For Pepper

Prince Charming

By Ancasta

"Hutch? You in there, Hutch?"

Starsky glanced at his watch, then knocked on the door again. It was getting late. If they didn't get on the road soon, they were going to get caught in all the weekend traffic.

"What's the hold-up, Blondie?" he called, considering for a moment whether he should be concerned by the lack of response. He didn't think so. He was pretty sure he could hear movement coming from inside the apartment. But what the heck was taking so long? "You know as well as I do, your spare key ain't where it oughta be. So come on, wouldja? Let me in."

Thumbs hooked in his belt loops, Starsky waited a few seconds more. When his partner still didn't answer the door, he began contemplating which shoulder he should use to bust it down. Both shoulders celebrated when a familiar voice at long last filtered through the wood.

"Starsk… I just… just a second, all right?"

Okay. Good. So he wasn't dead.

Not that Hutch's demise was anything to joke about, Starsky thought with a mental kick in his own behind. Not after Vic Humphries and 48 hours of terror on both Hutch's part and his.

God. He could hardly believe a month had passed since Hutch had been pinned beneath his own car.

Starsky wondered how many more months it would be before the dreams stopped.

Oh, for crying out loud. Let it go.

He heard Hutch approach, the thump of his crutches dull against the plank floor. The deadbolt turned and the door opened.

Starsky saw the blood before he saw anything else.

"Holy fucking god. What the hell did you do?"

Hutch grimaced and raised his hand, palm outward, like a traffic cop trying to stop an oncoming semi. "I'm all right—"

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that, huh?"

Biting back the urge to say more, Starsky pushed his way into the apartment and closed the door behind him, his eyes never leaving his partner as he assessed the damage. Hutch glared back at him, defiant despite the wavy ribbon of red running down the side of his face. It wasn't until his balance wavered that the glare faltered and….

Starsky reached out to steady him. "Easy now."

Hutch bowed his head, his brow resting for a moment on Starsky's shoulder, before he mumbled, "Starsk—"

But Starsky didn't want to hear it. Not just yet. "Save it. Shut up and sit down before you fall down. Again."

Helping Hutch turn in the direction of the sofa, Starsky let him actually get there under his own steam. Even if Starsky couldn't keep himself from hovering behind his wounded friend, poised to rescue Hutch from further disaster. Such poise proved unnecessary. Hutch made it unharmed.

"Be right back."

Leaving Hutch safe on the sofa, Starsky retrieved a bowl of warm water, a washcloth, and assorted first aid supplies. Returning to the living room, he stepped in front of his friend, and deposited everything on the coffee table. 

"C'mere."

Taking care, he tilted Hutch's head down and to the side a bit, trying to get a better look at the injury. It appeared to be hiding above Hutch's temple, just inside his hairline. Starsky combed carefully through the fine hair there with his fingertips to see how bad it was. Hutch sighed, slumped forward, and let him.

"When did this happen?" Starsky asked, bending close.

"Not all that long before you knocked. Your timing is impeccable."

There it was. A ragged cut an inch or two long. Lucky for all concerned, it looked like it was already clotting. "How did it happen?" Starsky asked, dipping the washcloth in the water, then wringing it free of the excess.

"My crutch got caught on the damned rug. Again."

Starsky folded the cloth and swabbed carefully around the wound. "Babe, I'm telling you — once one of those things tastes human blood, it can turn man-eater."

Hutch winced, but otherwise held still. "I didn't bleed the first time I fell."

"Maybe not," Starsky said, cradling Hutch's cheek with his free hand, holding his partner steady while he continued to dab away the drying blood, rewetting the cloth as needed. "But a rug like yours can sense those things. After that first time, it'd realized the potential was there."

"Has anybody ever told you what a big weirdo you are?"

"Has anybody ever told you you were a klutz?"

Hutch sighed again. "You. Plenty of times."

"Yeah, well — I'm a keen observer of the human condition." Having cleaned around the wound, Starsky rinsed the cloth again, refolded it, and pressed it against the cut.

Hutch jerked and sucked in a quick, harsh breath. Immediately, Starsky eased up on the pressure he had been applying.

"Sorry! Sorry," he said, taking hold of Hutch's wrist, and lifting it until the blond's hand was pressed against the washcloth. "Here, hold this a sec." He circled around the sofa towards the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"You focus on getting that bleeding stopped, and I'll see what I can do about cleaning you up." Grabbing a hand towel off the rack by the sink, Starsky wetted it down like he had the washcloth. Returning to the living room, he sat alongside Hutch. Taking hold of his partner's chin, he lifted it so he could duck under Hutch's arm and get at the injured man's face and neck.

"You know, if you didn't want to go away to the lake this weekend, all you had to do was say so," Starsky murmured, intent on washing the red away from Hutch's flushed skin. "You didn't have to put yourself in the hospital, trying to avoid it."

"Don't be an idiot," Hutch grumbled, his breath puffing against the tender inside of Starsky's wrist. "I want to go."

"You sure you feel up to it?" Starsky asked, rinsing out the towel and returning to scrub lightly along Hutch's hairline. "I mean — you didn't black out or anything, did you?"

"No. I didn't lose consciousness."

"What did you hit your head on anyway?"

"The edge of the table," Hutch said, darting a glance in that direction, as if wondering if perhaps that too was now in attack mode. "I cracked it going down."

Satisfied he had gotten rid of the worst of the blood, Starsky stood, both the stained towel and bowl of water in hand. "Yeah? Well, let's all be thankful your melon is hard enough to withstand that kind of punishment. How's the bleeding coming?"

Hutch pulled away the washcloth and examined the evidence. "I think the worst of it is over."

"Good," Starsky said. "Give it here." Hutch laid the square of fabric in the bowl.  "I'll bandage you up and we can get out of here."

"I can do it."

"Yeah. You probably could," Starsky said, crossing into the bathroom to dump out the foul water and rinse out the toweling. "But you ain't gonna. Just sit there, would you please? Consider it a personal favor to me."

"Fine," Hutch growled, his tone of voice suggesting it was anything but.

"Thanks," Starsky said, ignoring the growl. It was nothing new.

It didn't take him long to dab a little antibacterial ointment onto the wound and tape down a clean gauze square over it. Hutch was already packed, so Starsky wasted no time in running his suitcase and crutches down to the maroon Lincoln they had borrowed for the trip from Huggy. Then he dashed back up to retrieve his partner.

When Starsky had first proposed their trip, Hutch and he had talked about it, and decided to leave the Torino at home. Its bench seat had meant, since Hutch's injury, anytime Starsky had played chauffeur, ferrying Hutch to doctor's visits or running errands, his other half had needed to sit sideways in the back in order to accommodate his leg which, cast as it was, was unable to bend.

"No offense, Stark," Hutch had said. "But if we're really going to do this, drive nearly five hours up to Birchwood Lake, I think I'd prefer something more exciting to look at than the back of your head."

Starsky couldn't blame the guy. When Starsky had picked him up at the hospital, it had been nothing short of a nightmare trying to maneuver Hutch's big aching body into the back seat of the two-door Torino.

"No problem," Starsky had said with a smile and a shrug. "I know a guy."

And Huggy had come up aces. Just like always.

Getting from the second floor to the first took a bit of planning and resolve. But it wasn't the first time they had done it. Hutch draped his arm across Starsky's shoulders, while Starsky wrapped his arm tightly around Hutch's waist. Moving slowly and carefully, they made their way to the head of the stairs.

"Okay," Starsky said. "You remember the drill.  Grab hold of the banister on your side and I'll do the same on mine. We're not running a race here. Take your time — especially with your noggin. And if you get dizzy or feel like you're going to lose your balance, say something."

"Don't worry. I will."

Together, they hopped and hobbled their way down the stairs, both men breathing hard by the time they made it to the street. Starsky was thankful he'd lucked into a parking spot right in front.

"In you go, hotshot. Try not to hit your head again, climbing in."

"You're a regular comedian, Starsky." Once he was settled in the front seat, Hutch said nothing more. His scowl, however, spoke volumes.

