Author's Note- be forewarned, our boy goes through some emotional trauma and acts a little out of character. Nothing gorey. (grin)

Starsky had asked once, long ago, what is was that Hutch missed most about Duluth. It was one of those innocent, trying-to-stay-awake questions that Starsky always seemed to think of when they were on an overnight stakeout. The guy could really make you think sometimes, and once Hutch figured out his answer, he thought about it on every stakeout thereafter.

The crickets.

Hutch had grown up to the song of those damn insects. His warmest memories often revolved around them. He thought of ice cream, of wide open spaces, his grandfather, wooden porches, sweet-smelling breezes and clear, starry skies. And laced through it all, was the melodious chirping of crickets. Imagining the sound brought feelings of happiness, just as the sound of a bell brought Pavlov's dogs to salivate. Despite whatever else he was feeling at the time, Hutch would always smile when he thought of the crickets.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

Starsky's quiet question broke the silence inside the Torino and Hutch lifted his head from the window. "Nothing," was his immediate response, followed closely by, "Home."

Starsky nodded.

"You ever miss it?" Hutch asked, the leather creaking as he straightened in the seat, then looked at his partner.

"What, home? Sure. Why else would I call ma every week?"

Hutch didn't answer, instead letting the question bounce over the foul line. Starsky had proved another difference between them. Why was it that the thing Starsky missed most from home was his family, and the first thing Hutch had thought of was the crickets? Suddenly Hutch felt lonely, and shallow. Why didn't he miss his mother? Why didn't he call her every week as Starsky did? Why didn't she ever call him? He turned red as he realized there were days when he didn't even think about her.

Hutch sighed.

Starsky looked at him, concern lowering his eyebrows. After a moment, he asked, "You see anything yet?" in the tone he took when he was trying to distract Hutch.

And bless him for it. Hutch shook himself from his depressing thoughts and looked down the dark street. They were parked inconspicuously across the street from Terry Gray's apartment. A solitary streetlight stood at the end of the street, blinking in an irritating rhythm that upset the moths that fluttered about it. The street was quiet save for the occasional car passing by, and the echoing bark of a large-sounding dog. Night had fallen over the city hours ago. The temperatures were beginning to cool now, and nocturnal rodents were finding their way to overflowing garbage bins.

Starsky and Hutch had determined earlier that Terry was not home. His neighbors weren't the most hospitable bunch, but fortunately for the detectives, the one-word answers they were provided with had proved helpful. All they had to do now was wait.

And waiting is what they were doing. Under the cover of darkness, the detectives had sat quietly in the car for hours, with enough patience to rival a bird dog. Hutch wanted Terry so bad he could taste it. Not only had this scum ball killed two men, he had jeopardized a bus full of children, and left at least one woman widowed. And then he had gone after Hutch.

Hutch was a tolerant man, unless it involved hurting women or children. So in Hutch's book, Terry already had a big black mark next to his name. Arresting him would be something Hutch would savor.

Feeling his testosterone level rise dangerously, Hutch shook himself from his thoughts. He drew in a shaky breath, suddenly wishing for a shot glass full of something that burned. Fine tremors riddled his hands and a familiar feeling of need blossomed within him. He hated what was happening to him yet didn't have the strength to fight it. Not yet. He could only deal with one problem at a time, and once Terry Gray was put away, he would be free to fight his personal demons.

And he would triumph, he always did.

"Car." Starsky announced just as the strong beam of headlights pierced the darkness of the street. An engine rumbled lowly as the car crept forward, preceding the sleek red Mustang that slid past them.

Starsky and Hutch remained still as the Mustang coasted to the side of the road and its brake lights flared. With a small squeak, the car stopped, and the engine was killed.

Hutch's eyes lit up as he focused on the shadow stepping out onto the sidewalk.

Once standing, Terry took the cigarette from his mouth, shut the car door, blew out a cloud of smoke, then turned and headed for the building, replacing the glowing cigarette in his mouth.

Enough of this bird-dogging. It was time for action.

"Let's go," Starsky murmured as both detectives reached for the doors.

Hutch felt his heart beat stronger and adrenaline starting pouring into his veins. His gun felt heavy against his ribs as he stepped out onto the concrete and hurriedly shut the door behind him. He rounded the hood of the car and wondered if the Torino had always been this large.

"Hey Terry, hold up a second, buddy!" Starsky called out in his most non-threatening voice.

Terry had his hand on the door to the apartment building but froze at the sound of Starsky's voice. He turned slowly as the detectives trotted towards him, and took a drag of his cigarette, keeping silent.

"Hey, we just wanna ask you a few questions, alright?" Starsky panted as they came to a stop.

