We finally got everything up and running and we're all moved in!
Okay, so the entertainment center isn't together and I can't put all my angels or Royal Daulton's in yet, but pretty much everything else is done. All my Starsky & Hutch items are hanging in the spare room where the computer is. Kelly's bed isn't put together, but there's no big hurry on that.
The yard - the front especially - is a POS, but our landlord said if we want to do anything to it and make it nice, just show him the receipts and he'll take it off our rent. We've gotta do some touching up of paint that got scraped and a little bit of patch work, but all in all it's very nice and has a large walk-in closet in our room that's carpeted - even the shelves are carpeted. I'm not real fond of the color (tan carpeting), but I can live with it. The shelves, drawers, and washer/dryer were disgustingly dirty. So I had to clean first. I ended up using contact paper 'cause there was no way I wanted my dishes touching those naked shelves.
Got the OHIO STATE flag hanging in the front bay window. Gotta promote my team, right? Oh, and one of our new neighbors is a big Ohio State Fan. I told him we're going to get along perfectly.
We got the wrong sized truck for the move, but it was larger and it turned out we needed the larger one. The drive went well and even faster than I figured. That's 'cause we didn't got through downtown Chicago. Of course my brother didn't get anyone to help us unload, as both Ron & I asked, but they did come over themselves to help us unload, so it wasn't just the five of us.
On Monday I called all the utilities and the phone company, right? "Yes, you can get DSL. Yes, we can keep you with Elite. They'll be out on Friday." Well Friday comes, and we had no phone line, so one guy comes out to install a phone line, but no one comes to install the DSL. I called them again. "We can't find your order. Oh wait, here it is.... They're coming Friday, August 8th!" I told them that was b*s. So the guy on the phone promises they'll be here by Monday. Monday comes & starts to wane. I called AT&T again. "No you CAN'T get DSL in your area." Now this is bullshit! I specifically had them install a phone line which cost me $140. I got a $50 coupon for DSL Elite (which is what we had in Cleveland). And TWICE I talked to AT&T representatives about DSL in our new home. This is the same bullcrap we put up with when we moved at work last summer. So they've offered my this new U-Verse which is some kind of cable system and supposedly much faster than DSL, but at the same price. Plus they said they'd honor the $50 coupon and give me a $35 credit. They damn well better.
Then last Tuesday after we moved, the damn air went out (the furnace died and it was brand new). We had no air for several days until the heating & air company could get a new panel and replace it. What a fricking mess! We were so hot, we ended up spending Wednesday night at Keith's hotel.
Now I can seriously start to look for a job. I hate that I've put in several resumes and gotten only one response. I hope this doesn't take long. Everyone says the job market here is great and I shouldn't have a problem finding a job. Keeping my fingers crossed.
Daisy's adapting well, but she still doesn't know what to do with the backyard. She keeps going to the bathroom by the door & the patio door. She won't go into the backyard unless it's following the fence. It's like she's afraid of it. I fear she's going to have separation anxiety when I go back to work.
I don't know if I'll ever move again. At least out of state. Unless it's going back home.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Notes About David & His Jonathan
Title: David and His Jonathan
Author: Hutchlover
Rating: R
Genre: Slash
Email: Hutchlover@sbcglobal.net
Categories: Committed Relationship, Starsky Angst, Hutch Angst
Description: Starsky dreams about another man, which affects his job performance and his relationship with Hutch.
Notes: In most upper class households of Greek, Roman, and other pre-Christian Mediterranean societies it was common to take a young man as a lover. For the young man, it was viewed as an honor to have an older, wealthier, and more world-wise man for a lover. Most upper class marriages were contracted for procreation or political advantage; while love, sexual pleasure, and in some cases creating a life together, were reserved for same sex companions/lovers.
The question of whether David and Jonathan were lovers will always be debated, with no definitive answers. However, based on verses in the Torah and the Bible, the symbolism can be interpreted to indicate a loving, sexual relationship between the two. God said “do not as the Greeks”, however, some scholars aren’t sure if God meant their multi-theistic society or their lifestyles, or both. The reader can make of it what they will…
The characters of David and Jonathan, and the basis of their story is historically correct as per 1Samuel. However, I took a few liberties with some dialog. This story is NOT meant to offend or to pretend that I am a scholar on Jewish/Christian/Greek religions. It is only a story for entertainment purposes and should not be taken literally. I love to be educated and would encourage any discussion about the meaning behind the scriptures, however, please no posts claiming I’ve corrupted or misinterpreted their religious beliefs. The Holy Bible reads different ways for everyone.
I owe tremendous thanks to Molo, Range, and Flamingo for their editing and pointers. And as always my biggest supporter was Mystic Whim who pushed and shoved me to get this story out.
Author: Hutchlover
Rating: R
Genre: Slash
Email: Hutchlover@sbcglobal.net
Categories: Committed Relationship, Starsky Angst, Hutch Angst
Description: Starsky dreams about another man, which affects his job performance and his relationship with Hutch.
Notes: In most upper class households of Greek, Roman, and other pre-Christian Mediterranean societies it was common to take a young man as a lover. For the young man, it was viewed as an honor to have an older, wealthier, and more world-wise man for a lover. Most upper class marriages were contracted for procreation or political advantage; while love, sexual pleasure, and in some cases creating a life together, were reserved for same sex companions/lovers.
The question of whether David and Jonathan were lovers will always be debated, with no definitive answers. However, based on verses in the Torah and the Bible, the symbolism can be interpreted to indicate a loving, sexual relationship between the two. God said “do not as the Greeks”, however, some scholars aren’t sure if God meant their multi-theistic society or their lifestyles, or both. The reader can make of it what they will…
The characters of David and Jonathan, and the basis of their story is historically correct as per 1Samuel. However, I took a few liberties with some dialog. This story is NOT meant to offend or to pretend that I am a scholar on Jewish/Christian/Greek religions. It is only a story for entertainment purposes and should not be taken literally. I love to be educated and would encourage any discussion about the meaning behind the scriptures, however, please no posts claiming I’ve corrupted or misinterpreted their religious beliefs. The Holy Bible reads different ways for everyone.
I owe tremendous thanks to Molo, Range, and Flamingo for their editing and pointers. And as always my biggest supporter was Mystic Whim who pushed and shoved me to get this story out.
NS: David and His Jonathan-Part 1
As he stepped into the throne room, David – youngest son of the shepherd Jesse – stood in awe at how the stone and mud blocks fit perfectly together. In contrast to his humble abode, this grand edifice was a richly decorated structure. With camel hair thrushes, sheep’s wool blankets, colorful pillows lining the floor, and woolen blankets dyed in various blues and gold, the room was considerably warmer than his father’s great room. Dozens of people danced and partook of an abundance of foods and drink as they celebrated the defeat of the Philistine army at the hands of the Israelites. For a common sheep herder, it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and David felt his eyes rounding in awe at each step forward. His father would say it was glut and greed; shameful displays of the flesh and the weakness in man. But for a young man of David’s impressionable age, the sights and smells were intoxicating.
At Saul’s behest, David approached the well-built middle-aged man on the raised dais at the end of the room. As he came near the gold-lined throne, the king’s subjects fell quieter, unnerving the young warrior. It seemed that everyone was interested in the young man who defeated the Philistine's greatest warrior. At the powerful man’s request, David stood before his king, tall and with pride as Saul made the proclamation that “he is as mine own”. He glanced around to see if he would be scolded for the shamefulness of pride that he’d always been taught it was. But he saw no censure amongst the king’s subjects.
A tall, dark-haired young man, several years older than David, appeared at King Saul’s side. David drew in a sharp breath, so taken was he by the Prince’s beauty and the grace he commanded as he glided to the side of the throne. This must be one of King Saul’s sons, David thought. With such beauty, grace, and presence, he could be nothing less.
The powerful King of the Israelites addressed his youngest son, his deep voice resonating off the stone walls. “Mine own Jonathan, take David to thy quarters. Giveth all that he require. Command thy servants to him as you would to thee.”
Bowing low as a sign of respect to his king’s son, David was surprised to find a large warm hand fit into his own and raise him up as an equal. “Thou art equal and bless-ed by the Lord.” The rich tenor voice struck David’s soul, and he followed the Prince to his quarters, almost hypnotized.
Once the tapestry had dropped over the doorway, leaving the two alone in Prince Jonathan’s private quarters, David found his voice. “Thou art beauteous.” Startled at his own presumptuousness of speaking without being addressed, David lowered his eyes and hoped that the compassion he’d glimpsed in the other man’s eyes was not the reflection of candlelight.
He was reassured when Prince Jonathan put a hand under his chin and raised his head to meet the other’s eyes. More than reassured when Prince Jonathan told David that he was in awe of David’s greatness – both physically and spiritually; and honored to become a brother of one so respected by God and king.
David shook his head in denial, he was not worthy to be a friend of this important man in king’s household, much less his equal. How had it all come to this, that a young man with no prospects – a lowly sheepherder, and a youngest of many sons – was now on a par with a king’s son?
In the early morning hours of a gray, Bay City dawn, Hutch shook his lover’s shoulder, calling to him and trying to wake him from an apparent dream. “Starsky!”
“Thou hath honored me, thy Prince.” It was obvious that Starsky was dreaming as his voice was husky with sleep and his speech included words that sounded unlike any in the English language.
“Starsky! Wake up!” Hutch jostled his shoulder harder.
A dark, tousled head appeared from underneath the layers of bedclothes. “Huh? Hutch? What’s wrong?” Starsky squinted his eyes as they adjusted to a wakeful state.
What’s wrong? Nothing. Just that you were mumbling weirdly. What were you dreaming about?”
Starsky opened his sluggish and confused eyes all the way as his mind woke up to find his blond lover bowed over him. The feeling of being overwhelmed by… what, he didn’t know, stayed with him even after he woke. “Hutch. What the hell time’s it?”
Squinting past Starsky’s body, Hutch looked at the clock on the nightstand. “Uh, 5:30.”
“Geez, Hutch. You woke me that early to interpret a dream?!” Starsky threw the covers back over his head, hiding from his lover and his dreams.
“Well, since I’m up, I might as well get my run in.” Hutch turned down the bedcovers over him in a smooth motion, pulling them down from Starsky’s torso at the same time.
As Hutch started to get up, Starsky pushed him out of the bed lightly with the rest of the way with his muscular legs. “You do that an’ lemme sleep s’ummor…” he trailed off drowsily
While Hutch took his morning jog and then stopped to pick up breakfast for the two, Starsky dreamed again. Dreaming of a mysterious dark haired man, sand, warmth, and the past; the images disappearing in wisps of memory as he slowly awoke to begin his day.
The dreams were forgotten by both men by the time the two arrived at the precinct to begin their day. The next few days consisted of busy work hours chasing down crazed gunmen and incompetent criminals, so much so that neither man was up for any romantic festivities, and spent nights at their respective apartments.
While sleeping alone Starsky didn’t have any confusing and powerful dreams; however, once he returned to Hutch’s arms…
~*~
And David went with Jonathan and behaved himself wisely; and he was accepted in the sight of all the people and also in the sight of the Lord. His brothers were jealous, but he shared gladly of his good fortune. He was kind, but firm to the servants; gentle with animals; open and friendly with all those in the community; he held his counsel around King Saul and his advisors, only giving responses when addressed or questioned. His advice to the household and the military persons were sound and intelligent.
Jonathan became his confidant, his adviser, his best friend, and yes, his lover. He told David he was proud of the way he handled himself, for one so young and unused to the trappings of royalty. Within months, David’s popularity had surpassed that of the King. It worried David inwardly, but he kept his deference to God and King Saul and his sons, making him even more beloved of the people.
To gain the support of the young warrior, and to keep him close to hearth, King Saul gave his daughter Michal to David to wife. Michal loved David, but David loved Jonathan above all others. Honored by Saul’s gift, David felt the happiest he had ever in his life. Now, rather than being the youngest son with little future, he had a wife, a love, a family, a purpose.
The two men spent their days honing hunting skills, playing games of courage, and competing against each other for the attention of the serving girls. And nights that saw discussions from politic to farming, or perhaps listening to Court Musicians. David had never known such luxury and relaxation. Being the youngest of his father’s children, it was his responsibility to take care of his older brothers while they worked in the fields or with the flocks. But now he had a wife and servants to see to his needs.
“I delight in thee, my David. Herewith I giveth thee my cloak.” And Jonathan took off his royal blue cloak and laid it upon the shoulders of his friend. Jonathan was just as faithful to God and David, and it comforted David to know that not all of King Saul’s Court had lost the way of the Lord.
Humbled, David accepted the gift, but protested the symbol, as blue was worn only by those of the royal line. He turned to look into his beloved’s face; deep brown eyes lined with pale lashes, aquiline nose, and shoulder-length brown hair. Astounded that such a man – a good man – loved him, a modest shepherd, he reached up to touch Jonathan’s face and gently brushed it with his fingers. “I loveth thee too much to take thy rights.”
“The prophet Samuel sayeth that a son of Jesse will be anointed king over Israel. I shalt be proud to call thee my king.” To prove his words, Jonathan prostrated himself in front of David and grasped his strong callused hand, kissing the palm in reverence.
In shock, David raised Jonathan from his knees. The fear he felt from what Jonathan suggested – and should either man be found out – gave way to awe, and David grasped Jonathan’s neck, pulling the other man closer, giving him a ardent kiss as he lowered the two of them onto the pallet in the center of Jonathan’s tent. David had never felt such passion, beauty, and love before, even with his new wife.
And so Jonathan’s soul was knit with the soul of David and the two made a covenant between them. And that covenant was before God, and God was pleased.
Late at night thereafter, Jonathan would dismiss his servants & musicians, and he & David knew each other. But David always retired to his tent or rooms - and his wife, lest he shame Jonathan and Mikal. The Pharisees had always taught that God frowned upon such things, but men in other cultures that visited King Saul’s Court openly flaunted their young male lovers. How could man hold himself as high as God and decide what God liked and didn’t, he wondered? Eventually David decided that if God was unhappy with how David was living his life, He would make it known. And David was always faithful to God first, making sure he lived the laws as God had given them to Moses.
Under the warm covers, Starsky snuggled closer to his blond and began paying homage to Hutch’s neck with his mouth. “Jonathan.” He breathed gently. “Thou art mine and I am thine.”
The light ministrations roused Hutch from his sleeping state, and he wriggled under the tickling dry lips and hot breath.
Slowly, Starsky moved down to Hutch’s bare shoulder and arm, and mouthed into the tanned skin, “Jonathan, mine own.”
Hutch brought his hands up to the curled head to encourage the loving mouth. “Starsk, mmm, you sure know how to wake up a guy.” He looked down and noticed that Starsky was still asleep and dreaming. He rubbed the thick head of curls beneath his hands. “Starsk? Hey…”
“Jonathan….” The dry lips moved over Hutch’s pectorals to outline the name, as if Starsky were painting it on Hutch’s chest.
“Jona…? What the?” Hutch lifted the curly head in his palms and gazed upon Starsky’s sleeping countenance that was glazed with passion. “Starsky! Damnit, wake up!” He tapped the cheeks between his palms several times to rouse his lover.
The mussed head of curls rose up and Starsky looked around as if confused by his surroundings. Feeling the tension in the long body beneath him, he brought his hands up to soothe Hutch’s side and relax the taut body.
Wriggling out from underneath his lover, Hutch distanced himself as much as possible from Starsky. He looked up with wary eyes. “Starsky, who’s Jonathan?”
Confusion alit in the dark blue eyes and Starsky’s brows knit together. “Jonathan? I don’t know any Jonathan.”
Believing him, but feeling left out, Hutch still pouted. “Well, you were pawing all over me while calling out that name.”
“I’m sorry babe. It must’ve been just a dream. I swear to you Hutch, I don’t know any Jonathan.” Starsky rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” A whisper of teasing had entered his voice.
“Of course not. I trust you. It’s just,” Hutch paused, hating to admit to any weakness…anything as petty as jealousy, “it’s unnerving to hear your lover call out another man’s name at the same time he’s getting amorous.”
“Aw, Hutch. I’m sorry. I really don’t remember what the dream was about.” Rubbing his eyes, he looked over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Damn. We’re late again.”
The dream already forgotten, Hutch rolled onto his side and put his arms around his devilish lover. “Since when do you care about being late?” He snuggled closer, “You started something – now don’t you think you should finish it?” burying his nose into the messy, lush curls.
Starsky stared at him warily. “You sure that dream didn’t make you feel jealous? This isn’t like you. You hate to be late.”
“Dobey can wait for once. And yes, I’m positive I’m not jealous.” Then Hutch shut up as his mouth found, and latched onto, a pale earlobe, nipping and pulling the tiny appendage as his tongue traced the outer cartilage.
With difficulty, Starsky pushed himself away and rolled out of bed, taking most of the covers with him. “As much as I’d love to take advantage of your offer, we gotta finish the paperwork on the Phillips case. The DA needs it today to file their charges within the time limit.” He clicked his tongue and jerked a thumb upward to indicate his lover should be up and at ’em also.
Disappointed, slightly horny, and confused by his partner’s unwillingness to play around – most unlike Starsky, Hutch sighed and rolled out the other side of the bed to prepare himself for another day. Left high and dry with his blood pulsing in his veins after Starsky’s amorous handling, the rest of the day from that point on seemed off to Hutch; the shower wasn’t warm enough, the eggs and coffee were cool, the air was filmy and crusty, the Torino’s engine extra loud.
All day, Starsky kept up a constant chatter about their ongoing cases, the troubles with his car, vacation ideas, etc; causing the unused adrenaline in Hutch’s systems to turn to tension. As Starsky pulled in front of Venice Place at the end of the work day, Hutch got out and slammed the passenger door, Starsky grimacing behind him at the impact of heavy metal upon metal.
His nerves shot and head pounding from the frustration of that morning, Starsky’s faux pas, not to mention the constant verbal onslaught his partner laid on him, Hutch fumbled with the keys in his hand as he hurriedly tried to unlock his door.
The next thing Hutch knew, Starsky was placing one of his hands over his own that held the keys; to calm Hutch.
A blaze of sensation shot from his hand where they were connected, and up Hutch’s arm. He was still amazed at the response that a simple touch by his partner could generate – even after all this time. But he held onto lingering disappointment and told Starsky that he wanted to be alone tonight. “Just go home,” he told his shadow as Starsky tried to follow him in.
“Go home?!” Starsky was stunned. “But babe, why?”
“I’ve got a headache. I’ve had one all day just listening to your nonstop babble.” Hutch finally got the door opened and stood at the entryway. “And I don’t think I could stand to hear you call out some other guy’s name two nights in a row while lying next to me.”
Chagrined and slightly hurt, Starsky turned away toward the stairs. “I told you I was sorry. Don’t even remember anything about it,” he mumbled. But he honored Hutch’s request and took off to his own place, alone.
That night Hutch was the one with the troubled sleep. He could never get comfortable without the warm, compact, muscular body of his best friend and lover beside him. Starsky, however, slept well burrowed within his blankets; pillows placed beside him to soothe his aching psyche. Without Hutch beside him, there were no disturbing dreams of a mysterious lover named Jonathan.
At Saul’s behest, David approached the well-built middle-aged man on the raised dais at the end of the room. As he came near the gold-lined throne, the king’s subjects fell quieter, unnerving the young warrior. It seemed that everyone was interested in the young man who defeated the Philistine's greatest warrior. At the powerful man’s request, David stood before his king, tall and with pride as Saul made the proclamation that “he is as mine own”. He glanced around to see if he would be scolded for the shamefulness of pride that he’d always been taught it was. But he saw no censure amongst the king’s subjects.
A tall, dark-haired young man, several years older than David, appeared at King Saul’s side. David drew in a sharp breath, so taken was he by the Prince’s beauty and the grace he commanded as he glided to the side of the throne. This must be one of King Saul’s sons, David thought. With such beauty, grace, and presence, he could be nothing less.
The powerful King of the Israelites addressed his youngest son, his deep voice resonating off the stone walls. “Mine own Jonathan, take David to thy quarters. Giveth all that he require. Command thy servants to him as you would to thee.”
Bowing low as a sign of respect to his king’s son, David was surprised to find a large warm hand fit into his own and raise him up as an equal. “Thou art equal and bless-ed by the Lord.” The rich tenor voice struck David’s soul, and he followed the Prince to his quarters, almost hypnotized.
Once the tapestry had dropped over the doorway, leaving the two alone in Prince Jonathan’s private quarters, David found his voice. “Thou art beauteous.” Startled at his own presumptuousness of speaking without being addressed, David lowered his eyes and hoped that the compassion he’d glimpsed in the other man’s eyes was not the reflection of candlelight.
He was reassured when Prince Jonathan put a hand under his chin and raised his head to meet the other’s eyes. More than reassured when Prince Jonathan told David that he was in awe of David’s greatness – both physically and spiritually; and honored to become a brother of one so respected by God and king.
David shook his head in denial, he was not worthy to be a friend of this important man in king’s household, much less his equal. How had it all come to this, that a young man with no prospects – a lowly sheepherder, and a youngest of many sons – was now on a par with a king’s son?
