Ken Hutchinson opened the mailbox in front of him. Grabbing the envelopes inside, he closed it and walked back up the walkway to the white stucco house. He unlocked the door and then kicked it shut behind him. Hutch stood inside the foyer as he sorted through the mail. Bill. Bill. Bill. Ah, a letter. An announcement from Publisher's Clearing House. Hutch threw all the bills and junk mail on the oak foyer table and walked deeper into the house, letter in hand until he reached the living room.

Hutch went over to the sofa, located in the corner of the room, and near the double French door which led out to the patio, and sat down. It's good to get off my feet. It had been a long day down at Parker Center.

Glancing at the letter, still in his left hand, Hutch put his feet up on the coffeetable and turned the letter over in hopes of finding out who the sender might be. No return address. Turning the envelope over again, he read:

His address, but no return one. Puzzled, Hutch looked closer at the plain white envelope and saw a local California postmark. Not a holiday, so it couldn't be from my parents. It was probably a charity asking for donations or somebody trying to sell me something, he thought.

Ripping the envelope open, Hutch pulled out a long, white piece of paper. Unfolding it, he began to read the contents. The letter, in neatly written handwriting began:

Dear Ken,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know it's been years since
we last saw each other, but I wanted to write this and let you know
I am doing so much better now.

The doctors here are so pleased with my progress. They tell me I should
be released by the end of the year. When that happens, I'll be leaving
California to go back to Boston.

I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for any pain and hurt
I caused you in the past. During the last seven years, I've come to realize
my mistakes and wanted to apologize to you before I left town.

I know this can never make up for what I did to you, but my illness
caused me to act that way and I hope you can find it in your heart
to forgive me. It would mean so very much to me. I wish you nothing
but the best in the future.

Sincerely,
Diana Harmon

Oh my God. Diana Harmon. A name he hadn't thought of in years. Ever since her trial, Hutch had no contact with her and that had been over seven years ago. The doctors had thought it would be better that way. Diana Harmon. Dropping the letter on the coffeetable, Hutch touched a hand to his upper left arm and remembered.

Diana Harmon had been a nurse he had met and dated briefly. No, not even dated, it had been a one night stand, nothing more. The interlude had been pleasant, but not something he had wanted to repeat and he had brushed off any further advances from her. It was then, that Diana had become obsessed with him. She'd trashed his apartment and destroyed his favorite guitar in her fury about being dumped.

Then, she'd attacked a female police officer Starsky and he had been working with at the time, as she'd mistakenly believed they were involved. But lastly, in a final act of insanity, while he'd been taking a shower, she'd broken into his apartment and stabbed him. He'd been lucky to escape alive.

Hutch still had flashbacks to this day about that nightmare, preferring to lock the bathroom door now in order to feel completely safe. The woman had been a lunatic.

Diana had been found legally insane of attempted murder at her trial and was sentenced to the Cabrillo State Mental Hospital for the Criminally Insane for treatment. That had been in 1977 and Hutch had nearly forgotten about her until today when the past had reared its ugly head with her unexpected letter.

Hutch wondered exactly what Diana had intended in sending him the letter. At the trial, the judge had ordered Diana to have no contact whatsoever with Hutch. She had adhered to that for the last seven years. Now that she was being released maybe she felt that order was no longer valid. With Diana it was hard to tell. Hutch truly hoped Diana had gotten the help she needed and was over her illness. What had the doctor called it? Manic depression with elements of extreme paranoia and hallucinations. With medication and treatment, the doctor had said Diana could be helped. Obviously they thought they had helped her enough since she was getting released.

Glancing briefly at the letter on the table, Hutch dismissed it from his mind. No, Hutch didn't fear Diana Harmon. She was a part of his past and couldn't hurt him anymore. His present, his future, everything in his life was almost perfect. This house, bought last year with the inheritance his grandfather had left him. His job, culminating in a promotion to lieutenant. But most recently, the most important change has been the marriage to the love of his life. Finally, Hutch had found the happiness that had seemed to have eluded him most of his adult life. Smiling in remembrance of that special day last May, Hutch touched the gold band on his left hand. It was a symbol of their love for one another, their commitment.

No, nothing or no one could hurt him now -- life was too perfect. Diana Harmon was not even an issue.

As if on cue, the front door opened and he heard a voice yell, "Honey, I'm home!"