He remained quiet as Starsky guided the Lincoln towards the freeway, offering little more than mumbled affirmatives when asked if he were comfortable and if he thought he could live with Starsky's choice of radio stations. Focused on the thick Friday afternoon traffic, Starsky didn't noticed the precise moment when his partner went from tight-lipped to asleep, but he was grateful the other man was grabbing some shut-eye.

Lately, it had been in awfully short supply.

When Hutch had been released from the hospital, Starsky had been there to pick him up, all set to lavish plenty of TLC on his injured partner.

The only problem was Hutch had wound up seeing Starsky as more Nurse Ratched than Florence Nightingale.

Which, to Starsky's way of thinking, was a pretty harsh judgment to lay on a guy who had stayed on the phone with his ma an extra twenty minutes just to get her special recipe for chicken and matzo ball soup.

Those matzo balls had always made Starsky feel better when he'd been laid up as a kid.

And that's all he'd been trying to do for Hutch — make him feel better. The Blintz certainly hadn't been able to catch a break in that area on his own.

First there had been the crash, which had left Hutch with a broken femur, a concussion, dehydration, a wrenched back, and enough bumps and bruises to make Starsky wince just looking at him.

In the movies, everything would have magically been fixed once Hutch had been rescued. Only Starsky and Hutch didn't live in the movies. And Hutch hadn't gone from lying helpless beneath a ton of battered LTD to dancing a jig.

Once they had gotten him to the hospital, the docs had determined that before they could cast his leg, they needed to put Hutch in traction for a few days, so everything was aligned right and his muscles didn't shorten up on him.

Then they took him in and operated on him, putting a long metal rod in his thigh to help support the bone.

Next had come the cast, which enveloped Hutch's long, long leg from hip to ankle like a particularly fiendish mummy's wrap. The damned thing was bulky as hell and as heavy as a bulletproof vest.

With any ordinary guy, that would have been that. All Hutch should have needed were a pair of crutches and a wheelchair to get him from his room to the hospital parking lot. Then goodbye, Orthopedics. Hello, Venice Place.

But it hadn't quite worked out that way.

After the cast had been put on, but before Starsky could wheel Hutch out of Memorial Hospital Medical Center, the poor guy had come down with a viral infection. Dr. Gale, Hutch's physician, had said the bug had hit Hutch especially hard because of his already weakened condition. After being trapped under his car for so long, Hutch was run down, and that made him more vulnerable to some of the nastier stuff floating around inside Memorial.

Starsky didn't care what the reason had been. He thought the whole thing was pretty fucking unfair. After all he'd already been through, Hutch had had to suffer through three whole days of sneezing and wheezing and hacking before the meds had finally kicked in and given him a little relief.

Bottom line — by the time Hutch had finally been sprung from the hospital, he was wiped out. Sure he'd had that little spurt of adrenaline when Starsky had picked him up and introduced him to his latest junker. But what get up and go he had shown had got up and went long before they had ever gotten to Hutch's apartment. The big blond had conked out in the Torino on the way home.

And he really hadn't shown much improvement since. It was making Starsky kind of nervous.

Hutch was exhausted all the time, yet his cast kept him from getting a good night's sleep. His appetite was for shit, but not even Ma Starsky's extra special matzo balls could tempt him to finish a meal. And worst of all, he was absolutely, positively nutso stir crazy after being confined first to his hospital bed, then to his second floor apartment.

Only the harder Starsky had tried to make it better — coming by Hutch's place every free second he had, cooking food Hutch didn't eat, picking up after Hutch (who, given his injury, was even more lacking in the housekeeping department than usual), offering to play every board game known to man with Hutch, allowing Hutch to rule the television remote with an iron fist — the grumpier Hutch had become. Until four days ago, it had all come to a head.

"Starsky, I'm sure you mean well," Hutch snarled from his place at the kitchen table, "but back the hell off."

"What?" Starsky said, dishtowel tucked into the front of jeans as a makeshift apron, a skillet filled with scrambled eggs in his hand. "What did I do? All I'd asked was if you were ready to eat something."

"And I told you — I'll eat when I'm hungry," Hutch said, tone stinging like a wasp. "For cryin' out loud. I've already got one mother. I don't need two."

"I'm not trying to be your mother, you big dummy," Starsky said, turning to set the skillet back on the stove, his own patience beginning to wear thin. "I'm trying to keep you from having to buy a whole new wardrobe. You keep up this hunger strike and pretty soon not a damned thing is going to fit you."

"Yeah?" Hutch grumbled, arms crossed. "Well excuse me, Mr. Blackwell. We can't all wear our pants as tight as yours, you know."

Thinking only to keep it light, Starsky smiled, did a little wiggle, and said, "You been eying my ass again, babe?"

Without warning, Hutch paled, his eyes doing their best saucer imitations, before his face turned seemingly to stone. "That's it. Get out."

"What?" Starsky said, moving towards his partner. Hutch was struggling to his feet. It was second nature for Starsky to help the guy. Only, judging from the glare aimed his way, Hutch wasn't in the mood for any assistance. "Come on. I was kidding around. You know that. What the hell are you getting so touchy about?"

Hutch shoved his crutches under his arms and, turning towards the living room, made his labored way across the floor, now taking care to avoid Starsky's eyes. "I'm not getting touchy. I've just had enough. Enough of this. Enough of you… here… I can't… I need you out of here, Starsky. I need my own space. I need…"

In his haste to escape from Starsky's presence, Hutch wasn't paying close attention to where he was placing his crutches. One of them snagged the edge of the rug in front of the sofa. The carpet curled over, trapping the narrow support, and Hutch lurched heavily to the side.

"Hutch!" Starsky started towards his friend.

Using the arm of the sofa as a prop, Hutch caught himself and recaptured his balance before Starsky could reach him. "Don't!" he said, waving off his partner's help. "I'm fine. I'm just… I'm fine. All right?"

Starsky would have argued further, only at that second Hutch raised his head and at long last looked at him. The misery Starsky saw in his partner's gaze made everything tighten up inside him, like some circus strong man had mistaken Starsky's insides for one of those foam stress balls.

What the hell was wrong? Despite what he had said, had the big lummox done something to himself?    

As if aware of what his eyes must be giving away, Hutch dredged up a smile. The only problem was it was too feeble to give Starsky any real measure of reassurance. "Please, Starsk? Really… just… go home. Okay? It'll be all right. I'll be all right. I promise."

Damn. Starsky could never refuse Hutch anything when his voice got all soft and rumbly like that.

He sighed, and scrubbed the back of his neck with his palm. "All right. If that's what you want."

"It is."

Pulling the dishtowel from his jeans and tossing it on the table, Starsky headed for the exit. Hutch was already standing there, hunched over his crutches, waiting for him. The door was open.

"Here's your hat. What's your hurry?" Starsky murmured as he drew near.

Before Starsky could cross past his partner and out the door, Hutch put his hand on Starsky's arm, stopping him. "Wait."

'Bout time, Starsky thought. If you apologize real nice, Blondie, maybe I'll cook you up a fresh batch of eggs.

Hutch edged past Starsky into the hall. "Forgot something." Balancing carefully on his good leg, he shifted both crutches under one arm, reached up and grabbed the key he kept on top of the lintel, tucking it into the pocket of his sweat pants. "This way, you won't be tempted."

You know, if he didn't love the guy so much, there were times when Starsky could have quite cheerfully strangled Hutch.

"Terrific," was all he said as he sauntered out of Hutch's apartment, hurt, but determined not to show it.

"Starsk?"

Starsky considered not stopping. For about two seconds. Sighing again, he came to a halt and looked over his shoulder. "What is it, Blintz?"

Hutch had kind of propped himself in the doorway. The chucklehead. Starsky knew he was still having trouble staying on his feet for long. "Just… ah… I just wanted to say I'll call you if I need anything."

"You do that," Starsky told him.

Hutch nodded. "Yeah. Um… okay. See you."

