Chapter 3

You might still have time
You might still get by
Every time I think about it, I wanna cry
There's nothing left to do at night
But go crazy on you, crazy on you
Lemme go crazy, crazy on you
         Crazy On You -- Heart

    "Hello, Ma?" Starsky said quietly into the receiver. "It's Davey."

   There was a moment's pause, then finally, in a classic New York Jewish accent, "So, you remembered your mother's number, finally? I was beginning to think that we'd only hear from you through Walter Cronkite anymore."

   He had to smile. She was still his mother. "Ma -- I know what you've been seein' in the paper, but -- "

   "Feh! Who reads the papers? Who listens to such lies?" But she couldn't keep it up for long. He heard the catch in her voice, the quick intake of breath that was a suppressed sob. "Oh, my David! What's happened to you?" And the tears started. Hers and his.

   He swallowed trying to hold back his own pain, trying to keep a grip on it, and wiped his cheek. It was one thing for Gunther to strike out at him, but this was his mother. "Ma --it's not what you think. Let me explain -- "

   "You think I need you to explain?" she asked, sniffling. "I'm your mother. I taught you about the birds and the bees, because your father, God rest his soul, was too embarrassed. And I've lived in New York all my life. I'm not some naive little gonif, Davey."

   "I know, Ma, but -- "

   "And," another sniff, "besides, I've met your Kenneth. Such a nice boy. So handsome. So polite. Even then, I could see, the two of you -- there was something. When I saw the papers -- well, it all made sense. Why you stopped talking about the girls you were seeing. Why Ken was always with you. Did you know he once called me to find out your favorite recipe? I gave it to him, that pot roast with vegetables you always loved. I wondered even then, but I -- I couldn't think badly of Ken. I still can't. I could see how much you two meant to each other -- "

   What? he thought, mind reeling. Hutch had gone east with him a few years ago on a brief vacation, and then she'd come out to L.A. while Starsky was recovering from the shooting. That was the only time she and Hutch had ever spent any time together.

   "Ma! There wasn't anything between me and Hutch back then, I swear! This was all a set-up this criminal -- "

   "Please, Davey, I'm an old Jewish mother, but I'm not a stupid woman. I saw the way you two looked at each other. I saw how devoted Ken was to you after you were hurt. Don't lie to your mother, Davey, it's not nice. Anyway, you don't have to lie anymore. I'm trying to tell you I understand. I understand why I'm not a grandmother, why I'm not going to be a grandmother. Well, with the way Nicky is going, who knows? But that's another problem. This is your life, Davey, and you have to live it in a way that makes you happy -- haven't I always told you that? Just tell your mother one thing -- are you happy?" Her voice cracked on the last word.

   He blinked stupidly. "Happy? How could I be happy, Ma, with what's happening to us?"

   "No, I mean -- are you happy with Ken? He's so good to you. And I know he loves you so much. And I think -- I feel he has a good heart, that he's a good, decent man. I could bear this, I think, if I knew you were happy with him."

   Starsky shut his eyes. Have I been that stupid for so long that I couldn't see what my mother could? Did he love me all this time? He took a deep breath and searched his heart. What could he say to his mother? "Yeah, Mom. Hutch -- makes me happy. He always has. He's my best friend, my partner. It's just been hard lately with all this bad press happening. But we're -- we're still partners. So, yeah, I'm happy with him."

   "Well, that's good, then, I'm happy, too," she said, her voice trembling.

   "What -- what about Nicky, Ma?" Starsky asked quietly.

   There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end. "It's very hard for your brother, Davey. He's a man. He doesn't understand. Not like I do."

   Starsky could feel a hand squeezing his heart. "Can I talk to him?"

   "I'm sorry, Davey. He won't speak to you now. I think in a week or so, when things calm down, maybe then -- "

   "My brother won't speak to me?" Starsky said, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

   "It's -- it's hit him very hard. You know how things are in the neighborhood. People have been telling him things. He can't handle it yet, Davey."

   Starsky covered his eyes with his hand. They sent me away when I was fourteen, after dad was killed, because of what was said in the neighborhood. That was almost twenty years ago. How can anyone remember the shit that went on between some kids that far back?

   "Tell him, Ma," Starsky said, through a throat tight with anguish, "tell him I'm still his brother. I still love him. Tell him that will never change. Will you tell him?"

   "I'll tell him, Davey. Will -- you be staying in L.A.?"

   "Oh, yeah. We're stayin' at Hutch's right now, if you need me."

   "Davey, will you lose your job?"

   He thought of himself pressuring the city for his job back under the guise of being an openly gay man. He thought of the continuing bad press. "Don't know yet, Ma. I gotta warn you. The newspapers and stuff -- it's gonna get worse."

   "Worse? Worse than the front page of the Daily News? How much worse can it get?" She almost sounded amused.

   "We might -- be suin' the city, Ma," he warned her. "We might be pursuing the case as a civil rights violation."

   "Good!" she said, surprising him. "You and Ken are good cops. The best! You could have been sitting on the beach on disability all this time, living off the city, instead of working so hard! They've got a lotta nerve, you ask me, suspending you because of your private life! Shame on them! You gotta good lawyer, honey? `Cause your uncle Benny, he knows this man --"

   He had to chuckle at his feisty mom. "I gotta good lawyer, Ma, the best in the city. Maybe the country."

   "Oh, but it's so expensive!" she started to protest.

   "It's okay, Ma, really. But we're gonna fight this thing. So the papers and stuff will pick it up. It's gonna get hard on you -- and Nick."

   "You don't worry about us, Davey. You got a big fight ahead of you. Know that I'm on your side, yours and Ken's. And, once Nicky gets used to it, he'll come around. I know he will."

   Starsky wished he could share her belief. "Yeah, Ma. Sure. I'm really sorry, Ma, you had to -- find out like this. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

   "You think I don't know that? I love you, Davey. Never worry about that."

   "Call you next Friday, Ma," he said, holding the receiver tight, wishing she were there to hug.

   "You've always been a good son," she said back to him. "I've always been so proud of you. I still am. You're still my hero, Davey."

   He could barely find his voice to say good-bye before hanging up the receiver. He took a few deep breaths and got his emotions under control, not wanting to think too much about the bizarre conclusions his mother had come to. This was just the tip of the iceberg. For the first time he began to realize what his relationship with Hutch must have seemed like through the eyes of others. Were they really so different from other men? Were they that much closer? Was there that much love between them? And if there was, why had he been so blind to it for so long?

   Maybe because you knew how much pain it could cause? Because of what happened in New York to a confused, angry kid who'd just lost his dad? Did you just lock up all your feelings after that, reserving them only for what was acceptable in life?

