Trust Me

by Nash Carter

NOT A DEATH STORY! Although it looks like it, I promise I didn't REALLY kill him... When Hutch gets killed after driving off at the end of the Pilot, how does Starsky cope?

"Trust me" (WHN Pilot)

Chapter 1

Hutch

"Hey, don't criticize. Custom job like this takes hours. And it ain't cheap!" Starsky's voice held a tone of such inappropriate amusement, I could have wrung his neck at the moment. What would he say if it were his prized toy car? But I restrained myself from saying anything, just picked up the hubcap that had fallen off just as I stopped the car. My only thought was, 'You will pay for that, buddy.'

We were both tired, especially after the last case. Took a lot out of us both. Not just the fact that there was obviously a contract out on Starsky and the hit men killed two kids instead. Turned out later that they were the intended victims all along. That in itself was no real fun to begin with, but when we realized that the man behind all this was DA Henderson, now that was really something else. And on top of all that, I thought I got myself a beautiful bruise where the sun don't shine when I landed on my car roof. Starsky suspected something worse, I could see it in his eyes. No big surprise there; after all, he is a detective and one of the best. Of course I told him I was fine and didn't need a hospital, and so far I could keep him off my case. But if I so much as winced, he would haul my behind to the nearest emergency room, and there goes a nice evening. So throughout the drive from Parker center he kept shooting me surreptitious glances. Not that his concern isn't touching, but today it got on my nerves. And consequently, I kept biting his head off.

And now we were back at Frankie's gym, picking up the Torino. Of course, as luck would have it, Frankie came down the stairs just as I stopped my car there. And of course he had to make some comment about the dent in the roof. Starsky - of course - couldn't help himself, he had to be a wise guy. Custom job, my ass. And the opportunity for my revenge was there - Frankie provided it.

"Neither is running a gym. Here's your bill."

He held out the paper over the roof of the LTD, but I made no move to take it. Just told Starsky, "Pay the man."

Now that didn't make him very happy. He protested, said, "Not again," but started digging in his pockets anyway.

I promised him dinner to placate him, and while he forked over the money to Frankie he grumbled something about not even belonging to this gym and that I couldn't afford feeding him and that he couldn't stand wheat germ and soy bean sprouts and butterfly bones. Finally Frankie was satisfied and left and Starsky, true to form, stopped grumbling. Told me about this great chili place, where the chili is so hot it makes your ears smoke. You feel it all the way down, that's how you know it's so good. According to Starsky, of course. I could never understand how that guy can eat all that garbage. Stuff like this chili would burn holes into anybody else's stomach. All the Danish and burgers and tacos and burritos would make anybody else fatter than Fat Rolly and give them high blood pressure and high cholesterol. Hell, if I ate like that, and worked out as little as he does, I'd be unable to keep up with him on the streets. How does he do that? Seeing how all his bad habits don't have an adverse affect on him can be really frustrating sometimes. But I promised I would buy him dinner, so I couldn't very well start an argument. Didn't mean I couldn't have a little fun before I exposed my stomach to yet another gastrointestinal nightmare.

"Okay, I'll follow you."

Starsky seemed to be surprised that I acceded without a lecture. It was amazing to see how the prospect of some thoroughly not healthy food could lift his mood in a matter of seconds. He looked happier than he had since the whole mess with the shot up Torino began. For a moment he gave me a suspicious look, not completely sure what to make of my behavior. He was right, too. Any other day I would be in the middle of a lecture about the health risks and non existence of any nutritional value of too spicy and too greasy food. But he's my partner, and we cover each other's backs and we wouldn't hesitate to stop a bullet for each other. So why would he not believe me when I promised? "You wouldn't - "

I looked back at him, absolute sincerity on my face and in my eyes. I know that, because he believed me when I said, "No, no. Trust me. I'll follow you." His eyes lit up like a little boy's in a candy store before he bounced off to get into his car. Shaking my head at his antics, I too got into my own car and as he pulled out into the street and took a left turn...

... I turned right. It took him only a few seconds to realize what happened. I could even hear him yell after me. By then I had a good head start. And I knew full well that I would need it if this was going to last more than half a minute. As much as I always teased him about his car, I knew that it was faster and a lot more versatile than mine. Not to mention that Starsky is the better driver, but don't tell him I said that. But it's true. He'll drive circles around me with his arms tied behind his back. Hell, he could teach our instructor at the academy a thing or two. I'll never admit it to him, but he's easily the best driver in our precinct, maybe on the force. Even with my car he would catch me in no time at all if he wanted to. Probably even in a VW Beetle. In his Striped Tomato he'd have me before I hit the next block without even trying, unless I have enough of a head start and maybe I'll be lucky and the traffic light changes, then it should take him maybe three or four blocks to catch up with me. For a moment I considered calling him on the radio, telling him what I was up to. But then I dismissed the thought. He is a pretty smart guy, he'll figure it out by himself.

For the next few minutes my luck held. Traffic was getting heavy by now, and he couldn't very well turn on the siren and mars light. How would that look? And without that he could only go so fast. You know, it's pretty satisfying, pulling a fast one over a guy like my partner. As I said, he is pretty smart. So, if I can play a trick on him, means I'm smarter, right?

Who am I kidding, he is one of the smartest guys I know. And not just from book learning, either. His intelligence is the natural kind, developed from an early age, and honed in the streets of New York and in the jungles of Vietnam. He hides it pretty well, under his sometimes less than perfect grammar, his sometimes sloppy spelling – and our Captain knows what I mean, he has to read his reports – and his street lingo. But I know nobody else who would make connections between seemingly unrelated events like he does, and who would be right. He can see things that other people, including me, would overlook. His instincts are excellent. Combine all that with his quick reflexes, his skills behind the wheel and with a gun and you have the best cop I ever met. And let's not forget that he has stood his own time and again in hand-to-hand combat, with goons that looked like they could wipe the floor with two of his kind. Instead he was the one that was still standing in the end. But the most important things are those you can't see. His courage, his integrity, and his loyalty. I never met a braver man. And when it comes to his friends or his duty as a police officer, there is nothing he wouldn't do or give. How did I ever get so lucky as to have him as my best friend?

He caught up with me some. Only a few cars between us. A few more minutes, then he would have me, we'd share a good laugh after he ranted a while over my stupid stunt, and told me I'd have to pay for this. I would tell him that at least now he knew for sure that he was the better driver, and after all, if he made me eat this god awful chili, he would have to work for it. To tell you the truth, the thought of that chili place scared me. I'd rather walk into an armed robbery without backup than eat at such a place. Anyway, Starsky would bitch a while, I'd do my best to appease him, and then we would go to this place. At least, that's how I thought it would play out. Just when I thought, 'Now he's got me,' something completely unexpected happened. The traffic light turned red before Starsk could get cross, and when it turned green again, he took a left turn although I knew he had to see me going straight ahead. There were only four cars between us anymore, not enough for a rookie on his first day to lose somebody. Certainly not for a veteran cop like my partner. What the hell happened?

There was only one possible explanation. He wouldn't lose me if he didn't want to, which meant he lost me on purpose. But why?

For all his exuberant nature, his outgoing personality that draws people to him and his carefree manner, he never takes anything for granted. I guess losing your Pop and your home at an early age will do that to you. Sure, he still had his Mom and his little brother, but they were on the other side of the country, thousands of miles away. He had to get by as best he could, and while his aunt and uncle were kind and loving, they were not his parents. And then in the army, he probably saw things I can't even imagine, going to college and peace rallies while he fought in a war few people wanted and fewer understood. Probably lost quite a few buddies over there. So he learned that whatever you think you have, better cherish it while it's there, because it could be gone in a heartbeat.

Is that what happened here? Did he really think I wanted to make a slip? You know, Hutchinson, you really are an ass. You know he wouldn't force his company on anybody if he didn't think they'd want him around. Especially you. And the way you acted, what with first telling him to trust you and then driving off in the opposite direction, what was he supposed to think? Don't feel so smart anymore, huh? Any idea how much that must have hurt him? Just the other day he asked, "Who're we supposed to trust?" And I told him, "Same people we always trust. Us." And now he trusted you, and you broke your promise half a minute later. How should he know that I just wanted to play tag? Well, he would have known, if I'd told him. Damn you, Hutchinson, why can't you use your brain before you play tricks on people? I should have thought about how this would look to him. But that's always my problem. And that's how I end up hurting people. And mostly, I'm ashamed to say, it's my partner. My best friend. Not just because he is always there and therefore an easy target for my jokes, but because he is so forgiving. I'll apologize, and he'll grumble a bit for show but forgive me. Often before I get a chance to apologize. Oh damn. What do I do now?

I did the obvious. Turned around to where I last saw Starsky, but of course when I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. Did a perfect disappearing act. So I did the only thing I could do – drive around, calling myself all kinds of a fool. Stupid. That's what I was. Tried to raise him on the radio, but of course he had it turned off. After all, we were off duty for the last forty minutes or so. Why would he not turn it off? But I was sure that he had it on before I decided to play that infantile trick on him.

An hour later I was still no closer to finding him. Drove by Huggy's, but he wasn't there. Drove by the chili place he had talked about – and it was really hard to find, just as he had said – but he wasn't there, and the owner said he didn't see him that day. Wasn't at home, either. Nor at my place. Tried all the other places I knew where he likes to hang out, though usually we do that together. Finally I admitted defeat and decided to get some take out and go home, and try to think of a good apology for when I was going to see Starsky the next day. By now I felt like a terrible heel. Maybe I could call him later, see if he was home and apologize, try to explain. I'd sure sleep a lot better.

On my way home I remembered that my fridge was almost empty, and what was left was probably about to develop into an intelligent life form. A result of the long hours we've been working lately. Stopping at my favorite grocery store – favorite because they had not just the usual stuff everybody needs, but also most of the health food I prefer – I decided to get what I needed and maybe some of Starsky's favorites. No better way to get on his good side again than with something that's really bad for him. As I got to the check out and looked over the assorted junk food in my shopping cart, I figured that my conscience must be more troubled than I realized before. Very good, Hutchinson, first you berate him for his dietary choices, then you ditch him, and now you want to appease him with the same kind of food you first put him down for. Well done.

There were still two customers in front of me at the check out and I was so busy kicking myself that I didn't notice the four guys entering the store. By the time it was my turn at the cash desk, they had split up, only one remaining near the exit. I couldn't see the others, and that was when suddenly all my alarm bells went off. Before I could do anything, those four guys acted at once. The guy at the exit had a semiautomatic in his right hand and fired once at the ceiling to get everybody's attention, then pointed the gun at the cashier. His instructions were short, simple, and clear. Nobody move, nobody say a word, nobody play hero. Oh yes, and hand over wallets, watches, and jewelry. And maybe nobody would get hurt. Yeah, sure. They would let us go, after showing us their faces. And I have a nice little bridge in New York I'd like to sell.

The cashier was a young girl, probably her first robbery. She was scared out of her wits, and not moving as fast as they perp told her to. No wonder, she was shaking so hard I was surprised she could even open the register. But the goon was not as understanding, and running out of patience fast. Without thinking I placed myself between her and the gun, although it was only my subconscious that registered that the ringleader was about to shoot her. My last conscious thought as the bullet went through my side was that I should have been more careful with what I wished for – now I really was in an armed robbery without backup instead of eating chili with my best friend. Sorry, Starsk...

Starsky

Hutch was in a foul mood since we made the arrest in the parking garage. Okay, so he had a dent in the roof of his car. That would mess up my day, too. But then again, I have a real car. Not that his is so bad, mind you. It's bigger than mine, for one. Means, it's more comfortable in a long stakeout. It's inconspicuous. Nobody would give it a second look. Again, very useful in a stakeout. But it's also little more than a rolling garbage can, what with all the stuff he throws away in the car. Sometimes I'm afraid that the remains of one of his health shakes come to life on the back seat and jump me. Would it really kill him to clean out once in a while? Maybe every other month or so?

But of course the dent ain't the real big problem. I mean, who would notice the difference, anyway. No, I had a sneaking suspicion that he really hurt his back when he landed on the roof. Not that he would admit it, of course. He's been playing stoic, telling me that he just bruised his behind, and if I didn't shut my mouth he would do it for me. Trying real hard to play up his bad temper so I wouldn't notice that he was hurting. Yeah, sure. Coulda fooled me. But I know how it is when people start making a fuss, so I tried to keep everybody else's attention off his back, distracting them so they wouldn't ask too many questions. We were both glad when we could call it a day and leave to get my car from the gym where I left it.

So, when we arrived at Frankie's, I did the same as before. Kept the man busy and his attention on the car so he wouldn't ask questions about Hutch's back. And what thanks did I get? I was granted the overwhelming privilege of paying Hutch's bill. Of course he promised to make it up to me and buy me dinner, but do you have any idea what that guy calls food? Man, I wouldn't survive on the stuff he puts away. I've seen it, it's not pretty. I swear, some of the things he orders in these veggie restaurants he drags me to look at me. Just how does he stay so fit?

