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Something So Right

by

   "Hey, Clark - "

   Hutch stormed through the door, kicking it closed behind him. His arms full of the bags containing what was shortly to become that night's dinner, he bellowed out again. "You here, Superman?"

   Starsky was on the couch, eyes closed, sock feet propped on the coffee table, with headphones on, plugged in to something playing on the stereo. The damaged left arm in its sling rested on a couple of pillows beside him, the healthy right one rested on his knee. "Hey," he said, when Hutch briefly blasted the volume, and then shut it off completely. "I was listening to that, back when I had my hearing."

   "You're falling apart, Clark," Hutch tsked at him, heading for the kitchen.

   "You're never gonna get tired of that 'Superman' thing, are ya?"

   "Depends - you leap any tall buildings today?"

   Starsky grimaced at him. "Nah. My tights are at the cleaners."

   "You should have told me. I could have picked them up on my way back from work." The smell from the kitchen finally hit Hutch, and his grin faded. "You made dinner."

   "I got bored. This was our last day, and we knocked off early. Not much I could do with this - " Starsky gently shook his left arm " - anyway. What'd you bring me?"

   "Steak and some wine. It'll keep till tomorrow." Hutch de-bagged his purchases and put them in the refrigerator.

   "Red or white?"

   "Red."

   "Good. It'll go with the chili."

   "I'm not drinking this fine wine with your five-alarm chili," Hutch replied, affronted at the mere suggestion. "We'll have the rest of the beer."

   "Yes, mom," Starsky sighed. He took off the headphones and rested them on top of the stereo, then took off the record from the turntable and slid it back into its sleeve.

   "So, you got out of PT entirely?"

   "Jim n' I just talked, mostly." Jim Stevens was Starsky's physical therapist, paid for by the insurance company. "Set up a schedule for me, now that he's not going to be working with me personally anymore."

   "Schedule? I thought you were rehabilitated."

   "From getting shot, yeah," Starsky said. "Now I've got to rehabilitate from the rehabilitation."

   Hutch just shook his head at him. It had been a panicked night a few days ago when he arrived from work to find the place empty - no Jim, no Starsky, no note saying where anyone was or when they were coming back. It was only an hour and a half later that Huggy arrived with the 'patient' in tow, Starsky's arm in a sling from the dislocated shoulder he'd managed to acquire by lifting too much weight behind Jim's back.

   "That's what you get for playing Superman while your tights are at the cleaners. No cape, either."

   Starsky just rolled his eyes. "You hungry, Lois?"

   "Lois?"

   "Well, if I'm Superman, that must make you Lois Lane, blondie. Dish up the chili, I'm hungry."

   "You're always hungry," Hutch retorted automatically, as he went into the kitchen.

********

********

   "You know, I talked to Dobey tonight, before I left," Hutch said, casually, mopping up the last of the chili in his bowl with a bit of bread.

   "Oh, yeah?"

   "Yeah. He said he hasn't heard from you in almost a week, now. I think he's starting to get a complex - thinks you're avoiding him."

   "Well, tell him I'm not," Starsky said.

   "Why don't you tell him yourself?"

   "Or I'll tell him. You're probably going to see him before me, is all I meant."

   "You could go see him tomorrow. You haven't been by the station in a long time - some of the guys are asking after you. And you know you're going to have to do it eventually."

   "Oh, yeah?"

   "Starsky, I know you're worried about the re-qualification, but before you hurt your shoulder you were doing great. I saw all the doctor's reports and the physical therapist's, too - they said there wasn't any reason why you shouldn't go back on active duty."

   "They aren't the ones who make the decision," Starsky pointed out. He swirled the last little bit of milk in his glass; they'd discovered the beer was all gone and Hutch steadfastly refused to allow his Bordeaux to be sacrificed, so milk was the only other beverage deemed appropriate to accompany the five-alarm chili.

   "Well, no," Hutch replied. "Obviously not. But it's a positive step in the process."

   "I've got my last appointment with Dr. Marcus tomorrow." Dr. Marcus was one of the newest department psychiatrists on staff; unlike the others, Hutch almost liked her. She seemed a little less overtly clinical than the rest of them, and she was far less male. "This seems like the week for lasts."

   "Are you worried she's going to find out you're nuts? Because I think she's probably figured that out, after all this time."

   Starsky shook a fist at him in mock-anger. "You know, with friends like you - "

   Hutch just laughed at him. "She hasn't said anything, has she?"