In the early morning hours of a gray, Bay City dawn, Hutch shook his lover’s shoulder, calling to him and trying to wake him from an apparent dream. “Starsky!”
“Thou hath honored me, thy Prince.” It was obvious that Starsky was dreaming as his voice was husky with sleep and his speech included words that sounded unlike any in the English language.
“Starsky! Wake up!” Hutch jostled his shoulder harder.
A dark, tousled head appeared from underneath the layers of bedclothes. “Huh? Hutch? What’s wrong?” Starsky squinted his eyes as they adjusted to a wakeful state.
What’s wrong? Nothing. Just that you were mumbling weirdly. What were you dreaming about?”
Starsky opened his sluggish and confused eyes all the way as his mind woke up to find his blond lover bowed over him. The feeling of being overwhelmed by… what, he didn’t know, stayed with him even after he woke. “Hutch. What the hell time’s it?”
Squinting past Starsky’s body, Hutch looked at the clock on the nightstand. “Uh, 5:30.”
“Geez, Hutch. You woke me that early to interpret a dream?!” Starsky threw the covers back over his head, hiding from his lover and his dreams.
“Well, since I’m up, I might as well get my run in.” Hutch turned down the bedcovers over him in a smooth motion, pulling them down from Starsky’s torso at the same time.
As Hutch started to get up, Starsky pushed him out of the bed lightly with the rest of the way with his muscular legs. “You do that an’ lemme sleep s’ummor…” he trailed off drowsily
While Hutch took his morning jog and then stopped to pick up breakfast for the two, Starsky dreamed again. Dreaming of a mysterious dark haired man, sand, warmth, and the past; the images disappearing in wisps of memory as he slowly awoke to begin his day.
The dreams were forgotten by both men by the time the two arrived at the precinct to begin their day. The next few days consisted of busy work hours chasing down crazed gunmen and incompetent criminals, so much so that neither man was up for any romantic festivities, and spent nights at their respective apartments.
While sleeping alone Starsky didn’t have any confusing and powerful dreams; however, once he returned to Hutch’s arms…
~*~
And David went with Jonathan and behaved himself wisely; and he was accepted in the sight of all the people and also in the sight of the Lord. His brothers were jealous, but he shared gladly of his good fortune. He was kind, but firm to the servants; gentle with animals; open and friendly with all those in the community; he held his counsel around King Saul and his advisors, only giving responses when addressed or questioned. His advice to the household and the military persons were sound and intelligent.
Jonathan became his confidant, his adviser, his best friend, and yes, his lover. He told David he was proud of the way he handled himself, for one so young and unused to the trappings of royalty. Within months, David’s popularity had surpassed that of the King. It worried David inwardly, but he kept his deference to God and King Saul and his sons, making him even more beloved of the people.
To gain the support of the young warrior, and to keep him close to hearth, King Saul gave his daughter Michal to David to wife. Michal loved David, but David loved Jonathan above all others. Honored by Saul’s gift, David felt the happiest he had ever in his life. Now, rather than being the youngest son with little future, he had a wife, a love, a family, a purpose.
The two men spent their days honing hunting skills, playing games of courage, and competing against each other for the attention of the serving girls. And nights that saw discussions from politic to farming, or perhaps listening to Court Musicians. David had never known such luxury and relaxation. Being the youngest of his father’s children, it was his responsibility to take care of his older brothers while they worked in the fields or with the flocks. But now he had a wife and servants to see to his needs.
“I delight in thee, my David. Herewith I giveth thee my cloak.” And Jonathan took off his royal blue cloak and laid it upon the shoulders of his friend. Jonathan was just as faithful to God and David, and it comforted David to know that not all of King Saul’s Court had lost the way of the Lord.
Humbled, David accepted the gift, but protested the symbol, as blue was worn only by those of the royal line. He turned to look into his beloved’s face; deep brown eyes lined with pale lashes, aquiline nose, and shoulder-length brown hair. Astounded that such a man – a good man – loved him, a modest shepherd, he reached up to touch Jonathan’s face and gently brushed it with his fingers. “I loveth thee too much to take thy rights.”
“The prophet Samuel sayeth that a son of Jesse will be anointed king over Israel. I shalt be proud to call thee my king.” To prove his words, Jonathan prostrated himself in front of David and grasped his strong callused hand, kissing the palm in reverence.
In shock, David raised Jonathan from his knees. The fear he felt from what Jonathan suggested – and should either man be found out – gave way to awe, and David grasped Jonathan’s neck, pulling the other man closer, giving him a ardent kiss as he lowered the two of them onto the pallet in the center of Jonathan’s tent. David had never felt such passion, beauty, and love before, even with his new wife.
And so Jonathan’s soul was knit with the soul of David and the two made a covenant between them. And that covenant was before God, and God was pleased.
Late at night thereafter, Jonathan would dismiss his servants & musicians, and he & David knew each other. But David always retired to his tent or rooms - and his wife, lest he shame Jonathan and Mikal. The Pharisees had always taught that God frowned upon such things, but men in other cultures that visited King Saul’s Court openly flaunted their young male lovers. How could man hold himself as high as God and decide what God liked and didn’t, he wondered? Eventually David decided that if God was unhappy with how David was living his life, He would make it known. And David was always faithful to God first, making sure he lived the laws as God had given them to Moses.
Under the warm covers, Starsky snuggled closer to his blond and began paying homage to Hutch’s neck with his mouth. “Jonathan.” He breathed gently. “Thou art mine and I am thine.”
The light ministrations roused Hutch from his sleeping state, and he wriggled under the tickling dry lips and hot breath.
Slowly, Starsky moved down to Hutch’s bare shoulder and arm, and mouthed into the tanned skin, “Jonathan, mine own.”
Hutch brought his hands up to the curled head to encourage the loving mouth. “Starsk, mmm, you sure know how to wake up a guy.” He looked down and noticed that Starsky was still asleep and dreaming. He rubbed the thick head of curls beneath his hands. “Starsk? Hey…”
“Jonathan….” The dry lips moved over Hutch’s pectorals to outline the name, as if Starsky were painting it on Hutch’s chest.
“Jona…? What the?” Hutch lifted the curly head in his palms and gazed upon Starsky’s sleeping countenance that was glazed with passion. “Starsky! Damnit, wake up!” He tapped the cheeks between his palms several times to rouse his lover.
The mussed head of curls rose up and Starsky looked around as if confused by his surroundings. Feeling the tension in the long body beneath him, he brought his hands up to soothe Hutch’s side and relax the taut body.
Wriggling out from underneath his lover, Hutch distanced himself as much as possible from Starsky. He looked up with wary eyes. “Starsky, who’s Jonathan?”
Confusion alit in the dark blue eyes and Starsky’s brows knit together. “Jonathan? I don’t know any Jonathan.”
Believing him, but feeling left out, Hutch still pouted. “Well, you were pawing all over me while calling out that name.”
“I’m sorry babe. It must’ve been just a dream. I swear to you Hutch, I don’t know any Jonathan.” Starsky rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” A whisper of teasing had entered his voice.
“Of course not. I trust you. It’s just,” Hutch paused, hating to admit to any weakness…anything as petty as jealousy, “it’s unnerving to hear your lover call out another man’s name at the same time he’s getting amorous.”
“Aw, Hutch. I’m sorry. I really don’t remember what the dream was about.” Rubbing his eyes, he looked over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Damn. We’re late again.”
The dream already forgotten, Hutch rolled onto his side and put his arms around his devilish lover. “Since when do you care about being late?” He snuggled closer, “You started something – now don’t you think you should finish it?” burying his nose into the messy, lush curls.
Starsky stared at him warily. “You sure that dream didn’t make you feel jealous? This isn’t like you. You hate to be late.”
“Dobey can wait for once. And yes, I’m positive I’m not jealous.” Then Hutch shut up as his mouth found, and latched onto, a pale earlobe, nipping and pulling the tiny appendage as his tongue traced the outer cartilage.
With difficulty, Starsky pushed himself away and rolled out of bed, taking most of the covers with him. “As much as I’d love to take advantage of your offer, we gotta finish the paperwork on the Phillips case. The DA needs it today to file their charges within the time limit.” He clicked his tongue and jerked a thumb upward to indicate his lover should be up and at ’em also.
Disappointed, slightly horny, and confused by his partner’s unwillingness to play around – most unlike Starsky, Hutch sighed and rolled out the other side of the bed to prepare himself for another day. Left high and dry with his blood pulsing in his veins after Starsky’s amorous handling, the rest of the day from that point on seemed off to Hutch; the shower wasn’t warm enough, the eggs and coffee were cool, the air was filmy and crusty, the Torino’s engine extra loud.
All day, Starsky kept up a constant chatter about their ongoing cases, the troubles with his car, vacation ideas, etc; causing the unused adrenaline in Hutch’s systems to turn to tension. As Starsky pulled in front of Venice Place at the end of the work day, Hutch got out and slammed the passenger door, Starsky grimacing behind him at the impact of heavy metal upon metal.
His nerves shot and head pounding from the frustration of that morning, Starsky’s faux pas, not to mention the constant verbal onslaught his partner laid on him, Hutch fumbled with the keys in his hand as he hurriedly tried to unlock his door.
The next thing Hutch knew, Starsky was placing one of his hands over his own that held the keys; to calm Hutch.
A blaze of sensation shot from his hand where they were connected, and up Hutch’s arm. He was still amazed at the response that a simple touch by his partner could generate – even after all this time. But he held onto lingering disappointment and told Starsky that he wanted to be alone tonight. “Just go home,” he told his shadow as Starsky tried to follow him in.
“Go home?!” Starsky was stunned. “But babe, why?”
“I’ve got a headache. I’ve had one all day just listening to your nonstop babble.” Hutch finally got the door opened and stood at the entryway. “And I don’t think I could stand to hear you call out some other guy’s name two nights in a row while lying next to me.”
Chagrined and slightly hurt, Starsky turned away toward the stairs. “I told you I was sorry. Don’t even remember anything about it,” he mumbled. But he honored Hutch’s request and took off to his own place, alone.
That night Hutch was the one with the troubled sleep. He could never get comfortable without the warm, compact, muscular body of his best friend and lover beside him. Starsky, however, slept well burrowed within his blankets; pillows placed beside him to soothe his aching psyche. Without Hutch beside him, there were no disturbing dreams of a mysterious lover named Jonathan.
NS: David and His Jonathan-Part 2
The next morning, Hutch met Starsky at the precinct door with a fresh cup of coffee. “Sorry about last night. I really wasn’t feeling well yesterday.” He offered the steaming mug to his partner as a way of apologizing.
Warily accepting the peace offering, Starsky asked Hutch, “What the hell was your problem last night? And don’t tell me that crap about – you know – the name thing.”
“Let’s talk about it later, okay?” His partner tilted his head toward the nearly full room of cops.
They didn’t get settled for long before Captain Dobey came out of his office asking to speak with them. He indicated that they should have a seat, then closed the door behind them.
Once seated, Dobey went straight to the point. “Have you guys discussed your future careers with the Department, like I suggested the other day?”
The two detectives before him just looked at each other without saying anything, which Dobey took as a ‘no’.
“You two are possibly the best investigators this department has. Your intuition and instincts could be better served elsewhere.” He paused, gathering his next ammunition. “Isn’t it better to move on now, rather than take a chance that next time – and there will be one – will be the last time. You both deserve better than becoming a statistic.”
“We’re good at what we do.” Starsky began to protest.
Dobey looked hard at him. “You’ve been shot, what? Four times in the last six years? And you almost died several years ago during the Gunther investigation. You’re both almost 40. How much more do you think your bodies can take? Do you want to take that chance?”
“I don’t want to lose Hutch as a partner.”
“You’re taking a bigger chance of losing him on the streets now, if you don’t listen to what I’m saying. It would hurt others in this department if something happened to either of you.”
“Aw, Captain. We didn’t know you cared.”
He ignored Starsky. “Listen you two, I’ve been where you are. I can say without being too immodest that I was a damn good investigator, too. But I knew when it was my time to scale back, to take a less dangerous position. You can still do good work, help others in different capacities than as street cops.”
Hutch was absently tapping his forefinger into the arm of the chair. “We understood all this when you first addressed it, sir. We just haven’t had time to discuss it.”
“I suggest you do so as soon as possible, then. There are various openings coming up in the next few months due to retirements, and some of those should appeal to both of you.” Dobey finished with a warning. “If you don’t, Dave especially with his medical history, could be taken off the street roster and placed somewhere safer, somewhere he doesn’t want to go. The Department has occasionally pulled cops off the street when they feel health and safety can be a deterrent.”
“We’ll discuss it.” Hutch promised, as both detectives rose from their chairs, effectively finishing their conversation.
Pulling their ongoing case files their brief meeting with Dobey, they headed out to Starsky’s car to run down a few snitches. They pushed their conversation with their superior from their minds. Driving through the streets as they kept an eye out for recent parolees and their informants, they chatted briefly about pending cases.
Looking out the passenger window, Hutch finished the apology he started back in the squad room. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you last night, Starsk. Well, one thing just led to another.” He shrugged his shoulders and glanced sideways at his partner to see how the apology was going over.
Without taking his eyes from the road, Starsky kept his left hand on the wheel, and grabbed his partner’s knee with his right and squeezed. “Just don’t make a habit of it, babe.” Putting his hand back on the wheel to make a turn, he flashed a grin at his contrite partner. “I don’t like sleeping alone when I don’t have to.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I had a problem sleeping without you, too.” Light blue eyes softened in love and understanding, as they tried to convey to Starsky’s darker ones that he, too, had had a miserable night.
Too close to a soapy scene for Starsky, he quickly turned Hutch’s words to playfulness. “Then I guess you’ll have to make it up to me.”
Wide grins and twinkling eyes met across the interior of the car and they continued on in companionable ease. Nothing more was said of the previous night, but after reporting back to the precinct after snagging a mugger and following up on some leads, they logged out for the rest of the day and headed for Starsky’s without question or discussion.
Eating dinner while sitting on the couch, Hutch brought up the subject of the mysterious dreams again. “These dreams, Starsk. Do you think they might have something to do with Dobey suggesting we move on? Take the Lieutenant’s exam or other, less dangerous positions? That’s a big change for us, job-wise.”
“I don’t know, Hutch! I keep telling you that I don’t remember them.” Starsky threw his hands up in the air, frustrated with himself; unable to remember the whys or wherefores of his strange dreams.
“Maybe you don’t want to break up the partnership, move to other departments.”
“Hell, no. I don’t want to work with anyone else. No one knows me the way you do, and visa versa. We might get different shifts, different buildings; barely see each other. What if you get sent out on a case and trouble happens? I don’t want to take the chance of you out there without me to watch your back.”
Hutch looked at him affectionately, “We’ll have to eventually, you know. Leave the more physical stuff to the younger guys. Especially if they discover our relationship. Wouldn’t it be better to make those choices ourselves than to have them thrust upon us.”
Starsky wanted to drop the subject. “Let’s talk about something else.” Leaning over, Starsky took Hutch’s face in his hands and kissed him passionately. “Like how I’d rather do my own thrusting.” He added wickedly while giving a little thrust of his groin into Hutch’s side.
Their lovemaking that night was an intense affirmation of all the feelings they had for one another. Even before becoming lovers, they were unable to hide the depth of their emotions; unashamed to show their feelings by touch and language. It wasn’t any different once that last intimate step was taken, only with more levels and layers.
And Starsky’s dreams that night were just as intense….
~*~
And Saul became afraid of David because the Lord was with him, and was departed from Saul. There was tension in the palace of Saul, as he who previously was in the Lord’s graces became vicious and angry. The servants also loved David for his outgoing nature and his honor; they feared their master who held life or death over them, but did not love him.
The elder man tried to trick David into doing that which went against his duty to his God. But still David never defied Saul directly or showed disrespect to his king. All which made King Saul angrier, prone to mistakes and harsher with his people. Even Saul’s advisers began to defer to David, rather than to Saul’s sons.
And Saul spake to his servants that David shouldst be slain. Because David was loved and held up in their eyes, one of the servants spake to his Prince of Saul’s desire. Jonathan was in fear for his friend and beloved. He loved much in David, so Jonathan warned him, saying “Saul, my father, seeketh to kill thee; now therefore, I pray thee, take heed of thyself and abide in a secret place in the field. And I will commune with my father and what I see, that I will tell thee.” He trembled in fear for David’s life as he laid hands upon David.
But David knew what Saul’s decision wouldst be, and he was not afraid. “Thy father certainly knoweth that I have found love and grace in thine eyes. He knoweth that I am beloved of thee.” He had no fear of Saul, only for Jonathan. David wanted no consequence to fall upon Jonathan. He would give up everything – walk away from it all. His wife, wealth, family, status; yes, even his beloved. He put his trust in God that He would provide and see that His will be done. But he told Jonathan not be too hasty and draw attention to himself, and he convinced his Prince to let David hide himself in town.
So David escaped his king and family, and hid himself in a nearby field. The reeds were tall and the field large. All the while concerned that King Saul would use his considerable power to cause harm to Jonathan or his family.
“Jonathan, beloved. My Grace,” Starsky mumbled as he tossed his head on the pillows.
His voice woke Hutch, whose eyes focused on the troubled face of his lover.
“There is but a step between me and death.” The blue eyes were moving behind closed lids, and the pouting mouth spoke the words with clarity.
Those words frightened Hutch, as he wondered what kind of a dream Starsky was having now. Leaning over, he gathered the stirring head in his large hands and gently kissed his lover to bring him from his troubled dreams.
Hutch was planting whispers of kisses on Starsky’s face when the latter’s eyes startled open. “Hutch? What’s wrong?”
“I should be asking you the same. You were having a nightmare I think, and talking about death.”
Rubbing his face harshly, Starsky got up to make a bathroom run and splash cold water on his face without responding. Walking back nude into the bedroom, he glanced over at the clock on the bedside stand and grinned slyly. He waggled his eyebrows at the long form in his bed. “Since we’re both wide awake, how about we use it wisely?”
Hutch knew he didn’t have anything to worry about in regards to Starsky’s faithfulness. When, for crying out loud, would Starsky have time for another lover. It just hurt being left out. There had to be some reason for these dreams.
This time their loving was gentle and slow, as each grasped onto different feelings. Hutch, worried over his partner’s words and dream; guilty that he couldn’t do anything about them to ease Starsky’s pain. Starsky was left with feelings of apprehension from those same dreams, and frustration that they were upsetting Hutch.
When the moon had come over, the king sat down to eat. Jonathan and all the people arose, yet David’s place was empty. Nevertheless Saul spake nothing of it, for he thought something hath befallen David. And after the second day came to pass that David’s place was empty, Saul said unto Jonathan “wherefore cometh not the son of Jesse to eat neither yesterday nor today?”
And Jonathan answered in earnest, “David asked leave of me to go to Shechem.”
Then Saul’s anger was kindled against Jonathan as he kneweth he spake not the truth, and he said unto him, “Thou perverse son of a rebellious woman, do not I know that thou hast chosen the son of Jesse to thine own shame and unto the shame of your nakedness? For as long as the son of Jesse liveth, thou shalt not be established, nor thy kingdom. Wherefore now send and fetch him unto me, for he shall surely die.” And in anger Saul cast a javelin at Jonathan to smite him; whereby Jonathan knew that it was determined of his father to slay David.
So Jonathan arose from the table and excused himself from his father’s presence for the night, keeping his anguish hid from his angry sire. Couldn’t his father see how righteous and good David was? If God had chosen David as Saul’s successor, who were they to argue His will?
And it came to pass in the morning that Jonathan went into the field to tell David of all he had learned, his heart heavy with sorrow. Returning with a little lad, Jonathan said to him, “Run, find the arrows which I shoot.” And as the lad ran, Jonathan shot an arrow far behind the lad, amongst the tall grown weeds, far from sight. And Jonathan cried after him, “Make speed, haste, stay not.” But the lad knew not anything, only Jonathan and David knew the matter. And whence the lad came back, Jonathan gave his artillery unto him and told him to carry them to the palace in his place.
As soon as the lad was gone, David arose from his place amongst the flowering weeds, and fell on his knees to the ground. Jonathan lifted him and they kissed one another and wept. Their sadness apparent as the wind echoed through the reeds along the banks of the nearby river.
And Jonathan said unto David, “Come and let us go further out into the field.” They left for further a field to mask themselves from Saul’s emissaries, lest they be discovered and killed for their passions. Then Jonathan made another covenant with David saying he did not fear death. “If the Lord requires it, even at the hand of David’s enemies.” Threat of death would not stay their love. And Jonathan caused David to swear again because he loved him as he loved his own soul.
And Jonathan said to David, “Go in peace, forasmuch as we have sworn to each other in the name of the Lord, my seed and thy seed will be together for ever.” And David arose and took leave from his wife, family, lover, and status in Saul’s court, looking behind not once, weeping “Jonathan, mine own! For ever I vow.” Sorrow and pain resounding through each word, as they were carried on the winds across the field to Jonathan watching his retreat.
Hutch stood over his dreaming lover. He had gotten up a short while ago to take an early morning run, deciding to let Starsky sleep a little longer after the previous night’s marathon of amorous activities.