"Count on it," Starsky said as he turned and headed for the stairs. He could hear Hutch clomping his way back inside the apartment as Starsky trotted lightly down the steps.

"Don't you for a second believe a locked door could keep me out if I wanted in badly enough, babe," he mumbled as he stepped out onto the street. "A guy can learn a lot of interesting things growing up in a neighborhood like mine. One of the most useful was how to pick a goddamn lock."

Yet as it had turned out, Starsky hadn't needed to go to such lengths. Somehow, he had managed to stay away, giving Hutch the space he had claimed he craved. Starsky had instead put the time to good use, trying to come up with a way to lift his buddy's spirits.

If there was one thing Starsky knew, it was that the easiest way to Hutch's surprisingly vulnerable heart ran right through the great outdoors.

So it only stood to reason, if he wanted to help with his pal's doom and gloom, his first step should be to get Hutch out of that apartment turned prison cell.

The further from the city, the better.

Getting the time off had been easy. Hutch was on the disabled list and Starsky had so much vacation time saved up he was going to lose days if he didn't start taking a few. What had been trickier was figuring out where to go.

The Dobeys' cabin at Pine Lake was unavailable.

"Sorry, Starsky," the captain said when Starsky inquired, "but I already promised the place to my brother this weekend. You can have it the week after, if you like."

But Starsky was worried that waiting a week would let Hutch's mood to go from bad to worse. Plus, if he were being honest with himself, Starsky had to admit he didn't want to go without Hutch for a whole two weeks. He kind of missed the big idiot. "Thanks, Cap'n. But I was sort of hoping to do this sooner rather than later."

"Well, in that case, try talking to Cooperton."

"Alan Cooperton, over in Bunco?"

"Yeah. I heard through his captain that Coop and his wife have a place up north. I'm pretty sure it's on a lake — Beech, Birch, Bass… something like that."

"Thanks," Starsky said. "I'll check it out."

It didn't take much to get Cooperton on board. "Sure, Starsky. You're welcome to it for a weekend. The cabin is nothing fancy, you know. And it only has the one bedroom. But it's comfortable enough, and should be stocked with everything you need."

"Thanks, Coop. I really appreciate this. I know Hutch will too."

"Don't worry about it. I heard what happened to that partner of yours. This is the least I can do. Word of advice, though — make sure you pack some warm clothes. The days should be nice enough for everything but swimming — not that Hutch would really be up for that anyway. But the evenings get chilly. The cabin's fireplace helps, but so will some nice thick sweaters."

"Good to know. Thanks."

Taking Coop's words to heart, Starsky had packed his old bulky cardigan, a couple of sweat shirts and, in a fit of sentimentality, an almost sinfully soft red cashmere sweater Hutch had gotten him for Christmas the year before.

"If you're going to insist on our exchanging presents every year, then I'm going to buy you something practical," Hutch had told him, the affection in his eyes making a lie out his gruff tone.

Only someone who had grown up in a house overlooking a golf course would equate "cashmere" with "practical."

Still, Starsky loved it. He didn't think he had ever owned anything so luxurious.

It was that kind of thing that made him want to give something back to Hutch. Not the gift itself, nice as it was. But more the thought behind it. The idea that Hutch had wanted him to have something like that. Something extravagant. Frivolous, even. Not practical. No matter what Hutch might have tried to insist.

Some might not think it was practical to take a guy on crutches out into the woods on vacation, but Hutch had taken to the whole weekend getaway idea pretty well. Especially once Starsky had explained why they were making the trip.

"You want to spend a long weekend on a lake in the middle of nowhere? Why? You hate the outdoors."

"So? You love it."

"Oh…"

"Yeah. 'Oh'. So whaddya say, nature boy? Are we on?"

"Yeah, um… sure, Starsk. We're on."

"This is gonna help make it better, babe," Starsky murmured now, merging on to the highway that would lead them in the direction of Coop's cabin. "I know it. A little peace and quiet, a little fresh air. You'll come back to Bay City a new man."

The Lincoln now moving smoothly with the flow of traffic, Starsky indulged in a glance to his right.

Damn.

Hutch was sleeping soundly, his big hands limp and loosely curled, rested in his lap. His hair was tousled, his face turned Starsky's way. The setting sun painted his features the warmest gold.

He was so fucking beautiful it almost hurt to look at him.

Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Starsky turned his attention back to the road, all the while wishing he could understand why things had started to change, when the familiar sight of Hutch had begun to stir very unfamiliar longings in Starsky's soul.

Maybe this trip will be good for the both of us. You can start to feel a little stronger, and I can start to feel a little more sane.

Because it was madness to want what Starsky thought he might now want.

But that was okay. He was determined their little holiday would go a long way towards fixing what ailed them both.

After all, they cured crazy people sometimes.

Didn't they?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Hutch awoke, it was dark, and he was alone in the car. The air had turned cool, but he had his jacket on, so he was comfortable enough. His mouth felt cottony and tasted stale. His back ached, but not as badly as his head.

"What the hell…."

He blinked his bleary eyes, trying to clear them. It appeared the Lincoln was parked in a nearly empty supermarket parking lot. Reaching in to his jacket pocket, Hutch pulled free his grandfather's old watch, snapped it open and held it to the car window, angling it to catch the light streaming down from a nearby pole.

8:48

Starsk must have decided to stop for groceries on the way in. Smart move. That way they could sleep in the next morning, assured that coffee and — knowing Starsky — donuts were waiting for them when they got up.

Hutch tucked his watch back into his jacket and, wincing, pushed himself further upright. Damn, a handful of aspirin would go down pretty well right about now. Why, when lately he never seemed able to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a stretch on his own extra firm mattress, had he sacked out for more than double that in the front seat of a Lincoln? Must have been the motion. Maybe he was becoming like one of those babies who have to be lulled to sleep by their anxious father, driving in circles straight on through till dawn.

Starsky as Daddy.

Great.

As if the way he had already begun to think of his partner weren't disturbing enough.

Stop it.

Hutch closed his eyes and brought his hands up to his face, rubbing over his tense brow, massaging his aching temples. Man. What he wouldn't give to feel truly good, just for a minute or two. He couldn't remember the last time his body had actually felt like his. One that responded to his commands, that moved him from place to place smoothly and with power. One that didn't require planning for the simplest task. He'd broken his arm in high school, but he'd never broken his leg before now. He would never have believed taking a shower could require the same feats of balance and daring found under a circus tent.

A knock on the car window startled him out of his funk.

"Hey, sleeping beauty. I bought you some of that twigs and berries stuff you like."

Starsky.

Despite the pounding in his head, Hutch smiled at his friend. How could he not, especially when he knew if he did, Starsky would smile back at him?

Like clockwork, Starsky obligingly grinned.

His own smile fading, Hutch watched Starsky in the rear view mirror as his partner circled around to the trunk and began stowing the bags of groceries. The simple act made him feel like a voyeur.

You been eying my ass again, babe?

Yeah, Starsk. I have. And I don't know what the hell to do, how to keep it all from going wrong.

Guilt washed over Hutch, as it had so frequently of late. He tore his gaze away from Starsky's light-footed grace, closing his eyes completely, and leaning his head back against the seat.

The car door opened.

"Here. Take a couple of these. You look like you could use 'em."

A bottle of aspirin landed in Hutch's lap.

"You can wash them down with some of my Coke," Starsky said, slipping behind the wheel, Coke in hand and already stretched towards Hutch.

Hutch shoved three aspirin in his mouth and chased them down his throat with Starsky's soda.

"Shouldn't be too long now," Starsky said, taking a sip of his drink as he pulled out of the parking lot. "I was talking to the girl at the service counter — picked up our fishing licenses, by the way. She said we need to follow the main road out of this burg about five miles, then turn right on Alder Rd. She said that'll twist and turn for probably another five before we get to the lake. Then we've just got to look for the right number."

"Be kind of tricky looking for house numbers this time of night," Hutch said, determined not to wonder how cute the girl behind the counter was and if Starsky had been flirting while asking for directions.

