Paula Wilshe

   "Hm?"

   "Huh?" Hutch responded to the questioning inflection in his partner’s voice. "I’m sorry, what?" He hadn’t been paying attention, in fact, had only been dimly aware that Starsky was speaking.

   "What’s with you?" Starsky asked him, frowning. "You okay?"

   Hutch sat up straighter against the seat of the Torino. "Yeah," he assured the dark haired detective. "Fine, yeah, just lost my train of thought." He looked at Starsky, who occupied the driver’s seat. "What were you saying?"

   Starsky pressed his lips together in an expression that fell somewhere between annoyance and concern. "I was asking if you want me to bring you back one of my mom’s pies, for you she’ll make an extra one, she’s still kind of put out that I’m not bringing you along, but she understands, but," he said. "anyway, she makes this apple pie, it’s the crust that does it, I think…" Starsky rambled on, taking his hands off the wheel intermittently to illustrate the finer points of the artistry of dough rolling and apple selection. Starsky continued a stream of patter, and despite Hutch’s best intent to pay attention, his mind began to wander again.

   "Hutch?" Starsky’s insistent voice broke into his reverie.

   "Yeah, that’d be nice," Hutch said.

   "What?"

   "Pie. Bring me some, that’d be nice, I love your mom’s pies," Hutch answered, confused. "Isn’t that what you asked me?"

   "About ten minutes ago," Starsky said, with a shake of his head.

   "Oh." Hutch smiled at him embarrassed. "I’m sorry. What did you ask me?"

   "I asked which plane you decided to take," Starsky said, making the turnoff for the airport terminal in the pre dawn darkness.

   "There’s a late afternoon flight today." Hutch said vaguely, "You sure you’ve got everything?" he asked. "You got that book I bought for your mom? She’ll really like it, and make sure you tell her I found it in that secondhand bookstore she—"

   "Hutch," Starsky broke in.

   "What?"

   "Do you feel okay?"

   "I feel fine."

   Starsky looked at him, then quickly back at the road, as he dodged an early morning airport shuttle. "You’ve only been out of the hospital for a week. Are you—"

   "Starsk, I’m fine," Hutch assured him. "Clean bill of health. No more plague, see?" He took a deep breath, something he’d barely been able to do a week and a half before. "No cough." He tugged Starsky's right hand away from the steering wheel and placed it against his forehead. "No fever." He grinned at Starsky. "You’re starting to give me a headache, but other than that I’m fine…okay?"

   "Okay," muttered Starsky, although his tone indicated that he remained unconvinced. He replaced his hand on the wheel. "I’ll call you tomorrow?"

   "No, that’s all right," Hutch said quickly. "I’ll call you. Don’t run up your mom’s phone bill calling Duluth. I’ll call tomorrow afternoon, between the hors d’oeuvres and the silver chafing dishes, huh?"

   Starsky pulled the Torino up against the curb and both men opened their doors and climbed out. Opening the trunk, he handed the keys to Hutch. "You be careful with this car," he warned. "I’m only leavin’ it with you because yours’ll never make it back to the airport tonight and I don’t want you to miss Thanksgiving with your family."

   Hutch tossed the keys in the air with a grin, catching them easily. "I appreciate the gesture, Starsk."

   "You sure this is a good idea?" Starsky said, peering at him.

   "What, lending me your car?" Hutch replied, knowing full well that was not what his partner alluded to. "I said I’d be careful with it."

   "You know damn well what I mean," Starsky retorted. He set his suitcase and a flight bag on the curb, and slammed the trunk lid down. "Going away. Both of us. Not together."

   "Starsk, come on," Hutch answered calmly. "We went over this before. Your mom needs to see you. She knows what you went through while I was sick, and she was worried you’d get it too…she needs to see you."