But this time he surprised me. I told him about this great chili place over on Broadway. You gotta try it some time. The chili is so hot, it makes you ears smoke. And you can feel it all the way going down. Just like real chili should be. It's the best. And would you believe it, Mr. "You can't eat something like that, it rots your stomach" didn't even complain. And I was happy because that way I could keep an eye on him a little longer and if he should feel worse, I could do something about it. Shoulda known it was too good to be true. Promised me to follow in his car, because it's so hard to find. Said, "Trust me." And I did. Why shouldn't I? After all, he is my partner. My buddy, my best friend in the whole world. Who else should I trust and believe?

Took me all of five seconds to realize I'd been had. He pulled out of that alley after me, but instead of following me as he's promised, he took a right turn where I turned left. Of course I followed him, thought maybe he'd made a mistake. But I figured out pretty fast what was going on. He tried to ditch me. Not too clumsy, either. Guess I should be proud, I taught him everything he knows. But why did he even try? I followed him for several blocks, trying to figure out what the hell was going on in that blond head.

The only explanation I could think of was one I didn't like at all. He wanted to get rid of me. Was pretty clear, right? He was way too quick to agree with that chili place. Shoulda known something was wrong. But then again, how should I know that he would... Why would I suspect that he...

I may not be the brightest star in the sky, but I know how to take a hint. Don't always do what that hint tells me, but usually I know what people want. Like when we talk with witnesses or suspects, I know when they lie and I know when they'd rather see our backs. Not that I always do them the favor, but I know what they want. And now it was one of those times. I got a very clear message. "Get lost." How else should I interpret his actions? But boy, much as I hate to admit it, getting this message from Hutch of all people, that hurt. A lot. Not that he didn't want to spend the evening with me. Sure, we spend a lot of time together, but we're not joined at the hip. What stung was that he didn't just say no, thanks, but that he first suggested having dinner together and then took off. And I know it was not something that came on the radio, because my radio was on and there was no message for us. Besides, we were off duty.

Okay, so I'm pouting here. But this is Hutch we are talking about. Why didn't he just tell me he wanted to be alone, and we would go for dinner another day. Or if he really hated the idea of that chili place so much, I could have settled for something else. He is more important to me than a meal, doesn't he know that? That guy is closer to me than my own brother. Nicky was little when I was sent out here to live with my Aunt Rose and Uncle Al. And New York is a long way from Bay City. There was no money to go back and forth; besides, the whole point in me living with my aunt and uncle was to keep me away from the kind of trouble I could have gotten into at home. After I finished High School, instead of going to some college an all expenses paid trip to Southeast Asia waited for me, courtesy of Uncle Sam. By the time I got home and was ready to leave the VA and go back to New York, I was a stranger. Nicky was all grown up, and didn't need me anymore. Didn't want a big brother, I guess.

So it was back to Bay City and finally I realized the dream I had all my life. Going to the Police Academy, becoming a cop. That's where I met Hutch. We became friends, and the rest, as they say, is history. We became partners as soon as we made detective, and I never had any regrets. Didn't think he had any, either. Hey, it's not like he took Nicky's place. Nicky never had the place in my life and in my heart Hutch had from the beginning.

Always thought he felt the same. Thought he knew he could tell me everything. Heck, if he told me he wanted to be alone, I'd have given him space. Whatever he wants, whatever he needs. What with the last case we had, I could understand if he needed some time to think on his own. Wasn't necessary to ditch me like this. Besides, doesn't he know he has no chance in that piece of scrap metal he calls a car? I'd catch him on foot if I had to. Whatever he says about the Torino, it's faster than most anything out there. Even in rush hour traffic and without mars light and siren it's just a matter of time. See? Just a few cars between us now. I'll have him in a couple minutes, and then he'll answer some questions.

Or will he? If he wanted to talk, he wouldn't try to get away, right? Okay, I can take a hint if I want to. And what this hint means is pretty clear. He wants to be alone, or at least he doesn't want my company for tonight, and he doesn't want to tell me himself. Alright. As I said, whatever he wants, whatever he needs, I'll give him. And if it's solitude, I'll give him that. So, when I had to stop at a red light and he drove off straight ahead, I took a left turn. Maybe I'd call him later, see if he wanted to talk.

Suddenly going to this chili place didn't sound very tempting anymore. Sure, I'd had a bit of a craving for that chili before, but it was gone now, along with my good mood. What I really wanted wasn't the chili, but spending some more time with my partner. Talk the last case over, get it out of our systems. Going there alone didn't sound very appetizing. For some time I drove around, trying to figure out what to do with the evening. At some point I turned off the radio, probably right after I stopped following Hutch. After all, I was off duty, and the calls and static got on my nerves. Instead, I tuned in to a rock station, splitting my attention between the music, traffic and the decision about where to go next. Huggy's was an option, but then I would have to talk, and I wasn't in the mood for that. So after a while I stopped at some small place I didn't know - didn't even pay attention to where it was - and where nobody knew me, ate something I don't remember and probably had a beer with it. Or maybe two.

Must have spent quite a while there, when I got out it was night. Still didn't feel like going home. Hutch didn't answer his phone when I tried it from a pay phone on the corner. I drove by his place, but it was dark, and his car wasn't there. Should I let myself in and wait for him? Might have any other day, but somehow, tonight it didn't feel right. If he really wanted to be alone, me intruding on his privacy was not a good idea. We could always talk tomorrow, after all.

That's when I remembered the reports on our arrests today. We hadn't finished them, just wanted to get out of there, and for once Captain Dobey didn't give us any grieve about it. Actually sent us home, said we'd done good work and after what had happened we deserved a break. But doing those reports seemed more appealing than spending the evening alone at home in front of the TV.

Out of habit I turned the radio on again on the way to the precinct. That's when I overheard a call about a 211 in progress at a grocery store near where Hutch lived. In fact, it was one he frequented quite regularly, they had some of the disgusting stuff he likes along with the real food. Only then did I realize that I was pretty close by, and called in.

The scene was pretty much what we are used to in this business. Except for one thing. Hutch's car was parked almost directly in front of the grocery store, and he was not among the cops who worked on holding the spectators at bay and at the same time tried to get an idea of what was going on inside. I got a real bad feeling about all this. "Detective Starsky. What's going on here. Where's Detective Hutchinson?"

The uniformed officer I was talking to - guy by the name of Harris, said so on his name tag - didn't try to hide his relief. Being one of the older cops around here, circumstances put him in charge. He had absolutely no problem relinquishing that duty to a superior officer. Me, that is. Didn't take him long to brief me. There was not much to be said, somebody passing by the store saw four guys walk in and something in their behavior made him suspicious. Maybe the way they looked around before they entered, or maybe something completely different. Didn't matter. He was already on his way to the phone booth on the corner when he heard the first shot ring out. He called it in, and while he was on the phone, he mentioned something that sounded like a second shot. Then he waited for the cops to arrive. The first unit to arrive was just around the corner when the call came, so it took them less than a minute to get here with lights and siren. Since then the foursome had made themselves comfortable, nobody came out, no contact except them telling the cops on the outside that they would kill their hostages if anybody tried something. Great. How I love these situations. This was probably going to be a case for a SWAT team. I'd call them right away. But first I needed an answer to the most important question. "Where is Detective Hutchinson? Tall, blond guy? His car is parked here, the tan LTD. He's my partner, I'd like to discuss this whole thing with him before I do anything, see what he's done already."

I knew the answer before Harris could open his mouth, the look he gave me was enough. "Sorry, Detective Starsky, there was nobody who fits this description here. If his car is parked here, do you think that maybe -" He broke up, realizing that it probably wasn't very smart to suggest that my partner might be a hostage and in the hands of four brutal robbers. And considering that there had been at least two gunshots, who knew in what condition...

No. Don't go there. First get him out, you can always get scared later. Problem was, I was already scared. Five minutes since the first shot was fired. Whoever was shot in there was running out of time - if they were not dead already. But first things first. Call Dobey, get a SWAT team over here, and an ambulance for whoever had been hurt in there.

The next minutes were a blur. I remember doing what was necessary, but how I did it, I don't know. Did everything by the book, trying to contact the suspects in the store, both on the phone and calling them with the bullhorn. Dobey showed up shortly after that, at about the same time as the SWAT team, and though he tried to hide his concern behind his usual bluster, I could tell he was worried. Almost as much as me.

Captain Tony Callahan, the SWAT team leader, took over, and I didn't mind relinquishing my status as senior officer on the scene in the least. It's hard enough to keep my cool when there are innocent people in danger, without one of them being my best friend. But at least when he's there to share the burden, and most importantly, safe by my side, I can concentrate on the job without getting too emotionally involved. There is always time to relieve the tension afterwards. But now Hutch was in there, in the hands of ruthless armed felons, and maybe hurt. Hopefully they hadn't figured out he was a cop, or it would be even more dangerous for him. By the time Callahan took charge, I had about one nerve left.

But Callahan is a highly skilled expert. I briefed him, and he agreed with me that there was no time to lose. That there was probably somebody hurt, and the faster we got the hostages out the better. Within minutes he had his men posted, and got the suspects to respond to him. As I said, he's good. They wanted the usual, free passage to their getaway car. No money, that would have taken too long to get and they wanted to leave the sooner the better. But they were going to take one of the hostages with them, and they told us the guy they wanted to take along was hurt already. Nobody try anything or he wouldn't need an ambulance anymore. Got an awfully bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, let me tell you. Don't remember ever praying this hard.

Finally, the door opened. Four masked men came out, one of them forcing their hostage to walk in front of him, one arm hooked around his throat so tight that it choked him. The other hand held a semiautomatic, the muzzle pressed against his victim's temple. No big surprise that the man forced to walk as a human shield was Hutch. My heart skipped a few beats when I saw his pale, sweaty face, his obvious struggle for each breath. The pain evident in his features. And the growing stain of blood on his shirt, spreading from his side, covering half of the shirt already, soaking into his pants. Horror doesn't begin to cover it. Oh, my God...

And just as I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, they did - suddenly there was a commotion behind me, somebody tried to break through the cordon formed by the officers on the scene, yelling and screaming something I didn't understand. Before I could think about it, I caught the guy, blocked his path, and that's when there was gunfire from all sides, just as I wrestled the crazed fellow to the ground. He got in a few good licks, think he bruised some ribs there; took a hard one to the guts. Don't remember ever getting punched so hard. Must have hit my head somewhere, too, cause there was a sudden pain in my head, and then everything went black...

Hutch

Those guys really meant business. For a while there I blacked out, but when I came around, you could have cut the air, so much tension was there. One of the other customers wanted to help me take care of my gunshot wound, but they wouldn't let her. But I was relieved to see it wasn't as bad as I thought at first. The main problem was going to be the blood loss, so the sooner I got some medical attention the better. But at least the bullet didn't hit anything vital, like a lung or so. Hurt like blazes, though.

The one good thing in these minutes was the arrival of the police. I can't tell you how I felt when I heard Starsky's voice, amplified by a megaphone. Knowing my partner was out there was an incredible comfort. There isn't anybody I'd rather have covering my back in a situation like that. Scratch that, in ANY situation. He's the one I trust above anybody else. He would do what was necessary. But he would also know that I was in here, and that couldn't be easy. Knowing your partner is in a potentially dangerous situation is always hard, and not knowing in what condition that partner is, makes it worse. And we are not just partners. We are best friends. As close as you can get to another person. And though nobody else would have heard that, it told in his voice. He was scared for me. And he would do anything - anything at all - to get me out of this alive. And if that meant to let somebody else take over, he would do it - no place for pride here.

Sure enough, pretty soon another voice was heard. The SWAT team leader, but I was so dizzy from the blood loss I found it too hard to concentrate on just what he said. Didn't take long after that. The gang leader told me to get up and when I wasn't fast enough, grabbed me and jerked me to my feet. Was almost grateful. I don't think I would have been able to get up without help anyway. Then he turned me around, wrapped his arm around my throat so tight that I could hardly breathe and pressed his gun against my temple. The others fell into step behind us as he made me walk ahead of him, slowly, making sure his finger was on the trigger. Outside, a SWAT team was posted in strategic positions, squad cars parked everywhere. And Starsky. His wide, horrified eyes. Then suddenly all hell broke lose. Some guy started to yell around, went berserk, really. Man, that guy was a giant. It would probably take three or four of our guys to take him down. I really don't know what happened next. The blood loss finally caught up with me, and the world around me disappeared in a gray haze that quickly turned black...

Starsky

"Dave? Come on, can you wake up now, please?"

At first I wasn't sure what was going on; my head hurt something fierce, and somebody lightly patted my cheek. The voice talking to me, though barely above a whisper, seemed overly loud, and for some reason I felt about ready to lose my dinner right then and there. Experience told me I was most likely concussed, which accounted for the headache and nausea. But not for Dobey calling me 'Dave'. That was bad. Really bad. It was something he hardly ever did. You had to be dying at least for our Captain to call you by your first name. And I couldn't remember him ever talking that softly and gently, either.

"Cap? What happened?" I squinted my eyes, trying to take in the look in his eyes, trying to make some sense of everything that was going on around me. The crowd had all but dispersed, the suspects were gone, paramedics were taking care of a few people who I figured were hostages. But the one person I wanted to see most and who under normal circumstances would be the one tending to me when I was unconscious, was nowhere to be seen. "Where's Hutch?"

