THE PERFECT GIFT

by: Momo

It had to be perfect.

Whatever he chose, whatever he finally decided on, there was only one requirement. It had to be perfect.

Starsky walked down the long row of glass counters, occasionally stopping to eye an especially attractive piece.

Watches.

Rings.

Gold Chains.

Row after row. They were all beautiful. They would all work. They would all bring a smile to his face. Let him know he was appreciated. Maybe even that he was loved.

But none of them held the special something that would make them perfect. None of them said "I couldn't have made it through this last year without you."

His fingers rose absently to his chest, rubbing the scars through his shirt.

A habit that had started during healing, when they would itch so badly he wanted to scream. Now it was second nature, like rubbing his chin or running his hand through his hair. It drove his partner crazy, a constant reminder of the damage done.

He let his hand drop back down to his side.

The woman behind the counter cleared her throat in an attempt to get his attention. "Anything I can take out of the case for you?" She smiled at him, red lipstick staining her front teeth, the look in her eye saying 'buy something or leave.'

He smiled back - "Uh....no, no thank you." - turning he headed out into the chaos of the mall.

He hated shopping and he hated malls even more, but time was running out. Hutch's birthday was just two days away and he didn't have the faintest idea of what to get him.

He walked down a ways stopping at store windows, taking in the sweaters, jackets, ties, even furniture. So much to choose from, but none of it right. He spotted a book store a few doors away. Maybe something in there.

He walked among the stands of best sellers, self help books, cook books, books on art, plants, music. Lots of things he would like, but nothing that said what needed to be said - what Starsky needed to say but hadn't been able to.

He left the store and continued wandering among the crowds of people, lost in thought. His fingers playing again across his chest.

He had been looking for weeks. Little stores, malls, big stores, specialty stores. But nothing was right. Nothing was perfect.

He wondered if anything ever would be.

How could a gift, a mere token of affection communicate everything he needed Hutch to know? How do you tell someone that they saved your life? That you are walking around because of them? How do you do that with a shirt? or a watch? or a book?

It had been a year since he had been shot. He was back at work, just recently on the streets, before that desk duty. But he was back and it was all because of his partner. No one else.

The doctors had written him off as done. His mother wanted him to retire and move back to New York - she had even bought him a plane ticket. His brother had called him once in all that time only to tell him he was nuts for staying and then to ask for money.

No one believed he could do it - the physical therapists, the home nurses, the specialists, even his Captain all had doubts, all hinted that maybe he should start considering alternatives. Maybe he should give up.

But not Hutch. He never doubted. He was always there, pushing for more. Setting impossible goals and demanding he meet them. Forcing him to ignore the pain, and to keep going.

But also knowing when it hurt too much, when he just couldn't take another step, or when he so scared he couldn't walk into another doctor's office or even close his eyes.

Always there.

Holding him, comforting him, encouraging him.

Starsky wouldn't have made it without his partner. Of this he was certain. It wasn't just a nice thought - if it hadn't been for Hutch he wouldn't be on the force - or alive - today. He couldn't have done it on his own and there was no one else willing to help.

And he wanted to let Hutch know that. He wanted to tell him how much he appreciated him - loved him for all he had done. He had never been good with words, shying away from soapy scenes, so this birthday proved the perfect opportunity. The present the perfect tool.

Only it had to be perfect, and so far he hadn't found anything that would work.

He wandered into yet another store.

Games.

Chess boards. Backgammon. Hand carved. Very nice.

He picked up a knight carved from ivory.

My White Knight.

"May I help you?" The words caused him to jump, he gingerly placed the chess piece back on the shelf before looking around.

An old man walked towards him. "Shopping for yourself or for a gift?"

"A gift."

The old man nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. "A friend?"

"Yes."

"How close?"

"What?"

"How close is this friend?"

Starsky shifted, "Uh...he's my partner."

An old eyebrow raised.

"We're cops." Starsky quickly added. He felt a warm flush on his face.

"Oh. So he's very close."

Slightly embarrassed Starsky pretended to look at the items in a glass case nearby. "Yes, very close."

"You have been looking long?"

"Yes."

"Lots of stores?"

"Uh...yeah."

"So you're having a hard time finding something." Spoken not as a question, but as a fact. Starsky looked back at the old man.

You understand?

You can help?

He nodded.

"Hmmmm, wait right here."

The man shuffled to the back of the store disappearing behind a heavy curtain. A few minutes later he returned, a paper in his hand. He gave it to Starsky.

