"How is he?"

"The doctor hasn't told me yet."

"Is he badly hurt?"

"I... don't know. He was stabbed in the chest. He lost of lot of blood, but..."

"But what? Starsky, tell me what happened?"

Dobey had rushed to Memorial as soon as Starsky had called to say that they had nailed the Brunettes killer and he had to shoot him in self defense. The coroner had called Starsky at the hospital to inform him that he had found a copy of the same note as the one found on each of the previous victims. He had the right suspect on his autopsy table all right. Starsky told he would take care of it early in the morning as soon as he was sure Hutch was out of danger. But since he'd arrived, about five minutes before the ambulance, he had tried several times to sneak in into ER to stay by Hutch's side, but the medical team hadn't let him in. And for the last hour, he'd been pacing like a mad animal in a cage that was too small.

Starsky was now fidgeting on a chair next to his Captain, narrating him briefly what happened. Dobey listened and frowned a bit more each time his detective gave explanations which sounded more than weird. Starsky's speech wasn't making any sense and Dobey put that down to the stress and anxiety he was going through, waiting for good news about his partner.

"He's gonna be all right. He always makes it. You'll see." Dobey whispered.

However, Dobey's expression was preoccupied, even dark.

"Yeah. He's gonna make it. He's... "Starsky was staring at the ER door, waiting for it to open and shed some bright light on his face and his heart.

"What about the girl?" the black man asked.

"She's gonna be OK. She was in a state of shock, but no major injury. She's fine."

"I'm glad to hear that. At least we are rid of this nightmare. You did a good job, Starsky. You both did." Dobey said in a fatherly voice, putting a hand on Starsky's shoulder."

"Yeah. We did. We... Actually, most of the credit goes to Hutch. He was the one having those... hunches about the case."

Dobey looked at his officer and had no idea what he was supposed to understand. All he knew was that his men had performed above expectations on a more than critical investigation.

"Don't really know what you mean, but ... well, you did it! This is gonna get a special mention on your record, for both of you."

Starsky wasn't listening any more. He stood up and walked to the ER door, hesitated to open it against all orders and started to pace again.

"Call me as soon as you get any news. I gotta go back home. Edith and Cal are sick, probably some kind a flu and Rosie has been a bit scared at night recently. You'll be all right, son?" he asked, walking to the nervous detective in front of him and gently squeezing his shoulder again.

"Mmmm... Yeah. Sure. Go home, Cap. I'll call you as soon as ..."

"Sure. You do that."

Dobey left without another word. He knew there was nothing more to say. He knew his men had always cared for each other in times of crisis and pain, and that Starsky preferred to be left alone with Hutch in times like these.

After two hours, the doctor finally came out of ER. Starsky jumped from his chair and rushed to him.

"How is he?"

"He's sustained a serious injury but we have managed to stop the bleeding. He will make it. No major organ was damaged. But..."

"But what?"

"He is in a coma."

"What?"

"He should have reacted to some external stimuli but it seems his organism has just decided to shut down and rest for now. His breathing is regular though."

"So what are you saying, Doc?"

"It looks as if he doesn't want to wake up."

"I don't get it. Is he gonna be OK or not?"

"He is going to recover from the physical wound. We just have to wait until he wakes up now."

"How long is that gonna take?"

"I honestly don't know."

"May I see him?"

"He's being transferred in a private room. When he's settled, you'll be allowed to see him."

"Thanks."

"I've seen you two here before, right?"

"A couple of times, yes."

"And I understand that you are very close friends. Is there anything I can do, detective?"

"I'd like to stay with him, be there when he wakes up, and talk to him, even if he doesn't hear me."

"I've already asked a nurse to arrange for you to stay as long as it's needed. Maybe your voice will help him find his way back."

"Thanks." Starsky whispered.

There was nothing more to say. Everyone who knew them well enough understood that they would eventually find each other again thanks to their special psychic bond. Like they always did in a more than a decade of working together. The doctor who had treated each of them for various injuries had witnessed a deep and special relationship between the detectives, when one would guide the other through the healing process. The nurses were used to checking and bringing coffee or water and leaving on tiptoes, because they also knew there was something more powerful than the content of the IV they verified every hour, something which wasn't registered on the FDA's list of miracle cures.

Ten minutes later, Starsky was sitting next to Hutch and looked at his face, so pale, yet so relaxed. His body was covered up to the waist by a light sheet. His torso had been stripped in a large bandage which showed a bump in the area where the knife had penetrated. Hutch had been put on respiratory assistance and the only other sound Starsky heard was the regular beep of the heart monitor.

His left hand took Hutch's and he put the right one to his friend's chest, without touching it, just hovering one centimeter above, as if he wanted to warm the area with his own body heat and take away the pain. He remained motionless for more than five minutes, head bent, eyes closed, breathing slowly, deeply.

When he opened his eyes, he looked at his friend's face. Hutch hadn't reacted. His breathing was even, as the doctor had said. But his heartbeat was sometimes a bit irregular and the monitor wasn't playing the kind of tune Starsky wanted to hear. From time to time a note was missing. Or several notes were rushing too fast. The heart was skipping a beat. It was almost imperceptible and, as the doctor hadn't mentioned it to Starsky, they thought it was because of the coma.

He sighed, feeling a burning wave of pain in his own chest.

And for the first time in a long time, he started to pray.

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(to be continued)

AN: this chapter and the next two will be a bit shorter. But this is meant to keep the chapters end at "the right moment". You know how I love to keep readers on the edge of their seats. Thanks to all who keep on reading the boys adventures. Love, Lyxie