   He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to get a grip on himself. He'd need a full-time psychiatrist before this was over. He wondered if Peter Whitelaw had one in his network.

   Picking up the phone again, he gave a quick call to Huggy to ask a favor, and then went out to the kitchen to tell Hutch the phone was free. Now, it was the blond's turn to have his heart ripped out.

   "How long will it take you to set this up?" Starsky asked Huggy, as the black man carried the awkward box into the apartment.

   "`Bout ten minutes," Huggy told him, putting the box down near the television set. Starsky thought the thin man still seemed more subdued than normal -- though his wildly colorful clothes had that wonderful aura of Huggy-normalcy. "What'chu want this for, man?"

   Starsky bit his lip, then looked his friend in the eye. "Someone gave us a copy of the film. It's on tape. We're still cops, Huggy, and we gotta get to the bottom of this mess. We need to look at that film objectively, as evidence. There could be something on it that might lead us to the perpetrator."

   Huggy stared at him in amazement. "You gonna look at that thing like it was evidence? You think you can do that? Man, you crazier than I thought."

   "We gotta, Huggy. The department's not gonna try to find out who set us up. `Cept for Dobey, they don't care. They just want us gone."

   Huggy shook his head, but pulled out a mass of black cables and started hooking them up to the TV. "Where's Hutch anyway?"

   "On the phone in the bedroom. Talkin' to his folks. He's been in there awhile. He's awful quiet, though."

   "That's `cause his folks are from Minnesota," Huggy said knowledgeably, "not New York City. Them white bread midwesterners don't solve problems by yellin' at each other. They gets real quiet when they gets mad."

   "Then that ain't good news for Hutch," Starsky admitted, "`cause I ain't heard a peep outta him since he went in there."

   "Maybe you should go check on him," Huggy suggested without looking at Starsky.

   "Yeah. Maybe. Din't wanna invade his privacy. There ain't but so much in this wide-open place. You need my help?"

   "Naw," Huggy told him. "I'll have this Betamax VCR set up in no time, then I'll just let myself out."

   "Hey, Huggy, how come you gave Hutch's address to Peter Whitelaw?" Starsky said casually.

   Huggy flinched. "Now, don't be mad at me, Starsky. I just thought -- that is, well, hell, bro', I was afraid if I just gave him the phone number, y'all wouldn't see the man. And I know he's the only one in the city in any position to help you." Huggy looked up through his lashes, almost shyly. "You mad at me?"

   "No, I guess not," Starsky mumbled.

   "But -- ?" Huggy prompted.

   Starsky shrugged. "I, uh -- I think he likes Hutch. If you know what I mean -- and I think you do."

   Huggy just laughed. "You better get useta that, man, specially if you take that gig down the Green Parrot. Hutch is hot. He's got the look those fey brothers love, all those long legs and that big blond body. `Sides, you not interested, so wha'd'ya care `bout that? Or, do you want Hutch to be a monk `cause you are?"

   Starsky stared at his friend in amazement. "No one never accused me a' bein' a monk before, Huggy, least of all you!"

   "You have been this past year, Starsky. Not sure why. Not sure you know why. Maybe you need to be askin' yourself those kinda questions, `steada worryin' about other dudes diggin' on your partner. He's a grown-up, and can make his own decisions."

   "Yeah, thanks for the advice," Starsky said sarcastically, only to have the thin man grin right up at him.

   "Why, anytime, friend. Anytime at all."

   Starsky left Huggy to his VCR set up and moved quietly around the corner to the bedroom. He paused just out of visual range and tried to hear if Hutch were still on the phone. Nothing but silence. Finally, he stuck his head around the corner and found Hutch sitting on the bed, back against the brass headboard, looking out through the window. His long, bare legs stretched across the bed, crossed at the ankles. His face was blank.

   "Knock, knock," Starsky said.

   Hutch didn't look at him. "I already know who's there. Come in if you want."

   Starsky did, sitting on "his" side of the bed. He drew his legs up, kneeling so he could face Hutch. "How'd it go?"

   "Not too bad. Didn't take long. My dad was waiting for the call. Mom wouldn't come to the phone."

   Starsky blinked in surprise. It had never occurred to him his mother might not come to the phone. He tried to imagine that and couldn't.

   "I'm officially out of the will," Hutch said too casually. "And out of the family. I won't need to be calling them anymore." He turned to Starsky finally, and Starsky could see the deep hurt hidden by the gentle smile. "I'm disinherited -- which is no big deal, since dad's been threatening me with that since I became a cop."

   Starsky's gut wrenched. He remembered thinking just a day or so ago that he never wanted to see any more pain in that handsome face that had been caused by him. "They disowned you, Hutch? How could they do that?"

   "How could Nicky refuse to talk to you?" Hutch replied. "They can't handle it, that's how. It's their problem, Starsky. Theirs, not ours. That's the only way we can deal with it."

   Starsky put a hand on Hutch's shoulder, knowing he would need that contact now. "Hutch, I'm sorry. So sorry. It can't be easy hearing something like that coming from your family."

   "You should know, partner," Hutch said, his blue eyes dark and intense as they watched Starsky's face.

   "I -- I don't understand," Starsky stammered, "how people who are always supposed to love and care for you, can turn that off just `cause'a somethin' like this! It ain't right!"

   "But it's real," Hutch said reasonably. "We've got to be each other's family now, Starsk."

   "You've been my family since we met, Hutch," Starsky swore. "That ain't never gonna change."

   "No?" Hutch asked plaintively, his eyes watering before he got them under control.

   "Hutch, come on! This is me! I know a lot of this has freaked me out, but I ain't runnin' away from it! I'm here with you, ain't I? I'm tryin' as hard as I can to deal with it. You just gotta help me -- an' be patient with me -- and -- be my family, like you always been."

   Hutch reached out, touched his cheek gently, then pulled his hand away. His voice was surprisingly firm. "I'm ready to be anything you want me to be, Starsk. I mean that. You know how I feel about you now."

   "I know, babe," Starsky said, and tried not to sound miserable about it. "Hutch, I think there's somethin' else we gotta do today."

   The blond frowned as if he couldn't bear to be put through the wringer any more than he'd already been. "What now?"

   "I think we got a lotta stuff -- a lot of hurt and anger and negative vibes -- to work outta us, or it's gonna kick our butts when we ain't expecting it to. I think we need to call and see if we're still welcome at the dojo, and if we are, go and do our regular workout."

   For a heartbeat, Hutch looked as if he might refuse, then he smiled wanly and said, "That's a very positive thing to do, Starsk. We can't afford to cut back on our health program, not now, when we're under so much stress. The exercise will do us good. I'll call."

