by Ellis Murdock

19 April, 2001

Written for, and dedicated to Nightbird. . .with all of the affection, respect, and love I possess

"Chocolate or coffee?"

"Chocolate," Starsky responded without hesitation. "Better save the heavy artillery for when we'll really need it."

"Good point." Hutch reached for the thermos and nearly toppled over as the body he was leaning against straightened without warning.

"What was that?"

"Owl."

"Flashlight," Starsky instructed, extending a hand.

"No, I'm pretty sure it was an owl. Hey! Don't strangle the person who brought the food." The hands around his throat loosened, but the body they belonged to remained tense.

"Gimmee the flashlight."

Hutch obliged and braced himself for what would inevitably follow.

"Red—? It's red?! You brought a red flashlight?" Starsky shook it, as if hoping the action might produce a more acceptable color. "You can't see a damn thing with this!"

Hutch shrugged and took a swig of the delightfully steaming, sweet, and aromatic concoction. Purchased specifically for this occasion, it was the expensive, imported kind of cocoa available only in the high-end boutiques, and – tasting it now for the first time – there was absolutely no doubt that the price was worth every penny. "Red preserves your night vision, and that is why we're here. Remember?"

"I'm worried about bears, and you're thinking about preserving your night vision? We're out in the middle of nowhere here!"

Starsky's voice was a perfect mixture of trepidation, irritation, and incredulity, and Hutch had to make a supreme effort to steer all traces of amusement well clear of his reply. This was a special evening, after all – a time devoted to nothing but enjoying each other's company, and he didn't intend to let anything interfere with that goal. "This isn't the Amazon, you know," he replied evenly. "The snakes are all fast asleep, the raccoons are friendly, and the only bears we're likely to see are up in the sky. Bears hibernate in the winter, anyway. . .even in California." He reached behind him and patted Starsky's arm reassuringly. "Relax and enjoy the show. The Quadrantids are supposed to be spectacular this year, and it's almost 11:00. Trust me, will you? You didn't hear me complain on the little all-nighter you chose." A bit of carefully planted guilt, Hutch knew, could do wonders.

Starsky sighed deeply, tossed the flashlight disdainfully to one side, and swirled the liquid in his mug thoughtfully. "Yeah, well. Mine didn’t involve travel to places off the map. My night was civilized."

Hutch snorted. "Civilized? You call club crawling 'civilized'?"

"Wasn't all clubs," Starsky replied defensively, the mock pout evident even without benefit of light. "There was also that great street carnival where you cleaned the guy out of all of his stuffed pigs – oh, and the open-all-night bakery where we found that incredible cheesecake. Ate the whole thing, remember? Mmm. Admit it – you had a great time."

Hutch chuckled. "Didn't feel so great the next day, if I recall, but you're right. It was a memorable night. This one might be, too, if you'd give it half a chance." Thinking that distraction might help his cause, he pointed to one of the most easily recognized of the constellations. "You know what that one is?"

"What one?"

"Lie down," Hutch suggested, repositioning himself on the blanket until they were temple to temple, and pointed. "Right there. Four stars in a rectangle, three crossing diagonally just below the center."

"What, you mean Orion?"

Knowing even before the laughter that he'd been suckered, Hutch gently elbowed Starsky in the ribs. "Holding out on me, huh?"

Starsky breathed triumphantly on his fingertips and buffed trimmed nails against a still too-new-looking leather jacket. "Didn't even break a sweat."

"All right, Dr. Sagan, show me what else you've got."

"Well, that's the Big Dipper—"

"Ursa Major."

"Huh?"

"The Great Bear. The Big Dipper is just a pattern in a larger constellation."

"That's supposed to look like a bear?" Starsky was obviously unimpressed. "I've been accused of having an active imagination, but that doesn't look like any bear I've ever seen. It doesn't look like much of anything, 'cept. . .well, on the star map you brought home, it looks a little like a spider after it's been smashed."

Hutch winced. That's what I get for stargazing with an urbanite. Opting to ignore the astronomical kibitzing by his partner, he plowed on, pointing to the bright star off the cup of the Dipper. "That's Polaris, of course. The Pole Star."

"Betcha used that one a lot while you were sailing your way across Minnesota, huh?"

"Oh, that's cute."

Starsky laughed, then directed Hutch's gaze toward a shimmering cloud of light. "That's Pleiades, right?"

"The Pleiades Cluster, yes." Rising up on his elbows, he took one last swallow from the mug before inverting it atop their hamper. "The seven sisters chased by the ever-virile Orion."

"Virility must not've done much for him, then. Looks like they all got away." Starsky chuckled at his own joke, and gestured toward the familiar asterism in Cassiopeia. "Hey! I know what that one is – it's Dobey's Barco-Lounger!"

Quickly getting into the spirit of this impromptu new game, Hutch found a kite attached to a VW Bug, and the monumental task of re-writing the sky was on. Nearly an hour passed in that fashion, each new 'constellation' more absurd than the previous one, before Hutch finally spotted the first Quadrantid.

"Meteor."

"Where?"

"Right where it was supposed to be: just above my ki— er, just to the north of Bootes."

