Falling
Chapter 1
The radio tower seemed to get higher and higher as he climbed up. Never fond of heights in the first place, this climbing was especially hard on him. Knowing that the man he was after was less than stable, not knowing what he might do next.
Finally, Wrightwood stopped climbing and turned to face his pursuer. He passed the Wisconsin Multifacet Index Test. Starsky looked into the haunted eyes of the young man he and Hutch had been after. Two dead women, another one frightened out of her mind, waiting for whoever would come to help her. One of the victims was Starsky's former girlfriend. Stabbed, mutilated, wrapped in antennae wire. And still.
He still couldn't bring himself to hate this poor creature. Messed up to begin with, his therapy had probably made matters worse. He received psychiatric therapy, chemotherapy, electroshock... No wonder he was afraid of aliens zapping his brain. James March Wrightwood left this institution a very sane, healthy individual. Just who put that quack in charge, anyway? Seems more like that so called doctor needed some of his own medicine. He is free of any significant psychotic disturbance. Starsky pushed the memory of their interview with the head of the San Leone Mental Institution away, concentrating on the here and now.
The here and now that had him, who knew how high up clinging to the beams of the radio tower of KLOW at 6am on a bright, sunny Sunday morning. The here and now where he desperately tried to talk Cmdr. Jim into giving up his gun, coming down with him. Trying to take him down alive, get him help. But Jim was too far gone. All of Starsky's pleading was in vain. As Jim walked backwards, away from him, training his rifle at him, Starsky could see it in his eyes. He was going to pull that trigger, and no way could he miss at that distance. Fear and sadness swamped him for a second, fear for his life and sadness for Jim. Regret because he had not been able to save him. Sadness for Hutch, who would have to watch helplessly.
And then it happened.
Jim lost his balance and his gun dropped down, down, clanging against the steel beams of the radio tower, disappearing harmlessly. Losing his brief fight for his equilibrium, Wrightwood was about to tumble and follow his gun, and without thinking Starsky leaned forward a little more, stretching his arm out impossibly far, and at the last moment, managed to grab Jim's hand.
He knew the look in those tortured eyes would haunt him forever. Never before had he felt so sorry for a murderer. He really wished he could keep the promises he had made down there. I had them build a whole new room for you, Jim. Polly helped me, he designed it, said you'd like it. He had hated to lie to Jim, but on the other hand, he couldn't really go out unarmed, right? Let me tell you about the room, Jim. It's a very special room. It's your very own place. Now that part would be true, he would have his very own room. We've lined it with lead, so the waves from outer space, from Alpha Centauri can't get to you there. Strictly spoken, the part about the waves from Alpha Centauri was also true. But that had nothing to do with a lead lined room, of course. You'll be okay, Jim. Listen, you're gonna be peaceful there. You're gonna be okay, Jim. You're gonna be calm. Jim, you'll have a smiling face. Not like now. You'll be happy. How he hoped they could really do all that for him in the hospital. Make him sane again, happy. All he could do now was try to keep him alive.
But that might be easier said than done. The added weight of Jim's body tore at his arm muscles, his hands became slippery with sweat. And then both of his hands lost their grip - the grip on Cmdr. Jim's hand and the grip on the steel beam he had been clinging to. For the final time their eyes met, then both men fell towards the ground. Starsky heard his own scream in his ears, as well as Jim's, and even Hutch's agonized yell of "Starskyyyy!"
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Starsky sat up, panting heavily. It took him a moment to orient himself my own bed, in my own bedroom, in my own place. Relieved, he dropped his head in his trembling hands, noticing how his hair was as sweat soaked as his pajama bottoms and his sheets. Man, what a nightmare. He hadn't had this one in a while.
After all, it was almost three months now since that horrible morning on the radio tower. Since he'd had to watch helplessly as that poor guy fell to his death, unable to catch him. In his dreams - no, in his nightmares - he had relived that moment over and over, sometimes the way it had really happened, sometimes his subconscious changed or added a few details. Like having him fall along with Commander Jim.