Just what took him so long to answer that question? Wasn't so hard, didn't even use any big words. That's more Hutch's forte, anyway. And why did he avert his eyes? Looked almost like he didn't want to answer, or at least like he didn't want to look at me while he answered. Damn. Didn't like that at all. And then he turned to meet my eyes, and I wished he hadn't. He didn't even have to say anything anymore. The look in his eyes, the expression of his face, said it more clearly than words ever could. For a moment I had to look away, and that was the exact moment one of the paramedics pulled a sheet over the face of a still figure on a gurney. All I got was the barest glimpse of golden hair, but it was enough. I could actually feel the blood draining from my face while my stomach again tried to get rid of its contents. But there on that stretcher was Hutch, and I didn't have time for the luxury of getting sick right now. Swallowing the bile in my throat I pushed the Captain aside, and stumbled over to where a seasoned paramedic got ready to load the gurney into the back of the ambulance. He saw me coming, though, and paused. His eyes conveyed his sorrow and sympathy and understanding, and he left me alone for a moment.

How do you say good bye to the most important thing in your life? No, how do you say good bye to your reason for living? My hands shook so hard, I almost couldn't pull back the sheet from his face. Almost. Now was not the time for weakness. I don't remember all of what happened, the things I said and did while kneeling next to that still figure. All I know is, never in my life have I felt so lost. There he lay, the blue eyes that I always considered the windows to his beautiful soul forever closed. The eyes that could flash anger at the bad guys, that could promise mortal danger if he played bad cop or if there was some threat towards an innocent person or towards me. The same eyes that held nothing but compassion for the unfortunate ones he encountered. The eyes that could dance with joy and laugh about my stupid jokes. The eyes I would never again see, and never as long as I lived forget.

You know, it is often said that hearts break. And let me tell you, I knew how that feels. Found that out when my Pop died; when I was so sad and lonely and miserable I didn't know what to do next and didn't think life could possibly go on. Guess what? That was nothing. Crouching on the ground next to my best friend's body, I learned that my grief back then was nothing compared to what I was in for now. Already I wished I could trade places with him. When my Pop was shot, right in front of my eyes, I was scared and yes, my heart broke. Watching your own father die is something no young kid should have to go through, and it messed me up pretty good. But now my heart didn't just break, it shattered into about a million tiny little pieces, too small to put together again even if I wanted to. And why should I want to, anyway? Hutch's heart didn't beat anymore, so why should mine? His heart, the most generous, loving, caring heart I ever encountered.

As I gently stroked his cheek, thumbing his eyebrows, ran my hands through his hair one last time it hit me that it was all my fault. My fault that he didn't go home right away after dropping me off at Vinnie's. My fault that he drove around after that, trying to give me a slip, trying to get some privacy. Why didn't I just leave him alone, when he was in such a bad mood anyway? He would have gone home, maybe stopped to shop for groceries, but that would have been long ago, and he wouldn't have been in there when the store was robbed. The realization that my best friend in the whole world was dead because of me hit me so hard it took my breath away. I couldn't get any air into my lungs and as I blacked out I thought how appropriate it was that I was choking to death after killing my own partner...

Chapter 2

Sounds all around. Not very loud, but there. Muffled, through a closed door. People walking, talking, a PA system. That was loud enough, but I was too tired to concentrate on what they were saying. And there were smells. A mixture of smells, hard to tell apart, but the combination screamed "hospital".

Hospital. Now you gotta know, I really hate hospitals. Always did. People die in hospitals. My Pop was taken to a hospital after being shot, and I went along. Didn't want to take me along, but I was clinging so hard, they had no choice, except maybe to knock me out or remove me surgically. When we arrived, they took him to a trauma room and some kind soul convinced me to wait outside. Said they needed the room to work and try and save my Pop, and I would just be in the way. By the time Ma and Pop's partner arrived with a black and white, the doctor was already trying his best to comfort me. All his hard work had been in vain. Pop was just too badly hurt. He had literally bled to death right on their table.

I hate hospitals. Really, really, hate them. But I've always tried to face facts, learned that very early in life. So I cautiously opened my eyes, finding an IV stand to my right, the tube going into the back of my right hand. Seems somebody told them I'm left-handed. White sheet covering me. And a splitting headache. Yep, hospital indeed. Any other day I would have complained ceaselessly, but today I was actually grateful. Because if I had such a headache and was in a hospital, that probably meant I was concussed. And that meant it might be just a horrible dream... Yeah, maybe I had a bad concussion, maybe my head was just messed up... maybe I'd been hurt and feverish and in a coma, and that's what gave me that terrible, unbearable nightmare. Oh God, please let it be me that's hurt and all this is a bad nightmare...

There was a presence with me in that room. Not Hutch, I would have felt it if it was him. Somebody else. Did I dare turn my head and face whoever it was? As I said, I usually try to face reality, knowing sooner or later it will catch up with me anyway. But this was the worst reality ever.

Slowly, both so as not to aggravate my head and to play for some more time, I turned to face my visitor. And wished at the next moment I hadn't. The look on Captain Dobey's face was more than I could bear. Because the deep sorrow in his dark eyes and the unnatural pallor of his face told me more clearly than anything that it wasn't just a horrible nightmare. That it was really true. Hutch was dead. Oh, great God. Three simple words. Never knew that three little words could hurt so much.

"Don't try to move, Dave, you have a pretty bad concussion." Dobey's voice sounded worried, tired, and sad. His eyes were unusually bright, like from unshed tears. And he called me 'Dave' again. He never did that unless I was dying or something.

Still remember when he did it for the first time, couple years back. Hutch and me were off duty, wanted to cash in our paychecks. Stupid luck had it that this really high strung junkie picked this time and place to get a little cash to support his habit a little longer. Won't bore you with the details, but after that guy stabbed me, Hutch took care of the situation, disarmed the junkie and let in the waiting officers. Dobey was there, too. Among the other hostages was a doctor who immediately got to work. Gotta tell ya, I was bleeding like nobody's business. And whatever he did, it hurt. Hurt like blazes. The details are a little fuzzy, but I remember Hutch letting me grab and squeeze his hand while the doc worked, and Dobey restraining me. And talking to me. Telling me to hold on, over and over. Calling me 'Dave'. Later they told me that if that doc hadn't been there, I wouldn't have made it to the hospital alive.

Yeah, the first time Cap called me 'Dave' I was hurting pretty badly. Nothing compared to now. Back then I knew the pain would go away once I was healed, and I had Hutch there to help me through it. Now...

Better acknowledge the Captain. I mean, he's been talking to me, would be rude not to answer. But then I found that talking was not as easy as I remembered. Took me several tries to finally get a word out. Didn't even have to think of what to say, came naturally.

"Hutch?" Holy shit, was that really my voice? Didn't sound like it.

And was that really our tough as nails captain, the same guy who could make the walls and windows at Metro rattle when he yelled for us. The same guy who now picked up my hand and held it in both of his, lowered his head and said, "I'm sorry, son."

SON! Oh God, this was worse than I thought. He'd never - never! - before called me 'son'. Okay, time to face reality.

"It's true, then? Hutch-" My voice gave out, I had to try again. Take a deep breath. Ouch, sonuvabitch, why does that hurt? "Hutch is really dead?"

Now Harold Dobey is a smart man. These are the seventies, but if you are black you still have to be twice as good than the rest and work twice as hard to get where he is now. And you don't make it to Captain if you don't have the brains to back it up, not even if you are white. So, as I said, Dobey is no fool. And he proved it again. Didn't lay it on me all at once. Tested the waters, as it were.

"What do you remember?"

Good question. Actually, not much. I remembered waiting, scared for my partner, unable to do anything. But that's not what he meant. From the events that led to my being here, I remembered little if anything. They were coming out of the store, Hutch being used as a shield. I thought that he looked bad, but had no time to assess his condition because suddenly all hell broke lose. Somebody was yelling something behind me, then tried to run forward, right into the line of fire. I think I grabbed him and pulled him down, after that I'm not sure what happened. I have a vague memory of seeing Hutch from afar, lying on a gurney, and somebody covered his face with a sheet. And then... Damn. I don't remember. Did I at least get to say goodbye?

"The guy who flipped out there was the father of the girl working at that store. He came to pick her up after work, seems she loaned him her car because his was in the shop. He arrived just in time to see what was going down. He saw them coming out with Hutch and realized that his little girl was in danger and went crazy. Went berserk, actually. He cracked a few of your ribs and all but smashed your head in. In all that commotion, the guy who held Hutch panicked and-"

He broke off. Our gruff, no-nonsense captain. The guy who could chew ass better than an army drill sergeant. He couldn't speak past the tightness in his throat. And I couldn't - wouldn't - make him. This had to be hard on him, too. Losing men under your command is always bad. And he knew exactly what it was like to lose a partner. I didn't know any details, but his own partner had been killed, too. Looking at him now, I knew he remembered. And the memory still hurt.

"It's okay, Cap. You don't need to say more. I get it. Only - what happened to the perps? Did the SWAT guys get them?" Was there anything left for me to do when I got out of the hospital? Could I do anything to bring the men who had murdered my partner, my best friend, to justice?

"We got 'em, one and all. The guy who killed Hutch was shot and killed on the spot before he got off another shot, the others were trying for a showdown. They had to take them out, there were too many civilians around."

From the look on his face and the tone of his voice I knew Dobey understood. Understood why that didn't make me happy. Not just because I don't like unnecessary bloodshed any better than he does. But also because it meant that there was nothing left in this life I could do for Hutch. Except making the necessary arrangements. Talk to his parents. Oh, man...

"His parents came down for the funeral. They realized he would want to be buried here, not in Minnesota. After all, this is the place he chose as his home."

WHAT! They came down... just how long have I been out of commission? Don't tell me the funeral is already over, don't tell me I was out of it when they put him in the ground, don't tell me I didn't get to say my final goodbyes, didn't get to - oh God, NOOO!

"Cap, how long have I been here?"

Another sigh from the chair beside my bed. Another truth he didn't want to tell me, and realized he had to tell me anyway. "Almost a week. That head wound was really bad, for a while we didn't know if you would make it. I didn't think you could even move, but then you rushed to Hutch's side, and when you passed out there the fall aggravated your head. The funeral was three days ago. His parents left the day after."

I couldn't freaking believe it. Almost a week? I'd been out for almost a week? And they thought I wouldn't make it? Now that was a nice thought. Never waking up to that kind of reality actually sounded better than having to live it. Knowing that not only had Hutch been alone when he died, but I had not even been there when they put him in the ground. Had not been the one to call his parents. Had not been there to tell them how deeply, truly sorry I was for their loss. Had not been there to tell them what a great friend he had been, the best damn cop on the force, and the plain best guy I had ever known. How proud they should be of him. How proud and honored I had always been that he would call me his friend. How I would never forget him. How I would remember him as the bravest, kindest man I'd ever met. And how I would miss him. Every single day for the rest of my life.

Of course, the fact remains that maybe they wouldn't have wanted to hear all that from me. They've never been too happy about his decision to become a cop. But at least I would have been there for them to vent their anger and frustration.

Obviously, at some point Captain Dobey had pushed the call button. Before I could say anything, or ask any further questions, a doctor entered the room and asked the captain to leave. The doctor introduced himself, but I didn't pay attention, then he asked me the usual questions. You know, the year, the president, my name. That kind of stuff. Just to make sure my brains haven't fallen out or whatever. I answered as good as I could, and he seemed to be satisfied. Pleased, actually. Congratulated me on my progress, told me I was in better condition than he had expected, and in a few days I could go home. Maybe even tomorrow or the day after that, if I had somebody around to look after me.

That did it. I had always been pretty self reliant. Hated it when my aunt fussed over me, and later in the army nobody even thought of fussing over anyone. That changed only when I met Hutch. Especially since we became partners. Whenever one was sick or hurt, the other was there to take care of him, and yes, to fuss. We were both two old mother hens where the other was concerned. So any other time I would have told that doc, sure, my partner's gonna take care of me. From now on I was on my own again. And even though that sounds childish and petty, this was when everything got too much and I gave in. The dam broke, and I started to cry so hard my cracked ribs felt like they were gonna snap. And that was only one more thing that brought my new reality home - before, Hutch would have held me and comforted me if I really got to the point of crying. But then again, with him around I wouldn't have a reason to cry right now.

The doctor tried to calm me down, telling me it was bad for my ribs and my head to get so upset, but guess what, that didn't really help. Looking back, I realize he was in a bad position - you don't give sedatives to people with head injuries, but on the other hand, the way I carried on he had no choice or I would hurt myself more. And again everything went fuzzy, dark, and finally black around me, only this time I fervently wished I wouldn't have to wake up again, at least not in a world without Hutch...

Chapter 3

"Do you think the filter will handle it all?"

What the heck was this guy talking about? What filter? And handle what? Hutch and I were sure grateful that he allowed us to use the dryer in the apartment building's laundry. But then he started rattling off all that junk about us being cops, so we would know all about blood. Wasn't as stupid as he looked, though. He perfectly well understood the look Hutch and I gave him for that. Scrambled real fast after that, telling us where the phone was and reminding us to dial 8 for an outside line. That's when Hutch froze. There he stood, his hair still dripping wet, trying to get his boots dry, suddenly staring off into space.

