Hutch walked back into the kitchen, cursing himself for what he'd said.  It
was a defense mechanism; Starsky had backed him into a corner and he'd used the
only thing he could think of to get out--something that would hurt enough that
Starsky would back off.  In an objective sense, what he'd challenged his partner
with was true--Starsky was in no hurry to uncover the truth about his father's
death, and while he'd talked a good game with Joe Durniak, he'd never done much
to find out what kind of names the old gangster was going to name, or what he
had to say.  Starsky's brother was a small-time hood--that was no secret.  

     None of that diminished the goodness in Starsky, or in any way changed
the depth of Hutch's love for him.  None of Starsky's past mattered, no matter
what it was.  All that mattered was what they shared.  Still, when pushed
relentlessly to face the worst nightmare of his past, Hutch had simply lashed out. 
He could argue with himself endlessly about whether or not he was right, and it
didn't change the fact that he'd wounded Starsky profoundly, maybe irreversibly. 
All for the sake of avoiding his father.

     That's what it all boiled down to in the final analysis.  Starsky was right
about T.J.'s death, and right that Hutch would never feel as if that chapter of his
life were closed until he knew the truth.  But finding out would mean going
home, and going home would mean facing up to the man who blamed him for his
brother's death, who took him into a morgue to see the corpse, and who
intimidated him so completely with the right stern look that he ended up
stuttering like a child even when he was man.  Sometimes he still tripped over his
words when he got nervous, and every time he had to make a conscious effort to
get his words out smoothly, he realized he had his father to thank for that.  

     Starsky was the one true love of Hutch's life, and nothing or no one in
Starsky's past could change that.  But Hutch's father was probably the person he
feared most in the world, and being forced into a confrontation with him was
disturbing enough to make Hutch say or do whatever was necessary to save
himself.

     Grabbing his own jacket and holster, Hutch headed out to his car and
started for work.  He had no idea where to look for Starsky, and figured his
partner probably needed time to cool down a little before he tried talking to him.

********

     "We're closed!  As in *not open*!!"  Huggy shouted angrily, going back to
stacking the beer glasses behind the bar.  There was another insistent knock on
the front door.  With a pained grunt of disgust, he walked around the bar and to
the front door, unlocking it and stepping back while Starsky walked inside.  

     "Sorry, Hug.  I need a beer.  No place is open."

     "Little early for a brew, isn't it?"  Huggy responded, pouring Starsky a cup
of coffee instead and setting it on the bar.

     "What are you, my mother?  I said I wanted a beer."

     "Yeah, well, maybe you oughtta just cool it and tell me what's goin' on
first."

     "You can give me the fucking beer or I'll go buy a six pack and drink it in
the car."
     
     "Temper, temper," Huggy admonished.  "No need to get hostile, my man." 
He poured a beer and set it in front of Starsky, who took a few gulps.  "Thought
you and Blondie were goin' back out on the streets today."

     "We were.  I don't know as I'm goin' out on any streets with him ever
again."  Another gulp of the beer.

     "Whoa, back up.  You're not talkin' about splittin' up your act?"

     "There are some things you just don't say to somebody...and some things,
when they get said, you just don't let pass."

     "So comin' here and drinkin' beer at eight in the mornin' is gonna solve
somethin'?"

     "Yeah.  I'm gonna get shit-faced, go puke in your john, and then sleep it
off upstairs, unless you got somebody else stayin' up there."

     "I thought the puking part came after the sleeping," Huggy said, frowning. 
He'd been witness to more than one party or celebration involving his favorite
pair of detectives.  

     "Since the shooting, the order's reversed a little.  My stomach doesn't like
the booze as much as it used to."  With another gulp of his beer, he shook his
head.  "Look, just pour me a pitcher'a beer and leave me in a back booth for a
couple hours."

     "Starsky."  Huggy grabbed Starsky's forearm before he could move away
from the bar.  "Talk to me, man."

     "I can't.  It's personal."  At Huggy's skeptical look, Starsky added, "I mean
it, pal.  It's not just about Hutch and me havin' a fight.  It's what we were fightin'
about that I can't...it's just...personal."

     "I saw you two playin' smashface at the hospital.  So you havin' a lover's
quarrel is no big surprise."

     "It's not about that."  Starsky swallowed hard.  "He said some things that
really...*hurt*."  He ran a hand over his face.  "Probably because they were true. 
But it still hurt hearin' 'em come from Hutch."

     "Did he apologize?"

     "I don't know.  I left."

     "Whatever he said, does it hurt more than bein' split up with him?"

     "Nothin' hurts like that," Starsky admitted softly.
     
     "Then you gotta talk to each other."  Huggy looked at Starsky
sympathetically as the other man stared at the bar, turning the beer glass around
in his hands.  "Hutch's got kind of a sharp tongue on him, but he's got a good
heart.  You never let the stuff he said get under your skin before."

     "This isn't the same, Hug.  It's not the same thing as makin' fun'a my car or
callin' me stupid or playin' a joke on me--none'a that stuff matters, it's just Hutch
and he doesn't mean anything by it.  This is...different.  It just...*is*.  I can't say
more about it."

     "You wanna call in sick or somethin'?"  Huggy set the phone on the bar.  

     "Hutch'll tell Dobey something.  If I call in, it'll just make it worse--blow
what he says."

     "Nothin' I say's gonna do any good, is it?"  Huggy asked directly, going
back to stacking his glasses.

     "Not really.  But I'd take that pitcher'a beer before you get back to doin'
that."  With a pained expression, Huggy complied, filling a pitcher and setting it
on the bar.  

     "You're gonna be sorry when you're spendin' your afternoon with your
head in the john."

     "Maybe I'll luck out and drown."  Starsky took the pitcher and his mostly
empty glass, retreating to a back booth in the shadows.  "And don't get any ideas
about callin' Hutch.  Just let it lie, okay, Hug?"

     "You're the doctor."  Huggy went back to stacking glasses, and Starsky
poured himself another glass of beer.

********

     Hutch had made a lame excuse to Dobey that he felt could easily be
debunked by afternoon, but it had bought him some time.  He'd claimed Starsky
was at the dentist's office, getting a filling replaced that had fallen out
unexpectedly.  Starsky had been right about one thing--if he was good at anything,
it was weaving stories on a moment's notice.  He spent the morning cleaning up
paperwork, doing some of the mundane work that had piled up in their absence. 
By lunch, he opted to take a break, though he had little appetite.  

     Pulling up in front of The Pits, Hutch wasn't really shocked to see
Starsky's loaner car out there, but he was immensely relieved.  He hadn't expected
finding his partner to be that easy, and he hoped this meant that Starsky wasn't
trying very hard to hide from him.  Of course, if Starsky wanted to get smashed
before noon, there were a limited number of places where he could discretely do
so.  

     As he walked in the front door, he scanned the bustling lunch crowd for
some sign of his partner.  Starsky was nowhere in sight.  
     
     "He's upstairs," Huggy said, passing Hutch, carrying two plates bearing
sandwiches and chips.  

     "Is he okay?"

     "You really did a number on him, man.  I don't think I ever saw Starsky
feelin' like that."

     "You don't know the whole story, Hug."

     "I know what I gotta know, and it ain't pretty.  So if you're goin' up there,
don't be givin' him any more grief, you dig?"

     "Look, I appreciate your concern, but this is between Starsky and me."

     "Yeah?  Well, when he shows up at my place downin' pitchers'a beer at
eight in the mornin', it turns into my business.  So unless you're comin' here to fix
things, you know the way out."

     "I'm ready to fix things if he is.  That's a two-way street, Huggy." 

     "Just go easy on him."  Huggy's expression softened a little.  "He's not
feelin' so great."

     "I can imagine.  Thanks, Hug."  

     Hutch headed up the stairs, a little surprised to have been so effectively
scolded by Huggy.  Usually a somewhat silent bystander in their disputes,
obviously Huggy was taking sides--that was a first.  He paused by the door to the
room he remembered only too well--from a few late night binges when it was
safer to crash here than drive home, and from a few of the worst moments of their
lives when they needed a refuge.  Without knocking, he turned the knob slowly
and then pushed open the door.  Starsky was curled up on the bed, facing away
from the door.  

     "Starsk?"  There was no response, but Starsky's head moved slightly at the
sound of his name.  "Starsk, we need to talk."

     "Let me be, Hutch.  I don't wanna talk to you right now," Starsky
responded in a rough voice.  

     Ignoring the admonition, Hutch went into the bathroom and wet a
washcloth with some cool water.  He returned to the bed, and briefly considered
sitting on the side of it behind Starsky.  Instead, he tossed his jacket and holster
on a chair and climbed up on the bed, stretching out on his side, facing his
partner.

     "Hutch, please, don't push it."  Starsky kept his eyes closed, and his face
was a sickly gray-green.  

     "I'm not going to say anything, babe."  Hutch used the cool cloth to bathe
Starsky's face gently.  

     "Don't."  A hand batted weakly at his, but he caught it with his free hand
and held onto it.  Before long, Starsky was crying.  "I'm drunk, Hutch...just let me
be 'til I sober up."

     "You probably puked everything up you just drank.  You're not that drunk,
love.  You're hurting, and it's my fault."

     "So what?  I just...need a little time."

     "I know you deserve that and I don't deserve any more response than that,
but I can't leave it like this.  I love you.  I...I felt...*cornered*.  You don't know
how much I don't want to go there, to face things."

     "I got the message."  Starsky covered his face with his free hand, and
Hutch wasn't sure if it was a gesture of distress or embarrassment--a vain,
semi-drunken attempt to hide his tears from Hutch.  

     "I didn't mean what I said.  I know you have your reasons, but I have mine
too.  That's all I was trying to say and it came out so...*badly*.  God, Starsk, I
don't hold anything that happened in New York against you.  I don't blame you for
whatever your father was or wasn't into--"

     "Just stop it!"  Starsky shouted, sitting up and holding onto his protesting
head.  "Stop it!  He didn't do anything wrong!"  Starsky's whole body was shaking
now.  

     "Starsk, babe, it's okay--"

     "It's not okay!  Not you sittin' there and makin' out like he was some kinda
criminal or somethin'!"  Starsky shouted back.  Hutch knew the outburst was
triggered by the beer and Starsky's own internal demons about what his father
might or might not have been entangled with at the time he died.  "He was a good
cop and he got shot down 'cause he made the wrong people mad and you're tryin'
to make it sound like he did somethin' wrong because Durniak paid for his
funeral!  Maybe we didn't have a lotta money, Hutch--did that ever occur to you? 
Not everybody grew up rich!  Not everybody had choices!  Sometimes people do
things they gotta do to survive!"  Starsky was holding onto his side now, the tears
coming hard.  

     "I know, babe.  I know."  Hutch pulled the rigid body against him.  

     "Whadda you know?  Whadda you know about not havin' enough to pay
the bills an' about a woman bein' left alone with two kids an' about wiseguys and
gang muscle circlin' around a dead cop's family like buzzards over a carcass?! 
You don't know nothin'!  Not a goddamned thing!"  Starsky shouted, pushing
away and getting up, a bit unsteadily.
     
     "You're right, I don't know much about that.  Maybe someday, when you
feel like it, you can tell me."  

     "So you can throw it back in my face?"  Starsky shot back, anger in his
voice, but naked pain in his eyes.  Hutch had to look away from that hurt
momentarily.

     "I said what I said because you were right and I felt backed into a corner,
and it was the only way I knew to get myself out.  We've both got
some...skeletons in our past, and I'm...Starsk, I'm *scared* to go back there and
dig mine up," he concluded in a near-whisper.  Then, more assertively,  "I hurt
you because I'm afraid to face my father and I didn't want to admit that.  It was
easier to lash out and win the argument than to face up to that.  Because I didn't
want you to look at me differently..."  Hutch sighed, feeling a sting in his own
eyes.  "God, Starsk, I look at you and I feel like such a fucking pansy.  You've
been through so much.  You don't let people intimidate you--even when you
should sometimes.  Then there's me.  I get nervous and I trip over my own feet
and stutter like Porky Pig."

     "Don't do that t'yourself."  Starsky seemed almost annoyed that his anger
was draining away, but he didn't fight it.  Instead, he sat on the bed next to Hutch. 
"You're beautiful, babe, and you're one tough mother.  Ask Gunther," he
concluded with a slight grin.

     "It was because of him that I almost lost you.  Nothing would have stood
in my way in nailing his ass to the wall."

     "I'm sorry I flipped out," Starsky said quietly, swallowing and  regaining
his composure.  "I'm still a little buzzed from all the beer."

     "You wanna stretch out for a while?"  Hutch asked, and Starsky nodded,
fitting himself against Hutch, the dark head on his shoulder, Starsky's arm
winding around his middle.   "I'm so sorry for what I said to you, babe.  I didn't
mean it like it sounded.  I swear."  

     "I'm glad."  Starsky was quiet a minute, smiling a little as Hutch
solicitously bathed his face with the washcloth.  "I didn't go back and stir things
up again because I was afraid for Ma and Nicky and some'a the other family still
out there.  I know my dad was gettin' close to some dangerous people--close to
bustin' 'em--at least that's what I overheard his partner sayin' at the funeral. 
Month later, he shot himself.  I always thought that was awful convenient.  Why
Joey paid for the funeral...I'm still not sure.  He claims it was to help out the
family because he thought my dad was a good man--why he thought that, or why
he cared, I don't know."  

     "You don't have to explain it, love.  I was out of line."

     "I want you to understand...at least, as much as I do.  We never had a
whole lotta money--cop's salaries weren't even as good--by comparison with other
jobs--as they are now, and God knows, we're not rich.  My dad was supportin' my
grandma, too...  When he died, there just wasn't much left.  So Joey payin' for the
funeral was...I guess it was a really big help to Ma and she didn't feel like she
could say no.  I've got lotsa questions I'd like to ask, but I can't take a chance of
somethin' happenin' to Ma or Nicky.  So I stayed outta New York, because if I
went back there, I know I'd end up lookin' around and stirrin' things up."

     "If you ever want to, you know I'm with you."

     "I know."  Starsky sighed.  "Maybe we're not that different.  You got mad
at me because I was right...and I got mad at you because you were, too--you hit
too close to home."

     "I've been thinking a lot since this morning.  I think we should go to
Duluth.  I owe that much to T.J.  He counted on me, and...and I know you keep
saying it wasn't my fault, but I keep feeling like I let him down when it mattered
most.  Maybe if I can figure out what happened to him, maybe that'll make up for
it somehow...make *me* rest easier."

     "You talked to Dobey yet?"

     "No.  He's not going to be happy, but I think he'll be behind us.  He knows
about T.J., and he knows I was in tough shape working the Canfield case."

     "You're probably due back there, huh?"

     "I've got a little while.  I'm on lunch."  Hutch rubbed Starsky's back in
long, slow strokes.  "Just relax, babe."

     "I'm glad we're goin' to Duluth.  I hope you really mean that you agree
with me--not just that you're doin' it to resolve a fight.  'Cause you know I love ya
too much to stay mad at ya even if you don't agree with me."

     "I know that," Hutch responded, smiling.  "But I do agree with you."

********

     Dobey was surprisingly amenable to the trip to Minnesota, commenting
that maybe once they got their personal lives straightened out, they could get back
to doing what they did best.  Actually, the comment had not been made as an
admonition--Dobey had been more than sympathetic to the roller coaster the two
men had been on during the past several weeks, and felt a resolution to the
festering mystery of Hutch's brother's death might be the healthiest possible thing
for him.

     It was a sunny New Year's Eve day when they boarded the plane for
Duluth.  Starsky's suggestion that they contact Hutch's family prior to their arrival
was vetoed immediately, and Hutch made reservations for them at a nice hotel in
the area.  

     The flight proved uneventful, with both men intermittently reading or
talking.  Hutch could feel the tension building within himself the moment the
pilot announced that they were about to touch down, and despite the relaxed
journey, found himself wanting to run screaming to the nearest jet departing for
California.  

     "Your knuckles are white, darlin'," Starsky whispered, covering Hutch's
hand with his own.  Hutch hadn't realized he was clutching the arm of the seat
like a life preserver.  "It's gonna be different this time.  This time, we're goin' in
together.  You're not gonna face off with your old man alone."

     "This is stupid."  Hutch rubbed his forehead, and his hand came away
damp with perspiration.  "I'm a grown man, and I'm sitting here sweating and
feeling my stomach twist into a knot thinking about facing my father."

     "Hey, come on."  Starsky urged the clenched fingers off the arm of the
seat and laced their fingers.  "Try to take a deep breath and relax, babe.  You're
not a little boy anymore."

     "Yeah?  I f-feel like one."  Hutch let his head droop back on the seat. 
"Still scared to go through that d-door into Dad's study and face him."  Getting the
words out were an effort.  The stutter was right there again, haunting him the way
it had even in high school, when he'd chosen to be the strong, silent type rather
than risk stumbling over his words with his friends.  Jack Mitchell had teased him
ruthlessly, dubbing him "Porky" shortly after they met.  While the teasing had
seemed cruel at the time, it had been Hutch's greatest impetus to overcome the
impediment until it was barely noticeable.  Looking back, he suspected Jack
Mitchell knew that.  "I d-on't want to do this with him," Hutch said finally, getting
most of the words out smoothly.

     "I know, babe.  Just try to calm down and focus on me while we're there.  I
won't let him badger you."  Starsky was quiet a minute.  "You sure he didn't...hit
you?  I mean, you can tell me if there's somethin' else, some other reason he
scares ya so much."

     "He just does," Hutch responded weakly, unable to think of anything more
profound to say.  Starsky's hand tightened on his.  

     "Okay.  Just that nasty look on his face?"

     "And knowing he still blames me.  Knowing he hates me for being the
o-one who l-lived."  Hutch closed his eyes, feeling the tears burning behind his
eyelids.  

     "Aw, Hutch, why would he feel that way?"

     "T.J. was his favorite," Hutch said quietly.  

     "Why?"

     "I don't know why.  Why do parents have favorites?  He was always
picking him up and rough-housing with him and showing him how to do things. 
Looking back, I guess he was better at learning things--he didn't trip over his own
feet like I did...and he was one of those kids that everybody
just...*likes*--outgoing, just...full of life."  Hutch paused.   "It was like after T.J.
was born, I didn't exist anymore. Lots of times, I wished I didn't."

     "I'm glad you exist, Hutch," Starsky said, smiling a little, and Hutch had to
laugh.  

     "I'm glad you're glad, love," he responded quietly, chortling.  

     After renting a bland white Caprice, they drove toward their hotel.  Hutch
was behind the wheel, and he occasionally pointed out some landmark to Starsky
that he remembered from his youth.  Somewhat unexpectedly, he took a turn off
the main road that led to the hotel, and began winding down some side streets. 
Before long, they found themselves entering a large cemetery, its rolling white
hills dotted with gray tombstones and festive red and green Christmas wreaths,
blankets and other decorations.  It was beautiful in a sad sort of way, the white
snow like a carpet of diamonds over the graves.  

     "Our family plot is right over there," Hutch said, pulling to the side of one
of the narrow roads.  It was bitingly cold outside, and even with the heater on in
the car, Starsky shivered a little in his leather jacket.  "You should've worn that
turtleneck under your sweater, babe," Hutch observed, reaching over to touch
Starsky's hair lightly.  For some reason, the little gesture warmed him more than
ten turtlenecks.  

     "I love you," he blurted, and Hutch smiled, turning the light touch into a
caress.

     "I love you too--even if you don't know how to dress for Minnesota in the
winter."

     "You can warm me up when we get to the hotel."

     "We can come back tomorrow," Hutch said, starting to put the car in gear.

     "No.  I'm fine.  Let's go have a look."  

     Hutch nodded solemnly and turned off the car, sticking the keys in his
pocket as they began trekking through the snow to the large headstone that read
"HUTCHINSON" in tall block letters carved into gray granite.  A bountiful pine
wreath decorated with a red velvet bow hung just above the carving.  Somehow,
just seeing Hutch's last name on a tombstone made Starsky's blood run cold.  