   Starsky sat back on his heels while Hutch made the call and tried not to feel too pleased with himself. Hutch always handled things better when he could blow off some steam. If he didn't get the blond to express some of his pain physically through exercise, he'd become so moody and depressed Starsky wouldn't be able to stand him. A hard workout would help a lot. Starsky knew it would help him relieve some of his own stress, too, and right now he felt like a pressure cooker.

   While Hutch was on the phone, Starsky heard Huggy leave.

   "Spoke to Sensei Shiro," Hutch said, putting the phone down. He smiled, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, it touched his eyes. "He said our appointment still stands, and he expects us there."

   "He -- didn't have anything to say about -- ?" Starsky started to ask.

   Hutch shrugged. "I was pretty blunt with him, told him that I'd understand if he would prefer we not come to the dojo anymore. He sounded insulted. Said he and his wife fully expected us to be on time, and ready to work."

   Starsky smiled. "Wha'd'ya think? Maybe they don't read the papers? Watch television? Maybe Japanese people don't have no problem with queer students?"

   "I think," Hutch said, "that we'd better be on time, partner. And you still have to take a shower!"

   "You got it, babe!" Starsky called, already on his way.

   This was a good idea! Hutch thought as he and Starsky went through their traditional warm-up. It was the first really normal thing they'd done since all this started. It felt good to get out of the apartment and on the street; Hutch had been worried that they'd start to feel that his place was the only safe haven left to them in the world. A couple of people spotted them, recognized them from the papers, but over all, the trip over here had been fairly uneventful. Then, once inside the dojo, it just felt so right, so safe, so real, Hutch could almost pretend that he and Starsky were the same two cops they'd been just a few days before.

   The dojo was owned by a classic California couple. They were both American-born Japanese who'd both gone back to Japan to study traditional arts -- or at least traditional by California standards. The sensei, Yoshi Shuro wasn't much older than Hutch, stood about five foot five and had a fourth degree black belt in more martial arts than Hutch could name. His wife, Tsuka, was a diminutive five foot, weighed as much as air, and had a second degree black belt in as many arts, and was also a certified yoga instructor. When the two cops were tested for a new belt, she was the one they had to go up against. She'd mopped up the floor with both of them often enough that they dreaded the testing. But even worse was the half-hour of yoga training she put them through after sparring to increase their flexibility.

   The sensei had tested their fighting skills himself before deciding on a course of training. Both men had had some martial arts training in the Academy, and Starsky had also received some in the army. Their fighting styles were different enough, but both were clearly skilled in street fighting. The sensei's curriculum also had to take into account Starsky's recuperation. His ability to learn new defense techniques quickly was one of the primary factors in regaining his confidence as a cop. Hutch believed their work here had greatly speeded Starsky's recovery.

   Maybe it'll help us both recover from this, Hutch thought. He was worried about the long term effects of what they were going through. How could two men who were so close live in each other's pockets, when one of them was desperately in love and the other wasn't and they were both surrounded by such intense public scrutiny?

   They finished the warm-up and the sensei shouted out the brisk commands to assume fighting stance and prepare to spar. Hutch started to smile. Yeah. This was normal. This was good. Facing him, Starsky's blue eyes twinkled. He was feeling it, too. The sensei gave the signal, and the two men paused, bowed respectfully to one another, then resumed defensive stance and started circling.

   "Five bucks says you take the first fall," Starsky challenged, grinning.

   "You're on," Hutch said through his teeth.

   Hutch moved first, fast, depending on the fact that Starsky was at a mental disadvantage through all the unnecessary guilt he was carrying. His longer arms and legs were an advantage, too, but Starsky was used to working around that, and liked to move in close to negate the power of those long limbs.

   They threw punches, chops, jabs, kicks, grabbed lapels and sleeves, but both men were nearly evenly matched and each held their ground, racking up points and breaking into a damned good sweat. Hutch felt his heart rate pick up, felt the adrenaline coursing through him. His longish hair stuck to his sweaty forehead as he feinted, jabbed, reached out to counterbalance and throw, but Starsky slipped from his fingers at the last second and stayed on his feet.

   As klutzy as Hutch could be, the dojo was the one place he felt graceful, where his long limbs and quick reaction time actually
were an advantage.

   "Doin' pretty well today, ya big blintz," Starsky razzed. "Ain't tripped on ya belt yet. Defenses up. Maybe yer a little worried about yer partner takin' advantage of ya, huh?"

   Hutch smiled. When Starsky couldn't beat him on technique, he'd use his mouth to try and rattle his cage. It was part of Starsky's Law -- talk a little, win a lot. But two could play at that game.

   "Maybe you're just not good enough to take me, Starsk," Hutch taunted back.

   "Oh-ho," Starsky said sarcastically, and Hutch could tell he was stung. "Very funny. I think I can take you anytime I want to."

   "Is that right?" Hutch challenged. "Well, we both know you want to, babe, so why don't you just go ahead and try."

   Hutch was almost surprised when Starsky lost his patience then, and moved in too quickly, too aggressively. He telegraphed his move so much, Hutch counteracted perfectly, moved in, got behind him and overpowered him with a counterbalance throw. Starsky stared at him in amazement from the floor.

   "Five bucks," Hutch crowed.

   "Double or nothin'," Starsky barked, and was back on feet, swarming Hutch. The blond fought back hard and soon the two of them were at it, no holds barred, all over the dojo floor. Block, jab, chop, punch, kick, block, feint, over and over, faster and faster until Hutch got a long leg between Starsky's bowed ones and tossed him down on the mat. But Starsky was ready this time, planting a foot in Hutch's abdomen and tossing the tall blond ass over teakettle, then pouncing on him when he was down, throwing his weight across Hutch's back, pulling his arm up high behind him to keep him on his face.

   "Ten bucks," Starsky purred in his partner's ear.

   But Hutch wasn't above fighting dirty. Starsky's groin was pressed suggestively against Hutch's rump, holding him down. The blond looked back over his shoulder and caught his opponent's eyes, then rotated his hips suggestively.

   "Starsk," he murmured seductively, "you devil! Not here!"

   His partner's jaw dropped in shocked surprise, and he loosened his grip as he shifted his pelvis off his friend's ass. Which was exactly what Hutch expected him to do. Once the pressure was off his arm, he bucked hard, flipping Starsky over, pinning him with his long legs and arms.

   "That was cheatin', Hutch!" Starsky complained bitterly.

   "You fell for it, partner," Hutch said, laughing. "All's fair in war, too!"

