Christmas Story
Posted 12-25-00
**************


IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE MISTLETOE

by

Candy Apple



     "You think they were all lyin'?"  Starsky asked, staring out the
windshield of the Torino.  It was a cloudy, cool day and not a soul was
on the street.  Well, not a soul except for a few of the usual characters
on their beat who didn't take holidays.  Even for them, business wasn't
good.  It was Christmas, and apparently many of the street hoods had
some sort of vacation policy.

     "Who?  The girls?"  Hutch referred to a pair of hookers they'd
questioned about a pusher who'd been seen hanging out around a
couple area high schools.  

     "No, Simmons and Babcock.  About bein' sick.  Pretty funny,
both of 'em getting hit with the flu at once."

     "The last time you had the flu, I caught it and we were both
sick."

     "That's because you were takin' care'a me while I was sick."

     "So maybe the same thing happened to them."  Hutch nudged
the mistletoe Starsky had hung on the rearview mirror and laughed. 
"You want to cruise back down the block and pick up the girls?  This is
probably the dumbest place you've hung mistletoe since I've known
you--and that's saying a lot," Hutch concluded, shaking his head.

     "I don't think they take care of each other when they get sick,"
Starsky opined, obviously having ignored another of Hutch's patented
grinch routines.  After all these years together, it rolled off Starsky's
back with little or no impression left behind.  Plus, since Gunther's
attempted hit, he hadn't had reason to complain about his Christmas
gifts.  In fact, he'd finally told Hutch a couple weeks before this, their
third Christmas since, that he was alive, fine, and going to stay that
way, and that it was okay if Hutch left a couple items in the shopping
centers for other people to buy.

     Of course, truth be told, he was dying to get home and dig into
this year's stash.  As stubborn as Hutch had been in holding to *not*
buying gifts, he'd proven just as stubborn about buying *as many* as he
saw fit.  

     "Why do you say that?"  Hutch asked.  Starsky frowned
momentarily, having gotten lost in the speculation of what would be
under the tree they'd put up at his place the previous week.

     "Say what?"

     "That they don't take care of each other?"

     "They just...don't.  I don't know.  I just don't see it.  Besides,
Simmons' got a girlfriend."

     "Doesn't mean she wants to mop up his puke."

     "You can be really gross sometimes, you know that?"  Starsky
admonished, and Hutch just grinned in that placid way of his that said
he was amused, but completely undaunted.  "Maybe it's because...we've
always been different--you and me."

     "How do you mean?"

     //Now you're bein' dense, blondie...on purpose,// Starsky
thought, shooting his partner a surreptitious look out of the corner of
his eye.

     "Closer, y'know...more...I don't know.  I mean, if I get sick, I
just kind of expect you're gonna be there, and if you do, I always go
over to your place..."  Starsky shrugged.  

     "You're probably right."  Hutch sighed.  "But you know, you
ride in a car with someone all day, and they're sick and contagious, it's
not long before you've got it anyway."

     "I s'pose."  Starsky sighed.  "We got enough seniority we
should'a had today off."

     "We would have if the flu wasn't going around."

     "I guess."  Starsky was quiet another minute.  "What's wrong
with mistletoe on the rearview mirror, anyway, Mr. Christmas Expert?" 
He looked over at Hutch with a grin.  "Hm?"  he prodded, widening his
eyes in expectation of a response.

     "The only person you've been riding with, with all of this
overtime we've been working, is me.  Kind of cuts down your chances
of getting lucky under the mistletoe.  And you've even got to get me to
lean forward at the right time--and don't hold your breath," Hutch
hastened to add.

     "Who says I wanna get you under the mistletoe?"  Starsky
snorted a laugh.  "You got a real high opinion'a yourself, don't ya?"

     "So why *did* you hang it there?"

