Author's Note: Well, finally, at long last! I'd originally planned to have this story done nearly two years ago, but another story, Buried in Ashes, elbowed its way in and demanded a fair share of time. This tale, The Road Not Taken, is the final story in my trilogy which focuses around Starsky's adoptive sister, Breanna. It may be helpful to read the first two stories, but not essential. I'd again like to offer my sincerest thanks to my betas, Nik and Dawn - you ladies are the best! This story is complete and I'll be posting a chapter each day until the end. I hope you enjoy and if you feel compeled, feedback is always appreciated.

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The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

—Robert Frost 1916—

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Chapter 1

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Starsky handed the driver a ten dollar bill and told him to keep the change. He got out of the Checker cab and waited while the man took his suitcase out of the trunk and placed it on the curb. As the cabbie got back in his car and left, Starsky stood for a moment looking at the brownstone row house in front of him. The building had changed colors through the years, but there was one thing about it that had remained untouched since his childhood—the large bay window to the left of the front door. Up until the day he'd been sent across country, that window had provided him a 180 degree view of the world outside of his home. For thirteen years, he'd watched the seasons change, neighbors come and go, and for five days a week, right at five-thirty, watched his Pop walk up the twelve steps to the front door. Until one day in May, when two uniformed officers had come to the house instead…

Letting the memory slide back into the past, Starsky picked up his suitcase and headed for the front door.

"Oh, my baby!" Rachel squealed as she opened the front door.

Starsky grabbed his mother in strong embrace, rocking her gently. He wanted to preserve the feeling of her in his arms, hoping to make up for the times when they were apart. Finally separating, Rachel held on to Starsky's arms as she examined him from head to toe.

"You look so good!" she exclaimed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"Ma, you promised you wouldn't cry."

Wiping a palm across her cheek, Rachel fibbed, "That's just my eyes watering from the cold." She stepped back and opened the door wider. "Come in, come in!"

An hour later, Starsky sat at the kitchen table and watched Rachel carve a few slices of bread from a freshly baked loaf. She set them on a plate, along with a butter knife, and passed them to him. After slathering each piece with a coating of butter, Starsky took the first succulent bite and shoved the remainder back across the table.

"Oh, Mom," he said, around a full mouth, "this is wonderful."

Rachel stepped over to the sink and rinsed her hands. She patted them dry on her apron before sitting down. "It's good you have your appetite," she said. "You looked so skinny in those pictures that Ken sent me."

Starsky remembered Hutch taking the pictures nearly two months after he was released from the hospital. It had been the first time he'd felt well enough to go to the beach for a few hours. Until he'd seen the pictures himself, Starsky hadn't realized how thin and pale he'd gotten. At first, he didn't think it would be a good idea to send the photos to Rachel, but Hutch had talked him into it. Thankfully, all Rachel had to say back then was how pleased she was to see that he was getting out of the house.

He took another bite, savoring the fresh bread and butter a bit longer. "You know, there for a while, this was all I really enjoyed eating, especially in the hospital," Starsky said, watching Rachel help herself to a piece. "Not that I was getting home-made bread, but those little rolls? At least that was something I could eat."

The smile on Rachel's face disappeared for a moment.

"What is it? Mom?"

She held up a hand for an instant and gently shook her head. "It's nothing," she said, putting the bread slice down. "I just wished I could have stayed longer when you were in the hospital. But your Uncle Amos, God rest his soul, he just didn't have anyone to help him."

"Ma, don't feel bad. You were there for what, at least a week?" Starsky cringed a little. Truth was, he really didn't remember too much about her visit. Just bits and pieces of some conversations, mostly. He'd been awful woozy back then, especially while hooked up to God knows what in the ICU.

"Yes, I know. But you are my son. Thank goodness you had Breanna and Ken there with you."

With that, Rachel seemed to prefer to drop the subject as she went back to eating. Starsky finished his slice and decided to wolf down another. Glancing at Rachel every now and then, he noticed she was still contemplative, which wasn't usual. Starsky guessed it was because the two of them had never really talked about the shooting. And if they had, it had only been in a roundabout way, like today.

"Mom, about the shooting," Starsky began. "You've never said too much, but…did it change the way you felt about me being a cop?"

Rachel lifted her head, the expression on her face calm, but serious. "You are a smart boy, my lieber. Do you not already know my answer in your heart?"

Starsky just stared at her, hoping silence would convey how important her response was to him.