   Starsky pushed him off, and swung, and they were quickly back on their feet fighting furiously, battling their inner demons and raging frustrations. Hutch kept waiting for the sensei to call a break in the sparring, but he didn't, and the two men kept pursuing each other around and around the room, until their movements slowed, and their arms and legs felt like lead. As their performance diminished with their tiredness, the sensei barked out corrections. Starsky had a tendency to bend his knee during kicks, lessening their impact. Hutch would telegraph his punches with his shoulder. Now the sensei was on the mats with them, pushing the two men harder and harder.

   Sweat dripped into Hutch's eyes, his body wracked with exhaustion. He braced his legs to stay upright, and prayed sensei would call a halt to the sparring. Surely he could see how spent they were. His only consolation was that this extreme exercise might help sweat the last bit of drug out of their systems.

   Under the sensei's remorseless direction, Hutch took one last swing at his partner, who ducked in time, but barely. The follow-through of the swing, however, was Hutch's undoing, as he no longer had the energy to resist his body's need to crumple to the floor in fatigue. He collapsed on his back, arms and legs akimbo, gasping for air like a fish out of water. He heard a thump and saw Starsky beside him, on his knees, butt in the air, face in the mat. The two of them gasped and wheezed like old men, their gis stuck to their bodies with hard-earned sweat.

   "Well," said the sensei, standing over their pathetic forms, "I hope you've both gotten that out of your system."

   Hutch peered at his teacher, trying to figure out where he was coming from, even as Starsky cast a baleful blue eye in the man's direction.

   "When you come to this dojo," the sensei said calmly, "you must come as students ready to learn. You must leave the outside world behind you, so that your mind and body are open to new skills, new knowledge. You cannot bring the pain and anxiety of the outside world here, or all you will do is battle the enemy you think you know, instead of learning to fight the enemy you have yet to meet."

   The two cops exchanged a glance, then looked away sheepishly.

   "And above all," the small Asian continued, "you must never come here to challenge each other. You spar together and because you know each other so well it makes you good opponents. No one could ever challenge either of you as well as your partner. But today, you didn't fight as partners, but as strangers. That is why I didn't end the sparring. Now, you know how evenly you are matched, because you have fought to a draw, until your collapse. You must stop wasting energy fighting each other, when there are so many ready to oppose you now in every walk of life. Whatever pain is between you must be resolved. Perhaps this sparring has helped."

   Hutch shut his eyes. How was it everyone seemed to know them better than they knew themselves?

   The sensei sat in a lotus position facing them. "Do either of you know anything of the samurai?"

   The two men slowly forced themselves into a sitting position, and pulled their legs into a lotus as their breathing evened out.

   "I took Hutch to see the movie, The Seven Samurai," Starsky said. "Does that count?"

   The sensei smiled. "The samurai culture was one of men. Men who lived together, learned together, studied from one another, fought together, died together. Today, the police are not unlike the samurai. They serve a lord -- the commonwealth --and work for the good of the people, even if it means facing death. I have worked with many policemen -- but I have never met any I believed understood the samurai code until I met you. A samurai would willingly give up his life for his lord -- or his brother samurai. And he would give up his life for his honor. That is almost a forgotten word in this culture. But you two men, you understand that word, honor."

   Hutch found it hard to look at his teacher, and almost impossible to look at Starsky.

   "There are many stories of samurai who loved one another as brothers -- and as lovers," the teacher said bluntly. "It was understood that men who shared so much together, so much that involved life and death, would sometimes need to share love, too."

   Hutch ventured a glance at his partner, found blue eyes boring into him, then looked back at their sensei.

   "You must understand that when you are betrayed," the sensei said to them, "your honor is not compromised. Those who have betrayed you, they are the ones who lose honor. Take comfort in this."

   The two men nodded at their sensei, accepting his words. His wife came then, and joined them, signaling the time for yoga. With her typical quiet grace she took them through the asanas. It was her training that had enabled Starsky to recapture his cat-like flexibility and reflexes after the shooting, when the doctors had predicted limited mobility and strength. As exhausted as they were, they flowed through the movements, Hutch finding the dance-like positions infusing him with strength, power, and peace.

   Finally, it was time for the total relaxation at the end -- Starsky's favorite part. The two men lay on their backs, several feet apart, palms up, eyes closed.

   Tsuka's melodic voice urged them to give up all their tensions, to relax their bodies completely, one muscle at a time, and after their difficult workout, Hutch felt himself go wonderfully boneless.

   "Now, find your center and hold it there, as you breathe evenly, deeply, slowly," she instructed. "Find your place, that place you can retreat to when there is no where else to hide."

   In their earlier sessions, she'd drawn a verbal picture for them of a pure white beach, with clouds rolling overhead, and gently lapping waves. There was no one on this beach, just peace, quiet, and endless ocean. Hutch sighed and pictured himself walking along that peaceful shoreline.

   "The beach stretches endlessly before you," Tsuka's voice intoned. "It is your future, open, beautiful, hopeful."

   Hutch felt a catch in his throat. He found it hard to believe that their future was that optimistic.

   "The beach meets the ocean," she continued, "and the ocean rises up to greet the beach again and again and again. The ocean is like love. Too vast to be ignored. Impossible to satisfy. How can you love something so immense? But the beach is there, ready with open arms to embrace the ocean. It is the perfect union, always the same, yet ever changing."

   Hutch swallowed hard. He felt like she was talking just to him. His relationship with Starsky mirrored the ocean and the beach, stormy, unpredictable, impossible to satisfy, yet wonderful all the same. His heart hurt, yet he realized that the memories of their night together, no matter how it had been instigated, were still there, still alive. Those memories were beautiful, and they filled him with joy. It didn't matter how strained things were now. He had those memories -- something Starsky didn't have. Hutch would relish them for the joy they brought him, and try to stop longing for what could never be. We'll always have Paris, he thought wryly, and smiled sadly.

   Then Tsuka chanted the Om, her husband joining her, and Hutch felt the sacred word fill his mind, then his heart, then his soul until there was no more room for pain and sadness, just Om. It reverberated through him, rejuvenating him, lifting him from his depression like wings on his soul. Gunther could never destroy them, he decided. Never! They would live and live well and be happy no matter what that despot threw at them. And theirs would be the final, triumphant word.

   Finally, the Oms faded until they were a quiet hum, and Hutch came back to the present. He opened his eyes, sat up, and smiled at his teachers who returned his cheerful expression. As usual, he felt rejuvenated, optimistic, renewed.

   "Detective Hutchinson," the sensei said, "my wife and I think you and your partner should increase your training with us. We are concerned about -- outside influences in your life right now. We are aware of the terrible pressures you are under. Would you be willing to come three times a week instead of two?"