     "Seemed like a good idea at the time.  Besides, I couldn't find
my reindeer.  I got my star." Starsky looked up on the dashboard,
searching until he found the blue Star of David.  "Don't know where the
reindeer is."  He slumped back in the seat.  "You wanna go get
somethin' to eat?"

     "I think the Hong Kong Express is open."

     "Yeah, okay."  Starsky headed for the restaurant in question, a
small Chinese take-out or eat-in establishment not far from their usual
beat.  They'd easily be a radio call away from anything that required
their attention.  

     "Not too many people beating up on each other today.  That's
been a treat," Hutch said, watching the deserted storefronts pass by the
window.  "I think you're right--we *are* the only people who had to
work today."

     "Us and the Hong Kong Express people."

     "But they don't care about Christmas--it's not part of their
cultural traditions, so it's just another day to them.  Of course, when
you strip away all the commercialism, not too many people are all that
interested in the real meaning of the holiday."

     "It's not all commercialism.  I mean, it's not part of my cultural
traditions either, but I still like it."

     "You like presents, Starsk.  If they started giving out presents
for Groundhog Day, you'd be all for it."

     "Everybody likes presents.  That's not the point."  Starsky felt a
little pierced by what Hutch had said, though he wasn't sure why.  It
was a pretty understandable assumption that when your Jewish partner
adopts Christmas without converting, it's for a materialistic reason.  

     He smiled a little, thinking about his Aunt Rose's passion for
the holiday.  Back in New York, Christmas was something other kids
celebrated, and some days off school that came sometime after
Hanukkah.  Uncle Al was his mother's brother, and he'd married a
Catholic girl when he moved out to L.A.  While Rose hadn't had any
illusions that she was going to convert him, her love of Christmas and
her own traditions didn't suffer for it.  As she'd explained it to a
somewhat puzzled thirteen-year-old Starsky, you didn't have to believe
in the religious part of the holiday if that wasn't part of your faith, but
you could still use it as a time of the year to tell the people you loved
how much you cared, to do nice things for others, and to remember
those less fortunate.  She also joked that Santa Claus wasn't any
particular religion, so he could still expect to find some packages under
the tree with his name on them. 

     "So what's it about then?"  Hutch asked, looking a little
concerned.

     "Aunt Rose loved Christmas--seems like we were knee-deep in
pine and red bows from Thanksgiving to New Year's."  Starsky smiled
fondly.  "She said it didn't have to be about religion.  It was for her, but
it was also about showing the people you love, that you love 'em, and
doing nice things for other people.  And she did, too.  She used to go
read to people at the old people's home, take cookies to shut-ins, stuff
like that."

     "You still miss her?"  Hutch asked, noticing the almost
imperceptible strain in his partner's voice.

     "Especially at Christmas," Starsky said quietly.  "I was sort of
screwed up when I got out here, and she did a lot to...fix that.  She
really taught me a lot about sharing...about doing things for other
people.  Quite a lady," he concluded, smiling a little and swallowing
past the lump in his throat.  Losing his Aunt Rose had been like losing
a mother, and her death five years earlier had hit him harder than he
expected.  

     "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to make it sound like...like the holiday
didn't mean anything to you but presents."

     "Well, it's kinda natural to see it that way."

     "So when I used to give you a hard time about presents...you
weren't just upset about the presents, huh?"

     "I used to be kinda disappointed you didn't wanna get me
anything.  It's weird though.  When I was in the hospital, after the
shooting?"  Hutch nodded, and Starsky continued.  "I got thinkin' about
the tree.    It was nice to think about something havin' my name and
living on after I did.  You know, if I hadn't made it, at least my tree'd
always be there."  Starsky chuckled a little.  "Dumb thoughts you have
when you're half in the bag on painkillers," he added, pulling into the
parking lot of the restaurant.  Hutch was strangely quiet, and Starsky
glanced over at him.  The adam's apple bobbed in the long throat, and
Hutch was keeping his face turned slightly to the side.  "Hey, I didn't
mean to go all morose on you, babe.  Cheer up.  It's Christmas, and we
can have all the greasy egg rolls we can eat for free," Starsky
announced, and Hutch laughed a little unevenly.  The elderly Chinese
couple who owned the restaurant always fed the unfortunate cops who
drew Christmas duty, free of charge. 

