Warnings: Warnings, if any, will be posted at the very bottom.

Author's note:  This story was originaly posted in the zine "Don't Give Up on Us, Baby". Many, many thanks to Lucy, for publishing it, and to Barb D., for her editing help.

Comments about this story can be sent to: 62books@verizon.net

Crossroads

by Sarah Problem

Starsky shifted his feet as he leaned harder against the driver's side door of the Torino, moving so he could get the full effect of the sun on his face. With his eyes closed he could pretend it was summer, warm and things were green again, even though there was still a slight chill to the air.

One more cloudy day and I think I'm gonna go nuts. Even the places that get snow all the time have seen the sun more than we have.

Even Hutch, who usually liked winter, had been growing restless lately. It had been a cold, dry but cloudy few months. Starsky himself was beginning to feel as if he were beyond having cabin fever. More like he was close to jumping out of his skin. He desperately wanted to hit the beaches and get tan once again, drive with the Torino's window down, and shed the heavy leather jacket he loved but was getting tired of wearing. He'd been lucky that he could hide out in Hutch's greenhouse to his content, and when it grew closer and closer to spring and the weather hadn't changed, both men had taken to spending a lot of time in there.

Some time off, he mused. That's what we need. Feel like we've crawled down every cold, dirty rat-hole in this city! Only three more weeks and it'll be vacation time, and none too soon for me.

He started as he heard Hutch shout his name, taking less than a fraction of a second to categorize the shout as a casual one. No need to move from his sun then.

"You sleeping on the job already?" Hutch asked, his voice sounding tired but teasing. Starsky squinted one eye to watch him approach.

"It's not even noon yet. What kind of partner are you, anyway?" Hutch asked as he made his way to the passenger side. "A useless one, apparently."

Starsky grunted, a slight smile on his lips, and went back to his sun bathing for a few precious seconds. "You should be proud of me for gettin' my vitamin D, hotshot. You wouldn't want me to keel over from rickets now, would you?"

"Too late," Hutch announced as he opened the car door. "I've seen those bowed legs of yours."

"You and your faulty eyesight. Tsk, tsk." Starsky tried to hide his smile as he settled in behind the steering wheel and started the car for the drive to the station. "So, Mrs. Benning have anything for us? She's the best source of information we've got in this area, and if she doesn't know Mrs. Abernathy's private business no one will."

"Maybe you should have come in to find out," Hutch said, sounding a bit put out as he flipped through his notebook. "She had homemade cookies and milk all ready for us. Too bad that nice elderly lady never learned to cook." Hutch grimaced. "They were really bad this time."

Starsky laughed. He knew that no matter how bad the cookies were, Hutch would have put on his best face and eaten them to make her happy. "Those cookies were for you, you mean. It's pretty obvious she's only got eyes for tall blue-eyed blonds who remind her of her son who never visits. Too bad I remind her of the-"

"Horrible, nasty so-and-so who married her daughter, only to move her all the way across country in order to leave Mrs. Benning alone and helpless," Hutch finished, grimacing. "It took me forever to get her to give a straight answer. She kept trying to tell me about what this hated son-in-law was up to lately. It would have been nice to have you in there to help me."

"Nah. She woulda just ignored my questions and given me those dirty looks like she usually does. Did she give you anything?"

Hutch shrugged. "Nothing concrete. She and Mrs. Abernathy knew each other from their bridge club meetings. Mrs. Benning said the murder victim was known to be interested in the supernatural and had been complaining about some news her fortune-teller had given her."

"Bad news?"

"Apparently, although Mrs. Benning seems pretty put out that Mrs. Abernathy wouldn't tell her what that bad news was. It seemed to upset Mrs. Abernathy quite a bit, and she had been withdrawn for the past few days. And to top it off, the fortune-teller gave Mrs. Abernathy all her money back. Mrs. Benning seemed to find that strange, and I have to admit that's a new one on me, too."

Starsky frowned. "So, you think a fortune-teller could have been upsetting Mrs. Abernathy on purpose, hoping to get more money from her in the future? Or maybe it had something to do with whoever killed her. Maybe the fortune-teller was in on the murder, or Mrs. Abernathy told her about it." Starsky sighed. "At least it's something to work on."

"Well, if there is anything there, it looks like you're going to find out."

Glancing over, Starsky could see Hutch smiling at him evilly. "Me? What do you mean me?"

"You, because after lunch I have to meet the DA about my testimony in the Walkers case next week and you'll be free this afternoon. Besides, I happen to know that this fortune-teller has a thing for the swarthy, ugly type of cop who happens to be carrying around the unlikely surname of 'Starsky'."

"Well, that can't be me then, can it? Must be some ugly unrelated Starsky I don't know about. Who is this person we're talking about anyway?"

"You remember Madam Yram?'"

Starsky thought for a minute, trying to remember why the name sounded familiar. "Isn't that the lady we talked to when we were on that armed car hostage case? Mary...Mary...?"

"Polanski."

"Madam Yram was 'Mary' spelled backwards, right?"

"That's what she told us."

Starsky remembered more about her now. It was the case where the armored car had been hijacked and the pregnant lady taken hostage. Ms. Polanski had helped them track down the kidnappers. She'd definitely shown some interest in him at the time, but Starsky hadn't returned it. Usually not a problem, but he remembered Madam Yram as being someone who might not want to take no for an answer.

"Oh, great," Starsky said with a sigh. "I'll dig up her address when we get back to the station. If you don't hear from me in a few days...."

"I'll send you a wedding gift."

He grunted sourly. "As long as it isn't any of Mrs. Benning's cookies."

***

Starsky stood at the door of the big Victorian-style house and waited until several ladies made their way out the door. The four of them eyed him suspiciously so he smiled as charmingly as he could. It didn't seem to impress them any. As soon as they got to the sidewalk, he rapped smartly on the front door. A moment later, Mary Polanski opened it. Dressed in full fortune-teller regalia, she rivaled anything Huggy ever wore.

"Why hello, Officer!" Mary smiled at him, and Starsky found himself smiling shyly back. "I'm surprised to see you after all this time, although I'm not going to complain! Come on in."

He moved down the dark narrow hall and into the receiving room. It was full of brightly colored shawls, blankets, and quilts that gave it a wild-looking appearance. In the center, just as it had been before, was a large crystal ball directly under a low-hanging, heavily fringed chandelier.

"Did you ever find those people you were looking for?" she asked, sitting at the table and patting the place beside her. "Or is this a social visit, Mr...?"

"Starsky. Detective Starsky." He smiled at her as he sat. "And, yes, we were able to find the people we were looking for. Your tip helped us tremendously."

"Oh, I'm so glad," she gushed, reaching out one heavily ringed hand to clutch tightly at his. "You know I would do anything...and I mean anything..." She giggled and fluttered her eyes. "...to help law enforcement."

Starsky found himself smiling nicely, but wondered if he was blushing. "Ah...well...I'm certainly glad to hear that. And I'm here to ask for your help again."

"Ah," Mary sighed, letting his hand go, giving it a pat as she did. "And there I was hoping... My horoscope for today told of a handsome visitor who would bring romance."

"Uh...well, then I guess I'd better not take up all your time. Wouldn't want him to arrive and think you were taken." He tried his best smile as he said it, hoping it would send a polite message of disinterest. From the laugh he got in return, he was afraid it hadn't worked. "Oh, so modest!" She gave him a wink. "Well, what can I do for you, Detective?"

"Unfortunately, about three days ago, a Mrs. Abernathy-" Starsky halted as he saw Mary's face go from flirting interest to consternation.

"I guess you've already heard, then?" he prodded.

"Well, no," she admitted quietly, looking as if some spark had gone out of her. "But I don't imagine you're here on a social call, so she must have passed away."

Starsky was quiet for a moment as he tried to get a feel for Mary's mood swings. Where before she was confident and happy, now she seemed to wilt and collapse with his news. He had seen a lot of people try to fake shock and surprise at a murder, and very few could do it well. She seemed to already know that Mrs. Abernathy was dead.

"She didn't just pass away, Ms. Polanski, she was beaten to death in her own home. Nothing was taken, she didn't seem to have any enemies, so we're left with a mystery. Would Mrs. Abernathy have told you if she was having any problems? Anyone she was afraid of?" Mary started to study her fingernails, and Starsky gave her some time.

