June 9th- Double Date by hardboiledbaby

It took Hutch several minutes of searching before he was sure, but now there was no doubt in his mind.

Right here. This is the perfect spot.

He nodded decisively, put down the load he was carrying, and set to work.

Several minutes later, he studied the result of his efforts spread out in front of him with a critical eye. He tugged the corner of the blanket nearest to him, smoothing out the fabric, and set the lunch basket on top to keep it from flapping. Satisfied, he sat down and got comfortable, leaning his back against the broad oak tree he’d picked, to wait for Starsky and their dates to arrive.

It was a gorgeous day. The weathergirl on Channel 9 last night had predicted picture-perfect picnic weather, and for once, she hadn’t been wrong. The sky was a brilliant blue with just a few wisps of high, white clouds. The temperature was already warm and was sure to get warmer, but there was the right amount of autumn-edged breeze blowing to keep the sun from becoming too oppressive. The park wasn’t overly crowded either, although it would probably start to fill up with after-schoolers and joggers in a few hours. But for now it was peaceful and idyllic, the gentle rustle of leaves in the branches overhead masking the faint sounds of Bay City traffic, as though it was determined to do its part in making the outing—their first double date since Starsky’s release from the hospital—a complete success.

A double date—in fact, dating in general—had been the furthest thing from Hutch’s mind when he and Starsky ran into a couple of casual acquaintances, flight attendants they knew from a few years back. Or rather, the ladies had run into them, their shopping cart broadsiding Hutch and Starsky’s in the produce section of the grocery store. Recognition and hugs quickly followed. Brenda and June had heard about what happened to Starsky in May from news reports and were eager to hear the ‘real story’ from the injured hero himself. Starsky good-naturedly obliged them but kept the details to a minimum, only briefly mentioning the shooting in the parking lot and his extended hospital stay, focusing instead on Hutch’s takedown of James Gunther and his criminal enterprise.

This was a version of the tale that Hutch knew well by now, and while it always made him uncomfortable to be given top billing when he clearly wasn’t the star, Starsky refused to tell it any other way. “You did all the heavy lifting on this one, Hutch,” Starsky said when Hutch protested. “I just cheered you on from the sidelines.” Which was bullshit, of course. But Starsky wouldn’t change his mind or his story, and eventually Hutch let it go, tuning out whenever Starsky got going. The fact that Starsky was alive to cheer him on at all was reason enough for Hutch to let go of a lot of things, some of which had been weighing him down for months, if not years. Anxieties that had loomed so large in his thoughts—worries about life, work, relationships—seemed small and inconsequential now. He let them all go, and found a clarity and peace of mind that beat any kind of navel-gazing meditation he’d ever tried, hands down.

Somehow or other, the conversation turned into plans for a double date on Friday, a day before the women were to return to their current home base in Atlanta, and Hutch found himself agreeing aloud with Starsky that a “pic-a-nik” would be just the thing. Privately, though, he wasn’t particularly keen on the idea, although it wasn’t until later that night, when he was home alone, that he realized why:

I don’t want to share him with anybody.

Which was… geez, it was ridiculous, not to mention a little pathetic. Hutch had huffed out an exasperated breath, annoyed at himself for the petty thought. Get it together, Hutchinson, he told himself sternly. Starsky deserves to have some fun after all he’s been through, and he deserves to have it with anyone he wants. Why wouldn’t he want to spend it with someone other than you?

Resolutely refusing to follow that train of thought to its logical and depressing destination, Hutch reached for the phone and dialed Huggy’s number. He had a “pic-a-nik” to plan.

A young woman with a golden retriever ran past where Hutch was sitting, and he absently watched them tossing and chasing a fluorescent orange Frisbee until they disappeared from his view. He shook his head ruefully at the memory of his momentary pity party. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t let go of all his anxieties.

In a way, though, it shouldn’t have been surprising. He’d gotten used to having Starsky pretty much all to himself. After Starsky’s release from the hospital, Hutch moved in with him to help, and they’d practically been joined at the hip ever since. Recovery had been steady, but months in the making, and at a pace that would not be rushed. It was only in the last week, since Starsky started driving again, that Hutch had finally returned to his own place. Well, to sleep, anyway. They still spent most of their waking hours together.

The closeness had been good for them both. Starsky overcame an initial reluctance to be ‘babied,’ as he put it, eventually swallowing his pride and accepting Hutch’s assistance with a hard-won grace and dignity that made Hutch’s chest ache with gratitude. Hutch, for his part, became accustomed to Starsky’s face being the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night. He counted on it, in fact—visible, tangible evidence that Starsky was regaining his strength, his mobility, his indomitable spirit. For as Starsky returned to normal, so did Hutch. Not the fucked-up normal they’d fallen into in the months prior to the shooting, but their real normal, going back to who and what they were at the beginning, when they were first partnered.

