Warning:  The following story makes reference to a case involving the death of a
child.  

Author's Notes:  Many thanks to Mel for her terrific beta job.  You're too humble,
Mel.  Thanks! :-)  

This story is a sequel to "Beneath the Harvest".  You don't have to read that story
to enjoy this one, but a few things will make more sense if you do. 

Disclaimer:  Starsky, Hutch, and the song, "After the Lovin'" (written by Berstein
& Adams) all belong to someone else.   I'm not making any money on this.  Trust
me on that one.
***********************************************************************


APPEARANCES

by 

Candy Apple


     Hutch stood in the middle of the large, square, empty room and rubbed his
eyes tiredly.  The missing pictures on the walls had left nearly precise squares of
vibrant color on the faded wallpaper, the curtains had outlived their prime by
several years, and if he and Starsky pooled their living room furniture, they
*might* have enough to fill the room.  Ignoring, of course, the fact that nothing
would match and what had been a stately older home would end up looking like a
low-class frat house.  As he was questioning his sanity for signing on the dotted
line, a commotion at the front door pulled his attentions from the dismal reality of
the room to the unconquerable euphoric state Starsky had been in ever since they
left the closing at the bank with the house keys in hand.

     "Hey, what're you doin' in here?"  Starsky strode into the living room,
looking exasperated.  "There's a whole load of supplies in the trunk.  Time to get
a move on, babe."

     "Starsk...have you taken a look around?"

     "We've been through the house *four times*, Hutch."

     "Yeah, but...it's empty now."  Hutch watched as a little of his partner's
euphoria drained away, and felt momentarily guilty for causing that to happen.  

     "Not exactly the same without the antiques and the old photographs and
stuff, is it?"  Starsky walked further into the living room and surveyed the reality
of their "dream house".  

     "Our furniture is going to look like hell in this place, and we don't have
enough of it.  Damn it, Starsky, what were we thinking?  Five bedrooms?  A third
floor?  What the hell are we gonna put in all those rooms?"

     "I hate to break this to ya, darlin', but it's a little late to get cold feet." 
Starsky held up his set of keys and jangled them.  

     "I know."  Hutch let out a long sigh.  "I guess I just wondered what we
were gonna do with the place."

     "We're gonna turn it into a home, babe.  With your stuff and my stuff and
when we can afford it--some new stuff.  But it'll all be in *our* house, so that'll
make it all *our* stuff.  Even if it doesn't match."  Starsky smiled, and Hutch
couldn't *not* respond to it.  

     "I guess most couples don't start at the top, do they?"

     "Someday, this house is gonna be beautiful.  It already is.  We just...we've
just gotta bide our time till we can afford to make it look the way it oughtta look. 
Meanwhile, we'll just move all our stuff in and live here."

     "Work in progress, right?"  Hutch concurred, smiling a little.

     "Exactly!  Now let's get a move on.  We only got a couple days to get this
place cleaned up before we move."

     Starsky's enthusiasm was as contagious as it was enduring.  Not even
Hutch's occasional dark remark about the incongruity of rattan chairs or modern
couches and ornate woodwork daunted it.  Cleaning the kitchen and the
bathrooms didn't daunt it, and even the prospect of scrubbing and/or polishing
floors didn't daunt it.  

     While Hutch finished up his task of cleaning out the kitchen cupboards,
figuring they were about due to call it a night and go home to his place for some
down time, there was a considerable commotion of sound and activity in the
living room.  It sounded as if Starsky were already moving something in there, but
since they hadn't managed to fit furniture in the Torino, he dismissed that notion. 
Curiosity finally getting to him, he eschewed the cleaning detail and decided to
investigate.

     The living room they'd cleaned so diligently that day was alight with the
dancing glow of at least a dozen candles in various holders.  A boom box sat on
the floor under the big front window, which was now covered by the drapes,
which Starsky had released from the ornate hardware that held them in place
through the day as tie-backs.  There was a neat stack of folded bedding on the
floor, and in the middle of it all sat Starsky, inflating an air mattress with a
bicycle tire pump.

     "Planning on camping out?"  Hutch asked, smiling at the scene.

     "First night in our new house," Starsky enthused, finishing the inflation
job and moving for the pile of bedding.  He began neatly arranging a couple of
quilts and a couple of pillows on the mattress.  "I brought towels, too--figured we
could use a shower."  Starsky tugged at the front of his own shirt a little.  

     The candle light and shadows did interesting things to Starsky's
appearance.  He looked almost...mysterious...like a dark, gypsy prince--disguised
in jeans and a battered blue work shirt.  Hutch ambled over to where his lover
knelt, straightening the top quilt, and pulled the strong body into his arms.

     "I love you," he whispered against Starsky's ear, then moved back enough
to claim his mouth in a long, slow kiss.  "Sorry I spent most of the day bitching
about the house."

     "Yeah, well, it's what you do best."  Starsky grinned devilishly.   

     "Oh, it is, huh?  That's not what you said last night," Hutch challenged,
pushing Starsky back on the freshly made bed.  

     "Okay, second best," Starsky conceded, laughing.  "This is *our house*,
Hutch," Starsky said, his laughter having faded to a soft smile.  "No more stayin'
at each other's places.  This is *our house*."  

     "Feels a lot like home, doesn't it?"  Hutch had to smile in the face of such
happiness, and leaned down for another kiss.  

     "I brought that vanilla soap you like." Starsky groped for the duffle bag
nearby that contained their supplies for the night.  

     "You smell good in vanilla," Hutch responded, nuzzling Starsky's neck.  

     "I don't smell good right now, babe."  Starsky chuckled and hugged his
partner tightly.  "I love ya so much.  Never gonna be able to tell you how much,"
Starsky said, squeezing until Hutch wondered if he'd snap under the pressure.  But
what sweet pressure it was.  "Thanks for sayin' yes to living with me.  To doin'
this," Starsky released a little of the pressure so Hutch could move back enough to
look into his eyes.  

     "What is it, babe?"  He planted a feather-light kiss on Starsky's cheek in
response to the somewhat wistful expression on the beloved face.

     "This place...it's really *ours*.  It's home."  There was a long pause and
then a hard swallow.  "Nobody's gonna make me leave it, and...and I'm not...just a
guest.  Just feels like gettin' home after an awful long trip, y'know?"

     "What're you thinking about, love?"  Hutch prodded gently, resting his
weight on his elbows, looking down into Starsky's face.

     "Leavin' home...when I was a kid?"  Starsky paused.  "It hurt an awful lot,
Hutch.  I haven't thought too much about it...tried *not* to...but y'know, when we
started fixin' this place up today, I just got thinkin' about the last time I felt like I
was really home.  And then...then Ma sent me out here..."

     "You were pretty young to be separated from your family like that," Hutch
responded sympathetically.  

     "My dad died the year before, and then the next year, Ma sent me out here
to live with Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al.  They were real nice to me, but I felt like I
was stayin' at somebody's place, not comin' home.  It was like...losin'
*everybody*.  My whole family was gone, and..."  Starsky shook his head.  "This
is dumb.  Old news."  He forced a little smile.  

     "Lots of 'old news' still hurts sometimes."  Hutch enclosed Starsky in
another bear hug, and felt the pressure returned.  

     "Sometimes...it hurt that, uh...Ma sent me away and kept Nicky.  Guess
that's pretty childish, huh?  Thinkin' about that now."

     "You said she was trying to keep you out of trouble.  She did it because
she wanted a better life for you, babe.  She didn't want you to end up--"

     "Like Nicky?"  Starsky sighed.  "So how come she didn't send him away
too?"

     "He was younger?  Or maybe she didn't think he was getting into trouble."

     "Maybe not.  I'm not sure Ma accepts even now that he's doin' some of the
things he's doin'.  I wish I didn't have to accept it."  

     "Hey, look at me."  Hutch moved back and took Starsky's chin gently in
his hand.  "You did everything you could for Nick when he was here."

     "Yeah, I know.  But he was right.  I wasn't there for him growing up."

     "That wasn't your choice."

     "No, maybe not.  But I feel like I shoulda done more.  Like I let my father
down--I was the oldest.  He would've thought I'd look out for Nicky.  Even after I
grew up, I didn't go back there.  I stayed out here.  Then I went to the academy...I
just never looked back.  Sometimes...I wonder if it was sort of a...jealousy thing. 
Like I was mad at Nicky 'cause Ma kept him and sent me away.  Sometimes I felt
that way, Hutch.  I didn't want to, but I did."

     "Did you talk to your mother about that?"
               
     "No.  Never.  She did what she thought was right.  And it was better for
me.  I'd'a been hangin' out with the same wiseguys and hoods Nicky
does...probably be dead or in jail by now."  Starsky smiled.  "And I wouldn't be
lyin' here on the floor with a gorgeous blond."

     "Buying this house--it was about more than just us, wasn't it?"

     "It was mostly about us.  Maybe a little part of it was about wantin'
someplace where...it was harder..."  Starsky looked away and swallowed.  "Where
it would be a lot harder for you to leave."

     "Leave?  Where the hell did that come from?"  Hutch asked, anger flaring
momentarily at the thought that Starsky questioned his love, or his commitment.  

     "That didn't come out right."

     "You're damn right it didn't.  How in the hell could you think I'd leave you
now?"  Hutch demanded.  Starsky met his gaze unwaveringly.

     "Because everybody I ever loved in my whole life either died or walked
out on me or pushed me outta their lives.  I lived through all'a those, but if you
did that...it'd be all over for me."

     "Aw, God, Starsk."  Hutch held him close then, kissing the dark curls,
shifting them onto their sides so he could rub soothing circles on Starsky's back. 
"I could cut out my heart faster than I could leave you.  You *are* my heart, babe. 
It'd be all over for me without you, too."

     "It's not that I don't trust you.  I do.  I just...can't help waitin' for the other
shoe to drop...like it always does."

     "The only place my other shoe is gonna drop is under our bed.  This is it,
babe.  We're home, and this is forever."

     "Hey, uh, have you got somethin' to do while I take a shower?"

     "Mm-hm," Hutch responded, nibbling an earlobe.  "Wash your back."

     "C'mon, babe.  I mean it.  I got some plans, and I gotta take my shower
first so I can finish things up while you're takin' yours."  Starsky pulled away and
sat up.

     "Plans besides this?"  Hutch sat up also, gesturing at their bed.

     "More plans that go with this.  Please?  It won't take long."

     "Okay.  Don't use up all the hot water though.  We still don't have the new
water heater."

     "Okay.  Scout's honor."  Starsky got up and headed toward the stairs.  

     "You weren't a boy scout, Starsk."

     "Guess you'll just haveta take your chances about the hot water then," he
retorted, flexing his eyebrows and hurrying the rest of the way upstairs.

     Hutch had to laugh and shake his head a little, forcing his tired body back
up on its feet again.  He still had a couple things to clear up in the kitchen, and he
figured a perfunctory check of the locks wouldn't be a waste of time either.  He
figured Starsky would have locked the front door on his way in, and he had, but
there were still the first floor windows--many of which were open to air out the
house--a side door off the driveway and the kitchen door that went to the back
porch.  As he closed the two windows in the downstairs bedroom, and then
moved to do the same in the half bath and the dining room, it occurred to him that
this was a damn far cry from locking the front door of an apartment and turning in
for the night.  

     While he straightened up the kitchen and put the cleaning supplies back in
the box with the other similar items, he couldn't help but think back on what
Starsky had said.  It was no secret Starsky's childhood wasn't exactly easy--but a
part of Hutch had smoothed it over in his mind, figured his partner had turned out
all right, and still seemed to be crazy about his mother--as well as his Aunt Rosie
and Uncle Al--so it couldn't have really been so bad.  

     //Just losing his father when he was ten, losing Laura Adams--who'd been
his best friend and like a sister to him--in a fake car crash the year after that, then
the next year being sent away from his mother and brother to live on the opposite
coast with relatives he barely knew in a completely new and strange
environment.//  None of that even took into account the strange shadow over the
Starsky family that Hutch had never quite understood. //Why in the hell had Joe
Durniak paid for Michael Starsky's funeral?//  The aging mob boss had regaled
him with stories of what a great cop Mike Starsky was--how he'd had a sort of
grudging respect for him--how Durniak was a mobster with a conscience, and he
and Mike Starsky had formed a sort of uneasy alliance on certain issues when it
came to mob wars...  Still, there was something there that didn't ring true.  Hutch
had found himself avoiding probing it, even mentally, the way his cop's mind
would usually have done.  It seemed like blasphemy of some sort to even
entertain the thought that Mike Starsky was anything but a hero.  

     //Some hero.  Had his kid hiding in a fucking closet on his eighth
birthday.// Hutch sighed.  Maybe Starsky needed to believe in that image of his
father whether it was accurate or not.  

     A light touch to the middle of his back made him jump.

     "Sorry, babe.  I'm done in the shower if you wanna go take yours."

     "Yeah, sure."  Hutch turned and looked into the deep blue eyes looking at
him so affectionately...it stabbed him in the heart how much power he had over
this man who was so strong and powerful in his own right.  Who had survived so
much, so young, and yet would consider losing him unfathomable.  "I won't be
long," he said, smiling a little sadly before he headed toward the living room and
the stairs. 

     "Hutch?  You okay?"  Starsky called after him, following him into the
living room.

     "Just a little tired, buddy.  I'm fine."  Hutch started up the steps. 