Because if she had a pulse, chances were he had.

"Nah. Not with your eagle eyes."

Awake now in a way he hadn't been for hours, Hutch stared out the window, watching the shadowed scenery go by. He saw a sporting goods store, two bars, a diner called Desi's, and a gas station zip past. The town reminded him of the small villages in northern Minnesota that served as launching points for trips through the Boundary Waters. They were packed in summer, their streets full of hikers and campers, and families packed into bulging station wagons. Once the leaves began to change however, the crowds thinned out.

That was the situation here and now. While the parking lots surrounding the two taverns were fuller than the one for the supermarket, there wasn't a lot of traffic on the road. He supposed with it being a couple of weeks before Memorial Day, the season hadn't really started yet.

Once they cleared the city limits, businesses gave way to stands of trees and the occasional house. Taking his job as co-pilot seriously, despite his persistent headache, Hutch narrowed his eyes against the darkness and kept lookout for Alder Rd.

"There it is."

Alder was unpaved, and a bumpy ride even with the suspension Lincolns were famous for. Despite Starsky's firm grip on the wheel, the car shook and shimmied as it rolled along the narrow path.

Starsky stole a peek in Hutch's direction, frowning at what he saw. "Hang in there. It can't be long now."

"From your lips to God's ear," Hutch gritted out in response.

As if the deity had indeed been listening, they came around one final curve and the first lake house came into view.

"That's more like it," Starsky murmured with satisfaction.

Here the road was less worn and pitted. Starsky slowed so Hutch could read the numbers on the mailboxes. "We're looking for 91 Alder Road."

In true vacation home style, the houses were spread out some, evergreens and other assorted trees and shrubs providing a natural barrier between the dwellings. Hutch watched the numbers climb from 3 upwards. After a moment or two, he pointed. "There, on the right."

Starsky took the turn. They bounced their way down another gravel drive, this one mercifully shorter than the last. It wasn't long before a cedar sided cabin came into view.

"I think this is the place," Starsky said, pulling up alongside.

When the car came to a stop, Hutch pushed open the door. The air was chilly, but smelled fresh and clean. He could hear water lapping against the shore, somewhere in the darkness close by.

"Wait! Let me help you," Starsky said, opening the door and coming around the back of the car. As sick to death as Hutch was of being reliant on people — especially Starsky — he realized he couldn't very well hop into the house under his own steam. So he shifted in his seat and carefully eased his legs to his right until he sat sideways in the car doorway.

"Just sit tight for a sec," Starsky said, hand braced against the doorframe as he leaned in. "I'm going to go in and turn on the lights before we try to unload you and the luggage."

"Great. Now you're lumping me with the baggage," Hutch grumped, though he really didn't mean it.

He watched as, using the glow from the open car door for guidance, Starsky found his way up the stairs to the cabin door and, after a fumble or two with the borrowed key, inside the cabin. The lights popped on almost immediately.

"The place ain't bad at all," Starsky announced moments later as he returned to Hutch's side. "I think you're going to like it."

"If it has a bed, I'll like it," Hutch promised, taking Starsky's outstretched hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Roomy as the Lincoln was, Hutch was still stiff after the long car ride, especially with the way he had been slouched down in the seat asleep. He couldn't keep a soft groan from escaping once he was up and balanced on his good leg. Starsky steadied him with an arm around his waist, and looked at him with concern.

"You've about had it, babe."

"It's just the damned fall. Gave myself a headache."

"Yeah. On top of everything else. Come on, gimpy. Let's get you inside."

The two men found it a heck of a lot easier going up the short flight of stairs into the cabin than they had going from Hutch's apartment to the street. They made it inside without any problem.

With Starsky's help, Hutch fell gratefully onto a large overstuffed plaid sofa that faced an equally oversized fireplace. The cabin wasn't all that big, so the hearth took up one entire wall. Hutch looked around. Starsky was right. The place wasn't half bad.

The main room reminded him of Venice Place, in that it was open and had no walls dividing the kitchen and eating area from the living room. However, the cabin had two doors on the far wall. Hutch couldn't see inside them from where he was sitting, but he assumed one led to the bathroom, and the other to the bedrooms. The décor was simple yet homey — a farmhouse style table and chairs in the kitchen, two comfortable looking wingback chairs flanking the sofa in the living room, a coffee table and end tables filled in the blanks. Colorful rag rugs anchored each space.

"Just hang out here for a minute, okay?" Starsky said. "I'll bring in your crutches, our bags and the groceries. The fishing stuff can stay in the trunk until tomorrow morning."

Hutch nodded, watching as Starsky went back outside. He would have liked to have protested, to have done his fair share of the work. He was so sick to death of being useless. That was the worst of Sutton's handiwork. Sure, physically he was a mess since the attack. Even on his better days, the best Hutch could say about himself was he was uncomfortable. But the aches and pains he could deal with. It was the other stuff — the helplessness, the vulnerability — that made him question who he was and what he was worth.

His memory of the crash was all too clear. He recalled lying there beneath his car, pinned to the ground as surely as a butterfly on a board, the sun beating down on him mercilessly by day, night's chill air setting his teeth to chattering once that sun had fallen below the horizon. He hadn't been able to do anything to save himself. All his training, all his smarts. Useless. The body he took such pride in keeping healthy and strong had offered him no real advantage. His only option had been to lie on his back, and wait to be rescued.

It had been galling.

Scary.

And reminded him far too much of Forrest and another time his control had been utterly stripped away.

"God. I didn't think the bags were gonna hold up. Lucky they did. I'd hate to be out there chasing down apples and cans of soup in the dark."

Starsky came staggering in the cabin, Hutch's duffle over his shoulder, his own suitcase in one hand, three brown paper bags clutched to his body with his other arm. Bumping the door shut with his hip, he moved quickly to the kitchen counter and unceremoniously dumped the groceries there.

"I'll get your crutches in a minute. They were too big to carry with everything else."

"Don't worry about it. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

Starsky grinned as he made his way towards the front door. "I think I like the sound of that. I've got you at my mercy now." Giving Hutch a wink, he headed outside.

Hutch knew his partner was only teasing, but Starsky's playful words struck way too close to home. Looking for something to distract himself, he eyed the fireplace. While the cabin had a small electric heating unit tucked away in the corner, and judging by its hum, Starsky had turned it on, the little house was pretty nippy.

"That heater is never going to get the job done on its own," Hutch murmured, pushing a bit unsteadily to his feet.

Coop had done a good job organizing the space around the fireplace. Split logs were neatly stacked in a cubby alongside the firebox. Old newspapers were similarly piled nearby. Kindling had already been laid and was at the ready.

Hutch couldn't put any weight on his broken leg. But he could hop, and the furniture was placed closely enough together that he could steady himself by hanging on to pieces of it as he moved.

"What are you doin'?" Starsky asked, coming inside, Hutch's crutches in one hand, one final bag of groceries in the other.

Hutch had reached the hearth. He held onto the mantel for balance. "Toss me your lighter, would you?"

Starsky set the crutches alongside the door and dug in his coat pocket for his Zippo. "I thought you Boy Scouts were always prepared."

"Sea Scouts," Hutch said with a smile. "We didn't get a lot of call for building fires on the water."

"My mistake."

"I'll forgive you. If you'll give me a hand."

Starsky took the groceries to the kitchen, then crossed to him and handed him the lighter. "What else do you need, Blintz?"

"Help me get down to the floor, would you? I want to get a fire going."

Starsky looked pleased he was taking such initiative. "Great idea. You get that started and I'll put the groceries away."

It took Hutch no time at all to get a blaze going. The wood must have been chopped ages ago. It was dry and caught quickly.

Starsky had been busy in the kitchen too.

"I know it's late, but I could do with a little food before we turn in. You up for some chicken noodle soup?"

Hutch had stayed on the floor, content to warm himself before the flickering fire. He looked across the room and saw Starsky eyeing him as he might a growling stray, worried that stretching out a hand might get it bitten off.