   "Yeah, but…" Starsky began, as if there was something troubling him that he was unable to articulate. Which there was. Hutch was acting weird. "Lookit, I know it’s important for your folks to see you too," he said, "It’s just…"

   "Starsk, it’s okay," Hutch soothed. "It’ll be fine. Your mom needs to see you. He gave Starsky a shove. "Now get out of here before your car gets towed and it automatically becomes my fault."

   "Okay," Starsky sighed. He wrapped an arm around his blond partner and hugged him fiercely. "I’m just…"

   "I know," Hutch teased, although he hugged back just as hard, patting Starsky on the back for emphasis. "You’re entering your annual period of euphoric sentimentalism, heaven help me."

   "I guess."

   "Have a great Thanksgiving, enjoy your family, and I’ll see you when you… when we get back on Sunday, all right?"

   "Okay," Starsky sighed again. He pushed Hutch away, holding him by an elbow, and looking at him intently, as he tried to figure out exactly what the unaccustomed hesitance in his friend’s manner was all about. Probably nervous about spending the holiday with his dad, Starsky thought, although after all that almost dyin’ and stuff things should be better. ‘Course they hadn’t even come out to visit their son, which Starsky thought was just plain weird, his own mom would have been…

   "Starsky!"

   "What?" he jumped slightly.

   "They’re calling your flight," Hutch said, giving him a push. "Get out of here, turkey."

~~~~~~~~~~

   Hutch slammed the door of his apartment, tossed the car keys on a table, and flopped down on the couch, allowing himself full access to the brooding depressive sulk he’d pushed aside for his partner’s benefit. Now what? he thought with a sigh. Starsky had been to hell and back, he knew, and even though Hutch was the one who’d been sick and nearly died, all he’d had to do was lie there and wait for something to happen.

   Starsky had borne the brunt of it, the watching, the waiting, the worrying, and the exhaustion of trying to track down Thomas Callendar and his amazingly potent and copious antibodies. When the immediate crisis was over, Starsky had all but camped out, first at the hospital, and then here, at the apartment, waiting on Hutch hand and foot, taking care of everything, and panicking that every time Hutch cleared his throat he was having a relapse.

   The guy needed a break.

   That’s why Hutch had suggested a holiday trip home, he thought it would do Starsky good to get away from him, to see his mom…and to let him be the one who was being fussed over for a change. Mrs. Starsky was good at that. Her son had learned from the champion, and that thought made Hutch smile.

   And there was something unexpected, within Hutch, which had prompted him call his own folks, shyly, and ask if he could come home for Thanksgiving. He’d gotten so caught up in the thrill and euphoria of being alive, of knowing he was going to live, that he set his mind to making things right between himself and his father. Oh, he was realistic, he knew they’d never see eye to eye…but they shared a familial bond, there was some love there, and maybe the damages weren’t irreparable.

   What he hadn’t expected, however, was the breathless, apologetic phone call he’d received from his mother the night before. He’d just finished packing, finding himself pleasantly anticipatory at the thought that tomorrow night at this time he’d be home. Home. Whatever that was, whatever it meant, he’d be there.

   Suddenly his mother was on the phone. "Something’s come up, darling, business deal… You know your father would get out of it if he could, but then again, it’s in England…haven’t been to Europe since, oh, goodness…last spring…would have loved to have seen you though…and you’re feeling all right, and back to normal now? Of course, Christmas is out, the cruise, you know, but perhaps after the New Year? Have a wonderful holiday, darling, perhaps you could do something with…with…oh, it’s David, right? Take care of yourself, love, so glad you’re feeling well again!"

   Fuck it.

   So now he was here, five days off, nothing to do, and all alone. Good time to get caught up on laundry, he thought, and do a little cleaning, maybe read some, pick up a turkey TV dinner and watch some football. Okay, he thought, That takes care of one day. What about the other four?"

   He’d tried to be so careful last night, and this morning too, not to let on to Starsky. He knew if Starsky’d found out, he’d have changed his plans immediately, and the two of them would have muddled through a turkey and a six pack together. It sounded wonderful. But it wasn’t fair to Starsky, Hutch knew, he needed some home time.

   Playing the martyr was not in Hutch’s lexicon, well anyway, not over an issue as important as this one, and he knew sitting on the couch thinking about things would only make it worse. Pushing himself up, he glanced at the clock. Taking off about now, he thought, and sighed with relief that his partner was on an airplane, bound for a home a whole continent away.

