Chapter 7

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Starsky sat in the passenger seat of Trevor's car, taking in the scenery as the vehicle threaded its way up into the foothills east of the city. When Trevor offered to give him a lift, Starsky didn't hesitate. The pain in his side was continuing to flare up, and he thought the reprieve from driving would help him ride out the ache until he got back home. Besides, from the way Trevor had spoken, all that was required of Starsky once he got there was just to sit back, relax and have a good meal. Thoughts of the two officers hurt earlier still crossed his mind, but he was glad they were alive and recuperating at the hospital. However, he couldn't shake the unsettling possibility that the Prudholm incident wasn't repeating itself.

As the Granada finally reached the end of a cul-de-sac and pulled into the driveway, Starsky was impressed by the elegant house that sat in front of him.

"You been takin' some bribe money there, partner?" Starsky jokingly asked as he slipped out of the car.

Trevor smiled shyly as he closed his door. "Let's just say that the little woman has a say in all my vices."

"Well, that'll do it." Starsky chuckled.

They walked to the front door and entered the house. Starsky was instantly taken by the open design of the living room. Off to one side, there was a large fireplace, made of rectangular rock pieces that slowly tapered up to the cathedral ceiling. The mounted head of an antlered deer hung high over the mantle. There was a leather upholstered couch and love seat nearby, along with a dark blue recliner. Two Native American rugs lay on the wood paneled floor and the spacious area was naturally lit by four large picture windows lining the opposite side of the room. Taking in the view through them, Starsky could see Bay City down in the valley below through a wide gap in the surrounding hills.

As Starsky turned his attention towards the kitchen, a small-statured woman wearing a flower-patterned dress came out, hastily wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist.

"You must be Dave. I'm Mary Woods," she said, reaching out her hand. "I'm so glad you were able to come tonight."

Starsky took her hand. "Nice to meet you. Trevor talks about you all the time."

"Oh, I'm sure he does." Mary glanced over at her husband. "I bet he even says something nice every once and awhile."

"Now, dear, let's not get carried away. You know I love you."

"Of course I do, but that's not what you say when I ask you to take out the garbage."

Starsky could feel himself grinning. He could see why Trevor always seemed so content at work. With a woman like her to come home to every night, who wouldn't be?

"Can I get you something to drink?" Trevor asked Starsky. "A beer? Soda? I think we might even have some wine."

"A beer would be nice," Starsky said.

"Coming right up."

Starsky watched as Trevor went into the kitchen. "Why don't you have a seat, Dave," Mary said, pointing towards the couch. "Can I take your jacket?"

He started to slip his coat off then realized he still had his holster on.

Mary saw the look on Starsky's face and knew why he might be hesitating. "It's alright. I can hang up your gun, too." Seeing her guest relax, Mary added, "I'm not a stranger to firearms. Trevor taught me how to shoot many years ago. He doesn't let me handle one much anymore, though."

"Oh?" Starsky said, tentatively handing her the holster together with his jacket.

"Yeah, when I kept outshooting him, he started taking it personal." Mary gave Starsky a wink, then headed off to hang up his items in the closet by the front door.

Starsky went over to the couch and gratefully sat down. The day's events and his aching body were slowly taking their toll. But the only demands left were to just have a relaxing evening, eat some good home cooking, and hopefully put any thoughts of work completely out of his head.

"I hope you like pot roast," Mary said, as she sat down in the recliner.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd spoken to my mother recently. I love pot roast."

Trevor returned from the kitchen with two beers. Giving one to Starsky, he asked, "Do you drink it straight, or from a glass?"

"Straight will do."

Trevor took a seat beside Starsky. "That roast smells awful good, Mother."

"It should. I've been slaving away on it all afternoon. And I hope you brought your appetite with you, Dave. I hate putting away leftovers."

Starsky finished swallowing a sip of his beer. "Oh, I don't think you have to worry about that. I can't remember the last time I had a pot roast dinner."

