Day 2: Manual Musings by ohlookanothercat

Hutch remembered the first time he had ever held Starsky’s hand. Well, not held exactly, but it was close enough, parallel to husband-and-wife domesticity in a way that reached in and tickled certain…tendencies that he wouldn’t end up acknowledging for years to come. At the time though, he couldn’t even understand why it alarmed him.

They were still at the police academy, and Hutch didn’t remember the circumstances beyond that he had just invited his new-ish friend Dave Starsky to go somewhere with him. Hutch wasn’t thinking very much; he was tired and he was on autopilot, so when Starsky said yes, instead of reaching out a hand to shake, or clapping Starsky on the bicep, or better yet, keeping his hands to himself, he did what he had been doing for the last couple of years whenever Vanessa was amenable to one of his ideas, or he was trying to convince her to be: he reached out and put his own hand atop Starsky’s on the table.

Instantly, he woke up a little bit more, mind and senses sharpening to take in sudden unfamiliarity. The hand beneath his was larger than Vanessa’s, and held more heat, radiating warmth like a little live animal. It was furry, covered in coarse, masculine hair, and one of his fingertips bumped against a bulky men’s watch that he could suddenly hear ticking like a heart. His own heart kicked up a few notches, keeping two beats for every one of the watch. A jolt of panic ran down his arms like voltage.

He pulled his hand away a lot slower than he wanted to, slow enough to seem casual, and took a breath before meeting Starsky’s innocent eyes just in time to watch a smile break out across his face. “See you there,” said Starsky, and popped up to leave.

Starsky’s hand was as warm now as it had been that day, Hutch mused, and as furry, though the watch was gone. Oh. This was the other hand. But still, the watch was absent, in a bag on Hutch’s dresser with Starsky’s wallet and his I Ching coins. It seemed so strange to recall his own reaction to this touch years ago, for touching Starsky had become so deeply ingrained that he’d forgotten life without it.

But his mind was going to the four winds, to places it hadn’t been in years, and now it had chosen to take him back to a time when he hadn’t yet known Starsky the way he did today, when he hadn’t yet learned to accept good things, or to take them for granted the way he had almost constantly for months.

I’ll never take him for granted again as long as he lives, he prayed, half to the universe and half to himself. Never take him for granted again, Hutchinson, and maybe he won’t die. Hutch brought his mind back to Starsky’s bedside, clinging to the warmth of Starsky’s hand. It was all he really had in the world, after all.