After a minute of silence, she sighed and shrugged her shoulders, eyes now on her multitude of rings. "I knew she was troubled, but I don't know what it was about. She couldn't tell me."

As Starsky watched her face, he felt she was telling the truth. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "We've heard that she got some bad news from you and was upset."

Mary didn't look up at him. "She might have gotten some bad news while she was here, but I don't have any idea what it was."

Starsky frowned at her, even though she still wasn't looking at him. "How could she get bad news from you without you knowing what it was? Do you have someone else working with you? Did she see them instead?"

"No, it's not that. It's...well...."

Starsky kept quiet, letting the silence put the pressure on her.

"It's not like that. Not what you're thinking, anyway. I'm not dumb, you know." She looked up at him as if he had said she was. "I know what a lot of fortune-tellers around here do, and I know that a lot of people can get scammed by it. But I don't do that. And I got talent, too. I charge a fair price for a Tarot or a palm reading, and I got a lot of people who tell me how good I am."

"And what service did Mrs. Abernathy usually ask for?"

Mary shrugged casually, which looked a bit forced to Starsky. "She almost always asked for the Tarot cards, or some palm reading," Mary said quietly, eyes back to watch her fingers twist at her rings.

"Almost always? Is that what you did for her the last time she was here?"

"No, she wanted more the last time. I warned her, though."

Starsky watched as Mary grew more and more nervous, so he decided to start back at the beginning. "What day was she here last?"

"Last Friday."

"Was it her usual time to come, or did she drop in unexpectedly?"

"Unexpectedly. She usually came every other Wednesday, but she said she'd gotten some news she was concerned about, so needed to see me early."

"Did you ask her what the news was?"

"No. I don't like to find out too much, 'cause it affects my readings."

Starsky wasn't sure he could believe her. He'd seen a lot of fortune-tellers who believed in what they did as a needed service, and felt they had true talent. Then there were others who were pure scam artists. Usually, both would tend to pump their customers for all information possible before taking a reading. Even if they didn't do it consciously.

"She didn't say anything about what kind of news had dragged her here early? Was it a phone call? A letter? Something she'd read in the newspaper?"

Mary shrugged, making her layers of jewelry jingle like Christmas bells. "Didn't say a word. She knew I don't ask, so she didn't say anything. They don't tell me until afterwards how close I get."

"So, she came here, upset and wanting more information from you? What kind of reading did you do for her?"

Mary sighed then, a resigned look on her face as if she expected to be ridiculed. "Okay, she wanted to look into the crystal ball. I told her it wasn't a good idea, and that it's real pricey, but she wanted to do it anyway. Insisted even."

Starsky looked at the clear crystal ball that sat in the middle of the table. It looked like every other crystal ball he'd ever seen. And yet....

"So, what do people see when they look in there?" Without permission, he moved to lift it up off the table. He expected her to panic or object at his move, but she only watched him casually, apparently unconcerned.

The globe came off its base easily. So easily and so heavily that he almost dropped it. He was surprised at how massive and warm it felt. It felt almost...comfortable in his hands.

Balancing the ball carefully in one hand, he reached with the other to pick up the base. It was metal, cool to the touch, and there was no wiring hidden within it. He felt almost reluctant to put it back into place.

"See?" Mary shrugged, looking as if she had seen this inspection hundreds of times before. "No strings. No wires. No monkey business."

"So, she wanted you to do what? Read the cards for her? Look in the crystal ball to see her future?" Starsky fought to keep his eyes on Mary. There was just something...odd...about that crystal that seemed to demand his attention.

"It wasn't me. She wanted to look into the crystal. She wanted to do it herself. She was real insistent about it and didn't want to take no for an answer. And believe me, I tried to talk her out of it!"

"How much would something like that cost? And why would you want to talk her out of it?"

"It costs two hundred bucks, and I don't like to do it that way if I don't haveta."

Starsky blinked in surprise. Not at the price, he'd heard higher, but because Mary truly sounded as if she didn't like it. "But you took her money, right? Gave her what she wanted?"

Mary shrugged. "Hey, she insisted! And a girl's gotta make ends meet! But I...I gave it all back to her. It wasn't my fault, but she was so upset... Well, I felt bad 'cause I had a strong feeling I shouldn't've done it."

That jived with what Hutch had reported. "Why? She threaten to get you into trouble?"

"No!" Mary slumped back in her chair, head back and eyes closed as if she were feeling defeated. "You don't understand. You think I do this just to make a quick buck, scam the suckers who are desperate for help or solace, but you're wrong. Sure, I need to pay the bills. Who doesn't? But there is a form of talent that runs in my family. My great aunt had it, and you should have seen the good she did! Why, she had clients come from miles around to have her give readings. And I, brimming with luck as I usually am," she said sarcastically, "found out a few years ago that I could do the same things she did, only not as well. So, I decided to throw my exciting life as a waitress to the wind and let it flow." She snorted in disgust. "I made a better livin' as a waitress."

"So, why did you give Mrs. Abernathy her money back?"

"Because she went nuts afterwards. I shouldn't've taken her money, and I shouldn't've let her do her own reading. It was my fault I didn't leave well enough alone."

"What did she see that got her so upset? Did she say anything?"

"Not a word!" Mary was clearly angry and animated now, hand punctuating her exclamation. "I never know what anybody sees! I just get the ball rolling and it happens. They do a zombie act for a minute or two and then it's over." She shrugged tiredly, leaning heavily back in her chair again. "But I come out of it with a headache that would stop an elephant."

"So you don't tell them...."

"Not a word, I'm tellin' ya."

Starsky thought for a moment, wondering how much of her story he should believe. Running one finger lightly over the top of the crystal ball, he made a lazy figure eight over its warm surface. He liked touching it. It felt...welcoming somehow. He wondered fleetingly if he could find one to put on his own bookshelves. Where did a person get something like that, anyway?

Starsky tried to focus back on Mary. "So, if you never see what they see and you don't discuss it afterwards, how do you know they see anything at all?"

Mary sighed heartily and shrugged. "Because I see them react, that's how I know. And it's supposed to be...important. My aunt used to say that what they saw would change a person. That it wasn't supposed to be done lightly." Mary's voice went quiet, and Starsky could see what looked like regret flit across her features. "She...she hardly ever used to do it at all."

He found himself intrigued. "Isn't the crystal ball thing supposed to be a standard practice for fortune-tellers? Why all that kind of fuss over a trick?"

Mary rolled her eyes at the trick remark but went on. "I used to watch her set people up for it, but she never really said much about it. Said it was a crossroads type of experience, where people would see things in the past, present, or future that would give them a choice as to the path their life would take. I do what she did, get the person ready for the vision and watch over them while they're having it. That's it. I don't know what the hell happens beyond that."

"And you end up with a headache."

"A monster one," she admitted. "But sometimes the look on the person's face is worth it, ya know?"

"And other times?"

"Other times it's the pits." She shook her head sadly. "Sometimes they leave looking like death warmed over. Then I really feel like shit."

Starsky found that it was a greater and greater struggle to pay attention to what Mary was saying. He was still tracing his fingers over the globe, feeling a warmth and a strange pull toward it.

A crossroads? Sounds like a Twilight Zone episode to me! But it feels like Mary's telling me the truth. What could Mrs. Abernathy have seen that would upset her so much that Mary would feel guilty enough to give her back two hundred dollars?

Placing his face in both hands, elbows on the table, he looked into the crystal, feeling an overwhelming urge to get close. He could see the reflections from the room around him, the distorted view of the table cloth underneath. Yet there was something...compelling about it. Something important to being this close to it.

"I want to see in there, too." Starsky felt surprised, not even realizing he was going to say that.

Mary laughed uncomfortably. "Hey, you're just trying to call my bluff, right? Thinking you can get a freebie from Madam Yram, huh? Come on, cop...."

"I'm not kidding." Starsky looked back at the crystal, surprised as a rush of determination seemed to overtake him. Suddenly, it was vitally important that he do this. He needed this. "I'll pay you what you want."

Starsky spared her a quick look. She was eyeing him warily.

"You aren't setting me up or somethin', are you?"

"No!" He shook his head, not understanding this sudden urge himself. "I just...I dunno. I just wanna do it."