As he ran, Hutch’s mind filled with contemplation. Who was this Jonathan that Starsky spoke of in his sleep? A past lover from his service in Vietnam? A boy he loved in New York or when he first moved out here? Had Starsky even had another male lover in his past? Hutch didn’t know for sure; they never really discussed it before. He didn’t even let his mind wander to the thought that Starsky could be in love with another or cheating on him. He knew Starsky; at least he thought he did…
Warily accepting the peace offering, Starsky asked Hutch, “What the hell was your problem last night? And don’t tell me that crap about – you know – the name thing.”
“Let’s talk about it later, okay?” His partner tilted his head toward the nearly full room of cops.
They didn’t get settled for long before Captain Dobey came out of his office asking to speak with them. He indicated that they should have a seat, then closed the door behind them.
Once seated, Dobey went straight to the point. “Have you guys discussed your future careers with the Department, like I suggested the other day?”
The two detectives before him just looked at each other without saying anything, which Dobey took as a ‘no’.
“You two are possibly the best investigators this department has. Your intuition and instincts could be better served elsewhere.” He paused, gathering his next ammunition. “Isn’t it better to move on now, rather than take a chance that next time – and there will be one – will be the last time. You both deserve better than becoming a statistic.”
“We’re good at what we do.” Starsky began to protest.
Dobey looked hard at him. “You’ve been shot, what? Four times in the last six years? And you almost died several years ago during the Gunther investigation. You’re both almost 40. How much more do you think your bodies can take? Do you want to take that chance?”
“I don’t want to lose Hutch as a partner.”
“You’re taking a bigger chance of losing him on the streets now, if you don’t listen to what I’m saying. It would hurt others in this department if something happened to either of you.”
“Aw, Captain. We didn’t know you cared.”
He ignored Starsky. “Listen you two, I’ve been where you are. I can say without being too immodest that I was a damn good investigator, too. But I knew when it was my time to scale back, to take a less dangerous position. You can still do good work, help others in different capacities than as street cops.”
Hutch was absently tapping his forefinger into the arm of the chair. “We understood all this when you first addressed it, sir. We just haven’t had time to discuss it.”
“I suggest you do so as soon as possible, then. There are various openings coming up in the next few months due to retirements, and some of those should appeal to both of you.” Dobey finished with a warning. “If you don’t, Dave especially with his medical history, could be taken off the street roster and placed somewhere safer, somewhere he doesn’t want to go. The Department has occasionally pulled cops off the street when they feel health and safety can be a deterrent.”
“We’ll discuss it.” Hutch promised, as both detectives rose from their chairs, effectively finishing their conversation.
Pulling their ongoing case files their brief meeting with Dobey, they headed out to Starsky’s car to run down a few snitches. They pushed their conversation with their superior from their minds. Driving through the streets as they kept an eye out for recent parolees and their informants, they chatted briefly about pending cases.
Looking out the passenger window, Hutch finished the apology he started back in the squad room. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you last night, Starsk. Well, one thing just led to another.” He shrugged his shoulders and glanced sideways at his partner to see how the apology was going over.
Without taking his eyes from the road, Starsky kept his left hand on the wheel, and grabbed his partner’s knee with his right and squeezed. “Just don’t make a habit of it, babe.” Putting his hand back on the wheel to make a turn, he flashed a grin at his contrite partner. “I don’t like sleeping alone when I don’t have to.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I had a problem sleeping without you, too.” Light blue eyes softened in love and understanding, as they tried to convey to Starsky’s darker ones that he, too, had had a miserable night.
Too close to a soapy scene for Starsky, he quickly turned Hutch’s words to playfulness. “Then I guess you’ll have to make it up to me.”
Wide grins and twinkling eyes met across the interior of the car and they continued on in companionable ease. Nothing more was said of the previous night, but after reporting back to the precinct after snagging a mugger and following up on some leads, they logged out for the rest of the day and headed for Starsky’s without question or discussion.
Eating dinner while sitting on the couch, Hutch brought up the subject of the mysterious dreams again. “These dreams, Starsk. Do you think they might have something to do with Dobey suggesting we move on? Take the Lieutenant’s exam or other, less dangerous positions? That’s a big change for us, job-wise.”
“I don’t know, Hutch! I keep telling you that I don’t remember them.” Starsky threw his hands up in the air, frustrated with himself; unable to remember the whys or wherefores of his strange dreams.
“Maybe you don’t want to break up the partnership, move to other departments.”
“Hell, no. I don’t want to work with anyone else. No one knows me the way you do, and visa versa. We might get different shifts, different buildings; barely see each other. What if you get sent out on a case and trouble happens? I don’t want to take the chance of you out there without me to watch your back.”
Hutch looked at him affectionately, “We’ll have to eventually, you know. Leave the more physical stuff to the younger guys. Especially if they discover our relationship. Wouldn’t it be better to make those choices ourselves than to have them thrust upon us.”
Starsky wanted to drop the subject. “Let’s talk about something else.” Leaning over, Starsky took Hutch’s face in his hands and kissed him passionately. “Like how I’d rather do my own thrusting.” He added wickedly while giving a little thrust of his groin into Hutch’s side.
Their lovemaking that night was an intense affirmation of all the feelings they had for one another. Even before becoming lovers, they were unable to hide the depth of their emotions; unashamed to show their feelings by touch and language. It wasn’t any different once that last intimate step was taken, only with more levels and layers.
And Starsky’s dreams that night were just as intense….
~*~
And Saul became afraid of David because the Lord was with him, and was departed from Saul. There was tension in the palace of Saul, as he who previously was in the Lord’s graces became vicious and angry. The servants also loved David for his outgoing nature and his honor; they feared their master who held life or death over them, but did not love him.
The elder man tried to trick David into doing that which went against his duty to his God. But still David never defied Saul directly or showed disrespect to his king. All which made King Saul angrier, prone to mistakes and harsher with his people. Even Saul’s advisers began to defer to David, rather than to Saul’s sons.
And Saul spake to his servants that David shouldst be slain. Because David was loved and held up in their eyes, one of the servants spake to his Prince of Saul’s desire. Jonathan was in fear for his friend and beloved. He loved much in David, so Jonathan warned him, saying “Saul, my father, seeketh to kill thee; now therefore, I pray thee, take heed of thyself and abide in a secret place in the field. And I will commune with my father and what I see, that I will tell thee.” He trembled in fear for David’s life as he laid hands upon David.
But David knew what Saul’s decision wouldst be, and he was not afraid. “Thy father certainly knoweth that I have found love and grace in thine eyes. He knoweth that I am beloved of thee.” He had no fear of Saul, only for Jonathan. David wanted no consequence to fall upon Jonathan. He would give up everything – walk away from it all. His wife, wealth, family, status; yes, even his beloved. He put his trust in God that He would provide and see that His will be done. But he told Jonathan not be too hasty and draw attention to himself, and he convinced his Prince to let David hide himself in town.
So David escaped his king and family, and hid himself in a nearby field. The reeds were tall and the field large. All the while concerned that King Saul would use his considerable power to cause harm to Jonathan or his family.
“Jonathan, beloved. My Grace,” Starsky mumbled as he tossed his head on the pillows.
His voice woke Hutch, whose eyes focused on the troubled face of his lover.
“There is but a step between me and death.” The blue eyes were moving behind closed lids, and the pouting mouth spoke the words with clarity.
Those words frightened Hutch, as he wondered what kind of a dream Starsky was having now. Leaning over, he gathered the stirring head in his large hands and gently kissed his lover to bring him from his troubled dreams.
Hutch was planting whispers of kisses on Starsky’s face when the latter’s eyes startled open. “Hutch? What’s wrong?”
“I should be asking you the same. You were having a nightmare I think, and talking about death.”
Rubbing his face harshly, Starsky got up to make a bathroom run and splash cold water on his face without responding. Walking back nude into the bedroom, he glanced over at the clock on the bedside stand and grinned slyly. He waggled his eyebrows at the long form in his bed. “Since we’re both wide awake, how about we use it wisely?”
Hutch knew he didn’t have anything to worry about in regards to Starsky’s faithfulness. When, for crying out loud, would Starsky have time for another lover. It just hurt being left out. There had to be some reason for these dreams.
This time their loving was gentle and slow, as each grasped onto different feelings. Hutch, worried over his partner’s words and dream; guilty that he couldn’t do anything about them to ease Starsky’s pain. Starsky was left with feelings of apprehension from those same dreams, and frustration that they were upsetting Hutch.
When the moon had come over, the king sat down to eat. Jonathan and all the people arose, yet David’s place was empty. Nevertheless Saul spake nothing of it, for he thought something hath befallen David. And after the second day came to pass that David’s place was empty, Saul said unto Jonathan “wherefore cometh not the son of Jesse to eat neither yesterday nor today?”
And Jonathan answered in earnest, “David asked leave of me to go to Shechem.”
Then Saul’s anger was kindled against Jonathan as he kneweth he spake not the truth, and he said unto him, “Thou perverse son of a rebellious woman, do not I know that thou hast chosen the son of Jesse to thine own shame and unto the shame of your nakedness? For as long as the son of Jesse liveth, thou shalt not be established, nor thy kingdom. Wherefore now send and fetch him unto me, for he shall surely die.” And in anger Saul cast a javelin at Jonathan to smite him; whereby Jonathan knew that it was determined of his father to slay David.
So Jonathan arose from the table and excused himself from his father’s presence for the night, keeping his anguish hid from his angry sire. Couldn’t his father see how righteous and good David was? If God had chosen David as Saul’s successor, who were they to argue His will?
And it came to pass in the morning that Jonathan went into the field to tell David of all he had learned, his heart heavy with sorrow. Returning with a little lad, Jonathan said to him, “Run, find the arrows which I shoot.” And as the lad ran, Jonathan shot an arrow far behind the lad, amongst the tall grown weeds, far from sight. And Jonathan cried after him, “Make speed, haste, stay not.” But the lad knew not anything, only Jonathan and David knew the matter. And whence the lad came back, Jonathan gave his artillery unto him and told him to carry them to the palace in his place.
As soon as the lad was gone, David arose from his place amongst the flowering weeds, and fell on his knees to the ground. Jonathan lifted him and they kissed one another and wept. Their sadness apparent as the wind echoed through the reeds along the banks of the nearby river.
And Jonathan said unto David, “Come and let us go further out into the field.” They left for further a field to mask themselves from Saul’s emissaries, lest they be discovered and killed for their passions. Then Jonathan made another covenant with David saying he did not fear death. “If the Lord requires it, even at the hand of David’s enemies.” Threat of death would not stay their love. And Jonathan caused David to swear again because he loved him as he loved his own soul.
And Jonathan said to David, “Go in peace, forasmuch as we have sworn to each other in the name of the Lord, my seed and thy seed will be together for ever.” And David arose and took leave from his wife, family, lover, and status in Saul’s court, looking behind not once, weeping “Jonathan, mine own! For ever I vow.” Sorrow and pain resounding through each word, as they were carried on the winds across the field to Jonathan watching his retreat.
Hutch stood over his dreaming lover. He had gotten up a short while ago to take an early morning run, deciding to let Starsky sleep a little longer after the previous night’s marathon of amorous activities.
As he ran, Hutch’s mind filled with contemplation. Who was this Jonathan that Starsky spoke of in his sleep? A past lover from his service in Vietnam? A boy he loved in New York or when he first moved out here? Had Starsky even had another male lover in his past? Hutch didn’t know for sure; they never really discussed it before. He didn’t even let his mind wander to the thought that Starsky could be in love with another or cheating on him. He knew Starsky; at least he thought he did…
NS: David and His Jonathan-Part 3
Back at his apartment, Starsky woke at the sound of his door closing. He was tangled in the bedsheets and there were drying tears on his face. Looking beside him he didn’t see his partner. “Hutch?” Starsky called, thinking he was elsewhere in the apartment. Only the chirping of the birds and the traffic from outside answered him. The overwhelming silence from inside the apartment flittered down like dust particles that swirled in streams of sunlight.
An overwhelming sense of anxiety and worry shuddered through Starsky. ‘Where was his Hutch?’
Wrapping one of the sheets around his nude body like a toga, Starsky padded into the kitchen. He found a pot of warm coffee on the sink top and a short note. Gone jogging, back in 10-15. No ‘Love Hutch’ or any other romantic qualifier on the note.
Popping into the bathroom to take a quick shower to wash away the dried sweat from the previous night, Starsky was relieved to hear the noises of his partner coming in and moving about the apartment as he finished up with his showering. Rubbing a towel vigorously over his head to absorb as much water as possible from the heavy locks, he walked out of the bathroom with nothing else on. “Hey babe? I hope you’re planning on taking a shower too?”
Not even showing surprised at Starsky’s quiet entrance behind him, Hutch came back with a smart aleck remark. “No Starsky, I thought to grace your presence with my odiferous scent.” Hutch rolled his eyes at the dumb question.
“Ode to what? Never mind.” Starsky wandered back down the hallway to the bedroom to change for work. “Why didn’t you come join me in the shower then?”
“Because Starsk, you were almost done and I don’t think we have time this morning for any extra curricular activities.
“You didn’t care about being late the other morning.” Hearing the opening and shutting the cupboard doors, Hutch was apparently looking for something halfway decent to eat. They hadn’t been shopping in awhile, and his cupboards were usually pretty bare anyway. Well bare of anything of nutritional value, as Hutch would say.
“Yeah, and you didn’t care about accommodating me then either. So we’re even.”
Startled at the surly nature of his lover, Starsky came back out to the kitchen and watched Hutch as he finished getting himself dressed. “What’s gotten into you?” Knowing what Hutch’s smart-ass response would be.
The age-old response ‘beside you?’ didn’t come, however. “Nothing.” Hutch replied shortly. Obviously he was frustrated in his search as he dropped his arms and turned, walking past Starsky without even glancing and admiring the fine form in tight jeans as he usually did. “I can’t find anything to eat around here, I might as well take my shower. We can stop for muffins on the way in.”
“And I can get my daily donut dosage.” Starsky agreed happily.
“While your partner deals with the daily sugar rush.” Hutch mumbled under his breath from the bedroom as he gathered his clothes and headed for the bathroom.
Rather than argue with his grumpy partner – a sure fire way to put both of them in a bad mood and ruin any possibility of a sex life that night, Starsky gave in to Hutch’s request to drive that day.
*****
All day long Hutch was short with Starsky. He didn’t bother taking the time to complete his morning routine; leaving his hair wet, his shirt untucked, and wearing tennis shoes instead of his usual suede shoes or boots. It was if Hutch didn’t care about his appearance.
Starsky stared at his lover’s rigid back as he walked out of the squadroom after they had check in with Dobey at the beginning of their shift. Wondering if perhaps Hutch didn’t get enough sleep the night before. He didn’t think it was anything he did or didn’t do that might be contributing to his partner’s grumpiness.
While Starsky pondered Hutch’s mood, the object of his thoughts stuck his head through the double doors of the squadroom. “Starsky! Are you gonna stand there all day like a tree, or are you gonna back me up?”
Shaking his head to clear his mind, Starsky jumped to follow Hutch, who was already halfway down the hall.
While cruising the – for once – fairly quiet streets, they got a call from Dispatch telling them to stop by The Pits.
Huggy was waiting outside for them and leaned down into the open window of the LTD. “Word on the streets is that Toga’s gonna flay Gigi – Sweet Alice’s one time roomie – ’cause she’s been holdin’ out on ’im. Thought you might wanna know.” He slapped the window frame twice in good-bye, and stood up as the two pulled away from the curb.
Toga was a well known pimp that normally ran a loose ship and let his ‘girls’ fend for themselves, as long as they checked in with him occasionally and, of course, paid him his ‘fees’. Gigi was one of Toga’s early models who’d been with him a long time, and amazingly hadn’t succumbed to drugs or drink.
“Well, let’s go see if we can find Toga or Gigi.” Starsky logged the information into their notebook.
Surprisingly – or maybe not with their luck, they spotted Toga’s metallic purple Corvette as it turned in front of them just moments later.
“With that paint job, it’s like he wants to be found.” Starsky observed.
Glaring over at his partner, eyes widened incredulously, Hutch felt his mouth drop open, but didn’t say anything about pots and kettles.
Following him a few more blocks, they were not surprised to see him pull up next to the corner where Gigi was working. In less than two minutes he had gotten out of the car, grabbed the woman’s arm to force her into the passenger’s side and drove away, not realizing that two cops were close behind.
They followed him to Venice and slowed down when he turned down a gravel roadway to a bleak field near a smelly, dirty canal filled with pollutants from local factories. Parking far enough away not to be noticed, they crept to the edge of the canal through the tall weeds, where Toga was shaking Gigi roughly by the arm, releasing her only to smack his fist upside her head.
Hutch charged, hitting the scarred Hispanic man in the back, and knocked Toga away and down from Gigi, while Starsky went to her aid. Rolling in the dirt and grass and struggling for the upper hand, both combatants fell into the murky water of the canal. Toga came up coughing first as he struggled to the embankment. Starsky was just about to go to his partner’s aid, when he saw Toga crawl up the side with Hutch hanging onto his ankle, forehead bleeding slightly from a slight cut.
Pulling the weakened pimp to the top, Starsky pushed him onto his stomach and pulled his arms behind him, cuffing the wet man. Then he leaned over the side and helped his partner up. Going to the back of the LTD, he pulled out a blanket and wrapped it around his drenched and dirty partner, ignoring the complaints of their perp.
“I called for a back-up to take this guy in. We’ll take Gigi home, and then get you in some warm clothes.”
Catching his breath, Hutch shook his head in the negative. “No, Starsk. I can shower and change at Parker. Let’s take care of this guy and get Gigi’s statement before heading home.”
“But Hutch, you need to get out of those wet clothes. You know you’re susceptible to…”
Glaring at his partner, Starsky knew how Hutch felt about being reminded that his lungs would always be vulnerable to lung problems since his bout with a plague that had nearly killed him.
Holding up his hands in retreat, Starsky knew not to argue with Hutch when he was in one of his moods. “Okay. But don’t think I’m gonna nurse you if you get sick.”
Snorting back a smart remark, Hutch replied, “I’m not gonna get sick. And I don’t need you mother-henning me, either.”
*****
But Hutch did get sick. By the time their shift ended, he was already running a mild fever and had a weepy nose. Starsky unwillingly took the keys to the LTD, as Hutch was in no shape to drive, and took his partner home. Driving the LTD wasn’t Starsky’s favorite activities; in fact, the main reason they used his car was to avoid driving the LTD in case something this happened. Wouldn’t you know that the stubborn idiot would get sick when we were driving his car.
Tucking his big, grumpy blond into the brass bed, Starsky got some aspirin and orange juice for his ailing partner. Orange juice and chicken soup were the Jewish cure for all, according to Starsky’s mother. He smoothed back the freshly washed blond strands from Hutch’s forehead, avoiding the white strip that covered the slight injury. He felt the warmth radiate from his skin. “Just relax babe. Go to sleep, I’ll be here.”
“Go on home Starsk. It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine come morning. You stay here, you might catch it too.”
Since his fever was only 99.5, Starsky reluctantly agreed, but placed the phone on the nightstand next to the bed. “You call me, Hutch, if you feel worse or you need me. I’ll come right over.”
Concerned about Hutch, Starsky didn’t sleep much that night and when he did, he didn’t dream – at least none that stayed with him.
The following day Starsky ended up calling Hutch in sick. It was obvious that his cold had moved to his chest, and his fever had risen to just over 100. After checking with his partner early in the morning, Starsky rubbed some Vapo-Rub on Hutch’s chest, and fixed him a breakfast of orange juice, aspirin, and wheat toast; after which Starsky left him to sleep, promising that he’d call frequently during the day to check on his partner.
When he arrived at Venice Place that evening, Starsky closed the door quietly behind him in the event Hutch was sleeping. Walking quietly to the alcove, Starsky leaned over the prone figure and placed his hand on Hutch’s forehead, relieved that his temperature was down. He smoothed his hand down Hutch’s temple and petted his hair into some semblance of neatness. Why do you gotta be so damn stubborn, Hutch? No matter what Hutch said, he was staying.
*****
Feeling the gentle ministration, Hutch opened his eyes. He had been awake for some time, unable to sleep very much due to the cough in his chest. The care and comfort that his lover provided was a healing medicine of its own merit, and Hutch would never deny himself that care.
After bringing his partner some aspirin, water, cough syrup, and warmed chicken soup, Starsky settled down on the couch to watch the evening news. But Hutch stayed in bed and rolled onto his side facing the wall, spreading his body over the big bed, leaving no doubt of how unwell he was still feeling, and no room for his lover.
Eventually Starsky made up a bed on the couch, where he was near enough to still hear Hutch’s heavy breathing and deep coughs, resigned to the fact that his sick partner didn’t want to be cuddled. In what was becoming a pattern, Starsky again had no distraught surprising dreams without Hutch beside him to disturb his sleeping patterns.
*****
The next morning Starsky woke upon hearing the continuous blaring of Hutch’s alarm. He went to turn it off and check on his sick partner. Touching the golden face with the back of his hand, Starsky was relieved to note the absence of fever – though he could still hear the tightness in Hutch’s chest as it rose and fell with each breath.
