Day 6: Met by Moonlight by babs

He could hear people talking over the sound of the oxygen going into his body, the beeps of the monitors, the harsh rasp of his breathing.

Starsky opened his eyes to see two shadowy figures in his hospital room, suddenly afraid Death had come to carry him off. He wasn’t ready to die. Not when he knew he loved Hutch. Not when a whole world of possibility had opened itself. Just a few short days ago, Hutch cuddled in bed with him, Huggy and Dobey sat by his bedside, and they laughed and toasted Starsky’s move from the ICU to a regular floor. But now he lay struggling and fevered from an infection that no medicine seemed to be able to fight.

“You’ll be able to do it? Twenty-four hours.”

“You know I will, my man. This’ll be child’s play.”

He knew those voices. Hutch, Huggy. His vision blurred, whether from tiredness or tears, he didn’t know. He struggled to take yet another breath. He had heard the worry in his doctors’ voices—he knew he stood at a crossroads between Death and Life. And even though he wanted to choose Life, Death seemed to be getting the upper hand in this battle.

He wished Hutch would come closer, take his hand, and Starsky would tell him no matter what, he loved him and he didn’t want to leave, even if his body said otherwise. He wanted to tell him not to grieve too long, to live Life, fully and happily.

“You ready?” Hutch’s voice, low and strong.

“I am.” Now Huggy’s, steadfast as ever.

Starsky opened his eyes as he felt a cool hand on his forehead. He hadn’t remembered closing them.

“Hey, Starsk.” It was Hutch, his blond hair a gleaming beacon in the darkened room.

Why was the room so dark? Even overnight there was always light from the hallway or dim light in his room.

“Hu…” He could barely hear his own voice, and every breath seemed to take more and more effort.

“My love. My dearest love. Trust me,” Hutch whispered in his ear. “Don’t be afraid. You will be safe.”

Starsky forced his eyes open and the darkness seemed to recede, as if the room filled with moonlight, even if Starsky couldn’t remember the moonlight ever shining in his room before.

Hutch’s hair glowed in that light, tangled gold and silver. Even Hutch’s eyes seemed to glow with a cool blue flame.

Starsky felt himself lifted in Hutch’s arms, almost as if his weight was insubstantial. He didn’t understand that at all.

“Huggy,” Hutch said, and Starsky felt the rumble of Hutch’s chest against his own. “Twenty-four hours. If you can’t hold, you know where to reach us.”

“Haven’t had a chance for a workout this good in a long time,” Huggy said. Starsky couldn’t see him but he could hear the smile behind the words. “You’d better get moving—the door won’t stay open forever.”

Door? What door? Surely Hutch wouldn’t be carrying him out the door. Why would he try something like that?

There was pressure coming from somewhere, and they turned and took a few steps. Starsky caught a glimpse of the hospital bed, where it sure looked like his own body lying there with Hutch sitting beside him. Was he dead? He knew he’d read things about people brought back to life seeing their bodies on operating tables. But Hutch didn’t look upset—at least not the Hutch sitting in the blue chair.

Starsky felt a strange sensation cradled in Hutch’s embrace. Were they flying on the back of a bird? Moving on horseback? He tried to keep his eyes open but they grew heavier and heavier and he couldn’t really see anything anyway. He took another choked breath and then…

A hand cupped the back of his head and lifted it from a pillow. He felt cool metal touch his lips.

“Drink. It’s okay. It will help.”

He drank, the liquid tart but refreshing.

“Good. That’s good, David.”

He frowned at the voice, elusively familiar. Not Hutch, but yet safe and soothing.

“Starsk.”

That was Hutch. He would recognize Hutch’s voice in a crowd of a thousand. Pick it out the same way he would be able to pick out the way Hutch walked, or the way he hunched his shoulders when he was tense, or the way he rubbed his chest or alongside his nose.

Hutch’s hand rested on his forehead—the calluses on that hand ones he’d felt before. And then Hutch brought his hand down alongside Starsky’s cheek and brushed his index finger over Starsky’s lips.

He wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn’t for some reason. He couldn’t seem to make his body move, as if some unseen force held him in place.

“Not much longer, and you’ll wake up,” Hutch whispered.