   "She doesn't say much at all, in our appointments," Starsky said. "I do most of the talking. She pointed out to me last week that I haven't even mentioned Gunther in about a month, now."

   "Avoidance?"

   "Nah. I just don't care anymore. I mean, I care that I got shot because of the guy, but I don't think about him. I don't 'harbor any lingering resentment,' as she put it."

   'Wish she could teach me some of that,' Hutch thought. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

   "Yeah. I guess so. We've mostly been talking about - other stuff."

   "Like?" Hutch prodded.

   "Like the job, in general. Past cases, in general. Me, specifically." Starsky shrugged. "You."

   Hutch frowned, then looked away. Something about the tenor of the conversation had been bothering him, although he was trying hard not to think about it too much; still, something that Starsky said earlier about it being a 'week for lasts' nagged at him. "You thinking of setting us up?" he asked, taking the dishes from the table to the sink.

   It was Starsky's turn to frown, but he didn't say anything to that. He leaned with his back against the sink and picked up a clean dishtowel, but Hutch took it out of his hand.

   "Sit down, already," he said. "You made dinner, I'll clean up. Besides, you're not much use with dishes and only one good hand."

   "The hands are fine," Starsky protested. "It's the shoulder that needs work." He let himself be pushed out of the kitchen and wandered back over to the couch. After a minute, he got up and went to the stereo, putting an album on and turning the sound down low.

   Hutch made short work of the few dishes and left them to drip-dry. He looked over at Starsky, head lolling back on the couch; he didn't look tired, just - pensive. Hutch went to the fridge and retrieved the bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. "You want some of this?"

   "I thought we were holding it for the steak."

   "I'll get another bottle."

   Starsky held his hand out for a glass, and then said, "You know, I think I'd rather have some coffee."

   "Sure. I'll put it on."

   "Sit. We've discussed you nurse-maidin' me, and I make better coffee than you."

   "In your dreams."

   "Humor me," Starsky grinned. "And sit down. You're making me nervous."

   Although it was said with humor, Hutch caught a note of authenticity in that complaint. He hovered for a moment, caught in the utterly unprecedented decision of where he should sit, before collapsing on the end of the couch, opposite where Starsky had been sitting moments earlier.

********

********

   Hutch warmed his hands around the mug of passable coffee, looking over at his friend's profile and marveling again to himself how domestic a scene this was, and how comfortable he'd gotten with it in the past several months. It was hard to believe how long it had already been since the shooting; the scars were fading away from Starsky's chest and torso, and he was roughly as mobile as he'd been - 'before he died,' Hutch thought. Soon, things were going to be same as they'd been before, only - Only, nothing was ever really going to be the same again. He didn't even know if he wanted anything to be the same.

   They'd lapsed into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Hutch was unprepared when Starsky suddenly spoke.

   "I'm not going back, you know."

   "Yeah, I know."

   It was as easy as that. Hutch felt like a massive load of concrete had been lifted off the middle of his chest, where it had been compressing his heart and his lungs ever since Starsky'd fallen by the Torino, felled by Gunther's lackeys.

   "You didn't say anything," Starsky said.

   "That was supposed to be my line, wasn't it?" Starsky just continued to look at him, expectantly, and he sighed. "I knew. If you hadn't said anything, I never would have, either, but even if you'd gone back, I would have known that you were only doing it - "

   "For you," Starsky finished.

   "Yeah."

   "I could, you know."

   "Don't," Hutch shook his head. "Don't do that for me. You don't want it anymore."

   "I really don't," Starsky agreed. "I'm tired," he added, resting his head back on the couch. "I'm tired of making a little difference."

   "You do more than that."

   "It doesn't feel like it used to. It hasn't felt like it used to for a while. I thought I was born and bred to be a cop, and now - " He shook his head. "Now I can just walk away, just like that. Or maybe I was pushed. Either way - "

   "This what you've been talking to Dr. Marcus about?"

   "A little bit. The last session, mostly." He chuckled. "I didn't even realize what I wasn't talking about until she mentioned it to me - I wasn't talking about Gunther, I wasn't talking about the shooting, but I wasn't talking about my qualifications, either. I was talking about the job in the past tense, and I wasn't talking about going back. Apparently, that's what most guys talk about - how soon they can go back. Whether or not it will happen." He looked a little sheepish. "Plus, I have been avoiding Dobey."

   "I think he guessed," Hutch said, dryly.

   "I'll call him tomorrow. Nah, I'll go see him, after I see the Doc." Starsky laughed. "God, I feel - "

   "Like the weight of the world has been lifted?"