     "Grandma and Grandpa are right here," Hutch said, crouching to brush
some snow off the headstones that were set slightly above ground.  "Uncle
Richard," he said, pausing by the grave, then,  "Mom and Dad'll be here."  Hutch
moved past the blank plots to the one headstone that was sitting by itself next to
his parents' planned plots.  "T.J.," he said simply, brushing the snow away from
the name.  

     THEODORE JAMES "T.J." HUTCHINSON
                     Beloved son of Kenneth and Janet
                                         1945-1951
                   
     "Seems kinda cold, doesn't it?  Seein' it in the stone?"  Starsky watched as
Hutch rose from his crouch, and nodded.  

     "I haven't been here in so many years.  Last time was...I think I was
probably 18, right before college."  Hutch shivered.  "I hate coming here."  

     "C'mere."  Starsky pulled Hutch into a tight hug, rubbing his back
vigorously.  The chill wasn't external, but warming him up couldn't hurt anything. 


     "Every time I look at that stone...I think about how cold and dead it is, and
how...*alive* he was, and then...then...what he was like after..."  Hutch's hand
flexed and gripped Starsky's jacket as he lurched a little, as if the effort of
containing his emotions was taking physical restraint.

     "It's okay to cry, babe.  I've got ya."  Starsky felt his own tears coming as
Hutch cried softly against his shoulder.  "Shhh, love ya so much, darlin'.  It's okay. 
It's gonna be okay," Starsky whispered against Hutch's hair, not knowing exactly
how to ease his pain, but wanting nothing more.  

     "I put him there," Hutch whispered through his tears.

     "No."  Starsky's voice was firm and clear in the silent iciness of the
cemetery.  

     "That's how my father felt...he never forgave me."
     
     "So help me God, Hutch, I wanna kill him for what he did to you.  Poor
little kid.  Nobody could take that kinda guilt.  Not an eight-year-old little boy,
that's for damn sure."

     "I kept looking at them...hoping they weren't...mad anymore...but...they
n-never really f-forgave me."

     "Come on, buddy.  It's freezin' out here.  Let's go back to the hotel and get
warmed up, huh?"

     "They'd've been so much happier if that was me there," Hutch said, pulling
away enough to look down at his brother's grave.  "Back then, I would've been
too."

     "Don't."  Starsky guided the pained face back up so they were eye to eye. 
"You're my reason for livin', babe.  Most beautiful thing that ever happened to
me.  I'm real sorry T.J.'s dead, but I'm not sorry it's not you, because *you*," he
took Hutch's face in both hands, "are worth everything in this whole world.  And I
love how you trip over your feet sometimes and you stumble with your words a
little when you're nervous...makes you human.  'Cause otherwise, somebody as
gorgeous as you wouldn't even be real.  I don't know what kinda heart T.J. had,
but I know the one you've got's got alla the love in the world in it, and all the
goodness and rightness...  I know you keep tellin' me I'm biased, and I know your
folks did this number on you that you weren't anything special, but you are,
Hutch.  No matter what, you always remember that, babe.  And anybody who
can't see that in you, who doesn't love you the way you deserve t'be loved...you
stay away from 'em, 'cause they're the ones with the problem, not you.  Got it?"

     "Starsk..."  Hutch swallowed, then gave up and hugged his lover again.  "I
still think you're biased," he managed, trying to lighten the mood a little.  Starsky
squeezed back hard.  Life was uncertain, and one thing he knew about his partner
that scared him as much as it did warm his heart--Hutch would not survive losing
him...at least, not well.  And Hutch would be so easy for someone to abuse
emotionally that Starsky felt that much more protective of him.  Truth be told,
he'd fought so hard to pull himself back from the brink of death because leaving
Hutch was unthinkable.  Maybe if the unthinkable happened someday, Hutch
could remember these words, and maybe he'd even believe in them a little.  

     "Hey, it's our first New Year's Eve together," Starsky said, pulling back. 
"Well, together like we are now.  Let's stop at party store and get some supplies,
huh?"

     "There's always room service," Hutch responded, chuckling and wiping at
his eyes.

     "Now you're talkin' like a rich boy again.  The fun stuff, Hutch.  The beer
and the snacks and the noisemakers--that kinda stuff."

     "Okay," Hutch acquiesced, still smiling.  

     "We're gonna find out what happened to him, babe," Starsky said as his
partner took one last look back at the grave.

     "I know.  I believe that."  

     Starsky took a hold of Hutch's hand and started moving them back toward
the car.  The snow was falling again and the wind was picking up.  The barren
trees around them flailed their empty branches as the snow was caught and
swirled in little white tornados.  

     "Gonna be a bad night tonight," Hutch said, getting into the car.  Starsky
turned all the heat on full blast as soon as his partner had the engine running.  

     "You feel okay to drive?"  

     "Yeah, I'm fine, babe."  Hutch caught one of the hands that was fumbling
with the heater controls, and peeling the back of the glove up a bit, kissed it. 
"Thanks to you."

********

     With a stash of beer, munchies and a couple of obligatory noisemakers
and small bags of confetti--which Hutch was certain the maids would appreciate
in the morning--the two men retreated to their hotel room.  

     Attractively appointed with gray plush carpeting and coordinating spread
and drapes in a soft blue pattern, the room had a comfortable, pleasant
atmosphere when lit with the bed lamps and the lamp that sat between two
overstuffed chairs.  

     "You didn't get us a double room?"  Starsky asked, and Hutch turned back
to look at him with a smile.

     "It's not exactly a wedding announcement in the Chronicle back home, but
I guess it felt like a little way in which we didn't have to hide."

     "Thank you."  Starsky set the bag of groceries on the small desk and
moved over to hug his lover from behind, draping himself over Hutch's back as
the other man ferreted through their suitcase.  Nuzzling the back of Hutch's neck,
Starsky relished the first time he'd really felt like part of a couple in some
tangible way.  They had packed one suitcase together, though they each had a
carry-on bag, and now they were staying in a one-bed room.  

     "Find us something good to watch on the tube, eh, babe?  I'll get us
unpacked."

     "Okay."  With a purposely loud kiss to the back of Hutch's neck, Starsky
released him and plopped in one of the chairs, flipping channels on the TV.  It
was almost nine o'clock, so he was hopeful they might find a movie that would
keep them entertained until the New Year's Eve specials began--provided, of
course, they hadn't found other sources of entertainment prior to that.  Starsky
sincerely hoped the television would be background noise for something a bit
more interesting.  

     "Maybe we should take a shower before we get settled in for the night." 
Hutch suggested, smiling a little suggestively at his partner, who tossed the
remote control over his shoulder onto the bed and followed him happily into the
bathroom.  

     "This is a really classy place, Hutch."  Starsky seemed momentarily
distracted from his stripping partner, checking out the fluffy white towels, the two
sinks on the bathroom vanity, the marble-look countertop, the garden tub with the
large shower head, and the overall size of the bathroom itself.  "Usually the
bathroom's like a closet with faucets."

     "This hotel has been here for quite a few years.  My family always put
visitors up here if they couldn't stay at the house for some reason--if we were
having a big family gathering, like a wedding...or a funeral...this was the place the
overflow people stayed--the people we didn't put up at the house."

     "Lotsa family came for T.J.'s funeral?"  Starsky asked, noticing that Hutch
had stopped after removing his shirt, and was just standing there, holding it,
staring at some nonspecific spot on the bathroom countertop.  

     "From all over the country.  People we didn't even see at the holidays." 
Hutch didn't look up.  "Biggest family event we ever had."

     "Hey."  Starsky rubbed the soft skin of a bare shoulder.  "Let's take that
shower now, huh?"

     "Yeah, okay," Hutch agreed, smiling a little.  

     They shed the rest of their clothes, and Starsky worked at adjusting the
temperature of the spray of water from the shower head.  

     "They got good soap here, or did you bring somethin'?"  Starsky asked.

     "Since I don't like bathing with those midget bars they provide, I brought
some of our stuff from home.  I think I left it out in the bag though."  

     "I'll get it."  Starsky darted out into the room, rooted through Hutch's
carry-on bag, and returned with the soap and shampoo.  Closing the door, he
shivered a little, glad to be back in the warm bathroom.  

     Stepping under the spray, Starsky got the soap wet and started building up
some lather with it, deciding he was going to take charge of bathing Hutch.  His
partner offered no objections, smiling and enjoying the pampering, right down to
having his hair shampooed and rinsed.  When Starsky was finished, he handed
over the soap, and Hutch began returning the favor.  The large hands moved with
infinite gentleness over his ribs and stomach, in deference to any lingering
tenderness there.  Those same hands massaged his scalp gently and then carefully
rinsed the shampoo out of the thicket of dark curls that were just waiting to spring
to life again as soon at the worst weight of the water left them.  

     With the necessities of bathing out of the way, Starsky moved in for a
kiss, his hand moving down to gently stroke at Hutch's cock.  He felt Hutch's hand
close around him, and the lure of something as simple, and yet intimate, as a
shared hand job in the shower was too strong to overcome.  More elaborate
lovemaking could wait.  For now, they indulged in the pleasure, sharing wet
kisses as soap-slick hands worked in an almost completely united rhythm.  Hutch
came first, and the sight and sounds of his climax were all Starsky needed to
bring him to his own pinnacle.  Lingering for more kisses, they somewhat
clumsily swished away the evidence of their sex with a little soap and water.

     After toweling each other off, they took the time to dry their hair, figuring
soaked pillows would lose their appeal fairly quickly.  

     "You bring any deodorant or cologne or anything?"  Starsky asked.

     "If it weren't for me, you'd be dirty and naked.  Didn't you pack
*anything*?"  Hutch admonished.  
     
     "Yeah, but your stuff's in here and mine's out there, and it's *warm* in
here," Starsky responded.  

     "Use what you want, babe.  I'm just joking."  Hutch smiled as he used the
deodorant and passed it over to his lover, then started digging in the shaving kit
for cologne.  "Oh oh."

     "I'll get mine."  Starsky made another run to the bedroom and returned
with his cologne.  

     "Between the two of us, we packed for one well-prepared traveler," Hutch
quipped.

     "Smells better on you anyway," Starsky said, sniffing at his partner.

     "Not possible," Hutch said, with a sincerity that not only made Starsky
blush a little, but moved him to wrap Hutch up in another bear hug.   "Come on. 
We're missing the movie."

     "Since when d'you care if we miss 'Godzilla vs. Mothra'?"

     "You've gotta be kidding me.  I thought you said you found us a movie
starting at nine," Hutch said, handing Starsky one of the fluffy white robes from
the back of the door.  There was a little hotel emblem on the chest.

     "Wow."  Starsky slipped it on and felt it as if he'd slipped into a full length
mink coat.  "This is a really classy place, Hutch."

     "You said that before, Gordo."  

     "Yeah?  Well, it is, don't ya think?"
          
     "I wish I had my folks' money," Hutch said, smiling.  "I never wanted it
before, but now I wish I could give you all the...*classy* things in the world.  You
deserve 'em, buddy."

     "I got the best inheritance I could get from your folks, Hutch.  I got you. 
All the money's good for is havin' some fun, and we can do that with nothin' at
all."

     "Let's go get in bed and see how long we stay interested in Godzilla, huh?" 
Hutch said, his voice a little strained.  

     "A six pack, Godzilla and thou," Starsky quipped, heading toward the bed,
leaving Hutch to follow, laughing and shaking his head.  

     They actually did stay interested in the cheesy movie longer than either
expected, propped up in bed, drinking beer, eating out of snack food bags, and
making out in between the better destruction or monster battle scenes.  When it
ended, Starsky flipped channels until they came across a musical New Year's Eve
special, which they left on in the background, evicting the food bags from the bed
and sliding down, meeting in the middle of the large mattress in an embrace.  

     For long minutes, they did nothing more than explore each other's mouths,
the prolonged kisses only broken for air, or for the smiles they shared celebrating
their first New Year's Eve as lovers.  Despite their bodies' mounting passion,
neither wanted to give up the intimacy of holding each other close and
communicating their love with the kisses and looks of love they wouldn't be able
to indulge in with more acrobatic lovemaking.  Tangling their legs together, they
began a gentle humping, slowly stoking the fires until the motion became more
frantic and urgent; until hands roamed over heated flesh in almost desperate
desire, grasping and kneading at pumping buttocks, running up and down sweaty
backs.  Then the climax was there, mounting, cresting and finally exploding as
shouts were smothered in kisses, eager tongues sliding together as their bodies
slid easily against each other with the lubrication of their shared completion.  

     Hutch raised his head first, then fumbled for the remote, turning up the
volume.  Both men laughed when they saw that the partygoers on TV were
cheering and kissing and carrying on, and the ball had dropped in Times Square,
and the HAPPY 1982 was flashing boldly across the screen.  

     "Guess we came about the same time 1982 did, huh?"  Starsky asked,
grinning and reaching for the noisemakers on the night stand, handing one to
Hutch.  Laughing, they gave the obligatory toots of celebration, then opened the
little bags of confetti and tossed them up in the air over the bed.

     "Happy New Year, darlin'," Starsky moved in for the first official kiss of
1982, and was met halfway by his more than eager partner.  

     "Happy New Year, my love," Hutch said softly, kissing Starsky's lips
lightly again.  "Here's to as many more of these years as we can have."

     "No.  Here's to forever and ever."  Starsky kissed him again, deeply.  "We
don't get defined in years, babe.  Just forever.  Because there's nothin' in this
world that can stop me from lovin' you.  Not even somethin' takin' me out of it."

     "Me too, love.  Me too."  

     Snuggled together with some popular band playing something festive and
lively in the background, the two lovers drifted into a contented sleep.

********

     "Your folks usually have a big gathering on New Year's?"  Starsky asked
from the bathroom.  He was almost finished getting ready, and scolded himself
for spending more time "primping" for a visit to the Hutchinson household than
he'd spent getting ready for his senior prom.  

     "Not generally.  My dad sits in the rec room and watches bowl games and
Susan usually has some friends over."

     "She still lives at home?"

     "She has a whole suite of rooms upstairs--better than most apartments
she'd rent.  Not a whole lot of reason for her to move.  She's seeing some guy--a
lawyer my dad's had handle some of his business affairs.  Someone he approves
of, of course."

     "Wait'll he finds out who you're datin'."

     "I'm not dating anybody."  Hutch came into the bathroom behind Starsky. 
"I'm taken, remember?"  He slid his arms around Starsky's middle.

     "You sure are, blondie," Starsky responded, leaning his head back for a
kiss.  "You don't have to tell them anything, Hutch.  I promise I won't mind if you
don't say anything.  They know I'm your partner, that we're best friends.  That's all
they have to know."

     "It's not that I'm ashamed, it's just there's so much...going on there, and
I..."

     "You don't have to explain."  Starsky turned around.  "I know how hard
this is for you, darlin'.  No need to make it harder.  We don't need to prove
anything to them.  And you don't need to prove anything to me."

     "Thanks."  Hutch rested his forehead against Starsky's.  "I guess I'm ready
as I'll ever be."

     "Hutch, this isn't the same as facin' your father when you were a little boy,
all alone.  You're a man now--and you've got back-up."

     "The best."  Hutch smiled and moved away, and after pulling on jackets
and gloves, they headed out for the rental car and their sojourn to the Hutchinson
homestead.

     As they navigated the slippery country road, Starsky took in the beauty of
the rolling white hills, the snow-frosted pines and the occasional sprawling,
elegant home that dotted the pristine landscape.  The Hutchinson house itself was
one of the more impressive they'd seen, a huge white house with four white
columns in front, black shutters, green pine wreaths and red bows providing the
only color contrast from the snowy scene around it.  When they had reached the
crest of the circle drive, nearest the main entrance, Hutch stopped the car and cut
the engine.  There was a Mercedes and a BMW parked a few feet further along
the curve, and a few lights could be seen burning inside the house.  It was broad
daylight, but the sky was covered with snow-laden clouds which blocked any
attempt the sun might make to brighten the day.

     "Looks like company," Hutch said, taking a deep breath.  His hand shook
slightly as he tucked the car keys in his pocket.

     "Hey."  Starsky took a hold of the hand as it moved away from the pocket. 
"Me and thee, babe.  Remember that, huh?"

     "Yeah, I always do," Hutch said, smiling and squeezing Starsky's hand.  

     Hutch approached the red front door and tapped the brass knocker loudly.  

     "Nice little shack," Starsky observed, looking around.  "How many
bedrooms are in this place anyway?"  His attempts to distract Hutch from his
nervousness seemed to work a little.  

     "Five are used as bedrooms, but there would be a potential for eight if
there weren't a sewing room and Susan's suite and a study upstairs."

     The door opened, and a tall, sturdy-looking man with white hair stood
before them.  The features were a bit more rugged, but still somewhat similar to
Hutch's.  Dressed in a sweater, shirt and dress pants, this aging man shouldn't
have been a daunting figure, but somehow his stature, blended with his demeanor,
made him so.

     "Ken.  This is a surprise," he said, forcing a cordial smile, but not stepping
back from the door.  There was no hug, no handshake, no joy in the reunion. 
Starsky could almost feel the coldness of it chill his own heart in sympathy for his
partner.  He figured the paper boy probably got a warmer welcome at this door.  

     "Dad, we, uh...I..."

     "Dave Starsky," Starsky said, holding out his hand, smiling.  "Happy New
Year," he greeted, determined to confound the old bastard that was making Hutch
stammer and fumble for words as if he were eight years old all over again.  

     "Ken's mentioned you often," he said, shaking the extended hand.  "Come
in, please," he said, stepping aside to motion them into the house. //Well, social
grace ain't warm family welcome, but it beats standin' on the porch all day,//
Starsky thought, grateful for the warmth that surrounded them now that they were
in the foyer.  

     "Dad, we need to talk to you and mom," Hutch finally managed, looking
as if every word were costing him years off his life.  

     "Sounds serious.  Why don't you give me your coats, huh?  We gave
Edward the day off, and I'm afraid my butler skills are a little rusty."

     "Thanks.  I'm still adjusting to the temperature change between Bay City
and here," Starsky said, shrugging out of his leather jacket and peeling off the
muffler he'd been using to keep his neck and chest warm.  

     "You must be used to cold winters having grown up in New York," Mr.
Hutchinson said, hanging up the coats in the nearby closet.  

     "It's been quite a few years since I've seen snow," Starsky responded,
smiling a little.  He still had the overpowering desire to challenge the man for all
the foul things he said and did to Hutch all those years ago, but for now, his
relaxed conversation with him seemed to be easing Hutch's anxiety, and that was
his primary goal.  

     "Your mother's on the phone upstairs, and Susan's entertaining some
friends in the game room.  Let's go to the living room."  He led the way inside,
and it horrified Starsky that Hutch's father had still not touched his son or so
much as expressed a slight happiness to see him.  He was behaving as if virtual
strangers were visiting--not his son.

     "Hope we didn't come at a bad time," Hutch said as they occupied two
matching chairs on either side of a lamp table.  Mr. Hutchinson took up residence
across from them, on the couch.  The room was decorated in blue and off-white,
with the carpeting a rich, cornflower colored plush, the furniture in various
shades of cream, ivory and white, the heavy satin tie-back drapes, pale blue silk.  

     "No, not at all.  Would you like something to drink?  There's a pot of
coffee on in the kitchen."

     "W-we came here to talk about...T.J.," Hutch blurted, as if he couldn't
endure the tension another second.  

     "I thought I told you never to bring that up in this house again," Mr.
Hutchinson shot back angrily, rising from his seat on the couch.  In the moment
of surprise as Hutch looked up at him from his seated position, Starsky could see
the fearful eyes of a child.  