"Go to this man. He can help you."

With that he retreated again to the back of the store. Starsky stood looking down at the paper in his hands - a name and an address. Two hours outside of town.

Shaking his head he left the store.

Nuts, that's what he thought, the guys was nuts.

But he had a nice store.

He continued through the mall.

Thirty minutes later he was in his car, leaving the parking lot - empty handed.

Nothing was right.

He rubbed at his eyes, then turned his wrist to look at his watch - 3:30 p.m..

Two hours.

He could make it.

Hutch was on a date for the entire day so he wouldn't even wonder where he went.

He could go out there, just see what the guy had. He had already tried everywhere in the city.

He pulled the crumpled paper out of his jacket. Two hour drive - he could do it in one and a half.

Maybe the old man wasn't crazy.

Maybe there was hope.

Smiling, he put the Torino in gear and sped out of the lot.

It took a while to find it, tucked back off the road the way it was, but Starsky persisted and was rewarded with the sight of an old house in bad need of paint. Next to it stood a large barn crying for the same.

He walked up to the porch and was about to knock when a voice came from behind the dark door. "Yes?"

"Hi...I'm looking for uh.." Starsky quickly dug the paper out of his pocket, unfolding it to see the name, ".a...Jacob Myers."

"Who sent ya?"

"A guy at the mall. He works at a store that sells games. An old guy."

The man let out a snort. "Mel. You must need something special."

"Yes. A gift."

"For who?"

"A friend."

"Just a friend? Mel wouldn't send ya out here if you were just shopping for a friend."

"He...we're cops...He's my partner."

The screen door opened and Starsky was faced with warm brown eyes set deep in a well lined face.

"Mel wouldn't a sent ya out here if he was just a partner."

Starsky hesitated for just a moment before speaking. "He helped me a lot this year. I was shot. I almost died. I'm back on the force because of him - I just want him to know how much I lo.... I appreciate what he did."

Jacob nodded his understanding. "And you think a gift will do that." He sighed, a tired sound "Alright. Come on in."

Starsky followed him into the dark house.

"When do you need it?" Jacob began clearing newspapers from a worn chair.

Starsky stayed in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. "Two days. It's his birthday in two days."

"Do you have a picture of him?"

"A picture?"

"Yes. A picture."

Starsky pulled a photo from his wallet - he and Hutch standing on top of the Torino.

Jacob looked at it then out the window - "Really like your car, huh?" Shaking his head, he walked over to the dirty sofa and sat down, indicating the chair to Starsky.

"Tell me about him."

"What?" Starsky went and stood by the chair.

"I said tell me about him. What does he like? What are his hobbies?"

"Oh. Um....music. He writes and plays. Painting. Poetry. Plants. He has a huge green house. Listen, what kind of work do you do?"

The question was ignored. "Which is his favorite?"

"What?"

"When you think of him, what do you think of first?"

"Can you tell me what you do?" Starsky was beginning to wonder if he had made the right decision or if he had just hit another dead end. A very strange dead end.

Jacob kept his eyes on the picture, a deep furrow in his brow. "You're looking for the perfect gift. That's what I do. I make perfect gifts."

"No kidding! Care to give me an idea of what that may be?"

The brown eyes looked up, "I don't know yet."

Normally Starsky would have exploded about now but something in the way Jacob was looking at him held him in place.

Jacob smiled, "Now, when you think of him, what do you think of first?"

"Music. It's his way of relaxing - surviving."

The man rose and walked towards the front door, signaling the end of the meeting. "Come back in two days. Bring a hundred dollars cash." He opened the door for Starsky to walk through.

Starsky remained in place. Jacob smiled again, "Don't worry so much. If I turn out to be a flake all you've lost is the gas and time it took to come out here."

True enough.

Starsky walked past him.

"One more thing." Jacob's voice stopped him halfway to his car. "What I give you will be unique, beautiful, I guarantee that. But what makes it perfect, what makes it tell your friend everything you want to tell him - that can only come from you."

Jacob turned and walked back into the dark house leaving Starsky standing in the dusty drive wondering if he had just landed right back at the beginning.

The next two days had gone slow for Starsky, but the big day finally arrived. -- He caught himself looking at his watch more times than he cared to admit --

Hutch had picked up on his agitation - asking him several times if anything was wrong. He still worried so much.