     "Not too tired, I hope," Starsky retorted, the mischief plain in his voice.

     "Never too tired for you, love," Hutch said sincerely, pausing to look down
over the banister at his partner.  Starsky's return smile was pure joy.  

     "Better hurry up then," he said, and then he was gone, back to whatever
mysterious preparations he had planned for Hutch's brief absence.  

     "Starsk?"  Hutch called down the steps.  

     "Yeah?"  Just the voice, no sign of the man himself returning.  He was
already busy.

     "I won't be long," he called back, though that wasn't what he'd wanted to
say.  He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, but he knew that getting back
downstairs and holding his lover in his arms was a worthy goal for which to rush
through the long-awaited shower.  

********

     There was soft music playing in the living room, and as Hutch made his
way down the stairs in his robe and slippers, he could see not only dancing candle
light, but another soft, multicolored light bathing the living room in its glow. 
When the room came into view, he saw the same flickering candles everywhere,
only now, they were joined by the multicolored lights on a small, table-sized
Christmas tree, which was sitting atop a carton Starsky had covered with a white
blanket.  The little stereo was playing something soft and slow--and definitely
Christmas music.  An ice bucket next to the makeshift bed held a bottle of
champagne, and the bed itself held what Hutch considered the best feature of the
room: Starsky, still clad in his red robe--and Hutch suspected, as himself, in
nothing else.  His lover was stretched out on his side, propped up on one elbow,
looking at a pile of paint sample pamphlets.  

     "Wow," Hutch said softly, looking around the room.  

     "You like it?"  Starsky gathered up the brochures and evicted them from
the bed, sitting up and reaching for the champagne.  

     "It's terrific, buddy."  Hutch joined his partner, sitting on the air mattress,
and accepted a full plastic champagne glass.  

     "Christmas is just two weeks away--we're movin' in a couple days, so I
guess we're really gonna be home for Christmas this year," Starsky enthused,
picking up his own filled glass.  "And don't start on me about 'euphoric
sentimentalism'.  We're gettin' a bigger tree soon as we get moved in."

     "I wasn't going to start on you, babe.  I feel pretty euphoric and
sentimental myself right now.  If you want the Christmas tree they light up in
Washington, D.C. every year, I'll find a way to get it into the living room for you."

     "What's gotten into you?  You see three spirits in the john or something?"

     "No," Hutch responded, chortling.  "I only needed to see one spirit of
Christmas to get me going."  He leaned forward and kissed Starsky lightly.  

     "To us and our new house?"  Starsky held up his glass.

     "To us and our *home*, love," Hutch amended, tapping his plastic glass
against Starsky's.  Both smiled as they took their first drink of the champagne.  It
wasn't top of the line stuff, but Dom Perignon couldn't have tasted any better at
that moment.  

     "Come on."  Starsky set his glass aside and then took Hutch's, setting it
next to his own.  He stood up and reached out to pull his partner up on his feet.

     "I thought--"

     "You thought we were gonna get right down to business, huh?"  Starsky
flexed his eyebrows.  "First things first, babe."  

     Starsky pulled Hutch into his arms, and started them swaying to the music
on the stereo.  Hutch wasn't sure who led as they danced--like the rest of their
partnership, it didn't seem to matter.  Starsky's arm was around his waist, and the
position of their hands said that Starsky led, but the languid, affectionate way
Starsky was nuzzling his neck and resting his head on Hutch's shoulder didn't
speak much of dominance or leadership.  The thought of dancing with Starsky
had seemed a little...strange, beyond their less-than-serious attempts at it in
Dobey's office after solving the blackmail/murder case that had sent them
undercover in Ginger Evans' dance studio.  Now, it seemed like the most natural
thing in the world.  He smiled when he listened to the words of the song that was
playing.

//Holidays are joyful,
There's always something new,
But everyday's a holiday
When I'm near to you...//

     "Good song for our first dance," Hutch whispered against Starsky's ear. 
He could feel one of those smiles spreading across Starsky's face.  

     "I was gonna play a tango, but you never did learn how to do one'a those."  

     "We've got a whole lifetime ahead of us, babe.  You can still teach me."

     "I've got a few moves to teach ya," Starsky teased back, raising his head to
move in for a kiss now.  

     "Are we still talking about dancing?"

     "Whatever," Starsky retorted, noncommittal, kissing his lover again.  

"I've been thinking about learning some new moves," Hutch said, moving back a
little to look Starsky in the eyes.  "One new move in particular."  Hutch found it
absurdly embarrassing to put it into words, but Starsky saved him the trouble.

     "You mean me pitching and you catching?"  he asked gently, reaching up
to push a couple fly-away strands of blond hair back into place.  

     "Yeah," Hutch responded, smiling, relieved at not having to say it in so
many words.  "I haven't exactly volunteered to even things up..."

     "Don't do it for that reason, darlin'.  You don't need to even anything up
with me.  You love me and I love you.  We're even already."

     "That didn't come out the way I meant it to...  I...I wasn't ready until...I just
want to do it now."

     "You don't have to, babe.  You know that, right?"

     "I know that."  Hutch smiled and pulled Starsky close, relishing the
warmth and scent of the familiar body that molded to and wrapped around his
own.  "I want to share that with you."

     "First night in our new house...seems like a really special time to me,"
Starsky said, standing back.  "I brought stuff."

     "I figured you'd be prepared for any crisis that might arise," Hutch said,
smiling as they sat on the bed.

     "I'm ready for whatever *arises*," Starsky responded, waggling his
eyebrows.  Hutch laughed, feeling the tense awkwardness fading.  This was
Starsky...how could anything be awkward between them?  "I figured we'd be
needin' some of this," Starsky said, pulling a fat clump of mistletoe out of his bag
and holding it over their heads.  "I'm gonna booby-trap the house tomorrow," he
announced, grinning.

     "Just hang bunches of it on the light fixtures in the bedrooms.  We'll never
leave the house," Hutch added, moving in to claim the mistletoe-mandated kiss. 
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that the mistletoe was tossed
aside and both Starsky's hands were on him now, maneuvering them both back
onto the softness of the quilt-covered mattress.  

     The muted hues of blue, gold, red, and green painted the walls of the room
and blended with the glow of the candles.  The music was soft and romantic in
the background, and Starsky was moving slowly down the side of his throat to his
chest, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the flesh there until he loosened
the tie of the robe and pushed it aside to expose nipples growing taut in
expectation.  Starsky was taking his sweet time, kissing, nibbling and teasing,
leaving no area untouched. 

     "In this light, you're all gold," Starsky whispered, almost reverently, before
moving up for another kiss.  Hutch felt himself growing hard, and he seized the
opportunity to pull Starsky into an embrace, fumbling to push the robe off his
lover's body.  With a little mutual writhing, they managed to dispose of Starsky's
robe and toss Hutch's aside to join it. 
     
     Hungry mouths fought for the opportunity to explore passion-warmed
skin, hands moved over planes and curves, stroking, caressing and finally
probing.  

     "It'd probably be easier on your side, babe," Starsky said before claiming
another kiss, his hand slipping down to cup Hutch's balls and roll them gently.  

     "Face to face is pretty nice," he managed, not sure he could hold out
through the erotic motion of Starsky's hand.

     "Too hard on your back--least for now, till you get more used to it."

     "You're the doctor," Hutch joked, shifting onto his side as Starsky spooned
up behind him, nuzzling his neck and kissing his shoulder.  

     "Relax, babe.  Tell me if I do anything that doesn't feel good, okay?"

     "You'll hear about it, I promise," Hutch responded, leaning back for
another kiss, then relaxing against the softness of their bed.  In a moment, a
slippery finger was carefully exploring the cleft of his buttocks, not really pushing
or probing, but just slipping back and forth, rubbing and teasing the entrance to
his body.  Just as he was about to urge Starsky to more action, the questing finger
breached the opening, slipping in a ways.  

     "You're so tight, babe.  Gonna be so good," Starsky muttered against his
hair, the warm breath stirring the strands near his ear.  

     The first finger took its time, while Starsky got his partner acclimated to
the feeling of something moving inside him.  If Starsky's own need was becoming
urgent, he gave no indication of it in the slow, languid motion of first one, then
two fingers.  

     "You know how good it feels when you're inside me?  Feels like you're all
in me and around me, like nothin' in the world can touch me.  Nothin' and nobody
but you."  Starsky kissed his neck then, and smiled.  "It's like there's nothin' else in
the world but you and me."

     "For me too, love," Hutch muttered, feeling stretched and a little too full,
but deliciously aroused at the same time.  As he was wondering how he'd
accommodate anything bigger, Starsky's finger brushed over the little nub deep
inside him, and he let out a surprised shout of pleasure.  Whatever it took to make
that happen again, Hutch was ready for it.  

     "Feels pretty good, huh?"  Starsky was grinning now, Hutch could hear it
in his voice.  It was a conspiratorial grin, like he was sharing something with
Hutch that was his special secret.

     When the third finger eased its way inside, Hutch's breathing was ragged
and he was poised on the raw edge of need.  He bore down on the fingers,
shamelessly seeking that electric jolt of pleasure that could only come from one
thing.  

     "Do it, babe...now or never," he ground out, and the stretching fingers
stilled inside him.

     "I love you," Starsky whispered in his ear before kissing it.

     "I love you too, babe."  Hutch reached back and touched Starsky's cheek,
his fingers trailing into the dark curls.  Starsky was nothing if he wasn't a
shameless glutton for affection.  He moved readily forward to rest his cheek
against Hutch's, making the most of the caress.  

     "Ready for me, darlin'?"  he asked, the soft smile audible in his voice as
Hutch felt it form against his cheek.  

     "Make love to me."

     Starsky withdrew his fingers and Hutch could hear him fumbling with the
tube, and imagined the sight that was probably going on behind him--Starsky,
flushed with desire, stroking himself with the gel, moving toward his goal...

     And then he was there, the head of his cock pressing gently but firmly
against Hutch's center until it barely penetrated, slipping just past the tight ring of
muscle.  Hutch couldn't stop the gasp the extra stretching brought on, and a warm
hand stroked him gently from hip to knee.  

     "Relax, babe.  No hurry."  His hand still soothing Hutch's thigh, Starsky
began planting feather-light kisses to his shoulder and the back of his neck.  From
the languid pace of his movements, few people would guess that the head of his
cock was squeezed inside another man's body without permission to move. 
Willing himself to relax, concentrating on the motion of Starsky's hand and the
soft lips on his shoulder, Hutch's body relented a bit and Starsky slid in a little
further.  

     "Starsk...hang on a minute, babe."  Hutch knew he was tensing up, getting
a case of jitters worthy of a blushing Victorian virgin on her wedding night. 
Starsky had prepared him, cajoled him, loved him into being ready.  His body was
just putting up a natural fight--and there was something else...

     That image of what it must have felt like to Starsky...what it felt like to be
afraid, beaten, thrown to the ground and violated without so much as a
perfunctory preparation.  

     "Hutch...what's wrong, babe?  You want me to pull out?  Is it hurting too
much?"

     Starsky's voice snapped him back from the dark, awful images in his
mind.  He closed his eyes and struggled to replace them with the images of
Starsky in the throes of pleasure from taking Hutch deep inside him, of his cries
being those born of passion, of how incredible he looked when he came...how
much they loved each other.

     Hutch felt himself relax and Starsky slipped in a bit further, almost
involuntarily.  

     "It's okay, babe.  Come on in," Hutch managed in a ragged whisper. 
Starsky took the invitation slowly but gently, until they were fully joined.  

     "Relax and breathe nice and deep, darlin'.  You're doin' great," Starsky
said gently, reaching around to begin pumping Hutch's faltering erection, working
diligently at bringing it back to its full glory.  "You're so beautiful, babe.  Can't
believe you're all mine," Starsky whispered, and Hutch's heart swelled at the
genuine awe in that beloved voice.  While Hutch was aware he had classic blond
good looks, he'd never considered himself a treasure worthy of such reverence. 
But to Starsky, he was everything.  Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to feel
Starsky moving inside him, to give his lover back some measure of the love he
heaped on Hutch so freely.

     "Move, love, I'm ready," he said finally, reaching back to stroke the downy
thigh that was pressed so firmly against his own.  

     The first few strokes were slow and tentative, and Hutch would have been
hard pressed to say if they were pleasure or pain--or some heretofore
unexperienced blend of the two.  But as his body grew accustomed to the
sensation, the balance shifted dramatically in favor of pleasure, and he found
himself moving back toward Starsky in response to his forward thrusts.

     Soon, they'd set their own easy rhythm, their shared moans of pleasure
warring for dominance with the soft music on the stereo.  Hutch was in a
delicious quandary of whether to thrust into the hand that pumped his cock or to
thrust back onto the cock that impaled him.  He let out a loud cry when Starsky
found his prostate with a particularly deep stroke.  Fueled by Hutch's reaction,
Starsky's pace increased, and more often than not, he managed to at least graze
the little nob that brought such incredible sensations surging through Hutch's
body.  

     Then, Hutch felt the onset of his climax, the shuddering, the shouting, and
the release as he bathed Starsky's hand and the quilt with his completion. 
Starsky's little cries of delight and surprise as his cock was squeezed and milked
by the contractions of Hutch's body were the most erotic things Hutch had ever
heard.  