Aw, babe. I've really done a number on you, haven't I? Why the hell do you put up with me?

"You know, soup actually sounds pretty good right now," Hutch said, hoping his casual manner didn't sound too studied. "Be nice to warm up on the inside as well as the out, you know?"

You would have thought Starsky had found the prize inside a box of Cracker Jack. His whole face lit up. "Yeah? Terrific. I'll heat it up. Maybe make some toast or something to go with it."

Their late night supper didn't take long to prepare, and by that time the little cabin was snug and warm. After a helping hand up from Starsky, Hutch made his way to the table, initially telling himself he was doing this only to please his partner. But when he sat down in front of bowl of Campbell's finest, he found, much to his surprise, he was actually hungry. Hutch couldn't remember the last time that had been the case. He even helped himself to a couple of toast triangles. Starsky watched him eat, all but beaming with approval.

Shit, Starsk. If I'd known it meant that much to you, I'd have choked down all those meals you'd prepared long before now.

Eventually, both men had finished eating and Hutch found himself nodding over his empty bowl. Starsky noticed, pushed himself away from the table, and came to stand at Hutch's side.

"Come on, you. Let's put you to bed before you do a nose dive into the toast crumbs."

Embarrassed to be caught in the act, Hutch blinked himself more alert and shooed Starsky away. "Don't worry about me. I can get ready on my own. Which bedroom is mine?"

Starsky got a weird look on his face, half puzzlement, half embarrassment. "Uh… actually, that's not too hard to figure out. Seeing as there's only one."

That announcement urged Hutch even further awake. "One?"

Starsky nodded, that half embarrassment growing to whole. "Yeah. I thought I'd told you that. Is it a problem?"

Hutch hurriedly tried to cover his dismay. "Um… no, no, that's fine. I just didn't realize—"

"Oh, it's your leg, isn't it?" Starsky said, like a light bulb had suddenly blazed to life above his head. "I'm sorry, babe, I wasn't thinking. I'll just bunk on the couch."

"No, Starsk… it's not that." The last thing Hutch wanted was for Starsky to spend the night on the couch like some husband in the doghouse. It never mattered how long or how deep a couch was, it was never as comfortable to sleep on as a mattress. "If anything, I'm worried about keeping you awake."

That seemed to set Starsky's mind at ease. He smiled broadly, and clapped Hutch on the shoulder. "Whaddya talkin' about? You're so tired, you'll be unconscious the minute your head hits the pillow. Don't worry about me. As long as you're not worried about me bumping you or something, we'll be fine."

"No. I'm not worried about that."

And Hutch wasn't. Not at all. He also wasn't concerned that he would suddenly have the urge to jump poor Starsky in his sleep. His feelings might have changed towards his partner, but that didn't mean all his inhibitions had vanished. Hutch was pretty sure he could keep his hands to himself.

Instead he saw it more as a betrayal of their friendship. After all, Starsky would be sleeping trustingly beside him, thinking nothing had changed, that they were pals, just like always. He'd have no idea that his best friend had begun to look at him with different eyes, want different things, things Hutch knew damned well could only drive a wedge between them if Starsky knew the truth.

But what were his options? He couldn't fess up, and Hutch was fairly certain Starsky would never agree to him sleeping on the couch.

Which, in an entirely selfish way, made Hutch awfully relieved.

"All right then," Hutch said, maneuvering to his feet. "Hand me my crutches, will you? I'm just going to brush my teeth and hit the hay."

Starsky did as he was asked, then got out of the way. "Here. Yell if you need anything. I'm gonna do a little KP. But I don't expect to be that far behind you."

"'Night, Starsk."

"'Night."

The bedroom wasn't particularly spacious, yet was large enough to hold a queen sized bed, dresser, a chest at the end of the bed for blankets and bedding, and a lone straight back chair. The warmth from the main room wasn't as evident in here. Hutch decided an extra blanket or two wouldn't be a bad idea.

He got ready quickly and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Taking the far side of the bed, Hutch lifted up the many layers of covers and got settled on his back. Jesus. It felt good to lie down. Starsky was right. Tired as he was, Hutch thought he might actually be able to get a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep for a change. Closing his eyes, he took a slow, deep breath and sank into the bed's comfortable depths.

Footfalls thumped against the cabin's wooden floors, sock-soft and muffled.

"Everything all right? You need anything?"

Hutch opened his eyes. Starsky stood silhouetted in the doorway. Hutch wished he could better see his partner's face. Maybe it was his imagination, but he'd thought he'd heard something swimming beneath the surface of Starsky's softly spoken questions. Sadness, maybe? Wistfulness? Whatever it was bothered Hutch. He didn't want Starsky to ever be sad.

"I'm good," Hutch said, his voice gravelly and hushed. "You okay?"

Starsky cocked his head with what looked like surprise. Maybe he was wrong, Hutch thought. Maybe he was imagining things. "Me? I'm golden. Why?"

Hutch shrugged. "Just wondered."

"Well, cut it out. All that wondering is keeping you from sleeping."

"I don't think anything could do that." As if to punctuate that statement, an enormous yawn rolled up unexpectedly from deep inside him, stretching his mouth wide.

Starsky chuckled. "I think that's my cue. Sweet dreams, Blintz. I'll see you the morning."

"'Night." Smiling now too, Hutch closed his eyes.

It wasn't long before his breath slowed and deepened. His muscles grew heavy and relaxed. Soon Hutch could feel sleep pulling him under, like a friend drawing him into a warm, soothing pool.

This was a good idea, he thought with what was left of his awareness. Starsk and he getting away. What a good guy, Starsky was. The best. Hutch was so lucky to have him in his life. Even if some of the feelings Hutch had towards him remained unrequited, Hutch would always be grateful for what they had.

Sighing, the last of his consciousness slipped away. But before it did, one strange and random observation drifted through his mind, the thread of thought so fragile it broke before it could take up residence in his memory.

That's funny. I don't think I ever heard Starsky walk away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Starsky had to hand it to Hutch. While he might be way off-track with all that health food mumbo-jumbo, he was on the money when it came to the great outdoors and sleep. Starsky didn't know what it was, but whenever he accompanied Hutch on one of their wilderness expeditions, he always slept terrific. Especially when there was a chill in the air.

And there had certainly been that last night. Starsky had built up the fire before he'd crashed, but he'd known the blaze wouldn't last till dawn. He'd remembered how cold the cabin had been when they'd first gotten there, and had been grateful Hutch had loaded all those extra covers on the bed.

The bedding must have done the trick, because that morning he was nice and toasty.

Starsky was lying on his side, comfortable as could be, only the top of his head peering out above the layers of blankets.

God, this was a great bed. He'd have to say something to Coop when they got back. Exactly the right firmness, and the sheets smelled fresh and clean, like they'd just been pulled from the dryer.

His pillow was nice too. Soft, but not mushy. Warm, beautifully warm…

…and moving, lifting and falling with a gentle, measured rhythm.

When he thought about it later, Starsky was embarrassed to admit it hadn't been the moving pillow that had clued him in to the situation, but the sound coming from the moving pillow — a faint but regular thump that had echoed right below his ear. That persistent beat had finally been enough to wipe the sleep from his muddled brain, and urge him to investigate. He opened his eyes and lifted his head.

Shit!

He was tangled around Hutch like a kite string around a telephone wire. Hutch's arm was looped loosely around his shoulder. Starsky had his draped across Hutch's middle.

When he pulled it away, sneaking it beneath the covers like a thief slinking into the night, Hutch stirred. He wrinkled his forehead, murmured some nonsense. His arm fell away. Starsky stayed absolutely still. He didn't even dare breathe.

Don't wake up, babe. Please, please don't wake up!

It was funny, though. Even as Starsky played statue, he couldn't say for certain exactly why he wanted Hutch to keep his eyes shut.

Partly it was so Starsky could escape embarrassment, sure. Hutch and he were buds. Closer than brothers, willing to die for each other, the whole nine yards. But they'd never gone so far as to sleep in each other's arms.