~~~~~~~~

   "Hutchinson, what the hell are you doing here?" Captain Dobey bellowed, when he entered the squad room to see one half of his best detective team huddled over a pile of paperwork. "You’re supposed to be in Minnesota."

   "Hi, Cap," Hutch smiled self-consciously. "Well, trip got cancelled, so I thought I might as well…"

   "Where’s your partner?" Dobey demanded gruffly.

   Hutch glanced at his watch. "Um…about now…flying over Kansas, I would think."

   Something in Hutch’s expression made Dobey take a closer look at him, and he sank down into the chair opposite Hutch’s. "What happened, son?" he asked, his voice softening.

   Hutch shrugged his shoulders, shuffling some papers. "My parents’ plans changed," he explained. "They’re going to Europe tonight…business deal or something…" He smiled gamely at his superior. "Not a big deal," he said, "I’ve got football, I’ve got food, holidays aren’t that important to me anyway. You know that."

   "Yes, I know that," Dobey said, smiling. "I hear you bitching at your partner about it often enough. Surprised he didn’t drag you off to Brooklyn, though."

   "Well, uh," Hutch ran a hand through his hair, "I didn’t, uh, exactly tell him I wasn’t going to Duluth."

   "Why the hell not?"

   "He’s…" Hutch paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to verbalize his feelings. "He’s all in, Cap. He’s done enough. He needs to be home."

   "I think it would have been nice if you’d given him the option to decide where it is he wants to be," Dobey said sagely. "I admire your intentions, but knowing Starsky…"

   "Yeah, I know," Hutch smiled slightly. "But it’s important to me that he has some time off too. You know?"

   "Yes, I know," Dobey started to rise from the chair. "You’re certainly welcome to come to our house tomorrow," he offered. "The kids and Edith would love to see you. Of course, you’d have to put up with my idiot brother in law, but between the both of us, I think we could take him."

   Touched, and genuinely amused, Hutch laughed. "I appreciate the offer, Cap, but I wouldn’t intrude on your family time. I’d feel…"

   The captain held up a hand. "Okay, I’ve got you. But if you change your mind…Edith makes a mean pumpkin pie, and her turkey…" Dobey put a hand to his lips, and kissed his fingers. "All right?"