Rachel released a small sigh. "A mother always worries about her children, Davey, no matter where they are or what they do. There has never been a time I haven't worried about you, or Nicky, or Bree. All I can do is hope that you are well and happy…but you want more, yes?"

Starsky nodded his head.

Rachel wiped her fingers on the paper napkin by her plate. "Your Poppa once told me that things happen for a reason. Good or bad, it all serves a purpose. I guess that is the best way to feel, otherwise what choice do we have?" She reached out and took Starsky's hand. "I had to keep telling myself that being a police officer is what made you feel important. And that you had been hurt before, but you didn't quit. I decided to live with it, because that's what you were doing."

"But Mom, I didn't…" Starsky stopped. He'd never wanted her to be miserable, although it suddenly occurred to him what she was saying. "I didn't become a cop just because that's what Pop was."

"I know," Rachel said. "You tried many other things first. It was only when you realized those didn't make you happy that you found your calling."

"Yeah, well, some calling," he muttered.

"Why do you say that?" Rachel exclaimed. "You are good at what you do!" Pausing for a moment, she added, "Is it that you are getting tired of all those bad people?"

"I think I'm just tired of dealing with more bad than good," he said flatly.

"Do you want to quit?"

Starsky considered just answering 'of course not,' but Rachel would know he was lying. Dipping his head, he said, "I've thought about it."

He felt her hand squeeze his and then let go. "No one would blame you, Davey. What has Ken said about this?"

Frowning, he quietly answered, "I haven't really talked to him."

"Well, it is your decision to make," Rachel said, leaning back in her chair, "but he shouldn't be the last one you talk to. Are you afraid he will be angry with you?"

He let the question sink in before answering. "Maybe not so much angry, but disappointed. This is all both of us have done for a long time. We even tried to do something else a while back, but it didn't work out."

"Tell me more about this other partner you were working with, the one who died."

Starsky drew back, unnerved at hearing Trevor being mentioned so unexpectedly. He'd briefly told Rachel about the incident before coming to New York, saying it was one of the reasons why he needed a break.

"I…I guess there's not a lot to say," Starsky managed, not sure if he could express his feelings about the man without letting his emotions go.

"You cared about him?"

"Yes—" was his immediate reply.

"Does that surprise you?"

Lifting his head, Starsky asked, "Whatd'ya mean?"

Rachel leaned forward, looking at him intently. "You and Ken, you are like brothers, good brothers. The way you feel about each other, it's like two people who exist as one. But you found another you connected with…that you cared about."

"So what are you saying, Mom?"

"You are looking for answers, but in the wrong places. Your job, it is still the same as it was the first day you started. Ken—he has not been the only partner you have cared about. There have been others, you know this. So, these things, they have not changed…but you have, Davey." Rachel grabbed his hand again. "You must ask yourself why you are seeing all of this different now. If you don't like your job, then why were you able to work with this last partner well enough that now you mourn his loss, eh?"

Reflecting on her words, Starsky looked down. This was not something he'd be able to reason through too quickly.

"I think I'd like to lay down for a bit," he said, feeling the day's events catching up to him, "if that's okay?"

"Of course, my darling." Rachel got up with him. "When you wake up, maybe you will feel like eating dinner, yes?"

Starsky glanced at his watch and felt his shoulders droop. "Oh Mom, I forgot about the time difference. If you're hungry, we can eat right now."

"I'm just fine," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't plan on having a big meal your first day here. You just go rest, and don't worry about me."

"Thanks." Starsky leaned over and gave her a quick peck on her cheek. He headed down the hall to his old bedroom, passing by pictures of him and Nick as kids. Barely stopping to kick off his shoes, he drew back the quilted bedspread and dove under the sheets onto the soft mattress. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he nestled his head into the pillow.

He closed his eyes and slowly relaxed, taking in the warmth slowly building around his body. This felt so right, lying safe and secure inside a room that held his childhood innocence. A room that had witnessed good night kisses from Mom as well as sibling fights with Nicky. These walls had also seen the first 'A' he'd ever made in school, heard his gasps of joy at finding money from the tooth fairy, and shielded him so he could climax in private after his first hard-on. And finally, it had protected him from the rest of the world when he lost Pop. This room was his inner sanctum, his sanctuary.