Starsky - not wanting to raise his partner's suspicions did his best to hide his anxiety. He didn't know why he was so nervous. It was just a birthday - one of many he and Hutch had celebrated over the years.

Why was he on pins and needles about this one?

Why was he so worried about having the right gift?

He had gotten backup gifts just to be safe - a pair of tickets to a play Hutch had been wanting to see and a book on plants he had found at the mall.

Nice gifts.

He had given them to him that morning when he picked him up for work.

Hutch liked them. The play was for that night - he was taking his new girlfriend.

And the book had the information he had been looking for concerning a plant he had just bought.

They made him happy.

So why was Starsky so worried?

He knew the answer before he even asked himself the question.

It was the same answer to every question lately-

Why did every sunset look so beautiful?

Why did he write twice as many letters to his Mother?

Why would he sit for hours staring at the vastness of the ocean?

Or the sparkle of the night sky?

Because a year ago he came so close to never being able to do any of those things again.

He came so close to never seeing Hutch have another birthday.

That was why this one was so special.

And why the gift had to be perfect.

The gift.

He looked at his watch - 5:30 pm - Hutch would be leaving soon to go to the play. Then all he had to do was drive out to pick up the gift.

Easy.

Perfect.

And if the guy did turn out to be a flake - Hutch was already happy with what he had gotten him.

Starsky should be satisfied with that.

He should be.

"Ok partner, I'm gonna go." Hutch rose from his seat.

"Have fun." Starksy smiled up at him.

"You sure you don't want to come?"

"Yes - I'm sure." A little too much anxiety in his voice, it stopped Hutch's progress towards the door. "Starsk, are you sure you're ok?"

"Yeah - I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Hutch!"

"I know, I know, don't mother you. It's just - is there something on your mind? You seem preoccupied lately. Are you sure you're feeling all right? You're not having any pain, are you?"

You will always worry, won't you?

Starsky rolled his eyes, doing his best to look disgusted. "Hutch I am fine! Now will you just go and have a good time?"

Hutch didn't move - not quite convinced.

Starsky threw him his best smile - "We'll do dinner tomorrow night, just you and me."

That seemed to satisfy him - A chance to talk to me, Starsky thought, give me the third degree - Hutch nodded and walked from the room.

Starsky watched him leave.

What did I do right to have someone like you care so much about someone like me?

Shaking his head he went back to finishing his report.

He pulled into the dusty driveway just as the sun was starting to set. His palms were sweaty and he had a tightness in his gut.

What are you worried about?

He liked what you got him already.

This is extra.

He started towards the front door when a voice called out from the barn.

"Over here!" Jacob stood in the doorway to the large structure wiping his hands on a well used apron.

Starsky changed his direction to the barn feeling the sweat now attacking his brow.

Don't worry.

It's no big deal.

Jacob turned and led him into the barn. "I thought you'd be comin' by about now. Got everything ready for you right over here."

Starsky followed him to the back of the barn, his eyes taking in everything around him.

As dirty and cluttered as the house was, the barn was that clean. Well organized workbenches lined the walls, tools of all kinds, many he had never seen before, hung neatly from hooks. Each one in their place.

Wood of all types was stacked in the corner, organized by size and shape, and leather strips hung from the rafters, again organized by size and shape.

Jacob stopped at a large table. He watched Starsky with amusement as he gaped at his surroundings. "Here."

Starsky pulled his attention from a rather large saw and looked at the table Jacob was pointing to. Whatever was on it had a white sheet draped over it. He gave Jacob a questioning look.

The man shuffled a little - slightly embarrassed, "I like a bit of a presentation. You can go ahead and pull the sheet off."

Starsky gave him a small smile and reached for the sheet, his hand shaking. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes he yanked the cover away with one swift movement, opening his eyes as he felt the cloth hit the floor.

He stood staring at the objects before him, wanting to touch but afraid that if he did they would prove to not be real. Jacob read his mind - "Go ahead. You can hold them."

Starsky looked at him, as if still not sure. Jacob smiled, his warm eyes lighting up his face, "Go ahead."

Starsky reached forward and tentatively picked up one of the gifts.

It was a guitar. But not just any guitar.

It's body was made of a rich cherry wood, rubbed until it was as smooth as silk and as bright as the sun.

The neck was inlaid with Mother of Pearl - he watched as the light in the room reflected off of it bringing him every color of the rainbow.

And on the front, a piece of tooled leather had been used for the pick guard. Beautiful. Starsky felt the design with his hands. So intricate. Detailed.

