My dear friends, its been a while since I took my sabatical and a lot has happened in the past weeks. My health is improving slowly and I hope my life is getting back together. I have come to realise that money isn't everything and quality of life is what counts. Under pressure I tried to give up writing - I tired so hard, but I can't. It's in my blood and the Curly and Blondie have once again seen me through - along with the countless lovely messages I recieved from you lovely ladies and of course my wonderful Brook and Nelleke who have been with me through the worst of it.

Remember - life begins at 50!

This story is for them.

Chapter 1

The tall, lean man with the shock of chocolate coloured curls let himself quietly into his darkened apartment. He sighed loudly as he stood at the top of the stairs. He juggled his keys in left hand and the bag of donuts in the other, opening the door and throwing the bag on the counter. He was expecting Suzi to drop by but he wasn't in any mood. He almost picked the phone up back at work to tell her not to come, but then quickly decided maybe he needed a night away from thoughts of Hutch. Maybe a night with his girl might just be what he needed to turn off his brain. Without bothering to switch on the lights, he shouldered out of his dark blue cotton jacket, took off his holster and gun and stowed them neatly in his closet and deposited his handcuffs and shield on the top of the small table by his front door. Heading into the kitchen, he opened his ice box and took out a beer which he deftly opened by slamming his hand down on the crown cap on top of his counter ledge. Opening the fridge door again he stared morosely at the half of cold pizza, the single wedge of cheese and an onion, sighed deeply and closed the door again. He grabbed a donut, took a bite and threw it down too. Appetite seemed to be a thing of the past.

It had been a long day and the tension he'd felt growing throughout the hours had settled itself into a knot at the base of his neck and a headache over his right eye that threatened to turn into one of his infrequent migraines. Actually every day for the last 3 months had been that way for David Starsky, ever since his partner, Ken Hutchinson had agreed to take the undercover assignment that had kept them separated. Starsky hated the fact that he didn't have Hutch's back. That was where he was meant to be – looking out for the big blond, the same as Hutch looked out for him. They were a pair. Partners. Not two single individuals who just happened to work together.

The assignment had been wrong from the start, he knew that, but try as he might he hadn't been able to persuade Hutch that he should let it go and give it to some other gullible sucker. Oh no! Hutch had listened to the Feds description of the drugs and arms dealer, his interest peeked and on the way home that night, he'd made up his mind to go in.

In the meantime, Starsky had tried at first to coax, persuade, and finally yell at the flaxen haired cop that this was about the most idiotic idea he'd ever had and that he shouldn't touch the job with a ten foot long pole. Starsky had sulked, yelled and all but punched Hutch in the face trying to get him to see sense, but to no avail. On 22nd January – a Tuesday, Hutch packed a small overnight bag, handed the key to his apartment to his neighbor, Helene so that she could water his plants and gave his rent book to Starsky so that his partner could keep up the payments while he wasn't there. Then he'd said "see ya" to Starsky (they never, ever said goodbye), got into his old brown beater of a car and drove off leaving Starsky's nerves frayed and his temper at an all time high.

From then on, all the brunet could do was attend the damn briefings that the Feds had held every 2 weeks to get his updates, sit at the back of the room and listen. They didn't want Starsky any where near Hutch, that much was patently obvious. In fact they didn't want Starsky, period. The faceless, grey suited beaurocrats labeled the curly haired cop as a "loose canon" and a "liability" and tried to exclude him from the meetings whenever they could. Starsky always attended, though, accompanying Dobey although he was made to sit at the back of the room and was ignored. On the few occasions he'd tried to make valid points about his partner's safety, they'd stared at him stony faced, remained silent for a second or so and then gone back to their conversation as though he'd never uttered a word. Even his pleas to Dobey had gone unanswered for the most part. This was the Fed's show and Dobey was merely along for the ride.

Starsky had seen Hutch only 3 times in all after the blond went undercover and each time he saw the blond he saw how this job was getting to his partner, how Hutch's face had lost weight, how his body was harder, leaner and how his eyes held a hunted, haunted look. Hutch never said much and always assured Starsky that he was ok and that he could handle what was going on, but the hitch in his partner's voice and the slight hesitation that was always a dead giveaway that the big cop was trying to hide something from Starsky left the brunet feeling antsy and in need of some action.