What's going on with me? Why is this suddenly so important? What if...what if it really works? As his fingers rubbed against the silky smooth warm surface, all he knew was that it was important. Vitally important...somehow.

He looked back at Mary, determination on his face. "I want to do it. Now. I can run to the bank and-"

"No." She looked at him searchingly. After a minute of meeting her gaze she nodded in resignation and sighed. "I don't want your money, but I'll make you a deal. Good news, you can pay me the fee. Bad news, and it's no hard feelings. Deal?"

Starsky felt a desperate need creep through him, as if he had just discovered an addiction as strong as his need to breathe. "Let's do it then. How do we start?"

Mary nodded at him, and he was startled to realize that both of his hands were now palm down against it. "You've already started. Figured if I didn't agree, you'd do it anyway."

She got up and moved behind him, placing one hand on either side of his head. It flickered through his mind how strange it was that this whole scene felt so solemn and important. He figured that later he would wonder at what kind of madness he was suffering from to have gotten in this position. Hutch would have a laughing fit if he found out. But for now....

"Close your eyes for a moment. Take a deep breath. Hold it for a minute." Mary's voice was different then, soft and crooning as it came from behind and above him.

He did as he was told, feeling the warmth from the crystal flow up his arms and into his chest, comfortable and welcoming. He dimly realized that Mary's hands were making small circles at his temples. He felt so...relaxed. This was what he had wanted to happen.

"Open your eyes now and look into the crystal. Let it welcome you. Let it lead you. And when you are ready, trust it to lead you home."

He did as she asked, looked into the crystal ball, and as the sound of her words evaporated into air so did the world evaporate into nothingness.

For a fraction of a second, he felt himself lost in a welcoming darkness.

Then he felt nothing at all.

***

It was warm, soft, and relaxing. Through closed eyelids he knew it was daytime, and the soft sheets under his face and the pudding-like consistency of his sprawl told him it must be morning or not far from it. Starsky sighed in contentment, enjoying the sensation of floating between deep sleep and wakefulness. He moved just enough to rub his face against the pillow, enjoying the feel of the crisp linen against his morning stubble. He drifted a bit more, then found enough strength to smile as he heard the clear, crisp song of a morning bird and felt a warm breeze dance across his back where the sheet left him exposed.

He was clean and comfortable. It felt delicious, and it seemed like forever since he had felt such peace.

No worries, no pressure, and damn, no idea what day it was.

He snickered then, feeling too good to be concerned that he might be late for work. If he was lucky, he'd have a few minutes left before the alarm went off, and if it didn't go off, it must be the weekend. He was hoping for a weekend.

He lay there and listened to the birds and enjoyed the breeze when he heard a fly's buzz. It was amazing how loud it sounded in the near-quiet room. The fly came nearer and nearer, and Starsky held his breath as it flew toward him. Just as he was hoping it would go away, it landed on his face.

He scrunched up his face and the fly left, only to land on his forehead. Giving in to the inevitable, he sighed and found enough strength to swat at it. Once he did, he found a huge need to move and stretch.

Always something to spoil it, he thought sluggishly. His stomach rumbled as if it suddenly discovered he was awake. He rolled over onto his back, twisting himself in covers, blinking in the light. He stretched lazily, enjoying the pull of muscle and sinew.

Ouch! He winced as he felt unaccustomed pulls in his torso, as if he had strained himself at some point. Must've had one hell of a night last night! Either that or I'm getting old.

He opened his eyes and froze in mid stretch as he caught sight of ceiling, walls, and furniture he didn't recognize.

Oh, shit. Where the hell am I?

He had, a few times in his younger days, gotten so drunk that he'd woken up the next day with no idea where he was. He had hated it, and every time it happened, he had promised himself that it would be the last. As his eyes traveled down the wall, he saw a large white framed window that was opened to blue sky and sunshine. Looking down at himself, he saw dark blue sheets with a matching comforter that had apparently been kicked to the foot of the bed. The bed itself was brass and was accompanied by two dressers of dark wood: one tall, and one low with a mirror. There was a door that was cracked open with what looked like a hallway behind it, what must be a closet door, and another door that was clearly a bathroom.

Nothing rings a bell. Confused, he reached up and rubbed at his face. No headache? Was I drunk? Or...? He wondered briefly if he had been drugged, but for some reason didn't feel as if that were the case. Wouldn't he be feeling some aftereffects or something?

He was sprawled almost in the center of the bed and could tell he was nude under the sheets. It was almost surprising how...unconcerned that part of the equation left him. He felt as if he'd slept well, without the fuzziness that drugs or drink usually gave him, not to mention the hangovers. If he was a prisoner, they weren't doing a very good job keeping him locked up.

Well, if I'm lost, Hutch is probably looking for me, he thought fuzzily. If I can find a phone....

Looking at the nightstand on his right, he didn't see a phone, just a lamp, a used paperback, and some sort of alarm clock. Turning the other direction, obviously someone else's side of the bed, he saw another lamp, a water glass, a hard-bound book, and what looked to be a phone. At least he thought it was.

Great! All I have to do now is call Hutch and have him come get me. If I can figure out where I am.

What he would tell his partner he didn't know, but the thought of calling Hutch sounded like the best idea he'd had so far.

He moved to push himself up, the sheet sliding down his body as he did. He froze, eyes riveted on his chest, a chill creeping up his spine. He had been mangled.

From mid-chest down to his abdomen was a huge scar. It was thick, pale with age, and accompanied by an almost invisible line of stitch marks down both sides. Alongside that graphic tale of major surgery were three puckered-looking indentations he knew must have been bullet holes.

I...they can't... The scars are...old!

That was where he had felt the pull when he had stretched. He reached to touch them, to verify that they were real. Pressing his palm against them, he could feel what he imagined was scar tissue deep inside.

They're real. But how can they be real? They can't be!

He felt himself growing dizzy with panic and took a deep breath, feeling his heart pounding frantically. I've woken up as a fucking Frankenstein! His mind wanted to let go, and Starsky could feel the hysteria trying to work its way out. He tentatively rubbed at the thick scars again. There was no way they were faked.

Okay, take it easy. This can't be happening! It can't. There's no way I could forget something like this. No one just forgets having had their guts opened up. And these are old scars. Not hard and red like new ones.

He looked down carefully and clamped down on the urge to laugh hysterically as he noticed something he had missed before.

His chest hairs were gray. Not just a few here and there that he'd been plucking as soon as they appeared. These were multiple in number, sprinkled randomly across his marred chest and down his abdomen to disappear under the sheets. Not enough to have taken over, quite yet, but more than enough that even his vanity would have given up on removing.

His eye caught his left hand as he moved to explore the phenomenon. It was his hand, but in a way it wasn't.

On that left hand was one ring-a thick gold one he'd never seen before. And it was on the third finger.

Wide and thick, the wedding band was a warm, well-worn color on a hand that had started to shake.

I'm married?! Okay...okay, David Michael. Take it easy. He fell back on the mattress, closing his eyes, hands now clutching the sheets tightly. Think. Where was I yesterday?

Try as he might, he couldn't picture the day before. At least not clearly. His apartment, the Torino, the squadroom, Hutch. All were there, bright and clear, even if he was fuzzy about exactly what they were all doing. Wasn't it just yesterday that it was cold and cloudy? Hadn't he been looking forward to spring, no matter how late it was? It felt like yesterday, and it had been yesterday, hadn't it?

Okay, so you're clueless here. What do you do now? You were going to call Hutch, right? Still sounds like a good plan to me.

If he didn't move, he'd freeze into place, so he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and sat up, twisting to place both bare feet on the hardwood floor. He took another big breath, almost afraid to do so. He was afraid of what those scars meant and what kind of damage they represented.

So far, so good. Just don't look down. As long as everything feels like it's still there, you're okay. Just move and don't think about moving.

As he stood and the sheet fell away, he got instant confirmation of his nudity as the breeze from the window played across his body. He couldn't help looking down, just to make sure.

Well, at least I've still got my marbles, among other things. He snickered and heard the touch of hysteria under the sound, well aware he was just two breaths away from losing it entirely. He took a huge breath and tried to settle himself down. Better be careful, or they'll stick you in Cabrillo State for sure.

Standing naked at the side of the unfamiliar bed, he found he was almost afraid to move and find any more surprises. There was a chair in the corner, next to the nightstand. Someone had thrown an old blue bathrobe across it. He needed some clothing, and that seemed as good a first step as any.