“Hutch? Wake up buddy. Do you feel up to goin’ in today?” Starsky shook Hutch’s shoulder and badgered him to wake up.
Eventually Hutch’s eyes opened, darker blue than usual and unhappy. “Leave me ’lone. Don’t want to go in. Just want to lay here.” He closed his eyes and burrowed beneath the covers.
That wasn’t like his partner, Starsky thought. Hutch never let a simple cold put him down. “Come on Blintz, stop sulking. You’re fine. I can tell by the pout in your voice. I’ll get Dobey to keep us on desk duty today.”
The covers were pushed back forcefully as Hutch glared at Starsky. “Fine. If I agree to go in will you leave me alone?!”
Getting off the bed, Starsky threw up his hands in retreat. “I hope you get over this cold soon, Hutch. You’re even grouchier than usual.” He stomped to the bathroom to get dressed, thinking, This is gonna be a winner of a day.
After a quiet and tense filled day, Starsky knew better than to suggest they spend the night together. Instead he dropped off Hutch at his own apartment, and told him he could drive himself to work the next day and every day after that, until he got over whatever was bothering him. Starsky was a little agitated himself that Hutch wouldn’t confide in him.
*****
After mulling over his feelings while alone that evening, Hutch realized he was being foolish. When would Starsky ever have time for another lover? And why did he have to share everything that had happened before he met Hutch? If this ‘Jonathan’ was someone he knew from Vietnam, Hutch could understand Starsky not wanting to talk about it and having to relive the nightmare of the war. Feeling a little guilty, Hutch decided he would give Starsky a call and suggest a day at the park for their next schedule day off – which happened to be the next day.
His partner sounded relieved at the offer as Starsky accepted. Hutch figured a night or two apart wouldn’t harm the relationship and would strengthen their resolve to never take the other for granted.
*****
Abandoning the idea of going to their usual park as it was a beautiful Sunday and would most likely be filled to capacity, they opted to travel farther out to an out-of-the way field that was nicely trimmed and filled with wild flowers. By chance there was also an archery field within 100 yards.
The two relished in kisses that were open and free; fed each other sandwiches and pieces of bananas; they relaxed in each other’s arms while watching the clouds overhead; and they talked a bit about Hutch’s worries over Starsky’s dreams.
Sitting up and crossing his legs, Hutch began to twine clover and grass between his fingers as his mind worked. “You know, Starsk. I wish you’d open up to me more.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Hutch? You know I talk to you about shit I never would’ve talked about with anyone else.” He turned onto his side, to face his partner.
“You sound like I force you to discuss our relationship.”
Starsky sat up, and looked at Hutch. “Hey? What does our relationship have to do with any of this?” He waved his hand outward. “These dreams?”
The other man reared back. “You don’t think you shouting out ‘Jonathan’ in your sleep isn’t affecting our relationship?” Hutch asked incredulously.
Starsky shrugged. “It shouldn’t.” He grabbed Hutch by the shoulders and pulled him forward. “Hutch, listen carefully and listen close. I…love…you. Only you.” He released the blond. “I’m not saying I wasn’t in love with Terry or possibly Rosie. But there has never been any other guy. Now or before. Never. You gotta trust me, babe.”
Hutch sighed. “I do. It’s just…I’ve never been very lucky in the love department and maybe my mind is subconsciously wondering when this one will end.”
“Never, love. Not even after one of or both of us is gone.”
Starsky, sensing that Hutch’s allergies were beginning to act up due to lying among the wild flowers and weeds, stood up and brushed off his jeans, then offered his hand to his recumbent lover. “Up and at ‘em Blintz. Let’s go play some Frisbee.” He wanted to shake the moroseness away from Hutch.
Mumbling that he really wanted nothing more than to go home, but agreeable to whatever Starsky wanted, Hutch accepted the proffered hand and pulled himself up.
Rather than showing off to each other with tricks, they just tossed the plastic disk back and forth for awhile. Until Starsky caught sight out of the corner of his eye three arrows flying far from their objective, and a young boy racing after to retrieve them. He’d barely caught the Frisbee as it hit him mid-chest, when a sharp pain shot through the top of his head.
Rooted by the pain and the pounding in his head, he slowly turned to watch the scene next to him play out. The images became blurry and another identical scene appeared in his mind and overlapped the real one before him.
Alarmed by the sudden paleness and noticeable weakness of his lover, Hutch ran over and caught Starsky as he began to collapse to his knees. He reached up and touched Hutch’s face as tears fell from his darkened eyes.
“The Lord be with me and thee for ever.” And then David Starsky collapsed.
An overwhelming sense of anxiety and worry shuddered through Starsky. ‘Where was his Hutch?’
Wrapping one of the sheets around his nude body like a toga, Starsky padded into the kitchen. He found a pot of warm coffee on the sink top and a short note. Gone jogging, back in 10-15. No ‘Love Hutch’ or any other romantic qualifier on the note.
Popping into the bathroom to take a quick shower to wash away the dried sweat from the previous night, Starsky was relieved to hear the noises of his partner coming in and moving about the apartment as he finished up with his showering. Rubbing a towel vigorously over his head to absorb as much water as possible from the heavy locks, he walked out of the bathroom with nothing else on. “Hey babe? I hope you’re planning on taking a shower too?”
Not even showing surprised at Starsky’s quiet entrance behind him, Hutch came back with a smart aleck remark. “No Starsky, I thought to grace your presence with my odiferous scent.” Hutch rolled his eyes at the dumb question.
“Ode to what? Never mind.” Starsky wandered back down the hallway to the bedroom to change for work. “Why didn’t you come join me in the shower then?”
“Because Starsk, you were almost done and I don’t think we have time this morning for any extra curricular activities.
“You didn’t care about being late the other morning.” Hearing the opening and shutting the cupboard doors, Hutch was apparently looking for something halfway decent to eat. They hadn’t been shopping in awhile, and his cupboards were usually pretty bare anyway. Well bare of anything of nutritional value, as Hutch would say.
“Yeah, and you didn’t care about accommodating me then either. So we’re even.”
Startled at the surly nature of his lover, Starsky came back out to the kitchen and watched Hutch as he finished getting himself dressed. “What’s gotten into you?” Knowing what Hutch’s smart-ass response would be.
The age-old response ‘beside you?’ didn’t come, however. “Nothing.” Hutch replied shortly. Obviously he was frustrated in his search as he dropped his arms and turned, walking past Starsky without even glancing and admiring the fine form in tight jeans as he usually did. “I can’t find anything to eat around here, I might as well take my shower. We can stop for muffins on the way in.”
“And I can get my daily donut dosage.” Starsky agreed happily.
“While your partner deals with the daily sugar rush.” Hutch mumbled under his breath from the bedroom as he gathered his clothes and headed for the bathroom.
Rather than argue with his grumpy partner – a sure fire way to put both of them in a bad mood and ruin any possibility of a sex life that night, Starsky gave in to Hutch’s request to drive that day.
*****
All day long Hutch was short with Starsky. He didn’t bother taking the time to complete his morning routine; leaving his hair wet, his shirt untucked, and wearing tennis shoes instead of his usual suede shoes or boots. It was if Hutch didn’t care about his appearance.
Starsky stared at his lover’s rigid back as he walked out of the squadroom after they had check in with Dobey at the beginning of their shift. Wondering if perhaps Hutch didn’t get enough sleep the night before. He didn’t think it was anything he did or didn’t do that might be contributing to his partner’s grumpiness.
While Starsky pondered Hutch’s mood, the object of his thoughts stuck his head through the double doors of the squadroom. “Starsky! Are you gonna stand there all day like a tree, or are you gonna back me up?”
Shaking his head to clear his mind, Starsky jumped to follow Hutch, who was already halfway down the hall.
While cruising the – for once – fairly quiet streets, they got a call from Dispatch telling them to stop by The Pits.
Huggy was waiting outside for them and leaned down into the open window of the LTD. “Word on the streets is that Toga’s gonna flay Gigi – Sweet Alice’s one time roomie – ’cause she’s been holdin’ out on ’im. Thought you might wanna know.” He slapped the window frame twice in good-bye, and stood up as the two pulled away from the curb.
Toga was a well known pimp that normally ran a loose ship and let his ‘girls’ fend for themselves, as long as they checked in with him occasionally and, of course, paid him his ‘fees’. Gigi was one of Toga’s early models who’d been with him a long time, and amazingly hadn’t succumbed to drugs or drink.
“Well, let’s go see if we can find Toga or Gigi.” Starsky logged the information into their notebook.
Surprisingly – or maybe not with their luck, they spotted Toga’s metallic purple Corvette as it turned in front of them just moments later.
“With that paint job, it’s like he wants to be found.” Starsky observed.
Glaring over at his partner, eyes widened incredulously, Hutch felt his mouth drop open, but didn’t say anything about pots and kettles.
Following him a few more blocks, they were not surprised to see him pull up next to the corner where Gigi was working. In less than two minutes he had gotten out of the car, grabbed the woman’s arm to force her into the passenger’s side and drove away, not realizing that two cops were close behind.
They followed him to Venice and slowed down when he turned down a gravel roadway to a bleak field near a smelly, dirty canal filled with pollutants from local factories. Parking far enough away not to be noticed, they crept to the edge of the canal through the tall weeds, where Toga was shaking Gigi roughly by the arm, releasing her only to smack his fist upside her head.
Hutch charged, hitting the scarred Hispanic man in the back, and knocked Toga away and down from Gigi, while Starsky went to her aid. Rolling in the dirt and grass and struggling for the upper hand, both combatants fell into the murky water of the canal. Toga came up coughing first as he struggled to the embankment. Starsky was just about to go to his partner’s aid, when he saw Toga crawl up the side with Hutch hanging onto his ankle, forehead bleeding slightly from a slight cut.
Pulling the weakened pimp to the top, Starsky pushed him onto his stomach and pulled his arms behind him, cuffing the wet man. Then he leaned over the side and helped his partner up. Going to the back of the LTD, he pulled out a blanket and wrapped it around his drenched and dirty partner, ignoring the complaints of their perp.
“I called for a back-up to take this guy in. We’ll take Gigi home, and then get you in some warm clothes.”
Catching his breath, Hutch shook his head in the negative. “No, Starsk. I can shower and change at Parker. Let’s take care of this guy and get Gigi’s statement before heading home.”
“But Hutch, you need to get out of those wet clothes. You know you’re susceptible to…”
Glaring at his partner, Starsky knew how Hutch felt about being reminded that his lungs would always be vulnerable to lung problems since his bout with a plague that had nearly killed him.
Holding up his hands in retreat, Starsky knew not to argue with Hutch when he was in one of his moods. “Okay. But don’t think I’m gonna nurse you if you get sick.”
Snorting back a smart remark, Hutch replied, “I’m not gonna get sick. And I don’t need you mother-henning me, either.”
*****
But Hutch did get sick. By the time their shift ended, he was already running a mild fever and had a weepy nose. Starsky unwillingly took the keys to the LTD, as Hutch was in no shape to drive, and took his partner home. Driving the LTD wasn’t Starsky’s favorite activities; in fact, the main reason they used his car was to avoid driving the LTD in case something this happened. Wouldn’t you know that the stubborn idiot would get sick when we were driving his car.
Tucking his big, grumpy blond into the brass bed, Starsky got some aspirin and orange juice for his ailing partner. Orange juice and chicken soup were the Jewish cure for all, according to Starsky’s mother. He smoothed back the freshly washed blond strands from Hutch’s forehead, avoiding the white strip that covered the slight injury. He felt the warmth radiate from his skin. “Just relax babe. Go to sleep, I’ll be here.”
“Go on home Starsk. It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine come morning. You stay here, you might catch it too.”
Since his fever was only 99.5, Starsky reluctantly agreed, but placed the phone on the nightstand next to the bed. “You call me, Hutch, if you feel worse or you need me. I’ll come right over.”
Concerned about Hutch, Starsky didn’t sleep much that night and when he did, he didn’t dream – at least none that stayed with him.
The following day Starsky ended up calling Hutch in sick. It was obvious that his cold had moved to his chest, and his fever had risen to just over 100. After checking with his partner early in the morning, Starsky rubbed some Vapo-Rub on Hutch’s chest, and fixed him a breakfast of orange juice, aspirin, and wheat toast; after which Starsky left him to sleep, promising that he’d call frequently during the day to check on his partner.
When he arrived at Venice Place that evening, Starsky closed the door quietly behind him in the event Hutch was sleeping. Walking quietly to the alcove, Starsky leaned over the prone figure and placed his hand on Hutch’s forehead, relieved that his temperature was down. He smoothed his hand down Hutch’s temple and petted his hair into some semblance of neatness. Why do you gotta be so damn stubborn, Hutch? No matter what Hutch said, he was staying.
*****
Feeling the gentle ministration, Hutch opened his eyes. He had been awake for some time, unable to sleep very much due to the cough in his chest. The care and comfort that his lover provided was a healing medicine of its own merit, and Hutch would never deny himself that care.
After bringing his partner some aspirin, water, cough syrup, and warmed chicken soup, Starsky settled down on the couch to watch the evening news. But Hutch stayed in bed and rolled onto his side facing the wall, spreading his body over the big bed, leaving no doubt of how unwell he was still feeling, and no room for his lover.
Eventually Starsky made up a bed on the couch, where he was near enough to still hear Hutch’s heavy breathing and deep coughs, resigned to the fact that his sick partner didn’t want to be cuddled. In what was becoming a pattern, Starsky again had no distraught surprising dreams without Hutch beside him to disturb his sleeping patterns.
*****
The next morning Starsky woke upon hearing the continuous blaring of Hutch’s alarm. He went to turn it off and check on his sick partner. Touching the golden face with the back of his hand, Starsky was relieved to note the absence of fever – though he could still hear the tightness in Hutch’s chest as it rose and fell with each breath.
“Hutch? Wake up buddy. Do you feel up to goin’ in today?” Starsky shook Hutch’s shoulder and badgered him to wake up.
Eventually Hutch’s eyes opened, darker blue than usual and unhappy. “Leave me ’lone. Don’t want to go in. Just want to lay here.” He closed his eyes and burrowed beneath the covers.
That wasn’t like his partner, Starsky thought. Hutch never let a simple cold put him down. “Come on Blintz, stop sulking. You’re fine. I can tell by the pout in your voice. I’ll get Dobey to keep us on desk duty today.”
The covers were pushed back forcefully as Hutch glared at Starsky. “Fine. If I agree to go in will you leave me alone?!”
Getting off the bed, Starsky threw up his hands in retreat. “I hope you get over this cold soon, Hutch. You’re even grouchier than usual.” He stomped to the bathroom to get dressed, thinking, This is gonna be a winner of a day.
After a quiet and tense filled day, Starsky knew better than to suggest they spend the night together. Instead he dropped off Hutch at his own apartment, and told him he could drive himself to work the next day and every day after that, until he got over whatever was bothering him. Starsky was a little agitated himself that Hutch wouldn’t confide in him.
*****
After mulling over his feelings while alone that evening, Hutch realized he was being foolish. When would Starsky ever have time for another lover? And why did he have to share everything that had happened before he met Hutch? If this ‘Jonathan’ was someone he knew from Vietnam, Hutch could understand Starsky not wanting to talk about it and having to relive the nightmare of the war. Feeling a little guilty, Hutch decided he would give Starsky a call and suggest a day at the park for their next schedule day off – which happened to be the next day.
His partner sounded relieved at the offer as Starsky accepted. Hutch figured a night or two apart wouldn’t harm the relationship and would strengthen their resolve to never take the other for granted.
*****
Abandoning the idea of going to their usual park as it was a beautiful Sunday and would most likely be filled to capacity, they opted to travel farther out to an out-of-the way field that was nicely trimmed and filled with wild flowers. By chance there was also an archery field within 100 yards.
The two relished in kisses that were open and free; fed each other sandwiches and pieces of bananas; they relaxed in each other’s arms while watching the clouds overhead; and they talked a bit about Hutch’s worries over Starsky’s dreams.
Sitting up and crossing his legs, Hutch began to twine clover and grass between his fingers as his mind worked. “You know, Starsk. I wish you’d open up to me more.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Hutch? You know I talk to you about shit I never would’ve talked about with anyone else.” He turned onto his side, to face his partner.
“You sound like I force you to discuss our relationship.”
Starsky sat up, and looked at Hutch. “Hey? What does our relationship have to do with any of this?” He waved his hand outward. “These dreams?”
The other man reared back. “You don’t think you shouting out ‘Jonathan’ in your sleep isn’t affecting our relationship?” Hutch asked incredulously.
Starsky shrugged. “It shouldn’t.” He grabbed Hutch by the shoulders and pulled him forward. “Hutch, listen carefully and listen close. I…love…you. Only you.” He released the blond. “I’m not saying I wasn’t in love with Terry or possibly Rosie. But there has never been any other guy. Now or before. Never. You gotta trust me, babe.”
Hutch sighed. “I do. It’s just…I’ve never been very lucky in the love department and maybe my mind is subconsciously wondering when this one will end.”
“Never, love. Not even after one of or both of us is gone.”
Starsky, sensing that Hutch’s allergies were beginning to act up due to lying among the wild flowers and weeds, stood up and brushed off his jeans, then offered his hand to his recumbent lover. “Up and at ‘em Blintz. Let’s go play some Frisbee.” He wanted to shake the moroseness away from Hutch.
Mumbling that he really wanted nothing more than to go home, but agreeable to whatever Starsky wanted, Hutch accepted the proffered hand and pulled himself up.
Rather than showing off to each other with tricks, they just tossed the plastic disk back and forth for awhile. Until Starsky caught sight out of the corner of his eye three arrows flying far from their objective, and a young boy racing after to retrieve them. He’d barely caught the Frisbee as it hit him mid-chest, when a sharp pain shot through the top of his head.
Rooted by the pain and the pounding in his head, he slowly turned to watch the scene next to him play out. The images became blurry and another identical scene appeared in his mind and overlapped the real one before him.
Alarmed by the sudden paleness and noticeable weakness of his lover, Hutch ran over and caught Starsky as he began to collapse to his knees. He reached up and touched Hutch’s face as tears fell from his darkened eyes.
“The Lord be with me and thee for ever.” And then David Starsky collapsed.
NS: David and His Jonathan, Part-4
Starsky came to in the car and refused to be taken to the doctor’s or the hospital. Reluctantly, and against his better judgment, Hutch took his lover home, since Starsky appeared to be okay. Ever since the Gunther shooting, Hutch was always a little defensive when it came to Starsky’s health.
Making sure Starsky was settled comfortably on his couch with a glass of orange juice, Hutch asked him what happened back at the field.
“I don’t know. I just felt real dizzy and got this horrible pain in my head.” He lifted his hand to the top of his head and pushed down on the curls.
Hutch knelt down and looked into Starsky’s eyes, which appeared clear but confused. “What was with the biblical talk?”
“Huh? What talk?”
“You said something about the Lord and me and thee forever.” Hutch began a gentle exploration of Starsky’s head to make sure there were no bumps or cuts. Tenderly squashing the curls, he separated the dark strands to get a better look at his scalp.
Expression confused, Starsky shook his head slowly, “I swear to you, Hutch, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Satisfied that his partner had no injuries, Hutch sat down on the couch next to him. “I’m betting it has something to do with those strange dreams you’ve been having lately.”
“But I don’t even remember any of those dreams, at least not the details…just impressions.”
“Well if something like this happens again, I want you to see someone.”
“Like a shrink?!” groaned Starsky.
“Or your regular doctor,” Hutch suggested, “and don’t give me any flak about this. I’m starting to get worried. First you start spouting off in another language and talking in a different dialect, then you’re saying another man’s name in your sleep, and now you pass out after getting a severe headache.” To emphasize his point, Hutch pointed his finger in Starsky’s face, which the other man batted away.
“All right, all right, whatever. Anything to stop your nagging.” But Starsky smiled when he said it.
“A nag, am I?”
“Yeah, Hutchinson, and a mother hen to boot.”
“Well, maybe I should just mother hen you into taking your clothes off so I can make you feel better?” With a fake snooty accent, Hutch added “You just leave it up to Dr. Hutchinson. He knows the cure for what ails you.”
Grinning like a randy teenager, Starsky rose from the couch and walked toward Hutch’s bedroom. “Well Dr. Hutchinson, I think I need to get more comfortable while you work your ‘cure’.” And he twitched his ass to entice his willing lover to follow him.
That night, Starsky dreamed again….
As David ran, hiding under the cover of night and a worn peasant cloak that Jonathan found for him, he wept in loss of his home and family. But mostly he wept in loss of his love. “Jonathan, thou art the truest love ever known.” Not even facing the Philistine army filled him with as much fear and dread as leaving the city of his birth. He didn’t know what lay ahead or what the Lord had planned for him.
He only knew that Saul would slay him; yet he was reluctant to leave Jonathan to face alone the upcoming trials Samuel had prophesied about. ‘But Jonathan bade me to take leave and hide myself’ he told himself as he left the city of his birth. And he could not disobey his lover and his Prince. Nor did he want to disobey the Lord and his destiny.