Actually, he could. A week after he had gotten home from the hospital, Bree had fixed him his favorite meal. Although the pain medication had kept his appetite depressed, he'd still tried to eat a normal serving, only to lose it half an hour later. Starsky had felt sorrier for his sister than for himself. But Bree had understood and carefully wrapped smaller sized portions of the meal for the freezer, insuring a complete dinner anytime Starsky felt like eating one. That didn't happen for two more weeks, but by then Starsky had dropped another five pounds.

"So, David, do you live by yourself?" Mary asked.

Before Starsky could answer, Trevor remarked, "Mary, why can't you wait until he's at least seated at the table before asking him something personal?"

"That wasn't a personal question," she said, trying to sound innocent. "I was just being social."

Trevor turned to Starsky. "Don't let her fool you. She's a good actress. I think it's because she watches too many soap operas on TV."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mary groaned.

Starsky let out a snicker. "I don't mind you asking. Yeah, I live by myself."

"And what about a girlfriend? You must have…"

"Mary!" interrupted Trevor.

"Oh, Trevor!" Mary looked at Starsky. "I'm sorry, Dave. I guess my husband would prefer that I ask you about your thoughts on world peace."

Grinning widely, Starsky said, "Well, it's not every day I get to be the interrogatee. No, I'm not seeing anybody at the moment."

"Ah, someone as handsome as you, not even married yet? What's wrong with today's women?"

"Mother…" Trevor softly gritted under his breath.

Without thinking, and not wanting to sound like a total recluse, Starsky said, "I was engaged once…" He paused, with the aching realization that he had to finish. "She was…she died," he managed then dropped his gaze to the floor.

Mary briefly looked at Trevor. Turning her attention back to Starsky, she said "I'm so sorry to hear that, Dave." Embarrassed now by her questions, Mary announced, "Well, I think that roast is probably done. Why don't you boys go sit at the table?"

As she went to the kitchen, Trevor and Starsky headed over to the dining room—the pain in Starsky's side now accompanied by the ache in his heart.

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Hutch finished rinsing off the last dish and placed it in the holder by the sink. He went over to the fridge and took out the third beer for the night. After opening it, he settled down on his couch, staring vacantly at the empty apartment.

Thinking about Starsky, he felt torn between compassion for the man he still considered a friend and the hurt of knowing that same person wasn't even calling him anymore. He doubted that Starsky hated him, but he sure couldn't say where he ranked in the man's life anymore. As he sat in the quiet room, Hutch gradually convinced himself of one thing. He had a job to do. The fact that he was closely acquainted with the victim couldn't be allowed to interfere with treating the case like any other. Stuffing his reservations into a place buried deep inside his mind, Hutch reflected on what the suspect's note had said. Something about the wording in it seemed eerily familiar.

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Dinner with the Woods had progressed nicely through to dessert. Unfortunately, Starsky had only been able to eat a small portion of the delicious meal. The pain in his body was getting worse, and he was afraid that the nausea he'd been forcing down would erupt at any moment. He was starting to sweat and knew he couldn't hold out too much longer. As Starsky struggled to think of something to say, Mary saved him the trouble.

"Dave? Are you not feeling well?"

Grateful for the intervention, Starsky tried to downplay his condition. "I've just had a stomach ache all day, that's all. Dinner was really great, but I think maybe I should start heading home." Starsky cut his last sentence short. He was struggling hard to keep the stabbing pain in his chest from becoming noticeable.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Mary stood and gathered the empty dishes. "I can fix you up a plate to take home with you, if you'd like."

Not wanting to appear like he was in a hurry, Starsky said, "Sure, that'd be wonderful."

"Well, we enjoyed having you over," Trevor exclaimed as he got up. "I'll go grab our jackets."

Starsky braced himself before trying to stand, but it didn't work. Just as he got up, his muscles seized and he dropped down hard in his seat, inadvertently knocking a water glass onto the floor. Trevor was at his side in an instant.

"What's the matter!" he exclaimed, noticing for the first time how clammy Starsky looked.