Starsky took another look at his four-walled refuge, now cast in the creamy darkness of early evening. He peered out from the covers at the single hung window by his bed, and watched the gentle descent of thousands of white, puffy snowflakes, brightly lit by the spotlights of the street lamps outside. He hadn't really missed the snow since moving to California. Once he'd stepped onto the beach, and felt the rush of hormones after gazing at bikinis displaying all colors of the rainbow, the cold and ice of home had all been forgotten. But this little spot in the Bronx would always be a center point in his life.

And even though his life felt like a piece of yarn, being knitted into something unrecognizable, all he needed was a way to pull the string and have all the chaos unravel and disappear—then he could recreate it again, into something warm and comfortable to wear. The problem was he hadn't been able to find the right set of instructions yet.

Starsky wasn't sure what woke him up. It might have been the dream he was having or the sound of the phone ringing outside of his bedroom. He pulled his hand out from under the covers and looked at the glowing dots on his watch. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he got out of bed, feeling groggy at taking a nap so early in the evening. He padded out to the living room, picking up bits of Rachel's conversation with someone on the phone. She briefly turned her attention to him and mouthed the name, "Bree."

"Yes, he's fine," Rachel said into the receiver. "He just got up from his nap. Would you like to talk to him?" She listened to a little more of the conversation, then ended with, "Okay, stay well, and thank you for calling."

Rachel handed the phone to Starsky.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" he said, his voice still a little rough.

"Just calling to see if you'd made it there okay." Bree's voice came through clear and happy.

"Yeah, no problems. I would've called sooner, but I guess I was kinda tired."

"Those cross country flights are pretty long, aren't they?" she asked.

"Spoken from true, personal experience, I'm sure." Starsky glanced over his shoulder, and noticed that Rachel had gone into the kitchen. "Hey, I sure wish you could be here. I know Mom would love to see you."

"I know, and I'm really gonna miss you, too. Maybe Nicky will pull a surprise and show up for dinner some night, you think?"

Releasing a groan, Starsky remarked, "I doubt it. That's another thing I've got to see about while I'm here. You and Hutch still gettin' together on Christmas?"

"As far as I know. Did you call him yet?"

"No, probably will in a little bit."

"Okay, well, I'll let you go then. Tell Mom I love her and I'll call again next week."

"Will do."

"And Davey? You take care, alright?"

"Sure."

Starsky hung up the phone, then followed Rachel into the kitchen.

"Are you hungry, my boy?" she asked, putting a few dried dishes away.

"Maybe for a sandwich." Starsky headed for the refrigerator. "You got any lunch meat?"

"Here," Rachel said, beating him to the door. "You go sit down, I'll fix you something."

Smiling, Starsky let her do as she wanted. He wandered back into the living room, and looking at the phone, decided to give Hutch a quick call.

"'ello?" The voice sounded hurried.

"Hey, it's me."

"Oh, hi 'me.' You make it to your mom's alright?"

"Yeah, all in one piece."

"How was the trip?"

"Long. Everything okay out there?"

"Funny you should ask." Hutch said in a clipped tone.

"What?"

"Frank Suko was killed today."

Starsky let his jaw drop. "Mob hit?" he asked tentatively.

"I don't think so. Lou Vinetti most likely."

"Yeah…wouldn't surprise me."

"You sound pretty bummed. I thought you'd take it a little differently."

"No, I mean…" Starsky wasn't sure what he felt. "I guess he got what he deserved."

There was a slight pause, then Hutch said, "Oh, I found your present. I thought we weren't getting each other anything."

"Well, seeing that I wasn't gonna be around, I thought I'd make sure you didn't forget about me."

"No chance of that happening, buddy." Starsky felt a warm wave go through him. "I hope it's worth waiting another couple of days to open, though."

Smiling, Starsky said, "I kept the receipt just in case." Seeing Rachel come out of the kitchen with a plate in her hand, he added, "Hey. I'll call you on Christmas, and make sure Bree cooks that turkey all the way. Don't want to hear about you two ending up in the hospital with food poisoning."

"Don't think that's gonna happen, but I'm bringing my meat thermometer just in case."

Starsky let out a quick chuckle. "Okay. Later, then."

"Hey, Starsk?"

"Yeah?"

"You get some rest…okay?"

"Already got started on that."

He hung up the phone and went over to the table to see what Rachel had fixed. Normally, the sight of anything prepared by his mother sent his appetite soaring. But as he sat down and prepared to launch into the enticing serving in front of him, Starsky couldn't help but think about the news about Suko. Even though the man who had caused him almost as much pain as Gunther was dead, there was no feeling of satisfaction. Strangely, all Starsky felt was more grief.

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TBC