Partners. Yeah, they’d gotten that back, and Hutch would be damned if they’d ever lose it again, regardless of whether they returned to their beat or not. That part was still up in the air. Starsky was working hard with his rehab and making great strides, but he didn’t seem overly concerned, one way or the other, with whether or not he would be reinstated to full duty at the end of it. Hutch was glad about that. He still wanted Starsky by his side, the two of them together, making a difference in the world. But was getting back on the streets still the best for them, at this stage in their lives? They’d given a lot of themselves to the job and without question it had taken its toll. Hell, it had almost taken Starsky. Maybe it was time to find another way to serve and protect.

Hutch blew out a breath, shrugged his shoulders, and willed himself to calm. It was an important decision that needed more soul-searching, but not today. Today was about having a pleasant, relaxing afternoon with good food and a couple of lovely ladies. Yes, it was a beautiful day for a double date. It was, in fact, going to be the best damned double date in the history of double dates, at least so far as Hutch could manage it. Because returning to normal meant you got on with the rest of your life. It meant you dated, double or otherwise. It even meant maybe settling down with one person.

Didn’t it?

A familiar growl reached Hutch’s ears, interrupting his musing. He rose to his feet with a smile and turned toward the parking lot.

Sunlight glinting off the polished chrome of the Torino blinded him for a moment. He squinted until the car turned, showing off its glossy red and white side as it slid into a parking stall next to his beater. The engine cut out, and in the relative quiet, Hutch could hear the Frisbee lady calling to her dog, some distance away. The dog barked once. He sounded happy, Hutch thought.

Starsky got out with only a hint of awkwardness, the full swing of the Ford’s heavy door stretching him slightly beyond his easy reach. He slammed it shut with a slight grunt, then patted the panel. The gesture was already familiar to Hutch, a reverential and affectionate touch Starsky had been bestowing on his beloved tomato ever since it had been returned to him, with great pomp and circumstance, by Merle. Hutch had to admit, the Earl had worked mechanical magic on the Torino, restoring it to nearly brand-new condition. A casual observer would never notice her scars, hidden under the paint and bodywork.

Starsky, of course, wasn’t a casual observer. He was a fellow casualty. Both of them wounded in action, scarred; but both recovering, thank God.

As Starsky scanned the park, Hutch belatedly realized that no one else was getting out of the car. Starsky was alone. Hutch waved, and when he caught Starsky’s attention, raised both palms up in a “what gives?” gesture. Starsky’s warm smile and half-shrug told Hutch that there was nothing to worry about, so he simply stood there and waited for Starsky to join him.

“Change in plans,” Starsky said when he got closer. “The gals couldn’t make it.”

“Oh.” This wasn’t particularly startling. Flight attendants, like cops, were subject to schedule changes, sometimes without much notice. Still, Hutch felt a little deflated. This hadn’t been his idea, but he felt disappointed for Starsky’s sake. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry, Starsk.”

“Hey, it happens.” Starsky shrugged. He dropped down to sit cross-legged on the blanket and pulled the lunch basket toward him. He didn’t seem disappointed at all. “Whatcha got in here, Hutch?”

“You—” Hutch blinked at him for a second. “You want to stay?”

Starsky had already gotten the lid open, but he paused in his food hunt to give Hutch his patented ‘well, duh’ look. “Sure. Why not?”

Yeah, why not?

It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time they sat in a park and ate together, just the two of them. Hell, maybe not even the hundred and first. Back in the day, lunch break during a routine patrol was often burgers and fries in a nice, shady spot. But this? This wasn’t grabbing a quick bite between calls. This was different. It felt different. It felt like a double date… except, well, without the double.

“Jeez, you gonna stand there looming all day?”

Slowly, Hutch sat down. Starsky started pulling things out of the basket: bags of potato chips and cheese puffs, fried chicken, knishes.

“Oh, wow!” Starsky said. The delighted, almost breathless words drew a laugh from Hutch, and suddenly, everything was fine.

“Did you find the unicorn toes and the butterfly bones? I fixed them up for you, special.”

Starsky briefly rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “No, but really, this looks amazing!” Next, he raided the cooler, laying out containers of salsa, deviled eggs, fresh fruit, potato salad, and….

“Wait a minute.” Starsky held up a long, paper-wrapped bundle, slightly grease-stained. He sniffed it. “Pepperoni, cheese, and… anchovies,” he declared. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Huggy’s newest creation,” Hutch confirmed. “Pizza in a sandwich.”

Starsky rubbed his hands together in glee.

“Pass me a fork, Hutch.”

Starsky leaned back against his elbows, lifted his face to the sun, and belched. “I think this alfredo dining agrees with me.”