Hutch had been his anchor. Without him, Starsky knew he would have been lost. It wasn't just the traumatic event on that radio tower and watching a man plummet to his death, almost losing balance and joining him; there was still his grief over Helen he had to work through. It didn't really matter at the time that she had broken up almost half a year earlier. He had loved her, the real thing. Marriage, kids, the works. That she had died in such a horrible way was hard to bear. Seeing her in the morgue was something he wouldn't forget any time soon. But without Hutch...
Without Hutch he wouldn't have made it. He was there for him, in any way necessary. Listening to him, talking to him. Even asking his mom for the recipe and making him the 'Paul Muni Special' - who else would go that far for a friend? Hutch let him crash on his couch or Hutch slept on Starsky's couch, waking him from nightmares almost every night. And after a while they stopped, just in time for a whole new set of nightmares after being shot in that Italian restaurant. But for months now, he had slept peacefully, undisturbed by recurring images of Jim's haunted eyes and hearing him scream as he fell. So why now?
Sighing, Starsky checked the alarm clock on his nightstand. Almost time to get up, anyway. Wearily, he trudged to the bathroom to start his morning routine.
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Hutch knew from the first moment he saw Starsky that morning, that something wasn't right. For starters, he was already ready and waiting when he showed up. That in itself would be unusual enough, especially since Hutch was a little early that day. Add to it the fact that Starsky didn't look like he'd slept too well, and Hutch was instantly worried.
It took some major effort, but Hutch managed to restrain himself till they were in his car. That way, at least Starsky couldn't just up and leave. "Hey, you okay?" Starsky chose to ignore the question, or maybe he was so deep in thoughts he really didn't hear it. "Sleep well?" Again, no answer. Sighing, Hutch logged them on duty, then tried it once more. "Starsky!"
"What?" Starsky almost jumped in his seat.
"You were a hundred miles away. Big date last night?" Hutch kept his tone light, teasing, like nothing was wrong with the world.
Starsky rewarded his attempt at levity with a wan smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I wish."
Hutch eyed him critically. "Shoulder bothering you?" It wasn't all that long since a bullet in the back almost ended his partner's career permanently. And while his left arm and shoulder were fully functional again after a lot of physical therapy, it still hurt at times, and later in life it would probably serve as Starsky's very own weather station. And a sleepless night with a lot of tossing and turning probably didn't do much for that condition. "The truth, buddy."
Starsky was silent for a second, then yawned. "A little. Just didn't sleep too well." His smile faded. "It's just so unfair. He deserved better."
Hutch knew his partner well enough to understand not only that "a little" meant that most other people would be downing pain killers by now - something Starsky avoided whenever possible, said they made him drowsy - but also who the "he" was he was talking about. He knew what his friend looked like after a party and after a date and after a nightmare. No mistaking the signs here. And lately there had been only one set of nightmares that included somebody who deserved better than he got.
"Starsk, you did all you could. You did more than anybody else would even have tried. And you almost got him, I could see it. If anybody could have saved him, it was you. But it was too late. He was lost the moment he got out of San Leone. It wasn't your fault. You. Did. Your. Best. Got that?" They had stopped at a red light and Hutch tried to look into Starsky's eyes. Finally he managed to catch his eye. He didn't like what he saw in the sapphire depths.
After a moment, Starsky broke eye contact and looked down to study the laces of his shoes. His murmured answer was to low for Hutch to understand.
"What was that?"
"I said, obviously it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough." His voice took on a distraught edge. "God, Hutch, I should have done more. There had to be something I could have done. Said. Whatever. I wish -- I don't know. But there had to be something..." His voice trailed off, the self reproach in his voice impossible to miss.