     Starsky stilled his motions a bit, his thrusts becoming different and a little
uneven in tempo as he cried out Hutch's name and released his seed deep in the
recesses of his lover's body.  

     Sweaty and sated, they lay spooned together in total silence and perfect
unity for long minutes.  Then Starsky shifted carefully, slipping from Hutch's
body.  Hutch took that opportunity to roll over and face the man he loved.  He
was rewarded with one of those smiles that easily out-shined the candle light.

     "It was magical, Hutch," Starsky said in a voice little above a whisper, his
face reflecting the complete enchantment he felt.  "Most beautiful thing in the
world, bein' inside you."  Starsky's face flushed a little then.  "Unless it's you bein'
inside me.  Are you okay?  I didn't hurt ya, did I?"  There was a sudden concern in
Starsky's eyes then, and Hutch leaned forward for a kiss.

     "It was incredible, babe.  Never felt anything like it before.  I'm fine.  And
I love you."  He pulled Starsky into his arms and felt the pressure of the embrace
returned with enthusiasm.  Truth be told, he felt a little sore and achy, but Starsky
had been gentle and careful, and the residual discomfort was worth the beauty of
the experience.  

     "Maybe we oughtta get *in* the bed--whaddya think?"  Starsky asked,
grinning. 
     
     "That would require moving, wouldn't it?"

     "Since your beautiful ass is on the quilt, yeah, it would."  

     "Okay," Hutch agreed, moving said ass as Starsky got up briefly and
fluffed out their top quilt.  After settling himself back into the bed, Starsky
encouraged Hutch to lie in his arms.  With his head pillowed near Starsky's heart,
listening to the steady, even rhythm, Starsky's hand rubbing his back in long
strokes, Hutch couldn't remember being happier.  

     "Well, we christened the living room," Starsky announced happily.  Hutch
snorted a little laugh against his lover's chest.

     "You plan on doing this in every room?"

     "Don't you?"  Starsky chortled.  "That's the nice part of havin' a house
when you're newlyweds--lots'a changes'a scenery for--"

     "You know, you really are gross sometimes," Hutch admonished, though
he was laughing, and punctuated the statement by kissing Starsky's chest.  Starsky
took the scolding with the usual level of seriousness.  

     "That's why you keep me around.  I keep you from gettin' too lofty,"
Starsky teased, running his hand back through Hutch's hair, moving the rumpled
strands away from his face.  Hutch caught the hand and kissed it. 

     "Actually, I think you keep me dreaming, babe--believing in miracles."

     "Miracles?"

     "Yeah, miracles," Hutch reaffirmed, kissing the very edge of a scar. 
"You're my miracle."

     "Nah, that was just good luck and clean livin'."  Starsky grinned as Hutch
snorted a laugh.  "Now this--you, me, together like this? *That's* a miracle."

     "Starsk?"
     
     "Hm?"  Starsky sighed contentedly as he toyed with his lover's silky blond
hair.  

     "Welcome home."  He raised up on one elbow to smile down at Starsky,
who smiled, but swallowed a little at the same time.  

     "Welcome home, babe," Starsky responded, pulling Hutch down for a kiss
that rekindled their passion and made the thought of sleep a distant memory.

********

     Hutch opened one eye, wondering if Starsky had gotten the license
number of the truck that had run over him.  The same truck that had backed up
and then run over his lower back at least twice.  The sun was slicing into the one
poor eyeball that had been unfortunate enough to be the one to investigate the fact
it was morning, and they were still on the floor, buck naked on an air mattress,
candles having burned out during the night sometime, stereo still stalwartly
playing romantic Christmas music.  

     A ribald snore from behind him reminded Hutch that he was not alone,
and that the name on the side of the truck was Starsky.  Smiling a little in spite of
himself, he turned over on the makeshift bed, made sure the quilt was
comfortably over both of them again, and snuggled against Starsky.  Even in
sleep, his partner happily shifted to accommodate him, nuzzling his hair and
resuming a nice, steady snore as soon as they were settled.  This was paradise.  

     Until the doorbell rang.  

     Starsky jolted awake at that, and Hutch was already sitting up, shifting a
little and regretting the hasty motion.  

     "Whoever that is," Starsky began, leaning over to the bag with their
supplies, "shoot 'em," he concluded, handing Hutch the beretta.

     "Don't tempt me."  Laughing, Hutch handed him the gun back, but before
he could get up, Starsky motioned to him to stay put.  

     "That's what the French doors are for.  Sit tight.  I'll go see who it is." 
Starsky pulled on his robe and wandered out to the foyer, closing the French
doors--the glass in which was covered with gathered sheer panels that made
seeing into the living room with any degree of clarity essentially impossible.  

     Starsky smiled at the obstructed view of the living room, and grimaced
when he became aware of just how sticky and stale he felt--and probably smelled. 
Tightening the tie on his robe, he peered out the window.  A stout gray-haired
woman stood on the porch with a large grocery bag in her arms.  Curiosity
piqued, he opened the door.

     "Good morning!"  she greeted cheerily, and breezed in the door past him
before he could utter a response.  "I'm Muriel, your next door neighbor.  I saw
your car here last night, so I figured you must have moved in."  

     "Not completely.  We actually just got the keys and decided to stay over
here instead of going home last night.  We were working on the house."  He
smiled.  "I'm Dave Starsky," he said, almost offering her his hand before stuffing
it in the pocket of his robe.  His hands had been in various places during the
night, and he wasn't about to risk shaking hands with the neighbors.  He had to
suppress a smile at that thought, and felt a little tingle to know his naked lover
was on the other side of the French doors.

     "Pleased to meet you, Dave.  I brought over some food--I know how it is
when you move in someplace new, and you don't have anything on hand.  I
brought some basics, and some nut bread I made.  The kitchen's back this way
isn't it?  I used to visit Jane once in a while," she said, referring to Mrs.
Weatherby, the house's previous owner.

     "Uh, yeah, right this way.  Thanks."

     "Oh, it's no bother!  So where is your wife?  Do you have any little ones?" 
she asked, bustling back toward the kitchen as Starsky followed her somewhat
lethargically.  While he appreciated the thoughtfulness of the gesture, all he really
wanted to do was fool around with Hutch a little and then have some breakfast. 
Meeting the neighbors wasn't high on his list at seven-thirty in the morning.  

     "No, it's just me and my partner," Starsky answered, watching her unpack
her wares on the kitchen counter.  She paused, looking back at him with a puzzled
expression.

     "Partner?"

     "Yeah--my partner and I bought the house together," Starsky said. 

     "We're cops," Hutch's voice surprised him from behind as the other man
sauntered into the kitchen, wearing the jeans and t-shirt he'd had on the night
before.  "Ken Hutchinson," he said, holding out his hand, which she shook with a
smile.  

     "So it's...just the two of you?"  she asked.  

     "'fraid so," Starsky responded, beaming at his lover, not really caring if the
love radiated from his eyes.  He loved Hutch, had loved Hutch in every way
possible the night before, and nothing could dampen the euphoria in his heart at
those memories.  

     "Well, you know, this place was a great deal, and it's a better investment
to own than rent," Hutch said reasonably.  "This place is bigger than both our
apartments put together."  He looked over the stash on the counter.  "It was very
thoughtful of you to bring this all over."

     "Oh, it's nothing!  Well, if you two are here on your own, I guess I'll just
have to bring you a care package from time to time.  I know how bachelors eat!"
she enthused.

     "You'd be surprised," Starsky said.  "Hutch is a great cook.  The best."

     "I wouldn't go that far, Starsk," Hutch responded, chuckling.  

     "He's just bein' modest," Starsky countered.  

     "Well, I'd better be going.  I hope I didn't wake you?"  she said finally, as
if just now noticing that one of her two hosts was wearing a robe, walking around
in his bare feet, with semi-bleary eyes and rumpled hair.

     "We had to get movin' on finishing up the work anyway, so no harm
done," Starsky responded, smiling. //Just call first next time...// he added
mentally.  

     "I think I can get to the front door this way, can't I?"  she asked, and
without waiting for an answer, headed into the dining room and toward the living
room, leaving the two men with their mouths slightly agape with unfinished
responses.  Since her trek through the war-torn living room was a given now, they
simply followed her.

     "We're still waiting for the furniture," Hutch spoke up, smiling a little
uneasily as she walked past the horribly disheveled makeshift bed, the deformed
wax blobs that were once candles, and the ice bucket that still contained a
champagne bottle in what was now cold water.

     "Well...uh...I hope it arrives soon," she said, forcing a half-hearted smile
as she headed through the French doors.  "Sorry to have bothered you this
morning."  She opened the front door and started out onto the porch, looking as
hurried and jittery as a shoplifter who wanted to escape the store with the goods
in her pocket.

     "Thanks for the food," Starsky called after her.  

     "Nice meeting you," Hutch added.  She was already hurrying down the
front walk, and simply waved without looking back at them.

     "Maybe we shoulda told her it wasn't contagious," Starsky said
sarcastically, slamming the door.  "Welcome to the neighborhood."

     "She didn't say anything, Starsk," Hutch said mildly, obviously hoping to
calm the storm that seemed to be building.  

     "She didn't have to.  She took one look at the living room and looked at us
like we were child molesters or something."

     "Welcome to the real world, babe," Hutch said a little sadly, moving about
the living room and picking up the remains of the candles.  Everything that had
been magical the night before seemed to be twisted in the light of day.

     "Hey."  Starsky crouched next to his partner as he squatted to pick up a
candle.  "I didn't mean to yell at you."  He pressed his forehead against Hutch's. 
"What happened between us last night was the most beautiful thing that ever
happened to me...well, next to the first time...uh...you know, you were...in me,"
Starsky said, the hot flush creeping up into his cheeks.  "This morning should'a
been more special."

     "Last night was special enough all by itself," Hutch responded, smiling
and kissing Starsky lightly.  "But we're going to have to face reality here, babe. 
People like Muriel--they're everywhere.  And I reckon she can't wait to get on the
grapevine and spread the news."  Hutch straightened up and sighed.  "We could
have trouble."

     "Why?  It's none'a her business.  If she didn't wanna know what we were
doin' in here, she should'a stayed home or tried callin' first instead'a showin' up at
the door at 7:30 in the damn morning!"  Starsky shouted back, standing himself
now.  

     "You're preaching to the choir, Starsk," Hutch said, dumping the candles
in the kitchen trash as Starsky arrived in the room just after his partner. 
"Dropping in on people that early isn't exactly at the top of Emily Post's list of
good manners, and neither is barging through rooms where you're not invited. 
None of that matters if she chooses to make it hot for us.  What if she calls the
Department?"

     "What if she does?  Dobey isn't gonna listen to that crap."  Starsky
rummaged around in the boxes.

     "What?"

     "The coffee maker--didn't you bring it?"

     "Mine or yours?"

     "Does it matter?"

     "No, but I didn't bring either one."  Hutch paused.  "Of course, you didn't
either, Gordo."

     "I thought you'd bring it since you were packin' kitchen stuff."

     "Stuff to clean the kitchen, babe, not make breakfast in it.  I figured we'd
go home last night," Hutch said.

     "I thought that's where we were.  Until I get up this morning and put up
with this neighbor crap and then can't even get a fucking cup'a coffee!"  Starsky
hurled Muriel's wrapped loaf of nut bread the full length of the kitchen until it
smacked into the wall and dropped to the floor with a dull thud.  
     "Sounds heavier than my grandmother's fruitcake," Hutch commented, the
corner of his mouth twitching a little as he waited for Starsky's tirade to wane.  It
wasn't long before Starsky shook his head, laughing.  

     "You, uh, practiced throwing your grandmother's fruitcake against the
walls when you were a kid?"

     "Beat the hell out of eating it," Hutch replied, chuckling.  

     "You think she'll make trouble?" 

     "I don't know.  Hopefully she'll just gossip a little.  I mean, what did she
see?  We shared a bed--big deal.  We used to do that all the time before we were
lovers.  If we'd bought this house as a shared investment, and ended up here, tired,
with one air mattress, we'd've both been on it.  We don't have any lamps, and
candles are dimmer than the overhead fixtures.  We drank some champagne to
celebrate our new house, and we had a portable stereo here to keep us in music
while we worked.  So if she goes to the Department with what she saw, she's
going to look pretty damn stupid by the time she's done."

     "You know, blondie, sometimes I think you ended up on the wrong side'a
the law.  You'd'a made a great crook.  Hell, I never even heard Nicky weave a
story like that off the top of his head, and he came up with some winners."

     "Appearances aren't everything, Starsk.  But we still have to be careful.  I
don't like it any better than you do that we can't be open.  That we can't move in
here like any other couple and live the way we want without worrying about
someone catching sight of us holding hands or kissing or touching in some way
other than as 'buddies'."

     "I'm not gonna live a lie in my own house, Hutch.  I'll do it out on the
streets, and I'm not takin' out ads in the papers, but I'm not gonna hide it here. 
Not in our home."  Starsky swallowed, and closed his eyes.  "Please, babe, don't
ask me to hide it here.  There's gotta be someplace in this world where I can love
you and it's okay."

     "C'mere."  Hutch pulled him into a tight hug.  "We're not going to hide
here, or be any different together in our home here than we were at the
apartments.  But we have to care about appearances.  We could lose our jobs if
things got hot enough.  Worse than that," Hutch said, pausing slightly, "we could
lose our work partnership, if Dobey was forced into obeying regulations."

