Outcome
by lamardeuse
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:
Starsky/Hutch
Chapter 1
October, 1980
When Hutch found out he’d been up on the roof, he was gonna flip.
But damn it, he was tired of being treated like an invalid. Tired of spending a year watching Hutch and Huggy and their friends work on the house, doing all the hard stuff, while he was stuck with the painting, for Christ’s sake. Tired of Hutch having a coronary every time he so much as lifted a hammer. After a lot of arguing, he’d finally won the right to nail a few chair rails to the walls, but that was about it. Because eventually, he’d gotten tired of the arguing too, and given in to Hutch’s overactive maternal instinct.
After all, Hutch only had his best interests at heart. He knew that. He also knew that having almost lost him once Hutch was shit-scared of losing him again, and that the feeling had never completely gone away, even though Starsky was now in no more danger of dying than he was of joining the Bay City Ballet. But the worry in Hutch’s eyes, annoying as it was sometimes, was genuine. And so Starsky had put his annoyance and his frustration aside for the sake of banishing that fear, even when he knew there was no rational basis for it.
Unfortunately, the mother-hen routine extended into their work lives, making it practically inescapable. Take today, for instance: Hutch was off working a case for their fledgling PI business, the one they’d started up after retiring from the force last year. Hutch insisted on calling it an equal partnership, although he did ninety-nine percent of the legwork. Most times, Starsky was relegated to the role of a particularly airheaded secretary—paperwork, bills and filing. He was surprised some days when Hutch let him answer the phone.
Starsky rose to his feet on the low-pitched roof and surveyed their little property, filled now with cheerful shrubs and flowers. The landscaping was the brainchild of Kiko and Molly, who’d spent most of this past summer—their last before college—working on transforming the sad old yard into a garden paradise.
Starsky crouched down again and reached for a brick from the pile. Sometimes he felt like none of this place belonged to him. Well, today he was going to mark his territory.
Hutch or no Hutch.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Over the last four and a half years, on occasions too numerous to count, Kiko Ramos had been grateful he had a little sister.
This wasn’t one of those occasions.
“Molly, please,” he begged, flopping back onto his bed and closing his eyes. “Just don’t start again, okay?”
A pillow smacked him in the face, hard enough to startle him. He cursed, and another one followed suit.
“Get. Up.” Her low, strident tone brooked no argument. “You have a class in half an hour. And I’m not going to let you cut another one.”
Reluctantly he cracked an eye open and was treated to the sight of her standing over him, her fists balled on her hips like an avenging Amazon. He knew deep down that she was only trying to look out for his best interests, but the fact that she currently had a better grasp of those interests than he did angered him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the ass?”
With startling rapidity, Molly’s face crumpled, then reassembled itself into the impassive mask it had been moments ago. Kiko replayed the insult in his head and realized he had never said such a thing to her. He knew better than to invoke the ghosts of her past. His home, the home that had expanded to include her, was a refuge from those kinds of hurts.
At least it had been until he’d turned into someone he no longer recognized.
“God, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, running a hand over his face. “That was a terrible thing to say.”
“’Sokay,” she muttered, flopping down on the bed beside him. “I am a pain in the ass.”
“No, you’re not,” he said fiercely, hating that he’d momentarily transformed her into the unhappy little girl she’d been. Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips. “You’re my best friend, and my sister, and I love you, querida.”
“But?” she enquired, arching an eyebrow.
“No ‘but,’” Kiko answered. “I just—don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You do, though,” she pressed, more gently than he was used to from her. “You’ve known for a long time.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she squeezed his hand to silence him. “And it’s not that there’s anything wrong with you, either—you’ve got to stop thinking about it that way.”
Kiko felt his gut churn around a sickening mixture of terror and self-hatred. “Nine tenths of the world wouldn’t agree with you.”
She smiled wryly. “I think you’re exaggerating. It’s four fifths at the most.” Still holding his hand, she asked, “Have you talked to Hutch yet?”
He looked away. “No.”
“Don’t you think it might help?”
Yes, he thought it would help; that was what scared him. Because Hutch would not only understand, Hutch would convince him that being the—the way he was—was okay. And he didn’t know if he was ready for that yet.
Molly was tugging on his hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come on,” she said, the steel back in her voice. “College first, then Hutch.”
“Yes, Mother,” Kiko sighed, realizing that ready or not, the decision had just been made for him.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Oh, so now you’re going to give me the silent treatment, is that it?”
Hutch sighed as he poured himself a glass of juice. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment. I’m trying to figure out why you would do such a thing when—”
“When what?” Starsky barked. “When I’m still a fuckin’ cripple?”
Hutch turned to face his partner, the shock he felt written on his features. “Don’t say that. I never said you were—that.”
Starsky’s expression softened. “Then show me you mean it. Let me do somethin’ for once, Hutch, without fightin’ me on it every step of the way.”
“Starsk, you were up on the roof alone! I wouldn’t go up there on my own—”
“—That’s just ‘cause you’re scared of heights,” Starsky murmured softly, eyes sparking. Hutch resisted a powerful urge to smack him silly.
“—and you were laying brick in eighty degree weather! What if you’d become dehydrated—”
“I woulda come down and drank some water—”
“Or dizzy—”
“I woulda laid down until I felt better—”
“Or fallen?”
Starsky shrugged. “I woulda aimed for that boxwood Molly planted under the living room window. Probably makes for a pretty soft landing.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hutch exploded, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He set down the glass before he could fling it against the wall. “Don’t you take anything seriously?”
“I take plenty seriously,” Starsky said, voice lowering. “And there ain’t nothin’ I take more seriously than this partnership. It’s been seventeen months since the shooting, and I’m doin’ as good as I’m ever gonna do. No, I’m not back to the way I was—I won’t ever be that and we both know it. But I am in good enough shape to lay a few bricks and nail two pieces of wood together, and I’m in good enough shape to be your partner in the business. Fifty-fifty, like we said we would. Like you haven’t let me be since we started it.”
When Starsky was finished his quiet tirade, Hutch stared at him for a full minute, mind reluctantly processing everything he’d said. With equal reluctance, Hutch realized that everything he’d just said was absolutely true. Starsky was fully recovered, and while he’d never again be fit enough for active street duty, he was in better condition than most working slobs out there. He’d been going to physiotherapy for well over a year, and his progress had been slow but steady. He certainly wasn’t the fragile, helpless creature Hutch had been coddling all this time. For it dawned on him now that he had been doing just that, trying to protect Starsky from every possible hurt and harm, no matter how ridiculous it was to try. Treating him like a child, or an idiot incapable of knowing his own limits.
The knowledge felt like a blow to the gut.