   "You, too?" When Hutch nodded, Starsky smiled. "Nice to know that 'me and thee' still holds, even when we're not partners."

   "We'll always be partners," Hutch said. "This other stuff doesn't matter."

   Starsky grinned. "But what're ya gonna say after 'he's my partner', now?"

   Hutch frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

   "Before it was always, 'he's my partner,' an' when they gave ya that look, you'd add, 'we're cops,'" he said. "Now what are people gonna think?"

   Hutch shrugged. "Who cares?"

   "I do," Starsky said, instantly serious. He put down his half-finished coffee cup, and turned around on the couch so that he was facing Hutch, his feet resting just shy of Hutch's hip. "Hutch, we've gotta talk."

   "Starsk - "

   "No," Starsky insisted. "We have to."

   Hutch took a deep breath. "Okay."

********

********

   "I know you know what I'm gonna say, but I'm gonna say it, anyway." Starsky took a deep breath. "I love you." Hutch opened his mouth to respond, but Starsky wouldn't let him. "No, don't. I've got to get this all out, okay? And then you can say whatever you want to say. I just have to say it while I'm thinkin' it." He asked the question with his eyes, and Hutch nodded silently.

   Starsky stood up, suddenly nervous. "I don't know when this happened," he said. "I don't even know that it happened, or if - if maybe it was just always there, you know? An' maybe I just realized - I love you." He chuckled. "The thing that worried me about telling you that I didn't want to be your partner anymore was the fact that I was also going to tell you that I did want to be your partner, just, in a different way.

   "Only," he argued, "I don't even know if that's really it. Maybe I'm just worried that I'm not gonna get to spend all of this time with you anymore, and I'm gonna miss you. Maybe I'm trying to replace that - I mean, we work together, we play together, we spend most of our time with each other. Even now that we haven't been cop-partners for months, we still spend most of our time together. If you aren't here, I'm at your place, nights, weekends. We can't seem to let go, you know?"

   "I know I don't want to," Hutch said, quietly.

   "But what does that mean? Do you know? Does it mean that we're afraid we're gonna lose the friendship that we've had so long, or does it mean - "

   "Does it mean that the friendship isn't enough anymore?" Hutch finished for him.

   "Yeah." Starsky sat down again. "I've been tryin' to think about it - tryin' to wrap my brain around it, an' I just can't."

   "Did you ever wonder why it never worked out with any of the women we dated?" Hutch asked.

   Starsky nodded. "Yeah. With some of 'em, it just didn't, an' with some of 'em - " He swallowed, hard. "I used to feel guilty, because I was looking for someone who'd give me what you give me, plus the sex. An' pretty much I was just settling for the sex. I mean, I wasn't kidding myself that anything was going to come of any of it, because - because I always had you. It used to almost scare me when I'd feel something more for one of them, because I never thought any of 'em would be that willing to share."

   Hutch grinned. "Share you with me, you mean?"

   "Yeah," Starsky said, although his answering grin quickly faded. "This is so insane. I feel like I'm coming outuva closet I was never even in."

   "I know how you feel."

   "Do you?"

   "Is it my turn, now?" Hutch asked, waiting until Starsky nodded in the affirmative before he spoke again. "Okay, then. Yeah, I do know. Like just about everything else you said tonight, I knew you were going to say this, too. I've known for a while. Everything's changed, and yet it hasn't. I mean, I think I always knew that you weren't going to come back to the Force - or maybe I just hoped you wouldn't. Not because you aren't the best partner I had or ever will have, but because I don't think I could have been your partner anymore. I couldn't watch what happened to you happen again, Starsk. I don't ever want to see you die on me again - not unless we're both older than dirt and I finally snap and smother you with a pillow in your sleep."

   Starsky burst out laughing. "Well, thanks, partner!"

   Hutch chuckled. "You know what I mean. If we're like this now, imagine what we're gonna be like at ninety."

   "Scary old men hittin' on the nurses and poppin' wheelies in our wheelchairs at the home?" Starsky said.

   "Don't forget squealing the tires around the corners," Hutch laughed. "And - I love you." A slow, easy grin spread over Starsky's face, with its downcast eyes, like the sunrise. "Did it feel like that when you said it, too?"

   He looked up. "Like what?"

   "Like a first in a week full of lasts."

   Starsky grinned. "Yeah."

   "So what does this mean? That we want to jump on each other, all of a sudden?"