What? I am awake, he wanted to shout. I can hear you, feel you. I know you’re holding my hand right now.

But evidently Hutch didn’t hear a word or his lips hadn’t moved because he heard Hutch sigh and the featherlight touch of Hutch’s arm across his lower belly as Hutch rested his head on the bed.

He itched to raise his arm to tangle his fingers in Hutch’s hair, but he fell asleep to the sound of birdsong and the taste of summer berries on his lips.

There were more awakenings, more of that tart, refreshing liquid, and always Hutch—the one constant. He roused to Hutch’s hand holding his, to Hutch singing songs he’d never before heard, and once to Hutch making a strangled sound as if he was crying.

He felt safe and content, even if he had no idea what was going on. It didn’t smell like the hospital where he’d spent so much time. He no longer heard the clicking of machinery, those infernal beeps and hisses gone. The mattress supporting him felt soft and comforting, the sheets against his skin, cool and feather-light.

And time passed.

Starsky opened his eyes and took another deep breath when he realized it didn’t hurt. He stared at the ceiling above him which looked like…sky? Blue, blue sky—clear, crystal, like Hutch’s eyes. A breeze tickled his hair, and he raised his hand to look at it, sure it would be translucent and he was nothing more than a ghost. But it looked solid, thinner than it had been over a month ago, but solid just like always.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, just breathing and gazing up, realizing that the sky was real, not a painted ceiling. But there was no glass separating sky from room—and the air that filled the room was fresh and pure, honey-sweet and warm.

“David! You’re awake.”

Starsky turned his head towards the voice he recognized from flashes of memory. “Mrs. Hutchinson?”

Except she didn’t look like the Eleanor Hutchinson he was used to seeing—the one dressed always in designer clothing and with every hair immaculately in place. No, this Eleanor Hutchinson wore a flowing dress, and her unstyled hair fell jumbled in soft curls to her shoulders.

She came closer, placed her hand on his forehead. “Good. No fever.”

He watched as she poured a clear liquid from a crystal pitcher to a crystal glass.

“Drink.” She held the glass to his lips and smiled when he took it in his own hands. “More?”

Starsky shook his head. “No. I’m…where am I? And where’s Hutch? He was here. Am I…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

Hutch had his mother’s smile, Starsky realized, when Eleanor looked at him softly.

“I’ll leave the explanation to Kenneth,” she said. “He should be here soon. He’s meeting with Matthew.” Eleanor smoothed the blanket over Starsky, patted his knee, fluffed his pillows, and helped him sit up.

She left him with another glass and a firm order to drink it all. Starsky obeyed. If Eleanor Hutchinson was in charge of the BCPD, no cop would ever dare step out of line.

Starsky stretched slowly, surprised when he felt barely a twinge. He looked longingly at the door. Surely he could make it to there and go hunting for Hutch. Or, at the very least, figure out where he was. Why had Hutch’s mom been so secretive?

He threw back the covers and sat with his legs over the side of the bed, taking note of the intricate wood carvings on the bedpost, the chair, and the door frame. Delicate vines intertwined with flowers Starsky had never seen, trees branched and twisted alongside waterfalls, a squirrel sat holding an acorn, while what appeared to be a fairy fluttered overhead.

Wherever he was, it wasn’t the Hutchinson family home. Nothing like this adorned the sleek modern furniture Hutch’s parents loved.

He placed his feet on the floor and then looked down in wonder. He curled his toes into the lush green grass. Here and there throughout the room, wildflowers grew. Stranger and stranger, he thought.

As he sat, another need made itself known and the urge to find a bathroom began to overcome the need to find Hutch. He put out a hand to steady himself as he rose. He remembered the first time the physical therapists had gotten him out of bed in the hospital and the dizziness that had assailed him. But, to his surprise, he felt… normal. He couldn’t remember feeling normal in a long time.

He walked to the doorway and peeked out into a hallway of trees. Branches formed an archway as far as he could see. He heard rustling in the leaves and looked up to see a bird cocking its head at him before it flew off.

He turned to the left and took a few steps to find a room with a closed door. He knocked softly and when there was no answer, opened it, and with relief saw what looked like a toilet. He relieved himself with a sigh, and then washed his hands in the water that spilled from a stone fountain and disappeared into the ground.