     "I re-remembered something," Hutch said after a noticeable pause.  He
seemed to muster all the courage he possessed then, and stood himself, facing his
father.  There was only a marginal difference in their height, the elder Hutchinson
having possibly an inch on his son.  "Something about Uncle Richard.  He w-was
here that day."  Hutch seemed to almost cringe as he said the words, but he did
say them.  Starsky waited for the impending explosion.  

     "Of course he was here that day.  Everyone in the damn county was here
that day," Hutch's father responded, pacing now.  "This is the end of the
conversation.  I don't want your mother or sister walking in on this."

     "Then when can we talk about it?"  Hutch persisted.

     "Never!"  The older man spun around on his heel and pinned Hutch with a
look that was pure rage mixed with a contempt that froze Starsky's heart
mid-beat.  "*You* *will* *never* mention his name again in this house."

     "Maybe he won't, but I will.  A child was murdered over thirty years ago,
and that case was never solved," Starsky spoke up, rising from his chair.  "That
unsolved mystery has haunted Hutch all his life, and for that reason, and for the
reason that your dead son deserves justice--deserves a *solution* to his death--I
will most certainly bring up that boy's name in this house or any other I have to
until we get to the bottom of what really happened the day he disappeared,"
Starsky concluded, his patience with the older man's intimidation techniques
having reached its end.

     "You have no right intruding into this family's past.  And there *is* no
mystery about what happened here that day.  Your partner was responsible for
watching his brother, and he chose to shirk that responsibility, and now his
brother is dead.  Mystery solved.  I certainly hope, for your sake, his sense of
responsibility has developed a bit."

     "You're amazing.  You know, I didn't believe you'd be...that you could
blame an eight-year-old child for something like this.  But you do, and it's sick. 
Cruel and sick," Starsky said angrily, moving closer to Hutch's father.  "What is
the matter with you?  You still had one son left--"

     "Starsk, don't," Hutch said softly, his voice sounding a little strained.  "Let
it go."

     "Take your partner's advice, Mr. Starsky.  You are not welcome in this
house, and neither are your tasteless questions about a very painful, horrible
family tragedy."  

     "A horrible family tragedy you don't seem to want to know the truth about,
and I don't understand that.  It's easier for you to blame Hutch than it is for you to
face the truth about your son's death, is that it?"

     "Dad, I saw Uncle R-Richard's car on the r-road b-before T.J.--"

     "Stop it!"  The elder Hutchinson advanced on his son until they stood
close enough for his breath to stir a few hairs on Hutch's head as he yelled.  "Stop
stuttering like some kind of moron!  If you have something to say, say it like a
man or shut the hell up!"

     "Back off."  Starsky made the physical effort of pushing himself between
the two Hutchinson men.  "How dare you stand there and yell at him for stuttering
when you're the one who made him start doing it in the first place!"  Starsky
shouted back.  Then, in a lower, ominous tone, he continued, "Now there's
somethin' that's not adding up about this case, and I think you know what it is. 
Your son sees you as some kind of...larger than life figure he has to be afraid of. 
Let me tell you what I see.  You're nothin' better than the guy who gets drunk and
beats his wife and kids.  Your blows are your words and they bruise where it
doesn't show and lasts the longest.  I hope you enjoyed yourself because you are
never gonna have another shot at Hutch as long as I'm alive."  Starsky turned
away from the irate, but somewhat stunned man, and looked at his partner.  Hutch
looked as shocked as his father, but he still watched the older man with a sort of
fear in his eyes.  "You," he said to Hutch, in the gentlest possible tone, taking
Hutch's chin in one hand, "don't ever have to stutter for him or anybody else ever
again."

     "Get out.  Both of you," the elder Hutchinson said firmly.

     "Ken?"  An older woman Starsky recognized from photographs as being
Hutch's mother, stood in the doorway of the room.  "What's going on here,
Kenneth?" she asked her husband, who walked toward her to intercept her from
coming further into the room.  

     "Ken and his partner were just leaving."

     "Leaving?"  She pushed past her husband and walked over to Hutch, and
Starsky waited for the warm, motherly embrace.  What transpired was a
somewhat stilted peck on the cheek.  "You two must have just gotten here.  You
have to be David," she said, holding out her hand toward Starsky, who shook it. 
Mrs. Hutchinson was a slender, elegant woman with hair that looked a bit too
blonde to be natural upswept and carefully styled, even though she wore casual
slacks and a sweater.  

     "Yes, Ma'am."

     "Maybe you two would like to tell me what's going on here?"

     "We c-came..."  Hutch covered his mouth, and shook his head, swallowing
hard and with great concentration, delivered his next words smoothly.  "We came
to talk about T.J.," he said.

     "Why?"  she asked, her face losing all its color and expression, her voice
holding a sort of fearful shock.  

     "Because Hutch remembered something significant, and we want to
re-open the investigation," Starsky explained.

     "Your brother's dead.  For God's sake, Ken, let him rest."

     "Doesn't it bother you that they never found his killer?"  Starsky persisted.

     "I've told you two once to leave.  I'm not going to tell you again.  That's
what we have security for," Hutch's father declared coldly.

     "Stable hands with pitchforks," Hutch observed bitterly.  "The kind that go
off on vigilante missions to beat retarded men and brand them homicidal
pedophiles on a shoestring of evidence that wouldn't hold up in any court on
earth?"  

     "You are not welcome in this house--ever again," the older man shot back. 


     "That's nothing new, Dad."  Hutch headed toward the foyer.  "I haven't
been welcome here since the day T.J. died."  He looked at his mother a bit sadly. 
"Bye, Mom," he said quietly, turning and heading toward the door before she had
a chance to answer him.  

     Starsky had almost expected someone to try to stop them--for Mrs.
Hutchinson to say something or do something to keep her son from walking away
so hurt.  She did and said nothing, and Starsky pulled Hutch's jacket out first,
holding it for his partner.  Hutch managed a little smile at the small gesture of
pampering, and seemed too lost in his own thoughts to do anything more but
stand there mutely as Starsky slid into his own coat.  

     Once they were back in the car, Starsky broke the silence.

     "I'm sorry I went after your father like that.  I know I made things worse."  

     "I don't think that's possible, Starsk."  Hutch looked at him with eyes that
were a bit bright with moisture.  "I love you for trying to make a difference, but
nothing will ever change with him."

     "I wanna go back in there and beat the living shit outta that asshole,"
Starsky said angrily, feeling his own voice shake a little.  

     "When it was over, he'd still hate me and blame me.  You can't change
that, babe."

     "Maybe not, but he's no better than some'a the child abusers we've got
servin' time in the joint.  Actually, he's worse."

     "At least we gave him fair warning that we were stirring things up again." 
Hutch started the car.

     "I'm sorry I pushed you so hard to come here.  You got hurt again and it's
my fault for makin' you go somewhere you didn't wanna go."

     "Maybe so, but this is something that needs to be done.  When I see his
reaction...it just convinces me that much more.  He knows something, Starsk.  He
*knows* something.  He knows something about his own son's death and he's not
talking.  I owe it to T.J. to find out what the hell really happened here."

     "You're not stuttering anymore," Starsky said, reaching over to caress
Hutch's head lightly.  

     "You said I didn't have to, remember?  Don't I always take your advice?"

     "Sure ya do," Starsky responded, chuckling and cuffing the back of
Hutch's head before they started down the driveway.  "All the property's out
back--the stables, fields, and so on?"  

     "I'm gonna show you, unless they've fenced it off.  But you used to be able
to drive right off here," he steered the car off the driveway, following a set of tire
tracks that looked as if they might have come from a large truck.  "Snow's too
deep for us to keep going, but you see where the ground slopes down there?" 
Starsky nodded on cue, and Hutch continued.  "Beyond that is the pond, and then
the woods.  The stables are over there--obviously," he explained, gesturing toward
a large cluster of one-story wood outbuildings and a large paddock.  "You can just
see the corner of the white wood fence that was always around the yard."

     "It's always been six feet high and solid?  Not a see-through fence?"

     "No, never.  The fence has probably been replaced since then, but it
always looked like that.  There was a latch on the gate to the back, and it was a
little higher than T.J. could comfortably reach, but he *could* get it open if he
wanted to badly enough.  I think the idea was to keep the kids from opening it and
taking off, so they put it up higher.  T.J. was a tall kid--he wasn't much shorter
than I was--and he could climb like a little monkey--so he got in and out of that
gate at will practically from the time he was a toddler."  Hutch paused.  "Which is
why I was supposed to watch him."

     "Hutch, come on."  Starsky rested his hand on Hutch's arm.  "Don't keep
doin' this to yourself."

     "Maybe they're not wrong to be angry, Starsk.  He died because I left him
alone.  That's more than a small mistake."

     "He died because someone kidnapped him and killed him.  We've been
through this before, darlin'.  Don't let your old man drag you back down.  If he
was in some sorta danger, an adult shoulda been out here watchin' you both.  If
somebody hadn't done somethin' awful, he'd'a still been alive and well."

     "I know."  Hutch sighed.

     "T.J. probably either opened the gate *for* someone, or took off on his
own.  Otherwise, unless the guy was tall enough to look over the fence, how
could he be sure T.J. was in there--alone?"

     "There are a lot of places in that yard to hide--or at least there used to
be--shrubs, a fountain, things like that.  I don't think someone would have risked
going into the yard after one of us if he couldn't be sure it was just one child there
alone."

     "'Course, someone like your Uncle Richard coulda taken that chance,
because he wouldn't have to explain bein' there if it turned out you were both
there, or even if your mother or father came outside."

     "That's true."  Hutch shivered a little.  "God, I don't want to think he had
anything to do with this.  I know T.J. didn't like him much, but that's even
worse--to think maybe he'd done something, and none of us knew...none of us
took T.J. seriously about not liking him."

     "Did he say something?"

     "Not in so many words, but Dad had to really force him to interact with
Richard, which is weird, because T.J. was so damn outgoing as a kid--he loved
people, and he didn't have a shy bone in his body.  Then there was me."  Hutch
chortled.  "No wonder Dad was disappointed which kid he lost."

     "Don't you ever dare say a fucking stupid thing like that again, do you hear
me?"  Starsky shot back angrily.

     "It was true, Starsk.  T.J. was the bright light in the family.  He was
smarter, funnier, cuter, more talented...  I was the shy klutz with the big feet who
used to run into the patio door when it was clean."  Hutch watched as Starsky
snorted a little laugh.  "Thanks for your sensitivity, pal," he retorted, but smiled
himself.  

     "I've seen pictures of you as a kid.  You were plenty cute--you still are,
even if you *do* still run into clean patio doors.  'Sides, maybe T.J. was this
bright shinin' light because everybody made a big deal outta him.  Maybe you
were so worried about tryin' to compete that it made you nervous and that made
you klutzy.  The only time you get klutzy is when you're nervous, babe."

     "T.J. was a wonderful little boy, Starsk."

     "I'm sure he was--but he was just that.  Not a god, not a superstar.  Your
folks had two little boys--two beautiful, special, smart, wonderful little boys. 
They lost one of 'em.  Not the better one, or the smarter one--just one'a two."

     "I guess we're on our own to look into this.  We'll have to pay a visit to the
PD tomorrow."  Hutch started guiding the car back toward the main road.  

     "We could go there now."

     "Lot of people'll probably be off for the holiday--especially the older guys
who might remember something about the case."

     "We could maybe take a look at the file."

     "Tomorrow," Hutch said quietly but firmly.  

     "Tomorrow it is," Starsky agreed, settling back in the seat for the ride
back to the hotel.  "You know your dad knows something."

     "I know," Hutch said softly, staring at the road ahead of them.  "What I
don't understand is why--how he could do it.  How he could *cover* for someone
who did that.  I don't understand it, Starsk.  I know he's not going to win any
parenting medals, but that's a far cry from being an accessory after the fact to the
murder of your own son."

     "Some people have their priorities all screwed up, buddy."  Starsky sighed. 
"The truth about T.J.'s death doesn't mean as much to him as keeping the family
name intact.  Probably the biggest reason he spent so much time shuttin' you up is
because you were the witness--the one who saw Richard's car out here that day."

     "But how could he...?"  Hutch shook his head and leaned back in the seat,
steering with one hand as the other went up to rub at his eyes.  "We're talking
about molesting and murdering a *child*.  My brother.  His son."  

     "I know, babe."  Starsky reached over and squeezed Hutch's shoulder. 
"Conflicting loyalties are hellish things sometimes."

     "I guess you'd know about those--some of the times you've had to stick
with me and go against the department."

     "I said *conflicting* loyalties, darlin'.  There was no conflict there.  No
decision.  I never woulda been anywhere but with you."

     "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"  Hutch reached up and took
a hold of the hand on his shoulder, though he didn't look away from the road.  

     "You did a pretty good job showin' me last night."

     "And this morning."

     "That was nice too," Starsky concurred, chuckling.  

     "Sometimes I still think back about...what happened with Gunther...I can't
help it.  I don't want to, but it's like a compulsion to look at the single worst
moment of your life and try to put it in some perspective.  I can't do that. 
Something like that won't fit in my life, because..."  Hutch's hand flexed on
Starsky's.  "Because if you hadn't come back to me, I wouldn't be here anymore."

     "Sure you would, babe.  You're stronger'n you think."

     "Then it would be a living death sentence.  Like being forced to live with
my heart cut out and my soul torn in half.  I don't know if I would have made it
without blowing my brains out.  If I had, it would have only been because I know
you'd be upset with me for doing it."

     "Aw, Hutch."  Starsky covered their joined hands with his free hand.  "I'd
never really be very far away from you.  I love ya so much, I couldn't leave if I
tried.  If anything ever happens to me, wherever I have to go, I'll be lovin' you
from there, keepin' an eye on you somehow."

     "Starsk, don't."  Hutch was blinking away tears now, and Starsky regretted
saying anything.  He'd hoped the words would console Hutch in his desolate
mood, but they seemed to hurt him more.  

     "Hey, come on, look at me.  I'm healthy as a horse.  Simonetti even tried
drillin' the repair work and everything held together okay."

     "If it hadn't, I'd have ripped his nuts off and shoved them down his throat."

     "Y'know, to see that, it'd almost be worth another stint in ICU."  Starsky
looked over at Hutch, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.  Before long,
Hutch couldn't resist the impish expression and started laughing.  

     The rest of the afternoon was spent watching football and making love. 
By early evening, hunger got the best of them, and with their junk food depleted
from the first football game, they selected steak dinners from the hotel's room
service menu.  

     When the food arrived, Starsky took it in and tipped the delivery person. 
After setting up at the small table in the room, the two men ate in silence for a
few moments, relishing the taste of something substantial that didn't come from a
plastic bag.  

     Hutch found himself watching his partner, noticing the way the white
hotel robe contrasted with his dark curls, and with the dark chest hair that was
visible through the open V--which had become considerably larger, either by
accident or design, while he relaxed and devoured dinner.  Starsky's hands were
not small by any means--the fingers were long, strong and masculine.  But there
was a certain refinement about them that had always lured Hutch's eye, even
before they were lovers.  Now, as Starsky was plucking a piece of parsley from
atop the portion of his steak he was about to massacre next, Hutch couldn't help
but think how much he'd like to put a wedding band on that left hand.  

     "I s'pose you want me to eat this?"  Starsky said, holding up the parsley. 
Hutch realized he probably looked as if he were mesmerized by the little herb, the
way he was staring at the hand that held it.  

     "Someday, when it's safe," he reached out and took a hold of the hand that
held the parsley, "I want to put a ring right here where it belongs."  He stroked the
back of Starsky's left ring finger with the tip of his own finger.  

     "I'm wearin' my watch," Starsky offered in response.  "You got your ring
on. *We* know, babe.  Maybe we can't have wedding rings, but we're wearin'
each other's jewelry somehow.  Far as I'm concerned, this watch is my wedding
ring and that ring hidin' out on your right hand is yours.  We just have t'be
careful."

     "I wish we didn't."  Hutch didn't let go of the hand.  "You were so unhappy
at first with us being in the closet.  I thought I was handling it.  Now you're okay
and I'm getting depressed."

     "I'm not okay.  It's never gonna be okay with me that we can't shout it from
the rooftops.  That I can't kiss you or hold hands with you in public.  That I have
t'keep pretendin' that I don't love you *that way*.  That I can't take you out dancin'
or embarrass you with a whole bunch'a roses on your desk on Valentine's Day. 
It's not fair, babe.  It stinks and it's not fair.  But what we've got...it's
so...*perfect*.  And I love ya so much...maybe nobody's supposed to have *that
much* in one lifetime, y'know?  I mean, what's between us is so good, maybe not
bein' able to show it...maybe those are the dues we've gotta pay to have what
we've got."

     "Nobody can have it all, huh?"

     "Maybe not.  I see all these couples who can do anything they want--go
dancin', hold hands, even make out in a dark corner," Starsky added, chuckling. 
"You know what?  Lots of 'em don't even want to.  Or they're cheatin' on each
other, or...or they just don't love each other like we do.  All the dancin' in the
world isn't gonna be as good as just sittin' here holdin' hands with you."

     "You probably want to finish your steak," Hutch said, flushing a little.

     "Steak's good cold."  Starsky got up and walked toward Hutch, who
backed away from the table a little, still seated.  Starsky straddled his lap and let
his butt land on Hutch's legs.  

     "You're a little big for a lap dog," Hutch teased, accepting the kiss that
was heading his way.  

     "Never did it in a chair before, eh, Blondie?"  Starsky teased, humping
Hutch's lap.

     "Uh...no, I guess not," Hutch responded, significantly distracted by the
motion.  

     "First time for everything," Starsky responded cheerfully, swooping down
on Hutch's mouth again.  

     "Starsk?"

     "Hm?"  Starsky was smiling, impatiently waiting to do more kissing than
talking.   Hutch stared at him then, drinking in the living, healthy sight, sound and
scent of him.  Words would never be enough.

     "I don't have the words, babe," he said honestly, carding his fingers back
through the dense curls.  

     "You don't need 'em, darlin'.  Just you lookin' at me that way says it all." 
Starsky's lips were back on his then, the kisses deepening until even the
movement of their bodies seemed like a distraction.  

     Hutch pulled at the tie of Starsky's robe, feeling it give way and the fabric
push easily aside.  Moving his mouth down to Starsky's neck, he pushed the robe
off his lover's shoulders and worked his way down to a hardening nipple. 
Starsky's hands were in Hutch's hair, encouraging him to continue licking and
sucking at the hard peak.  
     
     In a move that was surprisingly smooth for a man attached to another man
by his nipple, Starsky managed to get a hold of Hutch's robe and lift up just as he
gave it a pull in opposite directions.  When Starsky landed on his lap again,
Hutch's robe was only held to his body by the back of the chair.  He happily slid
his arms free for better access to his naked lover.  

     Not sure if it was Starsky's enthusiasm, the novelty of the position, or the
somewhat overwhelming love he felt for his partner, Hutch found himself
coming, shouting out Starsky's name, his climax resulting from a not-too-intense
bit of friction.

     "Babe, I'm sorry," he said against Starsky's chest, not even wanting to look
up to see his partner's disappointment.  

     "Sorry?"  Starsky sounded genuinely confused.  Hutch finally looked up. 
All he saw was pure, deep blue love and that familiar grin.  "You got so turned on
that you came?  That's a bad thing?"

     "You're not even close yet."

     "So?  You can take care'a that."

     "Oh, I will."  Hutch nudged Starsky slightly.  "Let's move the action over
to the bed, huh?"  His suggestion was answered with a kiss and a waggle of the
eyebrows.  Starsky rose and headed for the bed, pushing back the already rumpled
covers and stretching out, one arm behind his head, his cock rising at half mast.  

