Starsky and Hutch Go To Temple by eveningblue

Title: Starsky and Hutch Go To Temple
Author: eveningblue
Type: Slash
Summary: Starsky has new needs. Hutch is supportive.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters; I'm just having fun with them. No money is being made.
Notes: This story takes place 20 years after the end of the series. It contains scenes of domestic happiness; if you are uncomfortable with these, please stay away.
Format: Story
Category: Committed Relationship
Rating: PG
Size: 25K
Date Added: 2004-08-25

Starsky and Hutch Go To Temple
by eveningblue

It had been one year since his mother had died, and David Starsky decided that he wanted to say Kaddish for her. But to do that, he'd have to find a synagogue, one where he and Hutch would both be welcome. He wasn't sure how to do that.

So he asked the person who he had always been able to count on whenever he needed information--Huggy Bear. Huggy was still running the Pits, the same as he'd been doing for the past 22 years. The only difference was that he was now in three locations--downtown L.A., Santa Monica, and the newest one, in trendy Los Feliz. Huggy had even installed a cappucino machine in that one, and served smoothies instead of beer. But he'd hired someone else to run it, and was hardly ever there. It was a good business venture, but not really his kind of place.

Today was Wednesday, so Huggy would probably be at the Santa Monica Pits. Starsky called just to be sure, and then headed over.

****************************************

Huggy was behind the bar, drawing a draft beer, when Starsky arrived. "Huggy, my man, what's shakin'?" Starsky grinned, greeting his old friend.

"Nothin' is shakin' except my head, in consternation. You never come see me anymore, except when you need somethin' from me. What's up with that?"

"Aw, Huggy, that's not true. You're so busy these days, with the three restaurants, we're never sure where to find you. Besides, you know Hutch has been busy with his new job, and I'm still working on finishing the kitchen. But I promise, the next time we have a free evening..."

"Yeah, yeah, promises promises. Now that you ain't cops no more, you never need your info-man."

"Now Huggy, that's just not true. Why, just today, I needed some information, and I thought, who can I go to? Who among all people has the most information at his fingertips? And naturally, I thought of you."

"You did?"

"I did," Starsky smiled, satisfied.

Huggy leaned an elbow on the bar. "Well, what can I do you for? What kinda news can you use?"

Starsky looked serious. "I need a shule."

"A school?" asked Huggy, puzzled.

"No, no, a shule. A temple, a synagogue, you know."

"Oh right, of course, a shule. Starsky, what the fuck is wrong with you? How would I be able to find a synagogue for you?"

"I don't know. You must have some Jewish contacts. You know so many people! I don't know anyone who goes to temple. Hutch and I only have a few Jewish friends, and they are decidedly secular."

Huggy thought about it for a moment. "Hmmm, well there is Rabbi Levin. He and Father Donovan used to work the Needle Exchange down on 3rd. And Rabbi Strouse usually helps with the coat drive in December."

"See, I knew I could count on you," Starsky said happily.

"But what is it you're looking for, exactly? What am I finding you a temple for?"

"Well, I want to say Kaddish for my mother. That's the Jewish prayer for the dead. You say it every year on the anniversary of a person's death," Starsky explained. "But you're supposed to say it with a congregation. So I need to find a congregation."

"And do you have any specifications for this congregation?"

Starsky looked thoughtful. "Well, I went to a conservative temple when I was a kid, so I guess I'd like it to be conservative. But the main thing is, they have to welcome Hutch. I don't know if he'll want to come with me, but if he does, they have to be nice to him. He's not Jewish, and, well, you know... we're together." Starsky was starting to wonder if there was such a congregation that would welcome such people as Hutch and himself.

But Huggy smiled. "No problemo! I will see what I can see. I'm sure we can find you a nice congregation. I'll make some calls, and I'll call you as soon as I find something."

Starsky brightened. "Thanks, Hug. You're a pal." He got up to go.

"Hey," called Huggy. "You come back soon, you hear? And bring blondie with you. I miss your ugly mugs."

Starsky laughed. "Will do, Huggy. Will do." And he waved as he left the bar.

****************************************

Ken Hutchinson left his office at the Venice Beach Police Department promptly at five. Everything on his desk was tidy; everything was finished that needed to be finished. He had a list of phone calls to be made tomorrow morning, but there were no more to be made tonight. No one would be disturbing his dinner, or his sleep. He was pleased about this.