   "All right. Thanks," Hutch said sincerely.

~~~~~~~~

   "Starsky? Is that you?"

   "Captain Dobey, yeah, hi," Starsky began, feeling slightly foolish now that he had his superior on the line. "Uh…Happy Day Before Thanksgiving?" Starsky pushed a hand through his hair, absently pulling at his curls. "I’m, uh, sorry to bother you at home, but…How are ya?"

   "Fine, Starsky, just fine," the captain sighed. "What can I do for you? Why are you calling me from New York?"

   Starsky searched quickly for a way to phrase his concern which would not sound stupid. Giving up, he settled for the truth. "Uh…I, uh…been tryin’ to call Hutch, you know, at his folks’ place? And I, uh, well…it’s," Self conscious, he cleared his throat, and the rest of the words tumbled out in a rush. "I was callin’ every twenty minutes for…" he looked at his watch, "three hours, and there was no answer. And then just now I got the maid, and she told me some bullshit about ‘the family has gone away for the holiday.’ I, uh…I got kinda worried, and I… wondered if you’d heard from Hutch."

   "Hutch." Dobey repeated.

   "Yeah, you know," Starsky was beginning to feel irritated. "Big blond guy, my partner?"

   "Ah," Dobey said. "Hutch."

   "Cap," Starsky’s voice lowered. "Level with me. What’s goin’ on? He’s not in Duluth, obviously, and there’s no answer at his apartment. Where the hell is he? I’m gett’n real worried now, and I’m upsettin’ my mom. You don’t want me upsettin’ my mom, do ya?"

   "No, Starsky," Dobey sighed again. "I certainly don’t want to be responsible for upsetting your mother. Hutch was down at the station last time I saw him, a couple of hours ago."

   Starsky’s brow knit in confusion. "Well what the hell was he doin’ there?" he demanded. He was supposed to be in Minnesota. Where the hell is his family? Is he okay?"

   "He’s fine, he’s fine," Dobey said in a reassuring tone. "Apparently his...uh…his parents…changed their plans? Went to Europe?"

   "Son of a bitch!" yelled Starsky. "Sorry, Ma," he said quietly. "Cap, how could they do that to Hutch! Jesus Christ, two weeks ago he was in the damned hospital and he wasn’t gonna make it…and they didn’t even come out then, and now they’re dumpin’ him for Thanksgiving? Why the hell didn’t he tell me, he must have known before I left."

   "Uh, well..."

   Starsky took a deep breath. "Come on, Cap, spill it."

   Dobey’s words came out in a rush. "Well, you know your partner, you know how he is. Says he didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have gone to New York."

   "You’re damn right I wouldn’t’ve…"

   "Starsky, settle down. He thinks you need a break from…from everything."

   Starsky could feel the captain’s discomfiture through the telephone line. He didn’t like getting in the middle of a situation between his two detectives, particularly one over which it was glaringly obvious that both had such strong feelings.

   "Okay," Starsky said. "Okay. I’ll think of something."

   "I invited him to our house, but he wouldn’t. Says holidays don’t mean that much to him anyway."

   Starsky let out a breath. "I know that. It’s not the holiday. It’s…you know he was so sick, and they never…and he’s still not back to normal yet…and there was this part of him that was hoping…"

   "I understand," Dobey said sympathetically. "But what is there to be done about it?"

   "I don’t know," Starsky said. "I don’t know." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I’ll think of something. Cap’n, I’m sorry I bothered you at home, but, you know, thank you…" He hung up the telephone, and sank into a kitchen chair.

   "So what’s going on," asked his mother, who was mixing up a giant bowl of stuffing ingredients. "Where is Hutch?"

   Starsky looked up at her, pain and anger both palpable in his voice. "He’s in L.A. Can you believe it? His parents welched out on him coming home…they went to Europe…" the last word was said as if it were an obscenity.

   "It was hard to follow your conversation, Davey," Mrs. Starsky said. "He knew this before you left?"

   "Yeah, he…" Starsky leaned his head on a hand, elbow propped on the table in dispirit. "He knew, he was afraid I wouldn’t leave if I found out. Which I wouldn’t. Or I woulda made him come along with me."

   "Did he want rid of you?" she asked, eyes twinkling. "Not that you could ever be annoying or anything."

   Starsky grinned at her. "Who, me? No…he… it’s been a real tough month, Ma, for both of us. I mean…he was sick, and I was… I…"

   Mrs. Starsky reached for the pepper shaker. "I know, honey."

   "He’s got this stupid idea in his head that I need a break from all the…from…" he shrugged his shoulders. "You know? But there’s this part of him, even though I think his dad’s an asshole…sorry, I mean, not that great a guy…but it’s his dad, you know? All Hutch ever wanted was for his parents to care about him the way you do about me."

   "Or the way you care about him? I love him too, Davey, and he could have come here. You and he both know he’s always welcome."

   Starsky nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes, he knows that, but…I think he wanted me to have time alone, and with you, and everybody else…the family…does that make any sense?"

   "From you, no," she said, with a warm smile. "From Hutch, yes, it makes perfect sense." She looked up at the clock. "You’d better get a move on, Davey."

   He frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

   "You need to get to the store and pick up some kind of a good cooler, and a turkey. By the time your flight gets into L.A. in the morning, it will be Thanksgiving, and all the stores will be closed."

   "Flight to…what are you saying, Ma?"

   "I’m saying," she pulled him up by an arm. "I’ve got plenty of stuffing and side dishes to spare, and an extra pie, too. You get yourselves a little turkey, and something to get it back home in." She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "While you’re gone, I’ll call the airline and change your reservation, how about that?"

   "But, Ma…"

   "But nothing. I’m willing to let you go. After what that boy’s been through, he shouldn’t spend Thanksgiving alone. He needs you, and…" she smiled at her son fondly. "You need to be with him. But," she continued firmly.

   "But?"

   "But I will expect the two of you here for the holidays in December, or there will be hell to pay."

   Starsky grabbed her and hugged her as hard as he could. "Ma, you are the best," he murmured into her shoulder. "Yes, I’ll go, and yes, we’ll be here in December, both of us. Just…I love you, and…" he whispered in her ear. "…and don’t let Aunt Rosie make that damned chicken soup this year, okay?"

   "Get out of here," his mother laughed, swatting him on the behind.

