Ken Hutchinson was dog tired. He let out a sigh and rubbed at his eyes, allowing himself ten seconds to wallow in his misery. Then he straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, counting to five before he exhaled slowly. No sense dwelling on the past. On what had happened. On what could have been. Or what should have been. He'd made his decisions back then, and he'd made them now. Things would work out. Or not, he thought sardonically.

"Get it together, buddy-boy," he muttered. "You have a whole new life now. Make the most of it while you're still young." He chuckled then. "Relatively young. Forty-two isn't quite dead yet." He took a firm grasp on the briefcase in his hand, walked up the steps into Bay City Elementary School, and through the double doors. Into his new life.

--------------------------

"All right, boys and girls," Ken said. "Settle down. I know it's the first day of school, and everybody's excited. Let's introduce ourselves, and then we'll talk about our first semester. First of all, my name is Mr. Hutchinson." He turned and wrote his name on the blackboard. He turned back to the class to find one small hand was already raised. "Yes?"

"Can I call you Mr. Hutch?" the young boy asked.

The question gave Ken a moment's pause. He sort of liked the nickname. When he was a kid, some of his pals had tried to call him just that, but his father had admonished him, saying that it would debase their family name. On the brink of refusing the student's request, Ken reminded himself that his father was dead. He could make his own decisions now, and no one was around to disapprove.

"What's your name, young man?"

"Mark."

"Yes, Mark, 'Mr. Hutch' is fine. But in this class we use proper grammar. So it's 'May I call you Mr. Hutch?' All right, let's start with the front row right here. One at a time, please stand and tell me your first and last name and your favorite subject."

Ken sat down, pen in hand and took roll, nodding and commenting when each fourth-grader spoke. Finally, the last child in the last row in the far back seat slowly rose. He stood, silently looking down at his shoes, fidgeting.

"Is there a problem, son?" Ken asked.

"He don't talk," one of the girls in the front supplied.

Ken looked down at his notebook. "Thank you, Dana. Proper grammar for your statement is, 'He doesn't speak.'"

"Yes, Mr. Hutch. He doesn't speak," Dana said.

"Thank you."

"He's Davey!" Billy shouted, reaching over to poke at the silent boy. "And he's a dork."

"Billy, that's enough. We don't prod or hit other classmates, or anyone else for that matter. And there is no name-calling in this class. Am I clear?"

Large brown eyes looked at him defiantly for a moment, but he held the boy's gaze until Billy finally nodded. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mr. Hutch."

Ken nodded curtly, knowing that the immediate establishment of discipline would keep everybody happy and on task. Fifteen nine-year-olds could run him into the ground if he wasn't careful. "Please apologize to Davey for being rude."

"Sorry," Billy muttered, sliding to the other side of his desk, Ken noticed, as far away from Davey as he could.

Ken realized he'd have to keep an eye on Billy, and he cast the boy a stern glance before he walked over to young Davey. For some inexplicable reason, this boy's demeanor brought out some protective instinct in him, and even as he walked closer, he was mindful not to get too close and frighten the child. The boy's small body radiated such sadness that Ken could practically feel it rising out of him.

"Davey?"

The dark head lifted slowly, and wide, intelligent blue eyes stared up at him. "Would you like to tell me your favorite subject in school?"

Davey remained silent, eyes pleading for -- something. Understanding. Compassion... The girl in front of Davey turned and offered, "His mother died. Since then, he don't- doesn't talk."

Billy added, "He lives with his dad."

Another boy – Tony, Ken's brain supplied – chimed in. "He's a cop and he has a gun!" Tony was clearly impressed.

"Really?" Ken said. "A police officer? That's a great profession. I wanted to be a policeman when I was a kid."

Davey stared at him, and finally responded with a nod and a small smile. Ken smiled in return. "You must be very proud of him." Again he was rewarded with a quick bob of that curly-topped head. He briefly rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Everything will be all right. We'll figure this out. Take your seat, Davey."

Hutch swallowed around the lump in his throat as he walked back to his desk. Davey's mother had died. Poor kid. He knew exactly what that felt like. His own mother had died when he was 19, and even then he'd had a hard time handling it. Then, on top of that, his father had completely fallen apart, and Ken had had to put his own life and dreams on hold. He'd abandoned his idea of moving to Los Angeles. Discarded his dream of becoming a police officer and maybe even a detective. He'd stayed in Duluth, running the family business until his father had passed six months ago.

And now, at long last, he was following part of his dream. He'd made it to Los Angeles, albeit many year later than he should have. And now, of course, he was too damned old for the police academy.