“Starsk,” he grated, “I’m sorry. I had no right—”
“Hey,” Starsky said, moving forward and laying a hand on Hutch’s shoulder, “you always got a right. You’re just watchin’ my back, I know that. But you gotta let me watch it too, okay?”
Hutch nodded, shocked into silence as sudden, humiliating tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. I didn’t watch your back. I didn’t watch it when it counted the most. And you almost—
Starsky frowned as he studied Hutch’s face. “Hey,” he said softly, hand tightening. “What’s the—”
A knock sounded on the door, startling them both. They turned as one, Starsky’s hand still warm on Hutch’s shoulder, and saw Kiko and Molly standing in the doorway, their expressions apologetic.
“We just—” Molly began. “Uh. Hi, fellas.”
“This is a bad time,” Kiko murmured, his eyes on the floor. “We’ll—”
“No!” Hutch said, too loudly, moving toward them, beyond the range of Starsky’s too-knowing grasp. “Come in. We haven’t seen you in—God, it’s been weeks.”
Molly nodded. “College is a drag.”
“Awww, poor baby,” Starsky drawled.
Molly stuck out her tongue at him, reminding Hutch of the little girl they’d once known. He laughed in spite of himself.
“You got the keys to the shed?” Molly asked abruptly.
Hutch stared at her. “Uh, hanging inside the door there,” he said, pointing to the kitchen cabinets.
“Thanks. While I was here, I thought I’d do some weeding.”
“But—” Hutch began.
“You want some help?” Starsky asked nonchalantly.
“Sure,” Molly said. Hutch looked at Kiko in time to see him roll his eyes, but the boy remained silent. In moments, the girl and his partner had disappeared out the back door, chatting merrily, and Hutch was alone with an obviously tense Kiko.
“What the hell was that all about?” Hutch murmured, heading for the fridge.
Kiko shrugged. “Molly must’ve called him earlier. I just hope she didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
Hutch decided not to press the matter, reaching inside the fridge instead for a can of Coke and throwing
it to Kiko, who caught it deftly. Hesitating for a moment, he grabbed a beer for himself, then moved to join the young man on the couch.
Young man. That’s what Kiko Ramos was now, Hutch thought, wondering idly if he had spent the last year and a half sleepwalking through life, unaware of the changes taking place in the people around him. He’d been so focused on Starsky’s recovery, on renovating the house they’d bought together, on building the business they owned together, that he hadn’t taken notice of the truly important things.
Such as the fact that Starsky had recovered, and that Kiko had grown up. Molly, too. The only mystery that remained was how the hell Hutch had missed these noteworthy events.
You know how you missed them, Hutchinson, his inner voice jeered. You were too busy staring at your own navel again. But then why break the habit of a lifetime now?
“So,” Hutch said, taking a long sip of his beer, “how’s school?”
Kiko barked a short laugh. “It’s good. I hear it’s good, anyway.”
Hutch frowned. “You haven’t been cutting classes.”
Kiko stared at the can in his hands. “Yeah. Now and then. But Molly’s been kicking my butt.”
“Why should she have to?” Hutch asked. “You were even wilder about going to college than she was.” Both he and Molly had emerged from high school at the top of their classes, earning scholarships in their chosen fields. Molly was taking courses in computer programming, and Kiko was studying social work.
“Yeah,” Kiko admitted. “But in the last couple of months, things have kind of—changed.”
Hutch remained silent, and after a few seconds, the younger man filled the gap. “I guess if I want to be honest with myself, it’s not really a change. I just—I can’t deny it any more. And I don’t know what to do.” His eyes squeezed shut, and Hutch felt the shuddering sob when it tore from the boy’s throat as though it had come from his own.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Hutch crooned, laying down his can and taking Kiko’s, then gathering the shuddering body into his arms. “Whatever it is, we’ll help you figure it out, okay? We’re here for you—Molly and Starsk and your mom and I—”
Kiko struggled for his freedom. “Not Mama! Don’t tell her, Hutch, please! I don’t want her to know—you gotta promise me—”
“Okay, Kiko, okay,” Hutch soothed, patting the boy’s arms. “I promise I won’t tell her.” He treated Kiko to a reassuring smile. “But you can tell me. You know you can say anything to me, right?”
Kiko gulped and nodded. “Yeah, I—I know. You’re one of the few people I thought would understand.” He wiped at his eyes. “You and Starsky.”
Hutch raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment. Was Kiko considering a career change—possibly an enrolment in the police academy? But if so, why was he so concerned about Consuela finding out?
Pushing his own thoughts aside, he prompted gently, “So what is this great and terrible secret, huh?”
Kiko took a deep breath, then met Hutch’s gaze. “I—I met someone at school. And I think—I think I’m in love.”
Hutch stared at him for a few moments. “But—but that’s not terrible!” he exclaimed finally, laughing and punching Kiko playfully on the shoulder. “That’s wonderful news!” Hutch’s heart leapt in sympathetic joy for the young man. Honestly, teenagers made everything seem like such a tragedy nowadays. Whatever the reason Kiko wanted to keep the romance a secret from his mother, Hutch was sure it wouldn’t matter in the long run. “So when do we get to meet her? What’s her name?”
But Kiko’s doleful expression hadn’t altered. He opened his mouth, closed it without speaking, then opened it again.
“His name,” Kiko rasped, “is Frank.”
Chapter 2
“You’re not getting it out of me, copper!”
“Talk or I shoot!” Starsky exclaimed, finger on the trigger of the hose, legs spread slightly in his best firing stance.
“Do your worst!” Molly yelled, all toughness and flashing eyes, though when the first spray of water leapt free she turned tail and dove behind the nearest rhododendron.
Laughing, Starsky shut off the hose and walked over to her hiding spot. “You still got good reflexes for a computer nerd.”
“Hey!” Molly said, brushing herself off and sitting up. “I resemble that remark.” Taking the offered hand, she allowed Starsky to pull her to her feet. It occurred to him that she’d never treated him any different after the shooting; no one understood better than their Molly the need to meet hardship with a brave front, as though staring down the fear would be all it took to vanquish it.
Their Molly. Although Kiko and his mother had taken her in, she’d spent a considerable amount of her adolescent years with Starsky and Hutch, whose role in her life was analogous to doting uncles. The streetwise toughness she wore when they’d first met had gradually faded, though never completely disappeared. The two men understood that toughness, that necessary protection, and along with Kiko and his mother had helped her to balance that with a vulnerability and openness she’d never allowed herself to display.
One night while he lay in the hospital thinking about life and death and all that jazz, it hit Starsky that Molly was probably the closest thing to a daughter he’d ever have. The idea didn’t sadden him the way he thought it might.
He looked into her eyes now and saw that she was wearing a curious, affectionate expression, then realized he was still holding her hand. “Sorry,” he said, letting go.
“Don’t be,” she said, cocking her head. “Something wrong?”