No matter what kind of crazy longings Starsky had been wrestling with lately.

But it was also partly so Starsky could keep looking at him, up close and personal like. So he could pretend, just for a little while, that this was how it was with Hutch and him now. Waking up alongside each other, warm and cozy. That familiarity they'd shared dating back to their days at the academy now more intimate still.

Leaning over Hutch the way he was, feeling the other man's soft breath wash over his cheek, Starsky thought about the dreams he'd been having on and off since the attack. He knew where the dreams had come from, of course. Remembered with heart-stopping clarity the moment he'd gone tearing down the hillside to find Hutch all but unconscious beneath his LTD. Starsky had fallen to his knees at the wounded man's side, trembling with fear and adrenaline, reached out and cradled Hutch's face between his palms. It was the only part of him Starsky had felt confident he could touch and not hurt Hutch further. His favorite blond hadn't been firing on all cylinders; his eyes hadn't even been open. But when Starsky had moved in close, said Hutch's name, and those pale lashes had fluttered, the weirdest urge had come over him.

So help me, God, I want to kiss him. Like one of those fairy tale princes kisses his true love.

Starsky knew as well as anyone how dopey that idea was. Not only would it have meant coming out of a closet he had never even realized he was in. But Hutch was as far away from one of those Disney princesses as anything.

And Starsky was pretty fucking sure the big, tough guy he worked beside wouldn't appreciate being cast in the role of a skirt.

Still, that's when it had all begun. The yearning, the what-ifs. And with the way Starsky's morning chubby was getting chubbier by the minute, it didn't look like the problem was all in his head.

Not that head, anyway.

Damn it!

This was nuts. He was not going to lie there, popping a woody for his best friend, who was lying beside him in all innocence, dead to the world.

He had to get out of there.

Starsky pushed up a little higher on his forearm and began to carefully slide his leg free from between Hutch's. He didn't get far, though, before Hutch took a deep breath, stiffened, and opened his eyes.

Starsky froze again, looming over Hutch, hand-in-the-cookie-jar guilty.

Hutch blinked up at him, slow and sleepy. He wasn't totally awake yet, Starsky could tell. He would be any second, though, and Starsky could only imagine what would happen when he was.

A cutting remark.

A two-handed shove to the chest.

An awkward withdrawal.

But instead, Hutch's gaze turned tender, shining up at Starsky with such… sweetness, and he smiled, gentle and warm. "Hey."

And Starsky's insides turned to moosh.

Oh, man. He was a goner, no two ways about it.

I love him. I'm in love with him.  

Honest to fucking god, I am.

And why wouldn't he be? Who wouldn't want to wake up to that every morning? That much love, that much strength. Starsky understood now why countless sweet young things had fallen like bowling pins before Hutch's devastating smile. He sympathized with all the Barbies and the Tammis and the Melissas. In a way, he had just signed on as some kind of weird mascot to their sisterhood. To be looked at like that by Hutch and know — just know — at that moment you're the absolute center of his universe….

"Starsk?"

Starsky started. Hutch was looking at him now with concern, and maybe even a touch of…

…fear?

Shit. Had Starsky given something away?

"How'd you sleep, babe?" Starsky said, sitting up and pulling away.

But Hutch wasn't going to let him get away with a misdirection. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. 'Course it is," Starsky said as enthusiastically as he could. "What could be wrong on our first morning of vacation?"

Hutch frowned, but didn't answer.

Pushing to his feet, Starsky ran his hands restlessly over his curly hair, walking first one way, then the other, trying to figure out how best to make his getaway.

Separation, that's what he needed. Some time to think.

And Starsky always did his best thinking in the shower.

Perfect.

He turned to say something, and saw Hutch watching him with a look that said he wasn't buying any of the bologna Starsky was overselling. As Starsky looked back, he saw Hutch's worried eyes turn cloudy and darken into something that seemed to Starsky an awful lot like embarrassment.

But that was ridiculous.

What the hell would the Blintz have to be embarrassed about?

"If it's okay with you, I was thinking I'd grab the shower first," Starsky said.

Hutch nodded, but avoided Starsky's eyes as he scooted his long legs over to the side of the bed. "Sure. Let me take a leak before you get in, though. Okay? While you're getting cleaned up, I'll see if I can't get the fire going again."

"Sounds good," Starsky said. "You need any help?"

"No, I'm good."

Sheesh. We sound like strangers or something.

But that didn't stop him from all but bolting into the bathroom when the opportunity arose, and closing the door behind him.

That's just great, Davey-boy. So you're not only a big homo now, but apparently you're also a coward.

Standing with his back against the bathroom door, Starsky thought about that. What exactly was it he was so freakin' scared of? It had nothing to do with him and the way he felt about himself — all that identity crap and know your own true self psycho-babble filling the paperback shelves. No, his fears all had to do with Hutch.

If he found out how Starsky felt, would Hutch hate him? Or worse yet, pity him.

Starsky didn't think he could stand that, to look at Hutch and see that looking back at him.

"Never gonna happen," Starsky swore, the words spoken low and soft. "I won't let it happen."

No. He would be the best friend Hutch would ever have. He'd be there for him through thick and thin. Protecting him. Making him laugh, even when he didn't really want to. He'd love the guy like the other half of himself. But that was it. Starsky had no choice.

To do anything else would be to risk everything.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hutch did what was expected of him. He got up, got ready, got dressed. He ate the granola Starsky had bought for him, sipped at a cup of the rocket fuel Starsky considered coffee. He went through the motions. But his heart wasn't in it.

How could it when that heart belonged to Starsky?

And clearly he didn't want it.

God. How could Hutch have been so stupid? To let his guard down like that… It was because those feelings he'd had for months had ganged up on him when he wasn't even awake. That's the reason he'd made such a blunder. When he'd opened his eyes and seen Starsky leaning over him, five o'clock shadow darkening his jaw, his hair mashed on one side, his blue eyes bright and alert and focused solely on him….

Hutch had known it could be dangerous sleeping beside Starsky with his feelings turned upside down as they were. But he'd really thought he would be able to hold it together better than he had. He had done undercover work, for crying out loud. He knew how to disguise what he was really thinking. But all he'd needed to do was say a single word, and his partner had recognized all he hadn't said.

I wonder if a taxi would come and pick me up all the way out here in the woods.

That was the worst of it, of course. Well maybe not the worst, but it was certainly bad enough. Hutch was well and truly trapped, just like he'd been under his car not all that long ago. Regardless of how much he might want to, he couldn't escape from Starsky or his well-meaning kindness.

And Hutch thought it might be the kindness that finally did him in.

Starsky obviously knew how mortified Hutch was by what he'd revealed. So Starsk was working overtime to try and convince Hutch they were fine and everything was business as usual. He'd spent the morning being charming, obliging, quick with a quip or a joke. Hutch fully expected he'd launch into juggling any minute now. Anything to make his partner smile.

But smiling was the last thing Hutch had on his mind. It was humiliating to have Starsky bending over backwards like he was. Hutch wanted to say to him, It's okay, you know. I understand you don't want me, like that. I'll admit it hurts, but it won't kill me. Just give me time and I'll get these feelings under control. You'll see. Only please, please don't change. I can take it, I can take anything, as long as I don't lose what I already have.

Only he couldn't say any of that, not if Starsky didn't want to hear it. And he didn't. Starsky had made that plain enough. If Hutch's partner had wanted to talk it out, he would have when he'd realized what was going on. But instead, he'd all but pole vaulted from the bed, trying to get away from Hutch and all of Hutch's unfortunate needs. Hutch had watched Starsky pace the floor, his hands in his hair, obviously beside himself. But rather than confront the situation head-on, Starsky had fled.

Right into the bathroom.

Hutch wouldn't force Starsky to talk about something that made him so uncomfortable. Especially not when Hutch was right there with him, feeling that same discomfort.

So they would both just pretend nothing had happened.

Yeah. That'll work.

"Come on, Blondie," Starsky said, clearing away the breakfast dishes. "It's a beautiful day. We got rods, we've got worms, we spent money on the damned licenses — let's go terrorize some fish."