     Hutch moved in for a kiss first, then moved back to pleasure the nipple
that had been neglected earlier.  The warmth of Starsky's body, the rise and fall of
his breath and the steady beating of his heart were like an elixir to Hutch, and
beyond the pleasure of tasting his lover, lingering over the little nubs let him
drink in the healthy feeling and sound of Starsky's life.  That sound had become
precious, and was something Hutch had rejoiced in every day since Starsky's
liberation from ventilators, tubes, IV's and other such artificial life supports
following the shooting.  

     He finally abandoned the nipple and kissed his way along an incision scar. 
He could feel Starsky tensing a little, and looked up.

     "Do you want me not to do that, love?"  he asked gently.

     "Why do you do it?  I guess it doesn't matter.  I just...wondered."

     "Just because...I'm glad you're alive, and you wouldn't be if that hadn't
gone well," Hutch answered bluntly.  "Because I love every part of you and I
know you still hate this part of yourself."

     "I try not to look at it too long in the mirror.  Just keep my eyes on the
upper half.  At least I didn't get a tit cut off or something really disgusting."  

     "You really know how to put a guy in the mood, Starsk," Hutch chided,
laughing.  Becoming more serious then, he planted one parting kiss on the pink
scar tissue.  "If it bothers you, I won't do it.  But to me, when we're making love,
it's just one more place to kiss you."

     "There's nothin' I got you're not welcome to kiss, babe," Starsky
responded, grinning a little wickedly.  Then, his own smile faded.  "I just didn't
want you t'do it because you think I need you t'do it to prove somethin'."

     "I never felt that way," Hutch said, moving up to stretch out next to
Starsky.  "I saw those marks in every stage--they don't shock me or gross me out
now."

     "I'll never forget the way you took care'a me.  Changed bandages, hauled
me to the john, waited on me hand and foot...  You always knew when I was
gettin' discouraged or when it hurt too much for me to handle it by myself.  And
you'd hold me until I felt better."  Starsky smiled.  "I remember you chewin' out
that therapist--I was afraid you were gonna pull your piece on her," Starsky
concluded, chuckling.  Hutch had very passionately lambasted an insensitive
physical therapist who had ignored Starsky's protests of fatigue and discomfort
once too often for his tastes.  The woman had never returned to Starsky's hospital
room after that--something for which he had been eternally grateful.  

     "She was a sadist, not a therapist," Hutch retorted, still indignant all this
time later.  "She was lucky I didn't report her to...the AMA," Hutch finally stated,
having groped for the worst possible fate his mind would conjure.  

     "She was just doin' her job, babe.  I was in a lot of pain then, with
everything tryin' to heal up, and not being drugged so heavily all the time."

     "You have to challenge a patient, but you have to know when they can't
handle meeting that challenge.  I knew how much you wanted to get back out on
the streets, so I knew if you didn't do what she asked, you couldn't.  I told her
that."

     "I liked it when we did the exercises together.  Never seemed to hurt all
that much.  I always feel better when you're touching me--even if I'm sick or have
a bullet stuck in me somewhere."  Starsky shifted onto his side and nudged
Hutch's nose with his.  "It was nice to be so close to you.  Guess we were foolin'
ourselves for a long time what was goin' on with us."

     "We were always in love, babe.  It just took us a while to make it to bed,"
Hutch responded, kissing the tip of the nose so close to his.  

     "Hey, I'm not easy--I don't put out for just anybody."

     "Yeah, I think you qualify as my longest courtship," Hutch said,
chuckling. 

     "I never spent this much time gettin' into any other blonde's pants, so don't
cry to me about long courtships," Starsky joked, nuzzling Hutch's neck.

     "My mother warned me about guys like you," Hutch countered, earning
himself an inelegant snort of laughter against his neck.  

     "Somehow, I can't picture your mother warnin' you to watch out for this,"
Starsky responded, laughing.  

     "Actually, she didn't warn me about much of anything, so you're right,"
Hutch said, hating how grim and bitter his voice sounded.  They'd been joking,
enjoying the banter, and he had to drag it down into the morass of his
dysfunctional family.

     "Before we came out here, I didn't really believe you."  Starsky shifted so
his head was on a pillow, their faces inches apart.  "I don't understand them at all,
babe.  I thought you were exaggerating...that maybe since you felt so bad about
T.J. and what happened, that maybe you were projectin' that onto them.  But
you're not."

     "No, I'm not.  I used to think maybe I was crazy--seeing something that
wasn't there.  But then anytime I'd have to see them for some reason, I'd realize
that I was exactly right--that they really did blame me, and that they really didn't
love me.  That I was...I don't know, just this...*relative* they tolerated.  And it
wasn't just after T.J.'s death.  Even before--I don't remember a time when I had
their attention or their interest.  It was always T.J. from the start.  We were only
two years apart in age, so if they felt any differently toward me when I was a
baby, I don't remember it, obviously.  Nothing I ever did was good enough.  T.J.
could do most anything and it was wonderful."

     "You didn't resent him though?"

     "Sometimes.  I wanted to be the one they looked at that way, or the one
my dad would pick up and rough-house with or that my mother would fuss over. 
I told myself it was because he was younger--that I was too grown up for that." 
Hutch paused.  "I loved him too.  I was jealous of him, but I never resented him or
hated him.  We were best buddies, and he loved me too--looked up to me.  I
couldn't stay mad at him, even when something my parents did...stung a little."

     "It doesn't make sense, babe.  You and your brother looked a lot alike, you
were both smart kids, both healthy, perfect, normal little boys--why love one and
shun the other?"

     "I don't know.  I guess after what happened to T.J., I just chalked it up to
them blaming me.  But that didn't explain anything about how things were before
he died.  When Susan came along...it was like the birth of the princess."  Hutch
sighed and swallowed.  "Like they finally had another child to love again instead
of just this...*kid* that lived in their house that was responsible for the child they
loved dying."

     "I know it doesn't change anything about your folks," Starsky began,
scooting closer and wrapping himself around Hutch, resting his face in the
warmth between Hutch's neck and shoulder, "but I love ya so much that I couldn't
make it without ya.  And I think your parents are a couple of blind idiots if they
couldn't see what a beautiful boy you were."

     "It doesn't change it, but it makes it not matter nearly as much," Hutch
said honestly, kissing the dark curls near his mouth.  He thought of reminding
Starsky of his own postponed pleasure, but his partner didn't like being disturbed
when he was settled in for a good cuddling.  Without dislodging their embrace,
Hutch slid a hand low and started gently stroking the cock that had softened
somewhat while they talked.  

     "Mmm.  Love your hands, babe," Starsky muttered against his neck,
kissing it.  "Just a hand job, darlin'.  I don't want you goin' anywhere.  Wanna hold
you like this all night."

     "Wanna hold you like this forever, babe," Hutch said softly, smiling and
resting his head against Starsky's, enjoying the slow, lazy pleasuring of his
affectionate lover.  He could feel the hot shaft in his hand reach its full hardness,
then Starsky was groaning loudly against his neck, his name somewhere in the
jumble of sounds, as he bathed Hutch's hand, stomach and the sheet beneath
them.  "Talk about firing a full round," Hutch teased, and Starsky laughed.

     "All depends on my target," he responded sleepily, wrapping himself
tightly around Hutch, his hip most likely in the wet spot.  He seemed
unconcerned, so Hutch hugged him close and ignored the moist stickiness
between them.  They'd probably regret it in the morning, but for now, he didn't
want to dislodge the warm, lethargic body in his arms.  

     As he dozed off to sleep, Hutch thought back on what Starsky had said. 
Starsky's love couldn't undo the old pain of his childhood, but it had given him
back the faith in himself that he was lovable, and that love didn't have to hurt, and
that he didn't have to do any special tricks or jump through any special hoops to
be loved unconditionally.  After life with his parents and marriage to Vanessa,
that was a very great gift indeed.

********

     Captain Paul Baxter was a portly man in his early sixties with receding
gray hair and silver wire-framed glasses.  Dressed in a blue suit, white shirt and
tie, he could have easily been a CEO rather than a cop as he sat behind his desk at
the Duluth PD, a thick stack of file folders in front of him.  

     "Gentlemen, I've pulled everything in our archives about the T.J.
Hutchinson abduction and murder.  I must say, it was a real surprise to get your
call, Detective," he said to Hutch.  "I would have never expected T.J.'s older
brother to be a cop," he concluded.  "Do you remember much about the case from
when you were a child?"

     "Not a great deal in terms of the details of the investigation.  I remember
the personal issues...vividly," Hutch said, taking in a deep breath.  
     
     The older man had been only a few years younger than he and Starsky
were now at the time of the murder, and he'd accompanied his older partner to the
Hutchinson home on several occasions.  Hutch could still see behind the extra
years and extra pounds the energetic young man who had just recently made
detective before taking on his brother's murder case.  He vaguely remembered
liking the younger cop who identified himself as "Paul" and did all he could to be
sensitive and friendly with the emotionally shaken eight-year-old brother of the
victim.  "Paul" had been a large part of the reason Hutch had become a cop in the
first place--he'd seen a real humanity and compassion behind a badge, and it had
impressed him immensely.    

     "Say, do you two want some coffee?"  He gestured at a coffee maker
behind him.  "Present from my daughter.  My secretary knows how to run it,
fortunately," he added, chuckling a little.  Both men accepted the offer with
thanks.  "Marty Sampson and I spent months actively investigating your brother's
death.  We had some leads, but mostly dead ends.  Can I be blunt about
something?"

     "Please," Hutch encouraged, taking a drink of his coffee.  

     "Your family wasn't a hell of a lot of help."

     "Really?"  Hutch exchanged looks with Starsky, though neither of them
were terribly surprised by the revelation.  "What do you mean?"

     "We had to get court orders for anything we needed from the house, your
parents had their lawyer present any time we questioned them, and frankly, all we
got was the pat speech that you were supposed to be watching him."  Paul Baxter
leaned back in his chair.  "As if hanging it on an eight-year-old explained
everything.  The killer was no eight-year-old--he was a damned predator, and we
owed it to every kid within a several-county radius to find the son of a bitch and
lock him up."

     "Who were your prime suspects?"  Starsky asked.

     "We brought in a guy from the neighboring ranch.  Kind of a
simple-minded sort, if I recall correctly.  We found some kinky books in his
room, so Marty figured we had him.  Only thing is, he had a strong alibi--six
family members in a town fifteen miles away could identify him as being there
for a family gathering at the time your brother was killed."

     "Families cover for each other," Hutch said.

     "That's what Marty said.  Still, our boss didn't think we had enough to hold
him, so we let him go.  Somebody beat the shit out of him a couple days later. 
Interesting how we never could get a single suspect in *that* case."  Paul shook
his head.  "We interviewed every known pervert in the area.  We harassed people
who were new in town and didn't have much reason to be here, we rousted
vagrants...we did everything we could, but it was as if the earth opened and
*swallowed* the guy."
     
     "Didn't you have any worthwhile physical evidence?"  Starsky asked.  

     "You've got to remember that this was over thirty years ago, Detective
Starsky.  Our means of analyzing blood and semen samples were not anything
like they are now.   Our evidence collection methods weren't either.  I know
looking back that Marty and I made mistakes, missed things...  I mean, reviewing
a case you handled thirty years ago, you see plenty of things that by today's
standards are pretty pathetic."

     "Did you have a theory?"  Hutch asked. 

     "It was someone the boy knew and trusted.  You heard no commotion
from outside, and you were in the kitchen.  The windows were open--you would
have heard screams or loud voices.  I figure he went with the man willingly.  He
must have taken him somewhere by car, because when you walked me around the
property the next day, showing me where you had searched?  I figured it was
pretty unlikely you wouldn't have seen something--you had to be following them
within just a couple minutes.  You said you were only in the kitchen,"  he opened
the folder in front of him and sorted through a huge stack of notes.  "Damn. 
Where is it."

     "I wasn't in there more than five minutes, if that long," Hutch said.

     "Right.  Here we go."  He looked through what appeared to be photocopies
of hand-written notes.  "You said 'I was just gone a couple minutes'."

     "I guess that was pretty accurate.  Only as long as it took to walk into the
house, through the mud room and into the kitchen, pour two glasses of lemonade
and then go back outside.  And I was hurrying, because I wasn't supposed to leave
T.J. alone outside."

     "Your reopening this case--is it just...a desire to put some sort of closure
on it, or did you have something else to add?"

     "I remembered something."  Hutch took another drink of his coffee.  "Just
before we came out here, we worked on a case involving the kidnapping and
murder of a little boy T.J.'s age--he even looked like him.  It brought a lot back." 
Hutch paused.  "I started having nightmares, flashbacks, remembering
things...one of them had to do with my Uncle Richard."

     "What about him?"

     "Did you question him?"

     "I'm sure we did.  Tall fella with blond hair and a mustache?"  Paul started
shuffling papers again.  "Drove some kinda weird car, I remember that."

     "A bright blue Studebaker."

     "Right.  I knew there was something that stood out in my mind, and that
car was it."   

     "I saw that car right after T.J. disappeared.  I was running toward the
paddock--I mean, this was *seconds* after I discovered T.J. wasn't in the
yard--and I looked up toward the road, and I saw Uncle Richard's car driving
away, as if he'd been to the house.  Later that day, he *was* there...I guess at night
sometime."

     "No one ever mentioned that at the time," the older man said, finally
locating his notes on his interview with Richard Hutchinson.  "He claimed he was
in Cloquet when T.J. disappeared."

     "That's not far from here, is it?"  Starsky asked.

     "About a half hour," Hutch responded.  "He had a girlfriend there, so it's
possible--but I know I saw that car.  I always liked that dumb car because it was a
weird color, so I knew it was his when I spotted it."

     "He was driving *away* from the house?"

     "Yes."

     "Tell him the rest, Hutch," Starsky said quietly.  Paul arched an eyebrow,
and Hutch shrugged.  

     "T.J. didn't like Richard.  There was no good reason for it either.  At least,
nothing obvious.  But Richard would pick him up when he was little, and he'd
wriggle away.  When he got older and Richard would take him riding--we always
had horses, and when we were little, an adult would take us--either my father or
Richard, or occasionally one of the guys who had worked in the stables long
enough that Dad figured he was trustworthy to watch out for us."  Hutch sighed. 
"T.J. hated riding with Richard, so I usually went with him and T.J. rode with
Dad."

     "Was Richard ever alone with the boy?"

     "Sure.  I say sure...I don't remember any 'for instances', but I know there
were times we were both alone with him--either one on one or the two of us
together.  He never did anything to me.  Never said anything, never
acted...*strangely*.  Never anything...inappropriate.  I liked Uncle Richard--he
always made a big deal out of my achievements...took me out for a fancy dinner
or to an amusement park or something if I got good grades or won a contest..." 
Hutch shook his head.  "Maybe that's why I didn't want to think about what seeing
his car meant--at least, maybe why I buried it when I got older and started having
suspicions."

     "You kept in touch with your uncle over the years?"

     "He's dead now--died about ten years ago.  He got heavily into
drinking--by the time I left home, he was pretty well an alcoholic.  The last
couple years of high school, we got together a couple of times, and he was
semi-drunk both times.  Even then, he was always really proud of me, and I
appreciated that--his interest and the things he did.  He was a good uncle to me,
and I guess I didn't want to face that maybe he was...some kind of *monster*."

     "Well, just his car being there doesn't prove anything conclusively, and
since he's dead, asking him isn't an option."  Paul sifted through the files.  "You
boys want to go through this stuff and see if you come up with anything new?"

     "Yes, we do, but I need to ask you a question," Hutch said, sliding forward
to sit on the edge of his chair.  "Did my father ever indicate to you that Richard
had been there at all that day?"

     "No.  He never said a word about it.  We asked all the family members
who showed up by later that night--and that included your uncle--who they were,
where they were at the time of the disappearance, and if they could verify it. 
Richard said Cloquet, and he came up with a statement from his girlfriend to back
him up.  So we dropped it.  There was no reason to suspect him of anything."

     "If we re-open this case, my father's probably going to fight it."

     "That wouldn't be anything new," the captain said, shifting in his chair. 
"Frankly, Detective, I was shocked at your father's behavior during this case. 
Made me start looking at him as a suspect.  Marty didn't buy it, so we didn't
pursue it, but I never saw a missing kid's father who was so worried about
*controlling* the investigation.  Not pushing us to do more, not to do things his
way--but moreso *not* to do anything.  He was worried about the press, worried
about the family name being dragged through the mud and into a spotlight.  He
questioned if it was necessary for us to intrude on their time of trouble to
interview and question relatives...it gave me a creepy feeling I didn't like."

     "I'm sure my father had nothing to do with my brother's death," Hutch said
evenly.  He had no desire to passionately defend his father, but he truly didn't
believe the man possessed the capability or the perversity to molest and murder
his own child.  "Whether or not he knew who did do it, I don't know anymore.  I
used to think that was impossible, but now I'm not so sure."  Hutch expelled a
long breath.  "I don't know why I'm stirring this up again, except that it feels
so...unfinished, not knowing what really happened."

     "Believe it or not, this case has bugged me for thirty years.  It's the most
important unsolved case in my personal career history, and I'd like nothing more
than to finally close the books on it and know what the hell happened to that little
boy."

     "What are the legal ramifications for anyone who might have participated
in a cover up at this point in time?"  Starsky asked, and Hutch looked up
suddenly, not having considered before this that if his father--or even his
mother--had known more than they were telling, they could very well end up in
jail over this investigation.  

     "Depends on how we pursue it."  Captain Baxter leaned forward on his
forearms on the desk, his hands entwined on top of the stack of files.  "If you two
do a little research into some dusty old files to fill in a few blanks--questions
you've got about the case--then it'll pretty much be up to you what those
ramifications are."  He paused.  "There's no statute of limitations on murder,
Ken," he said to Hutch, using his first name as he must have when Hutch was a
child.  "If we reopen the investigation officially--which the new evidence you've
presented may be sufficient to do--then what we do will be in an official capacity,
and accessories--before or after the fact--may find themselves facing prison time. 
Even now."

     "You wanna do some nosing around before stirrin' up the hornets' nest?" 
Starsky asked, looking at his partner.  

     "My goal isn't to put my parents in the slammer for their golden years,"
Hutch responded.  "Damn, I don't want to think either one of them knew anything,
and part of me says that if they do, I shouldn't care if they end up in prison over
it."

     "You two talk it over and decide how you want to proceed.  Nobody in
this department, with the exception of myself, really gives a damn about this case
anymore.  It's been stored in a file box in the basement for the last twenty-eight
years--since our boss officially closed the case.  Marty passed away a couple years
ago.  The rest of your family certainly isn't pressing for answers."

     "We'll talk about it," Starsky said, looking at the pile of folders.  "You
mind if we take a look at those?"  he asked.

     "Be my guest.  You can use the conference room across the hall.  Before
you go through these," he aimed his gaze at Hutch, "you should be aware that
there are photos of your brother in here--when he was found, photos taken by the
medical examiner...the coroner's report doesn't leave anything to the
imagination."  He handed the pile of folders to Starsky, who rose to take them. 
Hutch stood also.  

     "I'll take these across the hall," Starsky said, heading out of the office,
leaving his partner a moment to speak to the aging police captain.

     "Paul--I hope it's all right if I call you that--it's the only way I ever knew
you before today," Hutch said, smiling, and the other man returned it.

     "That's fine, Ken.  Calling you 'detective' seemed a little *surreal*," he
concluded, laughing.

     "I wanted to thank you for...for the way you handled things back then.  It
was a really...difficult time, and...with all the questions coming at me from all
sides...I never minded talking to you, telling you whatever I could think of.  The
way you did your job was a big part of my decision to become a cop in the first
place."  He extended a hand, which the older man shook with a smile.

     "Thanks for telling me."  He paused, then a little hesitantly, continued.  "I
was real uncomfortable with the way you were questioned back then.  Both by
your own father and my partner.  I've seen interrogations of murder suspects go
gentler than those two went at a scared little kid.  I want you to understand that's
not the way I, or our department, normally do business.  I was really shocked you
chose becoming a cop after the way you were treated by most of them."