This time, Hutch didn't answer right away, instead he pulled into the next parking spot and killed the engine. Then he turned to face Starsky, who by now sat slumped in his seat, a picture of misery. As he put his right hand on Starsky's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze in an attempt to offer comfort, he could feel the fine tremors that ran through his friend's body. "Starsk. Look at me." He waited until Starsky almost reluctantly turned to face him. "Nobody could have done more. Nobody would have been enough. Okay, except maybe Superman. But nobody with normal human powers could have stopped Jim from climbing that radio tower, and nobody could have stopped him from falling down. Nobody. I feel sorry for him, but I'm more sorry that you had to be there to watch." His voice was soft, gentle, and insistent. "It was by no means your fault, Starsk. He was too far gone. And I'm absolutely sure that nobody ever cared more about him than you. Let it go, babe."
For what seemed to be a long time but was really only a few long moments, they sat there, just looking into each other's eyes. Finally, Starsky relaxed a little. The sadness in his eyes remained, but the self incrimination lessened marginally. "You really believe that? That there was nothing else I could have done?"
Hearing Starsky talk like that and seeing the deep sorrow this case still caused him, was hard for Hutch. But it was not as bad as just minutes ago. He smiled encouragingly, gave Starsky's shoulder another gentle squeeze and said, "You bet. I was incredibly proud of you that day, the way you handled everything. And who knows, maybe that poor guy is really better off wherever he is now." The look of genuine pride and deep compassion in his eyes told Starsky even more.
Finally, the curly head dropped, but not before Hutch could see the gratitude in the dark blue eyes. Starsky put his own hand on the one that still rested on his shoulder, for a moment just enjoying their closeness. Then he looked up again, nodded once and with this simple gesture and the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.
Chapter 2
Their shift passed without incident. They spent the morning working on a few reports Dobey kept breathing down their necks about, then had lunch at Huggy's, and finally did some legwork on a case they were working. Starsky's mood improved steadily, his partner's presence and gentle, nonverbal reminders it wasn't your fault, it wasn't your fault the best remedy for his emotional state.
Around six they agreed that they had enough for today. Dinner, a few beers, and a few games of pool at Huggy's seemed like the perfect way to unwind. But what is it they say about the best laid plans?
The call came just as they decided to call it a day. "Attention all units, 415 in progress at 56717 South Jefferson." Starsky actually already had his hand on the mic to log out, but deeply ingrained reflexes and sense of duty won. Especially with this kind of call. A 415 was a disturbance. That could be anything from a loud argument to a family member - often the father - threatening the rest of the family with a deadly weapon. And in their experience, the harmless calls were a minority. Most of the time there were also children involved, which made the situation even worse.
It took them only minutes to get to the location of the disturbance. A frantic woman waited for them at the sidewalk, sporting a fat lip, bleeding cuts on her face, and bruises on her arms and face. Black streaks from her mascara marked the tears that ran down her face. The detectives were barely out of their car before she threw her arms around Hutch's neck while Starsky notified control that they were there and asked for an ambulance for the woman. As he got out, he could make out Hutch's talk-to-terrified-witnesses-or-victims voice.
"Easy now, it's alright, we're here now and we'll take care of everything. Wanna sit down?" He guided her to the passenger seat of his car, helped her to sit and handed her a clean hankie. "Now, why don't you take a deep breath and tell us what happened. Easy now, okay? Now, just tell us your name, okay?"
Starsky watched in proud admiration how this nearly hysterical woman calmed down due to his partner's gentle voice and touch. Nobody was quite as good with victims as Hutch, he was sure of that. Much calmer now, she told them all she knew: that her name was Sylvia Claiborne, that she had been watching her brother's daughter as usual when he suddenly showed up, drunk to the gills, and meaner than hell. Started yelling at her, at the little girl, at his deceased wife, his also deceased best friend, and nobody in particular. Tried to get at the kid, and beat the crap out of his sister when she tried to protect her niece. Finally, Sylvia passed out briefly, and he seized the opportunity to grab his daughter and take her out of the apartment. She called the police but didn't deem it necessary to mention her own injuries and ask for an ambulance. Then she checked the building, hoping to find her brother and niece. She did - sort of.