"You go ahead, Starsk," Hutch said, pushing away from the table. "I think I'm just going to take it easy, maybe stretch out on the couch and read a bit."

"Oh… okay. That's cool. But you know — you could do your reading outside. Take advantage of all the sun. Coop has a couple of those great big Adirondack chairs set up. Should be comfy. You could keep me company."

Hutch took a calming breath before he spoke. "Fine. All right. I'll go outside."

Hutch knew Starsky was right. It would have been ridiculous to come all the way out into the Sierra Nevada foothills and then sit inside for a weekend. He also knew he hadn't exactly given in gracefully. But Starsky didn't seem to mind any of it. He merely smiled when Hutch agreed. Then, after the two of them had cleaned up the kitchen, Starsky helped his friend to one of the chairs right near the waterline, carrying his book for him — a Crichton novel — and a glass of lemonade.

"Here you go," he said as Hutch leaned his crutches against the back of the chair and lowered himself down onto the seat. "You want a blanket or anything?"

Hutch glared up at him. "For god's sake, Starsky. I'm not an 80 year old invalid."

Starsky handed him his things and backed away, hands up in the classic "Don't Shoot, Officer" pose. "All right. All right. I never said you were."

"Go fish."

"I'm goin', I'm goin'."

Hutch put his lemonade on the ground beside him and looked out over the lake and surrounding shoreline. It really was pretty up here. With them being at a higher elevation, the trees weren't quite as dense with leaves as they were back home. But everywhere he looked, things were budding and green. The sky overhead was a deep, pristine blue, with only the most delicate wisps of cloud to break up all the solid color. The water below reflected all that color back up again, with the gentle breeze creating ripples in the surface that echoed the clouds.

It was beautiful. No question about it. And his idiot partner, who Hutch loved more than anything in the world, was the one who had given it to him, practically tied up with a bow.

Reaching down to retrieve his lemonade, Hutch took a sip and turned his attention to Starsky. His friend might claim to hate the great outdoors, but he looked good in it. Starsky was dressed much as Hutch was — jeans and a sweatshirt. But where Hutch's shirt was a faded grassy green, Starsky's was gray and proudly proclaimed "BCPD" across its chest.

Hutch watched as Starsky got his fishing gear from the trunk of the car, and carried it down to the pier.

"You know, I think the last time I went fishing was with my dad off Coney Island," Starsky called over to him, squinting against the sun.

"Oh yeah?" Hutch replied. "What did you catch?"

Starsky grinned. "Nothing. Pop bought me a chili cheese dog with the works, and a malted, just to cheer me up after. It was a great day."

Hutch had to smile at that, at the picture that formed in his head of much younger Starsky cheered by a junk food meal and a day with his favorite guy.

Takes so little to make you happy, buddy, doesn't it? I need to get better at that. At bringing you joy, instead of bringing you down.

Making that promise to himself and to Starsky, Hutch cracked open his book and lost himself for a time in the thriller's plot.

A kind of peace settled over him as he read, one that began to fill him with hope instead of dread. That morning had been bad. He had exposed his feelings for Starsky and been rejected. And yet, it wasn't going to be the end of everything. Starsky had taken great pains to show him that. And if the whole thing was embarrassing, well… no one had ever died from a little embarrassment. It would pass. The bad stuff always did.

"Hey, Hutch! Do me a favor, wouldja? Watch how I cast. I don't think I'm snapping my wrist right. I feel like I should be getting more distance than I am."

Feeling better than he had all morning, Hutch marked his place and looked up, eager to help out, to be as good a friend to Starsky as Starsky was to him. "Okay, buddy. Show me what you got."

Starsky had dropped his eyes, and was adjusting his worm on the hook. When he heard Hutch's response, he looked up and started to turn to face the lake. Just then a large fish — Hutch couldn't tell what kind — broke the water only a couple of feet from the pier. Starsky startled, and stepped onto the pole he hadn't been using, which had been lying by his feet.

To Hutch's horrified eyes, from then on, everything seemed to happen at once.

The pole rolled.

Starsky lost his footing.

He dropped the rod in his hands.

And fell.

Hitting his head on the edge of the pier and disappearing into the lake.

"STARSKY!"

Without even thinking, Hutch fumbled to his feet. He grabbed hold of his crutches, propped them under his arms, and with speed he hadn't known he possessed, clomped his way onto the pier.

Starsky's head broke the water a few yards from the dock. Hutch heard him gasp for air.

"Starsk!"

Before he vanished once more.

"STARSKY!"

There wasn't anyone around, no one to turn to, no one to help. Hutch did the only thing he could do.

He dropped his crutches.

And dove in.

The water was fucking freezing.

Immediately, his cast, which was heavy enough on dry land, turned into an anchor around his leg, dragging him deeper, away from the lake's surface and precious air.

Away from Starsky.

Hutch clenched his teeth and fought its pull with everything he had. He kicked and thrashed in the water, his arms straining against its frigid depths, his good leg compensating as best it could for his injured one.

Hutch kept his eyes open as he swam. The water, which had looked so clear from shore, turned out to be murkier than he'd expected, dulled by algae and aquatic plants, and the churn Starsky and he were creating.

He could see Starsky now, flailing before him, seemingly aware, yet confused. He didn't have his head above water. Hutch pushed towards him, propelling himself forward, his lungs burning, his muscles screaming with exertion.

Finally, he reached Starsky's side. He wrapped an arm around the other man's ribs and launched them both towards the surface, his face tilted upwards to snatch a breath as quickly as he could. He needed to. Spots were beginning form around the edges of his vision.

Not a moment too soon, they popped free of the water. Hutch gasped, gulped in a breath, then gulped in another. Holding his partner close, he felt Starsky do the same.

"Babe… don't fight me, okay?" Hutch panted into Starsky's hair. He had his one arm hooked now around Starsky's chest and was using the other to help guide them to shore. "Don't fight… just… lie there. Okay? You're all right. I've got you. I've got you."

Hutch couldn't tell just how alert Starsky was, but something of what he'd said must have gotten through, because Starsky stilled in his arms and allowed Hutch to support them both.

Hutch had done this sort of thing before. He'd spent every summer of high school and college as a lifeguard at his father's country club. Under normal circumstances, he was an excellent swimmer with good lung capacity.

But this wasn't normal circumstances. He still hadn't recovered from the attack and his hospital stay, his cast made him feel as if he were dragging a ball and chain while trying to support Starsky's weight and his, and the icy water was sapping what strength he did have with every stroke. He knew he didn't have all that far to swim, but Hutch began to worry about making it to shore.

"H-Hutch?"

Hutch couldn't answer. He simply didn't have enough air in his lungs for words. But hearing Starsky's voice spurred him on. He couldn't give up. He couldn't fail. Starsky was depending on him.

So he kept stroking.

And kicking.

And fighting.

Until finally, his heel hit lake bottom and he began an awkward kind of hopping through the shallows, dragging his beloved burden along with him.

One more hop.

Then another.

Then, trembling with exhaustion, his good leg finally gave out. Hutch fell down hard, carrying Starsky with him, water splashing everywhere.

And he began to crawl, still dragging Starsky, until the only part of him that remained in the water was the bottom half of his legs. Finally, he could go no further. He collapsed onto his back and looked up into the clear blue sky, Starsky still clutched to his heart.

"We made it, Starsk," Hutch whispered, letting go of his friend, his one hand falling heavily now on Starsky's dripping curls. His chest heaved, struggling to give him the oxygen he required. But it was a losing battle. His poor abused body had put up with about all it was going to put up with. It needed a break, and it decided to take it.

Hutch's eyelashes grew heavy. His vision blurred. Heat raced up the back of his neck to flood his brow, even as his extremities grew colder still.

"S-Starsk…?" he gasped, and then said nothing more.

He passed out.

He would later realize it was the first time he had ever fainted.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Starsky really wasn't sure what the hell had happened. One minute he was standing on the dock, talking to Hutch. The next, he was wet and cold. And his head hurt really bad.