Stop whining, he ordered himself. At least you have a job. Have a chance at a new life. You've always wanted to help people. Here's your opportunity. Maybe this job as a substitute teacher came your way because of this one small boy. Fate has decided this is your step on a new road. It was with a feeling of rightness that he knew exactly what he'd do. He'd set up a meeting with Davey's father and offer his assistance in whatever way the boy might need. He had plenty of free time. Perhaps the father would appreciate a kind word and a helping hand. After all, a cop's life wasn't exactly nine to five.

Sitting at his desk, Ken glanced down at the roster provided by the school. He located Davey's name on the list, and wrote a message to himself in his notebook. As he jotted down the name David Starsky, a chill raced up his spine just like a quick wash of deja vu. He touched the word 'Starsky' with the tip of his finger and smiled.

--------------------------

Ken walked into the smoky bar. He coughed into his hand and squinted, searching the semi-darkness for the man he'd agreed to meet tonight. Why in God's name had Davey's dad picked this ratty bar?

A thin black man, garishly dressed, walked up to him, a grin plastered on his face.

“My man! What may I do for you this fine evening?”

Ken blinked the smoke from his eyes, unable to keep the smile that slowly crept across his face from becoming a full-bloomed grin. “I'm meeting a guy-”

“This is the place and this is the space. Everybody who's anybody meets here at Huggy Bear's. You, my friend, have great taste in locales.”

“I'm Ken Hutchinson.”

“Don't look like no Ken to me,” the man said loudly, holding out his hand. “I'm Huggy Bear, in the flesh. But you can call me Hug. And I will address you as Hutch.”

Ken accepted the hand, and his arm was pumped vigorously. “Nice to meet you. I'm looking for David Starsky. He's a-”

“Pain in the ass!” Huggy chortled and waved an expressive hand toward the pool tables in the back. “He's the dude in the tight jeans and the God-awful orange shirt. That man never could dress. Needs to take some tips from the master!” Huggy tugged on the lapels of his bright blue jacket. "But he's a pal, so be cool to him. Dig?"

Ken's grin never dimmed as he took in the jacket, the red silk shirt and the blue and red plaid trousers. “You are a man of distinct taste. And yes, I 'dig'.”

Huggy smiled then turned and shouted, “Sharlene! Give my friend here his first brew at a discount. Take a quarter off the top.”

Ken couldn't help but laugh. “Thanks, Hug. Your generosity knows no bounds, I see.”

Huggy tossed Ken another huge smile. “I live to serve,” he said with a sweeping bow. A loud crash of dishes somewhere made Huggy's eyes widen. “Please pardon me, my good man. I must see to the employees. Enjoy your repast.” Huggy started to walk away when he paused. "Hutch, a word."

"What's up?"

"Starsky's a good man," Huggy said gravely. "He's had a few rough years, so if you're here to roust him, you'll have me to deal with."

"You're his friend."

"I count myself as one."

"Give me a chance to count myself as one too."

Huggy inspected him closely for a minute before he finally nodded and smiled. "I am an excellent judge of character, and you definitely seem cool enough. I like you, Hutch."

“Thanks. I like you too.”

Ken smiled as Huggy walked away, then he gathered his drink – a cold bottle of beer – from the bar and wandered over to the pool tables. He took a seat on one of the bar stools scattered around the area, well away from the back snap of the pool cues, and watched the two men play.

Little Davey Starsky was certainly the spitting image of his dad; even if Ken hadn't been looking for the man in the God-awful orange shirt, he would have picked him out. And when the elder Starsky acknowledged his arrival with a cocky grin, Ken smiled in return. The twinkling blue eyes that gazed at him mirrored the blue he'd seen in his young charge.

“Be with you in a sec," Starsky said. "Gonna wipe the floor with this guy, and then I'm all yours.”

"I'm all yours." The words echoed in Ken's mind for a few moments, and as he watched Starsky lean across the pool table, he felt his body respond to the seemingly innocent words. Of course, maybe the firm ass clad in well-worm denim bent over in front of him also had something to do with his wayward thoughts. I'd like it if Starsky was all mine. He's -- beautiful!

Ken's throat felt suddenly dry and his entire body hummed with excitement. The flush of warmth that crept up his face made him turn his head away from the vision before him, and he quickly took a large gulp of cold beer. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd barely met the guy and here he was ogling him.

Damn it to hell, but it had been years since he'd even looked at a guy. Not since... He took another pull from his bottle. Not since his father had caught him and Michael Spencer in his bedroom, kissing instead of studying for their midterms. Michael had been ordered from the house, never to return. But that hadn't been the worst of the entire debacle. It was the way his father had handled him. His dad hadn't said another word, but the look of disgust that graced his face whenever he came within ten feet of Ken for a long time after was enough to make Ken's stomach roil and his body flush. He had then and there pushed all thoughts of other boys from his brain, and never crossed that line again. Never. Until now.