     "If they're worried about lovers lovin' each other more than the job, they
should'a split us up years ago."  Starsky tightened his hold.  "Us getting together
like this didn't make me love you anymore, blintz.  That wasn't possible.  And
there ain't nothin' in this world I love as much as I love you, and nothin' above
you--got it?"

     "I got it, my love," Hutch said firmly, gently, as he rubbed Starsky's back
in long strokes.  "I think Dobey's about ten years too late splitting up our
partnership so we don't get too emotionally involved with each other."  Hutch was
quiet a few seconds, and Starsky still made no move to break the embrace.

            "She was just a nosey neighbor, babe.  Don't let it get to you."

     "I know you're right.  I guess I just wasn't ready for a big dose'a reality this
morning."  Starsky finally pulled back and framed Hutch's face with his hands.  "I
wanted to take care'a you when we woke up...do somethin' special for you."

     "You could take me out for breakfast."

     "That's wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but I am gettin' hungry," Starsky
responded, chortling and leaning in for a quick kiss.  "Hey, uh, you haven't
showered yet...and I haven't showered yet..."

     "Better do something to remedy that situation, don't you think?"  Hutch
asked, grinning.  

     "Save on the hot water."  Starsky grabbed his hand and pulled him along
toward the stairs.  

     In the warm cocoon of the shower, the bigotry of the outside world
seemed miles away as they soaped each other and paused for kisses and whispers
of the sappy little nothings new lovers share.  
     
     "Let me wake you up the right way this time, babe," Starsky muttered in
Hutch ear before kneeling in the tub and taking Hutch's water-slick cock into his
mouth.   

     Hutch leaned back against the tiles, savoring the sweet suction of the hot,
eager mouth that was pleasuring him, and the residual tingling from their
lovemaking the night before.  He tangled one hand in his lover's wet curls and
made a conscious effort not to thrust forward too forcefully.   Starsky was taking
his time, making this last, drawing out the pleasure.  Hutch moaned low in his
throat, then worked at finding the ability to speak.

     "So good, love...  Yeah, babe, like that..."  

     //Sparkling repartee, Hutchinson.  No wonder he's in love with you.  It's
your way with words...// Despite his frustration with his own lack of ability to
focus on anything but the delicious sensations, he leaned his head back against
the tiles and groaned, closing his eyes and giving in to the building wave of his
climax that was rippling through every nerve ending until it finally exploded in
the bursts that Starsky took into himself, swallowing diligently everything Hutch
had to give until he finally let the softened organ slip from his mouth, kissing it
and nuzzling Hutch's groin lovingly.  

     Hutch took a hold of Starsky's shoulders and pulled, encouraging him off
his knees and pulling him in for a long kiss, tasting himself there, blended with
the unique flavor of Starsky's mouth.  Breaking the kiss, he began scattering
kisses all over Starsky's face, his heart softening at how they were received--with
that loving enthusiasm which bordered on hunger, as if there could never be
enough affection to completely sate Starsky's appetite for it.  

     He slid one hand down to cup Starsky's ass, the other to grasp the rigid
cock that was nudging his thigh while they kissed.  He began a rhythmic
pumping, his mouth still traveling over Starsky's face and then down his neck,
fastening there to work on a large passion mark as Starsky let out a broken little
cry of pleasure and came, shuddering against Hutch.  

     "You're so beautiful, babe," Hutch whispered against Starsky's neck,
before soothing the bright mark there with a warm tongue.  

     "I'm cute, you're *beautiful*," Starsky corrected with a grin, nudging
Hutch's face with his own until they were kissing again.  

     "I hate to disillusion you, Starsk, but you really are beautiful," Hutch
insisted, feeling a little awkward at saying the words, but feeling a strange need at
the same time to feed that hunger that always seemed to be there in Starsky.  That
urgent need for his love.  "I could look at you all day," he said, moving in for
another kiss.  

     "You usually do," Starsky responded, chortling softly.

     "I'm not joking, love."  Hutch caught Starsky's face in both hands.  "You
take my breath away sometimes, just looking at you."  Starsky turned his head and
kissed Hutch's palm, nuzzling it, those deep sapphire eyes looking up at him from
under the dark lashes, showing a little moisture that had nothing to do with the
shower.  

     "Love you, babe," Starsky whispered, his voice seeming to fail him in
speaking any louder.  

     "I know you do...you give me so much.  Just the way you look at me.  Like
I was all there was in the world that mattered."  

     "You are.  Only thing in my world that matters," Starsky responded easily,
moving in for another kiss.  "Long as I've got you, I don't need anything else." 
Starsky shivered.  "'cept maybe a little more hot water."  

     Hutch had to laugh at that as he reached behind Starsky to turn off the
now cool water.  

     "Someday, I'm gonna figure out a way to give you all the love you
deserve," Hutch said, looking into Starsky's eyes, reclaiming the romantic mood
of a few moments ago.  

     "You always do." 
     
     "Not always.  I took you for granted for so long, Starsk.  When I thought I
was losing you...when you were shot...the whole...bottom dropped out of my
world."
     
     "I'm here, babe--and I'm fine.  Healthy as a horse."  Starsky smiled
brightly.  "We had some bad times, but those are in the past.  Let's not relive 'em
again.  They were shitty the first time around."

     "Agreed," Hutch said, laughing.  "Let's get dried off.  I'm starved."

     "Y'know, I've got another source of protein for ya and we wouldn't even
have to go out."

     "Pervert."  Stepping out of the tub, Hutch caught Starsky around the waist
and hugged him from behind, kissing a wet shoulder.  

     "Flattery'll get you everywhere."  

********
     
     A big breakfast and a stop at Hutch's apartment to load up two carloads of
his belongings occupied them until early afternoon.  With the Torino and the gray
LTD stuffed to capacity, they returned to their new home and began unloading
their plants, which were destined for the sun room on the back of the house.  It
seemed only appropriate that their foliage collection be merged, so Starsky's
smaller, stragglier collection of living greenery took its place among Hutch's
more lush and impressive collection of plants.  

     "We need more shelves, Starsk.  We're just setting a bunch of pots on the
floor," Hutch complained.  "Even with the furniture from my solarium, we're still
going to end up with...a whole lot of pots on the floor."

     "Yeah, I guess that's a project for the next vacation, huh?"  

     "Assuming Dobey ever grants another after this one," Hutch responded,
heading back into the house.  

     "We could just buy some cheap plant stands for now--you know, the ones
with all the little shelves and ledges?  I think I saw a wood one at the store
yesterday for about twenty bucks."

     "Should fit the rest of the decor perfectly."  Hutch headed back out for the
car, and together, they started pulling out cartons for transport into the house. 
"We need to do something about this yard," Hutch observed, glancing around at
the sorry-looking lawn and overgrown shrubs.  

     "One thing at a time, babe," Starsky said evenly, keeping one eye on the
next door neighbor who had apparently just arrived home from work and was
giving them a prolonged stare, which he apparently thought was unnoticed.  A
tall, slender man with gray hair, dressed in a short-sleeved dress shirt and tie, he
did his best to make the inspection covert, but the scrutiny hadn't escaped Starsky.
     
     "Starsk?"  Hutch's voice jarred him out of the mutual covert eyeplay with
the neighbor.

     "Huh?"

     "What's up?"

     "Nothing.  Just saw the neighbor comin' home, that's all."

     "Over there?"  Hutch glanced over at the house where the man had
disappeared inside moments ago.

     "Yeah.  He was sure checkin' us out."  Starsky headed up to the front door
with a deadly heavy carton of books.  

     "You okay with that?"  Hutch called after him, picking up a less daunting
box of pots and pans.  

     "I got it," came the strained reply as Starsky staggered in the door.  There
was a dull thud as the box hit the floor.  Hutch was relieved when Starsky didn't
hit the floor as well.  "You read too much," he grumbled as he passed Hutch.

     "I have bigger books.  You have more of them."

     "Yeah, but at least I read paperbacks," Starsky retorted.  Hutch had to
laugh at that as he headed to the kitchen with his box.  When he'd deposited it on
the floor near the cupboard where its contents would be stored, he returned to the
driveway.  Starsky was sitting on the edge of the open trunk, looking a little too
pale and a bit too sweaty.

     "Starsk?"  

     "Havin' a little trouble gettin' my breath," he gasped.  He was breathing
like a tractor, and one hand moved absently up to his chest.

     "Try to relax, babe."  Hutch sat next to him and ran his hand back and
forth over Starsky's upper back in an attempt to relax him.  "Easy does it.  In and
out," he coached gently.  It was rare that the after-effects of the Gunther shooting
reared their ugly heads anymore, but once in a while, Starsky *could* push
himself too far.  

     "Damn lung," Starsky croaked out.

     "That 'damn lung' does damn well for you, buddy, considering what it
went through."  

     "It's gettin' better," Starsky said, still sounding a bit breathless but
defnintely more like his old self.  He started to get up, but Hutch's hand on his
back slid up to his shoulder and pushed down gently.
     "Stay put and concentrate on breathing, babe."

     "Feel like an old man.  Usedta be there was nothing I couldn't move.  Now
I can't even carry a box in the house."

     "Starsky, you've carried about ten boxes into the house this morning, and
that one would have killed most people.  I was figuring we'd put that on the
handtruck and wheel it in."

     "Now you tell me," Starsky joked, smiling a little crookedly.

     "I would have told you before if you hadn't grabbed it and decided to play
man of steel."

     "Yeah, more like man of marshmallow."

     "Don't do that, babe.  Don't put yourself down.  If I had picked up that box,
my back would've gone out and I'd have been laid out on the front steps, most
likely paralyzed."  Hutch smiled as Starsky laughed.  "Thanks for your sensitivity,
dickhead."  He cuffed the back of Starsky's head and stood, pulling out a smaller
box of linens.  "Come on.  Time to haul ass."  He handed the lighter weight box to
Starsky and found a couple armloads of loose *stuff* he'd grabbed at the last
minute--a small lamp and a couple of throw pillows.  

     "Hutch?"  Starsky was talking as they walked toward the house with their
respective burdens.

     "Hm?"  Hutch was noticing the same neighbor next door back out on his
porch again, retrieving the mail from the box near the front door, keeping one
surreptitious eye on them.  

     "I love you, y'know."

     "Yeah, I know."  He smiled like the lovesick sap he was.  "I love you too,"
he said, staring now at Starsky's ass in the tight denim, deciding it was much more
appealing than the gray-haired neighbor.

     "You were starin' at my ass when you said that," Starsky accused, a
satisfied grin in his voice.

     "You got a problem with that?"

     "What're the neighbors gonna think?"  Starsky joked, setting down the box
in the living room as Hutch unloaded his burden there as well.

     "That we're two guys who sleep together by candle light and ogle each
other's asses, in a purely platonic, brotherly way?"  Hutch suggested.  The two of
them shared a good laugh as they returned to start on unloading the Torino.    

********

     The next two days were a blur of moving furniture and stacking cartons in
every spare inch of space.  It never ceased to amaze either man how much junk
they'd managed to stash in their apartments, but now that it had all been dragged
out of hiding and put in boxes, it was rather daunting.  

     Despite offers of help from Huggy and a few friends at the PD, Hutch had
insisted they hire professional movers.  Though he'd cited his own back problems,
his concerns had been mostly with Starsky's tendency not to accept the few
limitations left over from the shooting.  Starsky seemed to believe if he refused to
acknowledge them, and worked beyond them anyway, they would somehow
disappear.  Unfortunately, all that usually accomplished was leaving him
depressed and in pain when they didn't fall into line.  

     The biggest problem was really not all that crippling, considering the
damage that had healed completely--Starsky had lost some lung capacity on the
left side.  Excessive amounts of heavy lifting pulled on some tendons and
ligaments that had been torn asunder by the bullets, and he complained of some
pain when it was going to rain.  Overall, Starsky had been left healthy and fit and
able to return to street duty after the necessary recovery time, physical therapy
and time in the gym to rebuild his stamina.  Only the outer limits of his endurance
were missing, and only he seemed determined to continually test that fact.  

     As it was, both of them ended up hauling many things into the house on
their own, which was leaving Hutch walking stiffly and favoring his lower back
and Starsky generally out of sorts with his own aches and pains.  When the last of
the furniture was in place, and the moving van pulled out of the driveway, both
men collapsed on Starsky's old couch in the living room and stared around them
at the destruction.  

     "You know where the sheets are?"  Starsky finally asked.

     "In the carton marked 'bedding', in my room, upstairs."

     "I hate this two bedroom shit.  We should've just fixed up the master
bedroom with new stuff--new stuff we both picked out."

     "Starsk--"

     "Appearances, I know.  I just don't like havin' your bedroom and my
bedroom.  It's *our* house, Hutch.  We shoulda had *our* bedroom."

     "Hey, babe, come on.  It's not like we're going to sleep separately because
of it."  Hutch slid his arm around Starsky's shoulders, and despite a little initial
cranky resistance, the other man finally moved into position against him, head on
his shoulder.  "Hurting quite a bit tonight?"  he asked gently.

     "No more'n you.  You're walkin' like my grandma used to."  That drew a
little snorted laugh from Hutch.

     "No argument there."  Hutch kissed the curly head just beneath his chin. 
"We just landed, babe.  We'll shuffle things around upstairs to suit our needs. 
After our friends see the new house, we'll just...fix it up however we want up
there."

