the room, wearing his university jacket, his long strands of hair slightly tousled, his bright eyes competing with his bright hair. Starsky wondered if Hutch's hair was always that long and bright. Why was he just noticing these things now?

   His friend leaned over him, asked how he was feeling, and looked into his eyes. Baby blue, his baby blue. Although Starsky has blue eyes, they are dark like the night. Hutch's eyes are light like the day. That's the way they are, day and night. Sun and moon. Earth and sea. Opposites who attract themselves, inevitably one exists because the other exists.

   Hutch went to the other side of the bed and climbed in. He asked for space. What space was he asking for? My bed? My heart? Both? Hutch is happy, that's true. He laughs all the time. I want to know why he's laughing all the time.

   Starsky looked at his friend; he adored his face, including the mustache, which at first disgusted him. He wanted him so badly, he wanted to take Hutch's soul, his whole person, his entire body.

   Hutch looked at him, too, and looked for something in his eyes. They didn't have to speak, never did when they looked at each other--their eyes spoke for them.

   Starsky could read in Hutch's eyes: 'Thank you for being alive, for staying with me. Thank for this act of love. I love you.'. Hutch read in Starsky's eyes: 'Everything I do, I do for you. I love you.' And without even thinking about it, their lips joined smoothly, shyly, forever.

THE END