But this wasn't mere lust, although Starsky was definitely the sort that would have attracted him if he was looking for a lover. But he wasn't. Was he? And besides, Starsky'd been married. That meant he was straight. Didn't it? Ken exhaled sharply and chanced another glance at Starsky. He felt himself blush when he realized that Starsky was standing, leaning on his pool cue and staring right at him while his opponent set up his next shot. But it wasn't the appraising look that Starsky tossed his way that made Ken turn ten shades of red: it was the wink and the devilish grin.

Well, shit. Starsky was flirting!

Ken looked away quickly and tipped up the bottle, drinking the last of the beer. He's coming onto me. What should I do? Do I look as stupid as I feel? I'd like to kiss him. He has great hands. You've lost your mind! Engrossed in his jumbled thoughts, he picked at the soggy label of his bottle. When another beer suddenly appeared in front of his face, he actually started.

“Relax. It's just a cold one,” Starsky said, thrusting it at him. “Dave Starsky. You're my kid's teacher.”

“Ken Hutchinson. Yes, he's a good boy.”

“Yeah, he is. And you don't look like a 'Ken' to me.”

Ken had to laugh. Everybody he'd met in Los Angeles wanted to call him something other than his first name. "So I've heard.”

"So what can I do for you?" Starsky asked.

“I wanted to talk to you about Davey. About his – problem.”

“Hutch, the kid'll be fine. He just don't have anything to say right now. It's what us Starskys do. Clam up. I did it when I was a kid, for maybe eight months. And look at me now!" Starsky threw out his arms and gave him a disarming grin before he said seriously, "So leave it. Okay?”

Ken drank from the fresh bottle. “He seems unhappy.”

“Let's grab a booth.”

Ken nodded, following Starsky to an empty booth at the rear of the room.

“Listen,” Starsky said, “He's had a rough time. His ma up and died two years ago – breast cancer – and he misses her. One of these days, he'll – figure it all out. Then he'll talk.”

“You're not worried?”

“Hutch, you got any kids?”

“No.”

“Didn't think so. But you were a kid once, right?” Ken rolled his eyes, nodding. “You remember what it was like? The dreams. The fantasies. What you thought about. What you didn't understand.”

Ken nodded slowly. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Davey's dreams were ripped away when his mama died."

"I'd still like to help."

"Then you teach my kid everything you can, and be his friend. But not too soft on him, okay? Life's a bitch, and he needs to be tough to make it."

Ken looked into Starsky's serious face. "I'd like to be his friend, and I promise to be a good teacher for him."

Starsky smiled. "Great!"

"So you want-"

"How about-"

The two men laughed at their overlapping words, and when Starsky cast him a smile full of promise, Ken felt his face flush. As their gazes locked, he felt a warmth flow through his entire body. He was light-headed, and as the feeling spread, it took a moment before he realized that he was happy. And he knew that the reason for a large portion of that happiness was sitting right there, grinning back at him.

Starsky finally broke the silence. "Sorry, what were you gonna say?"

"I was going to ask you if you'd like to go and grab a bite to eat."

"Sounds great. They make a mean meatloaf over at-"

"How about some place -- less fattening?"

"Oh, geez, Hutch. Don't tell me you're one of those health nuts!"

Ken laughed. He liked this guy a lot. In fact, he knew that with just a little of the right sort of encouragement, he could like Starsky more than a lot. And with the way that Starsky looked at him, and the way his face lit up, maybe Starsky liked him also. But for now, he liked how Starsky said 'Hutch'. He made it sound as if something sweet was melting on his tongue.

"How about we flip for it? Winner buys dinner." Ken fished a quarter from his pocket, flipped it with his thumb, and as it spun in midair, it seemed to hang there for a second.

In a lightning-fast move, Starsky snatched the coin from the air and dropped it into one of his own pockets. With a deep chuckle, he said, "You know what, Blondie? I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Ken joined in the laughter. "You make a horrible Bogie. But I'll drink to the friendship part." He raised his bottle and Starsky clinked his against it.

"You're on. Now let's get that meatloaf. And I'm driving. I got this great new car two days ago. Took me years to save for it." Starsky talked over his shoulder as he sauntered across the floor. "You'll love it! It's candy-apple red with this cool white stripe..."

Ken rose, and followed his new friend from the bar, grinning the entire time. He was glad he'd moved to Los Angeles, and now that he'd met Dave Starsky, he suddenly realized it was never too late to start living. This was definitely the beginning of a beautiful friendship. And if he was really, really lucky, maybe even more.

The End