   "C'mere, you big beautiful blond, ya." Starsky seemed alarmed when Hutch did just that, stopping him with an outstretched hand and a nervous laugh. "Now, wait a minute - "

   Hutch sat back down. "See? And this is just for instance. So, do we move in together and continue having sex with other people - "

   Starsky looked vaguely disconcerted at the suggestion. "Meaning, women."

   "Or do we give sex up entirely - "

   Starsky raised an eyebrow. "Let's not get crazy, here."

   "Or, do we go for it with each other? The whole kit n' caboodle? Love and sex."

   Starsky blanched slightly at his bluntness. "Why don't you look as freaked out as I feel, babe?"

   "I hide it well." Hutch pointed at himself. "This is me, totally freaked out. Although," he admitted, "I was slightly more freaked out an hour ago, when I thought you were going to tell me you didn't want anything from me ever again."

   "Why would you think that?"

   Hutch sighed, and then grinned, a little. "Because that's the way I think, Starsk."

   "You're an idiot, you know that?"

   "Hey," Hutch pointed out, "you're the one in love with me, genius."

********

********

   "C'mere."

   Hutch was momentarily startled by the quiet but firm request. He frowned. "Your arm - "

   Starsky wiggled the arm in the sling. "This thing is mostly for show. C'mere - I wasn't plannin' on picking ya up, if that's what you're wonderin'."

   Hutch moved over on the couch, until he was enveloped in a fierce bear hug by his - partner. Funny how the same old words suddenly changed meaning when you weren't looking.

   It felt - the same. The same as it had always felt when Starsky hugged him, which was just perfectly natural. He'd always been touchy-feely, and he'd made the more physically reticent Hutch used to that part of his nature since very early on in their friendship. It was even something that he looked forward to - having Starsky there to hold him, to catch him, to warm him, to protect him. Starsky was the barrier between him and a lot of the bad stuff in the world, and these past months proved that it went far beyond mere police partnership.

   Still, it wasn't the same as what they were contemplating, and they both knew it.

   Starsky whispered his lips briefly into Hutch's hair, and then pulled back. "There's nothing to say that we have to decide everything right away," he said.

   "No," Hutch agreed. "We don't."

   "An' if we try it, and - if it don't work - I mean - "

   "There's nothing to say that we won't figure it out."

   "Yeah." Starsky sighed.

   "What?"

   "I just wish ya looked a little more freaked out."

   Hutch laughed. "I'll try."

   "It's not workin'. You look - just the same."

   "Same guy you fell in love with?" Hutch asked, around the lump in his throat.

   "Same old guy."

   "Who are you calling 'old'?" Hutch asked, poking him in the stomach. "You're older than me."

   "And I feel every single day of it, too," Starsky said. "Lately, I feel like those doctors musta put me back together with chewing gum and chicken wire."

   Hutch laughed. "Did you do it on purpose?"

   "What?"

   He nodded at Starsky's shoulder. "The stupid stunt with the weights."

   "You know, Jim asked me the exact same thing! I don't know," he admitted. "Not consciously. I've spent more than enough time with doctors, lately. Subconsciously - " He shrugged. "Who knows?"

   "It's a hell of a way to get out of re-qualifying."

   "It wasn't one of my better moves, I'll give you that. Although," he shifted slightly underneath Hutch, "I do have some others - "

   Hutch raised an eyebrow. "Does this mean you're getting less freaked out?"

   "It means I'm practicing at getting less freaked out." Starsky waggled his eyebrows with leering exaggeration. "I've got moves, baby."

   "I hate to break it to you, lover boy, but I've seen all your moves."

   "It's different to be on the receiving end, partner." Starsky immediately colored. "Uh, so to speak." He groaned when Hutch caught the unwitting double entendre and started to laugh. "Smother me with that pillow now?" he pleaded.

   "No chance. This is too much fun." Nevertheless, Hutch disentangled himself from Starsky's arms and sat back up on the couch, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his chin on them. "Where are we going to live?"

   "We've got two choices," Starsky said. "Or, we could move somewhere else entirely."

   "What are you going to do, now?"

   "Well, unless one of my dead relatives is holding out on a very big inheritance, I'm definitely going to have to work. As of this moment, I've got exactly thirty-seven dollars in the bank."

   "You don't have to worry about money, you know."

   "You're going to keep me in the style to which I've become accustomed, on your salary? I don't think so. I know what ya make."

   Hutch laughed. "You did play Camille, didn't you?"

   Starsky rolled his eyes. "Seriously - I'm not living off of you, babe."

   "It isn't like that, and you know it. I can take care of - things, until you get back on your feet. I've got some money in the bank. I can get more."