As he donned the housecoat and knotted the tie, his eyes were caught by movement to his right. Across from him, in the dresser mirror, a man stood and stared back at him, also dressed in a blue bathrobe.

It's me. It really is me. He felt almost dizzy, so walked forward slowly, eyes riveted at the approaching reflection. The person who looked back at him in shock was a strange mixture of a few of his uncles, his own face, and the face his father had not lived to carry. At least one big question had been answered, for there was no way he could deny what he was seeing. So much for waking up in someone else's body. But...but how?

He wasn't sure what to think about what he saw. He looked much older than he should have been. The hair was still there, shorter than what was fashionable. There was a lot of grey at the temples, and he almost giggled at the memory of how many he had regularly plucked out. Here, too, were too many to bother with.

His face was the same, yet a bit...softer? Skin...looser? There was a handful of wrinkles around his eyes now. But the eyes were the same, the same color and clarity. He reached up to touch morning stubble that was also salted with white. He realized then that his other hand was clutching the front of his robe tightly, as if he was afraid to see the scars again. He couldn't handle that now, so turned his concentration back to the man in the mirror. To himself.

How did this happen? How could it happen? How old am I and where did all the years go?

He couldn't really tell his age. In his fifties? Or had the apparent trauma of his injuries aged him to this extent?

Where have I been?

Glancing at the top of the low dresser, he saw a lot of odds and ends that would be expected on a man's dresser. There was a wallet, and as he touched it, he found he couldn't bring himself to pick it up and open it. He looked at the masculine-looking jewelry box next to it. Opening it up, he was startled to see his pinkie rings inside. He closed it quickly and stepped away. It, too, felt...untouchable.

He heard a new sound. There was someone outside, and Starsky could hear a familiar voice raised in song. Stepping uncertainly toward the window, he held his breath as he peered outside into the bright sunlight.

The bedroom he was in looked to be part of a good-sized home. Outside, he could see a large backyard, green with foliage and vibrant with various colored flowers. Off to one side, across from the window, a man was working. Tall and lean, the blond man was digging energetically into the rich-looking earth with a trowel, singing as he did so. There was no mistaking that voice even if he hadn't recognized the build and coloring.

Hutch! Hutch is here, too. But how...?

Starsky felt almost giddy with relief. He closed his eyes and sighed gustily, leaning down to brace himself against the windowsill, wanting, needing to hear that voice to steady himself.

When Starsky opened his eyes, ready to call to his friend, Hutch rose and turned toward the house. Starsky was startled. It was his Hutch, no doubt about that, but he looked older as well. The differences were too subtle from this distance, but Starsky could tell there were changes, and he was once again afraid.

Oh, damn. Not Hutch, too!

He found himself growing panicky again, vastly more uncomfortable with the thought of Hutch growing older then he had been with himself. Hutch was...well, Hutch could never grow old! It just didn't seem quite fair, somehow.

And if it's not just me...then this now must be the correct time. And if this is the correct time and place, and if I can't remember it, then maybe I'm sick. Have I...had a stroke?

He didn't want to believe it and bit his lip harshly at the thought. How else to explain what was happening? What else could it be? He caught his breath on a half sob, the thought of possibly losing decades of memory almost more than he could handle.

No! I'm okay...I'm fine...I'm just...confused is all. Hutch'll know what's wrong. He'll know what to do next.

When he opened his eyes to call for him, Starsky saw that Hutch was gone from the yard. He heard a door slam downstairs and jumped. He realized he really was lost in this unfamiliar house and had no idea where to go from here.

Should I yell for him? Let him know I'm here and need him? Is there someone else that may show up if I do? A wife? Kids? What do I tell a stranger? I...don't think I can handle anyone but him right now. What do I do?

He moved toward the door, needing to contact his partner, and glanced at the second dresser that stood on the other wall. As his mind calmly categorized the contents carefully placed on the top of it, he found his mind tugging at him, as if he were supposed to notice these things.

There was a wallet, a set of keys, a small bowl with change, and several ties thrown across the top, along with a stack of books that lay casually on their sides. More importantly, there was an 8x10 picture, facedown, looking as if it had fallen over rather than being placed that way. With trembling fingers, he picked up the photograph and turned it upright.

Whatever his eyes were telling him, Starsky didn't feel as if his brain was accepting it. It was a picture of him and Hutch. This Hutch was also older than he was supposed to be, but was still clearly the man Starsky knew better than his own heart. It was strange, though, to see a mustache and goatee cover the usually clean-shaven face. It was a style he'd never seen Hutch wear before.

As his mind seemed to clear a bit, he noticed that both of them were wearing tuxedoes. He was standing with his arm right around Hutch's waist, and Hutch's left arm was draped possessively over Starsky's shoulders. They had champagne glasses in their other hands, raising them in a toast to the camera, both of them with big smiles and laughing eyes. Down in the corner, in some sort of white pen that contrasted with their tuxedoes, was written:

"Happy Anniversary!

And may my two favorite cops have many, many more! Always, Huggy."

Anniversary? It was a strange word, rolling around in his head as if it should make some sense. He knew it should, but there seemed to be a fog that kept the meaning just beyond his reach.

Why not an anniversary? We've been through at lot together, so I guess we could think of a million things to celebrate by now. So why-?

In a jolt almost as startling as an electric shock, he understood as soon as his eyes happened upon a small but significant part of the picture. On his own hand, upraised with champagne glass, was the same ring he now wore. But it was the one on Hutch's left hand, on the arm that circled his shoulders so possessively, that he saw the ring that exactly matched his own.

We're...lovers? Married?!

He found himself sitting on the edge of the bed and heard, rather than saw, the picture fall to the hardwood floor.

Before he could wrap his mind around the concept, the door exploded open and Starsky found himself tackled. He grunted as a large warm person knocked him flat on the mattress. Starsky felt his wrists gripped in large hands and his arms pulled up above his head. He didn't even have time to react when a warm mouth found his neck, and his face was covered in a fan of fine ash-blond hair even as the heavy body settled down against his own. The warmth, smell, and feel of his attacker couldn't be mistaken. There was no doubt who this was.

"So, you thought you were going to sneak out of bed without me, huh?" The familiar voice rumbled against his neck, and Starsky could hear the laughter behind it. "Just because I let you sleep in late doesn't mean you don't owe me for last night!"

Starsky felt frozen in place, too unprepared for this intimate, sensual assault. It flickered briefly through his mind that if he'd been at home and Hutch had attacked him this way, there would be a normal and accepted way to react. They'd wrestled and played like this before, enjoying the fun, closeness, and release of tension. But this was more than that, made clear by the lips nibbling at his neck and the growing hardness of the jeans-covered crotch Hutch was rubbing against him.

He couldn't take that kind of action, and his uncertainty about the one certain thing in his life scared him more than anything else had so far.

"No!" Starsky tried to shout, but heard it as a surprised, fearful squeak. His heart was beating frantically now. "S-s-stop! P-p-please, Hutch!"

Hutch raised his head suddenly, releasing Starsky's wrists as he looked into his face. The eyes that looked down into Starsky's were full of surprise, concern.

Starsky knew he was staring but couldn't help it. It was Hutch. And he was older, and thankfully clean-shaven, but even with the obvious changes, it was still his best friend and partner who looked down at him. The soul that shined out from behind those blue eyes was one he knew well.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? You okay?" Hutch asked softly, moving to shift his weight to the side.

Sweetheart? He took a breath. Okay, I can deal with that. It's just Hutch, right?

"There's something wrong," he replied, sounding fearful even to his own ears.

"Did I hurt you? Did you pull something?" Hutch moved completely off of Starsky, searching his face worriedly. "You look pale. And you're shaking! Are you sick?"

As soon as Hutch moved off of him, Starsky missed the closeness. Sitting up quickly, he found himself wanting the embrace again, but settled with hiding his face in his hands.

Maybe if I don't look, maybe it'll be easier to deal with...maybe everything will sound normal.

Hutch settled down beside him, and Starsky could feel a hand start to rub comfortingly up and down his back.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, love. I didn't realize you weren't feeling well. I thought you were sleeping so soundly because you'd had a good night. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Starsky kept his face hidden, not wanting to see what pain and worry he would be inflicting. "I...Hutch...I don't remember you!"

