As soon as they arrived home, Starsky gravitated to the couch in the living
room, curling up there and kicking off his shoes.  Even though it wasn't that cold
in the room, Hutch put the throw over him, and Starsky seemed to like the feeling
of being babied even if he didn't really need the warmth.  

     "How's your head?"  Hutch asked, kneeling by the couch.

     "Lousy."  Starsky was quiet a minute.  "Everything really hurts, Hutch," he
said softly, the pain clear in his voice.

     "I know, baby," Hutch said gently, leaning forward and kissing Starsky's
forehead.  "I wish I could take it away.  I'd trade places with you if I could."

     "No way.  Wouldn't let ya," Starsky responded, closing his eyes and
relaxing as Hutch stroked his hair, the gentle motion easing some of the pain in
his head--possibly only psychologically, but it still felt better.  "Glad it was me,"
he muttered, and Hutch leaned forward, just barely touching their foreheads
together.  

     "I'm not."

     "Hey, we never got a better tree,"  Starsky observed tiredly, glancing over
at the small table tree that still sat on the same blanket-covered box Starsky had
set up for them the first night in the new house.  

     "Guess we're a little late to worry about it now.  Tomorrow's Christmas
Eve."

     "Yeah.  Nothin' like the season'a peace and good will."  

     "Really," Hutch agreed grimly.  Kissing Starsky's lips lightly, he
straightened up and went to the kitchen to start dinner.  

     It crossed his mind as he emptied two cans of Chunky soup into a large
sauce pan and started it heating just how many years' worth of good times and bad
times had taken place within the walls of the old house.  Hutch had always been
intrigued by the idea of living in a truly old, historic home, to know that
generations of people had lived through good times and hard times there, to know
that a horse and buggy had carried the original occupants where they needed to
go, to open and close the same doors they had, to share the living space with all
that history...

     This should have been the happiest time of their lives.  It wasn't fair that
because they both happened to be men that they couldn't have the joy and the
excitement of their first house together, that they couldn't just enjoy the romance
of their newlywed days--hell, for that matter, they couldn't even call themselves
*wed* at all.  He didn't dare buy Starsky a ring, and suddenly found himself
hating the gift he'd bought him--the one that was supposed to be the crowning
glory of all Starsky's gifts that year.  

     A fucking watch. //A goddamned cave-in, cop-out watch instead of a
wedding ring.  God forbid someone would find out you loved him as more than a
friend.//

     Maybe that level of self-loathing wasn't fair.  Maybe it was justifiable to
hide like this--after all, when they'd done nothing more than love each other in the
privacy of their own home, look at the disaster that had rained down on their
heads from day one?  What more catastrophic results would they face if they
started brandishing wedding rings around? //Starsky'd look like hell in a white
lace veil anyway,// Hutch thought to himself absurdly, stifling a laugh.  He didn't
feel much joy, but dark humor had always served them well in the past.  
     
     But he'd look damn good in a tuxedo, standing across from Hutch,
pledging his love...  Weddings weren't about white lace and flowers, they were
about commitment--and sharing the joy and the love with friends and family.  

     Dobey had made the decision to stand by them as much as he could. 
Huggy had shrugged the whole thing off with a laugh, nudge and wink, as if he
figured it was about time they got around to doing the deed.  Tom and Connie
next door, people who had no real reason to cast their lot with them, had chosen
to do so.  He had little doubt that Minnie and a few other folks at the PD would
feel the same way.  But the people who didn't feel the same way were the ones
who did the damage.  Starsky was lying on the couch suffering the pain of their
hatred and bigotry and violence.  

     A knock at the back door startled him out of his thoughts, and it was then
that he yanked the scorched soup off the burner, turning on the exhaust fan to
dispel the odor. //Smooth, Hutchinson.  Last edible food in the fucking house.//  

     Connie was at the door, holding a casserole dish. //Maybe there is a God
after all,// Hutch thought, opening the door and inviting her into the kitchen. 

     "I figured you'd be home by now and probably hadn't stopped to get
anything for dinner--smells like you're...uh...cooking something though."

     "I'm scorching soup.  Believe me, Connie, the food is a real welcome
sight."

     "You really did a number on that soup, didn't you?"  she opined, looking in
the pan on the stove.  "You're the *good* cook in this relationship, right?"  she
clarified, and Hutch laughed out loud.

     "That would be me," he said, still smiling and shaking his head.  "I guess I
wasn't thinking."

     "Maybe I should heat this up myself.  I'd hate to have you blow up the
house or something."  She opened the oven and put the dish inside, pulling off the
aluminum foil that had covered it.  "It's a cheeseburger casserole--not that boxed
stuff.  I make it myself.  I thought it was something Dave would probably like." 

     "I can guarantee that," Hutch agreed.  "Would you and Tom like to come
over and eat with us?"

     "Thanks anyway, but Tom's got a business meeting in about an hour, and
I'm going out with a friend of mine for dinner and a movie."

     "Thanks for bringing this over.  You and Tom have really been there for
us."

     "I can't lie to you and say I wasn't a little surprised that what Muriel was
spouting off was true--okay, not all of it--the part about the perverted orgies was
probably made up, but the gay part."

     "Perverted orgies?"  Hutch asked, raising his eyebrows.

     "Apparently she thought you and Dave had one the first night you stayed
here."

     "We slept together on an air mattress in the living room.  If that's an orgy."

     "You know Muriel.  Broad-minded as ever.  Anyhow, I guess I have to
admit to being a little narrow-minded myself.  I thought you should dress funny
and wear lipstick and call everyone 'honey' or something.  I didn't expect two guys
who...you know...with each other... I'm really smooth at this, huh?"  she said,
laughing nervously.

     "You were surprised we were normal?"  Hutch supplied helpfully.

     "Yeah, not one of my finer moments.  I'm really sorry about that.  I just
don't know many gay people, I guess.  I suppose I feel like Tom does, when I
really think about it--it doesn't matter.  You guys have been good neighbors to us,
and you did everything you could for poor little Michael Canfield--God, we're still
reeling from that one.  You know, it just goes to show you--there's your nice,
'normal' neighbor, and she killed her own child.  So much for appearances."

     "They can be deceiving all right."  

     "Well, I better get going.  Take that out of the oven in fifteen
minutes--okay?"

     "I promise.  I won't burn it.  Starsky'd kill me."

     "Did you check on those guys Tom told you about?"

     "Not yet.  I wanted to get Starsky home and settled in.  We'll probably
look into it tomorrow."

     "Oh--I almost forgot!  We're having a sort of open house tomorrow night
for Christmas Eve.  If Dave's feeling better, you guys come over, okay?"

     "Maybe that's not such a great idea, Connie.  Especially if they're people
from the neighborhood."
     
     "Well, I think Tom spoke for both of us.  If they don't like it, they can just
get in line and pucker up."  As if on an impulse, she moved forward and gave
Hutch a brief hug.  "You take good care of Dave, and if he's able, you *come
over* tomorrow night--around eightish.  Okay?" she prodded, heading for the
door.  

     "We will if he's up to it.  Thanks again.  We really needed this."

     "Given the state of your soup, that's an understatement," she said, starting
down the back steps.

     "I wasn't talking about the food," Hutch said, smiling.  

     "Hey, that's what friends are for, right?"

     "Definitely," Hutch agreed, nodding slightly.  Connie just smiled and
waved and headed back toward her own house.  

     Relieved to actually have something to feed his partner, Hutch took the
casserole out at the appointed time and went back to the living room to see if
Starsky wanted to be served there or if he could handle eating in the kitchen.  

     "Who was at the door?"  Starsky asked tiredly as Hutch entered the room.  

     "Connie brought over a casserole.  She invited us over tomorrow night for
their Christmas Eve open house."

     "Terrific.  Maybe for an encore, the neighbors can crucify us on the front
lawn and wrap us in Christmas lights."

     "Starsk, she was sincere about wanting us there."

     "I don't feel good enough for that anyway."

     "That's different, then, babe."  Hutch stroked the dark hair lightly. 
"Hungry?"

     "My head's killin' me and I don't wanna get up again."

     "How about if I bring it in and feed you?"

     "I'm not a baby."  

     "No, but your head hurts and you're hungry, and this way you'd get food,
and wouldn't have to move around for it."

     "I'm sorry I'm bein' such a shit.  I just don't feel good."
     
     "Do you feel worse than you did in the hospital?"  Hutch knelt by the
couch now, concerned. 

     "All around where my surgery was...just hurts really bad.  It's not worse, I
guess.  Just hurts...and...I...I'm scared.  I mean, what if somethin'
came...unstitched in there?"

     "The doctor said she didn't find any evidence of significant internal
damage or bleeding."  Hutch put an arm around Starsky's shoulders and moved in
close.  "How bad is the pain, buddy?  Be honest."

     "Not as bad as it was when I was shot, but worse than it usedta be when I'd
take a punch there before."

     "You took more than one punch, babe.  You got worked over pretty well. 
If there's any reason you feel like we need to go back to the hospital, I'd rather we
made a dry run on a false alarm than to ignore something that's hurting you."

     "I don't want dinner.  My stomach hurts.  Just...if you're hungry, babe, go
have somethin'.  When you get done, maybe...you could hold me for a while,
huh?"

     "I don't need to eat now, love.  We can--"

     "You're hungry, blondie.  Go get somethin' to eat, and take your time.  I'll
be here when you get back.  I promise."  Starsky smiled a little, and Hutch
nodded, and leaned in for a brief kiss.  

     "We'll see how you're feeling as the evening goes on.  If you feel worse,
we'll go back in and see what's up.  Don't be afraid, babe.  I'm right here."  

     "You always are."

     "Always will be.  Let me get you another pain pill, and then I'll grab a
quick bite to eat."

     "Okay."  

     Starsky dutifully took his medication and Hutch ate a small portion of the
casserole that some part of his brain registered was delicious.  He refrigerated the
rest, knowing Starsky would love it when he was feeling a little better.  The meal
was anything but enjoyable; all he could think of were those two big blue eyes
looking up at him and asking to be held.  He felt his heart being split in half at
denying that request for even a few minutes.  

     He cleaned up after his meal and found a small container of yogurt in the
refrigerator.  Starsky would eat almost none of the stuff, but he liked cherry. 
Maybe a little cuddling would soothe his bruised spirit, and a little yogurt would
go down easily on the bruised stomach.  Starsky's mouth also had to feel a bit the
worse for wear, and Hutch imagined that played some part in his disinterest in
eating chewy foods.

     Collecting his partner, he led him slowly up the stairs to the room that
held the brass bed.  Hutch felt, maybe more acutely than ever before, the uneasy
sense of separation.  He was still taking Starsky into his room, vs. him sleeping in
Starsky's room.  There was no "our" bedroom.  

     With Starsky sitting on the bed, Hutch pulled off his shoes and socks and
then went to work on his clothes.  There was no objection or fight that he could
do it himself, but just a sort of defeated compliance that made Hutch uneasy.  If
Starsky was anything, he was independent, and even when he'd been recovering
from the gunshot wounds, he'd been an argumentative patient who almost had to
be handcuffed to make him sit still and be dressed or bathed or otherwise assisted
with his personal needs.  

     "Into bed," Hutch said gently, pulling the covers up over Starsky, who had
been stripped to his underwear with little or no participation.  Hutch peeled off
his own clothes and dowsed the lights, turning on a small, dim lamp on the
dresser.  It was early, and a nocturnal run to the john was likely when you went to
bed at eight.  He got into bed and started moving pillows around.  When he was
propped up, he rested a hand on Starsky's shoulder.  "Come on, babe, sit up for
me, okay?"