Once back under the trees, he continued in the direction he’d started. He saw no one, although he heard distant voices—laughter and song.

“Where are you, Hutch?” he asked aloud, just to feel less alone.

And there he was. Hutch stood in front of him, his father beside him.

“Starsk!” Hutch gathered him into a strong hug. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. You’ve been so…”

“Kenneth.” Starsky heard Matthew Hutchinson say. “I think you’re preventing David from breathing.”

“Yes. Yes, Father,” Hutch said and released Starsky from the hug.

Starsky felt strangely bereft at the loss of Hutch’s arms around him.

“How are you feeling, David?” Matthew asked.

He looked at Hutch’s father and saw Hutch in 30 years, still tall and strong, eyes as blue as ever, hair a bit sparser and a bit more silver, but still essentially the man he’d known.

“I feel… I feel fine. Although I don’t understand. I’d appreciate an explanation. Your mom said you would, Hutch. So get talking, buddy.”

He saw the quick glance Hutch gave to his father, and the almost imperceptible nod Matthew returned.

Hutch took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. But not here. You’re starting to look a little wobbly.”

Starsky opened his mouth to argue and shut it as he studied Hutch. At the moment, wobbly fit Hutch better than it did him. Hutch’s eyes were that washed out gray they got whenever he was exhausted, accentuated by the dark smudges underneath his lower lids. The crease between his eyes looked deeper than Starsky could remember seeing it for a long, long time.

Starsky nodded at Matthew who returned the nod with his lips pressed tight. Hutch’s father obviously felt concern about his son, too.

I’ll take care of him, Starsky thought and wondered if, in this strange world he found himself in, Matthew Hutchinson would be able to read his mind.

“C’mon.” Hutch put his arm over Starsky’s shoulders and guided him down a hall Starsky didn’t remember being there seconds ago.

A woman dressed in a loose-fitting tunic passed them as they walked through a passageway where some type of silvery-blue flower Starsky had never seen lined the walls. She smiled, nodded her head at Hutch and Starsky and went on her way without a word.

“For you being so concerned about my ‘wobbliness’, looks like we’re in a maze,” Starsky finally mentioned as they took yet another turn. He didn’t feel tired, but his stomach increasingly felt hollow. He wanted something, anything, to eat. Not to mention that he could feel Hutch’s arm getting heavier.

“Almost there,” Hutch muttered. “You tired? We can rest or I can ca…”

“With your back? You’re not gonna carry me, babe.” Starsky remembered that brief feeling of Hutch’s arms around him in the hospital, feeling safe and secure.

“Here.” Hutch motioned for Starsky to go through the doorway ahead of him.

Starsky stopped abruptly and Hutch ran into him. He reached out to steady himself by grabbing onto Starsky’s shoulders.

“It’s beautiful,” Starsky said when he found his voice. The…room…garden…whatever this place was… had lush grass, the same trees that Starsky recalled from right outside his room, and a small brook dancing and falling over rocks.

“Here.” Hutch guided Starsky to a wooden bench. It was plain compared to the ornately-carved furniture in Starsky’s room.

Starsky sat, and when Hutch started to pace, he grabbed at Hutch’s arm. “Sit down.”

Hutch sat hunched over, arms resting on his thighs.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Hutch’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’m trying to figure out how.”

“The truth would be nice,” Starsky said. “I’m not dead, am I? You’re not dead?”

Hutch’s eyes widened and, for a moment, Starsky saw fear in them. “No. No. You are most definitely not dead.”

“Good. Because I was wondering how I could be starving.”

“I should have thought of that!” Hutch whistled and one of the little birds flitting about the trees came down to land on Hutch’s outstretched hand. Hutch whistled again, and the bird took flight through the doorway. “We’ll have some food soon.”

“I’m waiting, Hutch.” Starsky tapped his fingers on Hutch’s thighs. “Talk.”

“I brought you here,” Hutch began. “Because I thought you might not sur… make it through the infection.”

“And here is…?”

“The Otherworld. Um…Faery.”

