Starsky was in the hospital a week before he was scheduled to be released. Luyu had kept her plans to travel to Tehachapi, but when he wasn't at work, Hutch had been a constant presence in the small hospital room. Even Beemer had visited once, after Hutch had filled in the blanks for Starsky.
The complicated damage to his shoulder had taken two separate surgeries to repair before the joint and upper arm were immobilized in a partial cast. The break had been bad but the greater concern had been for the damage to the muscle tissue. Multiple tears had to be repaired, and once the cast came off there would be physical therapy.
"Lots of physical therapy." Starsky had said, slurring his words, but getting the idea across clearly. Starsky's strict adherence to the exercises and meds would be the telling factor for a full recovery.
At the first opportunity Hutch had ordered a tow for the Torino, getting it to Merle's garage where he asked the man to finish up what Starsky had started. He'd taken the cardigan to a tailor to get it cleaned and repaired and had done what he could to fix up Starsky's apartment in preparation for his arrival.
The phone snafu had been a combination of larceny and hundreds of unpaid bills. All of them had been sent out late by an inconsiderate employee of the phone company, who had to delay the billing services...to finish robbing the company blind. The phone company discovered the deficit first, cut off services to thousands until they could track down where the leak in funds had come from, then had gradually repaired the problem. That resulted in the strange fluke the day of the accident, and questionable service for the week after.
More than a few customers had experienced financial and personal losses as a result and the phone company was looking at about three dozen law suits in civil court. Hutch had watched the commotion from a detached distance, secretly satisfied that he if he had to blame someone (other than himself as he had been ordered to do by his...ahem...personal physician), for the catastrophe of a weekend, subconsciously he could blame Bay City Telephone.
But on the morning that his partner was to be released, Hutch arrived at the hospital to find no Starsky.
Five minutes of back tracking told him that Starsky had released himself four hours earlier, called a cab from the front lobby phone, then scribbled a note for his partner on a scrap of paper and left.
The note said: "Need some time, buddy. I'll call. Starsk."
The smears of ink on the paper told Hutch his partner had written it with his left hand, but his penmanship was just as shaky as if he'd written it with his right. Hutch made sure his partner had left with all his belongings and the prescriptions he was supposed to keep up with, then reluctantly accepted that he didn't have a choice and left the hospital sans one curly-top brunet.
There were two places he figured his partner would go. The first was his home and Hutch called, let the phone ring twenty times, then drove to Starsky's apartment. The windows were dark, the door locked and no one there to answer it. Hutch checked in with Beemer, the young man now renowned for keeping tabs on Starsky's house.
No cabs had been there, Beemer assured him, nor any repaired Torinos.
Hutch drove to Merle's customizing shop, keeping the Galaxie well away from the fence that housed the mechanic's waiting victims. The Torino wasn't in the lot, and Merle told him he hadn't seen Starsky take the car, but a personal check for the cost of repairs had shown up on his blotter where the Torino keys had been.
Short of putting out an APB on the well known car, Hutch was out of options. He'd taken the day off to get Starsky settled, and found himself cruising the streets, visiting old haunts, hunting for his partner as casually as he could manage. No one had seen Starsky, or the Torino.
It was nearly sundown before Hutch thought about the Point.
The traditional hook-up spot overlooked the city on one side and backed up to a narrow decline that lead to a rocky beach. The last time they'd had reason to be there had been three or four years into their partnership.
A Torino had been stolen, driven to the point by two kids just looking for a good time, then had become the scene of a crime. Two hit men, assuming they were taking out Starsky, blew the center of the windshield into the front seat and murdered the two kids.
Hutch had relived the whole case in his mind by the time he got to the secluded spot Starsky had managed to find.
His partner sat on the hood of the Torino, feet stretched out and crossed at the ankles, reclining against the windshield, studying the city below, occasionally sucking on a straw sticking out of what was undoubtedly a milkshake.
The repaired cardigan that Hutch had left at the hospital, was stuffed under Starsky's head as a pillow and he'd crammed his unruly curls under a knit cap that Hutch hadn't seen him wear in ages.
As Hutch stepped out of the Galaxie he heard Starsky's voice over the rustle of the wind. "Took you long enough."
"Well, I...made the mistake of thinking you'd play it smart this time, go straight home, put yourself to bed."
"Go straight home, put yourself to bed." Starsky mocked quietly, his voice coming through his nose. "How'd that work out for ya?"
"Lousy." Hutch said, then snorted at the small but proud smile that briefly appeared on Starsky's face. "Have you been up here all day?"
Starsky stared out at the crimson rays of sun glancing off the city below and said, "Well...not all day." His head rolled to the side and Hutch was instantly surprised and concerned at how tired his partner looked.
The guilt and the worry flooded him, and he struggled to keep his knee-jerk response to himself. The irritated sigh that his partner instantly gave him told Hutch he'd failed. "I followed you around for about an hour, and I thought about ending your little search early...but I knew I'd get that look outta you-"
"Oh...what look was that Starsk? The look of the sane person watching the insane person kill himself slowly?" Hutch said, his voice soft.
"Yeah…" Starsky said, his volume dropping, his eyes playing over the city. "That look. So, I left your present in the back of the car and took off again."
Hutch stared at him. "Present?"
The look he got back from his partner didn't make him feel better.
Starsky said, "Yeah. In the back seat."
And Hutch glanced through his rear passenger window afraid of what he'd find. He was surprised to see a thick log of rolled up magazines, tied with a ribbon, still sitting on the seat. Hutch pulled the door open, fished out the magazines, then walked them over to his partner.