     "Nevermind, Hutch.  It doesn't matter."  Starsky's voice carried such
intense unhappiness that it most certainly did matter to Hutch.

     "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

     "I feel like we're under some kinda microscope.  Or a spotlight.  Like
everybody's lookin' at us.  We can't fix up our bedroom the way we want, we can't
make love in the living room...  I thought havin' our own house would be
different--but it's worse."

     "Aw, babe, we can do whatever we want here."

     "No we can't.  Our friends might know we sleep in the same room.  You
know somethin', Hutch?  I want 'em to know."

     "That could put friends from the PD in a bad position, Starsk," Hutch said
gently, stroking back through the dark curls.  "What about Dobey and Edith? 
They're friends.  We want to have them over, share the excitement about the
house.  If we push this so far with Dobey that we *force* him into seeing what's
going on here..."  Hutch shrugged.  "We want it all, and nobody can have that.  So
we have to make do the best we can, to get the most we can.  We've got a home
together, we love each other, and we work together.  If we're going to juggle all
that, and keep it going, we need to make some compromises.  You know that,
babe.  I'm not telling you anything new."

     "I'm just tired, Hutch.  Don't mind me."

     "For what it's worth, I feel the same way you do.  Frustrated.  Angry.  I
want to tell everyone I know how things are between us.  I love you.  I've never
been good at keeping it a secret when I was crazy about somebody.  And I've
never been as crazy about anybody as I am about you."

     "You always know what I need to hear," Starsky said, his voice sounding
almost sleepy.  

     "Let's go find those sheets and get some rest, huh?"  

     "Good idea."

     After locating the clean sheets and making up Hutch's bed--after
determining he had the most supportive mattress for war-torn backs--both men
trudged into the bathroom.  Tossing their clothes in a heap where the hamper
would eventually be, they climbed into the tub and turned on the water.   The
shower was perfunctory and efficient, its sole purpose to wash the day's grime off
the exhausted pair before they dried off and then crawled into the freshly made
bed.  

     "God, I never thought we'd get here," Hutch stated tiredly, staring at the
ceiling, noticing now the lovely, long crack that traveled from the light fixture to
the corner.  "You suppose that'll give way during the night and crush our skulls
while we're sleeping?"  He looked over at Starsky, who looked up at the light
fixture.  Antiquated, overly ornate and larger than it needed to be--like most
things in the house--it definitely looked like it would hurt should it decide to
disengage.  Starsky shrugged lazily.

     "Could be.  But if it drops, it ain't our skulls it's gonna crush."  Starsky
turned his head toward his partner.  "If that thing mashes my dick while I'm
sleeping, are ya still gonna love me?"

     "Even if it mashes *both* our dicks.  Of course, the house *was* your
idea."

     "Oh yeah," Starsky conceded, nodding, going back to looking at the light
fixture.  Even with just the moonlight to illuminate the room, the crack *did*
look a bit ominous.  "You still love me anyway?"  he asked, smiling a little.

     "Always."

     "Then I'm not gonna lose any sleep over that thing up there.  Besides, if it
hasn't dropped on anybody in the last 120 years the house has been here, I don't
think it'll start now."

     "You want a back rub, babe?"  Hutch asked.

     "You're the one with the bad back."

     "I think we're even tonight."

     "Yeah, sounds good."  Starsky rolled onto his side facing Hutch.  Smiling,
Hutch pulled him into his arms and started giving the back rub the way Starsky
liked it--as part of a prolonged hug.  "Mmmm.  Love those hands'a yours."  

     "Shhh.  Relax.  Go to sleep, love."

     "I can do you when you get done," Starsky slurred against Hutch's neck.

     "Whatever you say, buddy," Hutch responded in a whisper.  He knew
perfectly well Starsky would be snoring softly by the time the little massage was
over.  His prediction proved to be right, and he carefully pulled the covers around
them both, letting himself relax in the warmth of the bed and the secure feeling of
Starsky sleeping in his arms.  

********

     Hutch stirred, then opened his eyes, the tantalizing aroma of coffee and
food too strong to resist.  Then Starsky was there, sitting on the edge of the
mattress, gentle fingers stroking back through Hutch's tousled hair.

     "Mornin', beautiful," he said, grinning and leaning down for a kiss. 
Already in a blue t-shirt and jeans, Starsky was apparently ready for action in
getting the house settled.  

     "Beautiful's a stretch, babe," Hutch groaned, pulling himself into a sitting
position.  

     "You're right.  Doesn't say enough."  Starsky stood up, his cheerful mood
this morning undaunted by the darker thoughts that had depressed him so
completely the previous night.  "Breakfast."  He set the tray in front of Hutch,
then leaned back and stuffed pillows behind his partner.  

     "You found the tray and dishes."  Hutch knew it was a lame response to
such a nice gesture, but he was still too foggy to be articulate and too grouchy to
be effusive.

     "I wanted t'do something to make up for all the gloom and doom I dumped
on ya last night.  Don't know what got into me.  One'a my morose moods, I
guess."

     "Like I've never dumped a morose mood on you," Hutch responded, taking
a drink of the coffee, feeling a little more human as the hot liquid traveled
through his body.  "Thanks, buddy.  This is really nice."

     "You're welcome.  I unpacked the kitchen stuff this morning--most of it,
anyway--so at least one room's lookin' pretty good."

     "What time is it?"  Hutch belatedly realized they hadn't bothered to put a
clock anywhere near the bed.   The nightstands were still empty of all the usual
items.

     "About noon."

     "Noon?!  Why didn't you wake me up?  Starsk, we've got work to do!"

     "No kiddin'?  You know what?  Most of it's waitin' for you, so you didn't
miss anything by gettin' some sleep, which you needed, and some rest for that
back'a yours, which you needed too.  Now eat your breakfast like a good little
boy.  I don't do good choo-choo noises."

     "Oh, I don't know.  You make some pretty creative noises when the spirit
moves you," Hutch said, digging into the plate of scrambled eggs.  He smiled at
the color that brought to Starsky's face.  

     "Looks like the guy next door is puttin' up a fence.  Big privacy
thing--wood everyplace.  I was thinkin' of goin' over there and offering to help out
for a while.  Might be a good way to break the ice."

     "Sounds like a good idea.  He the one who was giving us the fish-eye
yesterday?"

     "Yeah, but he might've just been checking out the new neighbors.  I'm
tryin' not to get paranoid here.  He could've just been curious.  Maybe he's just not
a wave and smile kinda guy.  Plus, we didn't speak to him either."

     "True.  Go ahead if you want.  I'll work on unpacking boxes.  God knows
there are enough of them."

     "You wanna go volunteer for fence duty and I'll unpack?"

     "No thanks.  I want to get this stuff put away, and I've watched you pack
and unpack."

     "Meaning what?"  Starsky looked indignant as he stole one of Hutch's
strips of bacon.

     "Meaning you view packing and unpacking as a time to get reacquainted
with all your junk.  I don't want to bond with it.  I just want to unpack it."

     "Some'a that stuff I haven't looked at in years."

     "So maybe it would have been wise to throw it out instead of packing and
moving it?"

     "We've got more room here than in the apartments.  Why would I do
that?"

     "You want our own junk for the attic, is that it?"

     "Well...yeah.  I mean, some of it was sort of special.  Some old
photographs, yearbooks...just...*things*."

     "I tell you want.  You unpack your *things* and I'll unpack mine."

     "Uh-uh.  They're *our* things now."  

     "You may find this hard to believe, but marriage doesn't extend to
adopting your junk."

     "Oh yes it does.  You got me and my junk, for better or worse, babe." 
Starsky planted a big, sloppy, bacon-flavored kiss on Hutch's mouth before
pushing up off his seat on the side of the bed.  "I'll see ya in a while."

     "Have fun," Hutch responded, shaking his head and taking another drink
of his coffee.  

********
     Starsky made his way across the back yard, mentally lamenting the sorry
state of the lawn.  The neighbor, the tall man with the graying hair who had
checked them out on his way into the house the day before, was standing just on
the other side of the lot line, surveying his pile of lumber.  Dressed in an old golf
shirt and jeans, he looked a lot more relaxed than he had then.

     "Looks like quite a project," Starsky greeted, walking over to join him.  

     "Yeah, we've been talking about fencing the yard for a few years, so this is
my wife's Christmas present.  She doesn't want to put in a garden until she knows
the neighbors' dogs aren't going to use it for a toilet."

     "Dave Starsky," Starsky said, holding out a hand.  

     "Tom Stevens," the other man responded, shaking it.  "I saw you moving
in--I meant to step over and introduce myself but I had a business meeting..."  He
shrugged.  "Muriel Hathaway told my wife you were cops."

     "That's right.  My partner and I decided it was time to stop pourin' money
down the toilet on renting.  We're not gettin' any younger, so it seemed like a
good time to start investing."

     "Wise move.  Just you and your partner then?"

     "Yeah.  We both had small apartments, so we're going to enjoy the room,"
Starsky said, hating the way he was sliding over their relationship with talk of
investments and more square footage.  "Muriel stopped over with some food a
couple days ago.  Seems like a nice lady."

     "Yeah," Tom snorted.  "Give her an inch and she'll take a mile.  She
means well, but watch out for her.  She'll be in and out of your house every day if
you let her."

     "Voice of experience, eh?"

     "Muriel has a knack of pouncing on people and talking their arms off for
two hours."

     "Great."  Starsky laughed and rolled his eyes a little.  "You want a hand?"

     "You're probably pretty busy with all that unpacking you've got to do."

     "I've got some time.  Besides, the fresh air'll do me good."

     "That'd be great.  I've gotta get these posts set in cement, and that's really a
two-man job."

     "Let's get to it then."  

********
     Once Hutch was up and dressed, he took the breakfast dishes downstairs
and cleaned them up quickly.  He was more than a little relieved to see Starsky
out in the neighbor's yard, working on setting fence posts.  He had to admit to
himself that for a moment, he'd pictured the neighbor running to the local
lumberyard in a panic, hoping to "fence out" the queers next door.

     "Get a grip, Hutchinson," he chided himself, smiling as he dried off the
dishes and headed into the living room to begin putting it in some sort of order.  

     Opening the front windows to let in some fresh air, he began rooting
through cartons and before long, had located enough wall items to cover most of
the uneven spots in the wallpaper.  Next year, they'd have to paper at least the
living room and dining room, but for now, they'd have to settle for covering the
worst of it with well-placed pictures. 

     After finding a hammer and nails in yet another carton, he launched the
project of hanging the pictures, figuring it would go faster without Starsky's
"help" in placing them.  He'd chosen a mixture of his items and his partner's, so
both men's tastes were well-represented.  The room looked a bit funky and
mismatched, but with all their familiar things around, it felt like home.  

     By late afternoon, after about four hours of solid unpacking, the living
room and dining room were in good shape, and thanks to Starsky's earlier efforts,
the kitchen was "up and running", with most things in the cupboards where they
belonged.  Hutch looked out to check on his partner's progress, and wasn't
surprised to see Starsky working diligently on the fence in a t-shirt soaked and
sticking to his body.  The neighbor had changed into shorts and was shirtless now,
but Starsky was still at it with his upper body covered.  

     Hutch wandered upstairs and rooted through the cartons, finally producing
a white tank shirt and a pair of cut-off jeans.  Since the shooting, Starsky was
unlikely to strip off his shirt in a situation like this--mainly because people either
surreptitiously stared at the scars or asked about them.  While they were far from
grotesque or shocking anymore, they were certainly noticeable, and Starsky
seemed to have tired long ago of explaining what was probably one of the more
traumatic experiences of their lives.

     Leaving the clothing in the kitchen, Hutch stepped out on the back porch.  

     "Hey, Starsk, can you come in here a minute?"  he called.  With a wave of
acknowledgment, Starsky finished the task he was working on and then headed
toward the house.

     "What's up?" he asked, coming into the kitchen.

     "Thought you might be needing these about now."  Hutch held up the
clothes.

     "Oh, man, that's great."  He peeled off the soggy t-shirt and gratefully
accepted the towel Hutch handed him.  
     "How's it goin'?"

     "We've got quite a few of the posts in.  Tom asked if we wanted to have
dinner at their place.  You up for that?"

     "Sure."

     "He and his wife live there.  Kids are all grown up."  Starsky peeled off his
jeans and kicked them aside.  Stepping into the shorts, he zipped and snapped
them and then pulled the tank shirt over his head.  He smiled as Hutch handed
him a beer.  After a long draw on it, he continued.  "He said his wife has been
wanting a fence for a while, so he got it for her for Christmas.  I haven't seen her
yet.  He also said Muriel's a real busy body--I guess she already told Connie--his
wife--about us bein' cops."

     "I bet she did.  Wonder what else she said?"

     "Must not've been too shocking.  He's been real friendly."

     "I'm glad.  Yeah, dinner over there's fine.  We've got a bottle of wine
around here somewhere we can take over there.  I got the downstairs mostly
unpacked.  Well, except for the back bedroom, which I figured I'd work on next. 
How long until dinner?"

     "He said she was gonna fix it for around 6:30."  Starsky checked his
watch.  "A couple more hours."

     "Okay.  Maybe you'll want to run home and grab a shower first."

     "Why, do I stink?"  Starsky grabbed Hutch around the middle in a hug. 
"Hm?"