Starsky shook his head and then pinched himself. “I’m not dreaming. I felt that. You can’t feel a pinch in your dreams, can you? So this is real?”

“Oh, this is real, Starsk. Believe me.” Hutch looked genuinely distressed and a faint blush rose in his cheeks.

“You some sort of fairytale prince or something?”

“Something like that.” Hutch turned to face Starsky fully. “My family. We can go between the two worlds. The world you and I know, and this one… the Other.”

Starsky stared at Hutch, trying to take in that statement. “So, you can just open a door or something and walk in here anytime you want? Go anywhere? Could I do it?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Hutch’s voice held a very familiar snippiness to it. “But no. You couldn’t come alone. Only with someone who can walk between the worlds.”

“You.”

“Yeah. Me.” Hutch looked away and stood up as someone came through the doorway. Starsky didn’t fail to notice the way Hutch’s right hand went towards his left side.

Still on guard. He wondered if Hutch would ever relax enough to let that May day go.

A young man, tall and lithe, with a wreath of red flowers adorning his silver hair, entered carrying a basket.

“Kenneth,” he said. “Your mother oversaw the meal. She said it would be nourishing for both your friend and you.”

“Thank you, Jerith,” Hutch replied as he took the food. “We appreciate it.”

Jerith bowed his head and left, but not before Starsky noticed something.

“Hutch? Does he have wings? Did I just see someone with wings?”

Hutch knelt on the grass, spreading a blanket and taking out little pots and plates of food. “Jerith is a shape-shifter.”

Starsky thought Hutch sounded way too matter-of-fact about it. Almost as if he’d said nothing more than Dobey was a police captain.

He sat down on the grass beside Hutch. “So he was the…” Starsky made a little flying motion with his hand.

“Yeah.”

“You sound awful calm about all this.” Starsky started filling a plate when Hutch handed him one. He was hungry, after all.

“Why wouldn’t I be? This is part of my life too,” Hutch said. “C’mon. Eat. You need to get back your strength.”

Starsky raised a piece of bread spread with what looked like jam towards his mouth and then stopped, remembering stories his mom had read him long ago. “I thought that if you ate food in Faeryland, you stayed forever.”

Hutch made a show of looking up and down his body. “Obviously not. You’ve met my parents in Duluth. Seen my dad’s office. Visited my house.”

“Well yeah, but, that’s you and them. You’re all part of this.”

“Other people can go between worlds. You just needed a guide, that’s all. Eat.”

Starsky gave in and took a bite of the bread. It tasted like the healthy bread Hutch liked to feed him when Starsky wanted just plain old good American white bread. The jam made him think of summer and sweet kisses. Whoa. Where did that thought come from? Because when he thought of sweet kisses, he didn’t think of a single woman he knew. He could only think of Hutch and imagine Hutch’s lips on his, imagine Hutch’s hands caressing him. He grabbed a bottle of what looked like lemonade and took a long swig.

“You okay?” Hutch whacked his back when he choked from swallowing too fast.

Starsky nodded. “Didn’t go down the right way.”

It didn’t take long to finish the food—some more bread and jam, a very mild cheese, and little cakes that tasted strongly of cinnamon and ginger.

“You gonna tell me more?” Starsky asked. He yawned. The grass seemed to be inviting him to lie down and take a nap.

“When you wake up.” Hutch patted the blanket. “Rest.”

Starsky yawned again as he stretched out and put his hands behind his head. “Just how long have I been resting?”

“Twelve days.” Hutch stretched out beside him.

Starsky turned to face him. “Twelve days? But how… aren’t people going to wonder where we are?”

“I’ll explain later. It’s time to rest,” Hutch said and closed his eyes.

Starsky lay there some time, his body urging him to give in to rest, while his mind raced.

Snatches of Hutch talking to Huggy came back along with an image of Hutch resting his head by Starsky’s side on the hospital bed.

“Twenty-four hours,” Hutch had said to Huggy. How could they have been here twelve days if they only had twenty-four hours? Not to mention he felt, if not, completely recovered, stronger than he should even twelve days on.

There was something else Hutch said—to him, not Huggy—something important. He wished he could remember, that the time in the hospital wasn’t so hazy. But soon the sound of Hutch’s even breathing quieted his mind and he followed Hutch into restoring sleep.