Hutch walked the ten blocks from his office to his home leisurely, enjoying the lengthening days of March, and the crowds of people still out on the sidewalks of the town. When he and Starsky had both retired from the LAPD, within months of each other last year, he wasn't sure what he'd do. How would he keep busy? He didn't want to stay home, not with Starsky there all day, working on home improvements and writing his books. That was not how Hutch had envisioned his retirement. He still wanted to work, he just didn't want the daily stress of the 24-hour homicide detective.

So when this position at the VBPD, as community liaison, came up, he had jumped at it. Mainly, it involved smoothing out ruffled feathers when a squad car ran over a rose bush, or helping to organize and grant permits for block parties. This week he had been dealing with the Venice Beach Homeowners' Association, which had been registering complaints about noise pollution on Abott Kinney Boulevard. Two new bars had opened there in the last month, and patrons were spilling out onto the sidewalk at 2am, shouting and breaking bottles after a night of drinking. Hutch had scheduled a meeting with the owners for the following afternoon. He smiled to himself; negotiating with annoying business people sure beat bending over dead bodies every day. He'd seen enough dead bodies for one lifetime.

As he turned onto their street, he noticed the metallic green Prius parked in the driveway. Starsky was home. Hutch smiled again--that car was a little victory he'd won in the seemingly endless string of negotiations and compromises that went into making a long-term relationship work. He had demanded that they get an environmentally sound car. Starsky hated it. It had no pick-up.

Hutch bounded up the stairs to the house--he was always happy to be home. "Starsky? I'm home!" he called, dropping his keys and jacket on a chair by the door. He heard the sound of a drill and smiled--Starsky was still working on the kitchen.

"Hey! Starsk!" Hutch walked into the kitchen and motioned with his hands. Starsky turned off the drill, stood up, and lifted the safety goggles from his face. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Of course you didn't, you've got that thing turned up to ear-shattering. I hope you're wearing ear plugs."

Starsky grinned and pointed to his ear. In it, Hutch saw a tiny pink plug. He inspected the other ear just to make sure. Finally, he was satisfied. He kissed Starsky hello, and asked what he wanted for dinner.

"Chinese?"

"You read my mind. Szechuan Express or Golden Unicorn?"

"Golden Unicorn. Szechuan Express always takes too long. They are definitely not express."

"Good point," said Hutch, picking up the phone.

****************************************

Hutch was finishing the last of his moo shu pork when Starsky decided to tell him about the day's events. He wasn't sure what Hutch was going to think.

"I went to see Huggy today," Starsky began.

Hutch raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? How's he doing?"

"He's fine. He wants us to come visit him. I think he misses seein' us on the beat, givin' us tips and stuff," said Starsky.

"So why'd you go see him?" asked Hutch, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Starsky looked at his partner. "I know this is gonna sound weird. I want to say Kaddish on my mother's yahrzeit..."

"That's not weird, Starsky. I think that's a nice idea."

"...but I need to find a synagogue. So I asked Huggy to find one for me."

"What?" Hutch burst out laughing. "You asked Huggy to find you a synagogue?"

"Yeah, why not? He knows a lot of people." Starsky looked hurt.

Hutch patted his knee. "Yes he does, yes he does. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he was able to find one for you. That was a good idea, Starsk."

Starsky looked pleased. "I thought so."

****************************************

Huggy called the next day, a Thursday. It took Starsky a few minutes to notice that the phone was ringing over the sound of the electric drill. He caught it on the fourth ring, just before the machine picked up.

"Hey, babe, I got that info you wanted," said Huggy. Starsky grinned; just like old times, he thought.

"Oh yeah, what'd you get?"

"There's a synagogue on Horizon, just off of Main, right there in Venice. According to my source, it's very liberal, gay-friendly. And they welcome worshippers of all persuasions."

"That's great, Huggy! I knew you could do it."

"There's just one thing. They're not conservative. They're reform. I couldn't find a conservative one that met your requirements."

Starsky frowned. "Well, I guess that's ok. I'm sure it'll be just fine, just take a little getting used to. Hey, thanks buddy. You're a pal. What's the name of the place?"

