Getting to Yes

by CC

"I told you, it's all settled -- it'll be perfect."  Starsky shouldered the front door open and retrieved the mail from beneath the door slot.

Hutch paused to glance heavenward and take a deep breath before crossing the threshold. "It is not settled. I never agreed to this."

"Sure you did," Starsky answered, his attention on divvying out the mail.

In the process of hanging his holster in the entry closet, Hutch stopped short and peered around the door. "And when exactly was that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't remember, but you did." Starsky tucked a "Sports Illustrated" under his arm and tossed the rest of the mail on the coffee table. "Trust me." 

Hutch snorted. In matters like this, he trusted Starsky about as far as he could throw him. He turned to respond, only to discover that he was alone in the room -- Starsky had disappeared into the back of the house. Hutch made his way into the kitchen, a frown creasing his brow. Halloween was rapidly gaining on Christmas as the holiday he dreaded most.  Starsky seemed to get more outrageous with it every year, but Hutch had already decided that this year would be different. This year he wouldn’t be coerced into going along with one of Starsky’s stupid plans.  Starsky would just have to take 'no' for an answer.

Inspecting the contents of the refrigerator, Hutch was disappointed to find only leftovers.    He snagged a beer – something they never seemed to be out of – and slammed the refrigerator door. Inspecting the various restaurant fliers that adorned it., he groaned when his eyes fell on a sheet of paper labeled "Turkey Day Dinner." At least fifteen names were scribbled on the list in Starsky’s telltale scrawl.  Oh, who am I kidding, Hutch thought. Every holiday with Starsky is a nightmare. 

Thanksgiving of the previous year, Starsky had invited thirty people for Thanksgiving dinner. He'd only remembered to tell Hutch about ten of the guests the night before the big meal. With a little creativity and a last minute dash around town, they had managed to feed the crowd, although there were curious looks exchanged among several guests over the inclusion of Chinese take-out on the holiday menu.

On Thanksgiving night, as they had watched the last guest drive away, Starsky had asked what Hutch planned to get him for Christmas -- a question that was repeated at least twice daily for the following month.  Hutch had been almost relieved when they were assigned to work on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, mistakenly believing it would dampen Starsky's enthusiasm. Instead, Starsky had strung a garland around the interior of the Torino and Hutch had listened to two full days of Christmas carols -- sung, whistled, hummed, snapped and thumped on the steering wheel. 

A New Year's Eve that had started out promising suffered a rapid reversal when Hutch discovered that the tube Starsky passed him wasn't the requested lubricant, but Hutch's new odorless BenGay.  Had the discovery been made prior to application, the evening might have been salvaged; however, that hadn't been the order in which events  unfolded. To make matters worse, somehow the entire episode had been blamed on him for buying odorless BenGay in the first place. Starsky had glowered at him for most of New Year's Day and hadn’t completely thawed until the weekend.  Hutch had kept a low profile for the duration and had enjoyed the reprieve.

And then there was Valentine's Day.

Even in his present foul mood, Hutch couldn't conjure up a negative thought about that holiday.  Memories of their most recent celebration of it always brought a smile to his face and, as usual, his eyes turned unwittingly to the kitchen table. Although he was  alone in the room, he felt his cheeks grow warm. It had been a very special day.

Returning home from an afternoon at the gym, Hutch had been met at the door by the mixed aromas of cinnamon and vanilla filling the house.  He’d automatically headed for the kitchen, but stopped himself just before entering. It was obvious Starsky had cooked something, and previous experience told Hutch that the kitchen might very possibly be destroyed.  He steeled himself and pushed open the door.

Hutch was shocked -- the kitchen was spotless. Or mostly. The sun streaming through the kitchen window highlighted a couple of suspicious spots on the floor, but other than that, there was no normal Starsky aftermath.  It was an unexpected surprise.

Starsky himself had stood at the sink washing dishes, only turning around when Hutch’s shoe hit a sticky spot on the floor. Hutch loved to catch Starsky by surprise just for the times when his eyes would light up as though Hutch were the only person on earth he cared about seeing. That day had been one of those times.

"Hey, I didn't hear you come in," Starsky had said. "How'd the workout go?"

