December 31

* * * * *

1950
9 p.m.

"Child, did I not say for you to stay in bed?"

The blond head disappeared back around the corner. Ella sighed.

"Kenny, come here. It's all right." The boy shyly came over. Ella crushed out her cigarette and patted the sofa beside her. "You want to listen to the radio for a while with me?" He nodded against her side. She settled back, put her feet up on the ottoman, and flipped a corner of the afghan over his lanky frame. He whispered something. "What's that, dear?"

He looked up and said, "I wish my parents were home."

"I know, sweetie. They're out having a good time, though. Remember how pretty Mama looked when they left?"

That was the wrong thing to say, because his pretty blue eyes filled with tears. "Now, you are too big a boy to be crying like a baby after just two hours. You can be good and stay out here for a while, or you can go back to your room like a little kid."

To her surprise, he stood up from the couch right away, tangling a little in the blanket, and left the living room without another word. Ella shrugged and turned the radio up a little.

* * * * *

1955
9:30 p.m.

Resolutions

Finish 6th grade with an A in math

Read one non-assigned book a week

Let Kathy pick dessert sometimes even when it's my turn

Improve mile time to under 7 min.

Write letters to Aunt Letty and Uncle John

* * * * *

1959
9:45 p.m.

Dear Mom, Dad, and Kathy,

I'm starting to feel better. I didn't cough hardly at all today, and I went to the nurse again and she said I should start running again or maybe swimming if I'm careful. I still wish I could have gone to Hawaii with you, but I guess I wouldn't have been much fun on a trip. Maybe we can go again next year or something.

It turned out that one of my friends stayed here over break too. And a couple of other guys from the younger grades. They're mostly OK, and we've been studying together and stuff. Prof. Smith is having us over to his house for a little New Year's party tonight, but I don't know if we're supposed to stay past midnight or come back here or what. Guess I'll find out.

I hope you are having fun. Kathy, do they really wear grass skirts there, and are you going to come back with one? Remember we had a bet! Don't forget to bring me some seashells.

Happy New Year, everybody.

Love,

Kenneth

* * * * *

1960
10 p.m.

"Jack?" Hutch set his satchel down and folded his jacket over the back of his desk chair. He was late getting back from work, but he'd hoped Jack would wait for him.

A note on the back of some old typing paper lay on Hutch's desk.

Stop studying and get your ass over here. The party's at 115 Bayshore, Kerri's place.

—J

Hutch looked out the window, but the old Chevy that Jack owned was gone. So how was Hutch supposed to get to the party? Anybody who might drive him was probably already there. He sighed. Jack was every bit the careless, thoughtless blond trust fund kid — he was your best friend while you had his attention, but he wasn't so good with the details.

Maybe somebody at the party was still sober and wouldn't mind picking him up. Hutch resignedly picked up the phone.

* * * * *

1963
10:40 p.m.

"So the premise of this guy's thought is, is... Oh, shit, I don't even know any more." Alan dissolved into giggles and fell backwards. He shot one hand up like a drowning man keeping a treasure above the waves, and two people reached to take the pipe and lighter from him.

Ken sat curled in a bean bag chair in a quiet corner, entertained but feeling distant. Lianne twisted around to look at him; she smiled when she caught his eye. She scooted back, leaving the circle and allowing the girls on either side of her to close the gap. Joining Ken on the pillows, she poked playfully at his bare feet.

"Having fun, Kenneth?"

He didn't answer right away, instead reaching to tuck a stray tendril of her dark hair back behind her ear. His thumb brushed lightly against the bruise on her cheekbone, fading but still visible.

She frowned and pulled away from his touch, shaking her head to bring her hair back down.

"Don't," she said quietly.

"Okay. Okay." He curled his hand under her forearm, stroking his fingers along the soft skin inside her elbow over and over. "I just hate knowing what he—"

"I said don't." She looked away. Ken followed her gaze across the room to where Alan was now reading someone's palm. Lianne sighed. "Play something for me?"

He knew how it would go. He would get one evening of her time, maybe a night in her bed, and then Alan would reclaim her and she'd go willingly. He was a fool to play this. But if he was gentle — if he could show her it didn't have to be like that, that a lover could be faithful and respectful.... Maybe she would change her mind and stay with him this time.

Ken tore his gaze away from her face and reached for his guitar.

* * * * *

1968
10:42 p.m.

How the hell did he end up at this kind of party? Users and phonies, new money and cheap tricks. Ken set his untouched drink on the tray of a passing waiter and turned to make his way back across the living room. Halfway to the front door, Bernie caught sight of him and grabbed his arm.