“For ever thou hast promised me. The Lord will smile upon our countenance and we wilst be blessed once more.” Only the hope of their covenant kept David on his course. And trust in the Lord that what He had planned for them would not deny their love. He couldn’t even think of what his life would be like without Jonathan by his side, but he would do as the Lord commanded.
Starsky cried out in his dreams, an anguish that crossed through time and space, erupting in a legion of tears falling from beneath his long lashes and onto swollen cheeks.
Tormented moaning and the trembling body awoke Hutch, and he gathered Starsky close and rubbed his arms to soothe his troubled partner awake.
“Shhh, David. It’s just me.”
While his eyes were opened, his gaze was blurred, and it was apparent that Starsky wasn’t ‘there’ – in the same place as Hutch. “Jonathan? Hast thou come to me?”
“David, it’s me. Hutch. Ken.”
His face going from anguish to confusion to relief, Starsky buried his face in Hutch’s chest. “Hutch. Oh man, I think I had another dream.”
“Yeah, you sure did. Do you remember any of it?”
Starsky just shook his head. “Uh uh. Just a sense of sadness.” He wiped his wet cheeks and looked up at Hutch. “I, uh, did I say anything out loud?”
Hutch smiled gently. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“What’d I say?”
Smoothing the curls, Hutch looked outward toward the wall. “Oh just… ‘Jonathan, hast thou come back to me’ or something like that.”
“Shit. Not again.”
“Don’t worry about it buddy. I know you love me.” He kissed the top of Starsky’s head. “But you’re getting me worried.”
“I’ll be okay. I just gotta get over these dreams.”
“So you’ll go see a psychiatrist then?”
Rolling his eyes, Starsky tucked his face back into the warmth of Hutch’s body. “Quit pestering me. It’s not so bad I can’t live with them.”
“Ah, but can you sleep with them?”
“Aw, just shut up and kiss me so we can go back to sleep.”
~*~
The following night Starsky had another dream. More visions of running through desert towns and barren fields. But was he running from something or toward something…or someone? This time Starsky startled himself awake. He looked over at his sleeping lover, then at the clock, which read 2:10 a.m. Sighing, he slowly rose from the bed, careful not to jostle it and bother Hutch.
He threw on a pair of briefs and crept into the living room, where he turned on a lamp and sat down in the lounge chair to read. His anxiety over the weird dreams wouldn’t let him go back to sleep. And that wasn’t like him. Rarely did anything keep him getting his daily six hours – even on stakeouts. Well, except bears or Satanists disturbing his vacation. Maybe some heavy reading will put me to sleep without any weird dreams, he thought, knowing that he had to get some sleep in order to perform his job to the best of his ability.
Hutch found him at 6:00 a.m., curled up on the lounge chair on his side with his face pressed against the back of the leather chair, and a throw blanket over him, a book dangling from his fingers. Starsky looked like a child who curled up and fell asleep in some absent grandparent’s lap while reading his favorite fairy tale. Mouth opened, long lashes fluttering with each snore. That he – Ken Hutchinson – was blessed with the love and care of this soul almost overwhelmed him.
Shaking his head to clear his vision, Hutch grinned wryly and removed the book and set it on the end table. “You’re gonna have a hell of a backache when you wake up buddy.” Repositioning the blanket around Starsky’s shoulders, Hutch reached out and caressed the exposed side of Starsky’s stubbled face.
*****
For the most part, Starsky felt more rested when he woke up, even with the stiff back. The right side of his face was numb from being smashed against the leather chair for most of the night, but he didn’t wake with the feelings of fear and torment that he had during the night and other previous nights.
He made a conscious decision not to tell Hutch that he’d dreamt again, instead playing off that Hutch’s snoring was annoying, so he’d gone in the living room to relax and get some sleep.
This same pattern went on for several more days, with Hutch finding Starsky lying either on the couch or in the leather chair at his own apartment. Hutch was concerned; he had no way of knowing what was going on with his partner. But it didn’t seem to bother Starsky to wake up every morning with a stiff back or sore neck, and it wasn’t affecting their love or professional lives, so Hutch left well enough alone.
Eventually and inevitably, Starsky’s sleep pattern interruptions began to affect his work patterns…
Making sure Starsky was settled comfortably on his couch with a glass of orange juice, Hutch asked him what happened back at the field.
“I don’t know. I just felt real dizzy and got this horrible pain in my head.” He lifted his hand to the top of his head and pushed down on the curls.
Hutch knelt down and looked into Starsky’s eyes, which appeared clear but confused. “What was with the biblical talk?”
“Huh? What talk?”
“You said something about the Lord and me and thee forever.” Hutch began a gentle exploration of Starsky’s head to make sure there were no bumps or cuts. Tenderly squashing the curls, he separated the dark strands to get a better look at his scalp.
Expression confused, Starsky shook his head slowly, “I swear to you, Hutch, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Satisfied that his partner had no injuries, Hutch sat down on the couch next to him. “I’m betting it has something to do with those strange dreams you’ve been having lately.”
“But I don’t even remember any of those dreams, at least not the details…just impressions.”
“Well if something like this happens again, I want you to see someone.”
“Like a shrink?!” groaned Starsky.
“Or your regular doctor,” Hutch suggested, “and don’t give me any flak about this. I’m starting to get worried. First you start spouting off in another language and talking in a different dialect, then you’re saying another man’s name in your sleep, and now you pass out after getting a severe headache.” To emphasize his point, Hutch pointed his finger in Starsky’s face, which the other man batted away.
“All right, all right, whatever. Anything to stop your nagging.” But Starsky smiled when he said it.
“A nag, am I?”
“Yeah, Hutchinson, and a mother hen to boot.”
“Well, maybe I should just mother hen you into taking your clothes off so I can make you feel better?” With a fake snooty accent, Hutch added “You just leave it up to Dr. Hutchinson. He knows the cure for what ails you.”
Grinning like a randy teenager, Starsky rose from the couch and walked toward Hutch’s bedroom. “Well Dr. Hutchinson, I think I need to get more comfortable while you work your ‘cure’.” And he twitched his ass to entice his willing lover to follow him.
That night, Starsky dreamed again….
As David ran, hiding under the cover of night and a worn peasant cloak that Jonathan found for him, he wept in loss of his home and family. But mostly he wept in loss of his love. “Jonathan, thou art the truest love ever known.” Not even facing the Philistine army filled him with as much fear and dread as leaving the city of his birth. He didn’t know what lay ahead or what the Lord had planned for him.
He only knew that Saul would slay him; yet he was reluctant to leave Jonathan to face alone the upcoming trials Samuel had prophesied about. ‘But Jonathan bade me to take leave and hide myself’ he told himself as he left the city of his birth. And he could not disobey his lover and his Prince. Nor did he want to disobey the Lord and his destiny.
“For ever thou hast promised me. The Lord will smile upon our countenance and we wilst be blessed once more.” Only the hope of their covenant kept David on his course. And trust in the Lord that what He had planned for them would not deny their love. He couldn’t even think of what his life would be like without Jonathan by his side, but he would do as the Lord commanded.
Starsky cried out in his dreams, an anguish that crossed through time and space, erupting in a legion of tears falling from beneath his long lashes and onto swollen cheeks.
Tormented moaning and the trembling body awoke Hutch, and he gathered Starsky close and rubbed his arms to soothe his troubled partner awake.
“Shhh, David. It’s just me.”
While his eyes were opened, his gaze was blurred, and it was apparent that Starsky wasn’t ‘there’ – in the same place as Hutch. “Jonathan? Hast thou come to me?”
“David, it’s me. Hutch. Ken.”
His face going from anguish to confusion to relief, Starsky buried his face in Hutch’s chest. “Hutch. Oh man, I think I had another dream.”
“Yeah, you sure did. Do you remember any of it?”
Starsky just shook his head. “Uh uh. Just a sense of sadness.” He wiped his wet cheeks and looked up at Hutch. “I, uh, did I say anything out loud?”
Hutch smiled gently. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“What’d I say?”
Smoothing the curls, Hutch looked outward toward the wall. “Oh just… ‘Jonathan, hast thou come back to me’ or something like that.”
“Shit. Not again.”
“Don’t worry about it buddy. I know you love me.” He kissed the top of Starsky’s head. “But you’re getting me worried.”
“I’ll be okay. I just gotta get over these dreams.”
“So you’ll go see a psychiatrist then?”
Rolling his eyes, Starsky tucked his face back into the warmth of Hutch’s body. “Quit pestering me. It’s not so bad I can’t live with them.”
“Ah, but can you sleep with them?”
“Aw, just shut up and kiss me so we can go back to sleep.”
~*~
The following night Starsky had another dream. More visions of running through desert towns and barren fields. But was he running from something or toward something…or someone? This time Starsky startled himself awake. He looked over at his sleeping lover, then at the clock, which read 2:10 a.m. Sighing, he slowly rose from the bed, careful not to jostle it and bother Hutch.
He threw on a pair of briefs and crept into the living room, where he turned on a lamp and sat down in the lounge chair to read. His anxiety over the weird dreams wouldn’t let him go back to sleep. And that wasn’t like him. Rarely did anything keep him getting his daily six hours – even on stakeouts. Well, except bears or Satanists disturbing his vacation. Maybe some heavy reading will put me to sleep without any weird dreams, he thought, knowing that he had to get some sleep in order to perform his job to the best of his ability.
Hutch found him at 6:00 a.m., curled up on the lounge chair on his side with his face pressed against the back of the leather chair, and a throw blanket over him, a book dangling from his fingers. Starsky looked like a child who curled up and fell asleep in some absent grandparent’s lap while reading his favorite fairy tale. Mouth opened, long lashes fluttering with each snore. That he – Ken Hutchinson – was blessed with the love and care of this soul almost overwhelmed him.
Shaking his head to clear his vision, Hutch grinned wryly and removed the book and set it on the end table. “You’re gonna have a hell of a backache when you wake up buddy.” Repositioning the blanket around Starsky’s shoulders, Hutch reached out and caressed the exposed side of Starsky’s stubbled face.
*****
For the most part, Starsky felt more rested when he woke up, even with the stiff back. The right side of his face was numb from being smashed against the leather chair for most of the night, but he didn’t wake with the feelings of fear and torment that he had during the night and other previous nights.
He made a conscious decision not to tell Hutch that he’d dreamt again, instead playing off that Hutch’s snoring was annoying, so he’d gone in the living room to relax and get some sleep.
This same pattern went on for several more days, with Hutch finding Starsky lying either on the couch or in the leather chair at his own apartment. Hutch was concerned; he had no way of knowing what was going on with his partner. But it didn’t seem to bother Starsky to wake up every morning with a stiff back or sore neck, and it wasn’t affecting their love or professional lives, so Hutch left well enough alone.
Eventually and inevitably, Starsky’s sleep pattern interruptions began to affect his work patterns…
NS: David and His Jonathan-Part 5
Over slightly more than a week, Starsky’s face became drawn, his eyes red and tired with dark circles beneath them. The irrepressible grin faded into non-existence, and he began dozing at inappropriate times – such as during a debriefing with Dobey. He was short and surly with those around him, including his partner. And he began to show a lack of detail not only in his personal attire, but more importantly at work.
The last few reports Starsky had written either had missing details, wrong information, or they rambled on with nonsensical details that had no place in their reports. Hutch found himself covering for his partner by reviewing them on the sly before they got to Captain Dobey for his approval.
The one he held in his hand was one of the worst. Starsky had misidentified a crucial witness to an assault and battery, as well as transposed the address numbers of another potential witness. It was time to talk to his partner and figure out what was going on beneath those curls.
Not wanting to confront his partner in front of their co-workers and embarrass him, Hutch waited until they were in Starsky’s car.
“Starsk, we’ve gotta have a talk.”
“Now what?” Starsky sighed melodramatically.
“Now we talk about what’s bothering you.”
Squinting his eyes in frustration, Starsky mumbled, “Nothin’ botherin’ me. I’m fine.”
“Starsky, don’t bother lying. You know you’re terrible at it…”
“Except undercover. Yeah, I know. I’ve heard this speech before.”
“You’re not sleeping well. So something’s got to be on your mind.” Hutch’s eyes softened in worry, which in turn bugged Starsky to no end, though he wasn’t sure why.
“I told you Hutch, there’s nothing to be concerned about. So I’m not sleeping well. That don’t mean anything.”
“It does when it starts affecting your work.”
Starsky jerked the steering wheel to the right and pulled the car to the curb. Putting the transmission in park, his dark blue eyes fared in anger at Hutch’s accusation. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Hutchinson?” he scowled. “Are you accusing me of not doing my job? When have I ever not held up my half of this partnership?”
Looking directly into the angry, tired, face, Hutch quietly said, “Starsky you wrote Carmen Rodrigez’s name as Armenia Rodriguez on the Moamin assault report, as well as transposed 5212 Fulton to 2512.”
A flicker of alarm played in those dark eyes, replaced quickly by anger again while Starsky waited for Hutch to continue.
“You’re irritable all the time, and you dozed off in front of Dobey yesterday.” Hutch waved his hand at his partner. “Look at you! Have you taken a good look at yourself in the mirror lately?”
“If you gotta problem with something, buddy-boy, you better spit it out soon, ’cause I’m not gonna sit here and let you ream me like this.”
Turning forward to look out the front window, Hutch sighed. “Starsky I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”
“Well, you’re doing a piss poor job of it then,” the other interrupted.
Ignoring the sarcastic remark, even though he was starting to get annoyed as well, Hutch continued. “I’m worried you’re going to make a fatal mistake on the street in the condition your in. I’m worried about you, Starsk.”
“Yeah, well maybe it’s you that’s bothering me.”
Startled, Hutch jerked his head to the left, offering Starsky a stunned, exposed look, then masked his emotions and turned his head to look out the passenger window, but not before Starsky had seen the hurt.
Wanting to take the words back, but too bullheaded to admit he’d gone too far, Starsky pulled the Torino back into traffic.
They drove silently for several minutes, the tension in the car thick like a quilt. One almost couldn’t breathe with the heaviness in the air.
Down street, a large industrial truck turned right and began driving toward them on the opposite side of the road.
Starsky’s eyes drifted shut and without warning the Torino started to pull left of center.
“STARSKY! WATCH IT!”
His eyes snapping open, Starsky turned to yell at Hutch for startling him. “Goddamn it Hutch…” as the oncoming truck bore down on the Torino.
“STARSKY! THE TRUCK!”
Whipping his head forward, Starsky yanked the wheel right as the truck blared its deep horn. He put the brakes on in the middle of the road, stopping traffic, his hands shaking at the near miss.
Sitting quietly amidst the piercing noise of horns from the vehicles behind them, the two detectives gathered their frayed nerves before Starsky had the presence of mind to pull the Torino to the side of the road.
“Okay.” He said quietly, staring out the front window.
Hutch shook his head to clear it. “Huh?”
“Okay, Hutch. I’ll go talk to Mitchell.”
“It’s for your own good, babe. For us.” Hutch wanted to make sure Starsky understood that no-one would think any less of him for seeing the department psychiatrist. Especially him. “I love you.” He leaned over and petted Starsky’s face with the back of his hand.
Closing his eyes and sighing, Starsky nodded briefly. “Yeah. I guess you were right. But that’s the only reason I’m going – for us. To find out why I’m having problems sleeping.”
“That’s what Mitchell will help you determine, babe.”
Putting the car in park, Starsky opened his door to get out. “You’re driving the rest of the day. I can’t take the chance of gettin’ us killed.”
*****
Once back at the precinct, Starsky made good on his promise and set up an appointment for the following day to see Dr. Mitchell, the department psychiatrist who was staffed onsite to help cops quickly if needed.
Hutch felt Starsky needed a good night of sleep without any distractions, so he forced his lover to go home alone. As hoped, Starsky finally got a good night’s rest, and though the circles under his eyes weren’t erased, there was more of a spring in Starsky’s step when he bounded through the double doors the next morning. Just knowing that Starsky got a good night’s rest and was going to talk to someone professional was enough to relax Hutch, and he let go his worrying during the workday.
The appointment with Dr. Mitchell was at 4:00, and Starsky had cleared it with Captain Dobey, who was heartily glad his curly haired detective was getting some help. Agreeing to meet Hutch back at Venice Place later that evening, Starsky trudged off to the other side of the building to meet with Dr. Mitchell, leaving Hutch to finish up their paperwork.
Hutch had made Starsky’s favorite meal and set up the table in the greenhouse. Just as he finished laying out the table, he heard the front door click shut. Stepping into the kitchen, he watched as Starsky hung up his spring jacket and took off his holster, hanging it on the closet doorknob. Hutch promised himself he wasn’t going to get into Starsky’s face about his appointment this afternoon with Dr. Mitchell, though he had to tell himself that over and over.
“Dinner ready?”
“Yeah, sure.” Hutch turned half-way and gestured toward the patio. “I set up the table outside if that’s okay with you.”
“Sounds good. Let me wash up.”
While Starsky got cleaned up, Hutch served up the meal. They ate in relative silence, Hutch still anxious to know how his meeting with Dr. Mitchell went. However, Starsky didn’t appear to be too upset, so he wasn’t worried…just curious. But Starsky didn’t seem to want to be forthcoming.
Finally, Hutch had to ask, it was driving him up a tree not knowing. “So, uh, how’d it go? Do you want to talk about it?”
Starsky pushed away his emptied plate and shrugged. “Okay. It was no big deal. I guess you could say I wasn’t very open.”
“Why not? What’d you talk about? That is, if you’re allowed to tell me?”
“If I can’t share with you, what’s the point.” He sighed. “I just told her I haven’t been sleeping and I was worried that I was gonna get my partner or someone else hurt.”
“Did you tell her about the dreams?”
Starsky stood up in frustration and started gathering the dishes. “I told you, Hutch, I don’t remember those dreams!” He stalked into the kitchen and set the dishes in the sink. Leaning down with both hands on the edge, he gathered himself. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s not your fault I’m a fucking nutcase.”
Pushing a glass of wine into Starsky’s hands, Hutch led him over to the couch and waited for Starsky to continue.
He didn’t have long to wait, as Starsky took a drink and continued. “Yeah, I told her I was having some dreams, but that I didn’t remember them. I told her I kept talking about someone I didn’t know and that I was speaking weird, just like you said.”
“What she say?”
“Mitchell suggested that someone place a taperecorder at my bedside and turn it on in case it happened again. She said it might help her to determine the problem.”
Mulling it over briefly, Hutch agreed that it might not be a bad idea. “So you’re going to go back, then?”
“I guess. We could try her idea. What d’ya think?”
“Wouldn’t hurt. Maybe if I played the tape for you, some of the dreams would come back.”
Starsky perked up. “Yeah? And then I’d remember and I wouldn’t have to go back to see Mitchell again.”
Shaking his head at his lover’s enthusiasm over the idea of not seeing the psychiatrist again, Hutch pulled him over for a deep kiss. “Don’t jump the gun. Let’s wait and see if the tape recorder idea works first.”
Breathing heavily, Starsky forgot Dr. Mitchell and any dreams. “How about dessert babe?”
“What did you have in mind?” Hutch asked primly.
Starsky just winked and nodded toward the sleeping alcove. “Something golden and delicious. Say, like a Blintz.” He leered as he licked his lips.
~*~
And David went into the wilderness of Engedi and established his household. He took another wife, and had more children, but no other love. He kept abreast of the wars in Israel and he prayed daily to the Lord, living as the Lord commanded.
Now the Philistines fought against Israel and fell hard upon Saul and his sons; and they slew Saul and his sons Jonathan, Abinadab, and Malchishua. And it came to pass that a young man returned to the field and beheld the head of Saul.
Yet the Philistines were still wroth with David and unto the King of Israel. And it came to pass David’s two wives were taken captive. So he pursued the Philistines into Israel and overtook them.
The young man came out of the camp where Saul fell upon the earth and saw David. And David said to the young man, “How went the matter? I pray thee, tell me.” And he was answered, “The people have fled from battle, and many are fallen. Saul and Jonathan, his son, are dead also.”
Alarmed, David grabbed the man’s cloak, “How knowest thou that Saul and Jonathan be dead?” So the young man told him all he had seen. But David had to know. He had to see for himself. So he went into the field of battle to search out his love. When he came across the head of Saul on a pike, he knelt and wept. For the man may have tried to kill him, but he also treated David as a son, and because of Saul he was introduced to the greatest love of his life. Then he searched for that love, and when he found Jonathan he knelt beside his fallen lover. He took hold of his clothes and rent them, for as his cloth was torn, so was his heart.
And David lamented over Jonathan…
“Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there be no rain upon you, nor fields of offerings; for there the shield of the might is vilely cast away. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the might, the bow of Jonathan turned not back. Jonathan was lovely and pleasant in his life and in his death we wilt not be divided; he was swifter than eagles, stronger than lions.
“How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high places. I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan, my lover; very pleasant hast thou been unto me; thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of all women.”
David gathered the body of his beloved into his arms and wept. “All of Saul’s sons, gone?! Why would God punish Jonathan, the best of all Saul’s sons? “Oh, Jonathan…Jonathan...” he chanted, his heart hardening against his enemies at each breath of his beloved’s name. For now he had to revenge Jonathan’s death. His anger and grief grew greatly within him and gave him the strength needed to defeat the Philistines completely into submission. And then to take his rightful place as the head of Isreal and God’s witness on Earth.