"What?" Hutch's voice sounded incredulous, and the hand rubbing at Starsky's back paused for a second before continuing. "What do you mean you don't remember me?"

"I-I don't remember this!" He waved a hand around the room, not daring to look into his partner's face. "I don't remember us...this way! I mean...I remember us, but we weren't like this yesterday!"

Starsky could hear Hutch sigh, but the hand kept rubbing his back, even as another large hand was placed lovingly on his knee. "Starsky, babe, sometimes you really are as clear as mud, and this is one of those times. Can you break it down into simple terms for me?"

Starsky laughed helplessly then, dropping his hand from his face, but he couldn't look up. The hand on his knee had the gold ring that matched his, and Starsky had an urge to reach out and take that hand in his. He gave in to the impulse and placed his hand upon Hutch's, rings touching.

"You need to listen close, babe." He gripped Hutch's hand tightly. "It's important, and none of it's simple. It's strange, and scary, and confusing. It's like all those questions the doctors are supposed to ask patients with head injuries, you know? What's your name? How old are you? Where do you live? What's the name of the current president? What year is it?"

"I don't understand-"

"Hutch, listen to me!" Starsky sat up straighter and turned toward his partner, meeting those worried eyes. "I'm David Michael Starsky. I'm thirty-four years old. This isn't my house, I have no idea who the current president is, and I'm afraid to find out what year it is!"

Starsky could see the concern on Hutch's face turn to disbelief, shock, and fear. Starsky held his gaze, letting all his fear and confusion show through.

Believe me, Hutch. Please! I need you to believe me.

"Y-you're serious? But what-? Oh...damn." Starsky could see the awful possibility dawn on his partner's face. A possible stroke or something worse?

"O-okay, babe." Hutch tried to push him back as he moved toward the head of the bed. "You just lie down and rest, and I'll call an ambulance. We'll get you to the hospital and get Dr. Belmont to come down and run some tests."

Starsky grabbed Hutch's arm as he began to pull away. "It's not a stroke, Hutch!"

"D-don't worry, Starsk. Just let me call an ambulance and I'll make sure-"

"No! No hospital! No doctors!"

Hutch quit pulling against him. He knew that Hutch understood how he hated hospitals. Time, as the scars seemed to point out, had probably made that dislike even worse.

The blond looked at him helplessly. "Starsk, I've got to! It's...probably nothing, but we've got to get you checked out."

Fearful that Hutch was about to break away, Starsky tackled him, pulling the taller man onto the bed and wrapping his arms around him. He knew he had the advantage, because Hutch would be worried about hurting him, so Starsky rolled Hutch over and straddled him as well. "Listen to me! I feel fine. If it was a stroke, wouldn't I have other problems?"

He could see the growing fear and panic in Hutch's eyes. "P-please, Starsk. It'll be okay, I promise. We need to get you to a hospital where they can help-"

"No! We can figure this out. There's got to be an explanation, something that'll tell us what happened to me, help me get my memories back. We just have to think of a way to do it."

He knew he was babbling now, not able to take the thought of a hospital or the fact that the problem may be what both of them feared. Starsky couldn't bear the thought of losing so much of his life, and if he and Hutch had become lovers in those years, he hated to think how lost his partner was going to feel. Whatever had happened, he felt strongly that the answers were here. They had to be.

"I just have to remember what I was doing last," he continued, fighting to restrain Hutch, who was afraid and needing to get his partner to a hospital. "Retrace my steps. Try to remember as much as I can." The fog in his head seemed to lift a bit, and pieces were coming back to him. "It was...Mrs. Abernathy! We were on her case, I went to see Madam Yram...."

Starsky stopped then as the body beneath him froze completely. Starsky saw disbelief flicker at the edge of the fear in Hutch's eyes. "...and we talked...and...and...she was telling me about Mrs. Abernathy," he continued. "There was something different about what Mrs. Abernathy wanted to do. She paid a lot more money to...to...."

It came then, as if it had only been waiting for him to get close enough. "She looked into the crystal ball! Madam Yram let her look, and she saw something that upset her. And I...I wanted to look!"

Disbelief fought to take over Hutch's face. Starsky could tell without a doubt this meant something to him, that he understood something about what Starsky was saying.

"Years ago," Hutch began faintly, eyes wide and locked to Starsky's face, "you told me a fantastic story about Madam Yram and her crystal ball. It was a joke, a fantasy, but you always got mad when I made fun of it."

Starsky could feel Hutch relax beneath him, but he didn't dare move yet. Hutch could change his mind at any moment.

"You wanted to look," Hutch whispered.

"I looked."

"And you saw..."

"Saw what?" Starsky asked, gripping Hutch's arms tightly, almost fearful of what he would say. "Tell me the story! What did I see?"

Hutch's laugh was short and bitter, as if he couldn't believe he was going along with this line of thought. "It was years after we... I asked you, one day, what made you...why you..."

Starsky's stomach clenched as he realized what Hutch was trying to say. "I came on to you, didn't I?"

He didn't have to hear the answer to see it written on his partner's face. It took a moment before Hutch nodded in confirmation.

"Yeah, you did. It seemed like it came out of nowhere, and I felt pretty stupid to think that I'd missed those kinds of signals all those years. It...it was a shock at the time, and I had trouble understanding it."

"Came on pretty strong, huh?" Starsky prodded gently, trying to smile.

Hutch's lips twisted with slight amusement. "For you, no. But for any normal guy who'd have no reason to believe his best friend wouldn't react by breaking his nose, then, yeah; it was pretty gutsy. After...later...when we'd been together for a while, I asked you about that day. And you told me that you'd been to see Madam Yram, and she gave you a peek." Hutch swallowed heavily, eyes growing misty and his voice whispery. "...a look at what you could be missing out on."

Starsky slowly released his hold on Hutch, feeling an ambulance ride was no longer in the cards. "I told you about this?" he asked. "All of it?"

"Just...a bit. Not much. Just that you'd come to a fork in the road. And that Madam Yram gave you a better understanding of what your choices were. I...I thought at first you were just making it all up. Putting me on."

"So, that's the me that's here, isn't it." It was a statement, not a real question. Starsky could feel himself settle as he felt the truth of it. "I've sort of traded places with a possible me of the future. I'm not here to stay. I haven't lost all those years, I just haven't lived them yet."

Starsky felt relief and peace flow through him, and behind that relief was a bone-tired weariness that made him feel as if he'd climbed several mountains since he'd woken up.

But Hutch didn't look peaceful. The strange/familiar face looked back at him with features that had matured over the years that hadn't yet existed. Looking closer, Starsky could see the small lines around blue eyes that were as clear and bright as the day Starsky had met him. It wasn't a surprise to realize that Hutch was just as beautiful as he'd ever been; he was just at a different stage of that beauty. In a strange way, the mature look seemed to fit his complex personality better than the school boy look ever had. But it was the fear in those familiar blue eyes that worried Starsky now.

"Hey, Blondie," he said softly, leaning down to embrace Hutch. They both needed the contact. "It's gonna be okay now."

"Is it?" Hutch asked softly, and Starsky could hear the touch of fear and panic underneath, could feel it in the fast-beating heart under him. "This is insane, Starsky. I need to get you to the hospital before you forget even more, whatever is causing it. You've already forgotten so much!"

Starsky had heard a held back sob in the last statement and could feel minute tremors. Thinking about what they both must have gone through during those missing years, considering Starsky's scars and the ones Hutch must carry as well, he could see how upsetting it would be for him to have his partner-lover-lose them. Starsky knew his certainty in this wasn't much help when Hutch's mind would be screaming at how crazy this all sounded. This didn't happen to sane people, nor would they believe it.

Not knowing what else to say, he slowly and carefully lay against the warm solid body as a lover would. He fit his head in the crook of Hutch's neck, even as his hands went behind him to pull them together as close as possible. Strong, desperate arms surrounded him as well, and he could feel the deep breath Hutch took under him.

"I can't lose you, Starsk." It was a gentle admission into Starsky's curls.

"You almost did, didn't you?" Starsky asked gently into Hutch's ear. He could feel Hutch stiffen a bit and realized that his partner was pondering the wisdom of revealing too much of what was supposed to be Starsky's future. He could tell that part of Hutch believed him more than he wanted to admit. "It's okay. I've seen the scars, babe. Frankenstein Junior, huh?"