~~~~~~~~

   "Hello?"

   "Mrs. Starsky, hi, it’s Hutch."

   "Hello, sweetheart, happy night before Thanksgiving!" Mrs. Starsky hoped the smile she wore was not obvious to the party on the other end of the telephone line. "How is your family?" she asked, keeping her tone light and innocent.

   "Oh, they’re just fine," Hutch assured her, looking around his darkened apartment. He took a sip of the tea he had brewed. He wished it were a beer, but still on residual medications, he didn’t dare go against Dr. Kaufman’s orders. Or Starsky’s. "Are you all ready for tomorrow?"

   "I certainly am," she said. "I’m working on the last of the pies right now, but everything else is ready to go."

   "Boy, I love your pies," Hutch mused wistfully, before he could stop himself.

   "Don’t worry, honey, I’m sending you one with Davey," she told him. "How are you feeling?"

   "I’m fine," he said, taking another sip of tea. "Back to work and everything." He leaned his head back on the sofa feeling inexplicably lonesome and sentimental, and more than a little silly for feeling that way. "I was wondering if I could talk to your eldest pride and joy."

   This was the test, she thought, if she could pull this off, Davey’s plan might work. "He’s, um, not here right now, Hutch," she answered honestly.

   "Oh," Hutch replied, the disappointment heavy in his voice. "Okay, then…"

   Poor kid is really lonely, thought Mrs. Starsky.

   "Where is he off to?" Hutch tried to lighten up. The last thing on the face of the earth he wanted was to have his partner’s mother feeling sorry for him. ‘Course, she thinks I’m in Duluth, he remembered. So she probably feels sorry for me anyway since she’s heard enough about my parents from Starsk. That thought made him smile slightly.

   "You know, honey, I’m not sure exactly where he is right this minute." Probably flying over Kansas about now.

   "Do you know when he’ll be back?" Hutch asked hopefully. "I could call again."

   "Why don’t I have him call you?" Mrs. Starsky asked. "He’s got your parents’ number, right?"

   "Um…" Hutch floundered for a moment, not wanting to be found out. "You know, I’m going out in a little bit, why don’t I give him a call tomorrow? Would that be okay?"

   "Of course it would," Mrs. Starsky breathed a sigh of relief. Would have been difficult to keep this going all night, she thought. "You can talk to him tomorrow." In person.

   "Okay," Hutch agreed, anxious to end the call. He was afraid that if he kept talking, he’d either let something slip, or with the finely tuned intuitive powers Mrs. Starsky shared with her son, she’d realize something was amiss. "I’ll talk to you tomorrow then."

   "All right, sweetheart," she replied. "Davey says you’re still on medication, what, penicillin? Make sure you remember to take all the doses."

   "I will," he promised, touched at her concern.

   "You still take all those vitamins of yours, right?"

   "Every day," he assured her.

   "You come out here and visit me soon, Hutch, all right?" she asked, her affection for him evident. "You can’t know how awful it was, being stuck out here and no way to help either one of you through all of that."