"Damn." He had that tone in his voice -

"What?" I hardly looked up from trying to dry my gun.

Still not turning around. "That's it. That's what Fat Rolly didn't do. He didn't dial for an outside line."

Huh? "What are you talking about?"

Finally Hutch turned to look at me. "When Fat Rolly was released, he made a phone call. But he didn't dial 8 for an outside line. He dialed four numbers. Now, don't you see? That's an extension inside the building." He started to pace the small room between the washing machines.

Now surely Hutch couldn't mean what I thought he meant, could he? Nah. "Maybe he made a mistake."

But Hutch was sure. "No way. He's been in that slammer more times than he can remember. He knows what to do to get an outside line."

I still refused to believe the implications. Didn't want to believe what that would mean. "He could have forgotten. He was under a lot of pressure."

"Sure. Sure, he was under a lot of pressure." Nobody does sarcasm as well as Hutch when he wants to. He stopped his pacing right next to me, looked straight in my eyes. "He knows who the trigger men are. And he knows there is somebody in the department that's setting us up." His voice held absolute conviction.

But that couldn't be, right? Somebody in the department? A cop! No way. "What are you talking about, nobody in the department's setting anything -"

"How did they know we had taken over on this stakeout?"

Now wait a minute. Nobody had known about this assignment, except -. No. That was impossible. Or was it? I stared at Hutch with something between total disbelief - this can't be true, it can't be a brother cop that's behind all this! - and total trust in his assessment of the situation. "We called it in to headquarters. That's how they knew. And somebody's feeding them our whereabouts every time we call it in."

Not that I didn't believe him, but I had to play devil's advocate. "Wait a second. What you're saying, is that Captain Dobey (no, impossible, not Dobey!) or Henderson (well, maybe...) or Dobey and Henderson (those two together? nah...) or Dobey and Steele (now there's a laugh!) or Henderson and Steele (why not?) or any other of nine million other guys who might be trying to kill us has a direct pipeline to the department?" Kinda scary, when you think about all the guys who might want to burn us.

"That's right. That's right."

Have you ever felt that it's the whole world against you and the guy next to you? Well, that's how I felt at that moment. If Hutch was right, and I didn't doubt it for a moment, we were all alone. And there was nothing in the police officer's manual to cover a situation like this. "Who we supposed to report this to?" Are they all crooked? "I mean who the hell're we supposed to trust!" It's just me and thee again - will I be enough to protect you against all that are after our hides?

For a moment Hutch lowered his head, and when he looked up and into my eyes again, he had the most gentle smile on his face. You know, one of my neighbors is a really devout catholic, and I heard her recite the Athan- whatever, could never pronounce that word, creed a hundred times. Never held as much conviction as Hutch's voice when he said, "Same people we always trust. Us."

He was right, of course. Nobody else, with the possible exception of his parents and my mom, cared as much as we did.

But suddenly something - no, everything - went wrong. Four armed guys busted into the place and before we could even react, one shot Hutch, then grabbed him from behind, holding him up with his forearm around his neck and the gun pressed into his temple. Blood was flowing freely from his wound, and yet Hutch looked at me with the same trust and conviction in his eyes as before, and whispered, "I trust you."

Don't know what happened after that, next thing I remember is kneeling next to a gurney, lifting the sheet from Hutch's face, trying to say my goodbyes. I stammered something incoherent, then suddenly those blue eyes opened and looked at me, and the trust was gone. All there was, was disappointment and betrayal. And his voice was clear, hard and accusing as he said, "I trusted you. Why did you do this?"

Then those eyes closed again, and I heard a desolate wailing sound. Like somebody got his heart ripped out without anesthesia. Realized dimly that it was me who made that sound. Then two strong hands gripped my shoulders, not quite shaking me, but holding me so I couldn't move, and a voice penetrated the fog in my brain.

"Dave, calm down. It's just a dream, it's okay, shhh, everything's going to be fine."

What was he talking about? Slowly my brain started functioning again. Wished it hadn't. Returning consciousness brought with it the pain from my broken ribs and concussion. That wouldn't have been so bad. Too bad it also brought with it the memory of what had happened, and the pain in my heart overshadowed the pain from my injuries by far. And whoever it was who was with me had the nerve to tell me, that it was okay, that it was just a dream...

I struggled to open my eyes to look at whoever was with me. White lab coat, stethoscope dangling from his pocket, worried, compassionate gray eyes. Doctor whatshisname. Jefferson? Could be.

"Better? Seems you had a nightmare. Must have been a doozy." His voice reflected the same worry his eyes showed, the same compassion. Seeing that I had calmed down to the point where I was no longer fighting him, he let go of my shoulders.

"Dream wasn't so bad. Reality is worse." It was. Nobody could wake me up from this waking nightmare.

To his credit, the doc seemed to understand that I didn't want to hear any empty platitudes. He refrained from again telling me everything would be fine. Probably realized that wouldn't be the right time for me to hear this. As far as I was concerned, there would never be the right time for hearing it. Things would never be okay again.

For the next few minutes, the doc busied himself with examining me again. Told me my ribs were healing nicely, my temperature was back to normal, and he would be able to remove the stitches in my head in another three days or so. Not that I cared about any of it. He didn't press me for conversation, but suggested I should talk to somebody when I was ready, that it would help.

I looked at him with that kind of disbelief I usually reserve for a pusher who tells me he didn't do anything wrong after I watched him selling dope to a minor. "How's that supposed to help, huh? Only thing that would help would be for Hutch to come back, and that's not a very likely thing to happen, right?" Couldn't help it if I was a little sarcastic. But really, what was he thinking?

"Okay, Dave, why don't you try to get some rest now. Do you need something for the pain?"

I turned his offer down; for one thing, the pain really wasn't that bad anyway, and most importantly, I hoped it would distract me a little from my grief. Not that I really expected anything to help...

Chapter 4

I don't remember much from the next few days. Guess they were just more of the same. Doctors and nurses waking me up at all hours, sometimes because they wanted to poke and prod me some more, sometimes because I was having another nightmare. Seemed the doc had been overly optimistic when he said I could go home so soon, though. Took me much longer to get back to where he felt safe to release me. Didn't care much, though.

That's probably what worried Dobey and Huggy most. Usually I would chafe at an overnight stay at a hospital, this time I didn't complain when they kept me for almost four weeks. I could see their concern in their eyes, in the furtive glances they exchanged, whispered conversations when they thought I was sleeping. C'mon, guys, give me a break, I'm a detective! But I still couldn't bring myself to really care. Took too much energy, I guess.

They didn't like me not eating, either. Okay, so nobody likes hospital food. But Huggy brought me some of my favorites and Captain Dobey smuggled in some food his wife had made for me, and I was with it enough to realize that any other time I would have devoured it. And it's not that I didn't try, believe me. I knew I worried my friends, but the mere smell of food made me sick to my stomach. Either because it simply was nauseating - the hospital food - or because it reminded me of what I lost. Burritos, tacos, donuts, French toast, Danish - either it was something Hutch loved as well or something he teased me about. The doctors even encouraged them to bring in food they thought I would like, seems they didn't care for me not eating right, either. Huggy, God love him, even brought my favorite kind of chili in one time, you know, from that place over on Broadway. Guess how that went over? I knew I could never eat that again. Not after my insistence on getting that special chili was what ultimately led to Hutch getting killed.

So I ate just as much as I absolutely had to. In time I learned to stomach the hospital food enough to satisfy the doctors and to convince them that I wouldn't starve. Twenty-six days after that horrible day I was released from the hospital.

Chapter 5

Huggy was ready to take me home when the doctor finally signed my release papers. Another reminder that things were never going to be the same. Usually it would be Hutch... Oh man, is that what my life had come to? Thinking of the way things used to be? Whatever happened to 'face reality'? I used to be self-reliant. Not much left of that, either, huh? Pretty pathetic. But know what? I didn't care. Seemed since I first woke up, I didn't care much about anything.

Dobey insisted on me taking off a couple of weeks, after that he would put me on desk duty and see how things turned out. Didn't care about that, either. Didn't think I could work with another partner anytime soon. Like the next fifty years or so. If he didn't let me work alone, I might as well take a desk job. And if I took a desk job, I might as well quit the force. Couldn't see myself doing nothing but paperwork. So, all in all I was looking at a very uncertain future, and not even that managed to pull me out of my lethargy.

Dobey came by a few times. Edith, too. Brought something to eat, even cleaned up a little. Not that there was much to clean up. What little food I managed to force down didn't leave much in the line of dishes. Huggy checked up on me, made sure I took my meds. Tried to cajole me into eating more. I really tried to do him the favor, but it wasn't much good.

Can't really say just what I did during that time. Couldn't have been much. Mostly sleeping, I guess. I really don't remember. All I know is that all my conscious thoughts were filled with memories. Memories of Hutch and me together. Everything I did reminded me of him. Heck, everything I had reminded me of him. And I couldn't stop thinking of Hutch in present tense. Like, 'he loves that song' instead of 'he loved that song.' Or with some of the stuff Edith Dobey or Huggy brought by to eat, a couple times I actually saved him some of his favorites, not really realizing I did that. It wasn't like I forgot for one moment that he was... you know, the d-word. Just couldn't bear to even say it. Still can't, I guess.

Days passed in a haze, one day merging into the next. My head still hurt, and my ribs were still a little tender, too. Every couple days Huggy took me to my doctor's appointments. Doctor Jefferson wasn't very happy with the way I kept losing weight, but he said the ribs were healing nicely, and finally the stitches in my head could come out right on schedule. By then, the headache was mostly gone. Jefferson was satisfied that my brain wouldn't fall out or anything, so as long as I didn't overdo it, I was cleared to drive, too.

Now being able to drive was a step toward getting back my independence. Independence? What a joke. Sure, I was obviously able to dress myself and get around, I just didn't feel like it. But driving sounded like something remotely enjoyable and it would get me out of my apartment that was so full of painful memories, so I tried it. Drove around town, pretending I was just going to pick Hutch up from somewhere, or that I had just dropped him off at home so he could change for a hot date. For a while it even worked, and it was almost like it used to be. Like it was supposed to be. But I couldn't keep up the pretense very long. The Torino headed to the one place I didn't want to go, seemingly out of her own volition. The cemetery.

Dobey had taken me here after I was released from the hospital. It had been so unreal, like walking in a nightmare. Except that from this nightmare I couldn't wake up. Now that I had found my way to his grave on my own, it was like everything came crushing down at once. See, one thing I know I had not done since that time in the hospital, was cry. At least not when I was awake. What was the point, anyway? Crying helps when there is somebody around to hold and comfort you. But the one person I had always turned to for that was gone... Guess I cried a few times in my sleep, though, I remember waking up with a sodden pillow. But now I found myself kneeling next to a headstone marking the final resting place of the best friend I ever had and ever would have.

"Kenneth 'Hutch' Hutchinson.
Beloved son, brother, friend.
May 28, 1948 - March 19, 1975"

There was more, but my vision got blurred all of a sudden, and the next thing I knew, tears were running down my face, and I sobbed for all I was worth, unable to stop. It was a pretty secluded place, nobody else around to disturb me or to be disturbed by me, and even if there had been other people around, I don't think I could have stopped to save my life. Not that that was worth all that much to me at the moment, anyway. But there was nobody around, and that was fine with me. I let out all the grief, pain and loss I felt, talking to Hutch for the first time since it happened, telling him all that he meant to me. How I missed him. How he had made the world a better place. How the world was a colder, darker place now that he was gone. How sorry I was for every time I had been an asshole. How sorry I was for pushing him that day after the gym. For not saving him. How I would trade my life for his if I could. How I would love to join him wherever he was...

Must have cried myself to sleep. When I woke up, I was stiff, sore and physically and emotionally drained. But my mind was clearer than it had been since - well, since then. Hutch wouldn't want me to give up on life. He would be the first to kick my butt for the way I had carried on the last few weeks. I could almost hear him. "Come on Starsk, I know it's hard and I feel kinda honored that you would miss me that much, but you gotta hold on. Don't give up now, okay?" And I've always listened to Hutch. Well, most of the time, anyway. Only when he wasn't carrying on about his health food and stuff. But when it was about something important, I've always listened. And as hard as it was, as much as it would hurt - heck, hurt already - I would listen now, too. I promised to be okay. For Hutch. Because I would do anything for Hutch.

"I promise, Hutch. I promise to hold on and keep going for both of us. Don't worry about me, babe. I'll be okay, well, more or less. But I'll be looking forward to when we see each other again..."

Chapter 6

After saying goodbye to Hutch and promising I would come back soon, I slowly walked back to my car. Deciding to carry on for Hutch was one thing, now I had to figure out how to go about it and what to do next. Getting something to eat would probably be a good start. After all, for weeks everybody had nagged me about that eating thing. Like it mattered. Oops, hadn't I just decided that I was going to go on? Okay, so I guess that meant eating mattered after all. For a moment I wondered if after all those weeks I had fasted, I could still eat real food, real portions. Time to find out, and Huggy's sounded like the best place to go. At least I knew he wouldn't take it personal if I didn't eat up. So, my mind made up, I turned the Torino towards Huggy's, trying to imagine his face when I showed up there so I wouldn't suffocate on the emptiness of the passenger seat.