Starsky flopped down onto his sofa, put his sneakered feet up on his coffee table, crossed his ankles and rested his head back. The apartment seemed empty. Even when Hutch wasn't physically there, he was usually just a phone call away, but there was a nagging void which had grown of late, leaving Starsky feeling alone and, yes, lonely. Fondly the curly haired cop remembered arriving home from a solitary shift just 2 weeks ago.

Oddly, his door was unlocked and the brunet had drawn his gun, taken a step back and had kicked the door open, springing inside and crouching in classic firing position, arms outstretched, right hand cupping his left and his weapon seeking it's target.

He'd heard a distinct snort of amusement and stood up self consciously as Hutch had walked out from his bathroom and smiled.

'Is that any way to say hello?' the blond had asked.

'Well don't lurk in my house' Starsky retorted tetchily.

'Lurk? Me?'

'Uh huh, you. World's best lurker. How're ya doin' buddy?'

'I'm good. I um….' The flaxen haired man looked uncomfortable. 'I'm good.'

'You know, you're a terrible liar Hutchinson. Look at ya. How much have you lost? 12, 14 pounds?'

Hutch looked down at himself and snickered. 'Black is very slimming' he muttered 'at least that's what Abby used to say.'

'Bullshit!'

'Uh huh, that's what I used to say back to her. I told ya, I'm fine.'

'So, why are ya here, not that I'm not glad to see ya' Starsky said handing his partner a beer. He took a 7up for himself and tried to ignore Hutch's raised eyebrows.

'No beer?'

'Stomach's still bad. Somehow 7up seems to make it better' Starsky replied.

'It'll take the lining off your stomach.'

The brunet snickered. 'Marcus' goons did that already. This makes the pain go away. How long have you got before you need to be back?'

The blond looked at the clock on the wall. 'Not long. I told 'em I had some business to take care of and I needed an hour.'

'So back to the original question. Why did you come over here?'

'Would you believe I missed ya?' Hutch asked.

'An' I missed you too buddy. The damned Feds don't tell me shit an' they won't let me anywhere near the factory. How's it goin'?'

A fleeting look of pain crossed Hutch's handsome features. 'It's ok. I reckon another month and maybe we'll have 'em. They're expecting a delivery some time in the next four weeks, that much I know. As for exactly when and where, I still need to find out. I'm still workin' on the boss, getting' him to trust me.'

'You're gonna be careful though' Starsky asked. I mean…. Hey, what's that?'

Hutch looked up swiftly. 'Huh?'

'On your arm. What's that on your arm?'

Self consciously Hutch pulled up the sleeve of his black tee shirt to reveal a tattoo in the shape of a cougar's paw with a dagger dripping blood spliced through the middle of it. 'Gang colours. I had no choice, it was one of the conditions of bein' accepted.'

Starsky snorted. 'Cute. Want one for the other arm sayin' "I love Mom"?'

'You crack me up Gordo. Look I gotta go. I just wanted to…..'

Starsky stood up. 'I know. Me too. Look after yourself huh?'

Hutch grinned. 'I'm a big boy Ma. I can handle it.'

'I want my partner back in one piece. Ya hear?'

The brunet had watched as Hutch opened the front door a crack, cautiously looked outside and then with a quick wave of his hand was gone into the night.

Starsky sighed at the memory, finished off the last dregs of his beer and got up. He walked into his bathroom turning on the hot water and taking off his clothes. He looked at the fading whip marks, now silvery, slightly raised lines snaking across his shoulders and down his back, the legacy of his couple of days spent as Simon Marcus' "guest" just over two months ago. They weren't the only legacy of that nightmare 48 hours. Although he didn't admit it to anyone but Hutch, he hated the dark these days. He even slept with the light on most of the time. He was still jumpy around crowds and his stomach had still to recover from the poison he'd been forced to drink in the water they gave him.

When he'd gotten to the hospital to have his injuries treated once the big blond had rescued him, the doctors had been concerned about nerve damage to his hands caused by being strung up for so long. His fingers had been numb for days after the rescue, but gradually feeling returned to all but the little finger of his right hand. His left shoulder, the one weakened by the bullet in the Italian restaurant was still an issue too. Being suspended from the big aviary bars had stretched the muscles and they'd torn around his left shoulder. For a month he'd worn his left arm in a sling and now, another 6 weeks further on, he was still wary of over extending the limb. But it was his stomach that was the real issue. The doctors had told him that the poison had corroded some of his stomach lining away. Starsky was on medication both to help it heal and also for the incredible pains he still felt especially after he ate or drank. His abdomen even now was tender to the touch and sometimes felt as though he'd done several rounds with Mohammed Ali. He was fortunate to be alive, Starsky realised that, but the injuries left him feeling vulnerable and his confidence had been badly shaken by the experience.