"It doesn't make any sense. All this screaming, and I couldn't even make out what it was all about! Hardly understood a word, he's drunk again, been drinking a lot since his wife died. But Frankie - he's not a mean drunk normally, he just gets sad and cries a lot. But this time - it's like he's a completely different person! And he's afraid of heights, I don't understand why he would go up there. And I never knew he had a gun! He hates those, says he had to use them so much in 'Nam, he never wants to see another one as long as he lives. And now he's on the roof and tells me to get out of his sight, or he kills himself and Lizzy. But he loves his child, he really does. Always did, and after Kelly, that's his wife, died, he said Lizzy was all he had left to live for. And now... She's so small, only five. She was born while he was overseas. She looks just like her mom..." Her voice trailed off, just as the ambulance pulled up next to them.
The detectives shared a look. This could get really, really, ugly. While Hutch talked to the paramedics, Starsky requested back up, with a kid involved they didn't want to take any risks. As they turned to enter the five story building, Sylvia stopped them again. "If you can, please don't hurt him. He's been through so much. But if necessary... Just do all you can to save Lizzy, please?"
Another long look passed between two sets of blue eyes. Then, Starsky turned to the woman. "I promise. We'll get Lizzy out of this, no matter what." And despite the simple words, Sylvia knew that there had never been a more solemn vow.
Chapter 3
The view from the rooftop, five stories up, could have been beautiful. A sunset that would have made a tourist brochure proud, a soft breeze that cleared the air, a view over the roofs of neighboring buildings. What spoiled the effect was the very tall, very angry guy with the gun sitting huddled in the corner of the very low wall that surrounded the rooftop. And next to him, crying, terrified, unable to move in his grip, his little girl. As he sensed the two cops' arrival, he jerked a little more upright, putting his gun to Lizzy's head. "Don't! Don't come closer, or I'll kill her, I swear!"
Again, blue eyes locked on blue.
How do you want to play this?
Softly, he's on the edge, we don't want to push him over.
"Hey, Frankie, it's okay, we just want to talk, we won't try anything, okay? We just want to understand what happened. Why would you want to hurt your little girl? We know you love her, don't you?"
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"I told you, I'm okay, this is my brother up there, and he's out of his mind! He's threatened to kill his own child, who knows what he's gonna do to those cops! Maybe if I'm there I can help them somehow, at least I have to try, please!"
The EMTs looked at each other, not quite sure what to do. Finally, the one who was in charge gave in to her imploring eyes and voice. "All right, but I'll come with you, and as soon as this is over, you're coming with us, understood?" Then, softer, "Look, I understand your worry, but you really have to let somebody take care of you." He held her gaze until she nodded, then helped her up.
The ancient elevator carried them - two paramedics and Sylvia - to the top floor. From there they had to take the stairs to the roof. Just as they arrived, Frankie Claiborne made his first clear statement since he showed up at his little sister's place.
"Leave me alone! She's not my kid, always thought she was, but she ain't, Kelly cheated on me all the time I was away!" Mean, sad, desperate. A man who had nothing to lose. Nothing left to live for. "She said she loved me and then she went and hopped in the sack with my best friend! What kind of a woman does that to her man who's out at war, huh? And what kind of a friend does that to his buddy the moment he is out of the way? My whole life was a lie, dammit! How could they do that to me, huh? And then they tell me I have a kid, but that was a lie, too! Lizzy's not mine, she's Bobby's kid. Ain't got nothing left..." His anger seemed to be mostly spent by now, all that was left was a deep, deep sadness. Hopelessness. Didn't even sound so drunk, actually. His speech was just a little slower than normal. He was weeping openly now, the little girl still held tightly, the gun pointed at her head, unsteadily.