"The name of the place is Shir Chadash. That means 'new song' in Hebrew." Huggy sounded pleased with himself.

Shir Chadash, thought Starsky. He'd always thought reform Jews were a little weird. Why couldn't it be called something normal like Temple Emanuel or Beth-El or something. Shir Chadash. Okay. He got the address, and the name and number of the rabbi, before hanging up. When he called him, the rabbi sounded pleasant enough. Services were at 8pm on Friday. He would see him there.

****************************************

After dinner--take-out pizza, this time; Hutch was counting the days till they had a fully operational kitchen again--Starsky gave him the news. "Huggy found me a synagogue. It's called Shir Chadash, and it's on Horizon, near Main Street. It's reform."

"Oh, I know where that is. It's in a big old house; I think it used to be an inn. Not very traditional--you think you'll be okay with that?" Hutch looked questioningly at his partner. Starsky shrugged. "I guess so. I don't know. We'll see." He looked up at Hutch, beside him on the couch. "I'd like it if you came. You don't have to. But I'd like it."

Hutch looked into Starsky's serious, dark eyes. "Of course I'll come, Starsky. Of course." He put his hand over Starsky's, on the couch between them, and held it.

****************************************

Starsky and Hutch walked up the walk to the synagogue at a quarter to eight on Friday night. They were both wearing jackets and ties--the rabbi had told Starsky that that would be fine; suits were not necessary. It turned out they were the most dressed-up people there, which didn't do anything for Starsky's nerves. He wiped a sweaty palm on his freshly-pressed pants and continued inside.

They entered a narrow entranceway that led to a short hallway. Ahead of them, Starsky could see the chapel, which was in what must have once been the living room or parlor. There were high ceilings and a simple but elegant chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. Starsky could see these things from his vantage point in the hallway, but there was a cluster of people he and Hutch would have to get through before they could get inside.

One of them turned and saw the newcomers. She smiled and moved towards them. "Hello, welcome, Shabbat Shalom. I'm Lois, and this is my husband Harold." Lois and Harold, an attractive couple of around 60, held out their hands.

Starsky flashed an ingratiating grin, and held out his hand to shake Lois's. "Shabbat Shalom. Very nice to meet you. I'm Dave Starsky, and this is my partner, Ken Hutchinson."

"Hello Ken," said Harold, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you. Is this your first time here?"

"Uh, yes. Actually, no. I've been here before, but only for business. I'm the community liaison for the Venice Beach Police Department."

"Oh, really?" Harold was interested. It turned out he was in real estate. He and Hutch were soon deep in conversation about Venice real estate values.

Lois was asking Starsky what he did. "I was a cop," he said. "I'm retired. Mostly I write books now."

"Really! That's fascinating! What kind of books?" And suddenly Starsky was telling Lois all about the true crime books he'd been writing, based on some of his old cases. He was dictating them, really, for a ghostwriter to write. The offer to write a book had been one of the only good things to come out of the Gunther case, with its attendant notoriety, and the book had done so well that his publisher had asked him to do more. He'd narrated them on the side whenever he had a chance, but now he finally had more time to devote to them. He was hoping to do more on his next book, maybe get rid of the ghostwriter eventually. He thought he had a flair for the stuff.

Lois and Harold were leading them further in, introducing them around. Starsky was sure he'd never been to such a friendly temple. He grabbed two yarmulkes from a basket just outside the chapel door, and put one on his head. He nudged Hutch and gave him the other one to put on.

"Friendly people!" Starsky said under his breath. "Yes," Hutch agreed. He had been impressed that not a beat had been skipped, not a question asked, when Starsky had introduced him as his partner. In fact, he'd just met two other partners, Jill and Maura, who both taught at Venice Community College.

Now an older man (though he couldn't have been more than 65, just eight years older than he and Hutch--Starsky still couldn't think of himself as "old") came up to them with his hand outstretched. He was the only man in the place wearing a suit--dark, with dark tie and white shirt. His olive skin had the pallor of many years spent indoors, studying Torah. His eyes looked wise, and joyful.

"Hello," he said to Starsky. "You must be the gentleman I spoke to on the phone. I'm Rabbi Birnbaum. Dan Birnbaum. Shabbat Shalom."