Starsky woke, senses on alert. Someone was watching him. He opened his eyes to see a small creature fluttering in front of his eyes. He crossed his eyes as the pastel colored being came towards his nose. Not any insect he’d ever seen and were those tiny arms and legs in addition to wings?

“Hello,” he said and held out his hand. It ignored his hand and instead did a loop right in front of him. “Who are you?”

Starsky held his breath as it darted closer. But this time, it dove towards the ground and then looped up to swoop around his head before hovering over Hutch’s.

“Leave him alone.” Starsky waved a hand shooing the creature away. Hutch still slept deeply, his lips gently parted, his limbs loose and relaxed. “He’s exhausted.”

Bell-like laughter sounded, and the being flew high into the air before coming down to circle around Starsky’s head once more. He held out a hand again, enchanted, but the gesture only served to make the fairy? Pixie? continue to dive at him.

“Fairies are very curious.”

Starsky looked up at the familiar voice. “Mr. Hutchinson!” He made to stand, but Matthew lowered himself to the ground beside him.

The fairy made one last circle and then flew off. Starsky followed it with his eyes until it disappeared into some tall grasses.

“And annoying,” Matthew added. “You’re looking so much better, David.”

“Thanks. I still don’t get any of this, and Hutch doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to tell me.”

Matthew looked over at his son and shook his head before looking back at Starsky. “He was scared. Probably the most scared I’ve ever seen him. You were dying, and he thought this was the only chance. Otherwise, I don’t know if he would have ever exposed…”

“He said there wasn’t any danger of me being here.” Starsky felt his heart beat a little faster—the way it had when he and Hutch were in a bind.

“There isn’t,” Matthew said. “I think he wished he could have brought you sooner—right when you were shot.”

Starsky frowned. “Why didn’t he?” He didn’t remember being shot, couldn’t remember much of anything after the ping-pong game until he heard Hutch’s voice and saw that glorious smile when he first opened his eyes.

“The only time the Door opens is during the New and Full Moons. Mortals travel to the Otherworld when it’s the New Moon, the world of Faery can only come through on the Full Moon.”

“Bad timing,” Starsky said.

Matthew smiled. “Very bad timing for you. Not for those who wanted to kill you.”

“Guess there’s a reason the streets seem to go crazy during a full moon, huh?”

Hutch’s dad laughed. “Fairies, pixies, sprites—most people can’t see them unless they have a connection to the Otherworld, but some are stuck between worlds, and the little Ones like to bedevil them.”

“I see what you mean about them being annoying,” Starsky conceded.

“I came to tell Kenneth that Eleanor and I are going back to Duluth. You’re well on your way to recovery and I’m sure you and he would like some time alone.” He placed his hand on Starsky’s shoulder and patted it gently as if he was as much his father as Hutch’s.

“I’ll tell him,” Starsky said. He felt an unfamiliar lump in his throat as he looked at Matthew. “Thank you, Mr. Hutchinson.”

“David. How often have Eleanor and I asked you to call us by our first names?”

“Every time I’ve seen or talked to you.” Starsky grinned. “Tell Mrs… I mean Eleanor thank you from me too.”

Matthew nodded and looked at Hutch for a moment before shaking his head and walking away. Starsky swore he heard Matthew mutter, “Stubborn boy,” as he did so.

Starsky sat for a long time, watching the slow, even rise and fall of Hutch’s chest. His fingers itched to caress Hutch’s full lips, to touch the curve of Hutch’s cheek, to tangle in sungold hair.

What would Hutch do—what would Hutch say if Starsky bent his head to awaken his white knight with a kiss?

He shifted uncomfortably as his body grew more aroused. He glanced around nervously, unsure if someone or something lurked nearby.

Hutch sighed and lifted his arms over his head to stretch. The loose linen shirt he wore rode up a bit, and Starsky could see pale golden skin and the hollow curve of Hutch’s belly.

Starsky’s mouth went suddenly dry as Hutch opened his eyes and smiled at him. A slow, lazy smile that Starsky had seen numerous times before, but never with such a blossoming desire in his heart. How had he never seen the love shining in Hutch’s eyes before? Why were all these feelings growing inside him until he felt like a geyser ready to explode? More important, what did he do about it? Especially since Hutch hadn’t seemed to take any moves toward him on his own.