   "Well, I -- uh, we'd love to, but, right now we're not working and I'm not sure we could afford -- "

   "Please," Tsuka interrupted, "do not let financial considerations interfere with this. We understand your situation has changed. We have no interest in increasing your obligations. But your training is at a critical juncture."

   "Well -- all right. If we can pay it back when our -- situation improves."

   "We'll work that out later," the sensei said, and stood gracefully from the lotus in one smooth move.

   "That all right with you, Starsk?" Hutch asked, turning to his partner, only to find the other cop still stretched on his back in relaxation posture, snoring softly, unaware. Hutch had to laugh. It wasn't the first time Starsky had fallen asleep during relaxation.

   "Wake him gently," Tsuka said. She had an odd expression on her face. "I think he is still on the beach."

   Then the two Asians left them alone.

   Hutch knelt by his partner, and watched his eyes move rapidly back and forth under his lids. Guess we really tore each other up today, huh, buddy? Hutch thought. Physically and mentally. He paused, enjoying the chance to watch Starsky sleep. You're so beautiful to me now, and I love you so much. But that's okay. It's the love that's important, not how we express it. You don't have to love me the way I love you. We'll work it out. I can live with it. I want to live with it, just so I can keep loving you in my heart. That'll be my revenge on Gunther -- seeing you live and be healthy, helping you be happy, however I have to do that.

   Hutch lifted his hand, considering how best to wake his partner, when suddenly Starsky arched his neck, and opened his mouth in a soft moan. Hutch watched him quizzically, as his body twitched slightly. Drawing away a bit, Hutch glanced at Starsky's groin. He was semi-erect, his phallus beginning to tent his gi.

   Uh-oh. Starsk. Not here! What the hell are you dreaming? Hutch murmured his name softly. There was no response, just the movement of his eyes, and his increased breathing.

   The blond ached to cup his hand over his friend's swollen groin, to feel that wonderful strong organ grow in his palm, but controlled himself. Instead, Hutch said his name again, then a third time, and finally, as gently as he could, touched his shoulder.

   Starsky's eyes flew open wide, complete confusion in them.

   "Easy, buddy," Hutch murmured, leaning over him. "We're in the dojo. You fell asleep during relaxation. You were dreaming."

   Starsky swallowed and shook his head then blinked, looking around the room.

   "Where were you, Starsk?" Hutch asked.

   "Beach," the man whispered. He focused suddenly on Hutch's face, peering intently. "With you." Impulsively, Starsky reached up, touched Hutch's cheek then ran the tip of his thumb over Hutch's lower lip. Then he blinked again and jerked his hand away, sitting bolt upright.

   "What's wrong?" Hutch asked, the touch of that thumb along his lip searing him inside. "What's the matter, partner?"

   Starsky rubbed his hands briskly over his face, pulling into himself and shutting Hutch out.

   The blond could barely stand it. Kneeling beside the seated cop, Hutch asked bluntly, "Starsky, what did you dream? Tell me."

   "I can't!" Starsky said, his voice mournful. "Don' ask me, Hutch. I can't. It was just a dream, anyway. It don' mean nothin'."

   To you or to me? Hutch wondered. He started to touch Starsky's shoulder again, then thought twice about it. Whatever his friend had imagined in his dream was still too raw for him.

   "Come on, partner," Hutch said casually, "my ass is whipped. Let's go home and make some food, then sleep for the next two days."

   Starsky nodded, as if he'd found refuge in those words. "Yeah, Hutch. Take me home, will ya?"

   It was as they were leaving the dojo together that Starsky pointed out the small decal on the window they'd never noticed before. It read, "We Support Councilman Whitelaw on Zoning Issue 12." The men exchanged a glance, then headed for the car.

   Starsky was nearly done making burritos for lunch when Hutch finally spied the VCR.

   "Where'd this come from?" he asked his partner suspiciously. "And when?"

   "Some detective," Starsky chided, clearly trying to downplay its appearance. "Been here since this morning. Huggy brought it over while you were on the phone. Thought we could catch up on our movies since we ain't workin' -- "

   "You're gonna make me watch that thing, aren't you?" Hutch accused, his heart dropping. "You're gonna make me go over it again and again looking for something that probably isn't there. Aren't you?"

   "Hutch," Starsky said softly, "I never wanna make you do anything you don't wanna do. But it is evidence. And we're still cops. And if this ain't our case, it's nobody's. It's the only piece of evidence we've got. We can't let our -- personal feelings interfere with the investigation or there will be no investigation! Look, if you can't watch it, that's okay. I'll watch it by myself."

   Hutch sat at the table, staring at his lunch. "My head knows you're right, Starsk, but my heart -- All right. I'll watch it."

   "Hey, maybe it'll jog my memory loose, Hutch," Starsky reminded him.

   "You think you should be eating first?" the blond asked pointedly, remembering what had happened the first time they'd watched this movie.

   "Ha-ha," Starsky said, and dug into his food, watching while Hutch picked at his.

   When they were finished eating and cleaning up, Hutch asked, "You want to do this now?" as he dried the last dish.

   Starsky shrugged. "Up to you. It can wait, I suppose."

   Hutch kept working on the plate, drying it to a shine, until Starsky gently took it from his hands and put it away.

   "I promise not to act like a jerk this time," the curly-headed cop said in a low voice.

   Hutch wouldn't look at him. "Not your fault. It took us both by surprise. The film, I mean. Maybe if I'd told you what had happened -- "

   "Stop," Starsky said quietly. "Let's do this. Should I make popcorn?"

   Hutch glared at him, then punched his arm. "Clown. Get the thing. Let's get to it."

   Starsky plopped himself onto the couch as though they were about to plug in Casablana. Hutch knew it was all bravado, that once this thing started rolling his friend wasn't going to be so cool. Hutch wondered about his own reaction. He eased himself onto the couch about a foot away from his partner.

   "Ready?" Starsky asked, unwrapping the cord of the hard-wired remote control. He must've already loaded the tape into the top-loading machine.

   "No," Hutch said honestly, and managed a smile.

   "Me neither," Starsky replied with equal honesty, then surprised Hutch by lowering the lights in the room. "Figured it'll help us see better since the lighting's so dim on the film. That, and, uh, I figger my blushing will light up the room anyway."

   Hutch had to smile in spite of his nervousness.

   Finally, the two men settled down and turned on the tape. The picture came up right away, dimly, almost romantically lit.

   "Well, I guess we should be grateful that there was only one camera," Starsky said, his voice a little tremulous.

   Hutch could only nod, as he watched himself sit on the edge of the bed in nothing but his briefs. Watched as his best friend started to seduce him.

   "Hutch, you look really freaked," Starsky said quietly.