"Stop it!" Hutch tightened his grip, sighing into Starsky's neck. "You're beautiful and you know it. It's just...I can't go through that again, and I don't want you to, either. Not even in memory."

I can imagine what it must have been like for you, babe. Maybe it was knowing that I had you here for me, that got me through whatever happened. Maybe that's why the scars don't seem to matter that much, Starsky thought fondly. I seem to have done great so far!

"If this is real," Hutch whispered, still trembling beneath him, "I could save you that experience...I can tell you how it-"

"No!" Starsky lifted his head and gave the pale cheek a chaste kiss. "I think I've tempted fate enough as it is, Blintz. I don't want to mess things up. You've given me some damn good stuff to look forward to." Starsky yawned then, feeling a warm sleepy feeling crawling over him. "Tell me, Hutch," he asked drowsily. "Are we married? For real?"

They just held each other for a few minutes, Starsky watching Hutch try to decide what he should or shouldn't reveal.

"Sort of. Not legally." Hutch sounded somewhat wistful. "Some things just can't change quickly enough. Some things still need to be fought for."

"So, after being attacked like I was just a few minutes ago, I take it we're still hot for each other?"

"You're insatiable," Hutch admitted with a chuckle. Starsky felt a childlike delight at the sound. "And I'm a hopeless romantic. Between the two of us, it's a wonder we ever leave this room."

Starsky knew it must have been hard at times, becoming lovers. It was still strange, though, that they'd gotten together this way. Messing around, experimenting, maybe a form of comfort? Yeah, he could see that, although it had yet to happen, but he knew this was something that went way beyond anything superficial. He'd never been drawn to men. Not that he hadn't wondered, had a few thoughts here, a bit of experimentation there, when a teenager. But the interest had not lived past the experimental stage, and women had commanded his total attention since then. But what about Hutch?

He realized he didn't know what Hutch's experience with men had been. Hadn't considered it strange that they'd never talked about that part of their lives.

"Are you happy?" Starsky asked, knowing the answer already. He'd seen the joy in his partner's eyes in the fraction of a second before he'd been tackled this morning. He had heard the love and joy in the voice that had come to seduce him.

"Beyond what I deserve," came the sad whisper.

Starsky snorted, feeling his eyes growing heavier with each passing second. Typical Hutch. Never good enough, are you, babe? Am I happy, Hutch? The me that chose this route? Or is that a question best not asked right now? Knowing you, you probably agonize over that question all the time. My older self probably spent years trying to get you to believe anyone can love you, let alone someone you love in return.

"Is it different, that kind of love?" he asked drowsily. "Does it make a difference? Will it matter?"

Hutch was quiet for another moment, then replied shyly. "Meaning, if you're not crazy, and you wake up at the right age and in the right year but don't make that pass at me, will I love you less?"

Starsky nodded sleepily into Hutch's neck.

"No. That's not what's important between us. The sex is the icing on the cake, buddy. We were always in love. Whichever road you choose to take won't make a difference in that. Who knows? Maybe I'll wise up sooner or later, in your time, and it'll be me that takes a chance on getting my nose broken."

Starsky chuckled softly. The warmth of sleep grew heavier, and he found himself relaxing totally. It had a strange/familiar feel to it. "But if not?"

"Then we'll be okay, Starsky. As long as we're together, in some way, we'll be happy."

Starsky yawned mightily, rubbing his face in the soft blond hair that seemed to shelter him, felt the large hand of his partner rub slowly at his back. He wanted to stay here forever and never move. Warmth, safety, and love. What else could anyone ask for?

"Hutch?" he muttered sleepily, his voice sounding thick and slurred. "I think I'm goin' home now. You gonna be okay?"

But the sweet darkness took him before he could catch the reply.

***

He wondered for a moment where he was. Feeling as if he were waking up from having slept too long, Starsky shook his head, trying to drive out the cobwebs. He was sitting at a table, in a very gaudy room, and there was something he was supposed to remember. It was vitally important!

Madam Yram? Starsky caught sight of the lady sitting at the table next to him. She was looking at him as if he might explode at any moment and she was half-afraid, half hoping she'd miss it.

Feeling bleary and confused, he turned to look at the crystal ball on the table, and with what felt like a jolt of electricity, memories flooded his aching head too fast to see clearly. Hutch! He was...I was...we were...

Shock ran through him, and he found himself suddenly on his feet, barely hearing the chair hit the floor behind him. He was trembling.

"I saw..." he said, staring at Madam Yram, seeing the apprehensive look on her face. But it was too much too fast, and he turned and walked toward the front door, hearing her running frantically behind him.

"Wait! Wait, Detective Starsky!"

He stopped, feeling shell-shocked, on her front steps and turned to face her, wondering if he looked as pale as he felt.

"My aunt...she always said to remind people that nothing is written in stone." Mary Polanski was wringing her hands, looking upset. "She said that any visions the crystal gives are possibilities, no more than that. Other people have choices to make, too."

He took a deep breath and nodded at that, but turned without a word. He needed to be by himself for a while, needed some space. The Torino and a long, hard drive down the highway would have to do.

Sliding behind the steering wheel was a pleasure almost beyond belief. And, as he pulled out into the street and headed toward the nearest on-ramp, he barely found the voice to radio in that he was now off shift for the day, turning the radio off after the message was acknowledged.

There were images, sounds, smells, and voices that seemed to flow through him without waiting for him to catch up. Even now, he knew he was losing some of them, and he took one hand off the wheel to rub worriedly at his chest.

There was something wrong with me, but I can't remember... Ghost twinges seemed to ease slightly as he rubbed his middle, as if he were remembering a stomachache or something. He sighed as those memories seemed to disappear completely. Guess it wasn't that important. What I can remember is Hutch, and me...were lovers, and married somehow. Exclusive. Had been for a while. Were happy.

And it hadn't happened yet. Might not happen. But could happen. Depending....

On me? On what I choose? And if Mary is right, on what Hutch chooses, too. But is it what I want? Is it what I need? What about those kids I've always wanted? The small house and picket fence?

Do I love him so much that I could give all of it up for him? Do I want it to happen? Can I live like that?

And, honestly, now that he had the idea in his head, was there going to be any getting rid of it? Strange how he'd never let himself open that door. Now that it had been opened for him, his first feelings about the idea were how obvious it seemed that they would have been headed in that direction. It didn't seem so much a shock as it felt so blindingly obvious.

Can I live without it, now that I've seen what it would be like? How honest and natural it seemed between us?

All he could do was keep driving, keep thinking, until he found an answer. And if there were no answers, at least to get comfortable enough with the memories he had left and the idea itself, to keep the status quo until he made his decision.

Even if it was not to decide at all.

***

Sunday afternoon was warm and clear, one of the first really nice days of the season. Hutch felt like spring had finally arrived and had thoroughly enjoyed throwing open all the windows to let the fresh air circulate through Venice Place.

It felt like a piece of Heaven after yesterday, where the clouds had once again covered the sun, and his date with Felicia had left him feeling just as cold. She was nice, he was nice, and their conversation was interesting, but there just hadn't been any spark between them. They had both called it an early evening, and it was clear that there really wasn't any point to another date. It had been a bit disheartening, since they had seemed to have so many things in common to start with, and they had spent weeks trying to get together. So he had gone to bed feeling a bit down, wondering if Sunday would even be worth getting out of bed for. But he had found himself wide awake as soon as the sun came up, feeling in his bones that today was going to be the day that the seasons officially changed. A change that was long overdue.

He had been busy all morning in the greenhouse with the normal welcomed "spring cleaning" his various plants needed this time of the year. Once that was done, he intended to tackle the closets and kitchen, feeling revived enough to clean out the dust and the clutter of the winter. Then maybe next week, if the weather was back to normal, he and Starsky could start making some vacation plans. They'd put off doing so for too long, and their vacation time was coming up fast. That is, if Starsky was in the mood to even discuss making any plans. Hutch had gotten the feeling that his partner would probably want to go solo this year. Hutch was hoping he was wrong on that point.

