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.