"Look at it closer." Jacob stood next to him - still smiling.

Starsky inspected the design, looking close.

Plants, leaves, flowers, all weaving and dancing around each other. Each petal, every stem showing detail. And amongst this - a man playing the guitar - "Hutch" - Starsky looked up.

Jacob just kept smiling. Then he pointed to the table. "Look at the book."

Starsky glanced back at the table.

A binder made of the same hand tooled leather lay there, a brass clasp glinting at him.

He picked it up, inspecting the design - same - plants, flowers, leaves. And Hutch standing in the middle playing his guitar.

"There's blank sheet music paper in there - you said he liked to write, but he can take that out and put in whatever he wants." Jacob indicated the book in Starsky's hands, still smiling.

Starsky looked up at him, "Thank you. This is....it's.."

"Perfect?" A little of the smile left Jacob's face. "No problem. Just leave the money on the table." He wiped his hands on his apron and walked towards another bench, quickly busying himself.

Starsky pulled out his wallet and took out a hundred dollars. It didn't seem right. "Are you sure this is all you want?" Jacob turned. "I mean...they're....you can't find stuff like that..."

"Not everything is about money, son." He turned back to the bench.

Starsky laid the bills on the table, picked up the guitar and music book and walked towards the door.

"There's a leather case by the front for the guitar. Grab it on your way out."

Starsky turned back, "Thank you."

Jacob raised his hand - not taking his eyes off the tool he was using.

Starsky continued out of the barn.

"Did you think about what I told you?" Jacob's voice stopped him again. He turned once more. "The gift - what makes it perfect - did you think about that?"

When Starsky didn't answer Jacob looked up, "Just think about it." Those same warm eyes - but tired.

Why so tired?

He turned back to his work.

Starsky left the barn and headed back to the city, Jacob's words playing in his head.

Starsky sat in Hutch's living room surrounded by pieces of wrapping paper. The guitar - in it's case, sat on the couch, wrapped in a bright red foil paper. A big white bow and ribbon simulating a stripe.

Starsky smiled at his handy work, then reached for the book. He turned it carefully in his hands, marveling at the detail. Just as he had done with the guitar before finally covering it up.

Truly beautiful.

Truly unique.

Truly perfect?

He let his fingers trail over the leather feeling the bumps and ridges.

Leather.

He felt the brass clasp, opening it he thumbed through the paper inside.

Paper.

He felt the binding, running his hand up the spine.

Glue.

Things.

Jacob's words.

But what makes it perfect, what makes it tell your friend everything you want to tell him - that can only come from you

He went to the first page in the book - clean, bright, no lines.

A blank sheet of paper.

Just think about it.

He grabbed a pen and began writing.

Hutch turned on the light and immediately smiled - "Starsk."

He walked over to the couch laughing at the red paper and white ribbons. "Only Starsky."

Shaking his head he removed his coat and tie and made himself a cup of tea, then settled onto the couch, ready to find out what his partner had been up to.

He reached for the larger of the two gifts, slowly unwrapping it.

It didn't take long to figure out what it was once he got to the soft leather case, but nothing had prepared him for what he saw when he unzipped the case and flung open the top.

He gasped as he stared down at the beautiful instrument, the Mother of Pearl glinting in the light.

"Oh my god...Starsky..." He carefully picked up the guitar and cradled it on his lap, his fingers playing over the strings.

It felt like no other instrument he had ever held before. His hands played over the wood and leather.

"Starsky."

Hesitantly - as if afraid to let it go, he laid the guitar against the couch and picked up the second gift.

Again it didn't take long to see what it was. He inspected the design in the leather, smiling when he found himself among his plants. "Unbelievable."

He undid the clasp letting the papers fall open, thumbing through the sheets of music paper. "Wow."

He went to the first page, delight showing on his face at the sight of his friend's slanted words. "Starsky."

Sitting back under the light he began reading.....

Hutch placed his hand softly on the page - as if trying to feel his friend through the words. "Buddy....."

Smiling he laid the book in his lap and reached for the guitar. A tune had found its way into his head, and he had to play it.

He strummed softly - a song.

A song for a friend.

The words were already written, all he needed was the music.

He grabbed the pen Starsky had left on the coffee table and turned to a clean sheet of paper.

Carefully he wrote out the title - it was all coming to him so quickly.

Sitting back he smiled down at the words,

"The Perfect Gift."

end.

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