“Naw,” he assured her, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Just—thinking about what great kids you turned out to be.”
“Oh, thank you, kind sir,” Molly drawled, leaning her head on his shoulder and batting her eyelashes at him.
“Brat,” Starsky muttered, giving her a hard squeeze. “So, you’re not gonna tell me about your boyfriends, huh?”
“Nothing to tell,” Molly said, shrugging. “All the guys in my class—well, I don’t think they’ve figured out whether I’m fish or fowl.”
Starsky frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I am one of three women in the entire class of Computer undergrads, and I’m sure the speculation is that we’re not interested in men.” She sighed. “Of course, most of these guys look like they wouldn’t know what do with a woman if one fell into their laps, so it’s not exactly like I’m pining for their masculine attentions.”
Starsky bit back an affectionate smile. Even grown up, Molly still tended to bandage her wounds with bravado and sarcasm. “Don’t worry, Pete,” he murmured, using the nickname only he still used. “They’ll come around. Or maybe you’ll wow the captain of the football team, huh?”
Molly stuck out her tongue. “Football—”
“—stinks,” they both chimed together. Molly burst out laughing and kissed him on the cheek.
“So what’s up with Kiko?” Starsky said, releasing her and bending to pick up the hose.
Molly shook her head. “He’s having a tough time. I’m hoping Hutch can help.” She paused, then ventured, “Well, the both of you, really.” She waved a hand. “You, uh, I mean I think you’ll do a better job of it than I have.”
Puzzled by her suddenly shy tone, Starsky began coiling the hose around his arm. “Oh, yeah? He got himself some guy trouble?”
Molly smiled enigmatically, an uncharacteristic blush appearing on her cheekbones. “Yeah. Guy trouble.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When the silence stretched for more than a minute, Hutch realized he’d better say something.
Too bad he didn’t have the first goddamned idea of what to say.
“I, uh, I—” he floundered. Annoyed at himself, he took a deep breath and began again. “Are you and this Frank—seeing one another?”
Kiko shrugged. “Sort of. He—we’ve gone out a few times, just for burgers and that. He wants to go dancing this weekend, but I—I’ve never been to a club, and I’m—a little nervous.”
Of course he’d be nervous, Hutch thought, protective instincts slamming into gear. Besides being underage, Kiko was fairly innocent in the ways of the world. Chances were this Frank was a lot older than he was, and had picked him out of the crowd because of his perceived gullibility. What kind of sweet line had the poor kid been handed to make him think this Frank character cared about anything but getting his hands on—
“Hutch?”
Hutch blinked. “Sorry, buddy,” he said, putting on his most understanding smile. “What were you saying?”
“Well, I was saying that I’m nervous, ‘cause I’ve been—leading him on. See, he thinks I’m the experienced one, and I kind of let him think that, but the truth is I don’t know any more than he does, and what happens if I go to this club and—”
“Wait a minute.” Hutch frowned, trying to make sense of Kiko’s verbal diarrhea. “How old is this guy?”
“He’s eighteen, just like me,” Kiko said. “But he, well, I kind of let him think I was older—”
“Kiko,” Hutch murmured, rubbing the throbbing spot between his eyebrows with his thumb, “what exactly did you want me to help you with?”
“I, uh, I didn’t really—well, Molly said I should—that is—”
The throbbing increased in tempo; Hutch’s smile remained frozen on his face.
“I guess—I guess I’m just scared. I thought if I kept telling myself I wasn’t, that eventually I’d find a girl who—but then Frank—” Kiko’s face crumpled. “God, Hutch. When I’m with him, I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life, and when I’m not, it all comes crashing down on me. What Mama will say, what my friends in the barrio will think, how I’m going to live—” Unable to go on, he collapsed into tears.
Hutch pulled the boy into a comforting embrace, one hand making small circles on his back to ease his crying. “It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured. “I know it seems tough now, but it’s gonna be okay.”
After a couple of minutes, Kiko wiped his face with the back of his hand and gazed up at Hutch imploringly. “How did you—you and Starsky—manage it?”
Hutch’s hand stopped its motion as his brain absorbed the question. “How did we—what?”
Kiko gulped and sat up. “I’m sorry—I know it’s personal—”
“No, it’s not that,” Hutch said, shaking his head. “It’s only that I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Being cops and being—together. How did you manage it?”
Hutch stared at him. His inner voice, normally no more inclined to strong profanity than he was, could only offer the uninspiring mantra holy shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
Kiko thinks that Starsk and I are a couple.
Aloud, he heard himself blather, “We, uh…we…That is, we—it’s not really the same as your situation.”
Kiko said nothing, merely continued to regard him with that mixture of shy hope and devastation that made Hutch want to do anything to ease that pain. But he couldn’t lie to the boy, couldn’t make up some fantasy of a relationship that didn’t exist.
No, you couldn’t ever compromise your principles and do something so underhanded as lie, his inner voice taunted, obviously having found its eloquence once again. You have to tell this boy right away that you and Starsky are straight, robbing him of any role models he might have constructed in his mind. You have to do whatever you can to make him feel even more abnormal than he already feels.
“Look, all I’m saying is that you shouldn’t look to us for an example of how you should feel or how you should be.” He suppressed a wince at the evasion and continued on. “What’s important is how you feel, Kiko. And if you’ve fallen in love, then it’s a precious gift, and you can’t give it up because you’re worried about what the rest of the world might think.”
Kiko drew a long, shuddering breath, then offered up a tentative smile. “Thanks, Hutch,” he said quietly. “You always know the right thing to say to make me feel better.”
Returning the smile, Hutch resolutely ignored the guilt churning in his stomach.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Starsky knew it was going to piss him off, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Dammit, quit laughing!” Hutch roared.
“I can’t help it!” Starsky returned, wiping at his eyes as he reached into the cupboard for the spaghetti. “Jesus, I thought you were gonna tell me somebody’d died. The look on your face—”
“You don’t think this is a serious situation?”
The reminder of their earlier conversation struck Starsky, sobering him instantly. “Yeah, it’s serious. Serious as a heart attack. Kiko’s got a rough road ahead of him. But it’s not like we didn’t already kinda know…” Starsky frowned at Hutch’s blank look. “Wait a minute. You didn’t know he was probably—”
Hutch folded his arms. “How could I have known when Kiko just told me half an hour ago?”
Measuring the pasta by hand, Starsky dropped the perfect quantity into the boiling water, then grabbed a wooden spoon to stir the sauce. “Aw, Hutch, c’mon. We been around the block enough times to spot—“
“He’s not some hustler trolling the Strip!” Hutch exclaimed.
