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…
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