   Starsky took a deep breath, ready to argue, but merely said, "Okay," recognizing the gesture for what it was. "I've actually been thinking about it."

   "And?"

   "If my still-beautiful body hadn't gone completely to hell this year, I would have liked to do something with kids. You know, gym teacher, or something. Or maybe work at an after-school program at a Y."

   "You'd be great at that," Hutch said, to Starsky's still-skeptical face. "No, I mean it. You're great with kids, you always have been. That's a fantastic idea."

   Starsky looked extremely pleased at his enthusiasm. "It might mean taking some courses, though - something I haven't done since I got out of the Academy. I don't know if I have the brains or the body to do it."

   "You could do it," Hutch said, firmly. "There's still some insurance money coming to you, and a pension. Things might be skinny, for a while, but it would be worth it. Especially if we're only paying one rent."

   Starsky chuckled, shaking his head. "We're really gonna do this, aren't we?"

   Hutch nodded. "Yeah. We are."

********

********

   The record continued on, replaying itself automatically when it came to the end. The ignored coffee cooled in the pot and the mugs, and all of a sudden it was no longer the shank of the evening.

   "Should I go home?"

   Starsky looked at him. "You want me to decide?"

   "It's your house."

   "Unless you decide to move in. Then it's our house."

   Hutch took a speculative look around. "I've lived in worse places."

   "You can say that again. Would you have stayed if we hadn't just - "

   "Gotten married?"

   Starsky threw a pillow at him, which made him laugh. "Yeah. And where's my ring, anyway?"

   "You proposed. I should get the ring."

   "Next gumball machine I come across, it's all yours, baby. As long as you provide the nickel."

   "Deal," Hutch laughed. "Starsky, I have to tell you something."

   Hutch's tone of voice was so serious that Starsky was immediately afraid of what he was going to say, like the protective bubble was bursting around them. "What?"

   Hutch was somber and sorrowful as he said, "I can't wear white to our wedding."

   At that, Starsky launched himself across the couch at him, bandaged arm and all, smothering Hutch's face with a pillow and tickling him mercilessly, until they were both breathless with laughter.

   "Uncle, uncle, uncle already!" Hutch panted. "I give up, you win."

   "Damn right." Starsky finally let him free. "Nice way to tell me my blushin' bride ain't so blushin'."

   "Well, technically speaking, I am a virgin in these woods."

   "So am I," Starsky replied, quickly.

   "Easy - I wasn't accusing you of anything." Equilibrium and normal breathing restored, they lapsed into a comfortable silence again. After a moment Hutch asked, "So, you want to dance, or what?"

   Starsky's unexpected snort of laughter set them both off again. "Music's a bit much, huh?"

   "Yeah. Real subtle. How many women have you successfully seduced with this one?"

   "Too many to count," Starsky said, polishing his nails on his shirt. His self-satisfied smile faded as he said, "Stay."

   "Okay," Hutch nodded. "Couch or - "

   "Or."

   Hutch was genuinely surprised by that. "Wow," he said, then immediately added, "Okay."

   Relieved, Starsky let out another nervous laugh as they both got up off the couch. "We don't haveta do anything."

   "I didn't think that's what you were saying."

   "I just - " Starsky's voice wavered, and he ducked his head, a flush creeping up his skin. "I like it when you hold me."

   Hutch frowned. "And usually, it's the other way around."

   Starsky shrugged. "Yeah."

   "That's going to change."

   "Yeah?"

   "Yeah," Hutch said, firmly. He turned off the stereo, putting the record back into place in its sleeve on the shelf. Starsky turned off the lights, and waited for him.

   By some mutual and silent agreement, they both got into bed fully clothed. It was less scary that way, and the night was still too full of new admissions that hadn't had a chance to be fully processed to take yet another giant leap. Hutch plumped the extra pillows around Starsky's damaged shoulder, then eased himself into the other side of the bed, unsurprised when his partner's head ended up on his shoulder. He curled an arm around Starsky's back and hugged him, gently. "So," he asked, "you still freaked out?"

   Starsky answered around a yawn. "We haven't done anything yet."

   "Oh, I don't know about that, partner."

   Starsky frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

   "Never mind. Go to sleep." He felt Starsky shrug against him, then move a little closer, until he was completely comfortable. It took his body a little longer to fully relax, but it was only a quarter of an hour or so before he was asleep.

   Hutch stayed awake a lot longer, just listening to his partner breathe.

********

THE END

The Sequel to this story is A Good Time