Starsky sighed. When Hutch got himself worked up like this, carrying on a conversation was like walking through a minefield. You never knew what was going to set him off. “Look,” he said, deliberately gentling his voice, “all I’m sayin’ is that I had a hunch he was—that way. He never had any girlfriends, never even showed any interest in girls, and he was always—well, a big-hearted kid.”
“Are you saying you can’t be big-hearted and straight?”
Starsky rolled his eyes. “Do you even remember bein’ a teenage boy? Most of ‘em are self-centered pigs. I sure as hell was.” He placed the lid back on the pot of sauce and turned to face Hutch. “The bottom line is, it doesn’t change how we think of him. He’s still the same great kid he always was, right?”
“That’s not the point,” Hutch muttered, rubbing at his forehead. Great, thought Starsky. Hutch in a snit was bad enough, but Hutch in a snit with a headache was a hundred times worse.
“Then tell me what the point is so I can finish cookin’ dinner,” Starsky said, unable to keep some of the irritation he felt from creeping into his voice. He turned away to minister to the sauce again, the familiar routine restoring his equilibrium.
When Hutch didn’t answer right away, Starsky turned back to look at him. The mixture of regret and embarrassment in the other man’s expression surprised him. Reaching out instinctively, he laid a hand on Hutch’s arm, then waited for him to speak.
“I lied to him,” Hutch said heavily, expelling a breath. “Not directly, but I might as well have. And I don’t know how to tell him the truth.”
“O-kay,” Starsky said slowly, keeping his expression neutral, though this was not what he’d been expecting Hutch to say. When Hutch appeared frozen, he prompted, “The truth about…”
“Us,” said Hutch, eyes on the boiling pasta.
“Us. As in you-and-me us?”
Hutch nodded, but remained silent.
Starsky heaved a mental sigh. “So, tell me.”
Hutch’s gaze finally met Starsky’s. “We’re his role models, Starsk.”
“Oh,” Starsky said, relief washing over him. That was nothing new; they both knew the kids looked up to them. What was the big deal about that?
“Yeah. Oh,” Hutch parroted, eyebrows raised.
Starsky stared at him for a moment as realization dawned. “Oh. Shit. You mean he thinks we’re—” He pointed a finger at Hutch, then wagged it back and forth between himself and the other man.
“Yeah,” Hutch said, sagging back against the counter.
“Huh,” Starsky grunted. Now that he considered it, it wasn’t such a shocking revelation. “Well, it’s not like it’s the first time anybody’s thought that about us. There were rumors goin’ around the force for years…”
“That’s not the same!” snapped Hutch, propelling himself away from the counter. “None of the people spreading those rumors actually knew us, Starsk. This is Kiko we’re talking about.”
“And Molly,” Starsky blurted, snippets of their earlier conversation echoing in his head. I think you’ll do a better job of it than I have.
Hutch stared at him. “What?”
“S’not important,” Starsky murmured, waving a hand. “The thing is, it’s not so crazy for them to have figured it that way. I mean, it’s not like you and I ever talked to them about the stewardesses we bagged—” Hutch made a face “—or the relationships we were in. And whenever we came over to visit ‘em, it was always—”
“—just the two of us,” Hutch finished for him.
“Right. And after I was shot, you were with me practically every damned minute. Then we moved into this house, started the business together, and—hell, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck—”
“Yeah,” Hutch acknowledged, closing his eyes as if in pain.
“Hey, cheer up, blintz,” Starsky said, patting him on the cheek. “You could do worse.”
Hutch opened his eyes and fixed him with a glare. Starsky looked down, surveying his own chest.
“Okay, so my tits are a little hairy. But I make a mean arrabbiata sauce.”
Hutch stared at him for another moment, then burst out laughing. “Meathead,” he muttered, without rancor.
Starsky shrugged. “I know you’ve got your principles, but to be honest with you, who gives a shit about principles right now? Right now, the kid’s hurting. He thinks there’s somethin’ wrong with him, that he’s not normal, that being in love—the greatest feeling you can ever have—is something dirty. Telling him we’re not what he thinks we are will send him over the edge. You know that.”
“I know. That’s why I couldn’t do it.”
“Okay, then. Once he’s steadier on his feet, we can let him know the score. But for now—”
“For now, we keep our mouths shut,” Hutch finished. "All right. It’s not the best solution, but I guess we’ll have to go with it.”
“Good. That’s settled.” Turning toward the fridge, Starsky began rummaging for the Parmesan cheese. Hutch pulled open a drawer and took out the grater. Starsky straightened and tossed him the cheese, which Hutch caught one-handed.
They worked together in amiable silence for a couple of minutes before Hutch spoke again. “So there’s just one other thing,” he began, his eyes never leaving the block of cheese he was grating.
“Yeah?” Starsky said, taking out a piece of spaghetti and testing it. Still a little too al dente for Hutch’s white-bread palate. “Get the drainer, willya?”
Obediently, Hutch snagged the metal colander from the rack suspended above their heads. “We’ve got a job Saturday night.”
“Hm?” Starsky grunted absently as he lifted a spoonful of sauce to his mouth. “What kinda job?”
“Kiko said he’s going to a disco for the first time, and I want to keep an eye on him.” He arched an eyebrow at Starsky. “So polish your dancing shoes, lover.”
Starsky swallowed convulsively around the mouthful of sauce, then began choking. Hutch delivered a couple of sharp whacks to his back.
“Quit that!” Starsky yelled between coughs. “Kiko’s goin’ to a gay bar?”
“Where did you think he’d go on a date?” Hutch drawled. “A Junior League picnic?”
“Christ, he’s only eighteen!”
“And how old were you when you snuck into your first bar?”
Starsky shook his head. “That’s not the point.” Hutch fixed him with his best penetrating gaze, and Starsky colored, conceding the small victory. “Okay, okay. So we go there and do what? Spy on him from behind a potted palm?”
“I haven’t planned that far ahead,” Hutch admitted. “I only know I want to keep an eye on him. You know what some of those places are like. If they see a sweet young thing like Kiko—”
“—they’ll be all over him like white on rice,” Starsky finished. “Oh, man.” He ran a hand over his face. “And if he spots us? Then what?”
Hutch looked at him for a moment, then, lightning-quick, he yanked Starsky into his arms and spun him until all Starsky could see was the ceiling—and Hutch’s face, hovering a few inches above his own.
“Then,” said Hutch, affecting a sultry Spanish accent, “we dip. Like Ramòn.”
Chapter 3
It was sad that this was the first time Hutch had been out dancing in a year and a half.
It was even sadder that he hadn’t really paid much attention to the extinction of his social life after the shooting. Oh, sure, he’d been aware of the fact that he rarely went out any more. Anyone who’d been as successful in the dating game as he had once been would notice the lack of feminine companionship. But between overseeing Starsky’s painful recovery, renovating the house and building the business, he’d barely had enough time to sleep, let alone see to his own sexual needs. And in the end, though it was crude to think of it in those terms, his right hand didn’t need wining, dining or foreplay to get it in the mood. For those reasons alone, it was a savings in time, energy and money, and all of those commodities had been in short supply lately.