"How come I didn't see it?"

"This is just a guess, but the fact that you were on a determined sandwich forage and had your head in the hamper at the time might've had something to do with it."

"Oh." Starsky looked up for a few seconds, shrugged, and returned to his pastrami on rye. "So, aren't you supposed to make a wish or something?"

"Why?"

"Every time you see a falling star, you're supposed to make a wish – wish hard enough, and it comes true. Like candles on a birthday cake?" he prompted. A reaction, no doubt, to the echoing lack of response, Starsky let his body sag in resignation before adding, "You were a kid once, weren't you? I mean, you didn't just appear like this one day and sign up for the Academy?"

Hutch rolled over just enough to face his partner. "I always did the 'first star you see tonight' thing. You wished on shooting stars?"

"Nah. That was the idea, but they were always few and far between in the city. . .too much light, I guess. Anyway, Nick and I used to wish on airplanes most of the time. S'pose that's why so few of them came true?" The question must have been rhetorical, because he continued without pause. "So, go on. Wish for something." Easing himself back down on the blanket, Starsky stretched out with hands firmly behind his head.

Hutch lay back, too, this time claiming Starsky's shoulder as a pillow, pulling closer until both of them were in positions of comfort. If I could have anything in the world. . . It had been easy as a child – so many things to want, so many desires left unfulfilled. Now? Life was surprisingly good. They'd made it over some excruciating rough spots, survived a trauma so fundamentally altering that it became a sort of joint defining moment, and emerged from all stronger and closer than ever. Together. Me and Thee. What do you wish for when you've already got everything that matters – maybe all that ever did? Unless. . .

"Well?"

"Yes, all right. I wished already."

"It won't come true unless you share it, ya know."

Hutch laughed. "Now I know you're making that one up."

"Come on, out with it. You'd better hurry, though, otherwise there'll be another 'Quadra-something' and it'll be too late."

"What does that—?" Deciding that Starsky Logic wasn't something he really wanted to delve into at this point, he let the question hang half-done, and tried to come up with some way to translate his soul into words. Hutch stared at one of the fixed points of light, almost as if expecting an answer to come down from the heavens. It took some time for the star of choice to register in his mind; a few minutes more to recognize the supreme relevance. Capella.

"Must've been one helluva wish."

"Just had to figure out how to put it into words. Do you see that star? Not Polaris, but the bright yellow one close by?" Using his finger as guide, Hutch carefully directed Starsky to the fourth-brightest star visible that night.

"Got it. But I don't think you've quite got the hang a this yet: you're supposed to wish on the star, not for one."

"Hush," Hutch replied seriously, "I want to introduce you to Capella." He took a deep breath and prayed that Starsky would be able to do what he always did: grasp not only the surface significance, but also the deeper meaning too shy to leave that evanescent place where Truth resides. "It's not a single star you’re looking at there – it's a double; a binary system."

"Coulda fooled me."

"You wouldn't be able to see them as separate stars even if you were in the Lowell Observatory. They're almost identical in size, same type, color, and share too tight an orbit."

There was a pause, then Starsky brought one arm down - first around Hutch's shoulders, then slipping it lower, until it eventually wormed its way comfortably around Hutch's waist. "Partners, huh?" he whispered.

Hutch nodded. "Not a single entity, but not two, either. Something else, something that I don't think there's even a word for yet, and that's how they'll remain. Always; until the end."

"We still talking about stars here?" Any sound that might have interrupted the strangely still night would have rendered Starsky's query completely inaudible.

"I hope not," Hutch whispered back. "You wanted to know what I wished for. . .that was it."

"Why waste a wish on something you've already got?"

"I know, but—" How to say this? The sensation that came as words failed him was as familiar as it was frustrating, but this time Starsky kept still, waiting patiently for Hutch to proceed in his own time. "I do know. We've done a lot of talking, especially since— And it's nothing that we haven't lived with for a while now, anyway, but. . . I didn't really wish for something new – just to keep what we’ve already got."

The silence stretched even longer this time, and Hutch started when the arm about his midsection pulled away suddenly. Starsky rolled over onto his side, his face so close now that every inhalation felt like icy fingers brushing against Hutch's cheek - a frosty counterpoint to the moist warmth of breath. "Starsk, I—" Fingers pressing against his lips effectively halted the barely-begun sentence, but the stroke of Starsky's thumb as it lightly traced his jaw line was reassuring enough that no other words were necessary.

"Shh." Using the slow, precise tone reserved for only the most solemn of occasions, Starsky said, "For as long as I am, Hutch. Beyond all of this. . .even beyond Capella. Always."

Hutch swallowed hard, reaching up to interlace the fingers of his right hand with the one lingering against his cheek. "Always."

The words hadn't been necessary and, in reality, changed nothing. There was a lot to be said for sealing covenants, though, and it took a brilliant fireball to return their attention to the sky.

"Meteor."

"You think?" Hutch teased. "Guess that means it's your turn to make a wish now, huh?"

"Don't have to. . .I already got mine."

Starsky did eventually join Hutch back down on the blanket and, when he did, the space between their bodies wasn't any more discernible than that between the stars.

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