He didn't ever black out, but he had gotten awfully confused. He'd known he'd fallen in the lake, but he hadn't been able to find his way to the surface. No matter which way he'd turned, there had always seemed to be more water.

That's when he'd gotten a little scared. Because, muddled though he was, he knew unless he could figure out a way to grow some gills, and quickly, he was going to be in for some pretty serious trouble.

Only it hadn't come to that. Since something big and strong, with a better sense of direction, had found him and brought him out into the air.

Starsky had never thought oxygen could taste so sweet.

He had remained a little fuzzy as he and his rescuer had made their way to shore. He'd been told everything was all right, and he'd believed the one who had told him so. Only he hadn't, for the life of him, been able to work out who that one might have been.

But he'd tried not to get too stressed about it. After all, they were both okay. That, he was sure of. He'd figured the rest of it would all get clearer in time.

And now, as he lay sprawled, belly down, on the lakeshore, exhausted and chilled to the bone, despite the bright sun overhead, it did.

"Hutch?"

Starsky pushed himself up to his forearms and looked to his left. His partner lay beside him, eyes closed, mouth slack, his cast a disintegrating mess.

"Hutch!"

Starsky elbow-walked his way closer, then scrambled to his knees and took hold of the other man's shoulder. "Hutch? Babe, come on. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me, you son of a bitch. Not again."

Trembling now with what he was sure was more panic than cold, Starsky ran his hands over Hutch's pale features, and down to rest on the other man's chest. "Okay. Okay, so you're breathing. That's good, right? Better than the alternative, huh. So come on, open up those baby blues and tell me you're all right. Whaddya say?"

Apparently nothing. Hutch continued to lie there, unresponsive.

No. This is unacceptable.

Starsky came closer still, leaned down, and captured Hutch's face between his palms. "No. No, no, no. We are not doing this again. You hear me, Hutchinson? I've had enough of you being hurt and hurting, and me standing around, useless, watching you suffer. So get with the program, Blondie. You hear me? You wake the hell up!"

And with that, Starsky brought Hutch's face to his, and kissed him, softly, on the lips.

And wouldn't you know it, as soon as their lips parted, Hutch shifted, just a little, just enough to let Starsky know he was coming around. Then he opened his eyes, just like Starsky had asked him to.

Well, maybe it was more demanded than asked.

"Welcome back," Starsky murmured, still cradling him in his hands.

"Starsk?" Hutch whispered, frowning like he couldn't make sense of it all. Starsky knew the feeling.

"None other."

"Are you… are you okay?" Hutch asked, reaching out to grab hold of Starsky's sodden sweatshirt.

"Yeah," Starsky said. "Other than a pretty good headache, I'm fine. How are you holding up?"

Hutch thought about it for a minute. "I feel like I could sleep for about a million years and every muscle in my body aches. Otherwise, I think I'm okay."

"Glad to hear it," Starsky said, smiling. "You're a hero, Blintz. You saved my life."

Hutch smiled back, then looked away, as if embarrassed. The goof. "Must have been my turn."

"Must have been."

With that, Hutch looked up at him again. Their eyes held, and Starsky searched Hutch's gaze. Really searched, in a way he hadn't before because he'd been too afraid of what he might find.

Starsky didn't know why he was suddenly feeling so brave.

But he supposed cheating death might have that kind of effect on a guy.

What he saw in Hutch's eyes surprised him, though it was familiar. He was pretty sure his own eyes had looked that same way a time or two.

Whenever they looked in Hutch's direction.

Well, what do you know?

"Hutch, I'm going to do something right now. And I need you to let me do it. If you don't like it, you can tell me so after. Okay? Just don't say no right away, though."

Hutch looked confused. Starsky really couldn't blame him. "Okay, Starsk. Whatever you need."

Starsky nodded. "Thanks." Then he lowered his head once more, and pressed their lips together.

The first time had been nice, but Hutch hadn't really been an equal participant. For Starsky to know for sure they were going to have a chance, he had to make certain Hutch and he were on the same page.

If nothing else, this would be a very pleasant way to find out.

Hutch's lips were cool at first, chilled no doubt from his unexpected swim. They warmed quickly, though, softened, and parted. With a groan, Starsky begged entry with his tongue. Hutch welcomed him, opening his mouth even further, and slipping forth his own tongue to rub and play.

God, it was good. Hutch tasted good. He felt good. Starsky could have done this all day. Only both of them were soaking wet and shivering, Hutch needed at the very least a new cast, and Starsky's back was killing him from bending over the way he was. Reluctantly, he pulled away and released Hutch, lowering him back against the shore. Hutch gazed up at him, his eyes wide and more than a little bit shocked.

"W-What was that?" Hutch asked.

"What do you want it to be?"

All that shock got burned away quickly by the heat of Hutch's anger. Starsky hadn't meant to, but it appeared he had royally pissed the other man off. "Don't play around with me, Starsky. You know what I'm asking. What did you mean by that kiss?"

It was a fair enough question. Starsky would probably have asked it himself, if the shoe had been on the other foot. "It means I think something has changed with me, Hutch. I'm not sure why. And I swear to god, I never planned it. But… somehow… I've fallen in love with you. Isn't that weird? And I don't know what to do about it."

He stopped there, thinking this might be a good place for Hutch to jump in. Only the blond missed his cue. He continued to stare up at Starsky, his mouth opening and closing like a guppy's, so many emotions flitting across his features, Starsky was getting dizzy just watching it.

So he prompted Hutch. "You got any ideas?"

Come on, Hutch. Please don't leave me hanging.

All at once, Hutch's eyes cleared. He closed his mouth and swallowed hard before saying, "I've… I've maybe got a few."

Starsky could feel a smile coming on, but he controlled it. It wasn't time. Not yet. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

Hutch pretended to think about it. "Well first, I think maybe you should go back into the house and call for an ambulance…"

"Oh, shit, Hutch. Why didn't you say something? You'd told me you were okay!"

"Take it easy," Hutch said, giving him a shake. "I am okay. It's just… as sore as I am, I don't know how mobile I'm going to be if you were to try and take me in yourself. And with the terrain being what it is here, you're not going to be able to bring the car all the way down to the lake. It just seems simpler all the way round to call in the professionals."

His heart slowing to a more regular beat, Starsky nodded. "All right. Understood. That'll be step one. What comes after?"

"After we let the docs do their magic — I want them to check out your head, by way — and as soon as they cut us loose, we come back here, call Dobey, tell him we need a few more days and then…"

"And then?" Starsky prodded when Hutch had trailed off. Don't go messing with me, Handsome. I've had a very trying day. "And then what?"

Hutch smiled. "And then you let me show you how much I love you too."

Starsky didn't have anything to say to that. Well, he did. But he was having trouble just then with this throat. As hopeful as he had been going into all this, part of him had never really believed he'd hear Hutch say the words.

Finally, he murmured, "I could get behind that."

"Good," Hutch said, reaching up to rest his palm against Starsky's cheek. "Because I do, you know. I love you like crazy."

That warranted a smile, a big one, full of teeth. "I was pretty sure crazy factored in somehow."

"Yeah, well at least we're in it together," Hutch said, taking his hand.

"You know it," Starsky said, pushing back some tangled hair from Hutch's forehead, then pressing a quick hard kiss there, to seal the deal. "I'm really sorry, babe, that you got hurt again, saving my sorry ass. I don't know what the doctors will say, and I hope to hell whatever is wrong now is nothing a couple Tylenol and some icepacks won't cure, but I have to tell you — I've got some ideas of my own about how to get you back to fighting form in no time."

"Oh yeah?" Hutch said, smiling. "What did you have in mind?"

"Bed rest," Starsky said, doing all he could to keep a straight face. "Lots and lots of bed rest. Only not alone, 'cause see — I'd be afraid you'd get bored."

"You volunteering to keep me company?"

"You better believe it. Because Hutch — that is an awesome bed. And you and me? We're going to be awesome together in it."

The End