Those hadn’t been the only reasons he’d been reluctant to get back into the dating game. Truth be told, the endless round of bars and nightclubs had been starting to bore him even before the shooting. The miasma of desperation that hung over the singles scene seemed to cling to him more tenaciously as time went on, a product of both the changing times and his advancing age. As much as it pained him to admit it, it was now accurate to say that he was ‘pushing forty.’ Add to that the disturbing prevalence of cocaine in the discos these days, and Hutch could safely say he had grown beyond the need for one-night-stands.
The problem was, he wasn’t having any more success at long-term relationships. The handful of women he’d met in the last couple of years who might eventually have led him to the for-better-or-for-worse stage weren’t interested in a man who had approximately five minutes a week to spare for them. Which left him at the end of each day with the one person who’d truly shared the best and worst moments of his life.
David Michael Starsky.
Hutch sighed as it occurred to him that apart from the sex, Kiko hadn’t been as far off the beam as he’d originally thought.
The man in question was currently standing beside him, bouncing on his heels and surveying the gyrating masses of male flesh on the disco floor below them as though he were watching a mildly interesting Rams game.
Shaking himself mentally, Hutch forced his mind away from his own troubles. Tonight was for Kiko, and he’d do well to remember that. Given their current surroundings, it was crucial that he also stay alert. They’d barely walked in the door when Starsky had received his first ass-pinching, and over by the bar there was a huge guy in leather chaps who was looking Hutch up and down like he was the Blue Plate Special at a truck stop.
“Geez,” Starsky said in his ear. “Didja catch the Midnight Cowboy over there?”
Hutch turned his head to speak in Starsky’s ear, the only way they could make themselves heard above the throbbing disco beat coming from the dance floor. “If you make eye contact with him, you may be fighting him for me later.”
“I thought he was lookin’ at me!” Starsky yelled back, grinning. It should have annoyed him that Starsky seemed so nonchalant in the bar, but seeing his partner back in action was heartening. Starsky had that mischievous twinkle in his eye that usually foreboded trouble. It surprised Hutch to realize he hadn’t seen that look on his friend’s face in a hell of a long time.
It surprised him even more to realize that he’d missed it.
Still, he felt compelled to play the role he’d carved for himself, and so he wrapped a hand around Starsky’s bicep when the other man made a move toward the bar. “Let’s remember why we’re here,” he admonished. Starsky made a face, but nodded.
“Okay. So how do we blend in, Blondie?”
Hutch surveyed the scene. Apart from the prevalence of same-sex couples, the layout was that of a standard disco, with a lighted dance floor below ringed by a raised catwalk. Several wide doorways led beyond that to smaller lounges equipped with bars and—no doubt—back rooms. They’d busted enough lowlifes preying on young kids in dives like this when they were rookies. The thought that Kiko might end up in one tonight made him cringe.
“Let’s take a slow walk around,” Hutch suggested, pointing toward the catwalk. “If we don’t spot him on the dance floor, we can try the lounges.”
Starsky’s gaze trained on one of the doorways and his face clouded; doubtless he’d had the same thought as Hutch. “Yeah. Sounds good. Lead the way, sweetheart.”
As Hutch turned toward the stairs, he yelped when a sharp pinch was delivered to his left ass cheek. Whirling around, he fixed Starsky with his best glare.
Maddeningly, Starsky parried the glare with his best devilish grin. “Fifty-fifty, partner,” he drawled in Hutch’s ear.
Hutch made an after-you gesture with the broad sweep of an arm. Still grinning, Starsky jogged up the stairs, his own ass wiggling provocatively.
Hutch sighed. This was going to be a long night.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damn, it was good to be out of the house for a change.
Oh sure, he got out plenty of times in the run of a week. There was physio, and the bank, and maybe, if he was really lucky, they’d grab lunch at Huggy’s a couple of times when Hutch wasn’t running from pillar to post. But he hadn’t been out after dark in so long, he’d been starting to feel like a vampire in reverse. On the nights when Hutch did surveillance work, he’d insist that Starsky stay home. Like sitting around in a car drinking bad coffee would kill him. Okay, maybe he’d risk death from boredom, but that was about it.
Thank God Hutch was laying off on the mother hen routine tonight; he’d obviously taken Starsky’s earlier words to heart. Starsky felt kind of bad that he’d put it that bluntly, but he’d literally been at the end of his rope. He wasn’t ever going to be one hundred percent, but his seventy-five to eighty could still beat most of the guys his age.
And if he needed any proof of that, all he had to do was look around. He’d been on the receiving end of numerous appreciative looks, touches and—yeah, pinches—since walking into the club. Not bad for a place where most of the men were younger than him and there was more muscle on display than at Hutch’s gym. The fact that all the attention was male didn’t bug him as much as it would’ve a couple of years ago. Maybe his ego was so starved for a boost it didn’t care where it came from, or maybe he was mellowing as time went on.
Starsky shrugged. Whatever. There’d be plenty of time to psychoanalyze himself tomorrow; right now, they had a job to do.
And damn, but that felt good too. As much as he hated that the job involved Kiko’s safety, Starsky was high on the buzz of being—well, if not a cop, then at least one of the good guys again. His heart rate had ratcheted up a few notches, his spidey-senses were a-tinglin’, and he was…
Oh, shit. He was hard.
Eyes glued to the dance floor, he turned some of his mental energy inward, setting it to work on willing his rebellious erection away. Sure, he’d occasionally popped a boner in the heat of the chase. It was one of those primitive caveman instincts Hutch was always lecturing him about. His partner managed to make it sound like Starsky was the Neanderthal, the throwback, but Starsky knew from experience that Hutch’s—ah, instincts—could be just as primitive as his own now and then. Surreptitiously, he shot a glance at the front of Hutch’s jeans, but didn’t notice any visible swelling.
Jesus, Starsky thought, closing his eyes briefly before returning to his study of the dance floor, you’re fittin’ right in here, aren’t you? Hard as a rock and checkin’ out the competition besides.
“Hey, you with me?”
Starsky started guiltily as Hutch’s breath gusted across his ear, bringing him sharply back to reality. His rebellious cock twitched in his pants as if in sympathy.
“You’re not helpin’,” Starsky muttered to his dick.
“What?”
“Nothin’.” He turned to Hutch, glad the dim lighting probably kept him from seeing the blush. “You see ‘em yet?”