     With a couple groans and a muffled curse, Starsky obeyed, and Hutch
guided him to lean back, his weight supported by Hutch's body, back to chest.  

     "I brought you some cherry yogurt, buddy.  You need to get something
down you tonight for food.  Try a few bites, huh?"

     "Yeah, okay."  Starsky took the container and started eating it with
complete disinterest, as if he were taking one more dose of medication.  The fact
he hadn't grumbled about the taste or made any attempt at conversation drove
home to Hutch, yet again, just how lousy his lover felt.  

     Starsky finished most of the yogurt and handed the container back.  

     "Okay, easy does it," Hutch said, guiding Starsky's position change until
he was resting on his less injured side.  Then he moved up behind Starsky,
spooning around him carefully, putting his arm around an unbruised area of
Starsky's body to cover his lover's hand with his own, lacing their fingers.  

     "Feels better with you close by," Starsky said in a voice that sounded
heavy with drowsiness, probably brought on by the pain medication.  

     "To me too, sweet love.  Go to sleep."  

     "Nice," Starsky sighed.  "Like that."  Hutch smiled, figuring Starsky must
have meant the love name.  It had just come out that way.  Starsky's love was the
sweetest thing in his life, and it just sounded right.
     
********

     It was the small hours of the morning when Hutch next rallied, and
Starsky was sleeping soundly in his arms.  He carefully slid out of the bed and
answered the call of nature, then went downstairs to check the doors and turn out
a couple of lights he'd left on earlier.  As he approached the kitchen to turn out
the small light over the sink, he paused when he heard a couple of odd noises, and
then voices.  

     Slipping back to the living room, he took the .38 revolver they kept in a
decorative box on the bookshelves.  With both of their guns usually upstairs with
the rest of their discarded clothing, it seemed wise to have something handy on
the first floor.  He left the light as it was, and approached the back door carefully,
easing it open just a crack.  He could see two figures hunched by the base of the
house, and a flare of flame as one of them lit something.  Flipping on the back
porch light, which easily illuminated the intruders as well, Hutch held the gun on
them.

     "Freeze, police!  Hands where I can see 'em.  Now!"  

     Both figures rose from their crouches and rested their hands against the
side of the house, one of them stamping out with his foot the item that had burned
briefly.  

     "Hutch?"  Starsky was in the kitchen, in his robe, gun in hand.

     "Call for back up.  We need a black and white over here to pick up a
couple of potential arsonists."

     "Shit."  Starsky made no more eloquent reply before placing the succinct
phone call.  He then joined Hutch outside, handing his partner one set of cuffs
while he used the others to restrain one of the two teenage boys.

     "You're real bright, sport.  Trying to burn down a cop's house," Hutch said,
turning one of them around and pushing him back against the house.  

     "You're not a cop--you're a faggot pig!"  the young man spat back,
righteous anger on his blemished teenage face.

     "You'd be real smart to shut up.  You're in enough trouble already,"
Starsky shot back, shoving his own prisoner roughly back against the house. 
"Arson is a felony, in case no one ever clued you two in.  Arson on a house where
two people are likely to be killed is attempted murder.  And you two are just old
enough that you'll probably be tried as adults, so if you think you're getting off
this with a couple weeks in juvie, you've got another thing coming."

     "Somebody roasts a couple of faggots, they get a medal," the first kid
retorted, his friend suitably intimidated--or possibly marginally more
intelligent--enough so not to make a response.  Just then, sirens became audible,
and before long, two uniformed officers made their way around the back of the
house as the lights went on in Connie and Tom's place, as well as in Muriel's
house and a couple other surrounding homes.  

     "Take these two downtown and book 'em on arson and attempted murder
charges.  You got a handkerchief on you?"  Hutch asked the younger of the two
officers.  

     "Yes, sir."  He produced one quickly, which Hutch used to  carefully pick
up the charred rag and the two spent matches on the ground next to it.  "Here." 
The officer handed him a plastic evidence bag, into which Hutch dropped the
items.  

     "Thanks.  I'll meet you downtown."

     "Right, Sergeant," the second officer responded as the two of them led
their prisoners toward the squad car.  

     "As soon is this is settled, we're sellin' this house."  Without further
comment, Starsky walked somewhat slowly back into the house, and Hutch
followed.  The phone was ringing, and he picked it up.  Not surprisingly, it was
Tom Stevens.  After briefly explaining what had happened, Hutch hung up again.  

     "I'll call Huggy to come over and--"

     "Baby sit?  No thanks.  I'm goin' with you downtown."

     "Like hell."

     "Don't start with me, Hutch.  I don't feel good enough to fight with you,
but I'm goin' downtown if I have to fucking walk."  The burst of temper seemed to
reverberate in Starsky's head as he put a hand up to his forehead.  

     "Babe, please, go back to bed.  Would you rather I just asked for a unit to
keep an eye on the house?"

     "Yeah.  I don't feel like talkin' to anybody."

     "Okay.  Look, I'll wrap things up as fast as I can and then I'll be home."

     "This ain't home, Hutch, and I don't wanna be here any longer than we
have to."  

     "We'll talk about it later."

     "Be careful, huh?"  Starsky looked at him worriedly.

     "I'll be fine."  He pulled his partner into a hug.  "Be patient with yourself,
babe.  You need to let that head injury have some time before you're back in
action."  Hutch stepped back.  "Besides, I can handle a couple of pimple-faced
brats on my own."
     
     "I'll give you good odds they're part'a the same clan as the folks Tom
found out about."

     "Wouldn't be surprised.  Get some rest.  I'll make sure a unit's watching
the house before I leave."

********

     Hutch walked into the interrogation room and stared at the teenager who
had almost set their house on fire.  At seventeen years old, and given the
seriousness of the crime, the DA planned to try him as an adult.  They'd gotten
that commitment by dragging the man out of bed in the small hours of the
morning and filling him in on the details of the case.  

     "You're in deep shit, Scott," Hutch said, using the young man's last name. 
"The DA's planning to try you as an adult.  Right now you're facing attempted
murder and arson charges."

     "I don't have to say nothin' to you.  I don't wanna be in the same room with
you."

     "You might as well drop that attitude, kid, because where you're going,
you're going to be in a very confined space with some guys who are a lot more
interested in your ass than I'll ever be."  Hutch opened the file he was carrying. 
"Your buddy decided to plead the Fifth--which is his right, as it is yours.  First one
to talk gets to make the deals."  Hutch closed the file again.  "Personally, I'd rather
see you both spend the rest of your worthless lives in prison, but the DA has
expressed an interest in getting testimony from one of you."

     "Like what?  That we were gonna burn down your house?"

     "Well, I had that one pretty well figured out all on my own," Hutch shot
back.  "Did you know we were in the house?"  

     The youth regarded him for a long moment, then hastened to add, "I know
my rights.  I don't want to answer any questions without my parents and a
lawyer."

     "Okay.  Actually, I'm relieved.  I was worried we'd have to make a deal,
and I'd rather see your ass in a cage where it belongs."  Hutch headed for the door,
only stopping when Foster mumbled a surly "fuck you" under his breath.  "No
thanks," Hutch retorted, slamming the door behind him on the way out of the
room.  

********

     Starsky eased himself back into bed, letting out a little groan at the pain
the movement caused.  He hadn't developed any interest in food, and his incision
was hurting like a son of a bitch.  Curling on the side that didn't have the cracked
ribs, he spied Hutch's robe tossed on the bed within his reach, and pulled it over
to him, resting his face against the soft terrycloth that smelled like his partner. 
He'd given himself plenty of internal pep talks--he'd been through worse things
than this, and after having his insides tossed around and stitched back together, it
wasn't surprising that someone pounding his mid-section with their fists wasn't
going to feel too great.  

     So why was the breath he finally expelled, shaky with tears?  Ridiculing
himself for that weakness, he pulled Hutch's robe closer and closed his eyes,
willing himself not to lie there and snivel.  He'd be feeling better in a few days,
they'd put the damn house on the market and move out.  But there was still the
issue of the PD.  Once they'd taken their badges back and jumped back in with
both feet, they'd embraced the whole lifestyle happily.  The shooting had made
them value what they had--their working partnership--even more than ever.  

     Now they were living a lie and still paying the price for it.  It was just a
matter of time before the hate escalated and erupted into something else, before
they called for back-up that didn't come, or someone did to Hutch what they'd
already done to Starsky.  Their home wasn't safe, their belongings weren't
safe--and worst of all, *they* weren't safe.  

     Giving up on all resolutions of control, Starsky indulged in the tears,
letting himself have the moment of utter pain and despair his soul seemed to
need.  He buried his face in the folds of Hutch's robe and let go of all the fear and
disappointment and uncertainty he felt.

********

     Hutch drove into the driveway and got out of the car.  Dobey had told him
to go home and stay there tomorrow, as it was already, in fact "tomorrow".  The
sun was not quite on the horizon when he let himself in and then locked the door
behind him.  Not sure if Starsky would be asleep or awake, he decided on the
stealthy approach, and headed for the stairs.  

     As soon as he was in the upstairs hallway, he paused, listening.  Then he
stood there a moment, closing his eyes against the raw pain in that sound.  Starsky
was crying with a sort of heartbreaking intensity that was almost physically
painful to hear.  When Hutch stood in the doorway of the room, he saw his lover
holding the robe close, sobbing into it.  

     "I'm here, babe.  I'm here," Hutch said softly, fitting himself onto the
mattress behind Starsky, wrapping his arms around him from behind. 
"Everything's gonna be okay, love.  I promise."  

     "I feel...like we're...backed...into a corner," Starsky choked out.

     "I know.  I do too.  I don't know yet how we're gonna fix it, but we will."

     "Didn't mean...to do this... in front'a you," Starsky managed, trying to
contain himself now.

     "Don't, baby.  Don't hide from me.  Just let it come out.  It's okay," Hutch
soothed, skimming his hand gently over Starsky's bruised chest and stomach.  "I
know you're hurting and I know you're scared.  I'm scared too."
     
     "I love ya with everything I got, but...I don't wanna...be the reason...you
get hurt.  Maybe you'd be better off if--"

     "Don't.  Don't even say it."  Hutch felt tears stinging his own eyes as he
rested his head against the soft, dark curls.  "If I lost you, I'd lose the best part of
myself.  You're my life, Starsk.  Being without you isn't an option."

     "Love you, you old blond blintz," Starsky responded, his voice still shaky.

     "Love you too, Gordo."  Hutch smiled and leaned forward to kiss Starsky's
cheek.  "Just rest a minute.  I'm gonna get undressed and join you.  Maybe we can
get a little sleep."

     "What happened with the kids?"  Starsky was swiping at his eyes now as
Hutch left the bed and started peeling off his clothes.  

     "One isn't talking--at first, both weren't--but then one of 'em snapped--after
his father and the lawyer got there--and in return for trying him as a juvenile, we
got the goods on the other kid, who was the brains and planning--and
hate--behind the deal.  The DA's going to try him as an adult for attempted
murder and arson.  You're gonna love this."  Hutch sat on the edge of the bed,
about to get in, facing his partner.  "They searched the kids' houses, and in the one
kid's garage, they found a sledge hammer with red paint on it.  The lab is
checking it against a pain sample from the Torino."

     "Were they the same ones Tom told us about?"