"Hey, hey, Kenny, there you are. What, don't you have a drink? Here, let me get you something." Ken tried to demur, but Bernie blustered on. "This is that beautiful young lady I wanted you to meet. She's an actress. Vanessa, this is Kenneth Hutchinson."

She gave him a cool but very pretty smile. "Charmed."

* * * * *

1970
10:50 p.m.

Hutch smirked at Van's sharp look and raised a glass at her from across the room. She narrowed her eyes and turned away, picking up the conversation with a laugh. Barely a break in the rhythm. She leaned toward the taller of the men she was with, tapping his lapel as she made a point. The lady was good at what she did, that's for certain. Hutch closed his eyes for a moment and pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"Hey."

Hutch opened his eyes and smiled. "Dave, hi. Haven't seen you in a while."

"I'm out there busting heads and making a name for myself. Where've you been keeping yourself?"

Hutch shrugged. "I've got a beat over on the west side. Van — my wife — is at me to go to law school. I've convinced her police commissioner is just as prestigious and can't be done without putting in my time on the street." He blinked, surprised at himself. They had hardly seen each other since graduation, but he'd just told Starsky half his life story ... and Starsky was looking at him like he knew the other half. Hutch cleared his throat and looked around the room, his gaze settling on Vanessa for a minute.

Starsky glanced at her too, and nodded. "How about a beer out on the deck? Catch up with each other."

"That sounds good."

* * * * *

1972
11:10 p.m.

"So, you think that's it? It's decided?"

"Yes." Hutch drained his drink and poured another, though Starsky was looking at him questioningly. He shrugged. "You saw how it was. We were never really on the same page about things."

"There was no partnership."

"Right."

Starsky put a hand on Hutch's arm. "I'm sorry."

They sat together quietly.

* * * * *

1974
11:18 p.m.

"Fucking hell!" Hutch slammed out of the interrogation room, shaking his arm hard. He almost walked into Starsky, who was bringing their coffee.

"What happened?"

"The little punk bit me, is what happened!"

"What? You're kidding!" Starsky hastily set the cups down and grabbed Hutch's hand, holding him carefully but firmly. Hutch looked too, flexing his hand. The heel of his hand showed two neat semicircles of toothmarks, but the skin wasn't broken. Starsky traced just outside the marks with a gentle finger. "Ah, you're all right."

"Course I'm all right."

"You should carry mace. Like a mailman." Starsky smiled, but Hutch was in no mood to be mollified.

"I should have him up on assault charges is what I should do."

"It's more paperwork."

"He's my collar. What do you care?" Starsky had taken the afternoon off for a dentist appointment, so Hutch had been alone when he picked up this Levine — but not his accomplice — for armed robbery. Hutch sighed. "You go ahead, Starsk. I'll be done here in a couple of hours. You'll be at Huggy's?"

"Come on, what kind of a partner would I be to leave you alone on New Year's Eve?"

Hutch hesitated and then checked Starsky's watch. "You'll miss the ball drop."

"That's all right. Come on. Let's give him one more chance to give us a name and then we'll take him to holding and do the report tomorrow. We'll be out of here by twelve-thirty."

Hutch gave in. "Yeah, all right. I'll be Bad Cop. Let's do it."

* * * * *

1975
11:45 p.m.

Starsky jogged up to the kitchen counter, grabbing Hutch by the shoulders, tickling him around the waist, then was by his side banging a fast drumbeat on the counter. "Come on, come on, come on, no hiding in the kitchen! Let Fifi do that."

"Will you watch it? You almost made me slice open my hand here." But he smiled, catching some of Starsky's energy.

Starsky grabbed three lemons from the pile and tried unsuccessfully to juggle them. Hutch turned back to the pitcher of punch he was making. He set the pitcher and several glasses on a bamboo tray, which he handed to Starsky. "Here. Make yourself useful."

Starsky grinned and took the tray, but the left side wobbled in his grip, and punch sloshed out. Hutch hastily took it and set it down on the kitchen table.

"Jesus, Starsk, I'm sorry." He held Starsky's left arm and patted tentatively at the fringes of the bandage, soft under Starsky's layers of shirts. "You all right, babe? Do you need the sling?"

"No, no, I'm done with that thing. I'm all right." Starsky's smile held only a hint of pain, but Hutch's hands remembered being covered in his blood. He pushed at Starsky gently, ghosting his hands over the exit wound, then holding his shoulder with a light touch. Starsky put his right hand over Hutch's own. His fingers were warm and dry, and his eyes were understanding.