Hutch shook his head. Starsky turned his attention from the dance floor to the tables arrayed in front of the bar. There was an open area here where people could sit and drink, and the music seemed less loud; there were probably sound deadening tiles installed in the ceiling, Starsky guessed. His detective’s gaze conducted a quick sweep of the scene, then refocused when his instincts told him something was out of kilter.
There. About fifty feet away and to their right. Big guy, lots of muscle, looming over a smaller man. The smaller one was backed right up against the wall, but he was in a corner and there was nowhere to go. His left hand shot out, made contact with the guy’s unyielding chest—
And in the next instant another body launched itself at the big guy’s back—
Shit. Kiko.
Starsky turned to Hutch, but he was already moving. Heart pounding, Starsky sprang to follow him.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Son of a bitch.
Hutch kept telling his feet faster, faster, faster, but they were trying to get him through a goddamned obstacle course of tables and chairs and people; it felt like swimming in molasses. Dimly, he registered a couple of outraged exclamations as he shoved objects—animate and inanimate—out of his way, but he couldn’t take the time to apologize.
Kiko was in trouble.
Or rather, the boy he assumed to be Frank was in trouble, and Kiko was coming to his defense, landing punches and kicks on the leviathan threatening Frank wherever he could. The only problem was, the larger man seemed as impervious to the assault as an elephant was to a bee sting. Hutch watched as the huge head turned and surveyed Kiko. The mouth moved in speech, and then a massive arm went around Kiko’s shoulders and reeled him in close.
Finally, finally the mass of debris parted, leaving Hutch a clear path. “Get your fucking hands off him!” he shouted, racing forward.
The big man turned again, bringing a struggling Kiko with him as he did. A puzzled frown knit his brow as he studied Hutch. Hutch’s hands clenched into fists while he contemplated his next move. If he launched himself at the man now, there was a good chance Kiko would be hurt. God, one twist from that massive hand and Kiko’s neck would snap like a twig—
“You heard the man.” Hutch heard Starsky’s voice, low and dangerous, at exactly the same instant he felt Starsky’s warmth at his left side.
The goon stared at them both for a moment, then looked at Kiko. “Friends of yours, chicken?” he asked mildly.
“Yeah, he’s our friend,” Hutch growled. “And if you know what’s good for you—”
“Oh, please,” the man sighed, releasing Kiko and raising his hands, “let’s not get dramatic. I didn’t realize they were taken. And I’m not interested in circle jerks tonight, so I’ll just seek greener pastures, shall I?” And with a smile and a wave, he turned to go.
Hutch felt Starsky take a step forward; instinctively, his arm shot out to stop him. “It’s okay,” he said, more to convince himself than his partner. He watched as Kiko visibly sagged in relief, then drew a shaking Frank into his arms.
“You all right?” Hutch asked, walking forward to clasp the younger man’s shoulder.
“Yeah, we will be,” Kiko said, still holding Frank. “Thanks, guys.” Then, seeming to realize his position, he loosened his hold on the other boy and stepped back. “Uh, this is Frank. Frank Tanner, my very good friends Starsky and Hutch.”
As Frank and Starsky shook hands, Hutch took the opportunity to take stock of Kiko’s friend. The kid was youngish looking and gangly with short, almost platinum blond hair and freckles. His grip was firm for someone who’d probably just had the wits scared out of him.
What kind of handshake did you think he’d have? Hutch’s conscience admonished. Limp as a wet noodle?
“So what’re you guys doing here?” Kiko asked. “I didn’t know you went dancing together.”
Hutch opened his mouth, but before any sound could emerge, he felt an arm go around his shoulders and squeeze. Startled, he turned to look into Starsky’s grinning visage.
“Yeah, well, we don’t tell you everything, young man,” Starsky said, eyes still on Hutch. As Hutch processed this extraordinary statement, Starsk shot him a wink that to anyone else would simply appear playful, but to Hutch said, Go with me on this one.
“Oh, right, you’re the guys Keek was telling me about,” Frank said, voice a little more confident now. “The cops—uh, pardon me, policemen.”
“Ex-cops,” Starsky corrected, arm still wrapped around Hutch. “I took a few too many in the chest to continue a career in law enforcement.” With his other hand, he deftly undid a couple of buttons on his shirt, fully baring the scars he’d always refused to hide.
Frank whistled lowly, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Kiko. The kid laughed and protested, “I didn’t mean it like that! I meant, wow, it’s amazing you survived.”
“Yeah,” Starsky agreed, “it was amazin’ all right.” He aimed a smile at Hutch, who felt his cheeks warm inexplicably. The night they’d settled into the house they’d both gotten roaring drunk, and Starsky had finally told him about his near-death experience. It seemed he’d dreamed that Hutch was running toward him, calling for him to come back, and wasn’t that the craziest thing you ever heard?
Hutch had started bawling then, and hadn’t been able to stop for a good twenty minutes. It still ranked as one of the most embarrassing moments of his entire life, including the time his mother walked in on him while he was masturbating.
“So you think you can keep up with us on the dance floor?” Kiko asked archly, an amused challenge in his eyes.
“Depends,” Starsky drawled. “They ever gonna play a polka?”
Both boys laughed at Starsky’s quip, and Hutch found himself joining in. His laugh caught in his throat, however, when the boys started to move toward the dance floor. He held up a hand and opened his mouth again, but once more Starsky beat him to the punch. The upraised hand was seized in Starsky’s strong grip, and then he was being towed forward.
Toward the stairs to the dance floor.
“Uh, Starsk,” he began, panic flooding his limbs with adrenaline.
Starsky pulled him close and placed his mouth close to Hutch’s ear. The vibration against his earlobe tickled. “You forgotten the Golden Rule, sweetheart?” he demanded. “Do Not Blow Thy Cover.”
Giving in, Hutch allowed himself to be dragged in the direction of the stairs.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He could do this. They could do this. There wasn’t another option.
The disco floor was packed, hard bodies swaying provocatively to a mindless beat. There was so much heat and sweat in the air it felt like a tropical fucking rainforest; Starsky half expected to look up and see Tarzan swinging from a vine. Only this time there’d be no Jane on his arm, just a really hunky guy in a leopard-print loincloth.
Gaze switching between Kiko and Frank and the rest of the dancers, Starsky didn’t have much time for Hutch, but he could tell the blond was balking at Starsky’s plan. Well, too damned bad. He’d gotten them into this mess, and he’d just have to go with the flow now that Kiko knew they were here.
He half suspected Hutch had been about to tell Kiko the truth right then and there after the Human Mount Everest had left with his dick between his legs. That would’ve been fabulous timing—Well, Keek, the thing is we didn’t think you could handle being out with the big boys, so we decided to spy on you. And by the way, did we happen to mention we’re really straight? Yeah, that would’ve gone over real well, especially with the boyfriend looking on. So the only thing to do was to maintain the cover, with all that entailed.