     "Sometimes it only takes one good example to impress a kid more than
ten bad ones," Hutch responded, shrugging.

     "If I could have run your father in for child abuse, I would have," he said
bluntly.  "Unfortunately, he never laid a hand on you in our presence."

     "That wasn't his style.  He used words."  Hutch glanced across the hall,
suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.  "I probably better
join my partner before he thinks I stuck him with all the paperwork again. 
Thanks for all your help."

     "You're welcome.  Just leave the files with my secretary when you're done,
and give me a call when you've decided how you want to proceed with this."

     "Thanks.  We will."  Hutch left the office and walked across the hall,
pushing open the door to the conference room, which had only been closed
halfway.  Starsky slapped a folder cover down, over what Hutch could see were
photographs, though he hadn't had time to see their subject matter.

     "I got all the photos together in a folder.  That way you can look through
the papers without havin' to come across these."  He tapped on the cover of the
folder.  

     "I should probably look at everything you do, buddy.  If we're going to
investigate this case--"

     "Seein' snapshots of your brother's dead body isn't going to help you
investigate this any better.  Hutch, we can sit here and read through all'a this stuff
until our eyeballs pop, and you and I both know where we need to be lookin'."

     "Richard's dead."

     "Your father's not.  Damn it, Hutch, he knows somethin'.  And if we go
there, actin' like we know somethin', maybe he'll talk."

     "You mean play hardball with my father?"  Hutch asked, smiling slightly. 
"That's classy, Starsk."

     "Neither was him scarin' the hell outta you when you were eight years old,
makin' you stutter and turn white with fear every time he looked at you.  God,
babe, if he has that effect on you even now, I can't even think what he must'a been
like for you to deal with when you were a little boy."

     "He didn't kill T.J.  He loved *him*."  Hutch hadn't really meant to
emphasize the final word so intensely, but there was a lot of pain in the statement. 
Hutch had adored his little brother, and mourned for him every day since his
disappearance, but he'd always envied that one thing his brother had that he never
would--his parents' love.  Maybe, unconsciously, he wanted the little gesture of
affection he knew that would bring from Starsky--Starsky, who could never stand
to see him feeling sad, lonely or desolate for the barest of instants without doing
everything in his power to banish the feelings.  

     "Hey, babe."  Starsky reached across the table and took a hold of Hutch's
hand.  "I love you enough for ten people, and if I had my way, I'd walk right into
your father's house and knock the son of a bitch on his ass for what he did to you."

     "It wouldn't solve anything--but thanks," Hutch said, smiling.  "I love that
you want to," he admitted.

     "I wanna pound the shit out of him, but beating up old men isn't exactly
part'a my M.O."

     "Find anything in the files...besides the pictures?"  Hutch asked, squeezing
Starsky's hand before releasing it.
     
     "Not much.  Looks like lots of statements and notes on interviews with
folks.  Lots of reading material.  I did find the name of Richard's lady friend in
Cloquet."  Starsky looked back at the small notepad he'd brought along to take
down any pertinent information.  "Theresa Summerton."

     "She's probably married or moved away by now."

     "I was thinkin' maybe Baxter could run a check on her for us.  She was
Richard's alibi.  If she was lyin' all those years ago to protect him, maybe she'd
admit that now."

     "Not likely--she'd probably prefer not to get herself arrested at this stage
of her life."

     "If we promised it was all off the record, not official--maybe she'd level
with us."

     "I'll ask Baxter about it.  What else have you got?"

     After three hours of reading every scrap of paper they could locate, neither
man had learned much more than he knew when they began.  None of those
interviewed really knew anything about T.J.'s disappearance, except for Hutch,
who had been interrogated ruthlessly by Baxter's partner no less than three times. 
As Starsky came to the end of the final set of notes on Hutch's questionings by the
police, he slapped the folder shut angrily, looking up at Hutch with eyes that were
bright with unshed tears.  

     "How could any father sit by and let the cops take off the gloves with an
eight-year-old?"  He shook his head.  "I never heard'a goin' after a little boy like
that.  He was tryin' to get you to make mistakes, tryin' to confuse you."

     "Trying to trick me into saying something I didn't mean to say, or trying to
push me to talk about something he thought I should say."  Hutch was almost
speaking thought aloud rather than talking to Starsky.  "Starsk, what if he knew
that I'd seen Richard's car?"

     "Who?  This Marty Sampson jerk?"  Starsky said, referring to the
now-deceased detective.  

     "Yeah.  What if he was trying to go over me enough times to be sure I
didn't say anything about it?"  Hutch frowned.  "Otherwise, this doesn't make any
sense.  I was too little to do the kind of damage the killer did, and I was never
really a *suspect* in my brother's murder.  I didn't see anything--but maybe they
wanted to be real sure."

     "It would explain these...*interrogation sessions* you were put through."

     "And my father's weren't part of the file."

     "God, Hutch, I can't even picture what bein' treated like that would do to a
little kid."

     "Makes him grow up real fast," Hutch responded a little dismally, staring
at the tabletop.  Then he looked up at Starsky.  "Let's go talk to Theresa
Summerton."

     "Did you ever meet her?"  Starsky asked, rising and carrying the stack of
files with him as they left the room.  After leaving them with Baxter's secretary
with a "thanks", they headed toward the elevator.

     "No.  He talked about somebody named Terry, now that I think back on it,
but that's just a vague memory.  I don't think he stayed with her too long.  He
never did stick with one woman very long."

     "Never married?"

     "Nope."  As the elevator doors opened, they walked out through the lobby
and out the doors, heading for their rented white sedan.  

     "Might as well be drivin' a squad car," Starsky grumbled as he deferred to
Hutch again on the driving duties.  Hutch knew his way around, and Starsky
happily relinquished the navigating.  "All this thing needs is a little black trim and
a siren."

     "For another $10 a day, we could have had a luxury car."

     "A bigger white car with puffier seats," Starsky retorted.  "And that sticky
upholstery you can't move on."

     "So much for luxury," Hutch said, chuckling.  

     "Your family probably always had a fleet of fancy cars, huh?"

     "We had nice ones, yeah.  Expensive ones."

     "That why you hate nice cars?"

     "I don't hate nice cars, Starsky," Hutch replied, a little annoyed.  

     "Sure you do.  You keep buyin' these old clunkers that've got one foot in
the grave already."

     "I guess it's just not a priority--it gets me from here to there, and that's
enough."

     "Guess we better stop back at the hotel and call information and see if
there's any listing for Theresa, huh?"  Starsky asked, done nagging Hutch about
his car choices.  They had more important issues before them.

     "How about a pay phone?"  Hutch pulled into a parking lot in front of a
gas station, pulling the car up close to the drive-up telephone.  

     "Even better."  Starsky settled back in the seat and waited while Hutch
talked to the operator, scrawled a phone number and address in his notepad, and
then hung up the phone, putting up the window with a little shiver.  

     "Cold one today.  Supposed to snow again tonight," Hutch commented,
starting up the car again.  "They had a listing for her--I was thinking we could
just...show up there.  Might have better luck than if we call first and she has time
to think things through."

     "Could be.  Let's try it."

     The drive to Cloquet was fairly uneventful, but Starsky was happy it was
Hutch driving on the slick roads.  He'd driven on ice and snow occasionally when
he visited New York to see his mother, but even then, he tried to aim his visits for
the temperate weather.  Hutch had little more experience on it himself, but he
seemed infinitely more at home in snowy, icy conditions than Starsky did.

     By the time they reached their destination, and were cruising a quiet
suburban street looking for the house number, it was snowing again.  Fat, puffy
flakes fluttered around them like goose down.  Starsky snorted a little laugh as
they passed a yard full of children working diligently on a lopsided snowman.  He
could remember making more than one of those with his father and Nicky.  After
his father's death, he'd occasionally gone out with Nicky and half-heartedly put
one together, but it hadn't been the same.

     "Penny for your thoughts," Hutch said, smiling slightly at Starsky's sudden
pensiveness.  

     "Just thinkin' about my dad and Nicky...makin' snowmen."

     "I remember making more than a few with T.J."  Hutch smiled.  "Since I
started...thinking about this again...I'm remembering some good things that got
pushed away with the bad.  We had some fun as kids, doing things together.  It
was fun teaching him things...making him laugh."  Hutch smiled then.  "He had so
much...*life* in him."

     "Sounds like a great kid," Starsky said, smiling back at his lover.  

     "Yeah, he was."  Hutch slowed the car to a crawl, then turned into the
snowy driveway of a small white ranch house with blue shutters.  "This is it."

     "Let's go talk to the lady," Starsky said, getting out of the car.  They
walked up to the front door and rang the bell.  Within a few moments, the door
opened.

     "Yes?"  An attractive older woman with nicely styled, though undoubtedly
dyed, strawberry blonde hair stood inside the open front door, a storm door still
between them.  

     "Theresa Summerton?"  Hutch asked.

     "Oh, my God," she said, looking right at Hutch.  Starsky had been more
directly in her line of vision when she opened the door.  "Who are you?"

     "Ken Hutchinson--Richard's nephew."

     "I'm sorry," she said, letting out a nervous little laugh.  "If you had a
mustache, you could be your uncle at your age."

     "He had one for a while," Starsky spoke up.

     "Oh, my," she responded, still smiling.  "Come in, please," she said,
stepping back and holding the storm door open.  Both men entered.

     "This is my partner, David Starsky," Hutch introduced.  

     "Partner?"  she asked, puzzled.

     "We're detectives in California," Hutch said.

     "Oh, I see.  California, huh?  Here visiting your parents over the
holidays?"  she asked, leading them into a somewhat cramped but tidy living
room.

     "Truthfully, I'm here to look into a few old leads on my brother's
disappearance and murder--I'm sure you remember that case."

     "Of course," she responded, gesturing toward the couch.  "Would you like
to sit down?  Would you like anything?"

     "No, thank you," Starsky responded for both of them as they sat on the
couch.  She seated herself in a nearby chair.  

     "My uncle was seeing you at the time T.J. died."

     "We had been going together for about two years.  I really loved Rick, a
lot," she said, smiling fondly.  "But he definitely wasn't the marrying kind,
and...things didn't last."

     "The day my brother disappeared, Richard said he was with you," Hutch
said.  "Do you remember anything about that day?"

     "Not a great deal.  That was thirty years ago, Ken.  I don't really remember
specific days unless they were special occasions...and that day didn't become
significant until the police were asking about it."

     "He was here all day?"  Starsky clarified.

     "I honestly don't remember," she said, shifting a little nervously in her
chair.  "It was a long time ago.  The police would have my statement on file."

     "We reviewed your statement, but we were interested in hearing it directly
from you," Hutch said.  "In case there was anything at all you could add."

     "Like what?  Richard was with me."

     "With all due respect, ma'am, the Hutchinson house is only about a half
hour drive from here.  His being here with you at some point in the day isn't an
iron-clad alibi," Starsky spoke up.  "We're not accusing anyone of anything--we
just want to retrace the cops' steps, make sure they didn't miss anything."

     "I don't know what you want me to say.  He was visiting me, and then he
left that evening."

     "Did he get any phone calls here?"

     "Yes, your father called," she said to Hutch.  "Is that sufficient?"

     "What time did he call?"

     "Whenever your brother turned up missing.  Richard left and went over
there then."
     "Ms. Summerton...I...I'm not interested in making trouble for you.  I'm not
interested in pressing charges or putting anyone in jail.  I just want to know what
happened to my brother.  The truth."  

     The older woman looked at Hutch for a long moment, then looked down
at her folded hands which rested in her lap.  

     "I can't help you."

     "Can't?  Or won't?"  Starsky prodded.  "Look, lady, I don't know who
you're protecting, but Hutch just said he wasn't goin' after you, and Richard's dead
now, so what possible difference could tellin' the truth make now, beyond giving
Hutch some peace of mind?"

     "You apparently have never been in love with someone, Detective
Starsky," she said looking him straight in the eyes.  "Because, if you had, you'd
understand how important keeping a confidence is, even after thirty years have
passed.  Time and death don't break those promises.  Not if they're solid to begin
with."

     "I've never been in love with someone who might've murdered a little
boy."

     "That's a sick, horrible thing for you to say.  I think I'd like you both to
leave now," she said, standing up.

     "I saw Richard's car near the house just...*seconds* after my brother
disappeared," Hutch said.  "You know what I think?  I think my brother was *in*
that car, being taken away from the house while I watched.  In Richard's bright
blue car."

     "You could have been mistaken."

     "Not about that car."  Hutch paused.  "You can't hurt Richard by telling the
truth now.  Not after all this time.  I don't want to make a big thing out of this--I'm
not going to the press and I'm not going through official channels anymore. 
Because if you know something...chances are, my father does too.  And as much
as I might hate what happened back then, I don't want to send my aging father to
prison."

     She looked at him a long moment, then sat down again.

     "Richard didn't come to see me until that evening.  Just before he went
over to your house.  He said it was very important that I say he was here all day." 
She shook her head.  "I didn't see anything wrong with doing that, because I knew
he wasn't capable of doing such a heinous thing--kidnapping a child.  He loved
you and your brother, and I didn't see any reason to think he might hurt either one
of you.  He said that being single like he was, having a reputation as sort of a...I
guess you'd say a philanderer, though he used the term 'ladies' man'...  He said the
cops would focus on him if he didn't have a good alibi."  She paused.  "I suppose
you think it's horrible that I'd lie for him."

     "You trusted him.  People have been wrong about things like that before,"
Starsky spoke up.  "Love makes you do dumb things."

     "Well, I believed in him--all these years later, I still find it hard to believe
that he had anything to do with it.  The only reason...the only reason I can
even...*think* it might be true is the turn things took for him after it happened. 
His whole personality changed.  He was moody, withdrawn...started drinking
more.  We broke up not too long after that, because the man I fell in love with
just...wasn't there anymore.  Still, he seemed so...*normal*...in every way.  Your
brother was... molested.  I can't picture Richard...doing something like that."

     "Unfortunately, a lot of child molesters don't 'look like' child molesters. 
They don't act differently except for that one perversion," Hutch said quietly,
running his hand along the arm of the couch.  For some reason, his mind was
conjuring the thought of that being some part of Starsky he was stroking...he
wanted so badly to be in his partner's arms right then.  The revelation wasn't
unexpected, but it was unwanted.  Out of a loveless childhood, Uncle Richard had
been the lone adult who had taken an interest in him--and that interest had never
been remotely inappropriate in its expression.  

     "You knew him so well--he was so proud of you, Ken.  He never did
anything--"

     "Not to me, no.  I loved him--he was a great guy as far as I was concerned. 
But T.J. didn't like him."  

     "Something changed after that day--he was never the same.  He
disappeared himself for a couple of days, and when he came back, he started
really drinking heavily."

     "He disappeared while T.J. was missing?"  Starsky clarified.

     "Yes."

     "I really appreciate your honesty, Theresa.  I had some suspicions about
Richard, but I didn't want to think they were valid."  Hutch glanced at Starsky,
who was watching him with great concern.  "Still, I needed to know."

     "None of this really proves anything--just that he wasn't able to account
for where he was when your brother vanished, and that he went off somewhere a
couple of days."

     "I realize that."  Hutch sighed.  "I'd prefer not to make anything out of it,
but you've got to admit that it all points to the same conclusion."

     "Over the years, I've tried not to think too much about it.  God help me,
I've tried not to think that I turned loose someone who would do something like
that.  That maybe another child was victimized because of my covering for him."

     "I don't know as we'll ever know if he had any other victims--we may
never be able to prove conclusively that *T.J.* was his victim at all.  Richard's
dead, and there were apparently no witnesses to the actual abduction or...or any
part of the crime itself."

     "Thank you, Ms. Summerton," Starsky said, rising, and Hutch followed
suit.  He was ready to run screaming out the front door, to push all of it out of his
mind as a family cesspool best left covered; the very least relief he needed was to
get out of this house before he lost his composure and started blubbering like an
eight-year-old.  

     "Thank *you*," she said, looking pointedly at Hutch, "for not making a
legal issue of this now."

     "It won't help T.J. now anyway," he said, heading toward the door.  She
followed them, standing in the doorway as they headed toward their car.  

     "When you find out...please...I...I don't want to know," she said, and Hutch
paused a moment, regarding the older woman as she stood there in the door. 
Finally, he nodded and turned away, getting into the driver's seat and gunning the
engine.  Theresa Summerton closed her front door--a gesture which seemed
symbolic to Hutch of watching her close the door on a bizarre chapter of her life.

     "Where to now?  You wanna go back to the hotel and have somethin' to
eat and relax a little?"  Starsky asked.  It sounded like Nirvana.  But there was
more to be done.  

     "No.  I want to have a talk with dear old Dad," he said, heading down the
road with renewed determination.

********

     As they pulled into the drive of the Hutchinson estate this time, they
noticed no cars parked on the crest of the circle drive near the house.

     "Think anybody's home?"  Starsky asked.

     "Those were probably cars from Susan's company.  My folks' cars are
always in the garage," Hutch said, turning off the car. 

     "You ready for this?  It isn't gonna be pretty," Starsky said, as if he were
bracing himself for it moreso than warning Hutch.

     "There's not much more he can throw at me, Starsk.  I know how he feels
about me--or *doesn't* feel about me.  I know there was some kind of cover-up
surrounding Richard...and I've got a pretty good idea that my father was using
Baxter's partner to play hardball with me and find out what I knew."

     "You said somethin' to your dad about Richard being there, didn't you?"

     "I mentioned seeing his car, I think, but my dad sort of dismissed it, so I
guess I figured it wasn't important.  I didn't think like a cop when I was eight. 
People were throwing so many questions at me, trying to trick me, it seemed like,
that I lost track of what I *did* know, which wasn't a hell of a lot to begin with."

     "When this is all over today?  I'm takin' you back to the hotel and makin'
you feel real good for a long time, darlin'."  Starsky took a hold of Hutch's hand,
moving it away from where it had been resting on the steering wheel.  "I love
you."

     "I love you too, babe.  I really needed to hear that right now," Hutch
admitted, squeezing the hand in his.  

     "Let's go get this over with, huh?"

     "Yeah," Hutch agreed, breaking their contact and getting out of the car. 
This time, when he approached the door and rang the bell, an honest-to-God
uniformed butler answered it.  Starsky gaped at him.  He knew Hutch's family was
loaded, knew they lived like kings, but somehow, seeing the butler standing there
drove it all home.  No wonder Hutch knew about caviar and ballets and fine
champagne.  

     "Wells?"  Hutch said, waiting for a response from the somewhat elderly
butler.  

     "Your father has asked that you leave and not return," the older man
retorted coldly.  Starsky watched as Hutch's face fell visibly.  Apparently, Wells
was thought to be more of an ally than he truly was.  

     "Tell Mr. Hutchinson that he can see us now, or we can come back with
the Duluth PD and make it official," Starsky spoke up.  

     "Mr. Hutchinson--"

     "Ain't gonna like jail too much after spendin' most of his life in a place
like this.  You can quote me on that if you want, but you better tell him we're
here, and that we're not goin' anywhere until he sees us."

     "One moment."  The door closed and locked decisively behind the elderly
man.

     "It's funny--I actually thought old Wells would be glad to see me.  I used
to spend a lot of time with him when I was a kid."

     "Old jerk," Starsky muttered.

     "The 'old jerk' probably needs his job too much now to bite the hand that
feeds him," Hutch responded.  A moment later, the door jerked open and the elder
Kenneth Hutchinson stood there, glaring out at his son.
     
     "What is the meaning of this?"

     "We've got some new evidence in your son's murder case," Starsky spoke
up, saving Hutch the strain of confronting his father, at least for now.  "We can
either talk it over with you here, now, or we can take it to the cops, and do it
officially.  Hutch prefers to handle it with you.  Makes no difference to me,"
Starsky added, pinning the older man with an icy glare.