“Hey,” Hutch said, his voice husky from sleep. “You been awake long?”

He shook his head, afraid if he tried to speak his voice would crack like he was going through puberty again. Except—a very important part of his anatomy reminded him he’d gone through puberty long ago. He cleared his throat, which had the unfortunate effect of putting Hutch on alert again.

“Stop that,” Starsky said when Hutch flattened his hand against his chest. He knew Hutch would think it was because he hated being fussed over, but if he wanted to have any chance of being able to hide his desire, he very much needed Hutch to keep his hands to himself.

“Sorry,” Hutch murmured and withdrew his hand.

Starsky forced his thoughts to other things—like Hutch’s parents and shape-shifters and Hutch keeping such a big secret from him all these years.

“Your dad told me to tell you they’re going back to Duluth.” Starsky could no longer stand the silence. “And he told me about the Door.”

“Oh.” Hutch finally looked at him again. “And…”

“You said we’ve been here twelve days, but your dad said the Door is only open for humans during the new moon.”

“It is.” Hutch shifted so he sat facing Starsky and their knees touched. “But one hour in our world is a day here. Same for any Being from here going through the Door to ours.”

“Aren’t people going to be suspicious if we’re not there for twenty-four days… hours?”

“Huggy’s taking care of it.”

More of that hazy time came back to Starsky. Huggy saying it was nothing more than child’s play. “You mean Huggy can come here too?”

“If he wants, but he doesn’t often want to. Huggy is a glamourist.”

“A glamourist?”

Hutch nodded again. “Kind of like an illusionist but stronger. To everyone else, we are in that hospital room, and you are getting better. A miraculous recovery courtesy of modern medicine—and your own stubbornness.”

“And, when we go back?”

“No one will suspect a thing.” Hutch leaned forward. “I wish I could have brought you here right after.”

“I know. And if you could have, you would have. I’m not mad about it.” Starsky stretched. “But I am mad that you never told me something this big.”

“And how was I supposed to do that? Hey, Starsk, by the way, did you know I have this ability to step between worlds? My family used to go to the Otherworld for a vacation? I can see pixies and fairies and sprites when it’s a full moon?” Hutch snorted. “I’m sure you would have been fine with that.”

“I would have known. It’s a part of you, Hutch.” Starsky got to his feet. “It never works out good when there’s secrets between us.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire, he wanted to scream. Because as far as he was concerned, he was keeping a way bigger one.

By unspoken agreement, they began to walk in a companionable silence, just like they had so many times before. There would be time enough for talk later. And, Starsky hoped, the courage to admit how much Hutch meant to him.

Starsky glanced at Hutch as they ate breakfast together. Their remaining days in the Otherworld had flown by—quicker than Starsky wanted. Because he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to speak to Hutch about what he wanted going forward. And in the back of his mind, there were still those whispered words Hutch had said in the hospital room that he couldn’t recall.

“Do we have to go through the Door by a certain time?” he asked. “Will we be stuck here if we don’t?”

“Not stuck forever. It would be a few weeks for the folks back home—and don’t ask me to tell you how many days it would be here because I haven’t drunk any coffee yet.”

Starsky raised his own mug in salute. “Still can’t believe there’s coffee here. Good coffee.”

“Better than the stuff in the squad room. Mom and Father like their comforts. Neither would ever give up coffee, even for visits here.” Hutch clinked his mug with Starsky. “Cheers.”

“Got a few questions for you,” Starsky said, grinning at Hutch’s groan.

“I thought we’ve gone over all this. Unicorns—real although I’ve never seen one. Mermaids—most definitely real but they follow their own rules moving between worlds. Werewolves—extinct. Elves—secretive and living far away from here. All that stuff about cold iron and such—lies made up by Faery to scare away plain old mortals.” Hutch put his mug down. “What more could you possibly want to know?”

Starsky felt his heart beat faster when Hutch mentioned mortals. “What about you and me?”

Hutch raised his eyebrows. “You and me? We’re partners, best friends.”