“JONATH…..HUUUUTCH!” Starsky cried in anguish, waking his sleeping partner. His body trembled and was wracked by sobs. He was locked between the dreaming and the waking worlds.
“Above all. I love thee above all. Do not thou forget.” He whimpered into Hutch’s neck as his lover gathered him into strong arms.
“Starsk, it’s another dream. Come on, baby, everything’s okay.”
Starsky shook his head to indicate that everything was not okay. The sadness and grief that flooded his body and torched his soul was an all-consuming fire of pain. Physical, mental, and spiritual.
Soft, light kisses gentled his temple as Hutch continued to hold him and tried to get Starsky to talk. “What are you dreaming, babe? What’s bothering you?”
Shaking his head once more to clear it, Starsky remarked, “I felt like my life was ending, but I was still alive. Trapped somehow. It was a nightmare.”
“You mean like you were being smothered or buried alive? Like in your late night monster movies?”
“Not like that kind of nightmare. This was like something killed what made me…me, ya know?”
“No, not really. But Starsk, it’s just a dream. Remember that. It’s not real.”
Starsky’s dark blue eyes still reflected a deep seated fear as they tracked Hutch while he got out of bed to straighten the covers. Unreasonable fear…of what? Overwhelmed him again. Must not be fully awake yet. “Hutch? You…you aren’t going anywhere are you?”
The blond head rose to look up at his lover. “When, now?”
“No, it’s just…I got the feelin’ that these dreams are connected to you somehow.”
“Really?”
Hutch thought this was a good sign – that Starsky was opening up to him. He just knew it. He crawled back into bed and sat up against the headboard, letting Starsky rest his head on his abdomen for security and comfort.
“That’s good that you’re remembering some substance of the dreams. But, Starsk, I can’t promise you what I don’t know about the future. And if anyone should know that, it would be you. I don’t plan on going anywhere, however. Not for a long time, and certainly not without you.” He petted and soothed Starsky’s ruffled curls.
“How can you be so sure, Hutch? Especially in our jobs.” Starsky swung his right arm over his lover’s torso and squeezed. “I’m afraid to lose you.”
Hutch used his finger to raise Starsky’s chin. “Hey, maybe that’s what these dreams are all about.”
“You think?” The fear lifted slightly.
“Maybe. Sounds plausible. You should talk to Dr. Mitchell about it.”
“You mean you still want me to go see her?”
“Absolutely, Starsk. This isn’t going to go away. You need to talk to someone who knows how to interpret dreams and stuff.”
“I thought you didn’t get into psycho-babble bull.”
“The mind is a vast area of knowledge that we know so little about, Starsky. There’s so many possibilities to tap into. Like with Collandra.”
“If you say so.” Starsky said doubtfully. “I still think it’s a waste of time.” He couldn’t get away from the terror that permeated his mind and soul. It was a living thing inside him.
Being afraid to go back to sleep, Starsky got up, retrieved a book, and settled in bed to read; while Hutch finished the crossword puzzle he kept in the nightstand, both eventually falling asleep where they lay.
The last few reports Starsky had written either had missing details, wrong information, or they rambled on with nonsensical details that had no place in their reports. Hutch found himself covering for his partner by reviewing them on the sly before they got to Captain Dobey for his approval.
The one he held in his hand was one of the worst. Starsky had misidentified a crucial witness to an assault and battery, as well as transposed the address numbers of another potential witness. It was time to talk to his partner and figure out what was going on beneath those curls.
Not wanting to confront his partner in front of their co-workers and embarrass him, Hutch waited until they were in Starsky’s car.
“Starsk, we’ve gotta have a talk.”
“Now what?” Starsky sighed melodramatically.
“Now we talk about what’s bothering you.”
Squinting his eyes in frustration, Starsky mumbled, “Nothin’ botherin’ me. I’m fine.”
“Starsky, don’t bother lying. You know you’re terrible at it…”
“Except undercover. Yeah, I know. I’ve heard this speech before.”
“You’re not sleeping well. So something’s got to be on your mind.” Hutch’s eyes softened in worry, which in turn bugged Starsky to no end, though he wasn’t sure why.
“I told you Hutch, there’s nothing to be concerned about. So I’m not sleeping well. That don’t mean anything.”
“It does when it starts affecting your work.”
Starsky jerked the steering wheel to the right and pulled the car to the curb. Putting the transmission in park, his dark blue eyes fared in anger at Hutch’s accusation. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Hutchinson?” he scowled. “Are you accusing me of not doing my job? When have I ever not held up my half of this partnership?”
Looking directly into the angry, tired, face, Hutch quietly said, “Starsky you wrote Carmen Rodrigez’s name as Armenia Rodriguez on the Moamin assault report, as well as transposed 5212 Fulton to 2512.”
A flicker of alarm played in those dark eyes, replaced quickly by anger again while Starsky waited for Hutch to continue.
“You’re irritable all the time, and you dozed off in front of Dobey yesterday.” Hutch waved his hand at his partner. “Look at you! Have you taken a good look at yourself in the mirror lately?”
“If you gotta problem with something, buddy-boy, you better spit it out soon, ’cause I’m not gonna sit here and let you ream me like this.”
Turning forward to look out the front window, Hutch sighed. “Starsky I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”
“Well, you’re doing a piss poor job of it then,” the other interrupted.
Ignoring the sarcastic remark, even though he was starting to get annoyed as well, Hutch continued. “I’m worried you’re going to make a fatal mistake on the street in the condition your in. I’m worried about you, Starsk.”
“Yeah, well maybe it’s you that’s bothering me.”
Startled, Hutch jerked his head to the left, offering Starsky a stunned, exposed look, then masked his emotions and turned his head to look out the passenger window, but not before Starsky had seen the hurt.
Wanting to take the words back, but too bullheaded to admit he’d gone too far, Starsky pulled the Torino back into traffic.
They drove silently for several minutes, the tension in the car thick like a quilt. One almost couldn’t breathe with the heaviness in the air.
Down street, a large industrial truck turned right and began driving toward them on the opposite side of the road.
Starsky’s eyes drifted shut and without warning the Torino started to pull left of center.
“STARSKY! WATCH IT!”
His eyes snapping open, Starsky turned to yell at Hutch for startling him. “Goddamn it Hutch…” as the oncoming truck bore down on the Torino.
“STARSKY! THE TRUCK!”
Whipping his head forward, Starsky yanked the wheel right as the truck blared its deep horn. He put the brakes on in the middle of the road, stopping traffic, his hands shaking at the near miss.
Sitting quietly amidst the piercing noise of horns from the vehicles behind them, the two detectives gathered their frayed nerves before Starsky had the presence of mind to pull the Torino to the side of the road.
“Okay.” He said quietly, staring out the front window.
Hutch shook his head to clear it. “Huh?”
“Okay, Hutch. I’ll go talk to Mitchell.”
“It’s for your own good, babe. For us.” Hutch wanted to make sure Starsky understood that no-one would think any less of him for seeing the department psychiatrist. Especially him. “I love you.” He leaned over and petted Starsky’s face with the back of his hand.
Closing his eyes and sighing, Starsky nodded briefly. “Yeah. I guess you were right. But that’s the only reason I’m going – for us. To find out why I’m having problems sleeping.”
“That’s what Mitchell will help you determine, babe.”
Putting the car in park, Starsky opened his door to get out. “You’re driving the rest of the day. I can’t take the chance of gettin’ us killed.”
*****
Once back at the precinct, Starsky made good on his promise and set up an appointment for the following day to see Dr. Mitchell, the department psychiatrist who was staffed onsite to help cops quickly if needed.
Hutch felt Starsky needed a good night of sleep without any distractions, so he forced his lover to go home alone. As hoped, Starsky finally got a good night’s rest, and though the circles under his eyes weren’t erased, there was more of a spring in Starsky’s step when he bounded through the double doors the next morning. Just knowing that Starsky got a good night’s rest and was going to talk to someone professional was enough to relax Hutch, and he let go his worrying during the workday.
The appointment with Dr. Mitchell was at 4:00, and Starsky had cleared it with Captain Dobey, who was heartily glad his curly haired detective was getting some help. Agreeing to meet Hutch back at Venice Place later that evening, Starsky trudged off to the other side of the building to meet with Dr. Mitchell, leaving Hutch to finish up their paperwork.
Hutch had made Starsky’s favorite meal and set up the table in the greenhouse. Just as he finished laying out the table, he heard the front door click shut. Stepping into the kitchen, he watched as Starsky hung up his spring jacket and took off his holster, hanging it on the closet doorknob. Hutch promised himself he wasn’t going to get into Starsky’s face about his appointment this afternoon with Dr. Mitchell, though he had to tell himself that over and over.
“Dinner ready?”
“Yeah, sure.” Hutch turned half-way and gestured toward the patio. “I set up the table outside if that’s okay with you.”
“Sounds good. Let me wash up.”
While Starsky got cleaned up, Hutch served up the meal. They ate in relative silence, Hutch still anxious to know how his meeting with Dr. Mitchell went. However, Starsky didn’t appear to be too upset, so he wasn’t worried…just curious. But Starsky didn’t seem to want to be forthcoming.
Finally, Hutch had to ask, it was driving him up a tree not knowing. “So, uh, how’d it go? Do you want to talk about it?”
Starsky pushed away his emptied plate and shrugged. “Okay. It was no big deal. I guess you could say I wasn’t very open.”
“Why not? What’d you talk about? That is, if you’re allowed to tell me?”
“If I can’t share with you, what’s the point.” He sighed. “I just told her I haven’t been sleeping and I was worried that I was gonna get my partner or someone else hurt.”
“Did you tell her about the dreams?”
Starsky stood up in frustration and started gathering the dishes. “I told you, Hutch, I don’t remember those dreams!” He stalked into the kitchen and set the dishes in the sink. Leaning down with both hands on the edge, he gathered himself. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s not your fault I’m a fucking nutcase.”
Pushing a glass of wine into Starsky’s hands, Hutch led him over to the couch and waited for Starsky to continue.
He didn’t have long to wait, as Starsky took a drink and continued. “Yeah, I told her I was having some dreams, but that I didn’t remember them. I told her I kept talking about someone I didn’t know and that I was speaking weird, just like you said.”
“What she say?”
“Mitchell suggested that someone place a taperecorder at my bedside and turn it on in case it happened again. She said it might help her to determine the problem.”
Mulling it over briefly, Hutch agreed that it might not be a bad idea. “So you’re going to go back, then?”
“I guess. We could try her idea. What d’ya think?”
“Wouldn’t hurt. Maybe if I played the tape for you, some of the dreams would come back.”
Starsky perked up. “Yeah? And then I’d remember and I wouldn’t have to go back to see Mitchell again.”
Shaking his head at his lover’s enthusiasm over the idea of not seeing the psychiatrist again, Hutch pulled him over for a deep kiss. “Don’t jump the gun. Let’s wait and see if the tape recorder idea works first.”
Breathing heavily, Starsky forgot Dr. Mitchell and any dreams. “How about dessert babe?”
“What did you have in mind?” Hutch asked primly.
Starsky just winked and nodded toward the sleeping alcove. “Something golden and delicious. Say, like a Blintz.” He leered as he licked his lips.
~*~
And David went into the wilderness of Engedi and established his household. He took another wife, and had more children, but no other love. He kept abreast of the wars in Israel and he prayed daily to the Lord, living as the Lord commanded.
Now the Philistines fought against Israel and fell hard upon Saul and his sons; and they slew Saul and his sons Jonathan, Abinadab, and Malchishua. And it came to pass that a young man returned to the field and beheld the head of Saul.
Yet the Philistines were still wroth with David and unto the King of Israel. And it came to pass David’s two wives were taken captive. So he pursued the Philistines into Israel and overtook them.
The young man came out of the camp where Saul fell upon the earth and saw David. And David said to the young man, “How went the matter? I pray thee, tell me.” And he was answered, “The people have fled from battle, and many are fallen. Saul and Jonathan, his son, are dead also.”
Alarmed, David grabbed the man’s cloak, “How knowest thou that Saul and Jonathan be dead?” So the young man told him all he had seen. But David had to know. He had to see for himself. So he went into the field of battle to search out his love. When he came across the head of Saul on a pike, he knelt and wept. For the man may have tried to kill him, but he also treated David as a son, and because of Saul he was introduced to the greatest love of his life. Then he searched for that love, and when he found Jonathan he knelt beside his fallen lover. He took hold of his clothes and rent them, for as his cloth was torn, so was his heart.
And David lamented over Jonathan…
“Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there be no rain upon you, nor fields of offerings; for there the shield of the might is vilely cast away. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the might, the bow of Jonathan turned not back. Jonathan was lovely and pleasant in his life and in his death we wilt not be divided; he was swifter than eagles, stronger than lions.
“How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high places. I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan, my lover; very pleasant hast thou been unto me; thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of all women.”
David gathered the body of his beloved into his arms and wept. “All of Saul’s sons, gone?! Why would God punish Jonathan, the best of all Saul’s sons? “Oh, Jonathan…Jonathan...” he chanted, his heart hardening against his enemies at each breath of his beloved’s name. For now he had to revenge Jonathan’s death. His anger and grief grew greatly within him and gave him the strength needed to defeat the Philistines completely into submission. And then to take his rightful place as the head of Isreal and God’s witness on Earth.
“JONATH…..HUUUUTCH!” Starsky cried in anguish, waking his sleeping partner. His body trembled and was wracked by sobs. He was locked between the dreaming and the waking worlds.
“Above all. I love thee above all. Do not thou forget.” He whimpered into Hutch’s neck as his lover gathered him into strong arms.
“Starsk, it’s another dream. Come on, baby, everything’s okay.”
Starsky shook his head to indicate that everything was not okay. The sadness and grief that flooded his body and torched his soul was an all-consuming fire of pain. Physical, mental, and spiritual.
Soft, light kisses gentled his temple as Hutch continued to hold him and tried to get Starsky to talk. “What are you dreaming, babe? What’s bothering you?”
Shaking his head once more to clear it, Starsky remarked, “I felt like my life was ending, but I was still alive. Trapped somehow. It was a nightmare.”
“You mean like you were being smothered or buried alive? Like in your late night monster movies?”
“Not like that kind of nightmare. This was like something killed what made me…me, ya know?”
“No, not really. But Starsk, it’s just a dream. Remember that. It’s not real.”
Starsky’s dark blue eyes still reflected a deep seated fear as they tracked Hutch while he got out of bed to straighten the covers. Unreasonable fear…of what? Overwhelmed him again. Must not be fully awake yet. “Hutch? You…you aren’t going anywhere are you?”
The blond head rose to look up at his lover. “When, now?”
“No, it’s just…I got the feelin’ that these dreams are connected to you somehow.”
“Really?”
Hutch thought this was a good sign – that Starsky was opening up to him. He just knew it. He crawled back into bed and sat up against the headboard, letting Starsky rest his head on his abdomen for security and comfort.
“That’s good that you’re remembering some substance of the dreams. But, Starsk, I can’t promise you what I don’t know about the future. And if anyone should know that, it would be you. I don’t plan on going anywhere, however. Not for a long time, and certainly not without you.” He petted and soothed Starsky’s ruffled curls.
“How can you be so sure, Hutch? Especially in our jobs.” Starsky swung his right arm over his lover’s torso and squeezed. “I’m afraid to lose you.”
Hutch used his finger to raise Starsky’s chin. “Hey, maybe that’s what these dreams are all about.”
“You think?” The fear lifted slightly.
“Maybe. Sounds plausible. You should talk to Dr. Mitchell about it.”
“You mean you still want me to go see her?”
“Absolutely, Starsk. This isn’t going to go away. You need to talk to someone who knows how to interpret dreams and stuff.”
“I thought you didn’t get into psycho-babble bull.”
“The mind is a vast area of knowledge that we know so little about, Starsky. There’s so many possibilities to tap into. Like with Collandra.”
“If you say so.” Starsky said doubtfully. “I still think it’s a waste of time.” He couldn’t get away from the terror that permeated his mind and soul. It was a living thing inside him.
Being afraid to go back to sleep, Starsky got up, retrieved a book, and settled in bed to read; while Hutch finished the crossword puzzle he kept in the nightstand, both eventually falling asleep where they lay.
NS: David and His Jonathan-Part 6
For the next several days the panic that infused Starsky’s dreams began to map over into his waking world. An unreasonable fear of losing Hutch made him hover even closer to his partner, to the point he was getting on the blond’s nerves. If Hutch had to leave the room, the dark blue eyes would set upon the doorway until they lit on Hutch once more. At first Hutch referred to Starsky as his puppy, but by the end of the third day, with no deviation in his behavior, Starsky could tell he was getting on Hutch’s last nerve.
He promised himself he would curb the hovering behavior, but the next morning when he walked back into the squadroom after taking a quick trip to the men’s room, Starsky was initially alarmed upon not seeing his partner. His eyes tracked the room in time with his heartbeat and just as he was about to ask another officer Hutch’s whereabouts, Dobey stepped out to the squadroom and requested Starsky’s presence in his office.
“Where’s Hutch?” He inquired of his partner.
“Just get in here Starsky.” The captain motioned with a beefy hand that grasped a manila folder.
Upon entering, Starsky saw his partner sitting at one of the chairs opposite Dobey’s desk. He breathed an audible sigh of relief, and wasn’t surprised to see Hutch’s corresponding eye roll and deep frown at the sound.
Stepping behind his desk, Dobey tapped the folder on its dark wooden top. “Since you’ve got most of your current cases wrapped up or at the DA’s office, I’m handing this one over to you.”
Hutch made a grab for the file, “New case?”
“Jerome Clark, suspected armed robber. He’s got a history of muggings and B & E’s with escalating violence, graduated to armed robbery and now with a 245 thrown in. He’s a user.”
Hutch looked up from the file. “So it’s a simple locate and retrieve?”
“Nothing’s ever simple, Hutchinson. You should know that. Find him! Get this guy off the streets.”
Both men shrugged their shoulders. It was better than doing desk duty or finishing older reports. “Okay, Cap. Whatever you say.”
Dobey pointed his pencil at his curly-haired detective and then toward the door to the squadroom. “Damn right whatever I say, Starsky! Now get your butt out there and find this guy before he busts into another place and this time takes someone out.”
“Yessir, Captain, sir.” Starsky saluted, then turned to his seated partner. “Well, partner, what’d ya say? Let’s get the ball rolling.”
As they arrived at the police garage, Hutch slapped the file into Starsky’s hands. “You can familiarize yourself with this, I’ll drive.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Starsky waved his hands at his partner. “Just don’t do that to me again.”
Confused, Hutch asked “What?”
“Disappear without me knowing where you went.” He mumbled as he got into the LTD.
“Starsky, stop! Right here, right now.” Hutch turned to face him after turning the car over, before putting it in drive. “You’re getting all hung up. All you can think about is this fear, and that doesn’t bode well for the work we’ve got to do. You’re still having problems sleeping and you refuse to acknowledge it. Now, unless you can give me a good reason not to go back to Dobey and have him ground you until you get your head screwed back on, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and back off.”
“I’m sorry Hutch. I know it’s unreasonable, but I can’t help it.” He couldn’t deny what Hutch was saying, and since he knew Dobey’d bench him in a second if their Captain was aware that Starsky’s tank was running on empty, he sat and sulked in the corner of the passenger’s seat. He knew something was bothering him, but he’d be damned if he knew exactly what it was. And he refused to acknowledge aloud that it could be his dreams and sleep patterns that left him with a sense of foreboding. His sixth sense was telling him it had something to do with Hutch; but he didn’t want to acknowledge that the fear and anguish he felt each time he awoke next to Hutch might have something to do with either their relationship or with Hutch’s safety.
If he dwelled on it too much, he was afraid he might go crazy. He was already driving his partner nuts, and if he kept it up, he was sure to lose Hutch. Besides, analyzing stuff was Hutch’s forte. He prayed that Dr. Mitchell would be able to come up with something to figure out what was going on with him. She had prescribed some sleeping medication, but he was reluctant to take it. Of course, his partner didn’t know about the sleeping pills, and if he did, Hutch would insist on him taking it. But then he’d be too drugged up to show Hutch how much he loved him.
After another two days of restless nights and waking dreams, Starsky finally was able to convince Hutch to let him drive. He was tired of dealing with the LTD and its cranky ways. Sometimes it was so simple to pull the wool over Hutch’s head. All Starsky had to do was come in contact with cold water every morning, as well as several cups of the strong coffee that only the local 7-11 would sell.
They had nothing more strenuous planned than cruising the streets they normally patrolled, watching for recent parolees and on-the lam criminals. Starsky convinced both himself and his partner that it would be a quiet day, with little required in the way of action. So far the whereabouts of one Jerome Clark, age 23, was still undiscovered, but the two detectives had their best snitches out digging for information, and anticipated a sighting soon.
Much sooner than they could have predicted, Millie announced one over the police radio that afternoon.
“Zebra Three, acknowledge 211 in progress with a possible 245 at 315 Front, cross street 3rd. Possible sighting of suspect Jeremy Clark at location. Code 2.”
“Zebra Three responding.” Hutch replaced the mike while Starsky went into pursuit mode.