     "We can talk in the study."  He stepped aside, and they entered, waiting
until he'd closed the door before following him down the hall past the stairs to a
room paneled in rich oak which housed a large desk and leather chair, as well as a
grouping of overstuffed leather furniture.  "Say what you have to say and make it
quick.  Your mother is at the hairdresser's.  Susan is out shopping.  I would rather
you were gone when they returned."

     "I remember seeing Richard's car here just moments after T.J.
disappeared," Hutch said, and Starsky rejoiced in the absence of any stutter or
hesitancy in his partner's speech. 

     "That's impossible.  Richard wasn't here, and you know that."

     "I know Richard had an alibi," Hutch said.  "We now know that alibi was
a phony."

     "Oh really?  You've asked Richard?  That must have been a trick." 
Hutch's father walked around his desk and sat in the chair.  Though they hadn't
been invited to do so, Starsky and Hutch took the straight chairs immediately
across from it.  

     "I asked Theresa Summerton, who admitted she was covering for him all
those years ago," Hutch responded.  

     "Theresa Summerton was a jilted old maid with a chip on her shoulder.  I
wouldn't believe her if I were you."

     "Mr. Hutchinson, why don't you quit tap-dancing around this issue.  We
know your brother was here the day your son disappeared, and we know his alibi
was a phony.  We also know he dropped out of sight for a couple of days during
the time your son was missing.  We know T.J. didn't like him--was uncomfortable
around him."  Starsky leaned forward in his chair.  "And I read the transcripts of
the... *interrogations* you had the cops put my partner through until he was so
damned confused he couldn't remember what the hell he did see that day.  And
I've heard the way he stutters when he even talks about that whole mess."  Starsky
rose from his chair and flattened his hands on the polished desk top, leaning
menacingly toward the older man behind it.  "I would *love* to bring the cops
into this.  I would *love* to see you hauled off in handcuffs and your rich ass
thrown in jail with the rest of the scum.  I'd love to bust you for child abuse,
because you deserve to spend the rest of your miserable life paying for the way
you treated your son--"

     "He's not my son," the other man shot back, pinning Hutch with a
disgusted look.  "He never was."
     
     "Oh that's great," Starsky retorted, shaking his head.  "You never quit, do
you?"

     "You wanted the truth.  Now you're going to hear it if you'd care to shut up
and listen."

     "Starsk--let him finish," Hutch said, maintaining an intense eye contact
with his father.

     "Shortly after your mother and I were married, we hosted a huge holiday
party here at the house.  The weekend before Christmas.  The guest list read like a
who's who for the whole area.  Your mother's parents had a lot of clout in this
town--you know that.  So did mine, so when we got married, the guest lists
merged, and it was the event of the season."  He eyed Starsky as the younger man
returned to his chair.  Turning his eyes back to Hutch, he continued.  "There were
a lot of our friends there, younger folks--younger than the two of you are now. 
Champagne was flowing...we weren't feeling any pain."  He took in a deep breath. 
"At some point during the evening, I looked around for your mother, and couldn't
find her.  I started looking everywhere, but she wasn't in the house.  I finally
coaxed it out of one of her tipsy girlfriends that she and Richard were out in the
stables."

     "Mother and Richard?"  Hutch asked, raising his eyebrows.

     "So I went out there.  You want to know where they were?  Your mother
was out there in her party dress--or I should say half out of it, doing it like some
kind of dog in the hay with my own brother.  I pulled the son of a bitch off her
and we went a few rounds--we were both half drunk, so we didn't do a whole lot
of damage to each other.  Your mother was shouting at us, covering herself up..." 
He looked down at the floor a moment.  "Your grandfather broke it up.  By the
time he got out there, Janet had her dress back on straight and some of the hay out
of her hair, so he figured it was just a drunken brawl between brothers."

     "But Richard was always around while I was growing up--I would have
thought the rift between you two--"

     "We didn't speak for almost two years.  In the meantime, Janet gave birth
to his child," the older man spat out angrily.  Starsky watched as Hutch's adam's
apple bobbed, and his hand tightened on the wooden arm of the chair in which he
sat.  He said nothing.  The elder Hutchinson continued.

     "She insisted it hadn't gone that far--lied through her teeth that you were
mine.  Lied so smoothly that I ended up giving you the name that's been passed to
the eldest sons for four generations in our family.  Imagine my surprise when
Richard dropped that little bomb on me when you were three, and he decided he
wanted to be part of your life."

     "Richard...was my father?"  Hutch asked, his voice weak with shock. 
Starsky knew his partner had to have seen this coming, given the direction the
story was taking and his father's earlier disowning of him, but somehow, hearing
it all spelled out left him reeling.  And left Starsky wishing desperately that he
was closer to Hutch than in separate chairs several feet apart.  He wanted to do
nothing more than go to him and hold him and find some way to protect him from
the pain this man seemed to relish inflicting on him even now.

     "I didn't buy it at first.  Called him a liar, almost decked him again--but
Janet walked in on the discussion, and she admitted she'd lied to me about you."

     "It wasn't Hutch's fault how he was born," Starsky spoke up, unable to
stand the quiet hurt in Hutch's face without speaking up for the rejected child that
he was.  "How could you just keep...hurting a little boy like that for somethin' that
wasn't his fault?"

     "It's pretty hard to love a child who was the product of your wife and
brother...*coupling* like a pair of animals in a horse stall."

     "That didn't make the child any less deserving of a good home and loving
parents. It wasn't his choice--hate your wife or hate your brother, but don't hate
Hutch for something that had nothin' to do with him."

     "Look, you don't understand what it was like.  I was backed into a corner. 
Here was my wife, my brother, and this child they'd produced, and what was I
going to do?  I couldn't very well disown him then.  That would have been a tasty
scandal, now wouldn't it?"  He paused.  "Richard made it clear he'd be glad to
spread the word to all our friends.  So I had no choice but to sit back and let him
spend time with both the boys--let him play the loving uncle."

     "Why did you cover for him?"  Hutch asked.  His voice was badly strained
and Starsky's heart broke at the sadness in his eyes.  

     "I just told you."

     "I mean about T.J.  You did love T.J.  I know you did...if he'd killed me, I
could understand you not caring, but T.J. was your son and you did love him,"
Hutch said, pausing to swallow.  "How could you cover his tracks?"

     "We had a lot of skeletons in our closet, Ken."  The elder Hutchinson
sighed.  "Your paternity being the largest among them.  Richard's...affinity for
underage boys was another."

     "You knew that and you let him play with your children?  You let him go
on spending time with Hutch?"  Starsky asked, his eyes wide with shock.

     "Ken was his.  He wouldn't have hurt him.  Not all..."  his voice trailed off
and he looked perplexed, as if he were searching for just the right word.

     "Pedophiles is the term you're looking for," Hutch said dismally.

     "Not everyone with that...quirk...practices incest.  Besides, you liked
spending time with him so there was no reason to worry about it.  You were a
smart boy.  You would have objected if you didn't like being with him.  If he'd
done something to hurt you."
     
     "What about T.J.?  He wasn't Richard's son," Starsky pointed out.

     "No, but he was his nephew, and my son.  I didn't think Richard would
ever harm him."

     "But he did harm him and you knew it and you let it go," Hutch said
emphatically, leaning forward in his chair.  "How could you sleep at night?"

     "My life was destroyed the day my son died.  He was the only thing that
mattered to me.  Your mother had shown her colors early on, hopping in a horse
stall with my brother the first chance she got.  You were their child.  I had
T.J.--my son.  When he was killed, very little mattered to me.  All I really had left
were my elderly parents, my career, our good name... which wouldn't have been
worth much if Richard had been arrested and tried.  If some of the secrets in his
past had been exposed..."

     "Such as?"  Starsky prodded.

     "Such as the fact that our father bought off the families of two boys who
were planning to file complaints about Richard several years before you boys
were born.  Richard volunteered at the Y to teach swimming to underprivileged
youth.  Apparently, he taught them to do more than swim, and two were prepared
to go to the authorities.  Our father threw enough money at the problem that it
went away.  The families took the cash and Richard quit his volunteer work there. 
End of story."

     "But he *killed* T.J.," Hutch challenged.

     "Accidentally."  He took in a deep breath and swallowed, the only visible
sign of any emotion he'd shown thus far beyond disgust for his wife, brother and
their child.  His features softened when he spoke of the child he did love. 
"Richard had a cottage on a lake not far from here.  He...took T.J. there, and...he
didn't give me details, but T.J. tried to get away from him at some point, and...and
Richard said he was making a lot of noise and there were some people... on the
beach, not far from the cabin--Richard hadn't expected that.  Richard panicked
and tried to quiet him down...and he..."

     "Strangled him to death after molesting him," Hutch shot back angrily. 
The senior Hutchinson merely produced a handkerchief and blotted at the sheen
of sweat on his face.  He looked old and weary indeed the next time he spoke.

     "T.J. was already dead, my father was a very old man, and my mother
wasn't well.  Do you have even the slightest idea what this kind of scandal would
have done to them?  To our family?  And to what end?"

     "Maybe justice for a dead, violated child," Starsky said quietly.

     "It's all neat and black and white to you, Detective.  Well, the reality of it
wasn't that clear cut.  What would have been gained by jailing Richard?  Aside
from making our entire family pay for his perversions?"

     "Instead only T.J. paid for them," Hutch said quietly, brushing a hand past
his eyes.  

     "It was over.  All the convictions in the world wouldn't give me my boy
back.  And my mother would have never survived learning that her son was a
child molester.  It was mainly to protect my mother that my father bought off the
first kids who complained.  Your grandmother was never in very good health--she
had a weak heart.  You remember how easily she tired, how frail she was."

     "I remember."

     "Maybe I was guilty of loving my mother as much as I loved my son.  I
couldn't sentence her to an inevitable death by prosecuting Richard."

     "So you had to be sure Hutch wouldn't talk," Starsky spoke up.  "You
badgered him and terrorized him to keep him quiet."

     "He seemed to have forgotten seeing Richard's car, or at least didn't appear
to consider it important anymore.  He didn't mention it to the police, and no
matter how many times Detective Sampson questioned him or how many times I
did, he didn't bring it up again."

     "Why did you take Hutch to the morgue?  What was the point?"  Starsky
demanded.

     "Starsk, don't."

     "I wanna know.  I wanna know what kind of monster does that to a little
boy."

     "If Ken hadn't shirked his responsibility the way he did, none of this would
have happened.  I thought it might help if he understood the gravity of the results
of his actions."

     "After all of this--after all the lies and the cover-ups and the...the
*sickness* in this family, you still find some way to blame Hutch for it.  You're a
sick man.  A very sick man.  Your brother wasn't the only one in this family with
a screw loose," Starsky concluded, standing up.  Hutch seemed almost unaware of
the exchange as he sat there, staring straight ahead, his eyes focused on the front
edge of his father's desk--or rather, his uncle's desk.  As angry as Starsky's tone
had been with the elder Hutchinson, it was remarkably gentle with Hutch.  "Come
on, buddy.  Let's get outta here."  He tugged on Hutch's arm, and the other rose
slowly, raising his eyes to take a long, sad last look at the man he'd always
thought of as his father.

     "Did Mother know?"  Hutch asked softly, not looking up at either his
uncle or Starsky.

     "No.  No reason for her to know," he retorted coldly.  Then, "I would
appreciate it if the two of you didn't come here again," the man behind the desk
said, rising to his full height.

     "You want to go talk to Baxter about this?"  Starsky asked Hutch softly.

     "No."  The word was little more than a breath.  "Let them all rest in peace. 
It's over," he said decisively.  

     "How do you live with yourself?"  Starsky challenged the older
Hutchinson.

     "If it makes you any happier, Detective, I haven't slept a peaceful night
since I found out my wife had tricked me into raising her bastard son as my own,"
he retorted.  Hutch had to make a fast grab to keep Starsky from lunging across
the desk at him.

     "Starsky, come on, back off.  They're all just words."  His hands still
restraining his passionately angry partner, Hutch turned back to the man behind
the desk.  "You won't see me again.  So you can rest easy now."

     The two men walked out of the house and before they approached the
rental car, Hutch fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Starsky.  

     "You mind?"  he asked.

     "No, babe.  'Course not.  I...I can't believe--"

     "Not here.  I can't...I can't talk about this here.  I wanna get out of here. 
Go back to the hotel."

     "Your wish, darlin'," Starsky said, caressing Hutch's cheek gently, trailing
his fingers lightly into the soft hair.  His thumb caught a single tear that escaped,
and he could tell his affection was drawing out emotional reactions Hutch didn't
want to have there.  "Come on."  He patted Hutch's back as the other man got into
the car, and Starsky hurried around to the driver's side, sliding behind the wheel
and starting the engine.  

     The drive to the hotel was made mostly in silence, only broken by
Starsky's occasional need to clarify a direction to get them off the country roads
and into town.  Once they arrived at the hotel room, Starsky closed and locked the
door behind them.  Hutch, for his part, stood in the middle of the room, not
moving to shed his snow-dusted jacket.  

     "Here, babe.  Let's get you outta this."  Starsky unzipped the soft
camel-colored suede jacket Hutch wore and eased it off his shoulders, hanging it
on the back of a chair.  He took off his own jacket and did the same, hanging it on
the back of the other straight chair.  

     Hutch somewhat mechanically began undressing, tossing the clothing
aside.  Starsky didn't ask any questions.  He turned back the bed and stripped off
his own clothes down to his briefs.  When he saw Hutch shed underwear as well,
he did the same.  They slid beneath the covers and met in the middle, Hutch's
arms and one long leg wrapping around Starsky and pulling him close.  Starsky
returned the embrace with all his strength as he felt the first shudders of tears
wrack Hutch's body.  

     Feeling Hutch needed nothing more than to pour out his pain and his
shock and his reaction to the whole horrible series of revelations, Starsky simply
rocked him gently, rubbing his back or stroking his hair, mumbling little love
words into a nearby ear.  There was plenty of time to talk about all of it, analyze
it, think it through--later.  Right now, Hutch needed love and a safe place to purge
himself of the pain that had eaten at his soul his entire life.  

     It seemed like hours before he quieted, though Starsky imagined it really
wasn't all that long.  He couldn't see his watch or a clock without dislodging
Hutch's grip on him, and he wouldn't have done that for the world.  Now Hutch
lay exhausted in his arms, the heavy sobs reduced to some shuddering breaths and
tired sniffling.  Starsky found a corner of the sheet and started gently cleaning his
partner's face.  

     "The maid's not gonna like you for this," Hutch joked weakly.

     "If a little snot's the worst thing she's found on our sheets, she oughtta
consider herself lucky," Starsky retorted, smiling and kissing the two puffy
eyelids.  

     "Aw, Starsk...God, I'm sorry.  I just...it's so much..."

     "Hey, what're you apologizing to me for?  That's what love's all about,
remember?  A safe place to go when your hurting."

     "Guess you'll have to be patient with me."  Hutch swallowed.  "I'm kind of
a beginner with how this love thing works."  

     Starsky knew Hutch hadn't mean the words to sound as heart-breakingly
sad as they did, but they brought tears to Starsky's eyes.  For all the beautiful
things Hutch was, it seemed impossible he could reach this point in his life
without ever having been deeply, enthusiastically and genuinely *adored* by
someone.  Starsky struggled to remember who that person might have been. 
Sadly, about the only one who sprang to mind was Gillian--she had truly loved
Hutch, and she was willing to risk her life to save what she had with him.  Only
she'd been murdered before Hutch could really experience that love.  And even
more bizarre, the other was Richard--the man who was hopelessly sick and
twisted, but despite that, still loved the child he'd fathered.

     That left Starsky as the only living person who had ever truly loved Hutch
with all the passion and enthusiasm he felt his beautiful big blond deserved. 
Hutch was as beautiful inside as he was outside, and whoever loved him had to
know that, to love him the way he deserved to be loved.  Vanessa had appreciated
the fact she had an attractive husband.  If Hutch had been ugly, or something had
happened to mar his physical perfection, she'd have been out the door even
sooner.  

     "You go to sleep on me there, babe?" Hutch teased, managing a smile
now.  
     
     "I was just thinkin' about how much I love you," Starsky answered
honestly.  "How much love you oughtta have."

     "I've got all I need right here."  Hutch slid his hand into Starsky's hair,
letting the curls entrap his fingers.

     "I wanted to kill that bastard for the things he was sayin' to you."

     "It's so...strange.  I keep wanting to refer to him as my father, and...and he
isn't.  I thought nothing could be worse than feeling so...rejected by him...and
yet...knowing now who my father was... My God, Starsky, my father was a
monster.  A child molester.  A murderer."

     "He was sick, Hutch, just like that spaced out guy who killed Helen--poor
old Commander Jim of the airwaves with the tin foil on his ankles and the crock
pot on his head running around dodging radio waves.  He wasn't a
monster--neither was Richard.  They were sick men who were denied the right
kind of help.  Somebody like that only gets help if they're forced into it, and your
grandfather didn't do him any favors by coverin' up for him when he was younger. 
Besides, we don't know what happened to Richard that made him like that. 
Maybe he woulda been as normal as anybody except for somethin' we'll never
know about."

     "I have his genes, his blood in my veins--"

     "Hutch, that kinda sickness isn't in your genes, and you've got your own
blood in your veins.  And you're the same beautiful man you were two hours ago,
before we knew any'a this.  You just keep gettin' more beautiful all the time." 
Starsky ran his fingertips lightly over Hutch's face.  

     "All the time I spent with him.  All the places he took me, things we
did--all that time, he knew he'd killed my little brother, done...*horrible things* to
him..."

     "The part of him that was okay, the part that was good--with that part of
himself, he loved his son.  He loved you, Hutch.  You said yourself he made a big
deal out of it when you did somethin', he spent time with you.  Maybe he was
only capable of one really good thing in his life, but he did it.  He tried to be a
father to you, even if you couldn't know it."

     "He was a child killer, Starsk."

     "Yeah, he was.  There's no gettin' around that, and it's a horrible thing to
think about.  But he was also a sick man who never got help.  And for all'a that
awful stuff he was, he loved you.  Outta all this, you can come away from it
knowin' that your father, for better or worse, no matter what else he was, *loved
you*."

     "All those years...he just kept going downhill.  Drinking and becoming
more and more reclusive.  God, if I'd just known...maybe I could have...helped
him.  It wouldn't have been too late, even then, to get him some help.  He might
still be alive, and maybe he'd be...okay."
     
     "You didn't know, babe."  Starsky rubbed a bare shoulder gently.  

     "My mother looks at me and sees the product of her roll in the hay with
Richard--the thing that ruined her marriage.  My...her husband looks at me and
sees the same thing--the bastard mistake he was stuck with.  It all makes sense
now, why they could barely stand having me around.  Why they loved T.J., and
later Susan, like they were the most precious things in the world."  

     Starsky was pierced anew by the thought of Hutch as a child, so keenly
aware of his unfavorable position in the family.  By the thought that though he
didn't know why, Hutch certainly knew he didn't have a prayer of pleasing either
parent--that nothing he ever did would make them look at him like they did at his
brother and sister.  

     "You're the most precious thing in my world, darlin'," Starsky said,
knowing that saying it was really unnecessary.  Hutch knew how Starsky felt, and
it didn't change anything from his past, but maybe getting overdosed with love
now would help make up for what he'd been denied all those years ago.

     "I know that, babe."  Hutch smiled, kissing the end of Starsky's nose.  "I
knew you loved me--always knew that.  But..."  Hutch shuddered a little.  "The
night you shot Vic Bellamy, there weren't any questions left about where I fit in
the scheme of things with you."

     "Better not ever be any."  

     "I feel like something more should happen, like there's something I should
be doing."  Hutch settled into Starsky's arms, content to rest his cheek against
Starsky's chest and be cuddled.  "I'm a cop.  I know about a murder, about a
cover-up, about the cover-up of child molestation and pay-off of parents...God,
Starsk, even about corruption in the PD.  Marty Sampson worked with my father
to *not* solve my brother's murder."