     "Yup."  Hutch got into bed and moved over until he was almost nose to
nose with Starsky.   "Actually, I think the father who showed up was more pissed
off the little bastard got caught than he was at what he was doing.  But then Tom
said the neighbors he talked to acted like the parents were behind the kids doing
what they did."  

     "It's really awful when you think about it.  Raisin' kids to be like that.  I
mean, kids can be anything--either one'a those kids coulda been somethin' great. 
Instead, they're a couple of hate-filled bigots who're gonna end up doin' time."

     "There's just no saving some kids--they're too far gone."

     "Yeah, I guess."  Starsky sighed.  "It took a long time before I got over
what happened with Lonnie Craig."

     "I know that, babe," Hutch responded gently.

     "I still think about him sometimes--y'know, that he'd be graduatin' from
college pretty soon, maybe have a girlfriend or a wife--maybe even kids.  Instead,
he's six feet under."

     "You did what you had to do, babe.  You didn't have a choice."
     
     "I know that.  It's not so much about blamin' myself anymore as it is just
feeling all this regret for what coulda been, for what was wasted."

     "At least Eunice did what she could for him--was a good mother.  These
other characters...  Their parents are raising them to be hate-mongers.  There's not
much hope to straighten kids out when they come out of that kind of
environment."  Hutch moved over to rest his forehead against Starsky's, and put
an arm around him, getting as close as he could without putting any pressure on
something bruised.  "Out of a whole neighborhood of people, these are two
families, babe.  That's not the same as the whole neighborhood hating us."

     "I guess I just feel cornered.  Here, at the PD...  It's not about the car or the
house or even about this," Starsky said, gesturing toward his bruised face.  "It's
about the day when they do somethin' we don't live through.  The day when we
call for back-up and it doesn't come because it's the two faggots who need help. 
It's about somebody doin' somethin' like these two half-wits tried to do, only you
don't happen to get up through the night and catch 'em.  Seems like before, when
we were in a jam, we had some kind of idea how to get out of it.  I'm fresh outta
ideas on this one."

     "Can't argue with you there, love.  I'm pretty tapped out in the way of ideas
myself."  They were quiet a few minutes, and Starsky's eyes drifted shut as he
snuggled a bit closer to Hutch.  "You want to quit the force?"

     "No.  But I don't wanna die for bein' there either.  If it's an either-or choice
between that and lovin' you, then Dobey can have my resignation any time."

     "I feel the same way.  It's not Dobey who wants our resignation, or even
wants to give us grief."

     "No, I know.  He's been great to us."  Starsky sighed, then winced at the
action.  "Keep forgettin' I can't do that," he said with a hint of a grin.  Hutch
smiled and leaned forward to lightly kiss the swollen mouth, which seemed a bit
less puffy.

     "I think the swelling's going down."

     "You better check it out again, just to make sure," Starsky teased, moving
closer.  Hutch launched a thorough investigation.

********

     Kevin Scott and Marvin Peterson were arraigned the next day.  Scott, the
older of the two youths who was the apparent "mastermind" behind the arson
plan, entered a not guilty plea, despite the impending testimony of his
companion--which had earned the younger boy a reprieve from the risk of being
tried as an adult.  After entering a plea of guilty, Marvin Peterson was sentenced
to a pre-agreed term of two years in a state juvenile facility and five years'
probation upon his release at the age of eighteen.  
     
     Despite his protests, Starsky was put on sick leave for ten days following
the beating, with his return to work pending the approval of his doctor, primarily
due to the initial seriousness of his head injury.  He still had headaches and his
healing ribs were sufficient to keep him from doing much of anything physical. 
Though he argued with being kept home to recuperate, he had to admit he didn't
feel good enough to do much else anyway.

     "I reckon tonight is a bit grim in the Scott and Peterson households,"
Hutch observed as he plugged in the Christmas tree lights.  "You sure you don't
want to go over to Huggy's for a while?"

     "You could go if you wanted to for a while.  I'll be okay here."

     "That'd be a lot of fun, Starsk.  I could drink a couple beers, stand around
with everyone but the person I want to be with while that person is sitting home
by himself."

     "I know I'm not a whole lotta fun tonight.  I just know I'm gonna get in
there with all'a the noise and the people and my head's gonna be pounding like
crazy."

     "Yeah, you're probably right.  What about Tom and Connie's?"

     "What about it?"  Starsky sighed.  "I know they're trying really hard to be
nice to us, but I don't want to go there either.  I just wanna spend Christmas Eve
on the couch with you.  So get your pretty blond ass over here, will ya?"

     "My *what*?"  Hutch challenged playfully.

     "You heard me," Starsky retorted, grinning defiantly.

     "My *pretty* blond ass?"

     "Would you rather I said your *ugly* blond ass?  It *is* a pretty blond ass. 
Even the hair on it is blond."  Starsky bit back an even bigger grin as Hutch
flushed crimson from his collar to his hairline.

     "For God's sake, Starsky," he muttered, dropping on the couch.

     "I love all'a your pretty blond hair," Starsky said, his voice getting a little
more serious as he slid his hand into Hutch's hair.  "You're so beautiful, babe. 
Just take my breath away.  You oughtta be out havin' a good time tonight, not
sittin' here with some guy with a face swollen up like the elephant man."

     "Your mouth's a little swollen and your eye's a little puffy yet, babe. 
You're not that bad," Hutch said with a little chuckle, leaning in to kiss the
swelling around Starsky's eye.  "You feel up to opening presents?"

     "I think I might be gettin' my second wind," Starsky responded, smiling
eagerly at the thought.  

     "I'll get the egg nog."

     "We've got egg nog?"

     "Special Hutchinson recipe egg nog."  Hutch got up and headed out to the
kitchen.  "Better open the gifts before you drink too much of this or you won't
have the coordination to handle the paper," Hutch joked.  

     While Hutch was busy in the kitchen preparing his potion, the front
doorbell rang.  Hoping it wasn't their well-intentioned neighbors coming to drag
him out to a party he didn't feel up to attending, Starsky pulled himself up off the
couch and made his way to the door.  He opened it to see a middle-aged woman
standing there whom he didn't recognize.

     "Detective Starsky?"  she asked.

     "Yes?"

     "I'm Jane Peterson."  She took in a nervous breath.  "Marvin's mother.  I...I
have something for you."  She held out a white business envelope, which Starsky
took.  "I know it doesn't atone for what Marvin did, but maybe it'll help toward
repairs on your car or something.  I cleaned out Marvin's savings account.  He had
saved to buy a car for himself this year, but I think it's fitting that it be used to pay
for what he did to yours."

     "This isn't necessary, Mrs. Peterson--"

     "I think it is.  I can't tell you how ashamed I am of what he's gotten
involved in, the way his father has shoved so much hate down his throat all these
years...  Anyway, please use the money to fix the damage he and his friend did to
your car."

     "Thank you.  I will."  Starsky said, looking in the envelope at the check for
$1,527.  "I really appreciate the gesture, as well as the money.  My insurance
company totaled it out, and I was short about two thousand to fix it.  I should
probably scrap it, but I really love that car," he admitted, smiling.

     "I heard about what happened--that you'd had some other problem with
being beaten up.  I hope you're all right, and I want to apologize again for
Marvin's part in all this.  Maybe this...time away will be good for him.  I'm going
to see to it he gets some decent counseling."

     "Your husband is behind that?"

     "My husband is in San Diego living with his sister.  We're getting a
divorce."

     "I'm sorry."

     "I'm not.  I'm only sorry I waited so long, and for what it cost Marvin."

     "If you need anything..."  Starsky shrugged.  "You know, without your
husband around, if you need help with anything, let us know."

     "That's a very kind offer.  Thank you," she replied, smiling slightly.  She
extended her hand.  "I hope someday that Marvin will come to you with an
apology, but hopefully this one will do in the meantime."

     "Most definitely."  Starsky shook the outstretched hand.  "Are you sure
you won't need this money with the divorce and everything?"

     "I want you to have it.  I have to be going.  My parents are here for
Christmas, so I should get back home.  I hope you're able to have a pleasant
holiday."

     "Thanks.  I know yours is probably pretty rough, but the same to you."

     "Thank you.  Good night."  She turned and started down the front steps.

     "Good night.  Thanks," he said again, watching her walk down the
sidewalk.  

     "Starsk?"  Hutch was back in the living room now, and Starsky shut and
locked the door and rejoined him there.  

     "That was Marvin Peterson's mother.  She brought me this."  He handed
Hutch the envelope with the check in it.

     "Wow.  Why?"

     "Restitution for the car.  She cleaned out Marvin's savings account--he
was saving for a car.  I guess she thought it would be a good lesson to him, and
she also wanted to make things right.  Seemed like a nice lady.  Said she's
divorcing her jerk husband."

     "Good idea.  Too bad she didn't do it ten years ago, before her kid turned
into a twisted bigot."  Hutch laid the envelope on the coffee table.  "I'm glad you
got the money, babe.  You're pretty well set to have Merle go ahead and fix the
car."

     "Yeah, I'll call him day after tomorrow."  Starsky sat on the couch again,
wincing a little at the movement.  "Nice to know that not everybody thinks I got
what I had coming," he said, looking at the envelope.  Then he looked up at
Hutch.  "You, uh, wanna go next door for a few minutes?"

     "You feel up to it?"  Hutch asked, but the little note of hope was plain in
his voice.  That was enough for Starsky.

     "Sure.  I'll be okay as long as we don't stay too long.  My head's feelin'
better.  Maybe we can just go in a few minutes."

     "Great.  Let's get changed, and I'll find something to take over there."

     "Huh?"

     "Back home, we always bought at least three or four gifts to keep on hand
in case we had to go someplace and needed one.  I guess old habits die hard.  I
usually do the same thing."  Hutch started up the steps, then paused to take a hold
of Starsky's arm, though he didn't really need the support to make the slow ascent. 


     "I didn't know that."

     "Neutral stuff--you know, some wine, or candy, or some sort of box of
cheeses or something."

     "Sounds like some sorta hint you'd get in one'a those women's magazines."

     "Yeah, well, I guess it probably *was* my mother's idea, but it seems like
every year, I use 'em up on somebody.  Well, last year, you and I ate the box of
assorted meat and cheese Christmas Day while we watched all those movies on
TV."

     "Hey, maybe we oughtta do that tomorrow--watch a bunch of old movies
and make out on the couch."

     "I like that last part best of all."  Hutch paused in the upstairs hall and slid
his arms around his lover.  "I love you."

     "I know you do.  I love you too, blondie."  Starsky pulled Hutch into a hug,
as tightly as he could manage without putting too much pressure on his ribs.  

     Tom and Connie's house was brightly decorated with colored lights, and
the Christmas tree was visible in the large front window.  There were several cars
parked on the street, though many of the guests were within walking distance in
the neighborhood.  Feeling a little awkward at best, Hutch rang the doorbell and
waited for a response, stealing a nervous glance back at Starsky.

     "If things don't go well, we'll just go home, babe," Starsky said calmly. 
Despite the smudges of bruising and the slight swelling still visible on his face,
Hutch couldn't help but gaze at his partner just a little too long.  He was wearing a
bright red sweater with just the hint of a white shirt collar visible under the crew
neck.  Red was most definitely Starsky's color.  Starsky had chosen Hutch's outfit
himself, insisting that Hutch wear the forest green corduroy shirt, lamenting the
fact it was the only "Christmas color" he could find in his lover's wardrobe.  

     "Ken, Dave, you made it!"  Connie greeted enthusiastically, ushering them
into the house.  