     After making good on Starsky's promise of unlimited egg rolls,
with some rice and almond chicken thrown in for good measure, the
two men returned to the car.

     "Gee, only four more hours."  Starsky leaned back in the seat
with a bored sigh.  "Where to now?"

     "Let's cruise around the porno district.  See if anybody's doing
anything they shouldn't."

     "That pretty much sums up the whole neighborhood, partner." 
Starsky started up the car.  It was getting dark outside, and the city's
seamier side would no doubt begin crawling out of hiding.  

     "Next year, I think I'd rather have the flu," Hutch grumbled.

     "If you do, I'll stay home and take care'a you."

     "So you don't have to work."

     "Well, yeah, that too."  Starsky laughed.  Then, more seriously,
"Thanks, buddy."

     "For what?"

     "All'a those times after Gunther...seems like I caught everything
anybody had for about a year after the shooting.  I was sick all the
time."

     "Your resistance was low--your immune system was vulnerable,
after you'd been through something that taxing.  You needed time to
build up your strength again."

     "I know all that.  But you were always there, no matter how sick
I was, you stayed with me."  Starsky shrugged.  "Guess that's showin'
somebody you love them without it bein' Christmas.  Those are the best
kinds of presents."  Starsky pulled the Torino up to the curb, and they
watched a few of the denizens of the porno district milling around on
the sidewalk.  A few furtive-looking family men slipping into the
triple-X theater, a couple painted-up hookers giving the eye to a
reasonably disreputable-looking character in a trench coat, and the
doorman at the Sunset Strip Club shooing a couple of teenage boys
away whose fake ID's obviously didn't pass muster.

     "Wanna roust 'em?"  Hutch asked, nodding toward the kids.

     "Nah.  If their ID's weren't good enough to get 'em past Big
Tony, they won't get in anyplace else either."  

     "I do, you know," Hutch said quietly.

     "Do what?"  Starsky watched his partner, and waited through a
prolonged pause.  Finally, Hutch swallowed and looked out the
windshield.

     "Love you."

     "I know, babe."  Starsky smiled, feeling a warmth spread
through him that was worthy of one of his Aunt Rose's best Christmas
dinners.  "I love you too."

     "Christmas is almost over."

     "Yeah, in a few more hours, it'll be history for another year."

     "You're going to miss out on putting this to any decent use." 
Hutch flicked at the ball of mistletoe, making it sway slightly from its
place on the rearview mirror.  

     "Well, maybe not.  I've still got a few hours to run into a tall,
sexy blond looking for a good time," Starsky quipped, grinning.  

     "A b-blond, huh?"  Hutch asked.  Starsky's heart did a little flip. 
The stutter was the dead giveaway.  He'd thought Hutch was flirting
with him, maybe toying with the idea of trying a kiss...just once...to see
what it would be like.  The nervous little stutter sealed the deal.  He
moved in for the kill.

     "Yeah.  A tall one.  With blue eyes.  Gotta have blue eyes." 
Starsky reached over and let his fingertips slide into the silky golden
hair.  "Gotta be a natural blond, too, with hair soft as an angel's."

     "I was thinking about maybe..."  Hutch cleared his throat. 
"Maybe looking for a brunet myself."

     "Really?"

     "Yeah, I think so.  I like brunets best."  Hutch said.

     "You usually end up with tall, blonde beauties."

     "I go out with tall, blonde beauties."  Hutch turned to face
Starsky, and Starsky found his palm against Hutch's cheek from the
motion.  He didn't move away.  "I always *end up* with a curly-haired
brunet."