     "Frankly, yes."  Hutch hugged back anyway, then lingered for a prolonged
kiss.  He let one large hand wander down to squeeze a rounded buttock through
the thin denim of the worn cut-offs.

     "Thanks for callin' me in."  Starsky kissed Hutch again, then released him. 
"I was really gettin' hot out there."

     "I figured.  Don't wear yourself out.  We've got the upstairs to unpack yet."

     "Thanks for reminding me.  See ya later, babe."

     "Yeah, later.  Why don't you take a beer out to Tom?" 

     "Good idea."  Starsky grabbed the beer and carried it with his own back
outside.  Hutch smiled as he watched his partner head back over to the neighbor's,
a renewed spring in his step.  

********

     After Starsky made a run home to shower and change into a clean blue
cotton shirt and jeans, while Hutch traded in his own shorts and t-shirt for a white
shirt and a pair of tan pants, the two of them headed over to the Stevens' house for
dinner.  

     Connie, a slender woman with short dark hair and a ready smile dressed in
a blue plaid blouse and jeans, greeted them at the door and led them back to the
kitchen.  The Stevens house was roughly the same size as their own, and the same
vintage, but sported a much more updated decor.  For his part, Starsky preferred
the nostalgic charm of their own place to the more modernized painted woodwork
and plush carpeting of this house.  
     
     "You didn't have to bring wine," she said, pleasantly.  "That was nice of
you."  She accepted the bottle of Chianti from Hutch.  

     "We appreciated the invitation," Hutch responded, smiling.

     "It's the least we can do after drafting your partner into hard labor all day. 
I'm really glad Tom had some help with that job--the posts are the worst part of
putting in a fence.  Our son was supposed to come up this weekend and help out,
but he had to work," she explained.  "I hope you don't mind informality," she
gestured at the kitchen table, which was already set with a large bowl of tossed
salad in the middle.  

     "No, that's great," Starsky spoke up.  "Where is your son located?"

     "In San Diego.  He's a real estate agent there, and you know with that job,
sometimes weekends are the busiest times with showing houses.  Tom's too
stubborn to wait until next weekend."

     "Next weekend is too close to Christmas," Tom interjected as he came
into the kitchen wearing a fresh shirt and gray slacks, his hair still damp from the
shower.  "Besides, knowing Todd, God knows how long it'd be before he actually
pencilled us in for a weekend that didn't get cancelled."

     "He's busy.  That's a good thing in his line of work," Connie retorted,
setting a basket of rolls on the table.  "Please, sit down," she directed the guests. 
When everyone was seated at the table, she filled each of their bowls with salad
and directed them to a couple of cruets on the table.  "We have Italian or French. 
I hope you like one of those," she said.

     "Italian," Starsky spoke up, appropriating that dressing while Hutch opted
for the French.

     "Muriel said you were police officers," Connie said.  "I really can't tell you
how happy we are to have you here.  I think that's wonderful security for a
neighborhood."

     "Not that we need it.  Things are pretty quiet around here," Tom added.
     "But you just never know these days who you're going to get moving in
next door.  When Helen died--old Mrs. Weatherby--and her family sold the place,
we held our breath."

     "She was a nice lady--Mrs. Weatherby," Starsky spoke up, smiling fondly,
remembering the old woman who had somehow, in some way he couldn't explain,
helped him to rescue his partner--well after her own death.

     "You knew her?"

     "Actually, I lived not too far from here when I was a teenager.  I
remember the stories the kids used to tell about her--that she was a witch. 
Fortunately, I had a chance to meet her as an adult.  She was certainly far from
that," he concluded.

     "She kept to herself mostly, but she was still very pleasant whenever we
did see her.  Muriel visited her quite often--but then, Muriel visits everyone quite
often.  Just keep your shades down on her side of the house," Connie advised,
leaning forward a bit as if sharing confidential advice.

     "We'll keep that in mind."  Hutch chuckled.  "She was 'first on the scene'
to welcome us.  We hadn't even moved in yet--just slept in the house overnight."

     "You won't believe what she told me," Connie said, laughing and shaking
her head.  "She's convinced you're both gay."

     "Connie, for God's sake, it's bad enough we have to listen to that old hag
and her gossip without you bringing it up again."

     "Well, you have to admit it's a little amusing.  I mean, it's obviously a
stupid conclusion she jumped to for no good reason.  Ken and Dave are as normal
as we are."  

     "I think you're making our guests a little uncomfortable, Connie.  Maybe
we should change the subject," Tom said pointedly.

     "What?  Oh, of course.  If you two need any help getting unpacked or
settled, I hope you'll let me know.  I'm home pretty much all day," she added.

     "Thanks for that offer," Hutch spoke up, noticing that Starsky had fallen
strangely silent and a bit withdrawn, poking disinterestedly at his salad.  "I think
we're coming along all right.  We've got this coming week off, so we'll be getting
things finished up before we go back to work."

     "You're partners, right?  You must be awfully good friends to be able to
work together all day and then live in the same house."

     "Maybe you can pick up some pointers from them before I retire next
year," Tom stated flatly, taking another large bite of salad.  It was obvious his
wife's chatter was wearing on his nerves.  

     "Starsk and I have been together on the job going on ten years now.  We
met in the Academy," Hutch said, smiling over at his partner, who looked up in
time to catch the expression and smiled back, the love plain in the look in his
eyes.  Even for the sake of propriety, Hutch couldn't quite look away as quickly as
he knew he should.  "Starsky got assigned to Homicide as a detective just before I
did, and as soon as I got out of uniform, we managed to end up as working
partners."

     "Dave mentioned you were a musician, Hutch--do you prefer 'Hutch' or
'Ken'?"

     "Hutch is what most of my friends call me."

     "Hutch it is then," Tom responded.  "So, have you done anything
professionally with music?"

     "Not at all.  I'm purely an amateur.  I play piano and guitar, and sing a
little."

     "A little?"  Starsky seemed enthused now for the first time since Connie's
remark about their normality.  "Don't listen to him.  He's got an incredible
voice--could charm the birds right outta the trees," Starsky said, looking over at
his partner with open admiration.  "I never heard a voice like his before."

     "That's quite an endorsement," Connie responded, smiling as Hutch's face
flushed all the way to his hairline. 

     "I slipped him a twenty before dinner," Hutch said, chuckling.

     "I mean it," Starsky said with great solemnity, looking directly at Hutch.  

     "I know you do, buddy."  Hutch smiled, then figured it was time to deflect
the attention from the two of them.  "So, how long have you two lived here?"

     "Fifteen years this summer," Tom said.  "When we bought the place, it
was pretty pathetic.  We spent a lot of time remodeling it."

     "It's very well done," Hutch said.  The observation was genuine;  though
he preferred maintaining a more historic look, the taste in decorating was
excellent.  

     "You said you lived around here.  Whereabouts?"  Tom asked Starsky.

     "On Sherman Street.  I wouldn't've been around here by the time you folks
moved in."

     "Judy's daughter just bought a house over on Sherman," Connie said to
Tom.  "Judy and Mike Hall--they live across the street.   Do your parents still live
there?"

     "I lived with my aunt and uncle for about six or seven years--they were the
ones over on Sherman.  The rest of my family is from New York."

     "I see.  Your parents let you move all the way out here?"

     "My father died when I was ten and my mother had two boys to raise
alone...she thought it would be a good opportunity for me to move out here and
live with her brother and his wife.  It worked out well," Starsky said with a
half-hearted smile.  

     "I'm sorry," Connie said sincerely, resting a hand on Starsky's wrist.  "My
own father passed away when I was in high school.  It's very hard losing a parent
at a young age."

     "Yeah, it takes some adjusting."

     "Must have been difficult, moving out here and getting used to all
that...*change*, being away from your family...  My mother and I were closer
than ever after my father's death.  I can't imagine how I'd have handled leaving
her."

     "It wasn't easy," Starsky said, taking a drink of his wine.  He was grateful
to feel Hutch's hand on his knee under the table.  "But if I hadn't come out here
when I did, I wouldn't've gone to the Academy here and hooked up with Hutch."  

     "Was your uncle a cop too?"  Tom asked.

     "Used car salesman, actually," Starsky said with a smile.  "My dad was a
cop.  He was...he was shot by some guys...they called it line of duty...I guess he
was too close to something and somebody wanted him out of the way."

     "That's horrible!"

     "Then I almost went the same way," Starsky said, more to himself than
their hosts.  

     "A couple years ago, Starsky was shot and critically wounded," Hutch
said, noticing their hosts' puzzled expressions.  "Thank God, he pulled
through--fooled everybody, including the doctors."

     "I think we've interrogated our guests enough before dinner, honey.  You
think we could have a go at the main course?"  Tom suggested, smiling a little.

     "Of course!  I'm sorry we brought up something unpleasant."

     "I'm fine," Starsky said, smiling.  "Old news."  

     The rest of the meal passed fairly uneventfully, with the Stevens giving a
more detailed description of their son's real estate career, and their daughter's
teaching job in Bakersfield.  Hutch told a few anecdotes from his youth in
Minnesota when he found Connie had a brother living near Minneapolis, and
Tom and Starsky discussed plans for the rest of the fence project.  The evening
ended near nine, and Starsky and Hutch headed, somewhat gratefully, for their
own house, traversing the back yard to get there.

     "I thought that went okay," Hutch said as he put the pie Connie insisted on
sending with them, on the counter.

     "Yeah, they're nice people."  

     "But?"

     "Huh?"

     "There's a but in there somewhere."

     "I guess her sayin' we couldn't be a couple because we were
*normal*...just bugged the hell out of me."

     "I know.  Me too."  Hutch leaned his butt against the kitchen counter. 
"But we can't exactly *come out* and keep our jobs.  We know that."

     "Yeah, we've been over this already.  I know that.  Maybe it bothered me
that I was glad we didn't seem...*gay*.  How's that for bein' a hypocrite?"  Starsky
mirrored his partner's position against the counter, staring at the kitchen floor.

     "Seeming gay could cause us a lot of trouble, babe.  Even if we weren't in
the jobs we're in.  It's a hard road...there's a lot of hate and prejudice out there. 
Look at what John Blaine went through to hide from that kind of hate and
scrutiny."

     "Sometimes I feel like I'm part of the problem, y'know?  I'm in love with a
man and makin' love with a man, and yet I'm just goin' along with everybody else
who probably thinks that's sick and disgusting.  I've always been straight with
people--" Starsky stopped and laughed, shaking his head.  "Great choice of
words."

     "I'm not used to living a lie either, Starsk.  It doesn't feel good, but
sometimes, it has to be.  Shouting it from the rooftops would do what exactly? 
Get us fired?  Get our working partnership split up?  Make us a target for every
creep out there who wants to make other people's lives his business?  We're
together, we've got a home together, and we work together.  Life is pretty damn
good, buddy.  I know I should be ready to wave some kind of social flag over this,
but I just want us to live our lives in peace."

     "I know.  I want that too.  I guess us comin' out to everybody we know
wouldn't change any of the hate or prejudice or other shit in the world anyway."

     "Not really.  That's gonna take years, babe.  And you're right--people like
us who *don't* wave flags aren't helping any.  But in this life, you've got to
choose your battles carefully.  Changing the world is one we aren't going to win in
this lifetime."

     "I s'pose not."  Starsky moved over to stand in front of his partner.  "You
up to a clandestine rendezvous upstairs?"  He grinned and flexed his eyebrows,
catching Hutch around the waist with both arms.  

     "I'm not ashamed of loving you, Starsk.  I want you to understand that.  If
it were...*safe* for us to be out, I'd kiss you until you couldn't breathe right in the
middle of the damn street."

     "God, I love you," Starsky said softly, moving in for a kiss.  "Wanna show
you all night," he whispered hotly against Hutch's ear.  

     After reluctantly parting long enough to check the doors for the night and
turn off lights, they headed upstairs and to Hutch's bed, which was the only one
made.  

     "Wait right there!"  Starsky admonished, and fled downstairs, leaving his
partner a little baffled, one hand on the first buttons of his shirt.  He was back in a
moment, carrying the little portable stereo in one hand and a candle in a holder
from the living room mantel in the other.  He set the candle on the dresser and lit
it, and after turning out the light, tinkered with the tuning on the little stereo until
he found a radio station that played mostly easy listening instrumental music. 
Then he returned to his partner, and claiming his mouth in a tender but passionate
kiss, he began working the buttons on the shirt himself, finally pushing it off
Hutch's shoulders, pulling it out of the pants where it was tucked.  

     Hutch lost little time in returning the favor, and to the strains of soft music
and candle light, they hastily but lovingly undressed each other.  They finally
tumbled onto the bed in a shared embrace, hungry mouths devouring one another
as eager hands roamed over heating flesh.  

     "Want you, babe," Starsky panted against Hutch's ear, nipping and tugging
at the lobe.  

     "You got me, love...how do you want it?"

     "Sitting up."  There was a little pause.  "You inside me."

     Hutch attacked his mouth then, their tongues sliding together eagerly
while he fumbled for the little tube he'd had the presence of mind to put in the
night stand earlier.  Sensing the struggle, Starsky reached over from his angle
beneath Hutch and pulled open the drawer while the other's long arm fished
around for the tube.  Another operation completed in perfect synch, as usual.