He'd pulled the tail of the ribbon, undoing the bow that someone else had to have tied, with one yank. The magazines opened flat in his hands and Hutch stared at the Ford symbol on the face of each of them.
"These are parts catalogues. For...the past three years."
"Yes, they are." Starsky said. "You're gonna help me."
"Help you what?" Hutch asked, leafing through the top catalogue.
"Find a coolant system that I can modify for the Torino so that it doesn't conk out on the hottest day of the year again."
"Starsky-"
"And after we do that..." Starsky added cutting him off. "You're gonna help me find a new car."
Hutch kept his eyes glued to the catalogue. The words he thought he'd heard were foreign to the man he knew and loved. Curiously, they weren't necessarily welcome either, but the idea that they formed instantly brought waves of relief to him. Starsky was quiet for a long time but for soft grunts, but Hutch didn't look up. He was too busy trying to figure out what was wrong with the situation. Why he felt like the world was tilting.
"Hutch...could you help me?" Starsky finally asked, mildly frustrated.
Hutch glanced up and nearly dropped the catalogues, moving in to help Starsky work his way off the hood, hampered by the cast he still wore, and the pain he had to be in if he'd neglected to remember pain meds.
"Do you want the cardigan?" Hutch asked, finally recognize the man he was helping.
This was a Starsky that he knew well. The Starsky that had grown too tired, or was in too much pain, to stubbornly refuse cold facts. That he had limitations. This was the Starsky that succumbed to pain pills and blankets tucked around him and Hutch turning into the crazed mother hen. Hutch knew what to do with this Starsky.
He still didn't know what to do with the Starsky that just admitted a willingness to give up the Torino.
"I'm not talkin' about givin' up the Torino." Starsky muttered, shivering as Hutch helped him into the voluminous sweater.
The blond wasn't surprised that Starsky had read his mind, figuring that by now it was inevitable. He put one hand on Starsky's good arm, felt his partner start to lean, and perched himself on the edge of the hood as Starsky pressed against his side.
Hutch's whole body sighed and he closed his eyes, letting himself breathe. Letting the low level of worry and fear and guilt and uncertainty he'd been poisoned by all day...all week, ease out of his body.
"We just...you know...we gotta have a reliable car." Starsky was quiet for a minute, then added, "At least I do. That hunk-a-junk-"
Hutch started to snicker, his body shaking with the tectonic relief that came with the familiar jibe. "So you finally want us to buy a car together?" Hutch said. "No furniture, no curtains."
"I already got furniture." Starsky muttered, then pushed upright and carefully slid from the hood, dragging Hutch off with him and pulling him into his chest with his good arm.
Hutch was still grinning when they parted, keeping a guiding hand on Starsky's good elbow until he could look at his partner and decide, even in the dusk, if he was stable.
"We're a living breathing single unit, Hutch. I mean, we gotta be to do this job. To...live this life."
Starsky brushed his good hand over his face. He might have been swatting at a fly. There might have been something else on his face. Hutch just watched him.
"I was thinkin' about this car. Thinkin' about how much work I put into keepin' the thing running. Work that Merle's done. And as much as I hate to admit it, it isn't built for what we put it through. Do you know how many times I've paid for a new emergency brake cable...including today?"
"Fifteen." Hutch said, overlapping his partner's voice saying the same number.
"Yeah. How did you know that?"
"You know how many times I've paid for you to get a new emergency brake cable?"
Starsky gave him a confused look and Hutch held up three fingers. Then said, "Including this time. Merle's been overpaid."
Starsky snorted, then switched gears and said, "The point is...it may take a while. It may not be possible that such a car exists, but I want us to find the best damned police car in the world, ok? One that has the solid, rust-bucket, clunker quality that you like..."
"Starsky...there is more to my car than rust and si-"
"I know that, Hutch, I know that." Starsky said, "I don't know what it is exactly, but that's why I need your help. I want a car with enough speed to keep up with the bad guys, that maybe floats a little on the road instead of...lumbering."
"Lumbering?" Hutch asked, but he was grinning.
Starksy gave a half-hearted shrug that ended in a controlled wince. "Look the point is-"
But Hutch cut him off, putting up his hands. "I like it." He said.
Starsky stared for a second then grinned. "You like it?"
"Yeah. I like it. I think it's a great idea."
The grin got bigger and some of the buried Starsky excitement came out in an excited wiggle that Hutch was certain Starsky would never do again if he realized he'd done it. Starsky chucked Hutch on the arm for good measure, before the stiffness in his shoulder caught up with him. It was a smooth enough transition, but a day of living essentially on the lam had worn his partner out.
"Are you uh...done playing hookie?"
The look Starsky gave him accepted that he didn't have a choice, but there was no way in hell he was going to verbally admit that he was done in.
"Can we get chinese food on the way home?"
"And pizza?" Hutch asked, grinning and opening the driver's side door.
"Chinese people don't make pizza.." Starsky muttered, sinking carefully into the driver's seat of the tomato. Hutch waited until his partner was situated then closed the door for him.
Starsky had just started to awkwardly roll down his window when Hutch muttered, "You don't know that…"
He turned toward his squash and grinned when he heard Starsky's laugh behind him.
The blond waited for the bright red car to pull out and turn around before he started his engine and cranked the wheel to follow.
He watched the sunburned Zebra bounce slowly over the torn up grass and onto the gravel road, the last of the orange light gleaming on the thin strip of chrome that lined the white blaze. The car might have been looking at its retirement days in the near future but Hutch was willing to admit, if only to himself, that he was fond of the old girl.
After all, it was good to have the Torino, and his partner, back on the road.