“Mortals. I’m mortal, right?”

Starsky watched as Hutch nodded slowly. “And?”

“What about you?”

“Oh.” The word came out more breath than voice. But then Hutch smiled. “I’m just as mortal as you or anyone else. Just like every other human that can go through the Door.”

“So how…”

Hutch shrugged. “I don’t know. Some people say at one time our ancestors must have had contact with the Otherworld and been granted the gift. Does it matter?”

Starsky shook his head. “Nope. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes. “How many other people besides you and Huggy do I know who can do this?”

He watched as Hutch’s neck reddened. A sure sign he thought Starsky was going to not like the answer. “A few.”

Starsky waited because Hutch never did well with silence when Starsky stared at him.

“Babcock, Simmons, Sweet Alice, Edith Dobey.”

“Huh.” Starsky leaned back in his chair. “Is that why Sweet Alice…?”

“Maybe.” Hutch got up from the table and took both their mugs. “We probably should go for a walk since we don’t have much time left here.”

Starsky thought this time had been as healing for Hutch as it had for him. Those dark circles under Hutch’s eyes were gone. Not a day had gone by when he hadn’t heard Hutch laugh or smile. He seemed easier in his own skin—in a way he hadn’t for the past year.

“What about Vanessa?” Starsky asked. He stopped to look at the little waterfall along the brook.

“Never. Never told her. Never would have. You only share a place like this with the one you lo…” Hutch bent and picked up a pebble to toss in the water.

The words Hutch had said on that dark night tumbled into Starsky’s brain. “My dearest love. My love.” He heard Hutch’s gasp as he said the words aloud.

Hutch turned to him, eyes wide, and Starsky shook his head in his haste to get out what he wanted to say. “I couldn’t remember. I knew you said something but I didn’t remember. You meant it?”

He watched as Hutch tensed and then spoke again. “Because I wanted to tell you. Ever since I woke up here. I love you. I want you.”

“You want me? You love me?”

“What did I just say, mush brain? Have I ever lied to you? At least about something important?”

Hutch slowly shook his head.

“And since you were about to tell me you only share this place with the one you love, and I’m a great detective, I’d put money on you feeling the same way.” Starsky laughed as he grabbed Hutch around the waist and hung on tight before he let go to put his hands on Hutch’s shoulders and leaned in to kiss him. And miracle of miracles, Hutch kissed him back meeting passion with passion. Hutch slid his hands under Starsky’s shirt. Starsky shivered as large familiar fingers ghosted over still healing scars and eased the shirt over his head.

“I love you,” Hutch murmured as he drew Starsky even closer and lowered them to the ground.

“You okay?” Hutch asked when they lay sated and drowsy on the thick grass.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” Hutch said. “It was.”

Starsky raised himself up onto his elbows and blinked, once, twice. He got to his knees and rubbed his eyes. Surely he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was seeing.

“Hutch.” His voice sounded thin. “Is that what I think it is?”

Hutch sat up with a groan and looked. “Starsk.”

“A unicorn? Is that a unicorn?” Starsky couldn’t take his eyes off the creature—its coat so black it shimmered in the sunlight. Its horn gleaming—polished obsidian.

As they watched, the beast dipped its head to drink from the brook, and then looked at both of them when it finished. It dipped its head again as if in salute and then turned to slowly disappear back among the trees.

Neither of them spoke as they got to their feet. Starsky felt a lump in his throat—as if he wanted to shout for joy and weep for beauty at the same time. Beside him, Hutch swallowed so hard Starsky could hear him.

Starsky took Hutch’s hand in his, and still not speaking they headed back the way they came.

They stood before the Door. Starsky didn’t know how it was any different than any other door in the house, but Hutch said this was The Door.

“Am I going to forget all of this when we go back through?” Starsky asked. Please say no, he thought.

“Do you want to?” Hutch’s brow furrowed.

Starsky shook his head. “I want to remember it all. But mostly you.”

Hutch smiled. “Me too, babe. It’s not gonna be easy back home.”

“I know.” Starsky smiled back. “Me and you? We’re worth it.”

He took Hutch’s outstretched hand, warm, comforting, strong, and they stepped through The Door together, just like always.