     "Hi, Connie.  I was feelin' a little better, so we decided to take you up on
your invitation."

     "This is for you and Tom," Hutch handed over what was obviously a
wrapped bottle of wine.  The box of meat and cheeses had been reserved for the
next day's orgy of movies, food and each other.  

     "You didn't have to bring anything, but thanks," she said, smiling brightly. 
"Come on in and meet everybody."

     With those words began a flurry of introductions of names and faces that
neither would be able to effectively match up later.  Of the people who were
neighborhood residents, most were as friendly as the Stevens were, though there
were one or two icily polite responses.  With the exception of Tom and Connie,
no one had been given confirmation of their relationship, but a few people still
seemed intent on giving them the cold shoulder based on Muriel's
rumor-spreading and the arrest of two neighborhood teenagers for the vandalism
and attempted arson.  

     Though his head was starting to pound again and his bruised body was
losing what little spurt of energy it had started out with, Starsky enjoyed watching
his lover "work the room."  Hutch was as charming as he was handsome, and if
his privileged upbringing had left him with anything, it was the ability to mingle
in a social gathering as if he owned the place.  Starsky, on the other hand, still
preferred to seek out a comfortable spot near the hors d'eouvres until he assessed
his fellow party-goers a bit more carefully.  There he met a pleasant,
good-looking black man with a close-trimmed mustache and short hair, dressed in
a red shirt and jeans.  

     "You know what those things are?"  he asked Starsky, pointing at a plate
that held an odd-looking type of food ball.  

     "I think Connie said it was a crab puff," Starsky responded, taking a drink
of the beer Tom had served to several of their guests a few minutes earlier.  

     "So much for that.  I'm allergic to shellfish.  Thanks, man."  The other
laughed a bit, taking a few pieces of cheese and a couple crackers on his plate. 
"I'm Keith Young," he said, holding out his hand.

     "Dave Starsky."  Starsky shook the outstretched hand.  

     "Oh, right--you're Tom and Connie's neighbors over on that side, right?" 
he said, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder in the right direction.

     "That's us.  My partner and I," Starsky said, nodding toward where Hutch
was talking with Tom, Connie and another man Starsky didn't recognize.  He
figured that any moment, Hutch would feel guilty for ditching him at the food
table, and rejoin him, but letting Hutch get out and enjoy himself a little had been
Starsky's main reason for going out at all.  He'd told Hutch he was feeling a little
tired and was going to sit a while, and encouraged him to go on his way.  Now,
Keith occupied the other chair closest to the food.

     "What's happening with the Canfield thing anyway?  That was a horrible
shock.  Not the kind of thing you expect your neighbors to be doing.  We live next
door to Donna and Mikey.  Nice little kid," he said sadly, shaking his head.  

     "Well, Donna pleaded not guilty and is in jail awaiting trial, but then you
probably read that in the paper," Starsky responded.

     "Right, we did.  That's my wife over there," Keith pointed out a pretty
young blonde woman in a figure-hugging dark blue dress.

     "Pretty lady," Starsky said, smiling.

     "You can imagine we're about as popular around here as you are," Keith
said, laughing.  

     "People been giving you trouble?"

     "Not openly.  It's a little weird, but besides Tom and Connie, the only
people around here who ever socialized with us were Donna and Wade.  He's kind
of a jerk, actually, but he seemed to be pretty good with the boy."  

     "I was pretty nervous about coming in here tonight.  I didn't want another
scene, and most of all, I didn't want to put Tom and Connie in the middle of it."

     "Hey, I heard about those two kids trying to torch your house.  That's bad
news, man."

     "You're tellin' me.  If Hutch hadn't gotten up for some reason in the middle
of the night and gone downstairs, we wouldn't be here."

     "Glad you caught the little bastards."

     "Well, the Scott kid is out on bail pending his trial."

     "Great."  Keith was quiet a moment.  "I'm just gonna go ahead and be
nosy.  What the hell happened to your face?"  The blunt question made Starsky
laugh a little, despite the discomfort in his ribs. 

     "I got beaten up in the police garage.  Great ad for 'protect and serve',
huh?"

     "Because of what's going on with your personal life?  That's lousy," Keith
assessed, shaking his head.

     "The only thing IA cares about is whether or not the guys who beat me up
were right about us.  The fact someone committed a felonious assault on PD
property is sort of a footnote to them."

     "That stinks."

     "Hutch thinks I'm being a little pessimistic about it--IA really hasn't called
us in for anything, but then it's only been a few days."

     "How'd your families handle things?  You can tell me to butt out if you
want, but we've had some problems with my folks.  I kept expecting Jenny's
family to be the ones who had the problems, but my parents reacted worse than
they did."

     "Hutch's family doesn't know.  I called my Ma not long after we got
together and talked to her.  She took it all right, but I know she feels a little weird
about it.  Where I grew up, us bein' together's not only a sin but a hanging
offense."

     "Sounds familiar."  Keith finished off the last of his snacks.  "We ought to
get together sometime--have some kind of cookout or something--you and us and
the Stevens."

     "Great idea."

     "Nice talking to you, Dave."  As Keith rose, he shook hands with Starsky
again.  "We've been here quite a while, so I think I'll go get my wife so we can go
home.  We're supposed to be at her folks' place bright and early in the morning for
Church."

     "Nice meeting you, Keith.  Merry Christmas."

     "Same to you, thanks," he responded, heading over to his wife.  As if on
cue, Starsky's blond other half joined him, occupying Keith's vacated chair.

     "Ready to go home, babe?"  he asked Starsky, resting a hand on Starsky's
knee.

     "Yeah, my head's hurtin' a little."

     "Who was that?"  Hutch asked, inclining his head toward Keith and his
wife, as they said their good-bye's to the hosts and left the party.

     "Keith and Jenny Young.  They live right behind Tom and Connie--next
door to the Canfield house."

     "Oh.  Seemed like a pleasant guy."

     "Yeah.  He thought we should all have a cook out or somethin'."

     "I don't know about you, but I feel a little better about things after coming
over here tonight."

     "Nobody stoned us, so that's a start," Starsky responded, smiling.  "Lighten
up, babe, I'm kidding," he added, taking in Hutch's grim expression.  

     "Some people were actually pretty nice.  Tom introduced me to a couple
of other neighbors, and some other friends of theirs.  You were visiting with
Keith, so I didn't interrupt you, and I figured you might not feel up to a bunch
more introductions after that flurry Connie put us through when we got here,"
Hutch added, smiling.

     "I think I'm all smiled out for a few hours.  Let's go home, huh?"

     After making their exit and thanking their hosts, Starsky and Hutch made
their way somewhat tiredly back to their own place, shared a surprisingly
perfunctory shower together and donned robes.  Hutch's suggestion that they open
a couple of gifts in bed and leave the rest until morning won points with Starsky,
so they discarded the robes and slid into the comfort of the big brass bed, a few
brightly wrapped packages on the blanket.  

     "Here, babe, take a couple of these."  Hutch handed Starsky two Tylenol
and some water.

     "I won't be awake long at this rate," he said, hesitating.

     "Something tells me you'll stay conscious to open the presents.  But your
head's gotta be pounding by now."

     "Yeah, it's not too great," Starsky admitted, downing the pills with the
water, handing the glass back to his partner.  He leaned back on the pillows they'd
piled up behind them.  "This one's for you," he said, handing Hutch a package
about the size of a shirt box.

     Hutch smiled and started tearing into it, tossing the paper aside and
opening the box.  As he parted the tissue, he found himself looking at a black silk
shirt.  The fabric was so soft, so exquisite, that he felt almost uneasy touching it.  

     "Starsk, it's...incredible."  Hutch lifted it out of the box and felt it flow
almost like liquid in his hand.  "This had to cost a small fortune," he said, unable
to help commenting on the quality of the garment.  "It's almost too good to wear."

     "You're beautiful, darlin'.  You oughtta have a whole closet full'a clothes
better than that.  But it's a start."  Starsky smiled affectionately at his lover. 
"Nothin's too good for you."  

     "I love it.  Thank you."  Hutch leaned over for a kiss, which was returned
eagerly.  "You're next."  He handed Starsky a slightly heavy, mid-sized box.  With
characteristic enthusiasm, Starsky tore into the package, and froze when he saw
that it was a cassette tape deck for a car.  There was an envelope taped to the top
of it.  

     "I don't understand--"

     "Open the envelope, and you'll understand, babe," Hutch said, watching
his partner anxiously.  Starsky did as directed, and his eyes widened when he
pulled out a cashier's check for $2,000.

     "You can't...we can't...Hutch..."

     "Mrs. Peterson brought over a lot of what you'll need to get the basic
repairs done.  Now you can forget about getting a reconditioned engine.  You get
the top of the line, brand new."

     "But now that I've got her money, you could take most'a this back, and I--"

     "Starsk, you love that car.  And I love it because you love it, and because
the damn thing reminds me of you.  So take the money, and when Merle fixes it
up, you have him put the best of everything into it--top of the line."

     "Where'd you get this much money?"

     "I sold a couple stocks," Hutch said, shrugging.

     "Hutch, you saved and saved and played with those stocks to build up
what you had.  I...I can't take this..."

     "Starsky, I'm in bed with the best investment I ever made.  The rest of it's
just paper, and if it makes you happy, then it's serving a better purpose than it was
locked in a file drawer.  Get the Tomato fixed up to your heart's desire."

     "I love you, you know."

     "I know," Hutch responded, smiling, happily collecting the hugging and
kissing the gift earned him.  

     "Okay, your turn again."  

     Starsky picked up one of the final two packages, a small box wrapped in
silver foil with a red ribbon tied around it.  Hutch thought it looked suspiciously
like a ring box.  Opening it carefully, he found himself holding a small, burgundy
velvet hinged box.

     "Starsk...what is this?"  he asked, his voice a little strained.

     "Usually, you open the box when you wanna find out."  Starsky was
grinning, snuggling close to Hutch's shoulder while he opened the top of the box. 
Inside was a silver man's ring, with a blue topaz cabochon in the middle.  "It's
almost the same color as those beautiful blue eyes'a yours, baby blue," Starsky
teased, kissing Hutch's shoulder.  "You can wear it on your right hand, if you
wanna be sure nobody suspects anything.  But at least when you look at it, you'll
know it's from me...and that I love ya with all my heart.  Look on the inside."

     Hutch swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at the shiny underside
of the ring.  In small script, the engraved message read "With all my heart. S"

     "I just had 'em put the initial on there, in case, y'know, anybody ever saw
it.  You could say it was from an old girlfriend or somethin'."  Starsky's tone was
light and he didn't seem inordinately upset with the notion that Hutch might
someday lie about the ring's origin.  Somehow the thought of denying anything
about the gift broke Hutch's heart.  He pulled his lover into his arms and held him
as tightly as he dared without hurting him.  

     "It's beautiful, Starsk.  God, I love you so much."  

     "It wasn't supposed to make you cry, sweetheart," Starsky said gently, his
hand caressing Hutch's hair lightly.  "I just wanted you to have somethin' you
could always look at and know that no matter what time'a the day or night it was,
I was thinkin' about you and that I loved you."

     "Oh, babe.  I'd never say it was from somebody else.  It means too much to
me."

     "Just make sure nobody but you reads the back then, okay?  I don't want
you gettin' hurt over it."

     "I'll be careful."  Hutch kissed Starsky's temple and continued to hold him
close.  "Nobody ever loved me like you do."