Well, maybe not all of it. But boogieing with Hutch was not going to kill either of them, and it was a lot less painful than breaking the news to Kiko. The kid had been through enough for one night.
He tugged a dazed-looking Hutch into his arms. “May I have this dance?” he asked, grinning in spite of his friend’s obvious discomfort.
“Do I have a choice?” Hutch retorted.
“Nope,” Starsky answered, one hand settling firmly on his hip. “Hey, try to look like you’re enjoyin’ yourself, willya? I’m not that bad a date.”
Hutch blew out a breath but obeyed, deliberately assuming a pleasant expression, if not a truly enthusiastic one. Few people knew that the agreeable exterior Hutch presented to the world masked a man who bore deep and lasting wounds. Even after all these years, Starsky wasn’t up on every one, though he’d been around for a lot of them.
Some of them had names: Vanessa, Gillian, others. Some were more abstract, and some he shared—the most lasting being their long struggle with the Powers That Be to be left to do their jobs as they saw fit. Not that they’d ever asked for special treatment, but it often seemed like their superiors were determined to block their every move, and to leave them high and dry at the first sign of trouble. There had been times long before Gunther’s bullets had ended Starsky’s career that they’d considered throwing it all away.
Being their own bosses had brought its own stresses, but it was a relief to finally have the freedom to make the rules for a change. To be themselves, without the need to make apologies.
Starsky smiled to himself. Not that we ever apologized much.
As Starsky negotiated the crowded dance floor, carrying Hutch with him, he watched the two boys dance together. Kiko looked so damned happy he was ready to burst, and the other kid seemed pretty caught up in him, too. Starsky could certainly see what anyone would see in Kiko—he was a great person, caring and compassionate. All of that had been inside him from day one, but for a while there it had been fifty-fifty odds whether or not the world would ever get to see it. Starsky firmly believed that having Hutch for a mentor had saved Kiko from a life on the mean streets, in more ways than one. Boys like Kiko who ran with the gangs usually ended up as victims rather than perps.
The song changed abruptly to a slow, sensuous love song, and abruptly the dancing slowed. Looking around, Starsky could see that the majority of the dancers were still plastered up against one another. Only now the bump-and-grind was even more—uh, pronounced. As in, some of them were practically dry-humping each other right there in public. He considered checking on Kiko and Frank, then decided he’d be better off not knowing.
“Jesus,” Hutch breathed. Apparently he’d noticed the change too.
“Easy does it, blondie,” Starsky gentled. He slid an arm around Hutch’s back to draw him tighter and felt the other man balk.
“What are you—”
“Gotta make it look at least partway real,” Starsky argued, “otherwise our cover’s blown.” Pulling back a little to look into Hutch’s eyes, he put on his most reassuring smile. Me ‘n thee. Trust me, partner.
Hutch held his gaze for a few anxious moments, then seemed to go boneless in Starsky’s arms. Without questioning it, Starsky pulled him close, wrapping both arms around him this time. Hutch’s big hands settled tentatively on Starsky’s waist, and his head dropped onto Starsky’s right shoulder.
Just like dancin’ in high school when the chaperone wasn’t lookin’. Slow and easy and romantic. Turning his head, Starsky was treated to a snootful of Hutch’s fine blond hair. He found he didn’t mind; Hutch’s hair smelled of that herbal shampoo he was always telling Starsky to try.
“Put your head on my shoul-derrr,” Starsky crooned in Hutch’s ear, pleased when he felt Hutch chuckle in response. One hand tightened on Starsky’s hip, then relaxed. Starsky began making slow circling motions on Hutch’s back with the palm of his hand. Man, it had been centuries since he’d been this close to a warm, living human body. Maybe next weekend they’d look at gettin’ out for a change, finding some female companionship.
At that moment Starsky glanced over Hutch’s head and caught Kiko watching him—no, watching the two of them together. Starsky was left reeling at the look in the kid’s eyes, a jumbled mix of affection, wistfulness and envy.
He wants what we got, Starsky thought, closing his eyes before Kiko could tell he’d been looking. What he thinks we got. And the next time he drops by for Sunday brunch and finds a blond stewardess sharing our toast, what’s he gonna think?
Pushing the confusing thought aside for now, Starsky concentrated on leading Hutch around the floor in their slow, shuffling dance.
Chapter 4
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”
Starsky’s soft words brought Hutch awake with a jolt. He wiped at his face and yawned, wincing as his jaw cracked. “Time ‘zit?” he slurred.
“Just past three a.m.”
“Hm,” Hutch grunted, shifting experimentally against the seat. Sudden pain shot through his lower back, making him gasp.
“You okay?” Starsky’s voice was full of concern.
“Yeah,” Hutch answered as steadily as he could manage. There was no point in telling Starsk that too many nights spent in the front seat of his LTD had aggravated his injury from that skiing accident back in ‘78. He’d just get flak for not sharing the load sooner—criticism he knew he deserved, and had already received in spades.
“Yeah,” Starsky drawled, that one word telling Hutch he hadn’t managed to fool his partner. “I think we might as well pack it in.”
Hutch blinked. “But he might—”
“Hutch,” Starsky said firmly, “he’s asleep. The house’s been dark for hours. I don’t think he’s gonna get up in the middle of the night and start doin’ calisthenics.”
Hutch sighed. “You’re right.” The insurance company that hired them on a regular basis had been sure this guy was faking his injuries from the car accident, but after nearly a week of surveillance Hutch was just about convinced the man was truly wheelchair-bound. Either that or he should be nominated for the Academy Award.
“I feel like a heel for spyin’ on him all this time,” Starsky murmured.
Hutch’s jaw clenched. “If he’s legit, he’d be the first one in nearly a year.”
Starsky blew out a breath. “I know that. I read alla your reports. It’s just—” He waved a hand when words failed him, but Hutch knew exactly what he was trying to say.
“It’s just not the kind of work for heroes, is it?” The sharp edge to his tone surprised him; he’d come to terms with the nature of private investigation work long ago. But despite reading Hutch’s reports of his activities, this was the first time Starsky had encountered it first-hand.
“Is that what we were?” Starsky asked, a sardonic twist to his mouth.
Hutch shook his head. “I don’t know. I never thought of us that way when we were actually doing it. But I have to admit that these days, I feel…smaller.”
Silence reigned in the car for a few seconds before Starsky said, “You didn’t have to quit.”
Hutch turned to look at Starsky. In the dim light, he couldn’t decipher the expression on his partner’s face.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did.”
Starsky opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Maybe we’re forgetting the way it was,” Hutch added. “There was a lot of grunt work, a lot of dime-store crooks. It wasn’t all high-profile cases.”