   "I was," the blond admitted.

   "What, uh -- so, what was I sayin' here?" Starsky asked.

   "You were trying to console me," Hutch said, remembering. "The drug was making me really paranoid. You said you'd take care of me." His voice got thick. "See, right here," he pointed to the screen as Starsky's hand started trailing up his arm. Hutch could feel the shiver running over his skin in memory. "You're telling me you love me. Asking if I love you."

   "Damn," Starsky murmured, "I'm hard as rock. What are you sayin' now?"

   Hutch didn't want to tell him, but Starsky stared at him, waiting. "I, uh, well, I'm trying to tell you we're drugged, that this is not really us, what we're feeling -- "

   "You're tryin' to get me to back off," Starsky said, clarifying the issue. "Don't underplay it, Hutch. I gotta know."

   Hutch nodded. "I warned you that if we did this, you'd --never get over it. You swore it would be okay. We loved each other. We couldn't go wrong together."

   Starsky ran a hand over his face and looked away.

   "Then I lost it," Hutch confessed, as they watched Starsky's mouth claim Hutch's. The blond swallowed, feeling the pressure of those lips on his. "I was wrong about you, Starsk." Hutch's voice was husky. "You're a hell of a kisser."

   "Aw, shit," Starsky murmured.

   They got through the next few minutes in silence as Starsky swarmed Hutch's body. The blond grew half-hard and had to adjust himself, then realized Starsky had crossed his legs, and wondered.

   The film was cut and Hutch signaled to Starsky. "They took out the long pause while you told me about your near-death experience. How I chased you into death."

   "Jeez, Hutch, I got a damned stranglehold on your dick," Starsky murmured, mortified.

   "Yeah," Hutch agreed mildly, "you did. This is when you first said you wanted to put the flesh to our marriage. I tried to talk you out of it -- "

   "Again?" Starsky seemed amazed.

   "Yeah, but you said you wanted me. Not a `pair of pretty women to take the edge off.' You said that's all it ever did. You said this time you wanted the real thing. Me."

   Starsky's jaw hung open. "I look furious."

   "You were. You were intense. Wired. You -- really wanted me. You were even jealous, possessive. You kept saying, `You're mine now, only mine.' Things like that." Hutch started paying close attention to the weave of the couch fabric.

   They watched Starsky continue his aggressive oral assault, and Hutch felt every nip, every lick as if it were happening all over again. He felt like every hair on his body was standing straight up, that if anyone touched him now, he'd send off sparks.

   Starsky groaned mournfully, and Hutch looked over him. "That really is a hickey on your stomach. I kept thinking -- hopin' -- you'd run into something."

   "I did," Hutch said, feigning cheerfulness. "You."

   When Starsky finally went down on Hutch in the film, the blond stole a glance at his partner and found him staring wide-eyed, mouth reflexively half-open. After a few minutes, Starsky murmured huskily, "I look like I been doin' that all my life. Hutch? Was -- was it any good?"

   "Look at my face, Starsk," Hutch said distantly. "How can you even ask?"

   Starsky looked at his friend, worriedly. "Hutch? This -- turnin' you on, now?"

   Hutch swallowed, looked for something clever to say, but couldn't find it. "Yeah," he finally muttered. "You?" That last was facetious, but when Starsky didn't answer him he looked into his partner's face. "Well? I answered you honestly."

   "Yeah," Starsky murmured in a small voice. "But that don't make me feel especially good. Seein' the way I treated you."

   "What are you talking about?" Hutch asked, genuinely confused. "As a lover, you were -- wonderful."

   "I never gave you a choice," Starsky whispered. "I just did what I wanted, even when you tried to talk me out of it. You were sayin' no, and I just went ahead anyway. Your best friend. Your partner."

   "Starsky," Hutch said softly, "don't make it sound like rape. It wasn't. It was seduction. If we hadn't been drugged it would've never happened for either of us. I don't blame you, and you've gotta stop blaming yourself. Remember, this was done to us." He glanced at the set. "See, here, I'm doing it to you. Going after you. Overwhelming you."

   Starsky just sighed, clearly miserable. They watched as Hutch discovered and paid homage to Starsky's scars. "What's happening here? You're sayin' somethin'."

   Hutch actually smiled. "This is the moment where I realized that I was in love with you. Probably had been for who knows how long. At least since the shooting. I was telling you how I raced to the hospital to tell you good-bye when you lay dying. And to tell you how much I loved you."

   The words hung suspended between them, almost like a challenge.

   Starsky picked up the challenge. "So, tell me. Like you did that night."

   "Why?" Hutch asked, with more bitterness than he intended. "To make you unhappy, uncomfortable? You're already flinching every time I touch you. Why should I make it worse?"

   Starsky turned to him, blue eyes wide, glittering. "I wanna hear it. I wanna hear what you said since I can't remember it, dammit. In the last two days every single person I've talked to who's known us for years has told me they knew what I couldn't figger out. I feel like the jerk of the century. Huggy's said it. My mother's said it. Even Dobey's implied it. You been in love with me, and I been just ignorin' you! I don't wanna ignore it anymore. I wanna deal with it. I wanna hear it direct from you, like you mean it, like you meant it that night. Now, come on." He turned, grabbed Hutch hard by the shoulders. "Tell me!"

   Hutch closed his eyes, the emotions inside threatening to overwhelm him. As if the words were pulled out of him one by one by the force of his friend's searing blue eyes, he whispered, "I love you, Starsky. I love you. Like a mate. Like a spouse. And when you were shot, I knew it. Knew I couldn't live without you. If you had died, I couldn't have lived without -- "

   "My god, no!" Starsky exclaimed, and yanked Hutch forcibly into his arms. "Don't ever say that, don't even think it!"

   Hutch wrapped his arms tight around his friend, held on for life. "I couldn't have stayed here without you. I couldn't have. I would found those responsible, I would've killed them, and then -- "

   "No! Don't! Don't say it!" Starsky argued, squeezing him so hard, Hutch couldn't breathe.

   "That was when you said you loved me too," Hutch reminded him, burying a hand in the thick, curly hair. He ached to kiss the side of Starsky's face, but didn't dare take the freedom. "Begged me to make love to you."

   Starsky groaned mournfully against his friend's neck. "I'm so sorry, Hutch! So sorry I hurt you!"

   Hutch pulled out of the embrace, putting some distance between them. He touched his friend's cheek and was cheered when Starsky didn't pull away. "I'm not, Starsk. I know our lives are completely screwed, but I can't help it. I'm not sorry it happened. It was wonderful for me. It was for you, too. I only wish you could remember."

   Starsky opened his mouth to say something, then just shook his head in remorse.