     "Then they were missin' out."  Starsky pulled back enough for a kiss, then
rested his forehead against Hutch's.  "Try it on, huh?  Let me see it on you?"

     "You do it."  Hutch handed him the ring, and held out his left hand.
     
     "It's too risky, darlin'."  Starsky took the left hand and kissed the top of the
ring finger.  "Give me your right hand."  Seeing Hutch's somewhat defeated look,
Starsky smiled.  "I know where you wanna wear it, and that means everything to
me.  But you bein' safe means more.  If you wear it on this hand, nobody'll think
much about it.  But we'll know."

     "What's the line of that old song?  'I love you twice as much as
yesterday--'"

     "'...but only half as much as tomorrow'?"  Starsky finished, grinning.

     "Yeah, that's the one."

     "Me too, babe," Starsky confirmed, slipping the ring into place easily on
Hutch's hand.  "Perfect."

     "My thought exactly," Hutch said, looking directly at Starsky before
homing in for another kiss.  "Hey, you've got one more present coming," he said,
handing the final box to Starsky.  His heart felt a bit heavy at having presented
Starsky with a watch when Starsky had bought him a ring, but he hoped his
partner's perennial enthusiasm for gadgets, and the watch's inscription, would
make up for it.

     "You shouldn't'a gotten me anything else with the tape deck and the
money, babe."  Starsky smiled, tearing into the package.  "But I'm glad you did." 
His eyes bugged a little when he saw the gold embossed brand name on the watch
box.  "Yamamoto?  Hutch...this isn't what I think it is?"

     "Depends on what you think it is, Gordo."

     "But...they're...geez, what'd you do, sell a kidney to buy my Christmas
presents this year?"  Starsky asked, and Hutch laughed out loud.  

     "Well, I had two..."  Hutch shrugged.

     "Yeah, but I might need a spare someday."

     "Can't tell time with a kidney."

     "Accordin' to you, you can't tell time with one'a these, either."

     "Does it matter?"  Hutch asked, chuckling a little.

     "No," Starsky admitted, smiling as he opened the box and drank in the
sight of the overpriced watch with all its gadgets.  "There're even more features
on these new ones--and you got me a digital one!"  Starsky pressed the right
button and the digital display glowed before them.  He proceeded to try every
button on the watch in infinite combinations, producing all sorts of data no one
human being could possibly need to know on a given day.  

     "Look on the back, babe."  Hutch watched as Starsky turned it over and
read the inscription there.

     "Me and thee always. Love, Hutch," Starsky read.

     "I guess I wasn't as discrete as you were.  If you don't think it's safe, you
can just wear it once in a while and not all the time."

     "Hutch, it's perfect.  I'm gonna put it on and wear it all the time.  And this
watch doesn't say nothin' we wouldn't've said five years ago."
     "You're right there, babe," Hutch agreed, sliding his arm around Starsky,
who leaned against him as he put the watch on and modeled it ostentatiously.  

     "I love it, Hutch.  I've wanted one'a these *forever*.  But I love most what
it says on it."  He paused.  "Merry Christmas, darlin'."

     "Happy Hanukkah, love.  That was supposed to be your present for the last
night, but when everything went crazy with the case and everything else, things
just moved too fast."

     "I think this is the best Hanukkah and Christmas I ever had in my whole
life."

     "Me too."  Hutch smiled happily, starting to remove some of the pillows
from behind them.  "Your eyes are looking droopy, babe.  Time to get some sleep. 
You still need to take it easy."

     "Long as I get to wear my watch to bed."

     "I'm not taking my ring off--ever."

     "Good."  Starsky waited until Hutch turned off the light and slid down in
the bed.  They found their comfortable positions spooned together, Starsky lying
on his least-bruised side with Hutch wrapped around him.  

     "Starsk...I...I wanted to get you something more...something like
a...a...w-wedding r-ring, but I...I was afraid."

     "Hey."  Starsky reached behind him to stroke Hutch's face lightly.  "You
don't ever have to be so nervous to say somethin' to me that you stutter.  I love
you and I love the watch.  And it's smarter--you gettin' a watch and me gettin' a
ring--this way, we can both wear the presents that are sort of our...*commitment*
jewelry, and nobody'll notice much of anything.  But if we'd both gotten rings,
with everything that's happening...it wouldn't've been too smart."

     "I s'pose not."  Hutch kissed the palm of the hand on his face, and Starsky
withdrew it with a smile and settled in for sleep.  "Relax, sweet love.  Go to
sleep."

     "You want me to set my watch for morning?"

     "Not tonight, babe," Hutch said, laughing.  "Tomorrow night.  But
tomorrow morning, we sleep in."

     "Okay, but remind me tomorrow night," Starsky slurred sleepily, the
painkillers doing their work.

     "Promise."  Hutch smiled as he felt the last residual tension in Starsky's
body ease with the relaxation of sleep.  The little lines of pain in his face from the
headache would be gone now, and his breathing was deep and even, despite the
sore ribs.  Hutch smiled, and giving in to his own fatigue, nestled close to his
lover's warmth and slept.

********  

     Something jerked Hutch out of his sound sleep with a start.  As soon as
he'd come fully awake, he found Starsky sitting up in bed, holding onto his side,
breathing heavily.

     "Starsk?  What is it, babe?"  He sat up and put his arm around bare
shoulders that were damp with sweat.  

     "I remembered something...it was a dream, but I remembered something
about what happened in the garage."

     "What did you remember?"  Hutch asked gently, his hand rubbing
Starsky's shoulder, hoping to relax the rapid breathing that was tormenting the
cracked ribs.

     "Simonetti was there."

     "What?!"  Hutch's eyes bulged, and he felt himself almost go weak with
shock.  The thought of IA orchestrating this was...well, unthinkable.  "Are you
sure?"

     "Right before...before everything went *black*...somebody said somethin'. 
I can't remember what it was he said, but it was Simonetti's voice.  It's real
distinctive--I'd know it anywhere.  He said somethin' to the other two
guys...Hutch, I think he was the one hittin' me.  There were two holding me, and
one doing most of the punching."  Starsky ran a hand over his face.  "The one
doing the hitting was Simonetti."

     "How do you know that if he didn't say anything until near the end?"  

     "It was where he was standin'.  The others were on either side, but he was
right face to face with me--only I had this...*thing* over my head...I don't know if
it was a blanket or a piece of clothing or what--I just know it was dark and I
couldn't see through it, and somehow they kept it around my head enough while I
was gettin' worked over that the only thing I saw was somebody's brown
boots--and those weren't on Simonetti, they were on the guy on my left."

     "My God."  Hutch let out a long breath.

     "You believe me, don't you?"  Starsky asked, sounding a little panicked.

     "Of course I believe you, babe," Hutch assured.  "I just can't believe IA set
this up."

     "IA?  IA didn't beat me up, Hutch.  Simonetti did.  He's been wantin' a
piece'a me ever since I knocked him on his sorry ass in Dobey's office--and ended
up just getting a written-up incident on my record and no disciplinary action.  He
was so pissed off about that I thought he was gonna try somethin' at the time."

     "You seriously think he's still holding a grudge for that?"

     "Oh yeah, he's holdin' a grudge all right.  We're not exactly pals, Hutch. 
And this isn't the first time he's made some sorta suggestion that you and I were
more than partners."

     "Wait a minute--when did that happen?"

     "When I was followin' them around--the day Van died.  I kept askin'
Dobey about us gettin' copies of everything he was doing, and Dobey was bugging
Simonetti's boss, and I ran into Simonetti in the hallway, and he said somethin'
real sarcastic, like...'your devotion is really touching, Starsky--as passionate as a
lover's, actually'.  And then he walked away.  I'd already decked him once, so
doin' it again seemed redundant.  Ever since then, we've been kind of glaring at
each other and not speaking--not that we ever did before."

     "So this would be the perfect opening to make an issue out of our
relationship."

     "Sure.  I get beaten up in the PD garage and somebody calls me a faggot. 
That makes whether or not I'm sleepin' with you an official *issue*--even if they
didn't throw us off the force for being gay, which they might, they'd split us up
because partners aren't supposed to be in love with each other or married."

     "That son of a bitch."  Hutch got out of bed and started pacing.  "If what
you're saying is true, Starsk--we can turn this thing around on him.  We know he's
harboring a grudge against you, and you can ID his voice--so suddenly your
sexual orientation isn't the issue, but the fact that *IA* beat you up, is."

     "The only one I can ID is Simonetti, and that's a voice ID.  Plus, bein' I
didn't remember it at first, it might not hold up in court."

     "You know damn well that where Simonetti goes, Dryden follows."

     "Dryden may be an asshole, but I don't know if he's a felon."  Starsky
slumped back in bed.  "Man, this is about as sticky as it gets."

     "We need to talk to Dobey.  Let him know what you remember.  Get some
guidance on how to proceed with this."  Hutch sat on the foot of the bed, his back
to Starsky.  

     "No matter what we do, they're gonna make an issue out of the whole gay
thing.  You know that, right?"

     "Not if we give 'em a bigger issue to deal with--and not if Simonetti had
already made a remark at you about that years ago."

     "If somebody asks me under oath of I'm in love with you, or if we're
sleepin' together, I don't wanna lie about it."  Starsky shook his head slightly. 
"Not sure I could if I wanted to."

     "Maybe it won't come to that, if we can deflect the issue.  I mean, even if
Simonetti rants that he did it because he thinks we're lovers, then he should have
investigated us through proper channels--not beaten you up in the garage."

     "Probably just delaying the inevitable," Starsky said dismally.  "If we
managed to nail Simonetti, and deflect the nasty questions this time out, I think
you and I both know that IA would just pick up the gauntlet and investigate us."

     "Maybe, maybe not.  Depends on how much bad publicity they can take."

     "Meaning what?"

     "Suppose someone leaked to the press that a cop got beaten up in the PD
garage?  You know how closely they'd follow that story."

     "Yeah, and then we'd be all over the papers."

     "Right, but so would you identifying Simonetti.  The pressure'd be on for
them to do something about him--to satisfy the public opinion.  While there are a
lot of bigots out there, there are a lot of people who wouldn't take kindly the idea
that based on an allegation with no proof behind it, some guy from IA took it on
himself to beat another officer to the point of being hospitalized with a
concussion."

     "I don't know.  I think the whole business with the press could backfire on
us.  We're gettin' it from all sides, babe.  From the PD, from the neighbors... 
Telling the press is just gonna open us up to every crazy in town who hates gays."

     "You're probably right."  

     "Let's talk to Dobey after Christmas."

     "After Christmas, my ass.  This is urgent."

     "Let him enjoy the holiday, Hutch.  Simonetti's not goin' anywhere, and
neither are we."

     "Okay.  But first thing the day after, we're going into his office."

     "Agreed."  

     "How's your head?"

     "Hurts," Starsky admitted softly, shifting onto his side.  "My heart was
really pounding when I woke up.  Feels like it goes straight up to my head."  

     "How about taking something else?"

     "The pain pills make me nauseous.  I'd take some more Tylenol though."

     "Okay."  Hutch doled out the pills and water, then set the glass aside as
Starsky writhed around and sought a position that didn't put an unpleasant
pressure on something.  Once he was still again, Hutch leaned down and kissed
his forehead.  "I'm going to fucking kill Simonetti the next time I see him."

     "As much as I'd like to see that," Starsky said with a little grin, "I don't
wanna be reduced to annual conjugal visits in a dirty trailer.  He's not worth it."