     "Sorry 'bout that," Starsky said, chuckling a little.

     "I'm not."  Hutch covered Starsky's hand with his own.  "I'm not
sorry at all."

     "Me neither," Starsky confirmed, moving forward at the same
instant Hutch did.  

     Under the mistletoe suspended from the rearview mirror, by the
curb on a dark section of a street on the seedy side of town, after what
suddenly felt like years of waiting, their lips met.  And got acquainted. 
As soon as Starsky felt that first spark of contact, that first press of soft
flesh against his own, he risked opening his mouth just a little, nudging
at Hutch's mouth with his tongue...just a little.  It was now or never,
and Hutch was either going to be grossed out and disgusted or he was
going to end up shoving Starsky back into the seat and licking his
tonsils.  

     Starsky soon found himself pressed back against the seat, an
eager tongue delving deep into his mouth, arms going around him as
his went around Hutch, reveling in the joy of making out like two
teenagers in the front seat of a car.

     A police vehicle.  On duty.  In public.

     The two men pulled back almost simultaneously, staring at each
other, a little breathless.

     "If we get busted down here, Dobey's gonna kill us," Hutch
gasped out in strained words.  

     "God, Hutch, I just wanna eat you alive."  Starsky moved in for
another kiss, having scanned the area in their brief respite, satisfied
there was no immediate threat of discovery.  The response, which was
nervous and hesitant at first, soon melted into the passion of their first
encounter.  

     "What are we doing?"  Hutch breathed against Starsky's mouth.

     "If you don't know, buddy, I've got a lotta things to teach you." 
Starsky smiled and rested his forehead against Hutch's.  "This is makin'
out, babe."

     "You're a man."

     "Thanks for noticing."

     "So am I," Hutch added, his voice rising an octave.

     "That would explain the whiskers and the dick.  I was
wondering about that."

     "It isn't funny," Hutch insisted, moving back a little.

     "Maybe not, but it's right, babe.  And you know it."

     "And you're okay with that?"  Hutch asked, shock plain in his
voice.

     "I love you, Hutch.  Have for so long.  When I thought I was
gonna die, all I could think about was...showin' you how much."

     "That was years ago, Starsk," Hutch said gently, stroking
Starsky's cheek with his fingertips.  

     "I was thinkin' maybe there was another way.  Maybe we could
go on just loving each other more than anybody else and that would be
enough.  But it's not enough anymore.  I want all'a you.  Every part.  I
don't want anybody else havin' any part of you.  I want all of it." 
Starsky moved in for another almost desperate kiss.  

     "So this wasn't a substitute for the reindeer?"  Hutch tapped the
mistletoe.

     "Nope.  And makin' out with you's no substitute for anything
either.  You're the only person I wanna do it with."

     "I wanted so bad to make love to you when you got well.  All I
could think about when you were in the hospital was how..."  Hutch
paused, shaking his head.  "How you were everything...how without
you, there was nothing left..."

     "Soon as we get off duty, whaddya say we go back to my place
and celebrate?"

     "If we do this, nothing's ever going to be the same, babe."

     "After kissing like we just did, would it ever be anyway?"

     "No, probably not."  

     "If you wanna forget it, I...I'll try the best I can not to let it get
between us, Hutch.  I can...I can probably live without kissin' you
again, but I can't live without *you*."

     "If you can live without kissing me for the next few hours, we'll
make up for lost time at your place as soon as we get off."  At Starsky's
arched eyebrows, Hutch's face colored and he laughed.  "*Work*.  As
soon as we *get off work*."

     "Ah," Starsky said, nodding solemnly.  

     "Starsk?"

     "Yeah?"

     "Merry Christmas, babe."

     "Yeah, it sure is, isn't it?"  And with that, Starsky moved in for
another stolen kiss in the shadows, beneath the little tuft of mistletoe
that had finally, miraculously, ended too many years of waiting--and
made this the best Christmas ever.


MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!