Starsky & Hutch Solstice Calendar 2017

This story is written as a tribute to, and in gratitude for what I consider the most exquisitely beautiful Starsky and Hutch painting I’ve ever seen: Suzan Lovett’s Enchantment. It was included on the Summer Solstice 2015 calendar. You might want to take a look before you read my story.

Suzan has graciously given me her permission to write the following, for which I’m deeply grateful.

“Huuuuuuutchhhhhh.”

“Shhh. Almost finished.”

“If you keep doin’ what you’re doin’ your creation ain’t gonna fit.”

“I built in some leeway. It can accommodate a little expansion.” I fastened the final clip and sat back on my heels, placing my hands lightly on his hips. “Besides, I’m kind of enjoying watching you fill up my jewelry.”

Starsky tried a “harrumph” but it came out sounding more like a chuckle. “Never knew you were a bona fide silversmith.”
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Click here to read Part 1.

Hutch lay face up on the ground, a bullet wound near his abdomen. One hand tried to stem the flow of blood bubbling through his fingers. The other still grasped his gun. He clung to it, unwilling to let go until he knew Starsky was safe. He focused on Starsky’s face hovering above him.

“Starsk… y’k? You… shot?”

“No. He didn’t get me. But you got Stevens. Hold on, Hutch.” Starsky frantically reached for a kitchen towel, then folded it and pressed it against Hutch’s heaving stomach..

Hutch cried out in pain.

“Sorry, Hutch. Have to stop the bleeding. You with me? Huh? Babe?”

Hutch coughed softly and dropped his Magnum. He reached out to Starsky with both hands and rolled into the safety of his arms. He breathed in his partner’s scent, pressing his head against the warmth of his chest.
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It had been a grueling three weeks. Both had been undercover trying to solve a multi-state narcotics case. They had made arrests yesterday and today had been spent writing up report after report after report.

Starsky knew the case had hit his lover harder than it had hit him. Hutch had been ten minutes too late to save a fellow undercover officer from being killed. No matter what Dobey or he said, Hutch couldn’t forgive himself.

Starsky had left Metro about an hour before Hutch. He had a couple stops to make and things to take care of at their house. Everything was set and he was listening for Hutch’s car to pull into the driveway.

As soon as he heard the car, he turned off all the lights in the house and went to stand by the door.

Hutch unlocked the door and reached inside to turn on the entryway’s light. He jumped when a hand grabbed his.

“Easy. No lights. Come on in.” Starsky pulled Hutch in the house and into a hug. He pushed Hutch’s jacket off his shoulders then unhooked Hutch’s holster. He removed the holster and tossed it and the jacket on the bench behind Hutch.

“What? Starsk? You know I love you, but I’m not…”

Silencing him with a kiss, Starsky said, “Close your eyes. I got something to show you.”

Totally trusting his partner, as always, Hutch closed his eyes and allowed himself to be led when Starsky took his hand. He could tell they were heading for the back of the house. To the room they both spent most of their time in. The greenhouse/sunporch. As they got closer, Hutch could smell the wonderful aroma of Starsky’s amazing sautéed mushrooms. He growled in appreciation and anticipation.

Starsky led him to his favorite chair and pushed him into it. “Okay, open your eyes.”

There was a small fire in their fireplace. The flames danced slowly. He raised his gaze to discover the room had been festooned with blue, and a few white, fairy lights. The soft blue was soothing and peaceful. Starsky had put them up around the ceiling beams, the floorboards, over pictures, the mantle, and had wrapped them around most of the plants in the room, making them look like Christmas plants.

He gasped. “Starsk… “

“Later, Blondie. Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” He handed Hutch a set of silverware, wrapped in a sky blue colored napkin. He poured them each a glass of wine.

Setting the silverware down, Hutch took the glass of wine Starsky handed him.

“To you. To us. We always try to do our best. No matter what, Hutch, remember that. If you hadn’t gotten there when you did, three other officers would have died, including me.” He watched as the truth of that hit Hutch. “You did your best.”

Hutch closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening. He had tried not to think about how close he had come to losing his heart, Starsky. “To us.” He clinked his glass against Starsky’s and sipped the wonderful wine.

They put their glasses down. Starsky dropped to his knees beside Hutch. He began to feed Hutch a bite at a time from the platters of food he had prepared.

“Starsky? You don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do. I want to show you how I feel about you, babe. You are my hero. Always have been, always will be. You have saved my worthless hide more times than I can count. You have taught me, backed me up, calmed me, and excited me. Most of all, you have shown me what love is supposed to be.” He had to stop to clear his throat. “You, Hutch, you are my everything.”

Hutch had to wipe away tears. “Awww, Starsk. I feel the same about you.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on his lover’s lips. Sitting back up, he continued, “But we need to eat this while it’s hot.” He grinned at Starsky. “Besides, I have a feeling something… errr, someone else is gonna be hot… real soon.”

Starsky got up and sat in his chair, which he scooted close to Hutch’s. They fed each other between kisses and touches. When they were full, Starsky pulled a feather mattress from behind the couch and put it on the floor in front of them.

They made slow, sweet love on the mattress, far into the night.

And there, among the fairy lights reflecting in his lover’s eyes, Hutch was healed.

And outside the sliding glass doors, fairies, with their wings aglow, sighed and flew out over the ocean. Their work here was done.

Sweet Revenge from an unusual perspective.

Yes, I must not despair. He has knocked at death’s door before and death has never welcomed him in. He is young and strong. So young…

Blasted incompetents! Get this noxious tarpaulin off of me! There will be dire consequences for you when my colleagues return!

Inspector Pig E. Bank was livid. To some uninitiated souls he might look like a brightly painted, plastic piggy bank smoking a never empty pipe. But the truth was that he was so much more. He took great pride in being assigned to assist homicide Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson. Today his usual place, the middle ground between the two partners desks, had been disturbed by painters.

Up until now, he had been tolerant of the workers, regarding them with a suspicious eye and a thoughtful puff on his pipe. He didn’t even complain when Hutchinson gently placed him on the edge of the desk to supervise an impromptu ping-pong game. After all, boys will be boys. But now the lunchtime entertainment provided by the odd detectives was over.

Back to work, the painters had shoved all the clone-like black phones with their untidy wires and clumsy receivers in the corner, tumbled together with office odds and ends. Inspector Bank had thought nothing of it ‘til he was tossed willy-nilly onto the pile. He might have forgiven their faux pas, knowing it was only a matter of time ‘til Starsky and Hutchinson would reclaim him and avenge him in their barbaric, yet effective way.  But the painters had taken his friend and fellow Inspector Hoots T. Owl from his safe perch on Babcock’s file cabinet and thrown him on the pile also. Hurting Hoots in any way was not to be tolerated.
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