Starsk nodded. “Yeah. It was a lot of long nights waitin’. Like this. Only miss the times we were waiting for something more, y’know?” While Hutch pondered this, Starsky mused, “We hafta branch out. Maybe something more up our alley, like—I dunno, missing kids. People in trouble, not companies lookin’ to save money on an insurance payout.”
Hutch shifted in his seat toward Starsky, wincing a little when his back flared again. “Could get heartbreaking, Starsk.”
Starsky performed the opposite move so that they were facing one another. “We’re no strangers to heartbreak, that’s for sure,” he said quietly. “I just know I can’t keep doin’ this kinda thing for long.”
Hutch had a sudden flash of prescience, an image of Starsky at fifty-five or sixty, bifocals perched low on his generous nose. He’d look a lot like he did today, maybe a little grayer, with a few more wrinkles. But his eyes would still sparkle with that same fire they displayed today, and whatever he did, he’d still be doing his damnedest to save the world one person at a time. He didn’t know how to live any other way.
And do you? Hutch’s inner voice demanded.
“Okay,” Hutch said, smiling as the image of Starsky faded into the man sharing the car with him, “we’ll look at it in the morning, after we get some sleep.” Hutch did some figuring in his head. With the repairs to the house nearly complete, they finally had a little extra money this month. Maybe they could commission some new ads, put them in the paper.
Starsky’s face erupted into a grin. “Sounds good.” He settled back into his seat as Hutch reached for the key in the ignition.
“Waittaminute.” Hutch’s hand stilled on the key at Starsky’s bark. “His bedroom light just came on.”
Hutch grabbed for the binoculars but Starsk beat him to them. Hoisting them to his face, he trained them on the house.
After a few seconds, Starsky lowered the binoculars. “Shit.”
“What?” Hutch demanded.
“He just got up to go to the can.”
“Got up? As in—”
“On his own two perfectly fucking healthy legs,” Starsky finished for him. Hutch reached for the camera, but once again Starsky was faster.
As he focused in on his target and began snapping photos, Starsky muttered, “I’m tired of this dime store. Let’s get back to the Bat Cave.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It amused Starsky no end that Huggy Bear Brown, tough veteran of the streets of Bay City, was scared of heights.
Just like Huggy, though, he never let anyone tell him what he could and couldn’t do, even himself. And so he squatted gingerly on the roof, spreading wet mortar over the edge of a brick with a trowel and handing it to Hutch for placement. He had an artistic way with the sticky goop that neither of the other men could match.
“Huggy, you’d make a terrific bricklayer,” Starsky said, as he took a short break from his own task of shingling the roof of the porch.
Huggy wrinkled his nose in disdain. “These hands were not meant for menial tasks, man.”
“Menial, schmenial,” Starsky muttered. “My uncle Morrie makes a pile as a mason.”
“Well, you know what they say, Starsky, my brother,” Huggy said, raising his eyebrows. “Once a Mason, always a Mason—”
“—but once a Knight’s enough,” Starsky and Hutch chimed in together.
Hutch shook his head as he carefully placed another brick. “That joke’s so old it’s decaying.”
“Yeah, well, it’s tough to be the soul of wit and brilliance around Philistines,” Huggy retorted.
Starsky chuckled at the comment, then promptly yelped when his lack of focus caused him to hit his thumb with the hammer. “Shit!” he exclaimed, sucking the mashed digit into his mouth.
“Man, we are some kinda home improvement team,” Huggy said. “How you’ve escaped having this place fall down around your ears, I’ll never know.”
“Speaking of teams, where’s the Dynamic Duo?” Hutch enquired, casting an eye on the street below them.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Starsky said. “Kiko called earlier, said neither of ‘em would be able to make it. Molly’s got an exam Monday morning and he’s—well, he’s kind of under the weather.” Hutch’s head shot up at this, blue eyes filled with concern. Starsky shook his head in response; the call had come right before Huggy had arrived and so he hadn’t had a chance to tell Hutch about it. Not that they were trying to hide anything from Huggy, but there was no sense telling the whole world about Kiko, especially since he was still more than halfway in the closet.
“How’s Kiko doin’?” Huggy asked conversationally as he spread mortar on another brick.
“Great,” Starsky replied, too quickly. “He’s doin’ great.” It was only a partial lie; Kiko was doing great in the romance department, but his school marks hadn’t improved any in the three weeks since he’d come out to Hutch. In fact, he was perilously close to failing his first semester of college, which would sink his scholarship for sure. No matter what they said to him, there was still a deep-seated issue of self-esteem there that wouldn’t allow Kiko to be completely happy.
Not unless he could see that there was another way to be. Which was the other thing he had to talk to Hutch about.
“Mmm,” Huggy murmured, handing the brick to Hutch. “Yeah, well, my favorite drag queen LaTonya tells me he was out pretty late last night, shaking his groove thang with his boyfriend. Is that some kind of extra credit college course of which I was not aware?”
Starsky stared at him. “You—” he spluttered, then fell silent.
Huggy stared back. “I tutored that boy in math. He wouldn’t be in college now if I hadn’t helped him get that A. You think I’m not going to keep track of him?”
“Huggy,” Hutch began, voice low, “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you—”
Huggy shook his head and held up a hand. “Wasn’t your story to tell. But I do hope you’re going to kick his butt somehow. If not, I’m gonna have to. And you know my feet leave big prints.”
“We tried,” Hutch said, sighing, “but—”
“—that didn’t work out so good,” Starsky finished for him. “So we came up with another plan.”
Hutch raised his eyebrows in a look that clearly said we did? Starsky waggled his eyebrows in response and Hutch rolled his eyes.
“Oh, damn,” Huggy said, upending his canteen. “I’m out of water. Besides, I can tell you two want to be alone.” He made to rise, but wobbled alarmingly as he tried to gain his footing. Instantly, Hutch’s big hand shot out, gripping his arm to steady him.
Huggy closed his eyes briefly, then rose more confidently to his feet. With a silent nod to Hutch, he stepped free of the other man’s grasp and moved over to the ladder.
When Huggy had disappeared over the edge, Hutch shot Starsky a look. “What did you do now?” he hissed.
“Nothin’,” Starsky said defensively. “Just invited them over to dinner.”
“Them?” Hutch demanded.
Starsky waved a hand. “Them—Kiko and Frank. Next Saturday night. Nothin’ fancy, just a lasa—”
“Starsk.” Hutch was now pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. That was always a bad sign. “Kiko and Frank—they think we’re—together.”
“Yeah,” Starsky acknowledged. That was the part he knew Hutch wouldn’t like. “And I still don’t think we should tell them any different—at least not for now.”
“So you’re suggesting that when they come over for dinner—”
“Well, I thought we could start with a demonstration of the right way to give a blow job, then move on to the appetizers,” Starsky huffed, his pat