Lizzy had stopped crying, sensed her Daddy's sorrow and wanted to help. Her voice was as tiny as she was as she tried to look up at him. "Daddy? Why are you so sad? Did I do something wrong?"
Sylvia stood there, transfixed by the drama unfolding before her eyes. She grabbed the nearest sleeve, not caring who it belonged to and whispered, "That's not true, Kelly never cheated on him, and Bobby would never have done such a thing!"
The sleeve she had a death grip on belonged to Starsky; he patted the hand clutching it and nodded in understanding. "Hey, Frankie, wanna tell me why you think so?" His voice was friendly, understanding, caring. Something Frankie wasn't used to lately, except maybe from his sister. The light, unthreatening tone was something the troubled man could respond to. "Hey Frankie, we just want to help you. Do whatever we can. But you have to trust me, talk to me. Think you can do that, huh?"
Obviously, he could. He began to tell the whole story, starting with how he met Kelly through his best friend Bobby. How they fell in love, married, and then he got drafted. How she wrote him that she was pregnant with his child. How happy he had been. How devastated he was when she wrote him about the car accident that killed Bobby in her next letter. How she sent him pictures of his little girl when she was born. And how he was sent home after he got wounded.
How he struggled to get his health back. Struggled to get a decent job, make a living for his small family. How he thought he finally had everything he hoped for, until Kelly got killed in a car accident less than six months earlier. How he started to drink himself into oblivion whenever the pain got too bad. How he wouldn't have made it without his sister's help. How he got fired this morning due to his drinking.
"I know I shouldn't be drinking, but it's all that's left for me now. And then Mickey Turner tells me I'm not even Lizzy's father. That Kelly and Bobby cheated on me all the time. To think that I actually cried when I heard he was dead, and here that bastard took my wife! And she always pretended to be faithful, never let on that Lizzy could be from somebody else... You know, I shouldn't take it out on her, not her fault..." He looked like he wanted to let her go, but now Lizzy snuggled up to him, not understanding a word, but sensing that her Daddy was no longer mad at her.
"Frankie?" Sylvia sounded a little hesitant, but when he didn't yell at her, she got braver. "Frankie, that's not true. Mickey Turner is an asshole, he never liked you, he's always been jealous! He's been after Kelly all through High School, don't you remember? She told him she had no intention of becoming another notch in his bedpost, but he never gave up. Remember how mad he was when she married you? While you were in the army, he tried it again, went so far she had to call the police to get rid of him. Bobby was there for her, but as a friend. He helped her, comforted her, but he never would have done something like that. And neither would Kelly. She loved you, more than anything else in the world. Kelly waited for you, she was faithful, and nobody could have been happier than her when you came home. That Turner weasel couldn't get her in his bed, so he had to bad mouth her. Don't believe him, don't let him destroy what you and Kelly had. Frankie, please! Don't do anything you're gonna regret." Sylvia was shaking now, one of the paramedics had to help her sit down.
And Frankie had listened. Listened carefully. Understood what his little sister tried to tell him, understood it was the truth. Realized that he almost killed his own child because he had listened to a bunch of lies. All at once the whole situation crashed down on him. For a moment he seemed to shrink into himself, dropped his head in his hands, although he still held the gun in his right. But that only lasted a second. Then he got to his feet, a little unsteady, with Lizzy clinging to his right pant leg now, looking up, trying to see his face, make sense of all that was going on around her, with her, with her daddy. She didn't seem to be afraid of him any more, or of the fact that she stood on a roof top, next to a flimsy wall not much higher than her knees. All she cared about now was that her daddy was crying. "Daddy?"
What happened next was so fast, it was hard to keep up.
Frankie looked down at Lizzy, then over at Sylvia.
Said, "So Sorry."
Lifted the gun to his temple.
Pulled the trigger.
Voices mingled, yelling, "Frankie, NOOOO!"
