With apologies to William Sydney Porter

Whichever way he looked at it, it wasn't much. Starsky kept pulling out the bankbook as if perhaps somehow, miraculously, there would be more money in it than the last time he looked. There wasn't. There would be enough to pay that month's rent and buy some food, with only spare change left over. And he couldn't touch the rent or food money; Hutch had pitched in several times from his own depleted savings already. No, he had to face it. He was simply broke.

Starsky sighed. Not that he was ungrateful. The previous nine months had been among the longest of his life, but not too long to remember the uncertainty each time he went to sleep of never waking up again, Hutch's thin, anxious face telling him how close it was even when he himself didn't realize yet. And that was already after the interminable days spent comatose when he didn't know anything at all and Hutch could only wait, slowly withering away inside. No, they both had an awful lot to be grateful for. Starsky was on his feet again, almost restored to new, back on full duty. He knew the two of them would soon have some decisions to make about their future, but for now, he was just very happy to be alive and well. And to be fortunate enough to have a partner who was solely responsible for his miraculous recovery.

A small, melancholic smile touched Starsky's face when he thought of the driven blond who had been his therapist, couch, nurse, bully, comforter, and companion those many months. The doctors with their dire predictions had never before met a Hutchinson who had made up his mind. Hutch simply would accept no less than that Starsky would be one hundred percent again, sometimes keeping the hope alive in both of them when Starsky was too tired to try anymore. He had felt guilty on occasion for taking up so much of Hutch's time in those days, his partner seeming to have given up his social life altogether. Sometimes he'd even been embarrassed for all that Hutch had to do for him, all the intimacies his injuries forced, and, he was even more ashamed to admit, he often took his frustrations out on the one person who deserved it least of all. But Hutch continued on stolidly, unrelenting, knowing just when to sympathize and when to push, and Starsky steadily continued to mend. And once in a while he turned suddenly and caught Hutch looking at him with such concern in his eyes that Starsky lost all his guilt and embarrassment in the humility of being loved like that. How could he help but get better with such care?

Which was why the empty bankbook filled him with such chagrin. It was Christmas eve and the sole thing on Starsky's mind was finding the perfect present for his friend, something with which to say thank you in some small measure for a year, a gift, he could never repay. And one simply couldn't do that with a handful of change, not the way he wanted to do it. The hospital bills and the lost time had only been partly compensated for by the department, and he was really lucky to have money even for rent and food. It hadn't mattered before--he had had all he needed--but now it was disappointing. How could he feel grateful when he couldn't even show the most important person in his life how much he really meant to him?

Starsky paced the apartment restlessly. Hutch would be over that evening for the small celebratory dinner they'd scraped together for, and that only left a few scarce hours to solve a dilemma to which he saw no solution. Absently, he stepped over the train coiled around the small Christmas tree in one corner of the living room. Perhaps if he found a way to make some money before Christmas. It was too late to get an extra job, and anyway, he was exhausted by the time he got home from work as was. Nor did he want to borrow from anyone even though he knew his Uncle Al would gladly lend him as much as he needed, had already offered as much. No, a gift that was this important had to come exclusively from him, even if it meant sacrifice...

Starsky's gaze fell to the floor.

It took him nearly an hour to find the right size box, to carefully pack each car of his beloved train so that none of them would get scuffed against the others, the caboose going in last. Hutch had given him several of the cars, but that caboose held special meaning. It had been a symbol of Hutch's rediscovery of the joy of the season, the Christmas when the blond had shared with him the loss of his brother and the finding of another, when a tree had been planted as a sign of rebirth. The caboose had come a little later, during a more private celebration. They'd played with the train long into that night, even serious Hutch getting down on the floor to wind tracks all around the furniture...

Starsky packed the caboose and sealed the box with tape. He didn't have to do this; Hutch would've been happy with any gift, he knew, or even no gift at all, but Starsky had never wanted to do something so badly in his life. Some things were more important than even this, his dearest possession. Quickly, he shrugged his jacket on and set off with the box, anxious to get it over with before his mind had a chance to dwell on what he was doing.

An hour later, the box gone and a handful of bills in his pocket, he found exactly what he didn't know he'd been looking for. Without even realizing it, Starsky had gravitated toward the artistic section of town, browsing through music and crafts and even gardening shops. But when he'd come across the small, private music store and its window display, he knew that was it when he saw it.