Driving full out, reckless from the lack of sleep, Starsky was a man on a mission to snare their suspect. Hutch pulled the leather belt around his waist and clicked the lock shut as he slapped on the silent Mars light. Arriving at Ernie’s Spirits and Victuals liquor shop, they parked one block west and made their way to the crime scene on foot.
“Fancy name for a corner store, eh, Starsk?” Hutch tried to infuse some levity into his partner’s demeanor. He wasn’t stupid enough to let his partner go into a scene with a hype on a downside, when Starsky wasn’t running on all cylinders.
Through the window they could see Jerome Clark, unmasked, holding a clerk and the store owner at bay; waving a gun between the two, his arm and hand shaking and his temperament jumpy. Clark jumped in front of the owner and pistol-whipped him upside the head. The older man went straight down, a large bruise and lump already raised on the side of his head before he even hit the linoleum floor.
Waving his Beretta, Starsky motioned his partner behind the yellow brick building. “Back, Hutch. He’s going out the back.” Both men jumped in said direction simultaneously, Hutch’s longer and more powerful legs getting him to the scene first.
Behind the store was a small asphalt court surrounded by two four-story buildings on the Front Street side, a two-story building, and a rundown multilevel apartment building opposite the alleyway. A wooden ledge jutted out from the shorter building, partially blocking the only other way out of the back court. It was beside the entryway that Starsky and Hutch had come through. Someone had set several large metal garbage bins in the small space the ledge, and that was what Clark was attempting to climb around to escape the detective now bearing down on him.
“Hold it! Police!” Hutch shouted at the fleeing figure. “Starsk, cover me!” He called back to his partner, not realizing that Starsky wasn’t just behind him.
Starsky came around the corner and ran smack dab into the metal fire escape of 315 Front, which was placed right at the edge of the back of the building; the collision stunned him and forced him down on his buttocks, his gun clattering out of reach.
Hutch fired a warning shot into the air, startling Clark, who looked behind him briefly then continued to climb on top of one of the metal garbage bins. Seeing no other way, Hutch took aim and fired, hitting the suspect in the right hand and knocking his gun away. Clark collapsed in pain on the top of the bin, and Hutch holstered his gun. He pulled the man to the ground, face down, with this bleeding right hand beneath him. Leaning over, Hutch placed his right knee on the man’s back to hold him still while he held Jerome’s right hand behind him at waist level, and reached behind for the handcuffs he kept in his waistband.
Looking over his shoulder at his prone partner, Hutch called out, “Starsk, you okay?”
Shaking the swirling birds away, Starsky leaned up on his hands to see Hutch had captured their suspect and was now cuffing him. “Yeah. I’m fine. Somebody put a damn fire escape in my way.”
Not able to watch their suspect while his head was turned to make sure Starsky was okay, Hutch didn’t notice Clark reach with his left hand and fingers into his back waistband and pull out a knife. He awkwardly twisted his wrist and plunged the weapon into the left thigh of the cop holding him down. A stream of blood spurted out of Hutch’s thigh as Clark’s knife plunged into Hutch’s thigh. Shock and sudden blood loss caused him to collapse onto Clark’s back, trapping the perpetrator.
At first Starsky didn’t see Clark’s motion or the blood spurting down Hutch’s, but he did notice his partner collapsing headfirst onto the dusty asphalt and equally grungy perp. “Hutch? You okay? You need my help?” In response, all Starsky heard was a loud groan from Hutch and a grunt from Clark. “I’m coming babe.”
His own pain and wooziness forgotten, Starksy hopped up and rushed over to his partner. He rolled the larger man off Clark, and immediately noticed the continuous stream of blood gushing out of Hutch’s leg in time with each pulsing beat of his heart.
Starsky’s own heart jumped in panic as he finished cuffing the bleeding and injured hand of Jerome Clark. Not wanting to remove the knife from Hutch’s leg and possibly cause more injury, he yanked off his outer shirt and wrapped it carefully around the knife to keep it stable. He didn’t want to, but Starsky left his partner lying where he was, dragging Clark clear of his prone partner to go call for two ambulances and a black and white.
Running back to Hutch, he noted his partner had passed out, probably from a combination of blood loss and pain. Seeing him lying on his side, knife sticking through his leg, a large swath of blood covering his jeans and staining the asphalt beneath him, Starsky’s ears began ringing. The sound blocked out the moans of pain from their cuffed suspect, and he fell to his knees at Hutch’s head.
Starsky gathered the upper body of his beloved into his arms and wept. ”Jonathan…Jonathan…” he chanted, his heart hardening against his enemy at each breath of his lover’s name.
“Silence!” He yelled at the groaning prisoner. “My prince is injured and thou wilst pay for the wrong you have done unto him.” He rocked Hutch in his arms, the strength and warmth of his body assuring Starsky that his partner was still with him. “Above all. I love thee above all.”
At the unnatural tone and words of Starsky’s voice, Clark fell silent and waited for a more lucid person to arrive and help him.
The black and white arrived first and one of the officers took care of cordoning off the store and gathering information while giving some first-aid to the store owner.
Behind the store, the ambulance attendants found one injured man cuffed and laying on his stomach with an obvious gunshot wound through the hand, and a second, more seriously injured officer wrapped in his partner’s arms with a knife wound to the leg. One of the paramedics immediately took possession of the cuffed man and began treating his wound, while the other called into the base hospital to begin treatment for the bleeding, injured detective.
Hutch awoke from his unconscious state to find Starsky rocking him, chanting “Jonathan, Jonathan,” in a whispered tone; the ghostly voice reciting over and over. He was worried about his partner’s frame of mind, and tried to tell the attendants through the oxygen mask to take care of Starsky, before everything swam and he closed his eyes against the storm. He needn’t be concerned, as the paramedics were also exchanging glances of worry over the state of the non-injured officer.
~*~
Waking up early the next morning after surgery to repair his artery and the muscles in his left thigh, Hutch was not surprised to find his partner sitting in the chair next to his hospital bed.
Starsky was sitting bent over with his hands in his face. It appeared to Hutch that he hadn’t slept all night.
“Starsk?” His voice was a raspy whisper.
The curled head came up and bleary, red rimmed eyes looked at him. “Hutch? You’re awake?”
In response, Hutch poked his tongue out to wet his dry lips. “Thirsty. Can I have...”
Breaking off Hutch’s sentence, Starsky eagerly guessed Hutch’s need. “You can have some ice chips. Hold on. I’ll be right back.” Showing more energy than he actually had, Starsky jumped out of the chair, pushing it backwards and making a scraping noise on the floor tiles.
While he was gone, Hutch thought about his partner’s appearance, which hadn’t gone unnoticed. Dark circles around the eyes, rumpled clothing, tangled hair, and a gray palor were all Hutch needed to know Starsky’s frame of mind.
A nurse came in just ahead of Starsky returning and took Hutch’s vitals and gave him a shot of painkiller without asking the patient if he needed it. She explained that he was to be on pain medication for at least the next 24 hours whether he wanted it or not, for healing purposes.
“Hutch let the nurse do her job.” Starsky admonished while pushing spoonfuls of ice through the pale lips. “You lost a lot of blood and need to rest. Can’t have you setting back on me.”
Hutch was bewildered and looked down, noticing an IV of blood and one of saline meant to replace the lost fluids in his body. Swallowing the melted ice, he asked Starsky what had happened.
“Clark didn’t take too kindly to your shooting him in the hand. He stabbed you in the leg with a knife. Unfortunately he hit a major artery and you bled like a stuck pig.”
“Oh.” Hutch shut his eyes and drifted along with the pain medication. “You okay?”
He felt Starsky’s hand soothe the hair back from his forehead. “Shh…I’m fine. You just rest. Dobey took me off the roster for a couple of days, so I’m gonna be here when you need me.” He continued to pet and stroke the soft, fine hair as Hutch fell asleep. As he faded off with a soft sigh he sensed his lover leaning down and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad your safe, baby. Love you.”
Hutch didn’t wake again until just before dinner. By then the blood IV had been removed, Hutch having regained the volume he had lost. Starsky was still by his side, but now was asleep in the chair next to the bed. Hutch moved his hand onto the messy curls and patted them, remembering Starsky’s promise to stay with him. His partner needed his sleep, so Hutch tried not to wake him each time he shifted his body, but it was hard not to make grunts of pain each time he moved his injured thigh.
A short time later an orderly brought his dinner, and the jostling of the tray table woke Starsky. Lifting his head and rubbing his eyes, he groaned away the stiffness in his back.
“Ugh, oh man. Hutch? You awake again?” Seeing the dinner on his table, Starsky went to the foot of the bed, raised it, and moved the tray into a better position for his partner to reach. “What we got here?” He lifted the cover and grimaced. “Ewww…Liver and onions and broccoli. Right up your alley.”
After eating most of his dinner, including the vanilla pudding since he was really hungry, Hutch pushed away the tray table and leaned backward onto the raised bed. “Starsky, what happened?” Repeating his earlier question.
Worried that Hutch didn’t remember him explaining it from that morning, Starsky retold the story of how Hutch had gotten injured.
Shaking his head back and forth Hutch re-asked the question. “No, what happened with you?” He wasn’t sure he believed Starsky’s bullshit about Dobey taking one curly-headed detective off the roster to care for him. A day, yes, but Dobey wasn’t the over-protective type. He needed as many good men on the job as he could get.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You did it again, buddy. At the scene you called out ‘Jonathan.’ Only this time you were calling me that. I wasn’t so out of it that I didn’t hear what was going on around me.” Even in a hospital bed, Hutch’s forefinger made an impression.
Starsky put his head down. “I really don’t know Hutch. All I remember is seeing you on the ground, bleeding, with a knife in your leg. Next thing I remember, I’m in a squad car on the way to the hospital.”
“Does Dobey know?”
“I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. He couldn’t lie to Hutch. “The paramedics told Dobey I kept chanting something and wouldn’t respond to them, so Dobey put me on leave until I get my shit together.” He looked up and tried to smile. “Look at the bright side. I’ll be able to be at your beck and call while you’re laid up.”
They’d have time to discuss that later; there was no way Hutch was going to be mother-henned by his partner, nor was he going to be cooped up. Right now Starsky was more important. “Don’t try to cover Starsk. This is getting serious now. It’s affecting our job.”
“I know. I’m going to tell Doc Mitchell everything. I’m worried, too. If I had forgotten to finish cuffing Clark, he could’ve gotten away or hurt you worse.” For Starsky to admit he was worried about himself was saying a lot.
“I want to go with you to your next visit.”
“It’s tomorrow Hutch. I don’t think you’ll be outta here for a few days yet.”
“Shit, are you sure I can’t get out tomorrow?” Hutch hated to admit he was anything but fine, and staying in the hospital was not one of his favorite pastimes.
“If you really want to go with me–” the darker man started.
“I think I need to. Your dreams are now affecting us both personally and professionally.” Hutch broke in.
“I can call Mitchell tomorrow and cancel. Reschedule for the following week when you can get around better, and tell her it’s important that you come with me.”
He promised himself he would curb the hovering behavior, but the next morning when he walked back into the squadroom after taking a quick trip to the men’s room, Starsky was initially alarmed upon not seeing his partner. His eyes tracked the room in time with his heartbeat and just as he was about to ask another officer Hutch’s whereabouts, Dobey stepped out to the squadroom and requested Starsky’s presence in his office.
“Where’s Hutch?” He inquired of his partner.
“Just get in here Starsky.” The captain motioned with a beefy hand that grasped a manila folder.
Upon entering, Starsky saw his partner sitting at one of the chairs opposite Dobey’s desk. He breathed an audible sigh of relief, and wasn’t surprised to see Hutch’s corresponding eye roll and deep frown at the sound.
Stepping behind his desk, Dobey tapped the folder on its dark wooden top. “Since you’ve got most of your current cases wrapped up or at the DA’s office, I’m handing this one over to you.”
Hutch made a grab for the file, “New case?”
“Jerome Clark, suspected armed robber. He’s got a history of muggings and B & E’s with escalating violence, graduated to armed robbery and now with a 245 thrown in. He’s a user.”
Hutch looked up from the file. “So it’s a simple locate and retrieve?”
“Nothing’s ever simple, Hutchinson. You should know that. Find him! Get this guy off the streets.”
Both men shrugged their shoulders. It was better than doing desk duty or finishing older reports. “Okay, Cap. Whatever you say.”
Dobey pointed his pencil at his curly-haired detective and then toward the door to the squadroom. “Damn right whatever I say, Starsky! Now get your butt out there and find this guy before he busts into another place and this time takes someone out.”
“Yessir, Captain, sir.” Starsky saluted, then turned to his seated partner. “Well, partner, what’d ya say? Let’s get the ball rolling.”
As they arrived at the police garage, Hutch slapped the file into Starsky’s hands. “You can familiarize yourself with this, I’ll drive.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Starsky waved his hands at his partner. “Just don’t do that to me again.”
Confused, Hutch asked “What?”
“Disappear without me knowing where you went.” He mumbled as he got into the LTD.
“Starsky, stop! Right here, right now.” Hutch turned to face him after turning the car over, before putting it in drive. “You’re getting all hung up. All you can think about is this fear, and that doesn’t bode well for the work we’ve got to do. You’re still having problems sleeping and you refuse to acknowledge it. Now, unless you can give me a good reason not to go back to Dobey and have him ground you until you get your head screwed back on, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and back off.”
“I’m sorry Hutch. I know it’s unreasonable, but I can’t help it.” He couldn’t deny what Hutch was saying, and since he knew Dobey’d bench him in a second if their Captain was aware that Starsky’s tank was running on empty, he sat and sulked in the corner of the passenger’s seat. He knew something was bothering him, but he’d be damned if he knew exactly what it was. And he refused to acknowledge aloud that it could be his dreams and sleep patterns that left him with a sense of foreboding. His sixth sense was telling him it had something to do with Hutch; but he didn’t want to acknowledge that the fear and anguish he felt each time he awoke next to Hutch might have something to do with either their relationship or with Hutch’s safety.
If he dwelled on it too much, he was afraid he might go crazy. He was already driving his partner nuts, and if he kept it up, he was sure to lose Hutch. Besides, analyzing stuff was Hutch’s forte. He prayed that Dr. Mitchell would be able to come up with something to figure out what was going on with him. She had prescribed some sleeping medication, but he was reluctant to take it. Of course, his partner didn’t know about the sleeping pills, and if he did, Hutch would insist on him taking it. But then he’d be too drugged up to show Hutch how much he loved him.
After another two days of restless nights and waking dreams, Starsky finally was able to convince Hutch to let him drive. He was tired of dealing with the LTD and its cranky ways. Sometimes it was so simple to pull the wool over Hutch’s head. All Starsky had to do was come in contact with cold water every morning, as well as several cups of the strong coffee that only the local 7-11 would sell.
They had nothing more strenuous planned than cruising the streets they normally patrolled, watching for recent parolees and on-the lam criminals. Starsky convinced both himself and his partner that it would be a quiet day, with little required in the way of action. So far the whereabouts of one Jerome Clark, age 23, was still undiscovered, but the two detectives had their best snitches out digging for information, and anticipated a sighting soon.
Much sooner than they could have predicted, Millie announced one over the police radio that afternoon.
“Zebra Three, acknowledge 211 in progress with a possible 245 at 315 Front, cross street 3rd. Possible sighting of suspect Jeremy Clark at location. Code 2.”
“Zebra Three responding.” Hutch replaced the mike while Starsky went into pursuit mode.
Driving full out, reckless from the lack of sleep, Starsky was a man on a mission to snare their suspect. Hutch pulled the leather belt around his waist and clicked the lock shut as he slapped on the silent Mars light. Arriving at Ernie’s Spirits and Victuals liquor shop, they parked one block west and made their way to the crime scene on foot.
“Fancy name for a corner store, eh, Starsk?” Hutch tried to infuse some levity into his partner’s demeanor. He wasn’t stupid enough to let his partner go into a scene with a hype on a downside, when Starsky wasn’t running on all cylinders.
Through the window they could see Jerome Clark, unmasked, holding a clerk and the store owner at bay; waving a gun between the two, his arm and hand shaking and his temperament jumpy. Clark jumped in front of the owner and pistol-whipped him upside the head. The older man went straight down, a large bruise and lump already raised on the side of his head before he even hit the linoleum floor.
Waving his Beretta, Starsky motioned his partner behind the yellow brick building. “Back, Hutch. He’s going out the back.” Both men jumped in said direction simultaneously, Hutch’s longer and more powerful legs getting him to the scene first.
Behind the store was a small asphalt court surrounded by two four-story buildings on the Front Street side, a two-story building, and a rundown multilevel apartment building opposite the alleyway. A wooden ledge jutted out from the shorter building, partially blocking the only other way out of the back court. It was beside the entryway that Starsky and Hutch had come through. Someone had set several large metal garbage bins in the small space the ledge, and that was what Clark was attempting to climb around to escape the detective now bearing down on him.
“Hold it! Police!” Hutch shouted at the fleeing figure. “Starsk, cover me!” He called back to his partner, not realizing that Starsky wasn’t just behind him.
Starsky came around the corner and ran smack dab into the metal fire escape of 315 Front, which was placed right at the edge of the back of the building; the collision stunned him and forced him down on his buttocks, his gun clattering out of reach.
Hutch fired a warning shot into the air, startling Clark, who looked behind him briefly then continued to climb on top of one of the metal garbage bins. Seeing no other way, Hutch took aim and fired, hitting the suspect in the right hand and knocking his gun away. Clark collapsed in pain on the top of the bin, and Hutch holstered his gun. He pulled the man to the ground, face down, with this bleeding right hand beneath him. Leaning over, Hutch placed his right knee on the man’s back to hold him still while he held Jerome’s right hand behind him at waist level, and reached behind for the handcuffs he kept in his waistband.
Looking over his shoulder at his prone partner, Hutch called out, “Starsk, you okay?”
Shaking the swirling birds away, Starsky leaned up on his hands to see Hutch had captured their suspect and was now cuffing him. “Yeah. I’m fine. Somebody put a damn fire escape in my way.”
Not able to watch their suspect while his head was turned to make sure Starsky was okay, Hutch didn’t notice Clark reach with his left hand and fingers into his back waistband and pull out a knife. He awkwardly twisted his wrist and plunged the weapon into the left thigh of the cop holding him down. A stream of blood spurted out of Hutch’s thigh as Clark’s knife plunged into Hutch’s thigh. Shock and sudden blood loss caused him to collapse onto Clark’s back, trapping the perpetrator.
At first Starsky didn’t see Clark’s motion or the blood spurting down Hutch’s, but he did notice his partner collapsing headfirst onto the dusty asphalt and equally grungy perp. “Hutch? You okay? You need my help?” In response, all Starsky heard was a loud groan from Hutch and a grunt from Clark. “I’m coming babe.”
His own pain and wooziness forgotten, Starksy hopped up and rushed over to his partner. He rolled the larger man off Clark, and immediately noticed the continuous stream of blood gushing out of Hutch’s leg in time with each pulsing beat of his heart.
Starsky’s own heart jumped in panic as he finished cuffing the bleeding and injured hand of Jerome Clark. Not wanting to remove the knife from Hutch’s leg and possibly cause more injury, he yanked off his outer shirt and wrapped it carefully around the knife to keep it stable. He didn’t want to, but Starsky left his partner lying where he was, dragging Clark clear of his prone partner to go call for two ambulances and a black and white.
Running back to Hutch, he noted his partner had passed out, probably from a combination of blood loss and pain. Seeing him lying on his side, knife sticking through his leg, a large swath of blood covering his jeans and staining the asphalt beneath him, Starsky’s ears began ringing. The sound blocked out the moans of pain from their cuffed suspect, and he fell to his knees at Hutch’s head.
Starsky gathered the upper body of his beloved into his arms and wept. ”Jonathan…Jonathan…” he chanted, his heart hardening against his enemy at each breath of his lover’s name.
“Silence!” He yelled at the groaning prisoner. “My prince is injured and thou wilst pay for the wrong you have done unto him.” He rocked Hutch in his arms, the strength and warmth of his body assuring Starsky that his partner was still with him. “Above all. I love thee above all.”
At the unnatural tone and words of Starsky’s voice, Clark fell silent and waited for a more lucid person to arrive and help him.
The black and white arrived first and one of the officers took care of cordoning off the store and gathering information while giving some first-aid to the store owner.
Behind the store, the ambulance attendants found one injured man cuffed and laying on his stomach with an obvious gunshot wound through the hand, and a second, more seriously injured officer wrapped in his partner’s arms with a knife wound to the leg. One of the paramedics immediately took possession of the cuffed man and began treating his wound, while the other called into the base hospital to begin treatment for the bleeding, injured detective.
Hutch awoke from his unconscious state to find Starsky rocking him, chanting “Jonathan, Jonathan,” in a whispered tone; the ghostly voice reciting over and over. He was worried about his partner’s frame of mind, and tried to tell the attendants through the oxygen mask to take care of Starsky, before everything swam and he closed his eyes against the storm. He needn’t be concerned, as the paramedics were also exchanging glances of worry over the state of the non-injured officer.