It had been one of those weeks for them. They had made no progress on the murder of Mrs. Abernathy, although the file was still open and they still had their ears to the ground. There had been two more murders they'd had to handle. Both had been easily solved domestic murders, but both involved mounds of paperwork for the DA's office. The Abernathy murder still troubled them, and Hutch wished they could have gotten a handle on it, but at this point, they just hadn't anything left to go on.

Starsky hadn't helped the week along any. While Hutch had been in court, Starsky had gone to see the fortune-teller and had been silent and moody ever since. He had gone off duty right afterward, and Hutch had had to wait until the next morning to find out what had happened. From his terse answers, Hutch had guessed that not only had Starsky flunked out of getting anything good from Madam Yram, but he must have gotten taken for a few bills himself. Starsky was a sucker for a good scam, especially when it came to the supernatural.

Hutch suspected his partner was leery about letting on how much money he'd forked over for his own reading. Why else had he been so tight-lipped and silent for the last couple of days? Why else had he not heard a word about his partner's weekend or vacation plans?

As he was setting one seedling firmly into a new pot, he heard a knock at his door. Hutch wiped the dirt from his hands, wondering who it could be.

He was surprised to find a smiling Starsky behind the door, arms laden with grocery sacks.

"Door wasn't locked," Hutch said in surprise as he stepped aside to let him in. "When did you start knocking?"

"Just figured I should," Starsky replied as he headed into the kitchen. "Figured I hadn't been much company the last few days, so you might want to pass on my hanging around for the evening. That is..." Starsky paused in his unloading of the grocery bags to look at Hutch questionably, "...if you don't have plans."

"And if I did?" Hutch asked, eyebrows rising into his hairline when he saw what Starsky was unpacking.

"Which means you don't. But if you had, I'd talk you out of it anyway." Starsky gave him a smile and a wink before he continued emptying the sacks. "I've decided that I feel like a home-cooked meal and a night in. Thought I'd do it here and surprise you."

Hutch looked at the dinner fixings with surprise. "Steak? Salad, potatoes, rolls, corn? Wine?"

"And strawberry yogurt with granola for dessert!"

Hutch blinked slowly in astonishment. The dinner was not entirely unusual, since Starsky did his share of cooking for them, but those weren't exactly cheap steaks he was unpacking. And the wine... Hutch picked it up and inspected the label. Just as he'd suspected-it was on the pricey side. But the killer was the yogurt with granola. That was Hutch's favorite dessert and something Starsky had always refused to touch. This was more a celebration type of meal than what they regularly threw together for dinner.

"What's the special occasion?"

"No special reason." Starsky shrugged without looking at him. "Just felt like puttin' on the Ritz tonight. But don't get too used to this kinda spread. After this dinner, I'm gonna be eating pork and beans until payday."

"You're broke already? How did that happen?" Hutch had a feeling he knew where Starsky's money had gone.

"Let's just say I owed some money to someone who did me a big favor, okay?"

I was right! Hutch decided in exasperation. He did get taken by Madam Yram. Now he's too embarrassed to admit it.

"Oh, and I forgot." Starsky picked up a smaller sack he had placed aside. He pulled out a small pot. "I saw this downtown and thought you might like it."

Almost shyly, Starsky turned to hand it to him.

Taking it without a word, Hutch looked at the small plant, tiny leaves just beginning to peep out from the bare stems. The marker read "Love-Hybrid Tea Rose-Red/White Blend."

"Uh...thanks." Hutch knew it sounded lame, but he was getting a sinking feeling that he'd forgotten a big occasion he should have remembered. At least he could be sure it wasn't Starsky's birthday, since that was safely out of the way for the year. "You didn't have to do that."

"Just wanted to." Starsky shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "Those are supposed to bloom and look just like tiny roses. The guy at the shop said they're the newest color out."

Starsky turned back to his dinner preparations with such energy it was clear he didn't need any help. Hutch took the small plant back to the greenhouse, wondering what was going on with Starsky.

First he knocks, looking like he almost expected me not to let him in, then he unpacks a meal we usually save for special occasions. Now the gift of a plant? Why would he feel the need to bring me a gift as well as the meal? And a gift of flowers at that!

And why is he acting so nervous? Are we in trouble with Dobey and he's got to break the bad news?

Hutch took his time repotting the small plant, reading the tiny printed instructions that were barely readable on the small plastic tag. He'd seen tea roses before, but had never tried to grow any. It was kind of...nice, to know that Starsky thought he'd might like to give them a try.

First time I've ever gotten roses from a guy, he thought, smiling to himself as he placed the finished plant on a shelf designed to get the required amount of sunlight it would need. Leave it to Starsky to be the first. Hell, if it was anybody but Starsky, it would almost feel like a first date.

A silly grin appeared on his face at the thought. Maybe I ought to tease him about it, then maybe he'll tell me what's going on with him. I've got the strangest feeling I'm being set up for something.

Several hours, one large meal, wine, and dessert later, Hutch stood at the open window at the front of Venice Place and watched as the last of the sunset disappeared into the darkness. Starsky was sitting on the couch, with Hutch's small TV running on the coffee table in front of him, but Hutch knew Starsky's eyes were on him. As they had been all evening. It was getting to be unnerving.

It had been a great meal, good conversation, and Hutch had gotten more attention from his partner than he'd had all week. In fact, Hutch had gotten more attention from Starsky than he usually did, even during a good week. And it was that fact that was setting off warning bells in Hutch's mind.

If I didn't know better, I'd be feeling like this was my last day on Earth, and Starsky is trying to make the time as enjoyable as he can. Insisting on doing dinner and the dishes by himself? Pulling my chair out for me at the table? Keeping my wine glass and plate constantly filled? Asking me a million times what I wanted to do for the evening? And him not once bringing himself into the subject?

Hutch had gone from feeling something was unusual, to feeling strange, and now almost outright uncomfortable in his own apartment. He'd never had to think about his partner's presence before. Now he found himself at a loss as to how...lopsided the day had become. Instead of acting like this was a second home, Starsky was back to being...careful and polite, as if they'd just met. Instead of helping himself, knowing Hutch would do so as well, Starsky had been overly attentive and careful to ask if Hutch was full, if he'd had enough wine, and asking when Hutch wanted dessert.

Instead of having a friend over, Hutch felt as if he had an unexpected stranger sitting on his couch.

Okay, so he's acting weird. Time to quit these games and get him to spill it. I'm not sure I can take much more of this, especially if I have to work with him tomorrow. Arms crossed, Hutch turned to walk back to Starsky.

Starsky watched him, smiled shyly and patted the couch beside him. "C'mon, Blintz. Gotta be something on we can watch tonight. Unless you wanna do something else."

"Okay, that's it!" Hutch felt just as surprised as Starsky looked at the force of the words. "Look, Starsk, you are really acting strange this evening and I'd like to get down to brass tacks, okay? What's going on?"

Hutch saw it, that flicker of "uh, oh" that crossed his partner's face when he felt he'd been caught. Whatever was going on here had something to do with a plan roaming around in Starsky's brain, and now Hutch was certain of it.

"Goin' on? What do you mean?"

"I mean you can quit this 'innocent me' act," Hutch announced firmly. He strode over to turn off the television and sat on the coffee table, facing his guilty looking partner. "You barely talk to me or look at me the last few days. I can handle that. But now you come over, packed to the gills with an expensive dinner and fixings, treat me like I'm breakable and you've never met me before. All through dinner, you insist I talk about myself, ask me about my family and my date yesterday, and pretty much make me wonder if you've had a stroke and don't remember who I am anymore!"

Hutch watched as Starsky paled and turned his eyes to the hands in his lap.

Uh, oh. It's worse than I thought. He's not even going to try to keep his bluff going.

"I knew it," Hutch announced with mock resignation. "What did you do, and who are we in trouble with?"

Still looking at his hands, Starsky smiled and chuckled. He shrugged and looked up.

Hutch smiled at him and reached out to pat his knee in encouragement.

"Okay, but I think I'm gonna get my nose broken."

"By who?" Hutch didn't try to hide the flash of anger at the sad sounding remark. "Who thinks they can get by me to do that?"

Starsky laughed then, amusement crinkling his eyes, and his smile growing crooked. "Never pick on a man's partner, huh?"

"Damn right! Now, what's going on?"

Starsky sighed, and Hutch could see he was having trouble holding his gaze. "It's me that's got a problem, Hutch, and it's you that might break my nose."