“Al fresco, dummy,” Hutch said fondly. And it does. Starsky looked happy, content, and above all, healthy. Hutch could hardly take his eyes off his partner.

“‘S what I said,” Starsky replied, unperturbed. He patted his belly. “You know, you really outdid yourself this time.”

“Well, I had a little help,” Hutch said. “That pizza sub of Huggy’s turned out great.” He’d been skeptical at first, despite Huggy’s promise that it was “a hero fit for a hero,” but the sandwich had indeed proved delicious, even cold.

“Definitely a keeper,” Starsky agreed. “And this root beer! Man, I haven’t had a Johnnie Ryan since I was a kid. I didn’t think they sold ’em west of the Rockies. How’d he manage to get a hold it?” He held his half-full bottle up to the light, admiring the deep, rich color.

“I was told not to ask,” Hutch said wryly. He raised his bottle. “To Huggy.”

“To Huggy,” Starsky echoed, tapping his soda against Hutch’s, then draining what was left before flopping down to lie on his back. Hutch sipped his more slowly, savoring the sweet, mellow flavor of the fragrant brew.

“But the rest of it,” Starsky continued, waving a hand at the scattered remains of their meal, “that was you, right?” He kissed his fingertips. “Magnifico. Seriously, Hutch.”

Hutch found himself blushing a little, and hoped Starsky would chalk it up to the noonday sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Gordo. Enjoy it while it lasts, you’ll be back on your diet tomorrow.”

“Nah, won’t be sooner than the day after tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that,” Starsky replied. When Hutch gave him a questioning look, Starsky jerked a thumb toward the basket which, despite their combined efforts to eat for four, was far from empty. “No way am I letting any of that go to waste. I mean, you made apple pie, for God’s sake. We’re going to finish the leftovers before you whip up more goat’s milk and wheat germ.”

Hutch snorted at the old joke. He’d been very careful with Starsky’s diet during his convalescence, but Hutch had known better than to ply the man with his more exotic health shake concoctions. Instead, he prepared home-cooked meals with sensible ingredients, choosing recipes they could both agree on. It made for healthier fare than either of them had been eating prior to the shooting—a silver lining of sorts. Hutch had been especially gratified that Starsky kept up with the wholesome regimen even when he didn’t have to, now that Hutch wasn’t around all the time.

“Yep,” Starsky was saying, “You really outdid yourself.” After a slight pause he added, almost casually, “You know, you don’t have to try so hard.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This whole double date thing. It was a nice thought, but—”

“Hold on,” Hutch protested, “this double date thing was your idea, not mine.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Hutch paused. It wasn’t? He thought back to the encounter in the store, but found he couldn’t recall the point in the conversation where they started talking about a date.

“You weren’t paying attention.” The reproachful look in Starsky’s eyes was softened by the rueful quirk of his lips. “Guess I should’ve known. You always tune out when I start talking about how you brought down one of the most powerful—”

“Starsk.”

“See? You’re doing it again.”

Hutch shook his head, and stared into the depths of his nearly-empty bottle. “I wish you’d quit bringing that up.”

“Hey, you start singin’ my praises, I start singin’ yours. We’re a duo, this is a duet.” Starsky waved a hand. “Anyway. June is the one who pushed for a date. She was kinda insistent, and it didn’t look like she was going to take no for an answer. Guess I had forgotten that about her.” Starsky made a face. “So, I figured a picnic would be safe. Y’know, uncomplicated, no expectations. Didn’t realize you were going to go all out like this.”

“I-I thought you wanted….” Hutch began, but Starsky stopped him with a touch to his arm.

“Yeah, I get that now. But I’m good with this, babe. Just us.”

“Not tired of my ugly mug yet?” Hutch said, trying to lighten the mood, but Starsky didn’t take the bait.

“Not tired, and not ugly either. Geez, Blondie. The women, they come and go. You’re the constant in my life.”

Hutch pulled his eyes up to meet Starsky’s and was transfixed by the clear candor of his gaze.

Hutch swallowed, cleared his throat. All the smart-ass quips he might have said wouldn’t come to his lips. Instead, he found himself saying, “And you’re mine. You’re all I need, Starsky.”

“Really?” Starsky tilted his head. His tone wasn’t one of disbelief or mockery, more… contemplative, assessing. “Don’t say it unless you mean it.”

“I do.” And in that moment, Hutch realized he did mean it: at the most basic level, in the core of his being. In his heart.

He dropped his hand down, palm up, between them. Without hesitation, Starsky put his hand into Hutch’s. They held on tight for a minute, maybe longer. Then, with a quick squeeze, they both let go. Hutch lay down, stretched out on his back next to Starsky, and the two of them stared up into the blue.

And that was it.