     "What do you wanna do about it, babe?  You could pursue it with the
cops.  You know Baxter would love to get his teeth into this.  Might give the guy
some closure before he retires."

     "I want to talk to him, off the record, before we leave.  If I were him, I'd
want to know, even if I couldn't act on any of it.  Just to *know*."

     "Someday maybe we'll find out about the Freemont case like that--you
know, somebody who wouldn't come forward at the time," Starsky said, referring
to one of their own unsolved murder cases.  The brutal slaying of a young college
co-ed had occupied their time for months, until the dead-end investigation was
forcibly shelved by their superiors.  Neither man could really argue with that
decision from the standpoint of proper police procedure--and common sense,
when there were other crimes to be solved--but four years later, the pretty young
woman's brutally beaten and stabbed corpse still haunted their thoughts more than
occasionally--just as little T.J.'s pale, still form probably haunted Paul Baxter.

     "Maybe."

     "You could probably get your fa--" Starsky snorted.  "I don't know what to
call him--besides asshole."

     "My uncle.  That's what he really is."

     "You could probably get him arrested."

     "That would destroy my mother."

     "Like she ever did any favors for you," Starsky retorted.

     "Maybe not, but she's still my mother, and I wish I didn't, but I do still love
her.  God knows, I'd rather not.  I didn't want to when I was little, either.  Would
have been nice not to care that she didn't love me as much as she did T.J.  And
Susan--she was their princess."  Hutch rolled his eyes.  "Shit, I sound pathetic. 
Enough self-pity to go around."

     "Hey, this is me you're talkin' to.  You can be as miserable as you wanna
be, remember?"  Starsky shifted onto his back, bringing Hutch with him.  He
stroked the soft blond hair.  "It's so easy to hurt a little boy--make him feel bad. 
All those years, all'a that hurt was just locked up inside you, with nobody to let it
out to."

     "Is that why it still hurts so damn much now?"  Hutch asked softly, as if he
genuinely wanted the answer to why his parents' rejection continued to eat away
at his soul.

     "That, and the fact that your parents are awful important to you.  What my
dad thought was all important to me when I was little.  It's funny, but even now, if
Ma says something like, 'your father would be proud of you', it's
just...*everything*.  And Ma--the whole thought of losin' her someday scares the
hell outta me--and anytime she's really upset with me about something...just
messes me up."

     "Then I guess you understand...but that shouldn't surprise me too much,"
Hutch said, smiling a little.

     "Yeah, but, Hutch--your dad *was* proud of you.  He *did* love you.  I'm
not gonna argue for forgivin' what he did--because it's just...too awful to even
think about.  But he treated you right, and he loved you."

     "I know you're right.  He did.  I think what he'd done back then...I think it
ate him alive until he ended up living from one drink to the next."

     "Some people...when they're sick?  They know they're sick.  They can't
stop themselves from doin' what they do, and if nobody along the way stops 'em,
they just keep doin' it."  Starsky sighed.  "Maybe...maybe killing T.J. really *was*
an accident, like he said.  Maybe he just didn't know his own strength with trying
to silence a six-year-old.  They're small, and it's easy to hurt them."

     "What did he think was going to happen?  Taking T.J. like that?"

     "Maybe your dad would cover for him, and T.J. would play along.  Or
maybe in some sick part of his brain, he thought he could buy T.J. somethin' nice
and make up for it and take him back home."

     "Oh God."

     "What?"

     "He did that."

     "Did what?"  Starsky frowned.

     "I...I remember him buying T.J. this really expensive bike--even though
we had money, it was something my father thought was excessive and
extravagant, and he'd told T.J. he couldn't have it because he already had a
perfectly good bike.  I remember it because T.J. wanted that bike so badly, I was
trying to figure out some way I could get it for him.  But you know what kind of
operating money seven-year-olds generally have.  When you're a kid, you think
you can do things like that with what's in your piggy bank." Hutch chortled a
little.  "I told him I'd figure something out."

     "You really loved him a lot, didn't you?"

     "Maybe because he loved me--he got all excited to be with me, or if I'd do
things with him, or take him someplace--like down to the stables to feed the
horses or to watch them running or just grazing.  If he had a bad dream, he was
just as glad to see me show up as he was to see Mother or Dad."

     "What happened with the bike?"

     "Richard bought him the bike for his sixth birthday--but looking back, I
remember thinking it was funny he did that since T.J. had been kind of rude to
him the last few times he'd been out to the house."

     "Oh, man.  You think he did something--"

     "I think he did something, and then he was trying to make up for it--bribe
T.J. into staying quiet about it.  After all the whining and crying about that bike,
T.J. barely touched it."  Hutch sat up in bed, pushing his hair back from his face. 
"Dammit.  It's just all there.  It was always all there, right where any idiot could
see it."

     "You were a child, Hutch.  You wouldn't have even understood it if you'd
known something more specific.  Hell, a lot of adults wouldn't spot that
pattern--especially not in those days.  People are just startin' to realize stuff like
this is really happenin' to kids in households where you'd never believe it." 
Starsky sat up also, resting his hand on Hutch's smooth back. //God, that skin is
like silk...// He pushed the more erotic impulse aside and kept the touch
comforting.  

     "That's why everybody watched T.J. so closely.  Why my father
*attacked* me like that for not watching him.  He knew what Richard was
capable of, maybe even knew he'd done something, and everything holding
together was dependent on supervising T.J.--keeping him safe.  But it wasn't from
wandering off alone and getting lost--it was from Richard.  And the one time I
didn't do my job, Richard was there."

     "If your fa-- your *uncle*--knew anything, and didn't do something, he
was a worse monster than Richard."  Starsky kissed Hutch's shoulder and wrapped
his arms around him from behind.  "Richard was sick, twisted--and something,
sometime, made him that way.  Everyone was more worried about the scandal of
admitting the family wasn't perfect than they were about that person preying on
their own children.  Now that's evil."

     "It's funny, I should feel better about this.  I should feel...*settled*.  Like I
solved something.  But I don't."

     "We can't bring T.J. back and we can't change what was done to him. 
Most of the people involved are dead--and those who aren't are either too old to
do more damage, or goin' after them would hurt someone you don't wanna see get
hurt."

     "Can you imagine what this would mean to my mother--to know all this? 
It would kill her, Starsk.  Shit, I'm doing the same thing he did when he covered
for Richard to spare Grandma."  Hutch got up out of the bed and grabbed his robe,
pulling it on and going to stare out their upper floor window at the city below. 
"How can I be so damn self-righteous with him when I'm no better than he is?"

     "Don't say that."  Starsky got out of bed and put on his robe, more for the
coolness of the room than for modesty.  "I'd kill or die to protect my mother.  It's
instinct, babe.  Even if she was sadly missing her maternal instinct, you've still
got your instinct to protect her."

     "Would you have done what he did?  Covering for Richard?  If Nicky did
something like that, would you cover for him to spare your mother?"

     "No.  I'd make sure he got the best kind of psychological help he could
get, and I'd do everything I could to help him or Ma get through it, but no, I
wouldn't risk another child being hurt--and I wouldn't sentence Nicky to a lifetime
of being a monster in the closet.  It hurts enough to be in the closet when what
you're doing isn't really evil or horrible--but to know you really are a monster...to
know it and not be able to stop it...that's like some kinda living hell."  Starsky
stood behind Hutch, holding his shoulders in hands that kneaded gently.  "But
now, if I found out about somethin' that...well, let's say I found out Dad did
somethin' awful...and...and I had to walk away from it--maybe let
some...accomplice who was still living, get away with it, let it lie, to save Ma's
feelings...  I would do that."  Starsky was quiet a moment.  "Arresting your...the
man you always thought of as your father...it isn't going to serve any real
purpose."  He paused, then grinned a little.  "Except for makin' my day when I got
to slap the cuffs on him."  He hadn't been sure how his light remark would be
taken, but Hutch actually chuckled a little before turning around.

     "You're okay with walking away from this mess?  You don't think I'm
doing the wrong thing?"

     "I'm fine with it, babe.  I think you're doing what you feel is right for your
mother, and even though I don't see where she deserves it, I understand it, and I
respect that."

     "But you'd go to the cops?"

     "If my circumstances were exactly the same as yours?"  Starsky thought
about it a moment, trying to plug his own family members into the scenario Hutch
was facing.  It wasn't an easy mental process.  "If the person who did the awful
thing was dead, and the people who covered up for him weren't out committing
other crimes, and I could save Ma some hurt by lettin' it lie...  Yeah, I'd do the
same thing," he said honestly.  He knew Hutch needed that absolution to feel at
peace, but he also knew that giving him a false response wouldn't help--Hutch
would see through it in a heartbeat.  

     "Okay."  Hutch nodded.  

     "No matter what anybody said or did when you were little, you know that
you're special and beautiful and you deserve all the love in the whole world,
right?"  Starsky asked, taking Hutch's face in both hands.  

     "I've got that.  I've got you," Hutch said, smiling and pulling Starsky into a
tight hug.  Then, a few moments later, in a strained voice, "and what you think is
all I care about."

     "Good.  'Cause I think you're everything."  

********

     Paul Baxter took a drink of his coffee as they sat at the table of the
restaurant not far from police headquarters.  Starsky was pushing his eggs around
with his fork, and Hutch hadn't even tried to fake eating the omelet on his plate. 
The police captain had taken a few bites of his pancakes before all of the
revelations, but once the conversation had gotten rolling, he too had lost interest
in his food.  

     "My mother isn't getting any younger, and losing T.J. almost killed her
back when it happened.  If she knew--if all this were exposed now, it would
destroy her life.  She'd lose her marriage, her good name, a good number of her
stuck-up friends--that may not be much of a loss, but it would devastate her. 
None of that's addressing what she'd feel like knowing that the man who killed
her child had been in her home right along--and that her husband knew the whole
time.  I don't want to do that to her."

     "Marty's dead, so dredging up charges against him would be pretty
pointless.  Your grandfather's dead, so we can't arrest him, and we have no way
now of tracking those kids whose families he paid off.  Even if we did, what
would be the point now?  We could bust your father for covering things up, but
with the kind of lawyers he could afford, he'd have us tied up in court so long
we'd spend more time trying to get him in jail than he'd spend there."  Baxter
shook his head.  "Funny, I don't feel a hell of a lot better."

     "Us either," Starsky said, finally giving up on the food and taking a drink
of his orange juice.  

     "At least it's an answer, even if we don't like it," Baxter said, sighing.  "I'm
very sorry about how things turned out.  This can't have been an easy visit for
you," he said, looking at Hutch.

     "No, but like you, I guess I'm glad to at least have some answers.  A lot of
things make more sense now."

     "I appreciate you two filling me in--trusting me with what you found out. 
It won't go any further, you have my word."

     "Thanks," Hutch said, smiling.  "Back then..."  He hesitated.  "I know I
said it before, but I wanted to thank you again for genuinely caring what
happened to T.J., and...and for the way you treated me.  I never forgot it."

     "Yeah, and I wanna thank you for inspiring him to be a cop, 'cause if you
hadn't, he wouldn't be my partner," Starsky said, smiling at Hutch, a little
concerned that he probably looked like a lovesick sap.  Nonetheless, it didn't dim
his expression or hide the love in his eyes.

     "I'm very honored to have inspired you, Ken.  After you called, I checked
up on the two of you with your captain back in Bay City.  He had nothing but
outstanding things to say about both of you--but don't tell him I said that."  Baxter
laughed.  "He'd probably never forgive me."

     "That's the truth," Starsky responded, sharing the humor.  

     "Well, I better be going.  I've got a meeting in fifteen minutes."  Captain
Baxter stood, as did the other two men.  "Best of luck to you in the future," he
said, shaking hands with Hutch, then Starsky.  "Both of you.   Being a cop is
getting to be a dirtier, more dangerous job every day."

     "True," Hutch agreed.  "Best wishes on your retirement," he added,
referring to the mention the older man had made during their breakfast of retiring
within the next several months.

     "Thanks.  I think I'm about due.  Overdue, according to some of my men,"
he added with a chortle.  "I run a tight ship."

     "I'm sure it's a fair one," Hutch said.

     "I like to think so.  Take care of yourselves," he said, starting to walk
away.

     "You too," Starsky responded, and when the other man had walked out of
the restaurant, he looked back at Hutch, who had a sort of wistful expression on
his face.  "Thinkin' about the past?"

     "Yeah..."  Hutch turned to have eye contact with Starsky.  "Guess we
might as well head back to the hotel."

     "I've been thinking," Starsky began, stopping to pay the bill at the cash
register.  After he had his change, they headed out onto the sidewalk, zipping up
their coats against the winter chill.  "You want to talk to your mother at all?"

     "I won't get past Wells."  Hutch snorted an ugly laugh.  "He's good and
keeping out the undesirables."

     "You could call her."

     "Why?"

     "You love her enough to protect her.  Maybe...maybe it'd be worth havin'
it out with her, just once, about Richard--about knowin' who your father is."

     "Starsk...I don't know how much more...*shunning* I can handle from
those people.  I hated every moment of my childhood because of it, and...I...I
don't want to feel it anymore.  I don't want to see her look at me like I'm a
nuisance instead of her son."

     "I'm sorry, babe.  I didn't mean to upset you."  Starsky ventured a little
nervously to take Hutch's hand in his, the very first time he'd ever dared show any
controversial sign of affection toward his partner in public.  He felt Hutch's
fingers curl around his readily, tightly.  So they walked down the sidewalk on an
icy January morning in Duluth, hand in hand.  Starsky was startled when Hutch
tugged on his hand and pulled him close, draping an arm over his shoulders. 
Starsky's arm slipped around Hutch's waist.

     "My sweet love," Hutch whispered against Starsky's ear, giving his
shoulders a squeeze.  

     Starsky fought the lump in his throat and soaked up the closeness.  This
single moment in time was so precious, so wonderful, walking down a sidewalk
like this with Hutch, where people could see them, that he wished it could last
forever.  And he adored Hutch for giving it to them both.  For a moment like this,
he would crawl from Bay City to Duluth across broken glass and consider the trip
only a small inconvenience.

********

     Despite the blustery winds and beginnings of a significant snowfall, the
two men stopped at the cemetery on the way to the airport.  Hutch had flowers
with him this time, and though they wouldn't survive long in the elements, he at
least would feel he'd done something to mark his visit.  He put the flowers in
front of T.J.'s headstone, and then squatted again to remove a few of the
brightly-colored blooms from the bouquet.  He walked down the row of graves to
the one where Richard Hutchinson was buried.  He placed the flowers there, and
stared at it for several long minutes, seemingly oblivious to the cold.  

     Starsky, for his part, was not oblivious to the cold or the snow dusting
both of them, or of the wind that was whistling through the trees, or the fact he
still wasn't dressed warmly enough for Minnesota in the winter.  But none of that
was worth disturbing Hutch's moment of silent contemplation over his father's
grave.

     "I feel guilty for feeling anything good for him, after what he did," Hutch
said softly.

     "He was sick, Hutch.  He needed help and he never got it.  It ate him alive,
made him do awful things...and it finally destroyed him," Starsky responded,
looking down at the grave.  "In his way, he was a good father to you--the best he
knew how to be."

     "I never thought you would be able to find it in your heart to see good in
someone who did something so...unthinkable."

     "He loved you.  And out of all the...all the loneliness and unhappiness in
your childhood, the only good memories you talk about are the ones with
T.J.--when he was alive and well, and you were playing together--or the times you
spent with Richard.  He was there for you, and he loved you, and he treated you
right."  Starsky crouched next to his partner.  "The way I love you, babe, I think I
could probably see good in anybody who was there for you when I couldn't be."

     "I wish I'd known."  Hutch closed his eyes.  "It would have made
everything easier, made it more understandable."  He opened them again, and
reached out to skim his fingertips over the cold stone.  "Rest in peace, Dad. 
Maybe you can find the peace and the soundness of mind you couldn't find here."

     "You know what?  I bet he's still real proud of you.  And all the times you
got commendations or we solve a big case, I bet he's somewhere, cheerin' for you. 
Sayin', 'that's my boy'.  'Cause where he is now, there's no sickness and no pain. 
Just love."  

     "You talk like you know," Hutch said solemnly.  He looked at Starsky a
little inquisitively.

     "I know there's something on the other side, babe.  I know it's beautiful,
peaceful, and...and there's love there.  Warmth."  Starsky looked down at the
headstone, chillingly aware of how close he came to owning one of these himself
thanks to Gunther.  "That's about all I saw or felt--I didn't see much of anything,
really.  I just know the pain was gone, and there was this feeling of happiness and
love and peace...like nothin' I ever felt before."  Starsky realized he'd lost himself
a bit in his thoughts, and then looked over at Hutch and smiled.  "There's a good
place on the other side, Hutch.  I don't know for sure, but it seems to me like bein'
sick all your life, havin' something eating at you forever, knowing you do things
that are horrible and not being able to stop yourself--maybe that's enough hell to
go through.  Maybe Richard's in that good, happy place, and he's okay."

     "I want to believe in that.  I really do."

     "So do I.  I don't wanna think it was some sort of weird coma thing or
oxygen deprivation.  I wanna think I was there, and that I know."

     "I don't know how you got there, or where exactly you were, but thank you
for not staying there."  Hutch linked his arm through Starsky's as they crouched
there together, joining their hands and lacing the fingers.  "You help me see him
through the eyes of love.  Make it seem not so evil to miss him and regret he's
gone when he did such a terrible thing.  Maybe T.J. can forgive me for not hating
the man who killed him."

     "T.J. was your little brother, Hutch.  He loved you.  He'd understand."

     "He probably would."  Hutch straightened, and they moved to T.J.'s grave,
still holding hands.  Hutch started to crouch again, and Starsky moved with him. 
Laying one large hand on the surface of the stone, Hutch swallowed audibly,
forcing back any more obvious emotion.  "You're always in my heart, little
brother," he said in a strained whisper.  Then, with a little squeeze to Starsky's
hand, he started rising, and they both stood looking at the flowers in the snow on
the two graves.  "Let's go home," Hutch said simply, tugging gently on Starsky's
hand as he began to walk away from the ghosts of his past.

********

     The flight back to California was relaxing, though a bit anti-climatic. 
There were times Starsky wondered if he'd done Hutch such a great favor by
urging the trip, by insisting he uncover how things really happened.  Whether or
not it would prove beneficial to Hutch's state of mind in the long run, he had no
idea.  One thing he did know: Hutch no longer stuttered when talking about T.J.,
his father or anything relevant to his past.  The only tiny stumbles Starsky picked
up on were those that were always there--endearingly characteristic of Hutch
when he was nervous.  Maybe resolving things, maybe reducing his father from
the stature of superhuman ogre to human, flawed and criminal--and not even his
father--had released Hutch from some of that old terror.
     
     Knowing your father was someone like Richard Hutchinson wouldn't be a
comforting thought, but Starsky truly believed the things he'd told Hutch.  The
man had the capacity to love his son, to be part of his life, and to do so without
ever hurting Hutch or doing anything remotely inappropriate to him.  He was a
sick man whose family preferred to let his sickness fester and grow than to face
the humiliation of admitting there was a problem and getting him help.  That
sickness had finally resulted in their greatest family tragedy.  If the victim hadn't
been so innocent and undeserving, and his partner so badly hurt by all of it, there
would have been a sort of ironic justice to it.  But T.J. didn't deserve to pay for
the sins of his elders, and neither did Hutch--yet they were the ones most severely
hurt by it all.

     "I'd offer you a penny, but those have to be worth at least a couple bucks,"
Hutch said, offering Starsky another macadamia nut out of his bag. //Love is
sharing your bag of macadamia nuts when your partner already ate his,// Starsky
thought, grinning and helping himself.  
     
     "Just thinking about everything that happened...that we found out."