Entering that familiar place I felt decidedly lopsided. This was the first time I went there since... then. Seems from now on it would always be before then and since then. Shaking my head slightly at my own trail of thought I walked up to the bar and tried to think of something to say.

"Starsky my man, good to see you!" For someone who could talk circles around a senator, he was pretty short. But I could still hear the telltale catch in his voice. And for the first time since you know what I really looked at him. Until now I had been too wrapped up in my own misery to see the strain all this put on my friends. On Hutch's friends. Huggy clearly was exhausted, he had an air of sadness around him that spoke volumes about his feelings, and his eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed and there were dark rings under them. No, definitely not sleeping well. But I could also tell that he was glad to see me, and I felt awful for leaning on him so much - did he even get a chance to work through his own grief while taking care of me?

"Hey, Hug." Very eloquent, huh? But I couldn't get more than that past the new lump in my throat. Plus my eyes started to burn and I had the feeling that I would do something embarrassing right there in the bar. But that didn't matter. Hug came around the bar, and without another word wrapped me in a bear hug, no pun intended. Now, despite his name he is not usually very demonstrative, and hugging another man in a public place would not be something he'd do if he could help it. That he would go this far to show how much he missed Hutch and how much he had missed me - the real me - showed a depth of feeling that not many would expect from him.

Huggy joined me for dinner in a quiet booth. I was able to get down half a burger and a few fries before my stomach told me it was enough, that it wouldn't keep down any more. Was more than I had eaten in a while. Since you know when. Even Huggy was pleased with the amount of food I put away, though before this wouldn't have been enough to even whet my appetite. But I was determined to get there, if only to keep my promise to Hutch and to ease the worry of all my other friends. Huggy, Dobey, some of the guys at work who called and sent cards. Even Dobey's family, his wife and kids. Cal was old enough to understand, and old enough to be angry at the injustice of it all. He even said he was glad the guys who killed Hutch were dead, that they didn't deserve to live after what they had done. Not that I could really disagree, but it shocked me a little to hear a nice boy like him say something like this. Rosie was too young to really understand, but she was terribly sad and missed her Uncle Hutch. For all of them I wanted to make an effort.

Seems my breakdown at Hutch's grave actually did me some good. For the first time since then I was able to really hold a conversation. Don't get me wrong, it still hurt like hell. And I knew perfectly well that it would hurt for the rest of my life. But I suddenly remembered this guy I met in 'Nam, who lost both legs under fire. At first nobody thought he would even live, but then he fooled everybody and got better. And guess what? I saw him last year on TV, playing basketball. He's a star player with the NWBA. And I figured, if he could learn to live without his two legs, there might be a chance for me to learn to live without Hutch. Though, honestly, I'd give both my legs and arms and my left kidney to have him back... Come on, Dave, get a grip! You promised Hutch you would go on, so now do it, dammit!

Over the next few days I made an effort to eat, drink and live normally. And it was an effort. All the things that had always come naturally, getting up in the morning, shaving, getting dressed, preparing food, cleaning up - the things that were always a part of my life as far as I remembered (okay, maybe except the shaving part) were now difficult. I had to concentrate on which way to put on my pants, and shaving was an adventure. Cleaning up was one thing I got lots of practice in, made a mess every time I did anything. And everything I did was hard work. But at least that meant that I was hungry and tired enough to eat and sleep.

That's pretty much how I spent the better part of three weeks after my release from the hospital. One thing I did almost daily after that first time, I drove out to see Hutch. Couldn't bear to stay away. We - I mean, I - didn't always talk, sometimes I just sat there. Thinking, remembering. Felt closer to him there. What a weird thing to say. Especially since he seemed to be everywhere. There was not a thing I did or saw or heard that didn't remind me of our time together.

Finally I had enough of all that sitting around and recuperating. By now I could manage the headaches without pain pills and the doc said my ribs were going to be as good as new in another week or two. So by the end of my third week at home, after my last doctor's appointment where I was cleared for at least desk duty, I went down to metro to talk to Dobey.

Walking into the squad room felt definitely weird. Not just because everybody seemed to stop what they were doing and told me they were sorry about Hutch. Even those who couldn't drop everything and come up and talk to me gave me glances that said it all. Not that I was surprised. Hutch is - was - a really likable guy, and probably the best cop I ever met. Of course they would miss him. Plus, every cop understands what it means to lose a partner, even if they pray never to find out what it feels like.

But as I said, that wasn't the main reason why it felt weird. The main reason was, Hutch wasn't there. Sounds stupid, huh? Of course he wasn't. After all, I had visited with him almost every day since I got my driving status back. Still, somehow I almost expected him to come down a corridor or walk out of the men's room or sit at his desk, pecking away on a report. Instead, when I walked through the glass doors, I immediately saw his now empty desk, everything cleared away like he had never been there. Don't know why that would shock me like that, of course it had to be cleared out for the next guy who would use it. Still, seeing it like that for the first time was like a sucker punch. And I wondered how I would ever be able to look at somebody else sitting across from me...

Somehow I managed to pull myself together enough to knock at Dobey's door. That in itself would have worried him enough, I've never been known to abide much by such social niceties as knocking on doors unless I absolutely have to. But then again, I haven't been quite myself either, recently. Anyway, I walked in after knocking, and I sat down carefully in my customary chair. The one that sat beside Hutch's customary chair. Damn, I really had to stop doing this!

For a few moments the Captain remained silent, and I had to make an effort not to squirm under his scrutiny. Finally he said, "You look-" Please don't say good or even better, or I'll scream! "like you've been eating." He smiled a little. "I know it won't get better over night, but in time it will hurt a little less."

Was that supposed to comfort me? But at least he was honest. And if anybody knew what it was like to lose your partner, your best friend, it was him. I didn't want to open old wounds, but I had to know. "Cap... does it ever go away?"

At first, he said nothing, his eyes taking on a far away look. He seemed to try to find a way to put into words what could never be put in to words. Then he again looked into my eyes, and the sadness there gave me little hope. "Sorry, Dave, I wish I could say it will. But it doesn't. You just learn to live with it. I was lucky, I had Edith." I knew what he didn't say - the one person who could have helped me was no longer there. The one person who could have helped me was the one person I mourned. For the rest of my life I would just have to take it one day at a time, trying to get by. Not very appealing. Not at all. But I had promised Hutch, so I had to do my best.

"Cap, I want to come back. I need to work again. At home I'm just going crazy." That took him a little by surprise, but he was pleased. But he was also worried if I really knew what I was doing. After all, here was where most of my memories were. The look he gave me spoke volumes. But I wasn't finished yet. "But I better tell you up front, I won't work with another partner. Never again. I work alone or not at all."

Now that part didn't surprise him at all. Looked like he expected as much. After a few more moments of looking at me like he was trying to find out how I was really doing, he nodded. "All right, Starsky, if that's what you want. For the time being, you are going to ride a desk, and as soon as your doctor clears you for active duty, you're back on the roster. I won't assign you a new partner, but I expect you to be available as a temporary partner if I need you. And I expect you not to give me any grieve about it, either, understood?"

See, that's our - damn, my captain. There are so many reasons why I respect him - he is always there for his men, even if it means taking some heat from higher up. He really cares for the officers under his command. And you always know where you stand with him. Right now I knew I could depend on him not to go behind my back to assign me some wet behind the ears rookie as a partner, and not to force me to work with somebody else on a permanent basis. He knew I couldn't. But I also knew he wouldn't take any static from me if at one point he needed me to work as a temporary partner with some other detective. I could take it or leave it, knowing he would not go back on his word.

Of course I accepted. Right now I couldn't think of anything else to do, police work is the only thing I knew how to do right. Besides, I promised Hutch to keep going for both of us. For me, that meant going on as a cop. Didn't necessarily mean to work with a partner. Now that I think of it, after my Pop got killed, his partner remained on the force, but he never worked with anybody else again, either.

"Then that's settled. I'll see you on Monday morning. And Dave, you might want to think of something else." He paused, regarding me thoughtfully. Then he continued, "Why don't you take the Lieutenant's exam? I know you could do it, and as terrible as it is, this might be the best time to do it."

Lieutenant's exam! Guess the look I gave the Cap was a mix of incredulous and stupid. Before I could think of a reply, he added, "Don't say anything yet, just think it over. Oh, and by the way, Edith asks if you want to come over tomorrow, we're having barbecue for dinner. Rosie and Cal ask about you all the time."

That's Captain Dobey for you. From hard nosed superior to caring friend in the blink of an eye. On the other hand, he is both at the same time, all the time. Gotta love 'em. Except he'd deck me if I ever told him. So I settled for a grateful nod and promised to be there, and then I left.

Chapter 7

The air outside felt good, the sun was shining, and the Torino's hull gleamed in the sunlight. Was a perfect day. All I missed was a special somebody to share it with. And knowing that he would never again be there to share anything with me, woke the everpresent pain in my heart to new life. All I could do now was enjoy those perfect days for both of us. Just had to figure out how to do that.

That was the question I kept mulling over in my head on the way home. The result? Zip. Zero. Nada. Nothing. No idea. With a big sigh I heaved my carcass up the stairs to my apartment. By now it was time to get something to eat, but I really didn't feel like cooking. Had done enough of that all week, and besides, my fridge was empty anyway. And if I wanted to get my life back on track as much as possible, ordering out was maybe the best idea. Pizza, beer and TV sounded like a good way to start new. Before I could reach for the phone, there was a knock on the door.

When I opened, I was faced with two people I couldn't quite place. A tall, middle aged man who looked vaguely familiar, and a pretty girl in her late teens. They looked enough alike to be father and daughter, except that he was a regular Goliath and she was tiny. Wondered what her mother looked like. "Yeah?"

"Detective Starsky?" The man cleared his throat, seemed to me both were distinctly uneasy. "I'm Joe Martini, this is my daughter, Lisa. Could we talk to you for a moment?"

Well, why not. Wasn't like I had anything else to do anyway. I let them in, and they sat down and declined the coffee I offered them. I sat down, too, and then I could no longer hold back my curiosity. "So, what can I do for you? I mean, you obviously know me, but I'm sorry, I don't remember you."

They exchanged a nervous glance, then the guy said, "You wouldn't remember, it happened very fast. You see, you saved my life." That got my attention. "A few weeks ago, outside a grocery store. Lisa was one of the hostages, and when I got there and realized what happened, I went crazy. I know for sure, if you hadn't held me back, I would have run straight into the line of fire. But you were there, and you saved my life. Only..." So that's why he looked familiar. He was the guy I had wrestled to the ground outside that store. He hesitated a little before he continued. "I never meant to hurt you. You gotta believe me, I didn't want that. I was outta my mind that day. Thinking that my little girl... I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. When I heard what I did to you - and then, I also can't help but thinking that if I hadn't cracked up like that, the robber wouldn't have started shooting around - is it true, the man was your partner?"

Oh man. I could tell that this was tearing him up inside, that he was feeling guilty as hell. For hurting me, and for causing the perp to freak out and start shooting. For getting a man killed. My partner. I tried to hate him, to blame him, to be angry at him. But I couldn't. Because I knew that Hutch wouldn't blame him. He wouldn't hate him. And I knew why he had done it. His reason sat by his side, and it wasn't hard to imagine what I would have done in his place. If I were an untrained, unexperienced civilian who didn't know the first thing about hostage situations, robberies, and stuff like that. And if my little girl were in the hands of a brutal gang. It had been hard enough to keep my nerves and not do something stupid, knowing they had Hutch. But I'm a cop, and I know what I'm doing. Joe was a father, and he didn't know what he was doing. He just reacted on instinct, the same instinct any father would have. How could I hate him?

"Yes, he was. He was my best friend. I knew him better than anybody else. And I know he would never blame you. And neither do I." It was the truth. And telling them actually felt good. Talking about Hutch felt good. Seems lately everybody avoided talking about him whenever I was around. Never realized until now how much I had missed that.

For a few moments both were silent. Then the father breathed a "Thank you" and lowered his head. Lisa started talking, very softly, and I could hear the tears in her voice. And I let her talk till she was finished, without interrupting. She needed to say all these things, as much as I needed to hear them.

How Hutch had just prepared to pay for his stuff when the robbers entered the store. How scared she had been, how she had trembled and almost dropped the money. How she couldn't move fast enough, scared as she was. How the main bad guy suddenly pointed the gun at her, and she thought she was going to die right then and there. And how Hutch moved in between her and the gun and took the bullet meant for her. By now she was sobbing openly, her father's arm around her shoulders, but she continued talking. Told me how Hutch fell to the ground, and nobody was allowed to catch him, break his fall, help him in any way. And finally, how they dragged him to his feet, not caring that they hurt him even more, and forced him to walk out of the store as their - as they called it - life insurance. That was all she knew, except that moments later there was a lot of gunfire, and then everything was over.