   "It's not the end of the world," Hutch told him, trying to be upbeat. "I've gotten over about a million women in my life, not to mention one serious heroin addiction -- I can get over this too. I'm not gonna let it ruin our friendship, Starsk. I mean that."

   There was a flicker on the set and Starsky glanced over to see Hutch riding his back. He winced, then looked at Hutch. "Can't believe you didn't take advantage of that position."

   "You wanted me to," Hutch told him, getting himself back under control. "Offered it twice. I remember how you sounded, how you looked. It's a wonderful memory, Starsk. I cherish it. No one ever offered me so much of themselves from their heart."

   "Oh, is that the organ I was workin' off?" Starsky said with a crooked smile.

   On the screen, Hutch was going down on Starsky ferociously, and the blond felt his face redden.

   "Man, Hutch," Starsky murmured, "looks like you're killin' me!"

   "Yeah, well," the blond said, with a weak attempt at humor, "you died happy."

   "I can see that! Now, what the hell am I arguin' about here?"

   "You were having another jealousy fit," Hutch explained. "I think the drug was making you paranoid."

   Starsky's brow furrowed. "Maybe. Maybe not."

   Hutch glanced at him, but nothing more was forthcoming. "Starsk. It's winding up now. You might not want to watch -- "

   "I'm okay," Starsky insisted, but his body curled up as he drew his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and rested his chin on his knees.

   But, it was Hutch who turned away as Starsky came in his mouth. He swallowed convulsively as he refused to watch himself swallowing his friend's essence. He jumped when Starsky suddenly touched him, rubbed his shoulder.

   "It's not the way we ever saw ourselves," Starsky said softly, "but it happened. And we're gonna be okay about it. I promise."

   It was too impossible an offer and Hutch felt himself caving, collapsing from the inside out. Can I get over you? Now, when we're so close every day?

   Starsky saw it, and pulled Hutch against him so that the blond's spine was tight to his chest. He could feel Starsky's heart pounding against his back. The strong, comforting arms surrounded him, warmed him, like they'd done a thousand times before. "I'm here f'you, Hutch, just like I always been."

   Hutch shook his head. No, he couldn't be there for him for this. Not this. If he had any hopes of getting over this, he would have to, out of necessity, be alone in this.

   Starsky hugged him tighter, rocking him gently as the film finished playing out. How many cases had ended like this, Hutch wondered, with one of them hugging the other, just trying to get through it. Too weak to deny himself this small pleasure, Hutch yielded, giving in to the comforting embrace just as he had so many countless times before.

   "I'm here for you," Starsky repeated. I swear it, Hutch." The blond tried not to read too much into that, but he knew just how open-hearted his friend was.

   Hutch could only shake his head. "Thanks. No pity, Starsk. I couldn't stand it. Not after having had the real thing."

   Starsky exhaled, but held on. "S'not pity. More like dues." He rubbed his friend's stomach and his hands were warm.

   Hutch sighed, resting in the sanctuary of those arms. "You see anything on that film that looked like evidence to you?" His voice sounded ragged, even to him.

   Starsky sucked in a sharp breath. "Lots of evidence -- Oh, you mean of a crime!"

   Hutch rolled his eyes and hugged Starsky's arms.

   Sighing, Starsky turned back to the television set, but there was only a dark screen from the end leader. "Sure woulda helped to have some credits, like, `directed by I.M. Scum' or `cinematography by Ima Sleeze.'"

   There was a quick blip of white, then the screen turned to static.

   "What was that?" Hutch asked, frowning.

   "What was what?" Starsky asked. "The end of the tape I guess."

   Hutch pulled forward out of Starsky's embrace and reached for the remote. Examining it for a second, he pressed rewind and watched as the leader rolled back, then pressed play again. He did it twice before he figured out how to slow the forward play down to a frame by frame sequence.

   "There!" Hutch said, halting the frame on what had been a white blotch at normal speed. There were some printed numbers, cut in half. "What's that?"

   They stared at it for a moment. Finally Starsky said, "Two years ago, we busted that porn set up. The kiddie porn ring. Remember?" Just to document evidence, they'd both had to go through reel after reel of film that made them both physically ill. "Weren't there numbers on somma the film leaders?"

   "Well, there's usually sequencing numbers on film frames," Hutch recalled. "That's put on automatically during the developing process so that the editors can splice film together properly."

   "Isn't other stuff usually put on film at the same time?" Starsky asked as they stared at the partial numbers. "Like lab codes and stuff, for internal inventories."

   "Yeah, I think so," Hutch agreed. "A lot of it's put on automatically when they're duplicating film. `Specially in the bigger labs, so they can keep all the different films identified." He rewound the tape some more, remembering another quick white spot at a spliced place. He tried to ignore the images of himself and his partner having frantic sex backwards, but when Starsky started to snicker it was hard not to join him. He jabbed an elbow back, connected with sensitive ribs. "We're workin' now. Be serious!" Then he found it. In between a rushed cut of two black frames, there was one with partial numbers. He looked back at Starsky. "Think Dobey might have more numbers on his copy? He has real film."

   Starsky shook his head. "I'd be kinda surprised. The perps were deliberately sending that to a police captain. They were probably more careful with that film than any o' the others. Prob'ly figgered this one woulda never got outta Whitelaw's office, so they could cut a few corners. Time woulda been critical in turning out all that product quick enough."

   Hutch nodded, looking at the meaningless numbers. His detective's mind clicked into gear in spite of the distracting pressure of Starsky's arms and the disturbing heat from his body. "Dobey said the camera was defense issue. Real high-tech. Those images were transmitted from your bedroom to -- where? Some lab. Then turned into film, video tape, and still pictures. How many places could receive a transmitted picture, and have enough high-tech equipment and the trained staff to turn it into so much product in just a few hours?"

   "Hutch, this is L.A. Film capital o' the world. Could be dozens o' places."

   "Yeah, but most of those places wouldn't touch work like this. Think, Starsk." Gently, Hutch pushed far enough out of the embrace to be able to look into his partner's eyes. "What about that kiddie porn ring -- the Lawrence set-up? We cleaned up his whole group. He got some serious time out of it, lost tons of money, equipment -- his lab went into receivership. And he was really pissed. We always thought he was tied into something bigger, but couldn't get him to roll over."

   "Yeah. He had associates we couldn't touch," Starsky agreed. "Coupla legit places, and some major production labs -- places perfectly set up to produce all this stuff and distribute it quick. If I wanted a ton of film product produced in a few hours, I'd try and find out who'd be capable of doing so much work in so little time. Who'd have the motivation, and the means to distribute. And if they hadda ax to grind -- so much the better." Starsky mulled it around. "There'd have to be a chief tech. Someone who really knew how to handle this high-tech stuff, get the best image off it. You wouldn't want too many people involved. Pro'bly most of the production coulda been automated."