     "Don't worry about Simonetti.  Don't worry about IA or the press or
anything else, babe.  Just rest.  Everything'll work out okay somehow."  Hutch
stretched out next to Starsky and took his hand, kissing the back of it.  "We'll
make it work out."

     "Long as I got you, I'm okay," Starsky said tiredly, smiling a little as he
felt Hutch moving in closer to spoon around him again.  

     "You've always got me.  You lucky devil."  Hutch chortled a little, and
Starsky grinned.

     "Really," he agreed.

********

     After a peaceful Christmas Day of overeating on snacks, leftovers and
other generally unhealthy junk food and working their way through most of the
beer supply, the 26th dawned with a certain foreboding and heaviness.  Leveling
accusations of aggravated assault against one of the chief detectives in Internal
Affairs was no small item, and given the over-activity of the rumor mill in recent
weeks, it was bound to direct unwelcome scrutiny in their own direction. 
Nonetheless, they were in Dobey's office bright and early.

     "I thought I told you to stay on sick leave until your next check-up,"
Dobey admonished Starsky as he eased himself into a chair across from the
captain's desk.

     "We're not here to work, Captain.  We're here about Starsky's case," Hutch
said, sitting down himself now.

     "Well?"  Dobey prodded.

     "I know who worked me over.  At least, I know who did the actual
beating.  There were three of them, two holding me, like I told you, and all I
remember about them is that one was wearing brown boots.  But...I remember the
voice of the guy who was delivering the blows.  It was Simonetti."

     "Simonetti?  Internal Affairs Simonetti?"  Dobey's eyes widened. 
"Starsky, I know you two aren't exactly good friends, but I'm having a little
trouble buying that he'd lie in wait for you and work you over in the garage. 
Why?  Why now?"

     "I don't know, Cap'n.  I can't *justify* why he wanted to beat the hell out
of me.  I just know he did it.  I'd know his voice anywhere.  It just took some time
to remember it because I heard him talking right before I hit my head.  I knew
there was something I couldn't pin down, but it wasn't until the night before last
that it fell into place what it was."

     "These are serious charges, Starsky.  Are you absolutely positive--"

     "Just because we've locked horns with Simonetti and his puppet, Dryden,
doesn't mean we'd be out to get them this way," Hutch spoke up.  "We've got no
reason to make trouble for them now."

     "Why would he do it?  Tell me that."

     "I don't know," Starsky responded.  "To get back at me because all I got
was a slap on the wrist for knocking him on his ass.  Maybe because he's heard
the rumors and this would be a real good time to go after us--to focus the
attention on whether or not there was anything goin' on between Hutch and me
by...*creating* this whole thing as some sort of...*hate* crime because of the
rumors.  To make me get up on a witness stand and say under oath whether or not
I'm sleeping with my partner."

     "That could still happen."

     "If the charges were against Simonetti for aggravated assault, that would
be an irrelevant and inappropriate question--from IA or a defense lawyer," Hutch
spoke up.  "Even if Starsky were having affairs with every guy in the department,
that wouldn't justify Simonetti beating him up.  You can't justify aggravated
assault with pointing fingers at the victim's lifestyle."

     "That might be true in court, but you know damn well IA's going to be all
over it."

     "They are anyway, Cap'n.  It's just a matter'a time, and you know it." 
Starsky ran a hand over his face tiredly.  "I'm not goin' down without taking
Simonetti with me."

     "You put together a statement, and sign it, and we'll get a warrant for his
arrest," Dobey said matter-of-factly.  "Meanwhile, I'm going upstairs to talk to the
Chief, let him know what's going down."

     "Much as I don't like Simonetti, I'm sorry you're gettin' stuck in the middle
again," Starsky said to Dobey, who actually smiled a little.

     "I'm more than happy to be in the middle of busting a dirty cop.  You go
put that statement together, and we'll nail that turkey."  Rising, Dobey headed out
of his office, presumably to see the Chief.

     "Why do I feel like I just strapped myself in for one hell of a rollercoaster
ride?"  Starsky asked somewhat rhetorically, staring at Dobey's vacated desk.

     "Well, hold onto the crash bars, buddy.  We might get through this one
yet."  

********

     There was a considerable commotion around the precinct as word spread
that Simonetti was approached in his office by Dobey, Hutch and a uniformed
officer, placed under arrest and hauled downstairs for booking on assault charges. 
An attorney arrived mere minutes later, demanding to review the evidence, which
consisted of Starsky's signed statement.  As Hutch was getting ready to go collect
his partner, who had been left with some paperwork at his desk since he was still
officially on sick leave, Bill Seymour, the detective on the arson-attempted
murder case involving the two teenagers, approached Hutch in the hallway. 
Losing that case due to their personal involvement as the victims hadn't gone over
well with either detective, but at the same time, neither could really argue that
victims should handle their own investigations.  

     "Something you might find of interest," he said, handing Hutch a
computer print-out.  "Bank account information on one of your firebugs."

     "Made a deposit of $500 the day before Starsky's car was trashed, and
another $500 deposit the day before the arson attempt."

     "Looks like somebody else might be out to get you guys--maybe these kids
are just hired guns.  I talked to Mrs. Peterson--this is Marvin Peterson's bank
statement--and she said she was stunned at how much money her son had
managed to accrue in the bank account.  Last time they talked about it, he only
had a few hundred saved.  She said she gave the balance, which was over $1,500,
to Starsky."

     "Yeah, she brought it over Christmas Eve and apologized.  Starsky tried to
give it back to her, but she wanted to make restitution for what her son had done."

     "Kind of amusing in an ironic sort of way, isn't it?  Somebody pays to do
the damage and Starsky ends up with the money?"

     "He'll appreciate that thought, all right," Hutch said, chuckling.  "But the
money'll go back into evidence if it's ill-gotten, which it probably is.  Did Scott
have a bank account?"

     "No, but we did find over $700 in an old sock stuck under his
mattress--and a new stereo in his bedroom.  My guess would be each kid got
$1,000 for their trouble.  Driscoll and I are working on it, but we thought you'd
want to know," he concluded, referring to his partner.
     
     "Thanks.  I do.  I've got a couple ideas I might look into myself, if you
guys are agreeable to me playing in your sandbox."  He handed the file back to
Seymour.

     "Not a problem.  Just keep us posted on what you're up to and what you
find out so we don't screw each other up."

     "Will do.  Thanks."  Hutch headed into the squad room to update Starsky. 
He found his partner much as he'd left him, nursing a bottle of root beer and
pecking at the typewriter.  He looked up when Hutch entered the room, visibly
relieved.  

     "You didn't beat up on Simonetti, did ya?"  he asked a little warily.

     "No, I'm sorry to say, I didn't.  You'll be interested to know that the son of
a bitch's knuckles were bruised on his right hand."

     "Can't say that surprises me much.  Bet his knuckles look better'n my
face," Starsky quipped.

     "Nothing looks better than your face to me, babe," Hutch said under his
breath, smiling as Starsky grinned and looked away, embarrassed.  "Seymour had
something interesting to show me.  Seems our two juvenile delinquents may have
been paid for their efforts."

     "What?"  Starsky frowned, surprised.

     "Peterson deposited $500 in his savings the day before the Torino was
totaled, and another $500 the day before the arson attempt.  Scott had an old sock
with $750 in it stuffed under his mattress, and a new stereo in his bedroom.  Now
it makes me wanna get a look at Simonetti's bank records."

     "Have to pay a cop pretty well to do what he did, even if he does hate my
guts.  I mean, to risk your job, your pension, gettin' busted...  Must've paid him
really well."

     "I think we should check it out.  I'm going to talk to Dobey about getting a
court order to review Simonetti's bank records."

     "Whoever's doing this probably doesn't even *care* about the gay
thing--it's probably just a cover to get back at us for something.  But who's got
that sort of power?"

     "I can name a few.  Forest, Stryker, Amboy, Roper, Gunther--guys with
big operations that still have to have tentacles around somewhere, even if they're
in the joint."

     "Thanks for reminding me," Starsky retorted grimly.

********

     Sitting in the car with the printout of Simonetti's bank transactions for the
last six months, Hutch squinted at the small numbers while Starsky gave his
battered head a rest from the strain of reading.  

     "Starsky."  

     "Yeah?"  Starsky turned to look at his partner.  Hutch's somber tone had
startled him just a bit. 

     "About three days before Peterson made his first bank deposit, Simonetti
drew $1,000 out of his savings account.  A week after that--which would have
been right before the arson attempt--he withdrew another $1,000."  Hutch looked
up from the printout and stared out the windshield.  "This is crazy."

     "So *he* hired Scott and Peterson?"

     "This is a pretty bizarre coincidence if he didn't."  Hutch scanned the rest
of the transactions.  "There's nothing else here that major--usual payroll check
deposits, routine bill-type checks and checks to grocery stores, that sort of thing. 
The only things that stand out are those two withdrawals.  We can talk to Dobey
about checking into whether or not he made any large purchases for which he
could provide documentation--if so, that would clear this up.  If not, Simonetti is
the one who paid to trash the car and try to burn the house down."

     "But why?  It was enough of a surprise that he did what he did.  What's he
gaining by all this?  He can't still be that pissed off because I slugged him."

     "Unless he's working for someone else, and that money was paid back to
him somehow and not deposited into the account.  Let's go see Dobey and fill him
in.  Maybe he'll have an idea."

********

     When they arrived back at Dobey's office, the Captain was just concluding
a meeting with the Internal Affairs captain.  The tall man with the graying hair
gave Starsky and Hutch a somewhat piercing look as he passed them on his way
out of the office.  

     "For somebody who's on sick leave, I'm seeing more of you than I do when
you're on duty," Dobey quipped, looking at Starsky.  "I already told you that you
weren't going to be involved in this case, Hutchinson."

     "There's something you ought to take a look at," Hutch said, spreading the
bank records on top of Dobey's already littered desk.  "These are Simonetti's bank
records."

     "Hutch--"

     "Just hear him out, Cap'n.  We're not gettin' in the middle of it, just
bringin' you some information."

     "I'll be the judge of that.  Go on," he conceded grudgingly, looking back at
Hutch.

     "Notice the two large withdrawals of $1,000 each?"

     "Mm-hm."  Dobey nodded.  "So?"

     "The dates line up with large deposits made into Marvin Peterson's bank
account.  The Scott kid had $700 stuffed in an old sock under his mattress and a
new stereo--about $1,000 worth combined, I'd say.  Now unless Simonetti's got
some really big receipts lying around, this is one hell of a piece of circumstantial
evidence."

     "I agree."  Dobey exhaled loudly, leaning back in his chair.  "But why? 
What would his motive be?"  Dobey looked back down at the paperwork.  "I
know he's had a chip on his shoulder ever since he didn't get into Homicide, but
that's not enough to go through this for."

     "What do you mean?"  Starsky asked, frowning.

     "Close the door," Dobey directed, and Hutch did so as Starsky sat down. 
Hutch then took the other chair.  "Shortly after Starsky transferred out of uniform
to detective status in Homicide, you were promoted and assigned as his partner."

     "Right," Hutch agreed, nodding.

     "Well, that opening was sought by at least three other candidates--one of
whom was Simonetti.  My personal belief was that he and Starsky would kill each
other in the first month they were partnered, and Starsky had nagged me since the
day he arrived to be partnered with you *when* you transferred.  Apparently he
thought that was a foregone conclusion," Dobey shot a look Starsky's direction,
and Starsky had the good grace to smile and shrug with a bit of self-deprecation.  