"Come on, Hutch. I'm ready for a party. How about you?"

"Right there with you."

* * * * *

1977
11:48

Hutch shivered. Southern California, but the wind off the beach was still chilly. Starsky was a warm presence at his side. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Got any resolutions?"

Hutch glanced over. "Not really. Do you?"

"I was thinking, 'Don't get shot, and don't let Hutch get shot.' Thought that might be a good one."

"I'll drink to that."

They passed the bottle of wine back and forth. Hutch sat down and patted the ground next to him. Starsky joined him, sitting close. Hutch fought the impulse to put his arm around Starsky's shoulders.

"It's that—" Hutch started, and then broke off, gathering his thoughts. He felt Starsky's head move against his shoulder as he looked up. He leaned back some, bracing his arms behind him and letting Starsky fall comfortably almost against his chest. He spoke into the cloud of soft hair.

"Resolutions are like wishes, ever notice? And there's really...." He hesitated, stumbling over the words a little. "Really not much I wish for." Starsky's head moved slightly, but he couldn't tell what that meant.

* * * * *

1978
10 ... 9 ... 8 ...

The crowd at The Pits was happy and buoyant. Huggy had hired a disc jockey, and people were talking and laughing, more like at a good private party than a public bar. Everyone's eyes were now on the black-and-white TV behind the bar, where Times Square was counting down along with Dick Clark and the lighted ball was slowly dropping home. Huggy spun by with a dark-haired beauty on his arm, shouting something to them about having someone to kiss at midnight. Hutch felt suddenly distant, the bright scene frozen in front of him. Starsky was caught mid-turn, one side of his mouth drawn up in a teasing grin.

Someone to kiss, at midnight.

The moment passed, and Starsky's chuckle was aimed at a girl on the other side of Hutch. Hutch turned with a gallant bow to Linda, Huggy's new bartender, and she laughed and accepted his hand. But Starsky's eyes met his at the last minute, and Hutch could almost feel his strong grip in place of Linda's slim, cool fingers in his hand.

* * * * *

1979
... 4 ... 3 ...

They had sparkling grape juice, not champagne. Starsky still needed pain medication too often to be able to drink much.

They were like two old married folks, they'd joked earlier, sitting home watching television instead of out partying with a couple of honeys or a crowd of friends. But it was home, Hutch thought. Starsky's rehab had somehow turned into a shared apartment and a largely shared life.

Together they murmured the countdown, glasses poised and ready for the toast.

* * * * *

1980
midnight

There was a noise in the hallway, and Hutch pulled back, startled. Starsky's eyes blinked open. They were very, very blue, and vulnerable. Hutch had to kiss him again, very fast, no matter the risk. Starsky's face relaxed into a smile, with a look behind it that Hutch had seen before but never identified.

"Just have to check the door, babe," Hutch explained. He flipped the lock, and they were alone in the spare room.

"I hope nobody needs their coats right now," Starsky said from right behind him. Hutch turned to find Starsky in his space, crowding him back up against the door.

"I think they'll just have to live without them," Hutch said, smiling. "We've got business in here."

"Too long delayed," Starsky agreed.

They kissed until the third time somebody rattled the doorknob, and then they went home together. Dawn found them still kissing, making up for lost time.

* * * * *

1985
January 1

10 a.m.

Starsky shook out the newspaper and folded it back. "Hey, here's one I haven't heard before: 'Whatever you're doing on New Year's Day is an omen for the coming year.'"

Hutch chewed his toast thoughtfully and took another sip of coffee. "What if you're working? Or sick? That's a stupid superstition."

Starsky looked at him over the edge of the paper. "Are you kidding? You always got to find the worst in a situation?"

"I'm just saying, I would hate to be laid up all year because it was true on a single day."

Starsky shrugged. "Then those are the years it doesn't work. Rationality is the law of the land and superstition holds no sway."

"'Holds no sway'? Starsky, I'm going to take away your library card."

"And on other years," Starsky said, putting down the paper and advancing on Hutch, "you make love all day and set a precedent." He straddled Hutch's lap and took his coffee cup away. Hutch let his hands curl up Starsky's back, stroking up and down as Starsky's fingers pushed through his hair, tilting his head up for a deep kiss.

"Well, by all means," Hutch said when they broke off. "If that's what tradition says—"

"It does." Starsky started to stand, but Hutch pulled him back for one more kiss first.

"And if it would set your mind at ease—"

"It would," Starsky said from the hallway.

"Let's establish that precedent."

* * * * *

The End