"Shabbat Shalom," said Starsky, and he introduced himself and Hutch. He explained to the rabbi why they were there.

"What was your mother's name?" Rabbi Birnbaum took out a small, folded piece of paper, and a pen.

"Gladys. Gladys Starsky." He spelled the last name, just to be sure. The rabbi explained what would happen when it was time to say the Kaddish. It would come near the end of the service, right after the Aleinu. The people who were in mourning or were observing a yahrzeit would rise as their relatives' names were read, then he would invite the rest of the congregation to rise and join them. Rabbi Birnbaum turned to Hutch. "Usually, the mourner's family rises with him, so you may wish to rise with David," he said. Hutch raised his eyebrows. "Oh--ok. Of course."

The rabbi noticed Starsky's nervous expression. "Don't worry," he said, putting his hand on Starsky's elbow. "It'll all come back. And everyone will be saying it with you." Starsky thanked him. The rabbi moved on to greet some people who had just arrived.

"You ok?" asked Hutch.

"Fine. But let's sit in the back, near the door, just in case."

****************************************

The cantor was singing. She had a beautiful, pure voice that seemed to float heavenward. "Hallelu, hallelujah..." The congregation joined in, softly. Candles flickered behind her; someone had just been called to the bima to light them and say the blessing. There was a piano accompanying the singing.

Starsky had never experienced any of these things--a woman cantor, candlelighting, a piano--at temple before. At first, he felt uncomfortable, and wished that Huggy had been able to find him a conservative shule. But the music, the candlelight, the warmth of the room eventually won him over. When the cantor started singing "Shalom Aleichem," he smiled at the sound of something so familiar. He struggled to read along in Hebrew, but quickly gave up and read the English transliteration instead. There was a lot of English in the service--another jarring thing--and all the Hebrew was transliterated, which was good, especially for Hutch. Starsky glanced over; his partner seemed to be reading the prayerbook very seriously. He wasn't trying to follow the Hebrew parts at all, but he did join in occasionally on the English.

The rabbi was reading, "O God, how can we know You? Where can we find You? You are as close to us as breathing, yet You are farther than the farthermost star."

"You are mysterious as the vast solitudes of night, yet as familiar to us as the light of the sun. To Moses You said, 'You cannot see my face, but I will make all my goodness pass before you. Even so does Your goodness pass before us: in the realm of nature, and in the joys and sorrows of life."

Then the congregation read together: "When justice burns within us like a flaming fire; when love evokes willing sacrifice from us; when, to the last full measure of selfless devotion, we demonstrate our belief in the ultimate triumph of truth and righteousness; then Your goodness enters our lives, and we can begin to change the world; and then You live within our hearts, and we through righteousness behold Your presence."

"Yes," thought Hutch.

*****************************************

The congregation rose and sat, rose and sat. The Hebrew prayers wafted over Starsky familiarly, comfortingly. When they got to the Sh'ma, he recited along easily, unthinkingly. It was the first Hebrew prayer he'd ever learned; his mother had taught it to him when he was five or six. "Now David remember, if you ever find yourself in a situation where you think your life may be in danger, recite the Sh'ma. It's very important you memorize it so you can say it if you ever need to. Ok?" He had looked at her solemnly, and nodded, and worked on memorizing the six-word prayer.

Starsky smiled at the memory. He had said that prayer silently more times than he cared to remember during his time as a cop. He knew by then that it was the prayer you were supposed to say before you died, but he never thought of it that way. He always thought of it the way his mother had made it seem--as a prayer of protection. He always hoped it would extend to the protection of his partner, as well. He supposed it had worked. Here they were, still whole, at 57. Not every cop made it to retirement.

The rabbi gave his sermon, and then they were standing for the Aleinu, so Starsky knew the Kaddish was coming up. They sat.

The rabbi spoke: "Our thoughts turn to those who have departed this earth: our own loved ones, those whom our friends and neighbors have lost, the martyrs of our people, and those of every race and nation whose lives have been a blessing to humanity. As we remember them, let us meditate on the meaning of love and loss, of life and death."

"On this day, we observe the yahrzeit of Hilda Newman, mother of Sheila Newman, of Robert Maxwell, father of Roberta Roth, and of Gladys Starsky, mother of David Starsky." As each name was called, someone stood. At the last name, Starsky rose, and Hutch rose beside him. Starsky held the prayerbook in his left hand; Hutch took his right hand in his own.