At the "S" of "so", both detectives started forward. At the "Y" of "sorry" they were almost there. But it was still too late. Or it would have been. But Lizzy, not understanding what was happening, only that it was bad, chose that moment to pull at his coat with all her might. And while that wouldn't have been enough to pull him to the ice cream vendor in the park if he didn't want to go there, it was enough to move the gun just a little, enough so the bullet went wild. Enough to save his life.
But all that unsettled his already fragile balance, and in a split second a bad situation turned infinitely worse.
Again, everything happened incredibly fast. Frankie overbalanced, fell backwards. Lizzy, still holding on to his coat, was pulled along. Now she was scared, screamed with terror.
By then, in a flurry of movement, both Starsky and Hutch were there. Hutch was closer to Frankie, managed to grab on to his belt at the last possible moment. But Lizzy, who still had a death grip on her Daddy's coat, was already over the edge.
Later, nobody was quite sure how it happened. Hutch himself didn't see all of it. All he could tell later was that one moment Starsky was at his side, desperately trying to reach the little girl, the next he was hanging from the rooftop, his right elbow hooked around the wall, his left hand holding on to Lizzy's arm in a white knuckled grip.
"Lizzy." Starsky's voice was deceptively calm. "Listen, honey, put your other hand on my arm. Hold on to me. Everything will be alright. Hutch is going to help your daddy, but you have to take my arm." Frankie's arms were flailing wildly, he was going to lose that coat any moment now. If that happened... If that happened, she would have nothing to hold on to, and the weight of the falling coat might even pull her down. But the friendly, caring voice of the nice man with the dark curls, the look in his blue eyes, gave her trust, confidence. She was still scared, but she did as he told her.
Next to Starsky, Hutch struggled with Frankie's remarkable weight and height. Finally, he got him to the safety of the rooftop, where the paramedics took over. Only then did he get the chance to check on his partner.
Any other day Starsky would have had the girl back to safe ground by now, but today his injured shoulder turned anything but simply holding on into a superhuman effort. But he tried anyway. He looked up to see his partner, and the relief in his eyes was unmistakable. "Lizzy, I'll lift you up a little, and my friend will take you. He'll get you back to the roof to your daddy, okay?" When she nodded, he looked up again. "Hutch, you gotta take her." I don't know how much longer I can hold her.
Hutch nodded you hold on, don't you dare letting go before I get you, too! and laying flat on the ground he leaned down as far as possible. He could see the agony in Starsky's face bet he pulled something in there but despite his inner turmoil at seeing his best friend like this his voice was steady. "Don't be afraid, sweetheart, everything will be fine, I'll get you." Don't worry, Starsk, I'll get you too!
Moments later Lizzy was in the care of another paramedic, and the back up they had requested arrived. Now all Hutch had to take care of was the one thing that was most important to him anyway. His partner, who had willingly thrown himself off a rooftop to safe the life of a little girl.
"Gotcha, partner." For a moment, their eyes locked again, saying more than words possibly could. Then, with their combined strength, they managed to get Starsky to the safety of the rooftop, and as far away from the ledge as possible.
For a while they were too out of breath to say anything, at least out loud. Wasn't necessary, though. Their most meaningful conversations were those without words, anyway.
Thanks, partner, wouldn't have made it without you.
Thanks for holding on until I could get to you.
Finally, Starsky had recovered enough to talk again. "Know what? I hate heights."
Chapter 4
After a thorough examination in the hospital, Lizzy got a clean bill of health. She was pretty shaken by the whole trauma, but otherwise fine. Sylvia's injuries were painful, but superficial. They put some stitches in the worst of the cuts, bandaged her, and gave her prescriptions for some painkillers and antibiotics. Then, at her insistence, they let her go. Child welfare agreed that it would be best for Lizzy if she went home with her aunt.
Frankie's case was more complicated. He had a psych evaluation coming up, after that the DA would decide what kind of charges he would write him up for. After Hutch had saved him from falling, he passed out, and even when he came to, he didn't react to anything anymore. 'Disassociation' the police shrink had said, whatever that meant.