The guitar strap was pure Hutch. Simple and elegant, a soft, white material embroidered with an intricate pattern of azure blue and straw gold designs. It was perfect. Starsky went in to inquire, wincing a little when he heard the price, but it was handmade and he had just enough money for it and it had to be his. He was surprised at how little regret he felt paying out all the money he'd gotten for his train set. It was, after all, for Hutch.

Clutching the wrapped package, Starsky went home and immediately placed it under the tree. He stood for a long minute, critically eyeing its placing, the wrapping, already imagining Hutch's reaction to it. His partner would know how important it was and what it meant. Finally giving a nod of satisfaction, Starsky turned and headed toward the bedroom to start to get ready for dinner, humming "Jingle Bells" under his breath as he went. This would certainly be a Christmas to remember.

~~~

The doorbell rang just as he was setting the good dishes on the table, startling Starsky with its abruptness. Crossing to the door, he almost stepped high to avoid the tracks that had been set up that way of late, remembering at the last moment that there was no more train to step over. Regret stung for a moment, but he quickly and easily swept it aside. If Hutch liked the gift, it would be worth it. And his partner need not know the price paid for it.

"Merry Christmas!" Ken Hutchinson stood grinning at him outside the door, a wide smile on his face and a present under one arm.

Starsky could feel the stresses and uncertainties of the day melting away under the joy of that smile. Hutch's happiness always seemed to infect him, too. "Merry Christmas!" he grinned back, stepping aside to let his friend in the door. Winter wear was shed, and Starsky pretended not to notice as Hutch carefully placed his own gift under the tree next to the one that already lay there, pausing a moment to study it. He rose without saying a word, smiling at Starsky again.

"So, d'you burn dinner?"

Starsky made a face at him. "If you had so much faith in me, maybe you shoulda made it."

"Well," Hutch shrugged, following him into the dining room, "I would've, but I didn't want to take the pleasure away from you."

Another withering glance, but Starsky couldn't keep the shine of pleasure out of his eyes. There was too much to be happy for in just being together and safe.

"Hey, what happened to your train set?"

The casual question caught him off guard and he turned with surprise to stare at his partner, who was looking around the room. There seemed to be only harmless curiosity in the blue eyes, though, and Starsky relaxed a little. "'Was kinda in the way here with all the holiday stuff. I put it away," he added vaguely.

Hutch was watching him with a slightly odd expression Starsky couldn't quite place, but it was gone a moment later as his partner came to pitch in with getting dinner on the table. Starsky forgot all about the train as they dished out the plates of food and sat down to eat.

Dinner was full of simple joys, Starsky reveling in the easy banter and shared friendship. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt that relaxed. The year had unquestionably been one of their hardest, starting with the Marianne Owens case that had begun to slowly pull them apart, then Hutch losing his old mentor and friend, to the almost breaking point of Lionel Rigger's death and their involvement with Alison May. For a while, Starsky was afraid their friendship would end up chucked in the ocean along with their badges. They'd just begun to pick up the pieces and rebuild when the shooting occurred and suddenly all the rules changed. Months of recovery followed, healing most everything between them, including things Starsky had thought gone for good... All the ups and downs and too-close calls had strained, then strengthened their friendship to a level Starsky had never known before. And finally at peace and back on the streets once more, having beaten the odds, there was nothing more he could ask for. All the small pleasures were constant reminders of how very much they had to be thankful for, and Starsky appreciated every one of them.

Hutch's easy laugh and relaxed posture told him his partner felt the same. In some ways, the year had been even harder on him, and Starsky was sometimes amazed at the strength of this man who not only held himself together during the hardest times, but also found strength for Starsky, too. If anyone deserved the peaceful joy of this celebration, it was Hutch, and his obvious contentment was all the gift Starsky could ever ask for.

Still, he couldn't help but be curious about that package under the tree, or be restless to share his own...

Dinner was finished and they cleaned up together, then made their way to the living room.

"What do you say we wait until Christmas morning to open gifts this year?" Hutch offered.

Starsky turned to him hotly, anxious protest dying on his lips at the teasing in the other's eyes. Hutch's family celebrated Christmas with a gift exchange on the eve of the holiday, in European fashion. Starsky had grown up with Chanukah himself, which his goy partner had also learned to celebrate with him, but he had quickly adopted Hutch's Christmas, too, and grown to appreciate Hutchinson custom, particularly as he usually couldn't wait overnight to open his gifts. "Idiot," he retorted mildly now, reaching for his gift. "You first." He handed the gift over to the blond, then settled back on the floor next to him to watch his response.