"It was fine. What smells so good?" Hutch had asked, and then followed Starsky's eyes to the kitchen table, on top of which sat what had to be the world's ugliest cake.  At least, Hutch thought it was a cake. It was on a cake pedestal, it was round, and it had the spongy texture of a cake.  The confusing thing was that half of it was about six inches tall, but the other was a good two inches shorter, and in random places, chunks of something orange protruded from the sides.  Maybe all cakes look like this before they're frosted, Hutch thought to himself.

He'd turned around to tease Starsky about the cake's appearance, but when he saw the expression on Starsky's face, he didn't have the heart. Part pride, part hope, and part fear -- it was obvious that the pathetic-looking cake was important to his partner.

Hutch had leaned over the table to sniff appreciatively. "Smells good. What kind is it?"

"Carrot cake. I know it looks kind of sad sitting there naked like that, but once I put the stuff on it, you won't even notice." 

"Looks fine," Hutch lied, leaning down to inspect the cake more closely. "I've never seen one with whole pieces of carrot. That ought to be good." 

"Yeah, I didn't get along too good with that grater thing--" Starsky had held up a hand with three bandaged knuckles, "--but I figured you could just pick around the really big ones."

"Well, like you said, once you get the stuff on it, no one will notice." Hutch had used the excuse of getting his shoe unstuck from the floor to fight off the wave of laughter threatening to erupt.  When he straightened, he was more composed. "What made you decide to bake a cake today, buddy?"

Starsky had shrugged. "I dunno. It was just something I'd never done before, I guess."

"But why a carrot cake? You hate it, if I recall correctly."

Starsky had shrugged again and busied himself stirring the frosting that rested in a bowl on the counter.  Hutch watched his partner's cheeks grow pink, and then he knew. Starsky had baked the cake for him.

A tingling sensation had worked its way from Hutch's toes. His macho, I'll-slug-any-man-who-insults-my-masculinity partner had baked him a cake. Hutch didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and finally decided on neither. He walked over to where Starsky stood furiously stirring the frosting.

"Thanks," Hutch had whispered. "You didn't have to do that."

Starsky had turned even redder. "Just my way of saying 'I love you.'"

Hutch had waited a beat before responding, enjoying the tingles. "You said it just this morning. I was listening."

Starsky had shrugged again. "Sometimes it's not enough to say it; sometimes you gotta show it." He'd looked up into Hutch's eyes then, sapphire pools of wisdom that Hutch knew he all too often took for granted.

Starsky hadn't said anything more and Hutch didn't know what to say; instead, they both shifted slightly until their shoulders touched.   After several more minutes of stirring, Starsky had apparently decided the frosting was ready to be applied, and he crossed over to the table. "Ya wanna help with this part?"

Hutch had caught the 'no' just before it slid off the tip of his tongue. That seemed to be his first response to anything Starsky asked him to do.  Sometimes ‘no’ was the wisest answer, but Hutch realized that he’d been using it way too often.  Hoping he wouldn't regret it, Hutch had taken a deep breath and said yes. It was so easy, so simple really.

They'd started out sincerely intending to frost the cake, but then Hutch had licked some frosting from his finger and decided it was so good that Starsky should have a taste, and then Hutch went all tingly again the instant his finger slid into Starsky's mouth. One thing led to another, and somehow they'd wound up on the table and the bowl had ended up on the floor.

The mechanics of the rest of it were buried in the recesses of Hutch's memory, but the vision of Starsky above him, face flushed and eyes gone black with wanting, the smooth coolness of the table underneath him, and the sweet scent of vanilla wrapping itself around them stayed with him always. It was a beautiful reminder that it wasn't always enough to tell Starsky he loved him. Sometimes he needed to show it.

His fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood, Hutch sighed.  He loved thinking about that Valentine's Day, but doing so had made him realize that he'd gone back to saying 'no' again far too often, and he knew that he was about to do something he'd probably regret. 

Still staring at the table, Hutch heard footsteps behind him a split second before a rolled up magazine smacked him on the ass.

"Bet I know what you're thinking about," Starsky teased, as he breezed by Hutch on the way to the refrigerator. 