As Mary came dashing out of the kitchen, Starsky said, "I'm fine, really. Just the stomach flu or something." He couldn't help but cradle his side.

Turning to Trevor, Mary said, "Let's have him lay down in the spare bedroom." Starsky started to object, but Mary overrode him, saying, "Dave, whatever you have, it isn't the stomach flu."

Trevor raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "Can't argue with her. She was an Army nurse in Korea."

"The couch…" Starsky said with a slight grimace, "would be fine."

"Nonsense!" Mary replied. "Why would I have you lay down on the couch when there's a perfectly good bed? Now, let us help you."

The couple got Starsky up and guided him into the bedroom where they laid him down on the bed. By this time, he was just happy to be horizontal. The pain and muscle cramping were combining to overload his senses, making him feel very dizzy. Mary asked Trevor to get a wet washcloth and started to unbutton Dave's shirt.

Gently grabbing her hand, he hissed, "'S okay. I'm good."

"David…," she softly spoke, "you don't have to pretend in this house. Trevor told me you'd gotten shot a few months ago. Believe me, I've seen what bullets can do to a body."

Starsky looked at her with appreciation, then laid his head back on the pillow, surrendering to her ministrations. She glanced over the scar-riddled chest and noticed the large bruise on his right side. Even gently touching it made her patient almost leap off the mattress.

Trevor came back and handed her the washcloth. As Mary began to wipe Starsky's face, she said, "I think you should see a doctor."

"No!" Starsky bit his lip, not meaning to sound so loud. "Please, no doctors. I'll be fine, I just need to take one of my pain pills."

Mary looked at Trevor, making sure he could see the injury. He shook his head slowly, and quietly said, "That must have happened today, when we were at a shooting call."

"What kind of pills do you take?" asked Mary.

"I'm not sure," Starsky weakly said. "They're kinda big and white…shaped like a capsule."

Thinking for a moment, Mary said, "Trevor, go get those pills I was taking after I had my ankle surgery. They might be the same thing."

While Trevor was gone, Mary sat on the side of the bed and continued to pat Starsky's forehead with the washcloth. He was taking quick, short breaths trying not to work his chest muscles any more than necessary.

"Sorry to be such a pain," Starsky mumbled, his eyes closed almost as tight as his voice sounded.

"Don't you even begin to think such a thing," Mary said, taking a longer look at the surgical incisions running across his chest. She could only marvel at how he had ever survived such a brutal assault. "You must've had a very good surgeon, Dave. Not too many people could live through what you did."

Starsky opened his eyes and laid an arm back over his head onto the pillow. "I guess technically I didn't," he said softly. "They said my heart stopped twice that day."

"My goodness," Mary said, then paused before speaking again. "Then it just wasn't your time. Seems to me you must still be needed down here with the rest of us mortals."

Before Starsky had a chance to respond, Trevor returned. He handed the pill bottle to Mary, who opened it and shook out one of the capsules into her hand. She showed it to Starsky.

"Yeah, that's it," he said, recognizing the number stamped on its surface.

Starsky took the pill and washed it down with a glass of water that Trevor handed him. He hoped the medicine would work quickly and make him well enough for his host to take him home. While he couldn't be more thankful for the Woods' hospitality, Starsky also couldn't be more embarrassed either. Almost losing your cookies at dinner and needing your hosts to turn into nursemaids wasn't the best way to make a favorable impression.

Mary got up from the bed. "You just lay here and rest for a while. I'll come back and check on you later."

"'kay. Thanks again," Starsky said and closed his eyes, letting the drug's effect work its magic.

Mary and Trevor left and went to the kitchen. While Mary worked at putting away the leftovers, Trevor tended to the dishes.

As she put the last container into the refrigerator, Mary finally remarked, "Dave really needs to see a doctor, Trevor. That bruise didn't look good at all."

"He's a grown man, Mother. If he doesn't want to go, I can't make him," Trevor said, drying off the last dish.

"Well, he may be a grown man, but that doesn't mean he knows what's best for him."