Hutch felt his eyebrows crawl toward his hairline again. "That bad? C'mon, babe. Tell me and get it over with."

Starsky nodded as if to himself, and scooted forward on the couch. Hutch leaned closer as well, growing more and more concerned at the uncertain look in Starsky's eyes.

The next thing he knew, his face was captured in firm hands, and Starsky's warm lips were on his.

His response was immediate and without thought. He shoved Starsky back away from him.

"What the hell was that?!" He asked shakily, seeing his own shock echoed on Starsky's face.

"Are you gonna break my nose?" Starsky asked quietly, that crooked grin creeping back across his face. "'Cause if you are, I gotta know not to duck."

Hutch felt like growling in frustration. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm not going to hit you, but you'd better tell me what that was all about before I start to wonder why I didn't!"

Starsky looked down at his hands again. "I've been thinking about a lot of things lately, Hutch. About me, about my future and what I want out of life."

"And kissing me is part of that?" The confusion of the evening started to fall into place, as Hutch fought to pull the loose threads of the evening together. It was a date, wasn't it? And Starsky was trying to...court him? "It is about the kiss, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's about you and me. Guess it always has been about us, hasn't it?"

"Starsk..." Hutch said softly, willing his partner to look up at him again. "What's been going on with you? What's happening in that pea brain of yours?"

Starsky looked up at him, and Hutch knew this was going to be important and maybe Starsky's one shot at saying it.

"Hutch, I...I love you. And I've been thinking the last few days what that means to me. About what I want it to mean. And I think...I'm thinking...."

"About us getting together," Hutch finished. He stood suddenly, crossing the room to stand in the window again. He needed the fresh air in his face to feel like he could breathe again.

Does he know how dangerous it would be? We need each other too much to screw with something that won't work out. I know he loves me. I know I love him, but in what way? Once we start... How the hell do you call it quits and keep the friendship? And what if one of us can't walk away from something like that? What would we be giving up?

He shook his head, eyes on the dark, clear sky and the bright array of street lights just outside his apartment. He felt Starsky come up behind him, didn't move away as strong arms wrapped around him, a warm body pressed up against him, and a chin rested in the crook of his neck.

"Just...sometime in the future, Hutch. If you want it. If we both want it."

If I want it? Do I? How can I not want it? You scare the hell out of me, Starsky. You've scared me ever since the day I realized how important you are to me. I can't afford to screw up another love affair when it means losing you, too.

"Starsk." He almost choked out the word, not realizing how tense he was. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Saying no...won't change anything, will it?" He covered the hands at his waist with his own, wanting things to be okay.

"Things won't change. To be truthful, I'd have been surprised at a yes right now." The words were soft in his ear. Hutch relaxed and leaned back into the embrace, relieved at the truth he heard there. Starsky hugged him harder before continuing. "It won't matter between us, Hutch. But...it's a choice we could make. Someday."

"But haven't you already chosen, Starsk? Isn't this what this whole evening is about?" Starsky was quiet for a moment, then released him. Hutch turned around, discovering he must have been holding his breath because the look of love and fondness on his partner's face made him gasp.

"Today?" Starsky shrugged bashfully, happiness in his eyes. "Nah. Today was...being truthful. Introducing the subject and asking how you feel about it. The truth is that the whole idea is new to me, too, and I'm not certain I'm ready for or even want that kind of future. But I know..." Starsky's eyes turned misty and his hands came up to hold Hutch's face lovingly. "I know I don't want it to be a door never acknowledged, opened, or discussed because we're unsure of what the other one is thinking. If it does happen, I want us to make that choice together, with our eyes wide open. 'Cause I know that once we do something like that, they couldn't get us apart with a shoehorn."

They both laughed then, and Hutch blushed as he realized that Starsky still held his face.

"We're dangerous together, Starsky. I'm just not sure it's a direction we should go. But that doesn't mean I don't love you."

"I know, babe. And if it never happens, or doesn't work out, then there's still this, right?" Starsky patted his face once and grabbed Hutch suddenly around the waist, laughing as he tried to lift him.

Hutch laughed as well, relieved to know that now wasn't the time for choices. "Okay, okay, Godzilla." He hugged Starsky back as soon as his feet hit the floor again. "Message understood. No matter what, it's the long haul for us. Come what may."

They broke apart then, and Hutch realized he was more comfortable than he'd been all evening. "C'mon, partner. Let's go waste the rest of the evening with the boob-tube."

"As long as I get to pick!" Starsky announced happily. "After all, I did all the dinner and the clean up. It's only fair."

Now, that's my Starsky, Hutch thought fondly as he went to the kitchen for the last of the wine, while Starsky turned on the TV. Strange how much better he felt when he knew Starsky could confide something like that in him. Could take that chance, trusting that Hutch loved him enough to understand why he felt it was a door they needed to acknowledge. That kind of trust doesn't happen every day, he admitted to himself.

And he had to admit it was a subject that had crossed his mind more than once. Most often when their jobs brought them to the brink. But Starsky could never be a one-night stand in his mind. He knew how hard he would fall for him if he ever gave himself the chance to go for broke. Once started, there'd be no walking away intact from that kind of relationship.

But now that it's out, we've got some breathing room, he decided. He knew they would bring the subject up here and there through the evening, working out what each of them thought, felt, and worried about. It was okay to talk about it now that the ice had been broken.

You've got more balls than I do, partner. And someday, Starsk, I'm going to ask you where you got the guts to start this conversation. Why this week of all weeks to face it?

He wasn't going to ask tonight. But someday....

***

Kenneth Hutchinson lay in the middle of his shared bed with his life-partner, a warm sleeping weight upon his heart. It had started out such a normal, beautiful spring day that he almost couldn't believe what had happened in such a small amount of time.

Funny, how the worst times of my life start out as nice days.

He'd seen his lover in the window and had come upstairs looking to find love, playfulness, and a joyful romp in bed on a well-deserved weekend off. What he'd found instead still made him want to panic with fear. Their conversation had been crazy, insane, and yet Hutch had gone along with it. Had partly encouraged the madness, in desperation that if he just believed, believed hard enough, he would come to find his beloved behind those deep blue eyes.

How could I not believe? he wondered, eyes growing misty. So young, behind those eyes. So scared. So sure he wasn't sick. It was him, but not him. With no memory of Gunther's attack, or the hell he had getting through rehabilitation and recovery. If I could have saved him that....

Hutch tightened his grip on the man in his arms, desperately wanting him to wake up and prove them both right. Prove to him it hadn't been a stroke that had destroyed all those years of pain, love, desperation, and ecstasy. If they were both wrong, if he'd delayed too long and more years were lost to them both....

Please let me have him back. Please! I'd even settle for the younger one, the one who still remembered me as partner and friend. Even if he never could love me that way again. To have him forget me entirely, or to lose him completely, is more than I can bear. Please....

There was a sigh from the man in his arms, a twitch that signaled Starsky was stirring to life.

Hutch tried not to move, but found he couldn't keep his hands from stroking the strong back, couldn't keep them from tracing the old familiar scars there. As Starsky showed more signs of waking, he gave up and moved a hand to the mass of beloved curls that crowned the head cradled in the crook of his neck.

Let me see my lover in your eyes! Starsky, I need you!

The head lifted then, and Hutch's heart skipped a beat as the blue eyes opened blearily and looked around in confusion. Starsky pushed up a little then, looked at him for a second with no recognition, taking in his own state of semi-undress and Hutch's clothing.

"Hey, Blondie," Starsky muttered groggily, tugging at Hutch's shirt. "If you're gonna serve me breakfast in bed you might want to unwrap it first."

A lecherous smile twisted the familiar features, and Hutch almost cried at the mature, well-loved soul he could clearly see behind those flashing blue eyes.

Starsky grew serious as he studied his face, reaching up to wipe at the corner of Hutch's misty eyes. "What's the matter, love? You okay? Something happen while I was nappin'?"

Hutch laughed then, relief making him giddy. "Yeah, but let me tell you about it later. I'm feeling damned hungry for breakfast at the moment."

"Good! 'Cause I know you're gonna be especially delicious this morning."

He laughed again as Starsky's mouth found his, and those were the last coherent words Kenneth Hutchinson heard for the next few hours.

Warnings:    None