Chapter 8

Once home, Starsky's elation at seeing his old familiar surroundings eased any fears he had about not having enough support. Laurel had moved in with him and he trusted her implicitly. He'd had sufficient time with her on her mountain to know that she was resourceful, strong and capable, but more than that, once his body had healed enough, she was also his lover.

Hutch was always there and Sarah helped as well. The two women were extremely fond of each other and had, over the past few months become firm friends. They were both cast in the same mould – caring and careful of their men and they had many conversations about how their respective partners were coping with Starsky's incapacity. Sarah had confided to Laurel that Hutch was still of the opinion that his partner would be out on the streets as good as new within a few more weeks and she was concerned as to how the brunette was in fact progressing. Laurel had told her that although he was improving, it was a slow, steady affair. They both decided that the best way to support their men was to remain quiet and strong as the two detectives came to terms with what Starsky could and couldn't do.

A week after the curly haired cop came home, he hit another milestone. He was still fairly weak, although it was amazing what a home environment could do for his spirits. The first few days he'd slept a lot and had still needed his full course of pain meds to see him through the day, but on this particular morning, he'd woken early, feeling energised and rested.

Starsky looked down carefully at the beautiful woman nestled against him. He needed the bathroom and he didn't want to wake her, so, slowly so as not to disturb her, he wiggled to the side of the bed and got up. He still had a few of the lancing pains across his chest when he moved. They started in the centre of his chest and radiated round to his back, but this morning they didn't seem quite so bad. The brunette stretched carefully and slowly so as not to disturb his healing injuries too much and then padded on bare feet into the bathroom. He switched on the light and looked at the bowed, scarred and emaciated figure in the mirror.

'Well Davey boy, don't you look like road kill?' he said to himself as he took in the vivid red scar, the protruding bones and the long hair.

His mind took him back over ten years to a morning in Vietnam. Having been held prisoner by the Vietnamese for two months and maltreated every day of his imprisonment, Starsky had just about given up the will to live. In fact he prayed for death, such was the state of his mind and body. He'd been crouched in the small cage that had been his home for eight weeks, waiting for the next visit from his captors, when suddenly he'd heard gunfire on the perimeter of the small clearing. His mind was slow and he struggled to comprehend just what was going on. It wasn't until he felt hands on his body that were neither punching nor whipping him, that he finally realised he was being liberated.

He'd forced his head up and looked right onto the bright green eyes of his friend and fellow officer, Tom Trafford. Traff knew his friend had probably been tortured but the look in the green depths of Traff's eyes told Starsky how bad he really looked. He almost fainted in relief as Traff held his filthy, thin and damaged body to him.

'Hey Curly, I got ya now. Don't worry; we'll get out of this just fine. Just need ya to be strong a little while longer. Can you do that for me, huh?'

There had been more gunfire and the two soldiers who had been with Traff had been killed outright. With a look of utter fury on his face, Traff had raised his machine gun and ploughed into the mêlée, screaming defiance and letting loose round after round until finally there was silence and the stench of death. Traff came down from his killing frenzy, pulled his friend to his feet, and together they limped out of the jungle clearing and into freedom.

It had taken almost a week to get out of the hot, damp jungle and back to their camp. Starsky had been weak and his fingers and toes had been infected. He'd had a high fever and their going had been slow and tortuous, but his feeling when he made it back to the camp with his friends, clean sheets and medical care almost deified description. In the weeks following his liberation, the brunette had had a feeling of peace and wellbeing, as though he knew he'd done his stint, and could finally rest.

This morning, as he looked in the mirror, instead of riling at the injustice of it all and seeing only the ruination of his once fit and active body, he started to feel at peace with himself. Not that he'd come to terms with the scar exactly, more that he'd finally found a certain acceptance of the way he'd gotten it.

He was a cop. He fought for justice each and every day on the streets. There was always the danger that sooner or later, one of the criminals that he and Hutch went after the "no holes barred" way they always did, would get the upper hand and shoot one of them. It suddenly occurred to Starsky that if it hadn't been him in the way of those devastating pieces of lead, it would have been Hutch looking at HIMSELF like this. Gazing again at his now recovering physique, the dark haired detective realised that if this had to happen to anyone, he was glad it was him and not his partner. For an horrific moment, he had a vision of the blond lying in a hospital bed, pale and dying as he had a year ago before Laurel's therapy had pulled him through. That single vision did more to spur the smaller detective on than anything that had been done or said to him in the past months.