     "So Simonetti got assigned to Internal Affairs instead?"

     "He spent another year in uniform, and when his promotion came through,
it was to Internal Affairs, yes.  We didn't have a lot of job openings at the
detective level at that point in time, so folks had to wait a while before moving
up, and then it wasn't usually into the division they necessarily requested.  Aside
from Starsky's campaigning to that effect, I honestly felt you two would be an
effective team, and that we could accomplish more with a strong working
partnership than with an adversarial one that started out with resentment."

     "When Simonetti went after me after Van was killed--he wasn't just
overzealous about busting a dirty cop--he was out for revenge."

     "He was probably out for your job, too," Starsky added.  "Besides, if you
were arrested, it was a pretty good bet I wouldn't hang around here either.  He
applies for a transfer, gets your job, I'm outta here, so he can either try to bring
Dryden over with him, or gets partnered with somebody he could work with."

     "That plan didn't work, but when Muriel came along and started spouting
rumors, and Crenshaw thought he saw something significant in the john that
day--it was another chance," Hutch concluded.

     "Exactly!  One'a two things was gonna come of this: either we were gonna
be outta the department--either resigning to avoid the scrutiny, or dead, if the
arson thing worked, or we were gonna be on the hot seat and probably our
partnership split up, maybe fired from the department."

     "Attempted murder is still a pretty extreme measure to take to get
someone's job," Hutch said.

     "Yeah, sure it is, but if you spend years hatin' that person, and his partner,
and there's bad blood between you, somebody who wasn't playin' with a full deck
could really build that up into somethin' huge."

     "This is all a little hard to swallow, but it does add up," Dobey said,
rubbing his forehead.  "But it's all circumstantial."

     "We'll be glad to do some more digging--"

     "Not unless it's in your garden at home.  I want you two out of here. 
Starsky's on sick leave and you're on vacation, Hutchinson.  This is a volatile
enough mess without you poking your nose into it.  You've already threatened
Simonetti once today."  Dobey paused as he noticed the surprised look on
Starsky's face.

     "I thought everything went okay," he said to Hutch, not even looking at
Dobey.

     "It was no big deal.  I just told him if he went near you again, I'd rearrange
his sorry-assed excuse for a face."    

     "While pressing him against a wall with your arm across his
windpipe--let's not leave out any salient details," Dobey observed dryly, making a
couple of notes on Simonetti's file.  Starsky grinned slightly and winked at Hutch,
unseen by Dobey.

     "So we're supposed to just go home and sit around while everyone else
investigates this case?"  Starsky spoke up.

     "You catch on fast, Starsky.  That's what you're both going to do so we can
get this straightened out with minimal bloodshed and hopefully no suspensions
for inappropriate conduct."

     "Where do we stand with IA?"  Hutch asked.

     "They've got problems of their own right now.  I suggested to Handley that
he concentrate on the cesspools in his own backyard before he worried about
creating a big stink over a lot of nonsense in this division,"  Dobey referred to the
IA captain, barely looking up from the bank statements he was scrutinizing now,
apparently looking for anything interesting his detectives might have missed.

     "You think we might be in the clear?"  Starsky asked.

     "I wouldn't relax just yet," Dobey said, looking up from the papers.  "But if
all this is true, and everything related to the whole harassment issue based on your
perceived relationship stems from Simonetti's actions, which are rooted in some
old grudge, we're back to there not being anything worthwhile to investigate. 
Crenshaw saw nothing sexual and if he made it into that, he's the one who comes
out looking like he's got a strange way of thinking.  As for your neighbor, the
department doesn't spin its wheels on the gossip of old busy bodies.  If all this
checks out--I think Handley's going to be too busy cleaning up his own messes to
make more in my division."

********

     Unsure of the legitimacy of the money given to him by Mrs. Peterson,
Starsky elected to wait until he knew exactly how much he had to work with to
give Merle the green light to restore the Torino.  The money Hutch had given him
for Christmas, plus his insurance settlement, would be sufficient to get the car
back in action, but if the money from the Peterson kid's bank account was dirty
money, it was going back--and a few of Starsky's planned enhancements on the
car would be shelved.  

     "I guess we could get some unpacking done, if you feel up to it," Hutch
said as they entered the house through the back door, both tossing their jackets
over kitchen chairs, and hanging the holsters there with them.  

     "We got a whole afternoon...I'm feelin' better...best you can come up with
is unpackin' boxes?"  Starsky caught Hutch around the waist and pulled him in for
a long kiss.  They hadn't made love since the morning before Starsky landed in
the hospital, and the hunger and urgency in the kiss was proof of their readiness
to end the dry spell.  

     "Let's go upstairs.  Stay there," Hutch added, grinning and kissing Starsky
again.  "All day."  

     Hand in hand, they made their way upstairs, heading for Hutch's bed,
which they'd left unmade that morning.  By unspoken agreement, they both shed
their own clothes, leaving them in heaps next to the bed before climbing in
together and meeting in an embrace in the middle of the large mattress.  

     "We still need to be careful of your ribs, babe," Hutch said, his hand
skimming the injured area carefully.  "What's gonna happen when you get out of
breath?"

     "Hopefully I'll come right after that part," Starsky answered, kissing his
way down Hutch's neck.  

     "Moron."  Hutch laughed, angling his head back to catch the questing
mouth for another kiss.  "If you're hurting, you speak up, okay?"

     "If I don't have somethin' better in my mouth at the time," Starsky retorted,
waggling his eyebrows. 

     "Why don't you just lie back and relax and let me do some work on you,
babe?"  Hutch whispered against Starsky's ear, nipping at the lobe.  

     "Yeah," Starsky agreed breathily, his eyes drifting shut as Hutch moved
down his neck, the hot mouth heading further south.  As he'd hoped, it locked
around his left nipple and sucked hard, gentle hands urging him to lie on his back. 
The hot, wet suction felt incredible, and while the increase in his breathing was
challenging his healing body, he ignored it and focused on the excitement that
was building in his hardening cock.  

     Then Hutch was on to the other side, one large thumb still flicking and
rubbing at the taut, glistening nub the talented mouth had just abandoned.  The
warm hands moved down his sides, one of them moving around front to cup his
balls and roll them while the sucking went on.  Starsky felt a little moan escape
his mouth as he arched into the stimulation, his ribs regretting the arch a bit, but
his cock at full attention.  

     The hot, wet mouth moved down the middle of his body to his navel,
licking and teasing the little valley before moving lower, that devilish hand still
gently playing with his balls.  He slid his hands into the blond hair moving toward
his groin, hoping to encourage Hutch where he was needed most.  Taking the cue,
Hutch engulfed Starsky's straining cock in his mouth, sucking enthusiastically,
one hand sliding lower, a long finger teasing the tight opening there.   

     Just when Starsky thought the sensations couldn't get any better, Hutch
started moaning low in his throat...and the vibration added a whole new
dimension to the experience--not to mention the eroticism of *hearing* every
slick motion of the blow job.  

     Starsky forced himself to move his hands away from Hutch's hair,
grabbing the bed clothes instead, not wanting to pull as hard on Hutch's hair as he
was on the sheets.  Feeling himself close to the edge, head thrown back, losing
himself in the pleasure, Starsky was shocked when Hutch found a way to raise the
stakes.  He let out a shout and began to spurt his completion into his lover's
waiting mouth as Hutch's finger slid all the way inside him, the palm of his hand
flat on Starsky's ass.
     Hutch moved up the bed and collected the hungry kisses that were waiting
for him.  

     "Come on up here and let me take care of you, babe," Starsky said, a little
breathless.

     "How's your mouth, buddy?  Still looks a little swollen."  Hutch kissed the
corner of it, and Starsky had to admit that sheathing a large, hard eager cock
inside his still-bruised mouth was a daunting concept.   "Your hand's fine, babe,"
Hutch offered gently, kissing Starsky again.

     "I got somethin' better than my hand, and it ain't bruised."

     "What about your ribs?"

     "If you hurt my ribs doin' this, then your aim's off, blondie."  Starsky
carefully rolled onto his side, drawing one knee up.  Hutch moved up eagerly
behind him, then remembered to grope for the lube.  

     Preparing his relaxed, spent partner required little effort, but Hutch still
took his time, enjoying the anticipation, and always enjoying the intimacy and the
pleasure the motion of his stretching fingers seemed to give his lover.  Starsky
was moaning a little now, almost purring with pleasure, his ass moving a little
with the motion of Hutch's fingers.  Hutch nuzzled and kissed the downy hair at
the back of Starsky's neck, burying his nose in the soft curls, taking in the
lingering scent of Starsky's shampoo, his cologne and the scent that uniquely his
own.  

     "Love you, babe," he whispered, easing his fingers out and coating himself
with the gel.  "Love you so much," he added softly as he carefully eased into the
tight passage, wrapping himself around his lover as soon as he was fully sheathed. 
He stayed still a few moments, letting Starsky adjust, but mostly just savoring the
union.  

     "Love you too, beautiful," Starsky sighed, his hand coming back to card
through Hutch's hair.  They managed an awkward kiss.

     "I know we can't have a ceremony or a license or anything, but I want you
to know I'll always be here...you're my other half, babe.  Forever."  Hutch rested
his head against Starsky's, smiling at the little catch in his lover's breathing.  

     "You know I'll never leave you for anything, babe, but you deserve the
words.  For better or worse, I'm gonna love you forever, and I'll be with ya no
matter what happens."

     Hutch felt a lump in his throat, and he kissed Starsky's shoulder as he
started to move slowly in and out, pumping in gentle strokes meant to prolong
their pleasure.   He moaned against Starsky's back, kissing the flesh near his
mouth, shifting positions just enough to graze Starsky's prostate with each thrust. 
The little surprised cries of pleasure were always his undoing, and he felt himself
on the brink as he reached around and pumped Starsky's cock in time with their
motion.  

     With a cry of Hutch's name, Starsky came just as Hutch reached his own
climax, their mingled shouts resounding in the silent house until they were sated,
sweaty and breathless, lying wrapped together.

     "Mmm," Starsky said eloquently, smiling as Hutch made a few feeble
attempts to kiss his neck.  "Go to sleep, blondie."

     "I should move."

     "Stay where you are.  Inside," Starsky suggested, flexing his internal
muscles.  Hutch groaned at the sensation, but was too wasted to do anything about
it.  Loving the feeling of being inside Starsky, he took the invitation without
further words.  He cuddled Starsky close and let himself drift.

********

     When Starsky rallied the next time, he had to smile at the feeling of Hutch
still inside him, and getting hard again.  He glanced at the clock, a little surprised
that they'd been out like lights for almost three hours.  For his part, Hutch was still
snoring softly behind him, blissfully oblivious to the fact he was getting excited
again.  

     "Must be some good dreams you're havin', you horny big blond," Starsky
teased in a whisper.  

     "Not half as good as the real thing, babe," a sleepy voice countered.  "God,
you feel good."  Hutch was kissing and nibbling at his neck, his hand moving
down to start awakening Starsky's mostly lax cock.  Under Hutch's careful
attentions, it regained interest rather quickly.  

     "Move anytime you want, babe.  Feels good in there," Starsky rotated his
ass a little, and Hutch started pumping, a little harder this time than their previous
lovemaking.  "Yeah, that's it.  Harder, babe.  Give it to me," Starsky encouraged,
feeling better able to take Hutch's harder thrusts than to keep up his body's motion
to make thrusts of his own.  Sensing Hutch was still holding back a little, he
figured out how to ask for the wilder ride he wanted.  "It's easier...ugh, yeah...if
you move an' I don't have to."