   Hutch tried to swallow the catch in his throat. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you very much. I promise, next time your goofy son comes to visit, I’ll tag along." The warmth of her caring suffused his being, and he held on to that feeling until the connection was broken, and he was alone again.

   Hutch hung up the telephone and sat for a long time on the sofa, nursing his tea, and his bruised spirit. How stupid is this, he chided himself. It’s not like his family had ever been any different, nor ever would be. He should be used to it by now, resigned to it. And he was surely grateful for the obvious affection extended to him both by his partner, and by Starsky’s family…what a neat bunch of people. But after all that, the hospital, the almost dying, wouldn’t you think there’d be something different from his own parents? That they would, just this once, feel he was worth their time?

   Getting maudlin, Hutchinson, and you’re not even drinking, he thought. This is dumb, this is unproductive. Sleep is productive. And he hauled himself from the couch, and sank wearily into his bed.

~~~~~~~~    

   Hutch blinked his eyes tiredly, and filled in the last bits of data on the final report he had to file. Starsky wouldn’t believe it when he returned, he thought, all the files up to date, everything neat. He knew that once his partner returned on Sunday, he’d have to tell him the truth about where he’d spent the weekend, but this way he’d at least have something to show for it.

   He squinted at his watch. Three o’clock. Well, that meant it was six in New York, and a houseful of Starskys were sitting down to their Thanksgiving dinner about now. Hutch yawned, and stacked the file folders neatly in the "out" basket. By the time he got home and popped his turkey T.V. dinner in the oven, it would be seven o’clock back east, and a good time to call Starsky.

   It would be tough, he knew, because he wanted nothing more than to have one of their typically rambling and bantering conversations—that would make him feel better than anything, probably, but he’d have to keep it short and businesslike, or Starsky would figure out what was going on. Too late for him to do anything about it, of course, but Hutch wanted nothing to tarnish this time at home for his friend.

~~~~~~~~    

   Hutch turned off the engine of the LTD, peered out the front windshield of the car. Raining. Great. If it had stayed sunny, he could have gone to the beach to kill a couple of hours, but no point in wandering through a drenching downpour. He exited the car quickly, and ran for the door, and by the time he reached the top few steps he found himself trudging.

   He could hear a football game dimly, and he lifted his head and sniffed appreciatively at some neighbor’s turkey dinner wafting from under a door. The noise and aroma almost seemed to be coming from his own apartment, and he stood still for a moment, wondering at the sort of burglary suspect who might break in and rustle up a turkey while he gathered up the family jewels. Shaking his head, he reached up to the ledge above his door for the key, and let himself in, stopping dead at the sight of his apron clad partner, bending over to look in the oven.

   "Starsk?" he asked incredulously.

   Startled, Starsky shoved the oven door shut with a bang and turned around, breaking into a huge grin at the sight of the rain dampened man. "Hey, you big blond turkey, it’s about time you got home! Where the hell’ve you been?"

   "Uh…at w-work…wh-what’re…what’re you doing here?" Hutch regarded him helplessly.

   "Basting a turkey," Starsky explained.

   "But…"

   Starsky moved to Hutch’s side, and pulled him into a quick hug. "Happy Turkey Day, Blintz," he said fondly. Letting go, he grabbed Hutch’s arm, and stuck a wooden spoon in his hand. He tugged him over to the stove. "Stir," he commanded. "Nobody likes lumpy gravy."

   Hutch obeyed automatically. "Starsky…I—I—what’s going on here?"

   "Well," Starsky bit his lip thoughtfully. "It’s Thanksgiving, and I think… we’re gonna have some turkey." He smiled.

   "Yeah, but…"

   "Keep stirring."

   "I am." Hutch’s brow furrowed. "But…"

   Starsky pulled open Hutch’s freezer and yanked out the frozen turkey T.V. dinner. He tossed it on the table with a disdainful expression. "You think I was gonna let you stay here alone and eat this garbage?" he said. "The hell with that."