Such a simple touch, real and grounding—something they always shared, as natural and automatic as breathing. Essential information communicated without words, conveying intent as unerringly as if they were running a perp down out on the streets, where a flick of the eyes and a quick nod spoke volumes. But now there was something more—a promise.

And yet the promise had been there all along, hadn’t it? Perhaps not in so many words, but they’d made a commitment to their partnership and friendship that proved to be more binding and enduring than the formal wedding vows Hutch had once uttered. For better, for worse; in sickness and in health: he and Starsky had faced those challenges and more. They’d been tested to the breaking point and beyond, but somehow it had never been the point of no return. Somehow, they’d always found their way back.

To love and to cherish, till death us do part. That, too, had always been part of their promise to each other; so ingrained that Hutch would never have thought to question it, but the implications were only now hitting him, and hitting him hard. Their relationship was evolving, progressing far beyond the friendship forged in the Academy, beyond even the partnership bond tempered in blood and bullets.

And Starsky had known all this. Of course he did.

“Starsky?”

“Hmm?”

“Did the girls’ plans really change?”

Starsky let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Well, sorta. Brenda’s not as oblivious as June. When I phoned her yesterday to make arrangements to pick them up, she told me she knew I’d been trying to get out the date from the get-go, gave me points for ‘being a gentleman,’ and canceled from her end.”

“Yesterday? Why didn’t you tell me?” Hutch asked.

Starsky’s voice was a little gruff. “I was waiting, Blondie.” Waiting for Hutch to catch on and catch up, so they could take the next step together. Waiting for a few simple words over intertwined fingers.

Hutch reached for Starsky’s hand again.

“You don’t have to wait anymore, Starsk.”

“Hey, Hutch? We got any of that root beer left?”

Hutch knew the answer, but he hauled himself up onto an elbow to peer into the cooler anyway. “Nope. You drank them all, buddy.” Even the ice had melted, leaving nothing but lukewarm water.

“Aw, rats. We’ll have to have Huggy get us some more.” Starsky sat up and leaned over Hutch to look for himself, and Hutch felt the warmth of Starsky’s body all along his own, a few scant inches away.

Once upon a time, Hutch would have automatically rejected the thought of having that body passionately pressed against his, skin to skin—not because he didn’t find Starsky erotic or desirable, but because he did, and acting on that desire would have opened up a world of problems, not the least of which was Starsky himself. Would his partner feel the same way? And even if he did, the difficulties of being fuck buddies while still being partners on the force seemed insurmountable. So Hutch closed his mind to it… or tried to. There were times in the last year or so when he couldn’t, times when the thought became entrenched, an addictive fantasy, and it took something a hell of a lot stronger than root beer to banish. Dark times.

Now, the certain knowledge that this body wasn’t off-limits to him anymore filled him with a sense of profound rightness and a joyful anticipation for what was to come: true partnership in every sense, as best friends and lovers. They would make this work, because this was for real, and for keeps. But Hutch felt no urgency to claim the physical, not just yet. They may have taken the long road to get to this place, but they’d made it. He owned Starsky heart and soul, just as Starsky owned him. The rest would inevitably follow, as the sunrise follows the sunset. There was no need to rush. Hutch grinned at Starsky, then lay back down and closed his eyes, letting the cheerful sounds of people at play wash over him. He felt Starsky watching him for a few moments before following suit. Starsky’s even, relaxed breathing told Hutch that in this, too, they were in sync.

After a while, Starsky said, “Ollie?”

“Yeah?”

“You know, I do believe this is the best double date ever.” Even with his eyes still closed, Hutch could hear the humor quirking Starsky’s lips.

The humor, and the love.

“You know, Stanley, I do believe you’re right.”

I can see you’re thinking, baby
I’ve been thinking too
about the way we used to be
and how to start anew
Maybe I’m a hopeless dreamer
maybe I’ve got it wrong
but I’m going where the grass is green
if you’d like to come along

All these years of living large
are starting to do us in
I won’t say it wasn’t fun
but now it has to end
Life’s been moving oh so fast
I think we should take it slow
rest our heads upon the grass
and listen to it grow

Splendor in the Grass, Pink Martini
(Thomas Lauderdale and Alex Marashian)

A/N: My most heartfelt gratitude goes out to beta readers Quoshara and Anachron, who stepped up at a moment’s notice and helped tame this unruly fic. Any uncivilized bits that snuck back in when they weren’t looking belong to me. Much love also to Flamingo, for her unfailing encouragement. Thank you, ladies ♥ ♥ ♥

Splendor in the Grass was not the inspiration for this story, but it became the theme song, if you will. As I worked on this fic, I listened to Storm Large sing this beautiful ballad, and imagined Starsky and Hutch lying side by side in the park, listening to the grass grow.