   "Which means some codes would've been stamped onto the film, then had to be removed later. Maybe not always perfectly."

   The two men thought about that for awhile. "Lotta this stuff hit the streets. Wonder if Huggy could run up any leads. Never occurred to me to ask him."

   Hutch nodded. It's not like either of them were the least bit comfortable talking about this thing. "You think if some semi-regular porn producer was involved, Huggy might find out?"

   Starsky shrugged. "He got us the major lead on the Lawrence thing. Maybe some of that connection is still doggin' us. I'll ask him about it."

   "Think he'll -- " Hutch hesitated, " -- want to deal with it? It could cause him some trouble on the street, bringing this up. It's not your usual scam."

   "He'll tell me if it's a no-go," Starsky said confidently. "`Sides, he's feelin' so responsible, I got a feelin' he'll really pull out the stops if he thinks he can help us."

   Hutch nodded, looking into the brilliant blue eyes. "We've got some other options. Maybe we could talk to Peter, see if his people could run some checks on -- "

   Against his back, Starsky stiffened.

   "What? What did I say?" Hutch asked.

   Starsky pulled out of the embrace, gently, but decisively. "Just wonderin' why you'd think of callin' Whitelaw into this, `stead of Dobey."

   Hutch had to smile. Starsky was so transparent, even when he didn't realize it himself. "You are jealous!"

   His partner's face drew down. It wasn't funny to him.

   "For your information, friend," Hutch reminded him, "Peter offered us help on exactly this kind of problem. We don't know what kind of cooperation we're gonna get out of Dobey's office. I know the big man's on our side, but the rest of the force might just as well want us gone. Starsky. Those pictures were put into every officer's mailbox. That had to be done from the inside. There have to be some cops involved in this."

   "And maybe Whitelaw's hand is in it, too," Starsky suggested sharply.

   "With what motivation?" Hutch fired back.

   "He gets his sacrificial lambs!" Starsky told him. "You heard what he said. We do all the dirty work of fightin' for our jobs back, and they've got gays on the force without any of their people havin' to lay their careers on the line. Even if we lose, we make it easier for the next gay cops! It's a perfect set up for Whitelaw's people."

   It was clear cop-thinking, Hutch had to hand him that, but he wasn't letting him off the hook so easy. "But that's not the real issue here, is it, Starsky? You never relaxed the whole time he was here. Never stopped watching him -- "

   "Watching you!" Starsky blurted, and Hutch could see he regretted it as soon as it was out. Starsky got off the couch and paced. "He never took his eyes off you the whole time he was here. I never looked at a woman as brazenly as that guy looked at you."

   "Please, Starsk," Hutch said, trying to cover his amusement, "I've seen the way you've looked at some women. Peter never even came close to giving me a patented Starsky once-over."

   Starsky spun on him. "Stop actin' like you din't notice! Stop actin' like it didn't mean nothin' to you. He wanted you --and you responded! To a guy!"

   Hutch stared at his partner, seeing, with some alarm, the same irrational jealousy he saw the night Starsky had made love to him. Maybe it wasn't the drug after all. As calmly as he could, he said, "You're a guy. And I sure responded to you. Maybe I'm starting a new trend."

   "That is not funny!" Starsky said, pointing a finger at him. "Not funny at all. Huggy says the guys at the Green Parrot are gonna flip over you. He says I'll just hafta get used to it. Well, that ain't happenin'!"

   "Starsky," Hutch said quietly, "you're acting like a jealous lover. Why?"

   The words brought Starsky up short. He couldn't look at Hutch. He shook his head. "I don't know. It don't make sense. I never felt this way when you were with women. All I know is when Whitelaw looks at you I wanna pound him. The thought of him -- " he struggled for words, finally shook his head and stammered, "touchin' you -- makes me crazy, Hutch. If I caught him -- or any other guy -- puttin' hands on you -- I don't know what I'd do. And that ain't even fair! You've got the right to do whatever you want -- with whoever you want!" He collapsed on the couch, burying his confused head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.

   "As long as it's with you," Hutch said, clearly defining what Starsky couldn't articulate.

   Starsky shook his head. "No. That ain't what I meant."

   Hutch leaned over and stroked his friend's hair. "Remember what you said to me in Dobey's office?"

   "I said a lotta things," Starsky said miserably.

   "When I told you that we didn't just have sex that night," Hutch said softly, "that we'd loved each other, made committments to each other, you said something like -- `Whatever I said -- somewhere inside me I know I meant it.' And now I see that it's true. You meant a lot of it. Somewhere inside you, all those feelings you expressed for me that night are still in there, fighting their way out through all the walls you've built around them. The walls the world has made you build. This is the jealousy, the irrational, crazed, possessive, scary jealousy. So if that's in there, the love is too, somewhere. I'll just have to be patient and wait for it to break on through."

   "You could wait a long time, Hutch," Starsky murmured, not looking at him. "There's some mighty big walls around this stuff. I built `em myself, a long time ago. It could be a long, lonely wait. You don't deserve that."

   "It won't be lonely," Hutch said. "I'll have you to keep me company, partner."

   Starsky looked at him through impossibly sad sapphire eyes. "It ain't right. I don't want you to love me, to wait for something I might never be able to deliver. You might wait forever! Don't you think I want you to be happy! You should be gettin' married, havin' a family -- Shit! We both should!"

   "Starsky," Hutch said with a calmness that surprised even him, "we're both pushin' forty years old. For two guys who are intent on getting married and having a family, we're pretty slow starters. If that's what you want -- or what we both want, just for argument's sake -- then why haven't we done anything about it in close to a year? We haven't double dated, we haven't done anything to meet any `lovely females' as Huggy put it -- I guess since Kira. Even before you got shot."

   "Huggy asked me `bout that. And my mother said somethin' `bout it, too." Starsky was sounding more and more morose. "Hutch, I can't think about this anymore tonight. My head hurts."

   "Yeah, I'm beat, too, partner. Why don't we call it a night, take our showers and hit the sheets."

   The phrase struck both of them funny at the same time, and they caught each other's guilty glance and laughed. It was the ice-breaker they definitely needed.

   "Hey," Starsky said sincerely. "Tomorrow night. Casablanca. I'll bring the popcorn."

   "You've got a date, big boy," Hutch said playfully.

Cold late night so long ago
When I was not so strong I know
He came right up to me
Never seen eyes so blue
You know, I couldn't run away it seems
       Magic Man -- Heart

CHAPTER 5