   "But…how did you…how…"

   "I was tryin’ to call you at your dad’s," Starsky explained. "Just to talk, and see how things were goin’…when I couldn’t get you, and then the maid said the family’d gone away…well…I got scared and I called Dobey."

   "Dobey sold me out?" Hutch’s voice was nearly a squeak.

   "I made him, Hutch," Starsky soothed, laying a hand on his partner’s shoulder. "He had no choice. I’m a good interrogator." He picked up a piece of celery from the sideboard and took a bite. "I been thinkin’ about goin’ into police work as a career. Pretty sure I have a flair for it"

   "Oh you do," Hutch grinned. "Absolutely. But I still don’t get…"

   Starsky regarded him seriously. "My mom made me."

   "Your mom made you." Hutch repeated, brow furrowed, not comprehending.

   "Yeah. Soon as she found out you were here by yourself, she told me to get back here and make you a turkey dinner. She said you needed me here, and I needed to be here." Starsky’s expression grew serious, his voice low. "I don’t argue with my mom, Hutch."

   "I’m…I…" Hutch blinked quickly, suspicious moisture pricking his eyes. "I don’t know what to say. Dobey told you…all of it?"

   "Well," Starsky took another bite of celery, "he didn’t so much tell me as I dragged it out of him. Hutch, I gotta ask you something." With a solemn expression, and an incredulous headshake, he asked, "What the hell is wrong with your parents?"

   Hutch stirred the gravy somberly. "I have no idea," he said. "I always figured it was something wrong with me."

   "Nah," Starsky replied with a dismissive grin. "You’re a good boy." He poked Hutch in the arm with the remains of his celery stalk, and reached for another utensil with his other hand. "Somethin’s the matter with those people. But, the thing is," he took hold of Hutch’s wrist, pulled his arm closer, and sampled a taste from the end of the wooden spoon. "They’re missin’ out on some pretty terrific gravy."

   Hutch felt himself flushing with embarrassment. He flicked his eyes over at his partner, who had begun working on a pot of potatoes. "Starsk, thank you," he said quietly. "For…"

   "Don’t thank me yet," Starsky admonished him, holding a potato masher aloft. "What if the turkey sucks?"

   "Then it’s a good thing we’ve got my T.V. dinner," Hutch nodded his head toward the table. "I’m willing to share, seeing’s how you came all this way." Hutch placed his free hand lightly on the side of Starsky’s head. "I’m…you’re…" He took a deep breath. "Thanks," he said again.

   "You’re welcome," Starsky said, with a grin that lit up the entire kitchen. "Wouldn’t want to be anyplace else. Can we please eat now? You’re getting’ all soapy, and I’m starving. You have any idea what airline food is like?"

~~~~~~~~    

   A few hours later, Hutch finished his third piece of pie, and sat back against the couch with a sigh. Starsky was sacked out on the other end. He’s so jet lagged he doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going, Hutch thought fondly. He rose quietly, and pulled the comforter from his bed, bringing it in to drape over his dozing partner.

   Starsky sighed contentedly in his sleep, and turned over on his side, snoring softly. He’s out till morning, Hutch mused. Maybe we can do a little hiking in Topanga tomorrow, he thought, and suddenly the realization that there were still four vacation days coming filled him with happy contentment.

   Hutch watched him sleep for a few moments, his eyes pooling with unshed tears again, over this marvel of a man who was his best friend. How lucky he was to have been granted this pillar of support and love, and to share in the infectious joy, which drew him in and warmed him like nothing else he’d experienced in his life. He realized with a start that the emotions he was feeling were the very same ones that most people used when describing feelings for their families.

   That’s it, he thought, as if it were a revelation. We’re family.

   Hutch got up quietly, and picked up the telephone that rested next to his bed. Dialing a number by heart, he waited till the line was picked up on the other end. "Mrs. Starsky?" he began in a low voice. "Hi, it’s Hutch. I just wanted to thank you…"

THE END