Hutch spun around like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and then belatedly decided to feign nonchalance. He perched on the edge of the table. "Think so, huh?" 

The smirk on Starsky's face when he shut the refrigerator door said that they both knew the answer to that question. After taking a long draft from his beer, Starsky nodded and winked. "But you still got four months to Valentine's Day."

Starsky sauntered across the room, laughing at the blush creeping across Hutch's cheeks.  "Ah, so you're gonna go all Minnesota on me, huh?" Starsky teased.

Hutch opened his arms and Starsky stepped into the circle, his laughter quickly fading away. This was something they often did at the end of a workday--stand quietly together while the outside world fell away and their private world wrapped itself around them. Buffer time, they called it.

For several long minutes, the only sound in the room was the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock.  Finally, Hutch broke the silence.

"I never said I'd do it," he mumbled into the top of Starsky's hair.

Starsky's hand worked its way under Hutch's shirt and crept up his back. "But you will."

"Might not."

"You will."

"Make me."

Starsky pulled back slowly, his lips finding first Hutch's ear, then dipping to favored places along Hutch's neck before finally joining with their target.  What the kiss lacked in intensity, it made up for in promise, and when it was broken, they were both smiling.

"Is that a yes?" Starsky asked hopefully.

"No, it's not a yes," answered Hutch, but he was smiling when he said it. "Tell me again why I'm supposed to agree to this."

After a long-suffering sigh, Starsky began speaking very slowly, as if explaining to a recalcitrant child why he couldn't play in traffic. "Because it's Rosie's birthday and it's her favorite movie and everyone else is willing to do it and…" He placed both palms on Hutch's cheeks and looked directly into his eyes. "…because I asked you to."

"You're doing all of this for Rosie Dobey?" Hutch asked, squirming under Starsky's scrutiny.

"She's a sweetie, Hutch. I'd do almost anything to see her smile." Starsky smiled and brushed his thumbs across Hutch's lips. "You, too, you big lug."

When Starsky asked again, "Is that a yes?" Hutch gave the barest hint of a nod and smiled.

As Hutch saw it just then, he owed Starsky a lot.  It wasn't just that Starsky had willingly risked his life for him. The man standing in his arms understood him and loved him anyway, and was more than willing to risk the condemnation of society and the wrath of Internal Affairs to share a life together. Hutch supposed that he could wear a ridiculous Halloween costume for one night.

But, Hutch thought, he could still try to lessen the humiliation. "Why can't I be the scarecrow?"

"Think about it, dummy. The costume calls for lots of hay and with your allergies, that ain't gonna work. Besides, Huggy looks more like a scarecrow."

"I could be the lion."

"The lion has curly hair and I have curly hair, so I'm the lion."

"The Wiz-?"

Starsky clamped his hand over Hutch's mouth. "Dobey's the wizard, Edith's Glenda the Good Witch, and Rosie's gonna be Dorothy. And, no, you can't switch with anyone."

Satisfied that he'd covered all the characters, Starsky removed his hand.

"Toto?" Hutch's last hope.

Starsky laughed and shook his head. "No. Rosie's getting a puppy for her birthday and he gets to be Toto. Okay? You're the Tin Man, Hutch. Get used to it."

Pulling Starsky to rest against his shoulder, Hutch sighed melodramatically. "Which one was the Tin Man?"

"The one without a heart."

"You think I don’t have a heart?" Hutch teased, acting offended.

"No, you don't." Starsky pulled back and placed his hand on Hutch's chest. "I have it."

Hutch tightened his hold on Starsky, pulling him closer.  Starsky was right – Hutch’s heart was no longer his own. He’d tried to hold onto a piece of it, but the battle was long over. Hutch smiled at the thought of what his future held in store.

The Fourth of July would always mean fireworks and food burned on the grill. There would never be any labor on Labor Day, and birthdays would be celebrated at the restaurant with the loudest singing waiters. Thanksgiving and Christmas would be celebrated with unbridled enthusiasm.  And every year he would be asked to dress up in a ridiculous Halloween costume. 

Hutch smiled again. For the pleasure of moments like this and the promise of another Valentine’s Day, he would always say yes.

~~~~~~~~

October 2002

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