"However brief our time on earth, O God, you endow our fleeting days with abiding worth. We now recall the loved ones whom death has taken from us. And as we remember those who died at this season in years past, we take them into our hearts with our own... In this moment of memory, our griefs and sympathies are mingled. Loving God, we praise your name."

Then came the Hebrew, in an almost trancelike incantation: "Yitgadal v'yitkadash sh'mei raba; b'alma divra chirutei, v'yamlich malchutei; b'chayeichon uvyomeichon uvchayei d'chol beit Yisrael..." Starsky was reading along with the English transliteration. It was a prayer he had never said as a child--it was a prayer only for grownups, and he was not familiar with it. He had said it only a few times, at each of his grandparents' funerals, at his father's funeral, and last year, at his mother's funeral.

But here, the whole congregation was standing and reciting the Kaddish, even the children. No attempt was made to protect them from the inevitability and sadness of death. And the mourners did not have to stand by themselves; Starsky was grateful for that.

When it was over, they sat down. Starsky was lost in thought. He closed his eyes. Hutch, still holding his hand, squeezed it. Starsky turned to him and opened his eyes. They were full of tears.

Then there was the Kiddush--the ritual prayer over the wine--led by a boy of eleven or twelve. He wore army boots and a camouflage shirt with white letters on the front that said, "Ha! I bet you can't see me now!" Starsky laughed, and once again felt overdressed. The closing song was "Adon Olam," which Starsky remembered from Hebrew school. He sang along as best he could. It felt good to sing in Hebrew.

There were more "Shabbat Shalom"s on the way out, more people saying hello, welcoming them. The rabbi shook their hands again.

"I hope you enjoyed the service," he said.

"I did," said Starsky. "Very much." And he meant it.

"There's an oneg downstairs--cookies, cake, coffee--if you want to join us."

Starsky shook his head and looked at Hutch for agreement. "I'm just not up for that tonight, but thank you, rabbi."

The rabbi smiled again. "Well, another time, then. I hope you'll come again."

"Thank you, rabbi. Maybe we will." Starsky smiled and said goodnight.

************************************

Starsky and Hutch walked back to the car in silence. Starsky climbed into the driver's seat, shut the door, and folded his arms on top of the steering wheel. He leaned his forehead on them.

Hutch got in beside him, and put his hand on his partner's shoulder. "Are you ok?" he asked softly.

"I miss her," said Starsky. "I miss her so much." He was crying quietly, his head still resting on the wheel.

Hutch stroked his hair. The dark curls were threaded with gray now, and it glinted like silver in the moonlight. Hutch was sure there was no one in the world as beautiful as Starsky, nor would there ever be. He wished there was something he could do to ease his lover's pain, but he knew there was nothing for that except time. Besides, what had he heard tonight? That God passes before them, in the joys and sorrows of life. If there was no sorrow, Hutch thought, could there be joy? To have great joy was to risk great sorrow. He understood that now.

Eventually, Starsky straightened up, recovered his composure, and started the engine. "I hate this damn car," he muttered, and Hutch smiled to himself. Starsky would be ok.

They drove through the dark streets of Venice, toward the house they shared. Hutch looked down every sidestreet instinctively, as he'd done for years, looking for any sign of trouble. But no one was out this late, on such a chilly March night. The sky was clear, and the moon was bright.

Finally, Starsky spoke. "I liked that. That was nice. I'm glad we went."

"Me too," said Hutch, patting Starsky's thigh. "I liked that a lot."

"Do you think--if I decided I wanted to go again--do you think you'd come with me?" Starsky glanced at Hutch.

"Sure--sure, I'd go with you, if you wanted me to. You think you might go back?" Hutch was a little surprised. They'd had the conversation a couple of times, and Hutch was fairly certain that Starsky didn't believe in God.

Starsky looked at the road and shrugged. "Maybe." He was silent for a few moments. Then he said quietly, "I feel like my mom would like it if I went once in awhile."

Hutch smiled. He looked at Starsky and said, "Yes. I think maybe she would." And he held Starsky's hand for the rest of the ride home.

THE END

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