Hutch seemed surprised at Starsky not wanting to start with his own gift as he usually did, but accepted the package with a silent smile. He opened it with the attention that habitually drove Starsky crazy but that he now appreciated, watching the long fingers carefully undo the tape without tearing the paper, then unwrap the package. Taking up the box, he eased it open and looked inside.

Starsky held his breath.

There was a moment of silence, then Hutch looked up at him with that same odd, unreadable expression of before. Before Starsky could wonder about it, though, the blond head bent over the box again and very gently he reached in to pull out the strap. He held it for a long minute, fingering the intricate design, smoothing the strap over his leg. Starsky watched, partly pleased at the obvious impact his gift had, partly confused at something else he was picking up but not understanding.

Hutch finally raised his head and his eyes met Starsky's. They were too bright but happy. "Thank you," he simply said, his voice soft.

Starsky tried to push his puzzlement away, his own heart reacting to the emotion he saw in the other. "I knew it was perfect for you when I saw it. Even matches your eyes. I thought..." his words trailed off.

"It's beautiful," Hutch murmured, looking again at the strap, then up at Starsky. He shook his head. "But it must've cost a bundle."

Starsky shrugged dismissively. "Don't worry about it, I got it covered. I just... wanted to tell ya..." he ran out of words again.

A hand on his arm made him look up into those intense blue eyes that smiled at him now. There was thanks and understanding in them, and Starsky shut up. Perhaps it hadn't gone exactly the way he'd imagined, but his present had worked. Brightly, he shifted gears before things got unbearably soapy. "My turn!"

Hutch's smile turned more playful, too, and he picked up the remaining gift, handing it to Starsky, who gleefully attacked it. Perhaps his partner liked to draw things out with his complicated way of opening gifts, but not Starsky. He wanted to see what he'd gotten.

The box was surprisingly heavy, but he got the paper off quickly and eagerly lifted the top off, shoving the packing paper aside. And froze.

Wrapped carefully inside was a beautiful passenger coach train car. The more expensive kind, his experienced eye could tell, complete with miniature people inside and gold trim paint. It was absolutely beautiful, a prize addition to any train set...

Starsky swallowed hard, gently setting the car down on the floor.

"Did I get the wrong kind?"

Hutch's concerned question drew his attention back and he gazed blankly at his partner for a moment before warmth washed through him, taking with it the last bits of regret. "No," he said with heartfelt sincerity, "it's perfect."

The worry cleared out of the other's eyes. "I thought you might like it. Where's your train set? We could add it on now, see how it looks--"

Starsky cleared his throat. "Why don't we just leave it here under the tree for now. Looks kinda good, dontcha think?" He avoided the knowing eyes as he carefully positioned the car by itself under the tree.

Hutch didn't need to see his eyes, though. There was a pause, then the same question, more seriously this time. "Starsky, where's your train set?"

Starsky didn't look up. Well, he'd have to find out sooner or later. "I sold it," he mumbled.

"You what?! Why?"

Starsky looked up at him. "So I could buy you a real gift. I really wanted to, Hutch," he added earnestly at the sound of protest the other made. "It's okay. Hey, maybe we could go over to your place, pick your guitar up," he quickly went on, excitement building. "I wanna see how the strap looks on it."

This time Hutch wouldn't meet his eyes, staring instead at the gift still in his hands. He gave a little choked laugh, alarming Starsky.

"Hutch?"

The blue eyes were too bright again, but they were full of love. "I sold it," he said quietly. "My guitar. I knew you wanted the car and I really wanted to give you something perfect after this year... so glad you're still around..."

Starsky stared at him for a moment, realizing with disbelief what Hutch had done, then reached out his one arm, hooking it around his friend's neck and pulling him in for a hug. Hutch didn't resist. "We sure are a pair, aren't we," he laughed into the blond hair. Hutch chuckled and nodded against his shoulder.

Hutch's beloved guitar. How could--well, Starsky knew the answer to that. He didn't have to, either, he'd just wanted to. So lucky... Starsky buried his face in the golden hair and closed his eyes with a sigh of contentment. They'd get the guitar back, he promised silently, but for now it didn't matter, nothing really did except the reality of the best gift he'd ever gotten, right there in his arms. And, he looked over Hutch's shoulder, the most beautiful train car he'd seen in his whole life. Even if it would be some time before he could use it. He really did have everything he could ask for right there.

It was the most wonderful Christmas Starsky had ever known.

Written in 1997