Walking into the shower he put his hands of the wall letting the hot water hit his tensed shoulders, trying to get rid of his thoughts of the meeting he had just had with the feds. He'd tried not to go off on Garcia when the suited man had told Starsky to back off the case. Just about the worst thing Garcia could have said to the brunet but Starsky held his temper in check. But when the Fed told him that if he set one foot in any more meetings, it would be Hutch's life on the line, the curly haired cop had lost it completely and was all over him. That's when they kicked him out of the room and that's when Dobey told him he would call him. Starsky knew the look on Dobey's face. He'd seen that look before, although fortunately not very often. The usually restrained Captain was on the verge of losing it big time and Starsky's senses told him that his best move was to get the hell out of the room, go home and wait.

He knew that was the last straw. The feds have been dealing with David Starskys temper tantrums for the past 2 months. All he wanted now was to finish his shower get very drunk and go to bed. He turned the water off softly and cursed as he heard a humming sound in the kitchen So much for a solitary night in. Suzi was already there. She sounded happy and he sighed heavily. He also knew he was going to be in for another long night.

Starsky grabbed the terry cloth towel wrapping it around his lean body and as he opened the door to say hello to Suzi he was greeted with a huge kiss and her arms around his neck.

'That's just how I like my men' the tall blond whispered into his ear. 'Unwrapped and ready for me.'

'I aim to please' the brunet grinned, picking her up in his arms and propelling her towards the bedroom. His dark thoughts were put to one side as the sight of her slim body roused his own to greet her.

As Starsky laid Suzi down onto the bed, she was already reaching for the towel around his waist and as it dropped away, she sighed at the sight of his obvious pleasure at her being there.

'Were you thinking of me?' she asked

'Of course' the brunet lied. 'Why else would I be so pleased to see ya?' He knelt on the bed and crawled panther-like up the length of her body, forcing his knee between her legs so that he could gain access to her. Suzi looked up into his intense indigo eyes.

'So soon? Can't we kiss first?'

Starsky dotted a kiss on the tip of her nose as his left knee joined the right one and he spread Suzi's legs wide enough for her to accommodate him. Leaning down to bite gently at the angle of her neck, she moaned and arched her body up to meet his as she felt him enter her in one fluid movement.

Ordinarily, Starsky was an attentive lover. Ordinarily, he would have kissed and cuddled and petted his woman until she was almost pleading for him to take her, but tonight, he felt selfish, as though for once, it was all about his enjoyment and his release, rather than Suzi's. Within minutes, he was pounding into her, his rhythm fast and furious as though he were taking out all the frustrations of the case and the absence of his partner on the woman.

Only three or four minutes later, with a grunt and a moan, Starsky felt himself release his offering deep inside the woman. Sweating with his exertion, he collapsed sideways onto the bed, breathless, his arm trailing across Suzi's naked chest and within moments he was asleep.

Suzi turned sideways so that she could examine her lover. Starsky had been getting steadily more tense for weeks, his temper uncertain and his company difficult on occasions. His love making, however, had always been tender and gentle, until now. Now she felt used, as though she were some kind of toy used for the brunet to take out his aggression on. Starsky's face, in sleep, was relaxed, his thick black lashes spiked with sweat against his flushed cheeks. He looked younger than his 29 years and almost like a little boy and the more she looked at him, the more she realised that tonight was nothing personal – he needed a release and she happened to be in the right place at the right time.

For a while, she lay quietly by the side of the sleeping man, then got out of the bed, got dressed, wrote a note saying she'd call him and let herself out of the apartment.

Six hours later, Starsky awoke, stretched carefully and looked around for his girl. He heard noises coming from the living room and got up, slipped his legs into his jeans and opened the bedroom door feeling angry at himself for being so selfish the previous night.

The room seemed empty and he was about to go back to bed thinking he'd imagined the sounds when the bathroom door opened and a familiar figure emerged.

Starsky's face split into a relieved grin.

'Hutch!'