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

Finished with their chores, the couple headed to the living room and sat down on the couch. Trevor put his arm around Mary and both stayed silent for a time, watching the last fading colors of the sunset. As dusk took hold outside, Mary glanced at her watch.

"I should see how Dave's doing," she said. "Maybe he could stay here tonight. It would be better for him and you wouldn't have to drive back into town."

Trevor nodded his head in agreement. "I was thinking the same thing. It'll be his decision, but I'll go talk to him."

Trevor got up and went to check on Starsky. He tapped on the bedroom door, and after hearing an acknowledgement, poked his head inside the unlit room.

"How ya doin', Dave?" Trevor asked, staying by the opened door. He wasn't sure whether to turn the light on or not.

"I'm better," Starsky replied in a tired voice. Raising his head up, he added, "You can come in, I'm still decent."

Trevor flipped the light switch on and walked over to the bed. Starsky still looked incredibly tired, as if he had been up for days. He slowly turned onto his side, and propped himself halfway up.

Before Trevor could ask him another question, Starsky said, "You've got a real comfortable bed here, Trev. I think I fell asleep right after you left."

"You look like you could use a lot more rest. Why don't you stay here tonight, huh? I've got some sweatpants and a t-shirt you could wear." Anticipating Starsky's next response, Trevor added, "Besides, Mary isn't about to let you leave, so what'd you say?"

Starsky let out a long sigh, then laid back on the bed. "I don't want to be a bother, partner."

"If you were, I'd be taking you home right now," Trevor replied with a smile. "I'll go get those clothes. That's the guest bathroom," he said, pointing to the other side of the room. "I keep an extra razor and some shaving cream in there. Feel free to use it."

Starsky took a quick look around the room. "Is there an alarm clock in here?" he asked.

"Yeah, you're looking at him," Trevor answered. "What time do you want to get up?"

"Wow, personalized service. I may not want to go back home if you keep spoiling me." Seeing a grin on Trevor's face, Starsky said, "I guess about seven?"

"Okay. Be prepared to eat more for breakfast than you did at dinner, or things could get real ugly with the cook," Trevor flippantly warned, and then headed out into the hall.

Starsky closed his eyes and settled back on the bed. It surprised him that Trevor hadn't mentioned anything about the pain medication, or why Starsky didn't want to go see a doctor. Hutch would have dragged him kicking and screaming to the hospital if he felt that's what Starsky needed. He knew Trevor cared about him, but unlike Hutch, Trevor seemed happy to let Starsky make his own decisions, without making him feel guilty or childish. Still, despite Hutch's mothering nature, there was no doubt the big blond always had Starsky's best interests at heart. Yeah, Trevor cares a lot, but Hutch…Hutch loves me. A twinge of pain ran through Starsky, not from a physical ache, but from a heart that longed to be made whole.

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Hutch squinted against the bright glare coming off of the car stopped in front of him. He hated the funny-looking Pacers. They looked more like giant fish bowls than automobiles, and with so much glass, they seemed to serve no other purpose than to act as powerful sunlight reflectors. As soon as the traffic light turned green, Hutch stomped on the gas and managed to get around the annoying vehicle.

His passenger, who had mirrored Hutch's quiet mood since getting in the car, felt the time had come for a break in the silence.

"Are you getting anxious?" Babcock asked.

"Huh?"

"About going over to the Fifth?"

Hutch glanced up at the rearview mirror, then turned his focus back to the road in front of him. "No, not really."

"Liar."

Hutch snapped his head over. "So, you're a mind reader now?"

"Doesn't take a mind reader to figure out why you're so quiet this morning." Getting no reaction, Babcock added, "It's been almost a week now. You can't tell me you're not at least thinking about him."

It wasn't going to be easy to lie. The more Hutch had tried to push Starsky out of his life, the more the memory of him had grown and taken root. Had it really been only a week? Seemed more like a lifetime ago. Not wanting to discuss his thoughts at that moment, Hutch concentrated on driving. The only thing was, he just wasn't sure he wanted to reach his destination.

TBC