"In here," Hutch replied as he heard car keys being thrown onto the foyer table and footsteps on the linoleum leading to the living room.

Seeing his beautiful spouse, Hutch got up off the sofa and walked over to close the distance between them.

"Been home long?"

"No, not long," Hutch replied.

"Did I get any mail?"

"What, no welcome-home kiss? No hug? Just where’s my mail? Guess the honeymoon is truly over," Hutch retorted.

"We can fix that real quick. Come 'ere." And with that, Hutch was suddenly grabbed and kissed -- hard.

Hutch sighed and gave himself over to the sensations that his lover's kiss always brought. Pure pleasure whizzed through his veins. Slanting his mouth a little bit to the left, Hutch allowed his lover's mouth and tongue to devour his.

Feeling turned on by just the kiss, Hutch moved suggestively against the form pressed against him. Clasping his arms around his partner's neck and tugging them closer, until there was no space between their two bodies. A tongue touched his lower lip and Hutch shuddered. It felt like he had jumped off a cliff and was falling. The sensations were so intense. Hutch felt hungry for more. So, he tightened hi grip around his spouse's neck and opened his mouth more fully. The answering response was that a seeking tongue found his. Tongues met and danced around each other, teasing, prolonging the act. It was intensely satisfying.

Hutch shivered, feeling goose bumps pop out on his arms in response to the kiss. Hips ground against his, tormenting him even more. Hutch could feel the hunger growing inside, becoming an overwhelming need to get closer, to be inside the person he loved most. He could feel his muscles tense in agony of anticipation of that and he expelled a ragged breath, trying to control his reactions.

What he really wanted to do was throw his lover to the floor and ravish that beautiful body. Soon, very soon. But not yet. He wanted more than a quick roll on the floor. Later tonight, they could take their time, but not now. So, Hutch pulled his head back from those luscious lips, and immediately sighed with disappointment, missing the contact.

"Now, how's that for a welcome-home, buddy?" Dave Starsky asked. Blue eyes met blue and Hutch grinned in response to the question.

"Not bad...for now, but just wait until later," Hutch threatened lovingly.

"Promises, promises, Blondie," Starsky reached up and used his finger to trace the slight frown line between Hutch's eyebrows. Also needing to touch his lover, Hutch grasped Starsky's finger and pulled it down to his mouth. He lovingly took the digit inside the warm, wet opening. Sucking gently on the finger, Hutch heard Starsky moan with pleasure. How he loved to torment Starsky.

Suddenly Starsky removed his finger and pushed Hutch away from him.

"That's not going to get you out of cooking dinner tonight. I know all your tricks by now."

Hutch smiled at the comment, knowing Starsky was just as turned on as he was, but wanted to wait until later. The anticipation of waiting would only make their lovemaking more spectacular.

Grabbing Starsky's left hand, Hutch kissed the open palm. He then turned over the rough hand and kissed the ring he had placed there. The ring was the identical design that Hutch wore. Entertwining circles. The symbol of infinity.

Forever.

It was what they felt for each other, what they had pledged in May during their commitment ceremony. Even after five years of being lovers, Hutch still marveled at the depth of his feelings for this man. I love him so much more today than when I realized it five years ago after Gunther’s shooting. Their love had grown since that fateful day making every day a joy because Starsky had survived the assassination attempt. They never took each other for granted because of it.

Breaking that train of thought, he let Starsky's hand go, as he said, "Whatcha want for dinner?"

"Anything you fix, you know I'll love it, unless it's got goat cheese or soy milk in it."

"But, soy is good for you," Hutch countered, enjoying their old argument.

"So you keep saying, however I think it tastes like shit. Moving along. Anything interesting come in the mail, today?" Starsky queried.

Hutch thought of the letter from Diana Harmon and pushed it out of his mind. There was no reason for Starsky to worry about it. She wasn't a threat to them now. Nothing could ever pull them apart. Their love was too strong. The thought of what they had survived in the past five years made him want Starsky, right here and now.

The need couldn't wait.

"No, nothing interesting but bills," and Hutch took his lover's hand and kissed it, placing it on his chest. "But, maybe I could interest you in a pre-dinner appetizer?"

Starsky just smiled wickedly in reply.

Author's Notes:  Many thanks to KimberlyFDR for editorial duties and for shinning a whole new perspective on an old story.