They wrote up their report the next morning. Well, Hutch did. Starsky sat across from him, drinking coffee and trying to keep his red rimmed eyes open. Last night's nightmares had been for the record book. Hutch had intended to spend the night on Starsky's couch, but he didn't get to use it much. He lost count of how many times he had been woken by another one of Starsk's nightmares. Add to that the pain from his torn muscles, his guilt over causing Hutch a sleepless night, and the fact that he wasn't allowed to drive as long as he had to wear that sling are you kidding, a whole week! and Starsky was a quite miserable thing that morning. Not to mention constantly on the verge of dozing off.
A familiar bellow jerked him back to wakefulness, almost causing him to drop his coffee mug. "Starsky! Hutchinson! My office."
"Ain't that lovely? You done with the report?"
Hutch nodded, ripping the sheet out of the typewriter. He signed it, then handed it to Starsky, who added his scrawled name with his untrained right hand. Then they both entered Dobey's office, wearily sinking into their customary chairs.
"You two look like hell."
"Gee, thanks, Cap. We love you too." Starsky's sarcasm was half hearted at best. He was just too tired to put more effort into teasing his superior.
"You wanted to see us?" Hutch interjected before their Captain could answer.
"Starsky, how's your shoulder?" He tried to sound gruff, as always, but the concern for the welfare of his men shone through. As always.
Starsky shrugged his good shoulder. That alone showed that he was in some considerable discomfort. "Be alright in a few days."
Dobey took a moment to look them over. He called them his best men, his best team, and this proved him right again. The paramedics who had witnessed the whole situation had made statements last night already, and this morning, unbeknownst to Starsky and Hutch, Sylvia had been in to make her own statement. And the Captain had never been more impressed with his men than he was now. Talking a crazed guy who held his own daughter hostage down, then preventing him from committing suicide, would have been quite a feat even for trained hostage negotiators who did that kind of stuff all the time. But then saving both father and daughter from falling to their certain deaths was going way above and beyond the call of duty. Especially in Starsky's case.
"That was great work. I'm proud of you." Seeing the startled look his detectives exchanged, he chuckled a little. "I read all the statements. You did really well. And Starsky, what you did for that little girl - Starsky, I have a little girl too. This was -" He broke up, looking down on his hands. "Anyway, you got that report for me?"
Hutch nodded, handing it over. Before he could lean back again, Dobey stopped him. "Wait a second, got something I want you to see."
With that, Dobey handed over a sheet of paper. Hutch's eyes turned wide.
Starsky didn't like the expression on his friend's face at all. "Something wrong? Hey, Hutch, what is it?" When he didn't get an answer, he turned to the Captain. "Hey Cap, got bad news?"
"Captain, that's great, but I can't accept that. Only Starsky." Then, "Starsk, he put us up for a medal of valor!"
"As I said, that was terrific work. Not only that, but you went far above the call of duty. You deserve it, boys." A rare smile graced the face of the usually gruff man. "Both of you."
"But I didn't - it was only Starsky!"
"Shut up, Hutch, do you think for one moment I could have done that without you? You may not have gone over the edge, but you were the one who got her and me back on the roof. If not for you, Lizzy'd be dead now. And if you think I could have done that without knowing you were there, you have another think coming." His eyes showed his sincerity. He held Hutch's gaze for an other moment, then turned to Captain Dobey. "Thanks, Cap, we really appreciate this. But there was really nothing else that we could have done. We promised Sylvia to get Lizzy out of this alive, and to do our best to get her brother out, too. He's all messed up, and he needs a lot of help, but he's not really a bad guy."