When she was done talking, we all sat in silence, I don't know for how long. Joe was still holding Lisa who cried on his shoulder. And I sat there and thought about the last minutes in my best friend's life. Weird, how so much could happen in so little time. Hutch had done what he's always been best at. Helping others. That's who he is. Was. I could see him in my mind's eye, how he stepped in to save her life, not thinking about himself for even a moment.

Suddenly Lisa's voice brought me back to the here and now. "Your friend was a hero. And he died a hero. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

I looked at her, and was surprised that my vision was blurry. Hadn't even noticed that I was crying. "Yes, I knew that already. But thank you for telling me all about it. This means more than you will know. And I know it took guts to come here. Thank you, both." Wish I could have said more, told them how grateful I was that they let me know what happened. How even though I couldn't be there for him in the end, I felt closer to him after what she told me. But I couldn't get anything past the boulder in my throat. All I could hope for was that they could see it in my eyes.

Seems they could, because Lisa smiled slightly and nodded. "We're leaving Bay City. We just had to come and see you before we left."

They left? Not that I could blame them, with all the bad stuff that happened to them here. Before I could say anything, Joe explained, "This town holds so many bad memories, we are going back to where we come from. See, we only came here because my wife was sick and needed better doctors than what we have back home. Now there's nothing to hold us here." At my puzzled look he sighed and added, "Well, seems now that she has her whole life ahead of her again, she doesn't feel like spending it with us."

What could I say to that? Not much. Bay City was really nothing but bad news for these two. "I'm sorry. I really hope you can forget all the bad stuff that happened to you here. And thank you again for coming to talk to me."

There wasn't anything left for any of us to say, so we said our good-byes and they left. And I was alone again with nothing but memories of Hutch. The times we had, and the times we should have had in the future. And of that day. Lisa had said it, he was a hero. Always has been. Of course, if he heard me saying that, he'd ask me if I'm crazy. Would tell me he was just doing his job, no more, no less. But that's Hutch for you. Have I told you lately how honored I feel that he called me his friend?

Chapter 8

Saturday was another perfect day. The kind Hutch and I probably would go to the beach or something. The bright sunlight made me miss him even more. But the Dobeys had asked me to come over for a barbecue dinner, and I didn't intend to go there with empty hands or a dirty car. So after breakfast, I started my day with a thorough cleanup of the Torino, cleaned her up inside and out. Waxed and polished her hull until it rivaled the sunlight.

Know what? Wasn't half as satisfying as it normally would be. Normally, Hutch would tease me endlessly about the effort I put into my car. I would give as good as I got, teasing him about how that rolling garbage can he called a car was only held together by dirt anyway. And here I was, wishing he would rib me one more time. Wishing I could ride in that garbage can one more time. As I stood there, bucket in one hand, polishing rag in the other, I felt like crying. For the first time I realized that ever since then driving had not been any fun. Only full of painful memories. Would I ever enjoy driving her again? Suddenly, I had my doubts. But still I couldn't imagine ever getting a different car, because it was one more thing that made me feel close to Hutch.

Well, one thing taken care of. I wouldn't show up at the Dobeys' with a dirty car. Now I just had to get a few other things before I went over to the Dobeys. A little something I had seen at my favorite toy store for Rosie and a record I knew Cal wanted. Flowers for Edith; knowing she was on yet another diet she wouldn't appreciate a box of chocolates. And a six-pack and a bottle of wine to accompany dinner.

Now, I don't know much about wine. Good wine, that is. I can tell if it's white or red, and I know if I like it when I taste it. And of course I know what kind of wine to have with Passover and stuff. Gotta admit, I'm really not much of a wine drinker. Beer is more my thing. But over the years I've learned a lot of things from Hutch. Even what kind of wine to bring as a present. Oh God, Hutch. Can't even go shopping for wine without thinking of you... I had not even realized I had been so lost in thought, until the girl at the checkout gently touched my forearm.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

What? Only then did I notice the by now familiar sting in my eyes and the slightly blurry vision I was becoming used to. "'M fine." Not very convincing. This was getting embarrassing, now I even started crying over a bottle of wine in the middle of a grocery store. To distract her, I handed her the six-pack and the bottle, and started digging for my money. That's when suddenly all hell broke loose.

Something made the hairs in the back of my neck rise, and I turned around as fast as my still somewhat achy body allowed, just in time to see the door open and two new customers enter. Dark clothes, stocking masks, and big handguns, pointed at the cashier, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. She didn't waste any time opening the cash register, but one of the guys was way too nervous. His movements too erratic and agitated, the way his eyes behind the mask darted every which way screamed 'hype'. And when the girl hit the button to open the register, the sound pushed him over the edge.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I could see his eyes, how they grew huge in panic, and without conscious thought I moved in front of the cashier, putting myself between her and the gunman.

And as the bullet pierced my stomach, my last thought was that even if I couldn't save the girl, at least I would go out the same way Hutch did, and would soon be with him, wherever that was...

Chapter 9

Darkness. Muffled sound. Smell of disinfectant. Pain in my head, chest, and stomach. Bad enough that I wanted to scream, clench my teeth, squeeze something with my hands, put the pain there. Couldn't do either. Couldn't scream or clench my teeth or even move a single finger, was too weak and in too much pain. But none of that mattered.

Worse than the pain in my body was the pain in my heart. Don't get me wrong, I had no intention to kill myself. Mostly because I had promised Hutch I would go on for both of us. And I always keep my promises to him. Besides, if I did something that stupid, he would hit me over the head when we meet again. But I would lie if I say that it wasn't kinda tempting not to wake up in a world without my best friend. Selfish, sure, but tempting. Just the thought that I would no longer have to deal with the pain of losing him had been really comforting when the bullet hit. I wouldn't say that I was disappointed to wake up again, but there was no relief, either.

But something else was... wrong. Or not wrong, but not as I thought it would be. As I swam towards wakefulness, something felt - I don't know, right. Right in a way I thought it would never again be. It felt as if - but no, that was impossible!

At first I thought I couldn't move my fingers because I hurt too much, because I was too weak. Now I could feel something that held the fingers of my left hand immobile. Something like a hand. A hand I would recognize anywhere, anytime. A hand that couldn't hold mine any longer. A hand that I would give both my eyes to have it hold mine just one more time. As the tears slowly ran down my cheeks, I got accustomed to the dim light in the room, and although I knew it had to be my imagination, I also absolutely had to see what was to my left.

It seemed to take forever, and it took every ounce of strength I had - and it hurt like blazes - but I finally managed to turn my head far enough and open my eyes wide enough to make out the figure sitting in a bedside chair, both hands wrapped around my left hand, shoulders shaking in soul wrenching sobs, blond head resting on my bed. A blond head I would recognize everywhere, a blond head I thought I would never see again.

HUTCH!

Chapter 10

Hutch

After all this time I guess the chair must have molded itself to my back. It was like I had never been anywhere else. Over the endless days my world had narrowed to the small hospital room and the bed that held my best friend. Nothing else mattered. My waking hours were spent staring at his unnaturally pale, still face, willing him to open his eyes. Willing him to live. Praying, harder than I ever remember, that he live. Praying for him to wake up and be alright. Crying over him.

The last thing I remembered before I passed out was the commotion caused by a frantic bystander. Dobey later explained that he was the father of the girl in the store. No wonder he freaked out when he realized what was going down. Only his timing could use some work, but I couldn't really blame him. I know how I would feel if that had been Starsk, and I'm a trained police officer. How much more difficult did it have to be for a man who had no experience whatsoever in these things, knowing his little girl was in the hands of unscrupulous felons.

It didn't take long till I came around, the biggest problem was the blood loss. The bullet itself didn't do much damage, got deflected by a rib and went out again. Didn't even break that rib, just cracked it a little. So, after filling up the fluids I had lost and stitching my side back together, and putting me to bed over night with enough painkillers to knock me right out, I signed myself out AMA. By now I was frantic, because nobody seemed to want to tell me anything about Starsky.

See, this whole thing was definitely wrong. The first time I woke up, I didn't stay conscious long enough to start to worry, though I was surprised that Starsky wasn't in the room with me. But it was the middle of the night, so maybe he was just outside getting some coffee or taking a leak. Or maybe they had managed to kick him out. Not very likely, he tends to be a regular mother hen whenever I'm hurt or sick. Okay, so we both are. In all the time we have been working together, not once did one of us wake up in a hospital bed alone. So I was sure he was around somewhere, and with that thought I went back to sleep.

When I woke again some hours later, the sun was shining in through the window, and I was a lot less sore. But I was still alone. Now that I could see a thing around here, I realized that Starsky had never been here. The bedside chair was not pulled up to the bed, there were no empty coffee cups around, nothing indicated that anybody, least of all Starsky, had ever sat with me.

And that was just plain wrong. Without warning my insides twisted into knots. Don't ask me how, but I just knew that something bad was going on. I had to talk to somebody. Now. Just as I was about to press the call button, the door opened slowly, and a nurse poked her head in.

"He's awake now." With that, the door opened fully, and a doctor in a white coat entered, followed by the nurse and a very tired looking Captain Dobey.

"Where's Starsky, he alright?"

Instead of answering my question, the doc started asking a whole lot of questions of his own. How did I feel, how was the pain, any nausea? Headaches, dizzy, double vision? Lightheaded? Thirsty? Hungry? Did I remember what happened? Does it hurt if he pokes me here? And what about here? This went on for a while until I thought I would scream. Finally, I exploded.

"I told you, I'm fine! Yes, it hurts a little, no headache, not dizzy, no double vision. I'm not lightheaded, I didn't hit my head, for crying out loud! And yes, of course I'm hungry and thirsty, I haven't had anything to eat or drink since yesterday! And now, where is Starsky?" I got myself pretty worked up during my little tirade. In the end I was panting a little, and felt like my head was beet red. But I had succeeded in getting my point across.

Maybe too well. The doctor gave Dobey a strange look, one I couldn't quite identify. Then he turned to me again. "Your wound is healing nicely, no sign of infection. The bullet bounced off a rib and cracked it, but no fracture there. You were really lucky, Detective. Blood pressure is back to normal - maybe a little too high at the moment." Great, everybody's a comedian. "If you take it easy for the rest of the day, you can go home tonight. No strenuous activity for the next two weeks at least, okay? We can remove the stitches in about ten days, or you can have your regular physician do it. I'll look in later. Rest now. Captain Dobey." He nodded a greeting to the Captain, then left, the nurse in tow.

"Captain, what's going on here, where's Starsky? Why is nobody telling me anything?" The look on his face did nothing to reduce my anxiety. Just as I took another breath to continue, he interrupted me.

"Now, Hutch, calm down. I'll tell you everything." He looked decidedly uncomfortable. But he believed in honesty, and he also knew me well enough to know that I wouldn't calm down until I knew what was going on with my partner. "How much do you remember?"

Good question. I remembered going into that store, then there was that 211, and the girl at the checkout was about to get wasted. I remembered stepping in to protect her and getting shot. Now that was pretty easy, had a constant reminder in my side. After that, things got a little fuzzy. Obviously I came around at some point, and by now the street was swarming with police and SWAT. And Starsky was there. When they took me along as a hostage, I could see him standing there, terrified for my safety. Horrified when he saw the blood. And then?

Dobey filled me in on the rest. How this big guy flipped when he realized his daughter was in a hostage situation. How Starsky had saved the guy's butt by taking him down, out of harm's way while the SWAT-team took out the gunmen. And how he got a few broken ribs and a bad head wound for his trouble. How a stray bullet found his belly. Then the ribs shifted and punctured his lung, and of course they couldn't leave the bullet in either. So they had to do surgery to fix that. But of course, anesthesia and head wounds don't go too well together. So, what it came down to was, Starsky was in critical condition. In a damn coma. All because...

Oh God! Without warning, my stomach decided to rid itself of its meager contents. Mostly bile and stomach acid. Dobey was so surprised and shocked at my reaction that he almost didn't get the basin in time. When I was done, he wiped my face and mouth, and helped me sip some water. Who would have thought that our gruff boss was capable of such caring? But of course he had two kids, and for a moment I could see him doing the same thing for Rosie or Cal when they were sick. His concern moved me deeply. But at the same time I realized that I didn't really deserve it. Not after -

"That's all my fault."

I didn't even realize I had said it out loud until the Captain shot me a disbelieving look. "That's ridiculous, why would you think that? You were in no way responsible for anything that happened there!"

Now that might be true, it wasn't like I had any say in the proceedings. But that didn't change the fact that none of us would have been there in the first place if it hadn't been for my stupid prank. I could see it very clearly now. After he gave up trying to catch up with, me he probably drove around. I know that he had his radio turned off for a while, cause i tried to call him. Knowing him, he didn't even go to that chili place. Did he go for dinner somewhere else? What was he doing in that area anyway? Was he on his way over to my place? Or had he already been there, and found that I wasn't home? Did he think I went out alone - or with somebody else? Was he...

