WARNING: The Starsky and Hutch fan fiction of Alexis Rogers is homoerotic in nature and theme, and often contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts between two or more men. If this adult content offends you, please go play some place else. If you are under the age of consent where you live, please go away. If you don't like the laws where you live, change them. Remember, one can make a difference.
RATING: This story carries the slash rating of "G." This is one of the Groundhog Day stories.
DISCLAIMERS: This story exists solely for the enjoyment of those of us who care, and is not intended to infringe on any copyright or other legality of "Starsky and Hutch", Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg, David Soul, Paul Michael Glaser, William Blinn, Michael Fisher or anydamnbody else that I might have overlooked. No money has been made from the story nor is there likely to be.
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Violets, Rings, & Things of Spring
2 February 1979
"Oh, and Starsky," Dobey continued as he stood, "I have an eleven o'clock appointment with the commissioner. Have that stuff done and on my desk by the time I get back from lunch."
"Yes, Captain," Starsky replied around a large stack of folders he had balanced in his arms. "Anything else?" he muttered as Dobey opened the door. Walking into the squadroom Starsky nearly dropped the files on the large pot of African violets occupying the top of his desk. He juggled the bundle across to Hutch's desk where it slid to the floor.
"Ah, shit," he shrugged and disregarded the mess. In front of him was the largest of eight potted violets he had received in the last week, including the one that arrived at seven-fifteen this morning. Dripping wet from the shower, he had had to hunt for a tip for the delivery-person -- a pretty young brunette with a metallic smile.
Settling in his chair, Starsky fondled the white envelope addressed to David Starsky in a familiar scrawl and thought about the sender. Hutch was going to be in court all day, Dobey had piled paperwork on top of paperwork, and Starsky was stuck in the squadroom. He groaned at the mess in front of him, before opening the tiny envelope and slipping the florist card out.
It was like all the others: A rubber-stamped ground hog holding a bouquet of violets. He smiled. Hutch could be such a romantic. The man hated Christmas and everything that went with it. He started with the "bah humbugs" on Halloween and did not stop until Twelfth Night. He swore it had nothing to do with religion, but with the social pressure to buy gifts for people he did not like and the pompous attitudes of people demanding Christmas bonuses. The dislike of the holidays was real even though Hutch tried not to spoil the festivities for Starsky. This Christmas had been special -- Hutch had given him a brass engine for the railroad and then they had made love under the tree. The memory of the man's face, soft and sated, floated through Starsky's mind only to be replaced by a sad little boy who had all the things money could buy and none of the things it could not.
With Ground Hog Day, Hutch had captured the essence of the spirit of Christmas and loved it. It had become their special day with presents and dinner and champagne, wonderful nights together --even weekends when they could get away. Hutch catered to Starsky's every whim and then some. It was Hutch's idea, his holiday and always his treat.
This was their fifth celebration of the day and Starsky wondered what Hutch had planned. They had the weekend free and the sky was Hutch's limit.
"Starsky?" Minnie Kaplan's voice intruded into his thoughts. "Earth to Starsky."
"Oh, hiya Minnie." She stood by Hutch's desk, her hands on her hips and the expression on her face made him blush like a naughty school boy. "Must be somebody real special," she said with a wink and then stooped to rescue the file folders.
Rushing around to help, he collided with her, knocking the papers from her hand. "Starsky, honey, are you runnin' a fever or just in love?"
He sank back to the floor and leaned against Hutch's desk. "It's love, Minnie, and I've never felt like this in my life. I could walk on clouds or slay dragons."
"Do I hear wedding bells?" She scooped up the folders and stood to place them neatly on Hutch's desk.
Studying his hands, he thought about marriage to Hutch. God yes, he wanted it: a house, marriage, happily-ever-after. But what did Hutch want? He stood beside Minnie and confessed, "I'm afraid to ask, afraid the answer would be 'no'."
"How could anyone not love you?" She patted his cheek and left the room.
Stroking the velvet leaves of the plant, Starsky suddenly jerked his hand back. Mustn't bruise the leaves. They're delicate, just like Hutch 'n' me. Any pressure and they'd turn brown and die. A thing of beauty only to look at and never touch.
No, I want more.
Question is, can Hutch give more?
Deciding to get some work done, he rolled a triplicate form into the typewriter and typed in the date: 02/02/79. Just the numbers were enough to trigger memories: that first year when Hutch had taken him camping and healed more of the pain of Nathan; the second year when they had driven up the coast to Mendocino, buried some old memories and created new ones. The thoughts stirred desire for Hutch: golden, beautiful -- even when he tried not to be -- and impossible.
Pulling the jeweler's box from his jacket pocket, he stared at the bright circle of gold. He wanted more than anything else to slip it onto the third finger of Hutch's left hand and proclaim to the world "'til death do us part."
When Rosey had walked away from him and torn his heart to shreds, he had understood what he had always known: There was only one person with whom he wanted to share his life. While wandering lost in the red blur of pain in the days that followed Rosey's departure, it had seemed natural to purchase the ring. He had intended to ask Hutch for a commitment then, but it had never felt like the right time. And now Hutch was attempting to put so much distance between them. Even Nathan had not snared Starsky's heart and life the way Hutch had. Snapping the box shut, Starsky sighed. Hutch was not ready; maybe he would never be ready.
There was no doubt about the love or its depth, only the commitment.
In his other pocket was his gift for Hutch this Ground Hog Day. He had found it three days after the violets started arriving. Putting away the ring, he pulled out the other small box. It held an elegant ceramic ground hog holding a bouquet of violets. When he had spotted it in the window, there was no doubt that he had to purchase it.
The phone jangled and he caressed the tiny figurine as he answered, "Starsky."
"Oh, good, I caught you before you left for lunch," Hutch's breathless voice was accompanied by a loud babble.
"Oh, I didn't know it was so late," he glanced at the clock and the stack of untouched folders.
"How the time flies when you're having fun." Hutch laughed and the sun came out from behind a dark cloud.
"Yeah. How's it goin'?"
"Dull. Normal. Just wanted to tell you that dinner's at Andre's. Seven-thirty."
Before Starsky could answer, the line went dead. Andre's. A special place for special occasions, it always had been. Andre had expanded and opened a new restaurant on a hillside with a magnificent view of the city and the ocean. Touching the ring box, he clung to one hope, one dream.
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