~*~
Waking up early the next morning after surgery to repair his artery and the muscles in his left thigh, Hutch was not surprised to find his partner sitting in the chair next to his hospital bed.
Starsky was sitting bent over with his hands in his face. It appeared to Hutch that he hadn’t slept all night.
“Starsk?” His voice was a raspy whisper.
The curled head came up and bleary, red rimmed eyes looked at him. “Hutch? You’re awake?”
In response, Hutch poked his tongue out to wet his dry lips. “Thirsty. Can I have...”
Breaking off Hutch’s sentence, Starsky eagerly guessed Hutch’s need. “You can have some ice chips. Hold on. I’ll be right back.” Showing more energy than he actually had, Starsky jumped out of the chair, pushing it backwards and making a scraping noise on the floor tiles.
While he was gone, Hutch thought about his partner’s appearance, which hadn’t gone unnoticed. Dark circles around the eyes, rumpled clothing, tangled hair, and a gray palor were all Hutch needed to know Starsky’s frame of mind.
A nurse came in just ahead of Starsky returning and took Hutch’s vitals and gave him a shot of painkiller without asking the patient if he needed it. She explained that he was to be on pain medication for at least the next 24 hours whether he wanted it or not, for healing purposes.
“Hutch let the nurse do her job.” Starsky admonished while pushing spoonfuls of ice through the pale lips. “You lost a lot of blood and need to rest. Can’t have you setting back on me.”
Hutch was bewildered and looked down, noticing an IV of blood and one of saline meant to replace the lost fluids in his body. Swallowing the melted ice, he asked Starsky what had happened.
“Clark didn’t take too kindly to your shooting him in the hand. He stabbed you in the leg with a knife. Unfortunately he hit a major artery and you bled like a stuck pig.”
“Oh.” Hutch shut his eyes and drifted along with the pain medication. “You okay?”
He felt Starsky’s hand soothe the hair back from his forehead. “Shh…I’m fine. You just rest. Dobey took me off the roster for a couple of days, so I’m gonna be here when you need me.” He continued to pet and stroke the soft, fine hair as Hutch fell asleep. As he faded off with a soft sigh he sensed his lover leaning down and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad your safe, baby. Love you.”
Hutch didn’t wake again until just before dinner. By then the blood IV had been removed, Hutch having regained the volume he had lost. Starsky was still by his side, but now was asleep in the chair next to the bed. Hutch moved his hand onto the messy curls and patted them, remembering Starsky’s promise to stay with him. His partner needed his sleep, so Hutch tried not to wake him each time he shifted his body, but it was hard not to make grunts of pain each time he moved his injured thigh.
A short time later an orderly brought his dinner, and the jostling of the tray table woke Starsky. Lifting his head and rubbing his eyes, he groaned away the stiffness in his back.
“Ugh, oh man. Hutch? You awake again?” Seeing the dinner on his table, Starsky went to the foot of the bed, raised it, and moved the tray into a better position for his partner to reach. “What we got here?” He lifted the cover and grimaced. “Ewww…Liver and onions and broccoli. Right up your alley.”
After eating most of his dinner, including the vanilla pudding since he was really hungry, Hutch pushed away the tray table and leaned backward onto the raised bed. “Starsky, what happened?” Repeating his earlier question.
Worried that Hutch didn’t remember him explaining it from that morning, Starsky retold the story of how Hutch had gotten injured.
Shaking his head back and forth Hutch re-asked the question. “No, what happened with you?” He wasn’t sure he believed Starsky’s bullshit about Dobey taking one curly-headed detective off the roster to care for him. A day, yes, but Dobey wasn’t the over-protective type. He needed as many good men on the job as he could get.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You did it again, buddy. At the scene you called out ‘Jonathan.’ Only this time you were calling me that. I wasn’t so out of it that I didn’t hear what was going on around me.” Even in a hospital bed, Hutch’s forefinger made an impression.
Starsky put his head down. “I really don’t know Hutch. All I remember is seeing you on the ground, bleeding, with a knife in your leg. Next thing I remember, I’m in a squad car on the way to the hospital.”
“Does Dobey know?”
“I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. He couldn’t lie to Hutch. “The paramedics told Dobey I kept chanting something and wouldn’t respond to them, so Dobey put me on leave until I get my shit together.” He looked up and tried to smile. “Look at the bright side. I’ll be able to be at your beck and call while you’re laid up.”
They’d have time to discuss that later; there was no way Hutch was going to be mother-henned by his partner, nor was he going to be cooped up. Right now Starsky was more important. “Don’t try to cover Starsk. This is getting serious now. It’s affecting our job.”
“I know. I’m going to tell Doc Mitchell everything. I’m worried, too. If I had forgotten to finish cuffing Clark, he could’ve gotten away or hurt you worse.” For Starsky to admit he was worried about himself was saying a lot.
“I want to go with you to your next visit.”
“It’s tomorrow Hutch. I don’t think you’ll be outta here for a few days yet.”
“Shit, are you sure I can’t get out tomorrow?” Hutch hated to admit he was anything but fine, and staying in the hospital was not one of his favorite pastimes.
“If you really want to go with me–” the darker man started.
“I think I need to. Your dreams are now affecting us both personally and professionally.” Hutch broke in.
“I can call Mitchell tomorrow and cancel. Reschedule for the following week when you can get around better, and tell her it’s important that you come with me.”
NS: David and His Jonathan-Part 7
Hutch spent four days in the hospital, was released to his partner’s care, and given crutches with strict orders to stay off the leg for another week, and to call his doctor if any seepage appeared. They also reiterated to him that he should take advantage of the pain medicine when needed in order for him to heal better and faster.
Since both men were off while Hutch healed, Starsky stayed at Hutch’s place and ran back and forth between his apartment and Venice Place. He also handled the chores: watering the plants, shopping, cleaning, all while keeping Hutch comfortable and busy with books, crossword puzzles, and the like. Keeping busy kept Starsky’s mind off his worrisome dreams.
Doctor Mitchell rescheduled Starsky’s next appointment for the following Monday and allowed him to bring Hutch along once Starsky gave her a brief rundown of what went down during Jerome Clark’s capture. Hutch took a chair by the door, while Starsky sat across from Doctor Mitchell.
Turning on her recorder, Dr. Mitchell got oral permission for Hutch’s presence. “I understand you’d like your partner, Sgt. Ken Hutchinson to be present today, correct?”
“Yes, but…” Starsky turned around and exchanged glances with Hutch. “We’d like assurances that anything that is said is, um, kept between us.”
“As mentioned previously, unless we discuss something that can be of potential harm to your partner or other officers, anything we talk about comes under the patient/doctor confidentiality clause.”
Rubbing his hand on his thighs, Starsky nodded. “Okay. Let’s get started then.”
“Relax, Detective Starsky. We’re all here to help you deal with this.” Dr. Mitchell attempted to put her patient at ease. “Now, David, tell me how things have been going since we talked last? You mentioned that these dreams are starting to interfere with your job performance, correct?”
“Yep. That’s part of the reason I want Hutch here.”
“You mentioned that you’ve had more dreams. Do you remember any of them?”
“More like nightmares.” Starsky grumbled.
“Why do you call them nightmares, David?” Dr. Mitchell folded her hands and looked at him intently, but with compassion.
“Doctor Mitchell, perhaps you should listen to this.” Interrupted Hutch from the corner. “I did as you suggested and taped a few of David’s dreams.” He held out a cassette tape that Starsky passed to the doctor.
The doctor accepted the tape and asked Starsky if it was okay for him to play it. Her patient looked at the innocuous item, gulped audibly, then nodded, worried that whatever was on it might prove damaging to his relationship with Hutch, not to mention his job.
“JONATH…..HUUUUTCH!” The sound of Starsky crying in anguish was disturbing to his partner as Hutch sat reliving the moment again. He shuddered at the cry, noticing that Dr. Mitchell was also startled at the of distress Starsky’s cry.
“Above all. I love thee above all. Do not thou forget.” Then came the sound of a mattress creaking and covers rustling.
“David, it’s another dream. Come on, everything’s okay.” Hutch’s voice was obvious over the magnetic tape, but muffled. “What are you dreaming, babe? What’s bothering you?”
“I felt like my life was ending, but I was still alive. It was a nightmare.” Starsky remarked over the tape.
“You mean like you were being smothered or buried alive? Like in your late night monster movies?”
“Not like that kind of nightmare. This was like something killed what made me…me, ya
know?”
“No, not really. But Starsk, it’s just a dream. Remember that. It’s not real.”
After some indistinguishable sounds Starsky spoke again. “Hutch? You…you aren’t
going anywhere are you?”
“When, now?”
“No, it’s just…I got the feelin’ that these dreams are connected to you.”
A clicking sound was heard, as if someone had turned off the machine, followed by a
lengthy silence, then a softer click. Then came an incantation.
“Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there be no rain upon you, nor fields of offerings; for there the shield of the might is vilely cast away. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the might, the bow of Jonathan turned not back. Jonathan was lovely and pleasant in his life and in his death we wilt not be divided; he was swifter than eagles, stronger than lions.
How are the might fallen in the midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thy high places. I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan, my lover; very pleasant hast thou been unto me; thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of all women."
Turning off the machine, Dr. Mitchell looked at both men in the eye. “Based on what I just heard can I assume that the two of you are in a homosexual relationship? With each other?”
Blond and dark brown heads nodded slowly, simultaneously.
“I’m not going to dwell on the dangers of this type of relationship in your job. I’m sure you’re aware of them. I feel in a quandary, because romantic relationships are frowned upon for working partners, yet I do realize we are under a ‘doctor/patient’ confidentiality clause.” She paused and sighed for effect while gathering her thoughts. “I would recommend that you at least inform your superior, but unless I hear of or see any danger arising from this situation, I’m going to keep counsel for now.”
“Thank you.” Hutch said with quiet meaning from his corner. He told himself there was no way they could say anything to Dobey.
She turned to Starsky, “Now David, do you or have you ever known a Jonathan?”
Shaking his head negatively, Starsky denied the question for the umpteenth time.
“Can you answer the question? I’m afraid my tape recorder doesn’t pick up gestures.” Dr. Mitchell smiled soothingly.
“No. I don’t think I ever knew a Jonathan, even back home in New York.”
“And this ‘Jonathan’ keeps reappearing in your dreams?”
“Yeah. But I swear Hutch’s the only guy in my life. Ever. That I love like that.” He clarified.
“Do you always use archaic speech patterns? In these dreams?”
“Huh?”
“The way you spoke, Starsk, on the tape. The older terms and phrases.”
“I guess Hutch would know more than me about that. I don’t really remember much from them.”
Sitting back in her chair, Doctor Mitchell thought for a moment. “I think you might be right David. About these dreams, or nightmares, having some sort of connection with Hutch’s and your relationship.”
‘Uh, oh,’ thought Starsky. ‘Here comes the part where she tells us that our love for each other is because of some negative psychobabble conflict; and that we shouldn’t be together.’ He braced himself.
“Have you ever heard of past-life regression?”
That was not the reaction or response Starsky expected. “Huh? Past life? Like reincarnation stuff?”
“Yes, but we don’t like to use that term.” She looked over to Hutch. “Detective Hutchinson, have you?”
“I know the idea became popular in the ‘50s with the Virginia Tighe case, and has grown somewhat in paranormal studies and in the remaining hippie culture.”
“Yes. But it’s also becoming a serious study in the psychiatric field also.”
Starsky broke in, waving his hands back and forth between him and Hutch as he turned halfway around in his chair, “But what does this have to do with me? Or us?”
“Detective Starsky, the terminology you used in your dream sequences and the verse you spoke leads me to believe you might be reliving a past life of your relationship with Detective Hutchinson in your dreams. Your partner might even have played a part in this past life.”
Starsky was doubtful, “Oh, come on. You don’t really subscribe to that stuff do you?” While he believed in many mystical things – the existence of Big Foot, the reality of UFOs – one thing Starsky always had a hard time coming to grips with were any ideas that touched on the paranormal and the mind.
“I’ve studied it in school briefly, and while I’ve never treated anyone with the condition, you do have the classic symptoms.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Dreams, inability to sleep, inability to distance the dream’s emotions from real life, images that overlap while you’re awake, and the verbiage and terminology you use.”
“I wonder if you’d consider hypnotherapy to try to release these dreams and emotions. While I’m not trained in past life regression therapy, I can recommend someone with the proper qualifications.”
Starsky addressed his partner, “Hutch? What do you think? You’re the one who believes in this kinda stuff.”
“I think it’s worth a shot, Starsk. Especially if it helps you.”
Turning back to the doctor Starsky reluctantly agreed.
“Okay, let me contact my colleague and I’ll have my secretary call you later today with an appointment. It will probably be held at his office, if that’s okay.”
Starsky shrugged his shoulders. “Can Hutch come?”
“I would recommend it. Depending on your results, we might want to try to hypnotize him also.” She wrote something down on her notepad. “In the meantime, I recommend you be reassigned to desk duty until we get this resolved.” Coughing lightly, the department psychiatrist also recommended that they distance themselves from each other for awhile. “Take a break in other words.”
“Can’t do that Doc. Hutch needs me.”
“Starsky. I’m not an invalid. I can stay by myself.”
“Yeah, and who’s gonna get your stuff for you, and help you with your bath, and all that other stuff I’ve been doing?” He looked at the doctor. “We’ll work something out Doc. Thanks.” And he rose to help his partner to his feet and to the car.
Since both men were off while Hutch healed, Starsky stayed at Hutch’s place and ran back and forth between his apartment and Venice Place. He also handled the chores: watering the plants, shopping, cleaning, all while keeping Hutch comfortable and busy with books, crossword puzzles, and the like. Keeping busy kept Starsky’s mind off his worrisome dreams.
Doctor Mitchell rescheduled Starsky’s next appointment for the following Monday and allowed him to bring Hutch along once Starsky gave her a brief rundown of what went down during Jerome Clark’s capture. Hutch took a chair by the door, while Starsky sat across from Doctor Mitchell.
Turning on her recorder, Dr. Mitchell got oral permission for Hutch’s presence. “I understand you’d like your partner, Sgt. Ken Hutchinson to be present today, correct?”
“Yes, but…” Starsky turned around and exchanged glances with Hutch. “We’d like assurances that anything that is said is, um, kept between us.”
“As mentioned previously, unless we discuss something that can be of potential harm to your partner or other officers, anything we talk about comes under the patient/doctor confidentiality clause.”
Rubbing his hand on his thighs, Starsky nodded. “Okay. Let’s get started then.”
“Relax, Detective Starsky. We’re all here to help you deal with this.” Dr. Mitchell attempted to put her patient at ease. “Now, David, tell me how things have been going since we talked last? You mentioned that these dreams are starting to interfere with your job performance, correct?”
“Yep. That’s part of the reason I want Hutch here.”
“You mentioned that you’ve had more dreams. Do you remember any of them?”
“More like nightmares.” Starsky grumbled.
“Why do you call them nightmares, David?” Dr. Mitchell folded her hands and looked at him intently, but with compassion.
“Doctor Mitchell, perhaps you should listen to this.” Interrupted Hutch from the corner. “I did as you suggested and taped a few of David’s dreams.” He held out a cassette tape that Starsky passed to the doctor.
The doctor accepted the tape and asked Starsky if it was okay for him to play it. Her patient looked at the innocuous item, gulped audibly, then nodded, worried that whatever was on it might prove damaging to his relationship with Hutch, not to mention his job.
“JONATH…..HUUUUTCH!” The sound of Starsky crying in anguish was disturbing to his partner as Hutch sat reliving the moment again. He shuddered at the cry, noticing that Dr. Mitchell was also startled at the of distress Starsky’s cry.
“Above all. I love thee above all. Do not thou forget.” Then came the sound of a mattress creaking and covers rustling.
“David, it’s another dream. Come on, everything’s okay.” Hutch’s voice was obvious over the magnetic tape, but muffled. “What are you dreaming, babe? What’s bothering you?”
“I felt like my life was ending, but I was still alive. It was a nightmare.” Starsky remarked over the tape.
“You mean like you were being smothered or buried alive? Like in your late night monster movies?”
“Not like that kind of nightmare. This was like something killed what made me…me, ya
know?”
“No, not really. But Starsk, it’s just a dream. Remember that. It’s not real.”
After some indistinguishable sounds Starsky spoke again. “Hutch? You…you aren’t
going anywhere are you?”
“When, now?”
“No, it’s just…I got the feelin’ that these dreams are connected to you.”
A clicking sound was heard, as if someone had turned off the machine, followed by a
lengthy silence, then a softer click. Then came an incantation.
“Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there be no rain upon you, nor fields of offerings; for there the shield of the might is vilely cast away. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the might, the bow of Jonathan turned not back. Jonathan was lovely and pleasant in his life and in his death we wilt not be divided; he was swifter than eagles, stronger than lions.
How are the might fallen in the midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thy high places. I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan, my lover; very pleasant hast thou been unto me; thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of all women."
Turning off the machine, Dr. Mitchell looked at both men in the eye. “Based on what I just heard can I assume that the two of you are in a homosexual relationship? With each other?”
Blond and dark brown heads nodded slowly, simultaneously.
“I’m not going to dwell on the dangers of this type of relationship in your job. I’m sure you’re aware of them. I feel in a quandary, because romantic relationships are frowned upon for working partners, yet I do realize we are under a ‘doctor/patient’ confidentiality clause.” She paused and sighed for effect while gathering her thoughts. “I would recommend that you at least inform your superior, but unless I hear of or see any danger arising from this situation, I’m going to keep counsel for now.”
“Thank you.” Hutch said with quiet meaning from his corner. He told himself there was no way they could say anything to Dobey.
She turned to Starsky, “Now David, do you or have you ever known a Jonathan?”
Shaking his head negatively, Starsky denied the question for the umpteenth time.
“Can you answer the question? I’m afraid my tape recorder doesn’t pick up gestures.” Dr. Mitchell smiled soothingly.
“No. I don’t think I ever knew a Jonathan, even back home in New York.”
“And this ‘Jonathan’ keeps reappearing in your dreams?”
“Yeah. But I swear Hutch’s the only guy in my life. Ever. That I love like that.” He clarified.
“Do you always use archaic speech patterns? In these dreams?”
“Huh?”
“The way you spoke, Starsk, on the tape. The older terms and phrases.”
“I guess Hutch would know more than me about that. I don’t really remember much from them.”
Sitting back in her chair, Doctor Mitchell thought for a moment. “I think you might be right David. About these dreams, or nightmares, having some sort of connection with Hutch’s and your relationship.”
‘Uh, oh,’ thought Starsky. ‘Here comes the part where she tells us that our love for each other is because of some negative psychobabble conflict; and that we shouldn’t be together.’ He braced himself.
“Have you ever heard of past-life regression?”
That was not the reaction or response Starsky expected. “Huh? Past life? Like reincarnation stuff?”
“Yes, but we don’t like to use that term.” She looked over to Hutch. “Detective Hutchinson, have you?”
“I know the idea became popular in the ‘50s with the Virginia Tighe case, and has grown somewhat in paranormal studies and in the remaining hippie culture.”
“Yes. But it’s also becoming a serious study in the psychiatric field also.”
Starsky broke in, waving his hands back and forth between him and Hutch as he turned halfway around in his chair, “But what does this have to do with me? Or us?”
“Detective Starsky, the terminology you used in your dream sequences and the verse you spoke leads me to believe you might be reliving a past life of your relationship with Detective Hutchinson in your dreams. Your partner might even have played a part in this past life.”
Starsky was doubtful, “Oh, come on. You don’t really subscribe to that stuff do you?” While he believed in many mystical things – the existence of Big Foot, the reality of UFOs – one thing Starsky always had a hard time coming to grips with were any ideas that touched on the paranormal and the mind.
“I’ve studied it in school briefly, and while I’ve never treated anyone with the condition, you do have the classic symptoms.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Dreams, inability to sleep, inability to distance the dream’s emotions from real life, images that overlap while you’re awake, and the verbiage and terminology you use.”
“I wonder if you’d consider hypnotherapy to try to release these dreams and emotions. While I’m not trained in past life regression therapy, I can recommend someone with the proper qualifications.”
Starsky addressed his partner, “Hutch? What do you think? You’re the one who believes in this kinda stuff.”
“I think it’s worth a shot, Starsk. Especially if it helps you.”
Turning back to the doctor Starsky reluctantly agreed.
“Okay, let me contact my colleague and I’ll have my secretary call you later today with an appointment. It will probably be held at his office, if that’s okay.”
Starsky shrugged his shoulders. “Can Hutch come?”
“I would recommend it. Depending on your results, we might want to try to hypnotize him also.” She wrote something down on her notepad. “In the meantime, I recommend you be reassigned to desk duty until we get this resolved.” Coughing lightly, the department psychiatrist also recommended that they distance themselves from each other for awhile. “Take a break in other words.”
“Can’t do that Doc. Hutch needs me.”
“Starsky. I’m not an invalid. I can stay by myself.”
“Yeah, and who’s gonna get your stuff for you, and help you with your bath, and all that other stuff I’ve been doing?” He looked at the doctor. “We’ll work something out Doc. Thanks.” And he rose to help his partner to his feet and to the car.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