Dobey nodded. He knew that, of course. But it warmed him to see that his officers, who had almost lost their lives trying to save both Lizzy and her father, were able to see beyond the surface, to the underlying reasons. And that they were gracious enough to understand and not to hold a grudge. All of a sudden, a lump formed in his throat, again feeling overwhelming gratitude towards these men. This could have been Rosie. If he wasn't careful, they were headed straight for a terribly soapy scene. But he just had to say it again. "Be that as it may, the Department feels that you deserve this. So you better just take it. If you don't want it for yourself, just think of it as good PR." Then, quoting the memo from the Chief, he added, "This Department likes to know the public what heroic, devoted, selfless men its officers are. And now get out of here, I got work to do. And that medal comes with two days paid leave, so I don't want to see you in here for the rest of the week." With that, he was back in character - their gruff, no-nonsense superior. But the warm light in his eyes he couldn't mask that easily.
"A long weekend! Come on, Hutch, I got a few ideas what we can do with all that free time. Thanks, Cap, that's great!" Starsky strongly resembled a kid on a snow day, with enough money in his pocket to empty out a candy store. He grabbed Hutch's arm and dragged him out of Dobey's office, barely giving his friend time to thank the Captain.
Outside, Hutch tried to keep up both with Starsky's incessant rattling about all the things they could do with all the time off they just got, and with his fast pace as he hauled him down the corridor to the elevator. Once they were on the way down, it became easier, he could just concentrate on listening since he no longer had to be careful not to stumble over Starsky's or his own feet. So he basically just let his friend ramble on and listened in grateful amusement. Other days he might have been annoyed, but today he was just happy to still have a partner who could get on his nerves with his nonstop babbling. He didn't think he could ever forget the horror he felt when he saw Starsky cling to the roof, desperate to safe the little girl. His subconscious supplied the missing part, showing him Starsky as he went over the edge. It would give Hutch his own set of nightmares in the time to come. And now here his partner was, talking a mile a minute. How could he not be happy?
Finally, they made it outside to Hutch's car. But when Hutch wanted to turn the key in the ignition, he was stopped by a hand on his own. Only now did he notice that Starsky had stopped talking some time ago. He gave him a surprised look. "Huh?"
"What is it?"
Hutch blinked, confused. Had he missed something his partner said?
"What are you grinning at?" When Hutch still didn't understand, Starsky added, "You have this big, sappy grin on your face..." He broke off, and just looked at the tall blond guy in the driver's seat who had become the one constant, the most important person in his life. What would he ever do without him? He knew that he never wanted to find out.
"Hutch, look at me." The soft words were spoken in the gentlest tone. Hutch had lowered his head, a little embarrassed, but still unable to stop the happy, sappy grin. He just couldn't help it, the thought of how different everything could have ended the day before sent white hot pokers of fear into his guts. Having his partner sitting next to him, a little worse for wear, but mostly intact, was nothing short of a miracle as far as he was concerned. Now, at the soft spoken request, he looked up, straight into Starsky's eyes.
Starsky regarded him with this very special look, the one he reserved exclusively for Hutch. The one that held all his love for this man, more than most people experience in their lifetime. The one that said, I'm the luckiest guy in the world to have you for a partner and best friend. The one that said, Please, God, let me always be there for him. The one that said, Thank you for always being there for me. I wouldn't have made it without you, and I don't just mean the roof. I was looking into a deeper abyss than the dive from the rooftop. He gave him the very special smile that went along with the very special look, not the ten thousand watts grin. But the soft, almost imperceptible smile that spoke of his feelings for his best friend, and said more than words could ever express. His eyes were suspiciously bright as he said softly, "Ya big softie."
Sky blue eyes met cobalt, and Starsky could see all that was in Hutch's heart - the remembered horror from the day before when he had to watch Starsky dangling from the roof, very much like in Starsky's nightmare. The relief and gratitude that he had not lost his partner. How proud he was of his brave, selfless best friend. His overwhelming joy that they were still together. How could he ever find the words to express all that without creating a hopelessly soapy scene? But with Starsky, he didn't have to find words. It was all there in his eyes, and his partner could read him like a book.
"Ya big softie." Starsky's voice took on a slight hitch. "Thanks, partner. You didn't let me fall."
The end