Terry eyed them wearily, keeping his head down and his eyes in the shadows. "Questions about what?" he countered.

"About what really happened the morning of the accident," Hutch said coolly, positioning himself so that Terry was cornered.

"I already talked to you guys about that," came the guarded reply, followed by a puff of smoke.

"Yeah, but silly me, I forgot to write it down," Starsky said. "Care to repeat your story, one more time?"

Terry was definitely on edge as he eyed the detectives. "Not particularly. Now if you don't mind-"

"Lemme tell you what happened that morning," Hutch broke in, slamming a hand on the building's door as Terry had started opening it. "You had finally had it with Elizabeth Bandy getting knocked around by her abusive husband, so you decided to do something about it. You slithered into the bus barn, cut the brake lines, and went on about your business. Were you figuring on Tom getting busted for bad driving, Gray? Did you think the problem would just take care of itself, that he would be able to think coherently enough to pull the emergency brake and simply get himself fired?" Hutch was inching closer, unaware when Terry thumped against the brick wall behind him, unable to retreat any more. "You didn't realize that Tom Bandy would show up for work that morning drunk, did you? Tell me that you didn't realize he wouldn't be able to save himself, much less the entire bus full of kids."

"Hutch-"

"Tell me you're not that much of a monster that you would use those kids as pawns in your screwed up, pathetic life!" Hutch was panting, and aware that he was close to losing it, but he couldn't stop himself. Days of anger and spite had built up inside him and the dam was bursting.

Terry had dropped his cigarette and it lay at his feet, still smoking. He looked into Hutch's eyes, fear clouding his own dark eyes, and Hutch noticed that the man was shaking like a leaf.

Hutch was proud of what he saw.

A hand on his arm startled him and Hutch snapped his gaze to his partner.

And that was all the distraction Terry needed. Like a jackrabbit, he darted between the detectives and ran full-bore down the street.

A curse slipped from Hutch's lips as he exploded into action. His blood was boiling as flew down the street in pursuit, fueled by a foreign mixture of anger and hatred. Later, Starsky would say it was like 'watching the leash and muzzle come off', and Hutch would feel remorse.

But not now.

Now Hutch was suddenly grateful he had spent so much time jogging, as his body quickly fell into an energy-efficient pace. Terry was running blindly ahead of him, frantically knocking over trashcans and cardboard boxes as he ran through the alleys. Hutch was gaining, hopping over the obstacles with deadly precision and completely unaware of Starsky trailing behind.

Sweat was flowing down Hutch's spine and temples in the hot, heavy air. His lungs burned with exhilaration and the pounding of his heart was barley detectable under the pounding of his feet. Hormones flooded his body and mind, driving him on, keeping him locked on his target. He was out of control the way Bruce Banner lost control to the Incredible Hulk. Hutch had snapped, becoming a thing bent on finding justice.

This would land him on the shrink's couch for sure.

Finally Terry stumbled and Hutch ate up the little distance between them. He tackled the wiry man and they both fell to the ground, hard.

Terry didn't have a chance. Hutch scrambled for purchase and flipped Terry onto his back, ignoring the horrible smoker's cough and wheezing sounds as the man struggled for breath. Hutch hit his knees on the warm pavement on either side of Terry, straddling the struggling man. He leaned forward, grabbed two white-knuckled fist-fulls of Terry's shirt, and lifted the man's torso from the ground, shaking him.

"You are one sorry sack of crap," Hutch growled, panting heavily over top of Terry. His biceps trembled as they held the prone man off the pavement. "You know what they do to baby-killers in jail?" he taunted, giving Terry another shake. He was burning up and his heart was racing.

Terry, seeming to have realized his arms were still functional, began a desperate attempt at freeing himself. Hoarse coughs echoed in the alley as he pushed against the detective above him. "Screw you," he wheezed, "Elizabeth is free from that scum. She loves me now. I'd do it again if I could."

Before he knew what he was doing, Hutch shoved Terry down and pulled back a fist, striking before Terry could even flinch. His knuckles broke skin and connected with wet bone and muscle, instantly giving Terry a horrific black eye. Pain exploded in Hutch's hand and he welcomed it. He drew back and struck again, planting Terry's opposite cheek on the pavement. Hot adrenaline fueled him now, and there was no stopping it.

A muffled voice sounded over his shoulder- his shoulder angel, he supposed- telling him, begging him to stop, but Hutch ignored it. It wasn't until he felt a pair of hands grabbing at him that he realized it was Starsky.

"Hutch! Knock it off, he's down!"

Tensed to the point of breaking, Hutch ripped through Starsky's meager restraint and hit the unconscious form beneath him one more time, his gun clanging against his ribs as he moved. His fist met the torn flesh of Terry's cheek and blood splattered upon the impact.