Starsky took another good look at himself in the mirror and slowly straightened his body, easing out the kinks in his back, and ignoring the tight pains in his chest. He stood before the mirror straight and tall, and squared his shoulders. This was the David Michael Starsky that should face the world. Not a victim of a drive by shooting, not an invalid to be helped along, but a survivor, who proudly wore the scars that had been inflicted on him as a badge of honour. He smiled at his reflection and the pain lines on his handsome face, which had made him appear ten years older, lifted, revealing the man he'd always known beneath, the indigo eyes twinkling back at him in an echo of their former glory.

He turned from the mirror with a new resolve and decided that this day was going to be the first day of the rest of his life. Slowly, he reached over and turned on the shower, easing himself into the stream of hot water. It stung at his scar as the waves coursed down his chest, rippling over his ribs, but this was the first shower he'd managed to take on his own since the shooting and this one small act of independence made the brunette smile.

He stayed under the water for another few minutes savouring this feeling of achievement, then turning off the water, Starsky climbed slowly out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his slim hips. Carefully he made his way back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed as Laurel opened her eyes and smiled at him sleepily. Suddenly she realised that he'd been up and about without her. She saw the towel wrapped around him and the remains of the small water droplets shining on the hairs on his chest.

'You had a shower?' she asked, running her fingers along his bare legs.

'That I have, and all on my own. No need for a nursemaid any more' he said laughing at his little act of independence.

'So you won't want me to come in and shower with you any more' she said, a little twinkle in her eye.

Starsky leaned over stiffly and planted a kiss on her lips. 'Honey, what you can do with soap, I wouldn't ever want to give up' he wiggled his eyebrows at her and she tutted at him. '…but Laurel I managed. Know its only a shower, but it's a start' he said, obviously pleased with himself.

Laurel pulled him to her and carded her fingers through his wet curls. His hair had grown longer in the past few months and it gave him a wild, dangerous look that even his wasted body couldn't hide. He truly looked like a gypsy prince and her emotions stirred within her.

They hadn't made love since he's been sick. Laurel hadn't wanted to force him, knowing that any and every movement hurt her man to some extent, and secretly Starsky had held back, wondering if his injured body would ever respond as it once had. But this morning, he felt on top of the world and for the first time in so long he felt those familiar stirrings.

He lay down on the bed next to her, propping himself a little painfully on one elbow as she looked up at him with longing in her eyes.

'I love you so much' she told him putting her arms around his neck.

'I love you too' he growled as his hands started to explore her body, sending little shivers down her spine. She'd longed for his touch for so long and his hands wandering over her warm skin was the answer to her dreams.

Suddenly his faced creased in pain and he gave a small involuntary yelp as he felt as though a knife had stabbed through his chest. The position he'd gotten himself into had cramped his chest and it protested the movement. He paused a moment, clutching his hand protectively over his scar, panting as he rode out the pain. As it subsided, he relaxed back onto the bed and Laurel changed positions. With her mahogany haired lover on his back, she straddled his hips and started to play her hands down his chest and sides, ruffling the newly grown forest of hair which was partially hiding his scar as she began to rediscover her lover. His body responded to her touch and she could feel him growing hard beneath her as she continued her ministrations. She bent forward and kissed across the line of his chest, then lower to his belly.

The brunette growled in his throat as he closed his eyes and submitted to her exploration of his body. This was the one woman he need not be self conscious with and he abandoned himself to his feelings and emotions as he reached up to trail his fingers down between her breasts and further south.

'Oh God Laurel, don't stop. Please don't stop' he panted as her she adjusted her position and her small hand closed around his manhood. As she started to move it, he gritted his teeth, wanted and needed the feelings to last for ever, but at the same time craving release.

Laurel saw the look on his face and knew he would be unable to hold out much longer. Deftly, she positioned herself above him and slowly lowered herself onto his waiting member, sighing with contentment. As Starsky felt himself enter her, he began thrusting his hips, slowly at first then faster until almost in unison, they reached their climax. Laurel collapsed back onto the bed as they both lay panting with exertion. She stroked the brunette's face and he turned his indigo eyes on her, glowing with desire, but showing a certain fatigue from the unaccustomed exercise.

Smiling he whispered 'Laurel you're wonderful'.

She returned the smile 'and so are you, my love. How do you feel'?

He paused. 'Terrific. No, more than terrific. Like I could go back out there and tell everyone I'm back! Why don't they advocate that sort of therapy in hospital?" Starsky questioned slyly. "Hey, we may need to repeat that treatment soon. I think I may have a relapse some time real soon' he grinned wolfishly.

Laurel chuckled. 'Enough exercise for one day Mr Starsky. You're going to need another shower now, and I don't think you'll be in any fit state to reach for the soap!'