     "Yeah," Hutch said, exhaling heavily, "there's plenty to think about."  

     "You doin' okay?"

     "Just trying to let it all sink in.  I don't know if I'm glad I know the truth or
not.  I guess I am.  One thing you said was true--it's nice to know that for
whatever he was or wasn't, the man who actually *was* my father really did care
about me--spent time with me.  I'm just sorry, looking back, that nobody stopped
him before it was too late...before he went too far."  Hutch sighed.  "If I'd known
while he was still alive, I don't know what I'd have done--probably gone to his
house and ripped him apart with my bare hands for killing my little brother."

     "At least you know there was a reason for your parents acting like jerks. 
Even though it's no excuse."

     "I tried calling Dobey this morning before we left the hotel.  He was in a
meeting."

     "I was thinkin' about all that...wondering if there's any chance Simonetti
might crack, admit the whole thing.  Sure would be nice."  Starsky leaned his
head back on the seat.  "Be nice not to have to drag all this into a court room. 
You just know it's all gonna blow up in our faces, Hutch."

     "His lawyer's definitely going to try to deflect attention onto us rather than
him, if it comes to a trial--no question.  But in a way, that's not a good defense,
because even if we took to wearing skirts and heels to work every day, it doesn't
make *beating* one of us legal.  Him aiming for the area where your surgical
repair was done is potential grounds for attempted murder--certainly aggravates
the whole thing by the sheer sadism of it, beyond the medical risk."

     "Nobody's gonna see that.  They're all gonna wanna know if the two cops
are really fags.  That's all it'll boil down to.  Me getting my head slammed into the
cement isn't gonna matter.  Who I'm sleeping with is gonna matter.  Sometimes I
think I shoulda just kept my mouth shut about Simonetti."

     "That would be smart.  Let them beat us and intimidate us and try to kill
us without fighting back."

     "Y'know, when we were walkin' down the street back in Duluth, with our
arms around each other, I really got to thinkin' about what it would be like if we
could be like that more--not worry so much."  Starsky smiled.  "Wouldn't it be
nice?"

     "It'd be beautiful, babe.  Maybe someday."  

     "If I'm too old to walk when that happens, wheel me down the street,
huh?"  Starsky joked, nudging Hutch with his elbow.  

     "Matching motorized wheelchairs, how about that?"  

     "Nah.  I want mine to be red and white, and you'll want yours to be some
sorta puke brown or somethin'."

     "Puke brown, huh?"  Hutch challenged with mock indignance.  

     "'course, when you're that old, maybe you'll be colorblind and it won't
matter."

     "You don't go colorblind with age, moron.  You either are or you're not."

     "Maybe we'll do it so many times we'll both go blind by then and the color
won't matter at all."

     "Two blind old men in motorized wheelchairs making out on the street. 
There's a pretty mental picture."  Hutch couldn't stifle the laugh that mental image
drew out of him, and Starsky joined him.  

     "Promise me that when we get old, we'll do somethin' wild like that?  I
mean, I see all'a these old couples that don't have any *excitement* anymore. 
Let's not get like that."

     "If I'm not too senile to remember that I promised you, I promise we'll do
something outrageous, scandalous and shocking when we're old."

     "Good."  Starsky settled back into his seat and closed his eyes.

     "You're weird," Hutch said, chuckling.  

     "I'm colorful," Starsky countered.

     "And weird," Hutch persisted.
     
     "And horny.  Jets make me horny."

     "Since when?"

     "Since I started ridin' on 'em with you and have to keep my hands to
myself the whole way home."

     "Soon as we get home, we'll unplug the phone and let everyone think our
flight was delayed for a half day."

     "I wonder if this thing can go any faster?"  Starsky queried, grinning and
settling in for his snooze.

********

     The plan for seclusion upon arriving home lasted for a full two minutes
before Connie emerged from her house, carrying their mail.  She found them
unloading the trunk of Hutch's car, which they'd parked at the airport before their
flight.  

     "Happy New Year," she greeted, holding out the stack of mail to Starsky,
who was closest to her and didn't happen to have a suitcase in his hand.

     "Same to you.  Thanks, Connie," Starsky took the mail from her. 
"Everything quiet while we were gone?"

     "Very.  Tom and I kept an eye on things, and we didn't see anything out of
the ordinary.  Tom came over once and walked around the outside of the house,
checked things out up close, just in case.  Everything was fine."

     "That's a relief," Hutch spoke up, setting a suitcase on the cement and
slamming the trunk.  "Thanks for watching out for it."

     "No problem.  Did you notice the new development next door?"  Connie
asked, smiling and nodding toward Muriel's house.  A realtor's "for sale" sign
decorated the front yard.

     "She really can't handle living next door to us, can she?"  Starsky picked
up one of the suitcases.

     "Look on the bright side--you've got nowhere to go but up in what kind of
neighbors you get."

     "Find us some more like you guys, and we'll be in business," Hutch said,
smiling and heading for the house with the luggage.  Starsky picked up the pieces
his partner didn't take.  

     "You wanna come in for a while?"  Starsky asked as they all moved
toward the back door.  Since she was the only one with free hands, Connie took
the key from Hutch before he managed to drop what he was carrying and
unlocked the back door.

     "Just for a second.  I can tell you how to fix dinner."

     "You brought us dinner?"  Starsky raised his eyebrows hopefully.  He'd
been planning a run to the grocery store as soon as they were unpacked. 
Ravishing his partner was a far more attractive option, but not on an empty
stomach.

     "I hope you don't mind--I used the key you left and put a few things in the
refrigerator last night."

     "Connie, you're spoilin' us," Starsky said, poking his head into the
refrigerator to investigate.  "Not that I have any complaints," he amended quickly.

     "What's going on with those two kids who tried to torch the house?"  she
asked.

     "Nothing new.  Marvin Peterson's already doing time in a juvenile facility,
and his buddy is going to stand trial as an adult."  Hutch headed out of the kitchen
with two heavy pieces of luggage.  Starsky grabbed his arm and traded one of the
larger pieces for a carry-on bag.  

     "You tryin' to throw your back out, Hercules?"  he teased, and Hutch just
snorted something that might have been a laugh as he continued on his way.

     "I hate that the little pervert is out running around before the trial.  We
won't sleep easy until he's in the slammer," Connie said, drawing a chortle out of
Starsky at her terminology.  

     "You and us both.  Now, you said somethin' about cooking instructions?" 
Starsky asked hopefully, and Connie laughed, heading for the refrigerator to give
him the full story.

********

     Starsky finished up in the shower, a little disappointed that Hutch had
already taken his and hadn't offered to share. //Honeymoon's over already,// he
joked to himself, smiling as he dried off and finished his bedtime ablutions.  Over
the sound of the exhaust fan in the bathroom, he could just barely hear something
that sounded like music.  Curiosity piqued, he hurried through the rest of his
routine and slipped into his blue robe.  He looked in the mirror a moment,
checking out Hutch's claim that it matched his eyes.  With a little shrug, he had to
admit it was pretty close.  

     Turning off the light and the fan, he made his way down the hall to
Hutch's room, which, having the best mattress, had ended up being for all intents
and purposes, the master bedroom.  

     The room was lit by a few candles on the dresser, and soft music played
on the little stereo which sat on a small stand in the corner of the room.  Hutch
was standing at the dresser, fumbling with the cork on a wine bottle.

     "So this is why I had to take my shower all by myself," Starsky said,
smiling, his voice soft.  Hutch just smiled back and finally conquered the cork,
pouring two glasses of the Chianti.  He picked them both up and handed one to
his partner.  

     "I thought we ought to celebrate coming home."  Hutch paused.  "I know
we've had some rough times here, but...I...I think I'd like to try making a-a...go of
it here."  He looked at Starsky hopefully, as if he expected his partner would veto
the possibility.  The marginal traces of the stutter was proof enough to Starsky not
only that Hutch was nervous in bringing the subject up at all, but that the answer
meant a great deal to him.  Starsky couldn't suppress a smile.  Looking into the
clear blue eyes and the hopeful face of the beautiful big blond he loved so much,
there was nothing he could deny him.

     "Knowin' it was Simonetti who was out to get us...makes me feel a lot
different about living here."  Starsky tapped his glass against Hutch's.  "Here's to
givin' it another shot."

     "I'll drink to that," Hutch said, grinning from ear to ear.  After they each
had a drink of the wine, Starsky set the glasses aside and moved forward to dance
with his partner.  "Who's leading?"  Hutch joked.

     "Me.  Who else?"  Starsky slid his arm around Hutch's waist and took his
hand.  Neither really cared who led, but the sparring was tradition.

     "You smell good," Hutch sighed against Starsky's hair as the other's head
settled on his shoulder.  He rested his head against the soft curls.  

     "You too, babe."  Starsky nuzzled his neck, planting a little kiss there.  

     Both content to do no more than simply slow dance together in the
candlelight, neither man made a move toward anything heavier.  Starsky hugged
Hutch's arm close to his chest, their "dance" more a moving embrace.  Hutch
could feel a smile against his neck when the first strains of "After the Lovin'"
began to play.  

     "Forget him. *You* sing to me, babe," Starsky urged before the singer on
the stereo got more than two words out.  Hutch smiled, and kissing a nearby ear,
obliged, singing the words softly to his lover.  

     Starsky was almost unnaturally silent and still while Hutch sang, as if he
didn't want to miss a single note, as if merely *moving* too much would distract
him.  

     "It's so hard to explain, everything that I'm feelin', face to face, I just seem
to go dry, but I love you so much that the sound of your voice can get me high,"
Hutch sang softly, his arm tightening around Starsky. He sang the rest of the song,
his concentration more on the love he felt for his partner than the words
themselves.  
     
     "I liked it better without the radio," Starsky said, straightening a little and
pulling Hutch by both hands toward the bed.  "Don't like him drownin' you out."

     "I think his version's a little smoother," Hutch countered, chuckling.

     "Maybe he didn't have somebody givin' him a giant hickey while he was
singin' it," Starsky teased, sitting on the bed and giving Hutch a yank.  The force
left them both lying diagonally across the mattress next to each other.  Starsky
lost little time in rolling on top of Hutch, grinning as he traced the line of Hutch's
nose with his index finger.  "Anybody ever tell you your face is perfect?"  Starsky
asked, the sincerity plain in his voice.  

     "Far from it, babe," Hutch responded, smiling.

     "You even turn a nice pink color when you get compliments," Starsky
teased, kissing Hutch's cheek.  "I mean, even when it's all old and baggy and full'a
wrinkles, I'm still gonna love it--"

     "Thanks for that image, Starsk," Hutch interjected.

     "--so it wouldn't make me love ya more or less for what you looked like,"
Starsky continued, undeterred, "but I've been lookin' at your face, and there's just
nothin' wrong with it.  It's like somethin' an artist would put together if they could
make a statue that was perfect."  With Starsky's fingertips trailing lightly over
Hutch's features as he spoke, total rapture in those dark blue eyes, Hutch felt his
heart melt.  For whatever anyone else ever saw in him, Starsky saw perfection,
beauty, love...Starsky saw him with his heart.  "'Course a statue wouldn't have
those baby blues, or this silk on its head."  Starsky was fingering his hair now, as
if it were the most fascinating texture on earth.

     Hutch wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him in for a long
kiss, both writhing and wrestling with their robes until they were out of the way. 
Starsky broke the kiss and began moving down Hutch's jawline, soft lips gently
kissing their way to his throat, pausing to lick the passion mark he'd made while
Hutch had tried diligently to keep his mind on singing.  Hutch sighed luxuriously,
knowing that talented mouth would soon find a nipple, and he gasped in pleasure
as the wet warmth did just that...sucking, licking and nipping at the little
protrusion until Hutch was moaning, long fingers sliding into Starsky's hair to
encourage the motion.

     Starsky's tongue danced over Hutch's rapidly heating flesh to the other
side of his chest, his mouth fastening on the hard little peak there, sucking until
he felt Hutch's hard cock thrusting up against him.  

     "Slow down, darlin'.  I've got more work to do on you," Starsky
admonished gently, moving up to kiss Hutch's lips lightly.   "Love you so
much...just wanna spend all night showin' you."

     "You show me everyday," Hutch managed, finding himself almost without
voice.  He swallowed, and smiled.  "Every time you look at me, I feel like you see
something wonderful."

     "I do.  I see my heart."  Another kiss.  "My soul."  More kisses.  "Most
beautiful part'a my life."  Then they were kissing again, until Starsky reluctantly
pulled away, kissing and licking his way from the center of Hutch's chest to his
navel, teasing the little valley with the tip of his tongue, his hands gently
restraining the bucking hips.  "You're not havin' too much fun anymore, are ya,
babe?"  Starsky asked sympathetically as he found himself close to the rigid cock
that sprang from a nest of gold curls.  "Gonna take care'a you right now," Starsky
murmured hotly against the tender skin just before engulfing it in his mouth.

     "Starsk..."  Hutch arched eagerly into the hot, hungry mouth that was
intent on drawing the climax right out of him.  Starsky made love like he did
everything else that mattered to him--with a single-minded passion that left Hutch
devastated with the pleasure of it;  left him feeling as if he were the only other
human being on earth, the center of the universe.  

     Starsky's hands gently kneaded his ass, the fingertips sneaking into the
crevice there, teasing, withdrawing, one hand moving down to roll and stroke his
balls.  In moments he was crying out Starsky's name, feeling his seed surging out
of him and into his lover's waiting throat.  Starsky drank him down eagerly, with
such intensity that it seemed as if missing a drop would be a disaster in his lover's
eyes, one to be avoided at all costs.  

     As he lay there, breathless and sated, Starsky moved up the bed and pulled
him into his arms.  

     "Love you," he murmured against Hutch's mouth before they kissed.

     "How do you want it, babe?"  Hutch asked, reaching down to stroke
Starsky's erection as it nudged his thigh.  

     "How about on your stomach, with the pillows?  That sound okay?"

     "Sounds great, babe."  Happy to let Starsky do all the work, Hutch lay
there and let him arrange the pillows in just the right formation to keep the
pressure and pull off Hutch's back as much as possible, while giving Starsky the
best access.  When the effort was complete, Hutch pulled himself up and draped
himself over the pillows, expelling a long breath and relaxing.  

     Starsky's hands began to massage his shoulders then, leisurely, gently, as
if he had all night...as if waiting all night was of little or no concern to him. 
Knowing Starsky, if he thought he was making Hutch happy, it wouldn't have
been.  Hutch smiled at that knowledge, and felt himself sink into a state of total
lassitude under the skillful massaging hands.  

     There was no rush in making it to his lower back, and when Starsky
arrived there, he took his time, giving Hutch a real massage, and not just a little
foreplay.  Hutch sighed contentedly as tight muscles gave way, and by the time
those hands were on his buttocks, massaging those as well, Hutch was fighting to
stay awake, totally relaxed.
     Starsky didn't make the expected reach for the lube.  Instead, he gently
parted the twin mounds and Hutch felt the hot, wet tip of his lover's tongue
teasing the puckered opening there.  

     "Oh, God," Hutch groaned, trying to open himself even more to that
probing tongue.  But Starsky moved lower now, kissing the tender skin of Hutch's
perineum, turning what had been licking stimulation into a progression of wet
kisses from the back of Hutch's balls to the top of the seam of his buttocks.  

     Not sure if he should feel passion or frustration, Hutch groaned, and
Starsky moved down to the opening again, tonguing it eagerly, poking in and out
until Hutch felt himself growing hard again, the delicious relaxation still there,
but joined now with a renewed interest in the upcoming union.  

     With a kiss to each cheek, Starsky reached for the tube and coating his
fingers with the gel, began carefully preparing Hutch.  While they'd done this a
few times now, Hutch was far from being "an old hand" at it, and Starsky's
infinite caution and gentleness removed that element of fear that would have
normally made him tense up and resist.  It wasn't until Starsky had stretched him
slowly, and finally sent one purposeful finger deep inside him to brush over the
little gland there that he withdrew, letting Hutch recover from the jolt of pleasure
that had jarred his entire being.  

     Starsky entered him slowly, letting him adjust to each new movement, one
hand stroking Hutch's side gently while warm little kisses were planted along his
spine.  When they were fully joined, Starsky froze there a few moments, waiting
for Hutch to truly relax his internal muscles and accept the complete intrusion.  

     "You're so beautiful, babe.  Skin's just like silk.  'Specially back here,"
Starsky said, a smile in his voice as his hand stroked Hutch's hip.  "You've got a
gorgeous ass, blondie.  God, you were made to be loved like this," Starsky
muttered, and Hutch felt his cock surge.  Just the right combination of flattery
with a little raunchiness that would push him to the brink, make him as hot for
this as Starsky was.  

     The pumping started slowly, steadily, and built speed and intensity as their
mutual desire grew.  Starsky was moaning and breathing heavily now, hands
braced on either side of Hutch while he pistoned in and out of the slick channel. 
He still managed to leave a haphazard trail of kisses down Hutch's back, and to
flatter and sweet talk Hutch as he made love to him.

     "Love you so much, darlin'.  You feel so good," he managed, leaning down
low so his chest was against Hutch's back.  "Wanna come back with me...like we
tried...that day in the tub?"  he whispered against Hutch's ear.  

     "Yeah, babe," Hutch agreed, willing now to agree to anything that would
bring Starsky's thrusting cock in contact with his prostate.  In one fluid move,
they were back, Starsky sitting on his heels and Hutch impaled on his lap, his
back against Starsky's chest, the soft hair there tickling his damp skin.  

     "Oh, yeah.  More like it," Starsky panted, wrapping his arms around
Hutch, hooking his chin over Hutch's shoulder.  Hutch rested his arms on top of
Starsky's and drank in the closeness, and the new depth of the penetration. 
"Wanted t'hold you."  Starsky was kissing his neck now, the warm lips trailing
down to his shoulder, the thrusting deep and firm enough to satisfy, but not rough,
and not rushed.  Every now and then, Hutch shuddered and gasped Starsky's name
as his prostate was stroked.  

     Then Starsky's hand slid down and began pumping Hutch's cock,
demanding it rise to the occasion of a second orgasm.  Only too eager to meet that
demand, the organ grew and hardened under the ministrations of that talented
hand.  As Hutch felt the tide of his own climax building, he could sense the
changes in Starsky's movements that warned of his lover's own impending
orgasm.

     When they came, they came together, their cries mingling until they'd
ridden the tide of the pleasure to its end.  Hutch felt boneless and drained,
slumped in Starsky's arms, still impaled.  

     "Let's lay you down, beautiful," Starsky breathed against his ear. "Raise up
a little, sweetheart."  Hutch obeyed the gentle directions and let Starsky arrange
the pillows so he could lie on his side, facing Starsky as soon as he joined him. 
"Everything okay?"  Starsky asked, gently lifting the flyaway wisps of blond hair
off Hutch's damp forehead.  

     "Everything's great.  You were great, babe."  Hutch moved into Starsky's
arms, soaking up the closeness, listening to the still-quickened beat of Starsky's
heart.  It gradually slowed to normal, until he imagined their hearts were beating
in sync with one another.  

     "Nothin' else matters but this, babe," Starsky said softly.  "You and me..." 
He smiled.  "Me and thee."  

     "Me and thee, sweet love," Hutch agreed, smiling back and letting his eyes
drift shut.  Then he opened them again, to find Starsky still regarding him with a
look of concentration.  "Something wrong, babe?"

     "Don't know if I wanna hold you closer or watch you sleep," Starsky
answered honestly, as if he truly couldn't choose what would delight him more.

     "Hold me closer--if you watch me sleep, you can't very well be getting any
sleep, can you?"  Hutch teased, and Starsky grinned widely.  
     
     "Always the practical one," he joked, pulling Hutch into a tight embrace. 
"Love ya."  Starsky sighed then, and Hutch could feel him relaxing for sleep.

     "Love you too, babe."  

********