     Hutch took the cue then, pumping hard and fast, stroking Starsky's cock
and grazing his prostate with each motion.  Starsky came first this time, the
pulsing and contracting of his internal muscles bringing Hutch to his peak soon
thereafter.  After they'd caught their breath a few moments, Hutch eased out of his
partner.

     "You okay?"  he asked softly, running his hand up and down Starsky's
thigh.  

     "Feels kinda funny without you in there," Starsky admitted, glad he didn't
have to discuss the feeling face to face, because somehow saying it seemed
absurdly embarrassing.  He gasped when a questing finger slid into his sensitive
hole and started massaging.  "Oh, God.  If I had anything left...I could...go again. 
Mmmm," Starsky groaned appreciatively as the erotic little massage continued.  

     "Your muscles down here are probably a little stretched from me staying
inside so long, babe."

     "Yeah, like sleepin' with a cucumber up my butt," Starsky joked, grinning
as he waited for the response.

     "Cucumber?  I was going to say at least a hubbard squash."

     "Somebody's got a real inflated opinion of himself," Starsky shot back, the
joking erasing any self-consciousness he'd briefly felt.  Now he just relaxed and
enjoyed Hutch's finger moving inside his ass, not particularly interested in why, or
in getting off again.  It just felt good, in a sexy sort of way, and that was enough.  

     "You could drive a dumptruck up a certain ass right now, so that
somebody must've had something pretty big in there," Hutch countered.  "Maybe
you should've bought one of Uncle Elmo's butt plugs."

     "What do I want with some stubby rubber prick when I've got yours?"

     "So true," Hutch agreed, slowly withdrawing his finger.  "How's your
side?"

     "It's actin' up a little, but not bad.  My head's hurtin' a little, but nothin' I
can't live with."

     The ringing of the phone was not a welcome intrusion.  Since he was
closer to it, Starsky picked it up.  

     "Starsky?  Dobey here.  I thought you might be interested to know that our
two juvenile delinquents sang like canaries.  Nobody brought up Simonetti's name
in questioning them again, but we did say we knew someone was paying them
and knew who it was.  Scott spilled his guts about the whole thing--I guess
Simonetti had promised them another pay-off to keep their mouths shut if they
got caught."

     "He wasn't that rich, Cap'n," Starsky said, feeling a little odd talking to his
boss with Hutch's cock still nestled between his cheeks.  Nonetheless, what
Dobey couldn't see wouldn't hurt him.

     "Maybe not, but they didn't have any way of knowing that.  They didn't
know he was a cop, either, but they found out his name because one of them
wrote down his license number and had another friend of theirs check it out with
his father, who works for the Secretary of State--apparently they made up some
lame excuse about a friend of theirs having a fender bender with the guy that
plate belonged to.  Anyway, they had his name and address in case he backed out
on some part of the deal."
     
     "So it's over?"

     "Well, for the most part.  Simonetti still hasn't changed his plea, so
whether or not we have to go to trial with this hinges on that.  Besides, as long as
he pleads not guilty, he walks around on bail."

     "Great."  

     "I'll keep you posted.  But I think we're pretty solid with our case against
Simonetti."

     "Thanks for callin', Captain--that's great news," Starsky concluded,
hanging up.  "Scott and Peterson fingered Simonetti," Starsky told Hutch, who let
out a long breath, shaking his head a little.  

     "I gotta say, it's still hard to believe."  

     "Maybe not.  You lose out on an opportunity that would've sent your
career in a whole different direction, and instead you end up in a department
where all your co-workers hate you or at least don't trust you.  IA is probably the
worst gig a cop can get if he doesn't wanna be there.  Meanwhile, we're bustin'
heads and gettin' all the glory, and even when he almost nails us, it doesn't work
out and he comes out lookin' like the fool--both him and Dryden."

     "But attempted murder?"  Hutch pulled himself up in a sitting position,
pushing the hair out of his eyes.  

     "Maybe he just got carried away.  He was so...bent on nailing us, on doin'
somethin' that would get us in hot water with IA."  Starsky made the effort to sit
up now himself, and winced a little.

     "Side bad?"

     "I'm not sittin' on my side, babe," he retorted, laughing.  "I'm a little sore,
but it's a good sore.  C'mere and kiss me."  Hutch happily followed directions, and
after several lost minutes of kissing and some enjoyable but pointless groping of
their sated bodies, Starsky pulled back.  "Y'know, when those guys grabbed me in
the garage, the guy doin' the hitting--now we know that was Simonetti--was
so...intense.  I don't know how to describe it, but it was like he was just poundin'
on me outta some kinda *hate*.  I mean, I've got bruises in some dumb
places--and some'a the places he was punching were too exact to be accidental. 
It's part of my records where my surgery was and what was repaired, and he was
really aimin' for that area, which is what made it hurt so damn bad the first couple
days afterwards."

     "If I get through this without beating the shit out of that son of a bitch, I'm
going to be surprised," Hutch responded, pulling Starsky into his arms and
stuffing a few pillows behind himself to support them.  He kissed the dark curls
resting on his chest, just below his chin.  "I'm having a hard time letting what he
did to you pass."
     
     "It's not passing, babe.  He's gonna pay for it."

     "Not enough."  Hutch slid his hand into Starsky's hair.  "Not enough to
make up for the way he hurt you, for what could have gone wrong if you weren't
as solid and recovered from Gunther as you are.  For using you to get back at me
for getting a damn job he wanted.  Shit, I'd count desk lamps with Bigelow for a
living before I'd figure any job was worth you being hurt for it."

     "Hey, Hutch, this wasn't your fault.  It's not mine either.  It was
Simonetti's--and if he's unbalanced enough to do somethin' like this, maybe it's
not really his fault either.  Maybe he needs a shrink."

     "What he needs is a dose of his own medicine."

     "A cop doin' time?  He'll get plenty of his own medicine, babe.  Nobody
has to wish more on him."

     "You're so...calm about this."

     "I'm just glad we're outta the spotlight for a little while, and I'm glad it's
gettin' resolved.  I'm real glad that the car and the arson thing weren't really our
neighbors tryin' to get rid of us or kill us off."  Starsky looked up at Hutch.  "And
I'm real glad I got you--and nothin' Simonetti could do to me would make me
trade one second of us bein' partners."

     "If I had any ammo left, I'd make love with you again," Hutch said,
smiling.  "I can't get enough of you."  He moved in for a kiss.

     "We got a whole lifetime.  Let's not use up the whole supply before
tomorrow mornin', okay?"  Starsky teased.

********

     Simonetti didn't immediately cave in and change his plea, and his trial
date, which was just slightly later than Donna Canfield's, stood.  While neither of
the major cases they'd been involved with were exactly wrapped up and complete,
at least their solutions were known.  The rest was legality, as far as Starsky was
concerned.  He had faith in the case they had built against Donna Canfield, and
after reviewing the files on Seymour and Driscoll's investigation of the arson
situation and the case against Simonetti--which was the result of a joint effort by
Internal Affairs and Dobey--he felt reasonably confident the outcomes would be
what they hoped.  

     Still, something remained unresolved--the kidnapping and murder of T.J.
Hutchinson.  While Hutch had side-stepped quite artfully any discussion of a visit
to Duluth, Starsky still believed it would be the only way his partner would find
real peace--to solve the case that had destroyed his own family so many years
earlier.   Given what Hutch had said of his uncle, it seemed as if that solution was
right in front of them.
     
     Hutch was busily making breakfast, oblivious to the myriad of thoughts
going through his partner's mind.  He served the eggs and bacon and then with a
slight huff, went back to get the coffee. 

     "This isn't a diner, Gordo," he needled Starsky, who hadn't moved out of
his chair since the meal preparations began.

     "It's your turn to do breakfast," he retorted, taking a drink of his coffee. 
"Which looks great."  

     "Making breakfast doesn't include waiting on you hand and foot."

     "You just do it 'cause you love me so much," Starsky said, grinning
endearingly at his partner.  Hutch merely stared at him a moment, blankly, and
rolled his eyes.

     "Yeah, that's it," he replied, deadpan. 

     "I'll make it worth your while later, babe.  Eggs and bacon give me lots of
energy."  Starsky flexed his eyebrows before digging into his food.

     "We've got a full day ahead of us, so we'll see how much you've got left
tonight."

     "Hutch?"

     "Yeah?"  Hutch was eating now, his attention divided between his plate
and the newspaper between them on the table. 

     "I think we should go to Duluth and settle the question about what
happened to T.J. once and for all."

     "Starsk, don't," Hutch said, his tone firm and gentle at the same time.  "It
was a long time ago, and it's over."

     "It's not over.  Somethin' like that is never *over*.  T.J.'s still dead and you
still feel bad about it and it's still messin' things up between you and your folks. 
That's not *over*, babe."

     "Starsky, I'm not going to go back to Duluth and dredge up a bunch of
dirty family laundry for nothing.  It won't bring T.J. back, and it'll only make
things worse with my parents, if that's humanly possible."

     "You sounded dangerously like Kenneth Hutchinson, prick snob, for a
minute there."  Starsky took a drink of his coffee, then looked up to meet Hutch's
stunned expression.  "Dredging up family dirty laundry?  We're talkin' a murder
case here."

     "If it makes me a 'prick snob' not to want to make my family front page
news over a case that wasn't solvable thirty years ago, so be it."

     "No, it makes you a 'prick snob' if you're more worried about turnin' your
family and their precious reputation up on their ear than you are about solvin' this
case--and no case is 'unsolvable'.  Difficult, or *unsolved*, sure, but not
impossible.  We *have* a lead."

     "My brother's dead, my uncle's dead--who's going to be helped or punished
by that?  So we prove that my uncle did something awful.  We can't prosecute
him, and do you have any idea how the press would handle a story like that? 
Being able to hold her head up in the community is very important to my mother. 
Why should she pay for what my uncle might have done?"

     "You've been payin' for it since it happened."

     "Yeah, and you're making me answer for it now.  Let's just drop it."

     "I'm not tryin' to do that, babe, but you can't just ignore somethin' like this
and try to live with it because it might embarrass somebody."

     "You're so anxious for me to go back and stir all this up and drag my
family through the mud--all the time telling me how I can't live with the mystery
because I'm a cop--but I notice you don't go back out to New York and re-open
the investigation into your father's shooting or why a mob boss paid for his
funeral.  Now call me crazy, but as a cop, that would bug the hell out of me." 
Hutch took a drink of his coffee and made a show of digging back into his
breakfast.  

     Starsky sat there, staring at the plate in front of him, trying to absorb the
shock of what Hutch had just said.  Not once in their entire friendship or
partnership had Hutch ever so much as brought up some of the shadows
surrounding Starsky's family's past, and he most certainly had never thrown it in
Starsky's face.  

     He pushed back from the table, stood up, grabbed his jacket and holster
off the empty kitchen chair next to him and walked out the door.  By the time he
was getting into the loaner car Merle had come up with for him, he could hear
Hutch's voice, calling to him.  He pointedly ignored it, closing the driver's door
and starting up the engine of the 1977 Grand Prix.  As he backed out of the
driveway and started down the road, he had no clue where he was going, but he
knew he needed to escape--to get away from the sting of Hutch's words, and the
pain of the thought that his partner somehow looked down on him or his family
because of what he knew about the shady side of their lives.

********