     Starsky relaxed into the mattress as Hutch moved down his body with hot,
wet kisses, lingering to lick and suck at taut nipples before dipping lower to
explore the valley of Starsky's navel, then the soft skin just beneath it.  Before his
mouth could come close to Starsky's cock, a gentle hand slid beneath his chin.

     "I want it to last tonight, babe.  Don't get me too worked up yet, okay?"  he
gasped, his erection already straining.  He knew watching those full lips closing
around his shaft, even for a few moments, would probably be his undoing.  

     "Whatever you say, my love," Hutch responded, catching the hand in his
own and turning it to kiss the palm.  He moved back on his knees, sitting back on
his heels as Starsky pulled his knees up, exposing himself to the first of Hutch's
slick fingers.  

     The preparation was slow and gentle, both because Hutch treasured the
intimacy of the act, and because Starsky still had a certain instinctive tendency to
tighten up and resist the penetration, as much as he wanted it.  It was never lost
on Hutch how much trust was involved in his partner actually submitting to this
act--let alone wanting it--after what he'd gone through with Marcos' goons.  Still,
with the right little love words and enough gentle teasing and stretching, it wasn't
long before he was relaxed and eager, reaching for Hutch and urging him to take
him.  

     "Come on, babe, come to me."  Hutch sat back on the mattress and waited
while Starsky rose up and moved, straddling his lap.  He guided his cock as it was
slowly engulfed in the moist heat of Starsky's body.  With Starsky's arms and legs
wrapped around him, Hutch put his own arms around the warm body snuggling
close to his.  He ran his hands up and down the long back, relishing the moment
of stillness--of perfect unity.  

     "You look like an angel," Starsky whispered, pulling back a little to look
at his partner.  He brushed back the silky blond hair, nosing it and nuzzling it. 
Sometimes Hutch wondered where in his visage Starsky saw an angel, but
thinking back over their years together, even before they'd become lovers, Starsky
had always looked at him as if the sun rose and set in him, as if he were
something special and magical.  

     Together, they started a slow, easy undulation, neither wanting to rush the
sensations or hurry to completion.  As Starsky's head moved back, his eyes closed
in the pleasure of the moment, little moans slipping from his partially opened
mouth, Hutch gazed at him and drank in the beauty of the sight.  So genuine, so
full of love, and so in love with *him*.  He leaned forward and kissed the
exposed throat, taking in the scent of Starsky's aftershave and of Starsky
himself--woodsy, sweet and spicy all at once.  

     "Love of my life," he whispered into a nearby ear, and smiled, unable to
restrain a moan as Starsky whimpered somewhere deep in his throat and picked
up the pace of his movements. //My beautiful lover, you're a pushover for the
right words,// Hutch thought affectionately.  "You're everything, babe," he
managed before Starsky fastened his mouth over Hutch's, smothering the cries of
their completion as their mouths and bodies made love to each other until they
were exhausted, spent, and sated, sagging in each other's arms.  

     For a long time, they just held each other, letting their pounding hearts and
heavy breathing even out and calm.  Starsky was the first to pull back enough to
look into Hutch's eyes.

     "Love you," he said, resting his forehead against Hutch's.  

     "I know.  I love you, babe."

     "If we have to hide the rest of our lives...it's okay with me.  As long as I'm
hidin' with you," Starsky said with a little grin in his voice.

     "Someday, we're gonna have that chance to tell the world.  I don't know
when, or how, but someday, when it's safe, I want everybody to know how things
are between us.  I don't want you to think that I don't."

     "I know.  Me too."  Starsky smiled, moving away enough for them to look
at each other.  "Meanwhile, there's something kinda sexy about doin' it in secret,
isn't there?"

     "It's not entirely unappealing," Hutch responded, laughing and hugging
Starsky tightly.  "You wanna stay over?"  he joked, and Starsky snorted with
laughter.  

     "Since 'your place' is the only one with sheets on the bed, I guess my
options are limited."

     "Narrows 'em considerably."

     Starsky slowly, and a bit reluctantly, moved to break their physical
connection.  Hutch staggered on slightly wobbly legs to the bathroom and
procured a warm, wet washcloth, which he quickly used on himself and then
freshened up to use on his lover.  

     "Oh, come on, babe, it'll keep till morning," Starsky grumbled, not
wanting to dislodge himself from the boneless sprawl on his stomach.  

     "You won't say that when your belly hairs are stuck to the sheets, Gordo." 
With a grunt, Starsky rolled onto his side, and stole a kiss while Hutch cleaned
him up.  He flopped back on his belly and relaxed as he felt the wet warmth
moving over the backs of his thighs and his butt.  With the cooling stickiness
gone, he really did feel more comfortable.  Not to mention how much he loved
the intimate attention and TLC from Hutch, whom he considered an expert at it.  

     "Planning on working on the fence again tomorrow?"  Hutch asked as he
slipped into bed, happy that Starsky dislodged himself from his lethargy long
enough to move into his arms.  He slid one hand into the thick curls resting on his
shoulder.  

     "For a while.  His son might show up, and if he does, I'll be off duty.  He's
gonna give us a hand with cleaning out the garage--Tom, I mean."

     "Really?  That's good.  There's enough old crap stored in there for three
households."

     "Yeah, I know.  Maybe we'll find some antiques or somethin'."

     "Yeah, maybe," Hutch responded, biting back the response that if there
were anything remotely valuable in there, the Weatherby clan would have gutted
it.  They'd done all but take the doorknobs off the doors before selling the place,
and Hutch made a mental note to doublecheck that all of those were intact.

********

     Starsky was still snoring softly the next time Hutch rallied, and he
carefully extricated himself and made a visit to the bathroom.  When he arrived in
the doorway of the bedroom, he took a moment to just watch Starsky lying there
in the pre-dawn light, sleeping on his stomach now that Hutch's body had slide
from beneath him.  The covers were up just above his waist, and his back was
rising and falling with the steady rhythm of healthy respiration.  
     
     "Hutch..."  It was a sleeping whisper as he seemed to become more
restless, moving around in the part of the bed Hutch had vacated.  Before he
rallied completely, Hutch smiled as an idea hit him.  

     He moved stealthily about the room until he pulled his guitar from the
case he'd placed it in to protect it during the move.  He smiled for a moment as he
looked at the case--Starsky had bought it for him at the same time Hutch had
replaced the guitar broken by Diana Harmon.  This one was extra sturdy and
plush lined--and sported a lock that would make a lock-picker do a double-take. 
Seeing how badly Hutch felt over the mutilation of the other guitar, which he'd
had all of his adult life, Starsky had bought the ridiculously expensive case over
all Hutch's objections, and declared that if someone wanted to break his guitar
now, they'd have to tie it to the railroad tracks.  Oddly enough, the thought had
reassured Hutch somewhat as he tried to get his peace of mind back after having
most of his belongings destroyed.

     He slipped on his robe, feeling a little ridiculous to sit and play the guitar
buck naked.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he was glad to see that Starsky was
stirring, and finally, two bleary sapphire eyes looked at him from beneath those
obscenely dark, full lashes.  

     Deciding to eschew words, Hutch started strumming on his guitar, loving
the smile that spread over Starsky's face as he turned over and leaned up on one
elbow, always the attentive audience.  Hutch had worked at memorizing the
words and music to the song he was playing, having heard it on the radio shortly
before they moved, and being stunned by how perfectly it captured his feelings
for his partner.  

//So I sing you to sleep
After the lovin'
With a song I just wrote yesterday,
And I hope you can hear
What the words and the music 
Have to say.

It's so hard to explain
Everything that I'm feelin',
Face to face, I just seem to go dry,
'Cause I love you so much
That the sound of your voice
Can get me high.//

     Starsky rested his hand on Hutch's knee, straightening up now to sit, that
look of rapt fascination on his face that always swept over him when Hutch sang. 
The greatest superstar could get no more adoration from a teeming arena of
swooning fans than Hutch got from his audience of one.  He couldn't help but
smile as he sang the next lines, feeling almost ecstatic in the love they shared, its
almost tangible presence in the air between them.

//Thanks for takin' me
On a one way trip to the sun,
Thanks for turnin' me into a someone.

I sing you to sleep
After the lovin',
I brush back the hair from your eyes,//

     Starsky's hand came up, as if on cue, and did that very thing, catching a
few stray strands that were intent on falling out of place.  In the brief pause of the
song, Hutch managed to kiss the palm near his mouth before it retreated again.  

//And the love on your face
Is so real that it makes me wanna cry,
And I know that my song 
Isn't singin' anything new,
Oh, but after the lovin'
I'm still in love with you.//

     Starsky was watching him with eyes bright with tears now, not only
captivated by the song by stirred to his heart by the words, and by the heartfelt
way they were sung.  Hutch couldn't have put more love into the performance if
he'd tried--he let everything he felt for his partner come through in his voice, and
in the look in his eyes.

//I sing you to sleep
After the lovin',
I brush back the hair from your eyes,//

     Hutch managed to lean forward just as Starsky did and their lips met in a
brief kiss, Starsky lingering near him, only inches away as he kept singing.

//And the love on your face 
Is so real that it makes me wanna cry,//

     He planted a quick kiss beneath Starsky's eye, catching a single tear there.

//And I know that my song 
Isn't singin' anything new
Oh, but after the lovin' 
I'm still in love with you//

     Hutch finished off the guitar's accompaniment and set it aside, then pulled
his lover into his arms.  Against Starsky's ear, he finished, in a light  a capella,

//Yes, after the lovin', 
I'm still in love with you,
After the lovin', 
I'm still in love with you.//

     Starsky didn't say anything, just held on tightly.  Hutch relished the
embrace and the silence.  If Starsky was speechless, maybe Hutch had somehow
managed to convey to him something that was deep enough, profound enough, to
let him know how much he was loved.  

     When Starsky moved back, he rested his fingertips against Hutch's lips.  

     "So beautiful.  Most beautiful voice in the whole world."

     "I think you're biased, babe," Hutch said behind the fingers, kissing them
and taking a hold of Starsky's hand.

     "No, don't.  I mean it.  Your whole heart is in your voice.  And it's the
most beautiful heart there is.  When you sing to me..."  Starsky seemed to struggle
for the words.  "...it's what love sounds like."

     "It's what my love for you sounds like," Hutch said in a strained voice. 
"Because everything I sing now, I'm thinking about loving you while I'm singing
it."

     "Even 'Black Bean Soup', huh?"  Starsky asked, and Hutch laughed,
grateful that Starsky knew just when to lighten the intensity of the moment.  But
the love and sincerity were still there in his eyes.

     "Yeah, even then," Hutch responded, finally.  

     "Come back to bed, huh?  And lose the robe?"
     
     "Your wish..."  Hutch shrugged, tossing the garment aside and climbing
under covers Starsky held up for him.  

     "You shoulda been famous, Hutch.  That voice'a yours.  It's not right that
I'm the only one who hears it."

     "I don't need anybody else to hear it."  Hutch situated himself to share
Starsky's pillow as they faced each other, their noses almost touching.  

     "But it's like hiding something beautiful.  Like keeping the Mona Lisa in
your basement instead of putting it in a museum."

     "I love ya, Starsk, but I think your opinion of my voice is a little elevated."

     "No, it's not.  But as long as you keep singin' to me, I won't keep arguin'
with you."

     "You got a deal."  As they wrapped around each other again, both men
drifted into a peaceful sleep that carried them through until daybreak.

********

     Starsky came down the steps, sniffing at the air.  Coffee and breakfast
were obviously in progress in the kitchen, Hutch having slipped out before him,
letting him sleep a bit longer.  He smiled at the thought of just how much spoiling
of a lover Hutch was capable of--and he seemed to relish spoiling Starsky.  

     "Smells good, blondie."  He wound his arms around Hutch from behind as
the other man made a vain attempt to retrieve the toast from the toaster with a
man-sized appendage on his back.  

     "I figured you'd be getting hungry, and you've got another long day on the
fence project."

     "I wasn't talkin' about the eggs," Starsky said, thrusting his pelvis against
Hutch's butt.  

     "Oh you weren't, huh?"  Hutch turned around and returned the hug,
grabbing both of Starsky's butt cheeks in a playful squeeze through the shorts he
wore.  

     "You're a butt man, aren't ya, babe?"  Starsky teased, nipping an earlobe.

     "Just one particular butt," Hutch retorted, patting Starsky's butt before
releasing him.  

     "This morning was really special, babe," Starsky said solemnly.  "Thanks." 
He leaned forward for a kiss, and was met with an eager response.  

     "Last night wasn't bad either," Hutch retorted, grinning.
     
     "That was okay, too."  Starsky moved over to the coffee maker to pour
two cups.  

     "Just okay, huh?"  Hutch asked, laughing as he worked on dishing up the
eggs.

     "We better not talk about that if I'm going to leave the house sometime
today.  You're wearin' those white shorts I like."  Starsky flexed his eyebrows.  

     "Oh, these old things?"  Hutch joked, knowing perfectly well the effect the
tight white shorts had on his partner.  

     Before Starsky could come up with a witty response, there was a frantic
knocking on the back door.  Frowning, Starsky went to answer the door which
opened onto the back porch and led directly into the kitchen.  As soon as he
opened it, Connie and another woman hurried inside.  

     "Dave, Ken, something awful's happened!"  Connie said, fear plain in her
voice.  There was a younger woman with curly blonde hair, probably somewhere
in her mid-30's, clutching at Connie's arm like a lifeline.