I'd rather walk into an armed robbery without back up than eat at such a place. Wasn't that what I had thought about this chili place? And I really got my wish. I remember now that just before the bullet hit I thought that I should have been more careful with my wishes. And now? Now I had to live with the knowledge that if I hadn't played that trick on Starsky, everything would have been different. We would have been together, in the very least. Okay, so maybe we wouldn't have been able to save those people in the grocery store. But know what? At the moment I didn't care about that. I know that's selfish, and maybe it's not what you want to hear. So? I'm a man first, a cop second. A man with the best partner a cop could have. And this partner, my best friend was in a fucking coma, all because I had to make him work for the chance to drag me to that chili place. Because I had to pull a fast one on him. Because I had to prove how damn smart I am. Not to mention that I was damn sure I had hurt his feelings, taking off like that, making him think I didn't want him around. And then what does he do? Doing everything within his power to save my butt. Real smart, Hutchinson.

All that was over a week ago. Dobey tried his best, but he couldn't convince me that it wasn't my fault. Neither could he convince me to leave Starsky here alone. It took some pleading and cajoling and bargaining with the doctor, but finally he allowed me to stay at my friend's side. Though the most convincing argument came from Starsky himself. At first they just wanted to allow me to visit him for a few minutes at a time every hour while in the ICU. But they soon noticed that his vitals seemed to improve or at least stabilize while I was there. So after the first few times they saw this effect, they allowed me to stay in there all the time, except when they changed dressings or gave him sponge baths. Some kind soul replaced the hard Spanish inquisition chair with a more comfortable one, brought me blankets and pillows. Huggy came by a few times and brought food and clothes for me. I showered and changed in the facilities the staff used. And for more than a week, I never left the hospital. Never went away for longer than it took me to get some coffee or go to the bathroom. I slept in that chair next to Starsky's bed, often resting my head next to his. I cried over him.

And I talked to him. A lot. Told him everything about how the thing at the grocery store had ended. Told him how the girl and her father dropped by, to thank him for saving the guy's life and to apologize for causing trouble. For getting him hurt so badly. Told him he was a hero. Now I could see how that one would have gone over if Starsky had been awake to hear it. He would have looked at them like they had at least two heads each, told them not to mention it, that he was just doing his job. But believe me, he is. A hero, I mean. Don't tell him I said that. On the other hand, it was about time I told him myself.

So I told him. Told him everything he meant to me. All the things I admired in him. The things I loved. Told him how he was the best partner a man could have. The best friend anybody could ever hope for. The best damn cop I ever knew. The only one I ever wanted to work with.

I thanked him for always being there for me. Not just where our work is concerned, though that is a huge part. I could always depend on him, no matter what. But just as important is the way he is always there for me in my private life, whenever I need him. Like my divorce. And whenever the job gets to me. I thanked him for caring enough to not only put up with my sometimes lousy mood, but pulling me out of it. I never knew anybody who would do that. Most people just give me a wide berth when I get that way. Not Starsky, though. He knows exactly when to leave me alone and when to pull me out of it. I don't even want to imagine what my life would be like if he wasn't there.

And I told him that he couldn't leave me. That I needed him. Not just to do the job, but in my life. There is nobody else I could trust like him. Not just with my life, but with my soul. Okay, that sounds corny, but you know what I mean. The reason I don't need a shrink is that I have Starsky. He pulls me back from the abyss we look into every day. What had he called it? A toilet bowl. That's right, and without him, I would have been flushed down long ago. Either by a bullet, or the trash we see all the time, the kind that causes my bad moods Starsky pulls my out of, would have sucked me into a deep depression and who would safe me then?

I just plain couldn't imagine my life without him.

And, finally, I apologized. For the stupid trick I played on him. I explained everything, as well as I could. Wasn't very well, I hardly understood that one myself. All I knew was that I hurt him by doing it, and that I regretted that. And if he would only please wake up, I would do anything I could to make it up to him. If he would only wake up now, I'd eat at that chili place every day for the rest of my life. Of course, if I really did that, I wouldn't get very old, but that's okay. As long as I have Starsky back. Heck, I would trade places with him in a heartbeat. Not that he would want that, or accept it if he had any say in the matter, of course. But I'd rather be in that hospital bed instead of sitting beside it. And that is not at all noble on my side. It's pure selfishness. It would hurt a hell of a lot less. Now don't get me wrong, the last thing in the world I want is for Starsky to be hurt. Did I just contradict myself? I know, I'm not making much sense. How do I explain myself when I'm so confused... It's just that... Seeing him lying so still was terrible. Not knowing if or when he would ever wake up. He's so... alive. The thought of all that he is being lost, it was just too horrible to imagine.

Doctors and nurses came and went, checking on him, changing his dressings. Changing the bags of fluid in the IV-stand. Administering drugs. At first they kicked me out at those times, but after a while they got used to me being around. The first few days, they told me he was healing, but there was no indication of him waking up. Then they told me that even if he woke up, there was no guarantee that there wouldn't be some brain damage. And that I should prepare for the worst, because the longer he stayed unconscious... you get my drift. Prepare! To prepare means getting ready for something, right? How did they expect me to ever be ready for losing the better part of me? For losing Starsk?

Chapter 11

It's been almost two weeks now. Twelve days. And I've never been that afraid in all my life. Never. Compared to this, facing down an armed felon is a piece of cake. Compared to this, getting shot is a walk in the park. Losing him is bad enough, but knowing that the last time we talked I lied to him - promised him something, and then not doing it, telling him to trust me and then taking off - I don't remember ever feeling that guilty.

Of course you might say it was just a little thing, just a dinner. And when it comes to the real important things in life, I've never lied to him, never broken a promise. But that's beside the point. Either you're honest, or you're not. It would have been different if he'd known I was just playing around. That's okay. Kidding each other and teasing each other are part of what we are and what we do. But I said, "Trust me," and trust is something none of us gives easily. Has to do with our backgrounds. Starsky grew up knowing that nothing is to be taken for granted. If it was here today, it could be gone tomorrow or in the next moment. And the same was true for people. I mean, he adored his Pop. And he left. Not out of his own free will, but he left. He doesn't talk about it, but I know he still misses him. After his father's death, his mom sent him to California to live with his aunt and uncle. For his own good, of course, but still. She sent him away, and for a little boy, that had to be the ultimate betrayal. I can't even imagine how much that hurt. As he grew up, he came to understand that it was for the best, and he loves his mom dearly and doesn't hold it against her. The wound healed, but I'm sure it left a scar. And there had to be others, too.

Me? Let's just say that I didn't grow up in the most loving of environments and leave it at that. My family didn't really teach me to trust anybody, and it was the same with most other people I've met since. Except Starsky. He is really the only person I could always trust unconditionally. Without question. And he always trusted me. No questions asked. And I knew that when I told him, "Trust me." Would this be the last thing I ever said to him? No. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

"Please, Starsk, don't you think you've given me the silent treatment long enough? I really need to look into your eyes while I talk to you. I need to see if you forgive me for driving off that day." Now that was just plain stupid, of course he would forgive me. That's part of my problem, part of why I feel so guilty. He's just so damn forgiving, so generous. I knew he wouldn't even give me a hard time about it. But that didn't change anything, except making me feel more like a heel. "Come on, Starsky, you know you want to wake up. I still owe you that dinner at that chili place, remember? We never got there that day. I know it's my fault, but please let me make it up to you, okay? There's so much I have to tell you, I -" Again, for the umpteenth time, my voice gave out, my throat closed up, and my burning eyes released their pent up tears. I had been holding his left hand in both of mine, caressing it, cherishing its warmth. And I didn't let go while my forehead sank back to the spot it had rested on so often during the last twelve days, right next to his hand. And like so many times before, I gave in to the sobs that tore my soul. So absorbed was I in my misery that I almost missed the soft as a breath voice.

"...ush?"

Chapter 12

Starsky

This wasn't possible. He was dead. I saw his body. Okay, so I was pretty out of it, but I know what I've seen. Besides, Dobey told me everything that happened while I was out. There was a funeral. A grave. A headstone. His desk had been emptied. The cottage at the canal, too. His parents had taken some of his stuff with them, some of it they gave away for charity, and some they left for me. There was no doubt that he was dead. So what could that mean?

Did it really matter? We were together. Okay, it hurt like hell, and I had always thought that you didn't hurt when you are dead. The smells and sounds were also not what I expected from heaven. Did that mean I was in hell or purgatory or something? I might have accepted that for myself, but Hutch was here, too. And unless things were very much different from what we were taught all our lives, he couldn't go anywhere but heaven, right? And why was he crying? And - Damn. Thinking hurt. Might be easier if my head didn't feel like it was going to explode any second now. And why was it so hard to draw a deep breath? Breathing hurt, too. More than I liked. Not to mention my stomach. Usually it takes a while to remember everything that happened, but this time it wasn't really so difficult. The assorted aches and pains in my body told the whole story. Except for the most important part.

How in the name of everything holy could Hutch possibly be alive!

I needed to know. I was weak and in more pain than I ever remembered, but none of that mattered. My brain formed full sentences, like 'Hutch, what's going on here, are you alright, why are you crying, don't worry, everything's okay as long as we are together.' In my mind I was rambling, telling him how happy I was to see him, even if it meant we were both dead. How terrible it had been without him. That he was my best friend in the whole world, more of a brother than my own flesh and blood, and that I loved him. But that was in my mind. My mouth didn't seem to want to cooperate. Was dry and felt fuzzy. My tongue felt like it was a few sizes too big. Like an old sock was stuffed in my mouth. Tasted a lot like it, too. And every movement made my head hurt worse. So I settled for the only word my mouth could form under any circumstances.

"...ush?"

Damn, was that really my voice? I wasn't going to win any awards with that. But I didn't want any awards, anyway. What I got instead was the only thing I really wanted, really needed. Hutch heard my voice, soft as it was, and his quaking shoulders stilled. Then, slowly, like he was unsure if he heard right, he turned his head to face me, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, our eyes locked.

Chapter 13

Hutch

Now I was starting to imagine things. Had I really just heard Starsky's voice? They had just told me that he still didn't show any signs of waking up. Could they be wrong? Or did I hear voices? Was I going crazy?

No. I couldn't be that wrong. And now I also felt him looking at me. Or did I? Was it just wishful thinking? I was afraid to look, afraid to find that I had imagined it after all. But I had to know. So, ever so slowly I looked up, turning to face him. And it was true. There he was, awake, alert, and his eyes were lucid and meeting mine.

I don't remember ever feeling happier.

He tried to say more, but couldn't. His lips moved, but no sound passed through. And here I was, still staring at him like he was a ghost. Didn't do so well in the talking department, either. There was so much I had to tell him, but I couldn't get a single word out. And then it hit my like the proverbial ton of bricks. The look in his eyes. He was in pain, and lots of it. How it could possibly take me so long to see it, I don't know. So the first thing I did was pressing the call button. Then I scooted up to the head of his bed, the fingers of our hands laced together. His eyes never left my face, he held my gaze all the time. Of course there was pain there, excruciating pain. I couldn't wait for the nurse or a doctor to come and give him something for it. Even worse than the physical pain was the deep mental and emotional suffering I saw there.

But above all there was so much wonder and happiness. Like the best thing in the world just happened to him, and it had nothing to do with waking up but everything with me being there and holding his hand. Don't ask me how I knew, I just knew. I couldn't help myself, I just had to touch him, make sure he was really there, really with me. There were not many places where I could place my trembling hand without hurting him, so I settled for lightly stroking his cheek with the back my fingers. At the first contact, the look in his eyes changed. The emotional pain left his eyes, only the physical remained. Which was still bad enough, but not nearly as bad as before. Then his lids slowly slid closed. And a single tear made its way down the side of his face to soak into the thick white gauze bandage on his head while a ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his lips.

For a few moments I thought he had fallen asleep or lost consciousness again, but then his eyes opened. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Like it took every ounce of strength he had to lift his lids. And I knew it really took all he had in him to accomplish this seemingly small task. Now his eyes held something else, deep concern. And not for himself, either. Before I could wonder why he would be worried about somebody else, he managed to whisper another few words, no doubt at the cost of a strength he didn't really have. And I have never felt that humbled in all my life. Here he was, his head all but smashed in, ribs broken, lung punctured, a bullet wound to the stomach. All of these were healing, but they left him weak and in agony. And the first thing out of his parched lips was my name. Followed by an incredibly weak -

"H'sh? You... 'kay? M'ssed... ya..." He kept my gaze until I managed a nod, then his eyes drifted shut again, and he relaxed in a deep, exhausted, healing sleep.

Chapter 14

After that, Starsky improved steadily. And pretty fast, too. The doctors and nurses kept commenting on how fast he was mending. The next few days after he first woke up were rough, he was in a lot of pain and they could only give him so much medication before it would get dangerous. But he was so incredibly brave. You wouldn't believe this was the same guy who whined about a cold or a hangnail. Never once did he complain. Okay, so he wasn't exactly lucid most of the time, too doped up on pain killers. And too weak even to cry from the pain he was in. Too weak to talk. All he could manage was a few whispered words every now and then, mostly when the doctors or nurses asked him something.

And sometimes, he whispered my name. And even though it was uttered so softly, barely audible, I could hear something there, something like awe. I still didn't understand what was going on in his head, but the same look of pure wonder I had seen in his eyes when he first woke up and looked at me was there whenever he turned his eyes to me. I couldn't wait till he was well enough so we could talk.