Then he stopped.

Hutch looked at the destruction under him- the damage he had caused with his own hands- and he went limp. Starsky's hands were on him again, firmer this time, more sure of themselves, and Hutch climbed off the beaten man. He moved away as quickly as he could, colliding with the brick wall of an abandoned building, and sank into a miserable pile.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Starsky's voice came from above, sounding harsh and worried at the same time. "Look at…" he faltered, looking between Terry and Hutch with equal concern. "Hutch, look at me."

And Hutch did. His lungs were still burning and he was panting as hard as he could, sucking in the warm night air for all he was worth. He was a trembling mess, and another look at Terry sent bile shooting up his throat.

He had crossed the line he himself had drawn.

Starsky held on through the convulsions, patting Hutch's back in a way he didn't deserve. He had become nothing better than Terry, and the realization sickened him more. The tension melted from him until his face now inches from his own mess and Hutch saw that his own knuckles were torn and bleeding and suddenly very sore.

"Come on," Starsky murmured, hauling Hutch upright and propping him against the wall.

But Hutch still hated himself and he wasn't ready to be forgiven for what he had done. He didn't deserve kindness right now, especially not Starsky's, and he pushed his partner away then attempted to stand on his own.

"Not now," he growled, refusing to look Starsky in the eye.

"Hutch-" Starsky said in that arguing tone of his, but Hutch started moving away.

"Not now, Starsky!" he snapped, limping from exhaustion. "I… can't."

He used the wall for support, a fine layer of grit scraping his fingers as he moved, and stepped carefully though the scattered trash. He needed to get away, get drunk, get his emotions in check.

At any other time, Hutch would have realized how illogical that was.

He heard a noise and turned back to see Starsky placing cuffs on Terry's unconscious body. He looked up at Hutch with coldness in his eyes. "You stay here while I bring the car around."

Hutch blinked defiantly. "Leave him here. You'll get blood on your precious car seats."

Starsky rose and took a step forward, possibly the only person in the world not intimidated by Hutch, ever. "You did this to him, you stay here and watch the prisoner. He'll go through booking and be sent to jail where he belongs."

Hutch took a deep breath quietly. "Fine. But hurry, it's hot out here."

Starsky shook his head in a very disapproving manner and began the trek back towards the Torino, leaving Hutch alone in the alley. A large, bold rat scurried past the opening, not giving the detective or his charge a second glance.

Hutch sighed loudly and sank to the ground once more. His back scraped against the stone through his shirt until he came to a hard stop on the ground. He brought his knees up and rested bony elbows upon them, suddenly feeling very tired. Defeated. Sober.

He watched the rise and fall of Terry's chest in silence.

I'd do it again if I could.

What could drive a man to the lengths Terry had been driven to? Was there some force that could lock a person's brain to one track, turning them off to all other consequences? Was there something abnormal in Terry's mind, or did everyone possess the ability to become so horrifyingly violent?

Hutch looked at his own bloody hand and stopped. His breath caught in his throat and for a moment, his heart stopped beating.

He hated what had just happened, and he sincerely hoped he would never see that side of himself again. If it meant spending a few hours with the department shrink, then so be it. His gaze locked on Terry.

Suddenly he wasn't so proud of himself.

Minutes ticked by and just as Terry was beginning to stir, the Torino appeared at the end of the alley, mars light twirling silently.

Hutch felt a stab of pain when he realized he had been denied the ability to stick the light to the roof, a function he had preformed ever since they had become partners. Starsky would periodically rant about the chipped paint on the roof of his beloved car, and Hutch would offer to pay for a repaint. It had been one of those silly quirks that defined their relationship, and this time, Hutch had been found wanting.

Hutch picked himself up as Starsky approached, his footsteps louder than normal. "I already called the captain," he stated, walking straight past Hutch and towards the waking Terry. "Help me get him in the car so we can go home." Very threateningly he added, "We need to talk."

He moved forward obediently and grabbed Terry under one damp armpit, and together they hauled the man to his feet. Hutch felt himself growing angry again, on the cusp of another mood swing. So he had gotten a little rough with the guy, so what? Terry had pled guilty. It wasn't like he didn't have it coming. Hell, Hutch should be considered a hero. He was the only one who had the guts to give the guy what he deserved. He'd get a slap on the wrist by the higher-ups and that would be the end of it. Case closed.

He wasn't scared.

He and Starsky dragged Terry closer to the Torino, both men glaring at the ground. Grunting, Starsky opened the passenger door and together, they shoved Terry in the back seat.

His only response was a semi-conscious groan.

o0O0o