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He swore he’d never go back. And he didn’t. Not for twenty long years. But then his father died and his grief- as overwhelming as it was unexpected – sent him back. He drove the rented car home from the airport, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the worn denim of Starsky’s jeans, and tried to find the familiar in the city’s new landscape.
“I think I’m lost,” Hutch said and pulled over. He let out a low, shuddering breath and leaned over until his head rested on Starsky’s shoulder.
“Not as long as I’m around,” he answered.