Finally, the time was there. Starsky was better. Well enough to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Strong enough to concentrate on a conversation, to talk above a whisper without tiring himself out completely. I had to tell him how sorry I was for the way I acted, promise him that it would never happen again. Never again. I had already told him while he was in the coma, but that wasn't enough. I had to tell him to while I was awake, had to look into his eyes. I wanted him to look into my eyes while I told him, so he could see that I really meant it.

Just when I wanted to start this long overdue conversation, Starsky beat me to it. "Hutch?" His voice sounded a little hesitant, like he wasn't quite sure how I would react. Had I really damaged the trust between us that badly? But when I met his eyes, I saw something there I had not expected. Guilt? But - why! What could he ever have to feel guilty about? "We... need to talk."

Chapter 15

Starsky

I still couldn't believe it. There he was. Looked like hell. Like he hadn't slept at all for at least a week. Like he hadn't eaten, either. Okay, not like I would call the stuff he usually ingests 'food', but at least it's something that gets into his stomach, and so far it's kept him alive. But it looks like he hasn't done that, for way too long. Kinda warms my heart and eases the pain, to think he would stay at my side like that. Hurts, too. Knowing I'm responsible for him neglecting himself like that. But he was there, alive. Not dead and buried. Alive. Alive. Alive. Oh God, he was alive.

For the first few days after I woke up, I wasn't really able to do anything about it. Couldn't talk, could hardly whisper. I was so darn weak, it was frustrating. Not to mention I hurt all over, but that was okay. At least while I was awake, I saw Hutch sitting next to my bed, often holding my hand. Comforting me with his touch, his voice. I've never felt safer than when he is with me. And you know what? His hand holding mine eased the pain more than the drugs they gave me.

Over the course of those days I also figured out what had really happened. Most of what I remembered was true, except that Hutch wasn't killed - oh God, thank you, Hutch wasn't killed - that day. What I had thought was a hard fist to the guts, was really a stray bullet. And I had really hit my head, just a little harder than I first thought. Seems the crazed guy I had wrestled to the ground there helped me do that, too. Got myself a skull fracture doing that. All in all, the list was quite impressive. Few broken ribs; one of them shifted and punctured my lung. A slug in the guts. And the anesthesia they had to use to repair all that damage didn't go too well with the head wound, which left me in a coma for twelve days. Not bad, huh?

Now don't get me wrong, I was deeply grateful for Hutch being there by my side. Don't know how I ever would have made it through those days. At the same time, I wished he would take a break. He was injured, for crying out loud. Shot. I saw it. Sitting in this bedside chair couldn't be good for him. Not to mention his back. Remember, he hurt himself when he jumped onto the roof of his car, landing on his butt. But I just didn't have the strength to tell him to go home and lie down for a while. Besides, if I was really honest with myself, I wanted him by my side as much as I wanted him to go home. Talk about ambiguous, huh?

Every time I looked at him, I couldn't help but feel this deep sense of wonder that he was still there. And the guilt I felt over getting him hurt in the first place. After all, it was my fault that he was there in this grocery store at this time of the night. If I hadn't... oh, well. You know what happened. I needed to talk to him about that day. I needed to apologize. Ask him to forgive me. I know what you want to say, he was sitting there by my side, obviously he already forgave me. Know what? That doesn't mean a thing. He knew I needed him, and that's why he would be there for me, no matter how he felt otherwise. That's just the way he is. My partner. My best friend. Man, just thinking about it, makes me so proud to call him that. Time I told him, right to his face just what a good person he is.

Finally, I was strong enough do just that. And then it was harder than I thought. I've never been very good at those things. Talking about feelings and stuff. But it had to be done, and I really didn't want to wait any longer.

I felt better than I had the last few days, stronger, able to stay awake for longer than it took me to sip a glass of water. So after the nurse checking the IV had left, I decided to broach the subject. "Hutch? We need to talk."

Hutch

I was really afraid of what he might have to say. Stupid, I know. But I actually believed he was going to tell me how much I hurt him that day by driving off, and that he would have trouble trusting me in the future. Maybe even that he wanted a new partner. Please, not this. I can handle anything else, but not this. Don't let this be the end for our partnership... our friendship.

But then he absolutely threw me for a loop. Would you believe that he apologized? For getting on my nerves that day, for not leaving me alone, for forcing me to run off to get some space. Told me he didn't mean to impose himself on me. That he just thought I might want to talk the case over, and that he wanted to keep an eye on my sore back. How did he know about that? And here I thought I had kept that a secret. But that's my partner, not much escapes his attention, especially about me.

And then he broke my heart when he told me he was sorry his behavior that day had led to me being in a dangerous spot at that robbery, and getting hurt as a result. What was he talking about? He had nothing to do with all that, was my own fault for going there. Bad timing, I suppose. I guess I must have stared at him a little incredulous, not answering because I was at a total loss for words. How could he feel like that, when it was really all my fault?

"Please Hutch, I can understand that you were angry at me that day, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for getting you hurt, but please, just give me a chance to make it up to you, okay?" Then, added in a tiny, broken whisper, "Please? Don't leave me?"

What have I ever done to deserve a friend like Starsky? As much as I wanted to, I couldn't answer, because the sobs that suddenly overtook me took away my voice. And through the veil of my tears I saw his frightened face, how he was scared for me, didn't understand what was going on...

Starsky

I could hardly look at him while I said what I had to say. All the things that weighed so heavily on my conscience. Finally I was finished, and hoped he would say something. Anything. Preferably that he wasn't mad anymore, and that this wouldn't hurt our friendship. But he didn't say a word. So, what else could I do? I looked up at him, only to find him staring at me like with the most incredulous expression I had ever seen on anybody.

This was even worse than I thought. No hope then that he would forgive me for bothering him that day and getting him hurt, huh? Of course he had every right to react like that, and it's not like he'd be the first person I love to leave me. There, I said it. He's my best friend, and I love him. But you know that already, right? So, as I said, he had every right to take a hike before I got him hurt worse, or even killed. Though I'll admit, the thought scared me. Maybe I was even a little disappointed, a part of me had still hoped we could leave this awful day behind us. But most of all I was scared. Scared that he would leave, end our partnership, end our friendship. Scared of what I would do without him if he really left. So I just had to say it, though I could hardly get the words out past the boulder that was suddenly stuck in my throat.

"Please Hutch, I can understand that you were angry at me that day, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for getting you hurt, but please, just give me a chance to make it up to you, okay? Please? Don't leave me?"

Oh God, what have I done now. I've never seen anybody cry that hard. Was it something I said? Oh no, the last thing I wanted was to hurt him even more. Now how could I make up for this latest blunder, how could I fix this latest hurt?

And then, heedless of his wet face, he grabbed my hand with both of his. He lowered his forehead to the mattress so it lay next to my hand, just the way I had found him when I first woke up. Holding on to my hand like it was a life line. Now I was even more confused than before.

It took him a while to get himself together. When the sobs finally quieted down, he used his handkerchief to gently, carefully, wipe off his tears from my hand, then dried his own face and blew his nose. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was stalling. Was he going to tell me something so awful that he wanted to postpone it as much as possible? But from the way he acted before, the way he held onto me, I didn't think he was about to leave, so what in the name of everything that was holy was going on here?

And then, again holding my hand but not meeting my eyes, he began to talk. And what he was telling me was nothing I would have ever expected.

He was apologizing to me. For driving off, for hurting my feelings (how did he know that I had been hurt by that? I thought I had kept that to myself. But he's always known me better than anybody else. My Hutch.), for getting me hurt. Like he had anything to do with all that. Was my own damn fault for driving around there, not his. And getting involved in the robbery, now that was just doing my job, right? And then he told me that he had just wanted to play a game of tag. How about that! Man, did I feel stupid. But you know what? If the results had not been this painful, the whole thing would be quite funny. I mean, him feeling guilty about driving off, and me feeling guilty for driving him away. Maybe, one day we'll both laugh about it.

If I ever manage to forget the horrible nightmare I lived through while I dreamed he was dead...

For now, all I could do was try to comfort him as much as I could.

Hutch

At some point I had grabbed Starsky's hand in mine, holding on for dear life, sobbing for all I was worth. And despite his own pain and injuries, he managed to comfort me. He didn't quite understand what was going on in my head and in my heart, but could tell he was afraid. That I would leave? Never. I could never leave him. Until now I had not even realized that this had been my biggest fear, too. That he would want me to go. That he wouldn't want me around anymore after what I had done. Instead he was afraid that I would go?

But I was still determined to tell him everything I had carried around with me those twelve days. I still had to tell him how sorry I was for the way I had acted that day. I knew I had hurt him, had realized it as soon as I started thinking about everything. I had to tell him how sorry I was that my actions had placed him in a spot where he got hurt so badly. Almost killed. And I know that I would never have been able to forgive myself if that had happened. So I told him everything. Including the part about me wanting to play tag.

For a moment I think he was torn between crying and laughing.

But something told me there was more. More than his fear me walking out on him. From the looks of it, it had to be bad, I mean, it seemed to tear him up inside. One more reason for me to be worried about him, so I made him tell me. And what he told me broke my heart even more than his apology.

What he went through was horrible. I don't even want to imagine what that felt like. Thinking I was dead, feeling responsible. He told me only a little of what had happened in his dream, but it was enough. I could only guess how I would feel in his place, and it hurt more than I could ever say.

In time, the pain and the memories would fade, I knew. One thing was sure, I wouldn't leave his side for more time than it took to take a leak. If that was me, I wouldn't want my partner out of my sight for one moment. Knowing him, he felt the same. If I could, I would take him in my arms right now, hold him so he knew for sure I was there and alive. But with his broken ribs, I couldn't risk it. So I confined myself to holding his hand, touching his arms, his shoulders, his face, wherever I could without hurting him. Assuring him that I was there and that I would never leave him willingly. Whatever I could do to help him get over it, I would do.

For now, all I could do was try to comfort him as much as I could.

Chapter 16

Starsky

Talking about my nightmare really helped. Well, at least it was good for me. Hutch? He took it really hard. I think he actually felt my pain. And he probably imagined himself in my place, too. Though I hope he never has to feel anything like this. And I hope I never have to feel it in real life. Was bad enough in my dream, but at least I woke up from that. If it happened for real? I don't know how long I would have lasted, despite all my good intentions of 'going on for both of us'. Know what else? I don't want to find out.

Hutch did all he could to reassure me, comfort me. Telling me over and over that he was there, that he was okay, that he would never leave if he could help it. Holding my hand, touching me in all the places that didn't hurt. His hands were so gentle, I think he could have put them right on the surgical wound on my belly without hurting me. And as before, they helped more than all the pain medication the doctors pumped into me.

At the same time, we were also reassuring each other that we didn't blame the other for what happened, told each other not to feel guilty. That we were okay. Each feeling better for being able to help the other. Comforting each other till we fell asleep, me holding on to him, and Hutch with his hands all over me. As I drifted off, the thought occurred to me that we would look kinda strange to the nurses when they came to check on me. And that I didn't give a rat's behind what they thought, same as Hutch.

We're quite a pair, aren't we?

Hutch

Hours later, the nurse checking on his IV again woke me from the first real peaceful sleep I'd had in over two weeks. Of course my back protested the weird position I had slept in, but it still felt good to see that Starsky was also resting, healing. That for the first time the lines of pain and tension that had been there ever since it happened, had all but vanished. You don't know how good it feels to know that I had a hand in this.

Over the next days and weeks he got better. His ribs came along pretty well, as did his skull fracture. The sutures in the surgical wound came out. He hardly needed any pain medication anymore. The nightmares about the coma induced nightmare lessened. Finally he had recovered so far that he could do the rest of his recuperating at home.

As I helped him get dressed for his ride home, the nurse came in and gave us the rest of his medication and release instructions. There would be some physical therapy to get back in shape after he was well enough, but that would not be for a while yet.

As I wheeled him towards the exit of the hospital in the mandatory wheelchair, he asked the question I had been waiting for. "Say, are we taking your car?"

Now, maybe that doesn't sound too important to you, but you would have to know my partner like I do. He doesn't care much for my car. Okay, I'll admit I don't treat my ride like he does the Torino. To me, a car is a means to get from point A to point B. And to do that, it doesn't need a flashy paint, or mag wheels, or a regular wax job. Rusty spots don't make the car slower, and neither does a solid dust coat. And don't tell me a few empty coffee cups on the back seat would do any harm, right?

Starsky, on the other hand, has a love affair going on with his car. He cares for it like it was a living thing, takes it to the car wash whenever he doesn't have the time to wash it by hand, gives it a thorough wax job every time. Won't let anybody eat in that car, and I think putting unwashed suspects on the back seat hurts him physically. And nobody - absolutely nobody - drives it, except himself.

See the dilemma? He doesn't really enjoy riding in my car, but neither does he like to hand over the keys to the Torino.

"Sure, or would you rather I drive yours?"

Now, what I expected was a flip remark to that, that would start us on a new round of banter. What I got instead, brought tears to my eyes. He turned his head to look at me. As he was looking straight into my eyes, I could see pure affection shining from the deep blue eyes looking into mine. And with the gentlest smile, he said, "Sure. Why not? I trust you."

the end