     "Why don't you both come in and sit down."  Starsky guided them to the
kitchen table, and sat with them, while Hutch brought coffee over to the table,
setting cups in front of the two women.  

     "Try to calm down, Connie.  Who's your friend?"  Hutch asked, sitting
down.

     "Donna Canfield.  I...I live behind Connie and Tom.  My little boy is gone! 
Connie said you were policemen."

     "We are.  What do you mean--gone?"  Starsky asked.

     "Just what I said!  He wasn't in his room this morning, and his window is
open!  It wasn't open last night.  We can't find him anywhere!"

     "How old is your son, Mrs. Canfield?"  Hutch asked.

     "Six," she said, her voice breaking.  "His name is Michael, and he's a good
boy.  He's never run away."

     "The first thing we need to do is get a description of your son and what he
was wearing the last time you saw him.  If you have a photograph, we'll need that,
and it would be a good idea for you to look through his clothing and see if
anything's missing," Starsky said.  "Little boys sometimes go out exploring.  It's
not about them being bad boys, it's just that they get curious, or they want to go
out and have a look around on their own.  He might just have gotten lost
somewhere right nearby.  As soon as we get all that information from you, we'll
get the word out."
     
     "You're not going to wait 24 hours or something are you?"  Connie
prodded.

     "Not for a six-year-old child, no," Hutch spoke up.  "He probably just
wandered off, but even so, we don't want him to be out on his own too long."

     "He didn't wander off!"  Donna shouted.  "I know my boy, and he wouldn't
do that!"

     "Please try to stay as calm as you can, Mrs. Canfield," Starsky said, but
that seemed to upset her more.

     "Calm?  How calm would you be if your six-year-old child was missing?!"
she demanded.

     "Not very," he responded honestly.  "But Michael needs you to stay calm,
because you have to provide us the information we need to start looking for him. 
Besides, him comin' home to find his mom a big mess is just going scare him,
right?"  Starsky smiled slightly, and she seemed to calm a little, and return it
slightly.  "Let's go over to your house and have a look around his room, huh?"

     "All right."  

     "You go on.  I'm going to run upstairs and grab our stuff," Hutch said,
meaning their ID's and guns.  Starsky nodded and started out the door with the
two women.  They only made it a few feet across the yard before Muriel was
hurrying over toward them.  

     "Is something wrong?"  she asked, intercepting the group.  Deciding
Muriel could be used to some advantage as the neighborhood busybody, Starsky
seized the opportunity.

     "Muriel, do you know Michael Canfield, Donna's little boy?"

     "Of course!  He's just a doll!  He's not sick, is he?"  She turned concerned
eyes toward Donna.

     "We think he might have gotten a little case of wanderlust and gone off
exploring, and we're trying to find him.  Do you think maybe you could alert the
neighbors to be on the lookout for him?  Maybe walk around and talk to folks and
see if anyone's seen him?"

     "Oh, of course!  Oh, Donna, you must be *frantic*," she gushed, clutching
the younger woman's arm.

     "We're not jumping to any conclusions, Muriel," Starsky spoke up.  "Little
boys go off exploring sometimes.  We just need to get folks alerted to be
watching for him so we can get him home."

     "I'll spread the word," she assured, hurrying back toward her own house.  
     
     "I don't doubt it," Hutch added sarcastically as he joined the group,
handing Starsky his ID and his belt holster, which hooked easily over the
waistband of the cut-off jeans.  

     The Canfield house was a bit smaller than Starsky's and Hutch's place, and
not quite as old.  A simple two-story frame house with a large front porch, the
interior was neatly kept but fairly plain.  

     "Michael's room is in back," she said, leading them through the house to a
small bedroom off the dining room.  Decorated with wallpaper that sported toy
trains in the primary colors, the room was accented by bright blue drapes framing
the two windows.  A bedspread that matched the wallpaper was wadded up at the
foot of the bed, and the bedding was still in disarray--as if the child had simply
gotten up and walked out.  The window toward the back yard was still open, the
curtains swaying slightly in the breeze.

     "Where do you and your husband sleep?"  Hutch asked, leaning over to
inspect the area around the window.  There was no sign of forced entry.

     "I'm divorced.  My bedroom is upstairs."

     "Is this Michael?"  Starsky asked, picking up a photo on the dresser of a
little boy with blond hair, blue eyes, and a missing front tooth, grinning widely.  It
looked like a posed school picture.  

     "Yes.  That was just taken a couple months ago at school.  We just got the
prints back."
     
     "If you have a few of the wallet size to spare, it'll be helpful to us to have
more than one," Hutch said.

     "Sure.  I'll get them."  

     "What do you think?"  Connie asked as soon as the other woman had left
the room.

     "We don't think much of anything at this point, Connie," Hutch responded
honestly, looking the bedclothes over carefully.  There was no sign of blood, no
other unusual stains or marks, and the sheets were not unusually disheveled--there
were no signs of struggle.  

     "Here you are," Donna returned and handed Hutch a small white envelope
containing three small photos of her son.  "Michael's never wandered off on his
own.  Something's happened," she said, her voice rising just a bit.

     "Do you have any friends or relatives who would be likely to take Michael
somewhere without telling you?  Maybe your ex-husband?"

     "My ex-husband is a jerk who never even takes advantage of his visiting
privileges.  Michael hasn't seen him in almost a year, and a month when the child
support is on time is cause for celebration," she shot back angrily.  "My other
friends and family wouldn't take Michael anywhere without asking me, and no
one else but my mother has keys to the house--and she'd never take him away in
the middle of the night."

     "Okay."  Starsky nodded, taking a last look around the room.  "We'd like
to have a look through the house, if you don't object.  Check for forced entry,
anything out of place.  Did everything else in the house appear normal to you this
morning?"

     "Well, yes, I guess so.  I got up, came down to make breakfast, and then
went to wake Michael and he wasn't in his room."  She stopped, covering her
mouth and working hard to hold back tears.  "I looked everywhere."

     "Do you have a basement?"

     "Yes, but he's scared to death to go down there alone.  You know how
little children are with dark basements," she said brokenly.

     "Did you look?"

     "Yes, of course, I told you, I looked *everywhere*."

     "We'll just take a walk through the house, check the windows and doors,
and then we'll head down to the station and file the report and get things in
motion.  Try not to panic, Mrs. Canfield," Hutch said gently.  "There's no sign of a
struggle in your son's room, and nothing to indicate that he's been hurt or removed
by force.  We don't know anything *bad*, so let's think positively for now, okay?"

     "Okay," she said, nodding and regaining her composure.  

     After finishing a search of the house, and getting from Mrs. Canfield a list
of friends and family who should be contacted, they headed down to the station.  

     "Does it seem a little funny to you that with two bedrooms upstairs, she
sleeps up there and the little boy is on the first floor?"  Starsky asked.  "When I
was little, we had a downstairs bedroom, but it was a guest room.  Nicky and I
shared, but we were both upstairs on the same floor with our folks."

     "When I got older, I wanted distance, but little kids...they don't like being
separated.  I don't know.  She's divorced...maybe she dates actively and it's easier
with the boy's room on a different floor."  

     "She probably wouldn't even hear somebody taking him from down there."

     "Possibly not, if they were quiet getting in, or if the window was left open. 
She says it was closed last night, but maybe he got warm and opened it."
     
     "Somethin's not adding up here," Starsky said, drumming his fingers on
the wheel as he waited for the light to change.  "Somethin' I can't just put my
finger on yet, but somethin' feels wrong."

********

     "Well, speak of the devil," Dobey said as he looked up from his desk at
the sight of Starsky and Hutch walking past his open door.

     "Morning, Captain," Hutch stuck his head in the door.  "One of the
neighbors' little boy turned up missing this morning, and we went over to check it
out, so we're here to file the report."

     "You want the case?"  Dobey asked. 

     "Yes," Starsky spoke up before Hutch could open his mouth.  "We want
it."

     "I guess you're off vacation then," Dobey responded.

     "Guess so," Hutch said, looking at his partner.  "You sure you want to take
this one on?"

     "They're neighbors, and Connie brought her to us.  I feel sort of like I'm
betraying their trust handin' 'em off to somebody else."

     "Okay."  

     "You don't want the case?"

     "I didn't say that."

     "Sounds like it," Starsky retorted.

     "It's settled.  We're taking the case," Hutch said, making a placating
gesture with both hands.

     "It most certainly is not settled," Dobey spoke up.  "If you two can't agree
on whether you want it or not, I'm not assigning it to you."

     "We'll take it, Captain," Hutch said, heading back out to the squad room. 
Dobey shot a concerned look Starsky's way.

     "We want the case, Cap'n."

     "All right.  It's yours.  But be sure you get a hold of Missing Persons and
work with them, you hear me?"
     
     "Will do," Starsky responded, smiling a little before retreating to the
squad room.  "You wanna tell me what that was all about?"  he asked Hutch, who
was busying himself with typing up the initial report.  Starsky's tone was gentle,
and held no trace of accusation.  

     "I just thought we were going to spend the next week getting settled, and
this is really a Missing Persons case, not a Homicide case."

     "You and I both know that it can turn into that fast enough, and Missing
Persons amounts to a few overworked cops with stacks of file folders loaded with
missing kids *and* adults.  These are our neighbors, and they came to us for
help."

     "They came to us because the mother was hysterical and we happen to live
nearby."

     "Why don't you want this case?"

     "Because it's not our usual thing, Starsk.  We'll be trying to coordinate
with another department that's going to be pissed off we're in their territory, and
we're still living out of boxes."

     "This is a child's life, Hutch.  What the hell difference does it make if
we're living out of boxes?"

     "Damn it, Starsky, I *know* what this is about!"  Hutch shot back, sliding
his chair back angrily and heading for the door. 

     "Hutch!"  

     "I'm going down to Missing Persons to talk to Quinlan.  Why don't you
type the damn report instead of sitting there making speeches?"  With that, Hutch
was on his way down the hall, leaving Starsky and a couple other detectives
staring after him, stunned.  

     Starsky did type up the report of their preliminary investigation of the
scene, and compiled a neater list of names and addresses of family and friends to
contact.  With the paperwork finished, he was becoming antsy to get started when
Hutch came storming back through the door.

     "You ready to hit the streets?"  Starsky asked. 

     "We should go home and change first," Hutch responded tersely.  "We're
dressed to put up fences and unpack boxes, not investigate a missing child."

     "Sure, okay."  Starsky stepped into Dobey's office and dumped the report
in his inbox.  

     "Everything okay?"  he asked, giving Starsky a piercing look.

     "Yeah, fine.  We'll keep you posted.  Hutch met with Quinlan in Missing
Persons, so we're dottin' all the I's and crossin' all the T's."

     "Good."  Dobey went back to his paperwork, and Starsky joined his
somewhat surly partner and headed out to the car.

     "So what was that really all about in there?"  Starsky asked as he drove
toward their house.

     "What was what about?"

     "That tirade about not wantin' this case."

     "I just thought since it took us all sorts of begging, pleading and
rearranging to get a week off that we might want to use it to get moved into our
damn house."

     "If you really don't want the case, let's tell Dobey and have him assign it to
somebody else."

     "No, we took it now, it's ours.  I'm not going to keep going back and forth
with Dobey."

     "I'm sorry, babe.  I thought you'd want the case.  I didn't mean to
just...make the decision.  I should've asked you."

     "You're damn right you should have.  Just because we're fucking each
other doesn't give you the right to make decisions for both of us now."

     The harshness of the words hit Starsky almost physically, and he was
annoyed with himself that something as simple as a crude phrase could bring
tears to his eyes.  He looked out the side window momentarily and blinked,
swallowing.  He'd be damned if he'd start bursting into tears like a lovestruck
schoolgirl at Hutch's every harsh word.  

     "Look out!"  Hutch's voice made him jerk his attention back to the road,
slamming on the brakes just in time to avoid rear-ending the car stopped at the
intersection ahead of them.  "What's with you?"

     "I was distracted," Starsky said, unhappy at the raspy quality to his voice. 
Silence reined a few moments, until Hutch reached over and pulled one of
Starsky's hands from the steering wheel, the momentary exercise of strength in
compelling compliance giving way to gentleness as he held the hand in his.  

     "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean that."

     "Yeah, okay," Starsky said quietly, still not looking at his partner.  His
emotions were too close to the surface yet, and he was determined not to turn this
into the stuff of bad melodrama.
     
     "It's not okay.  I didn't mean it, love.  Really.  It was a shitty thing to say,
and I'm sorry."

     "You don't have to keep apologizin'.  It's okay."

     "No, it's not.  Not until you look at me, babe."  Hutch waited, and finally,
Starsky looked at him, knowing full well that his eyes still held some very
obvious unshed tears.  "I love you, Starsk."

     "I know."

     "Do you?"

     "Yeah, I do."  Starsky nodded, and the honk of a car horn startled him. 
"Shit."  He moved through the intersection, now that the light had turned.  He was
driving with one hand, the other still held in Hutch's.  
     
     "I really didn't mean it," Hutch said again.

     "I'm glad," Starsky responded, squeezing the hand holding his.  

     After stopping home to change, both men struck out on a long day of
talking to friends and family of the missing child.  A couple uniformed cops
canvassed the neighborhood with Michael Canfield's picture, but no one reported
having seen the child any more recently than a couple days earlier, long before he
was missing.

********