They pulled in front of the single-story duplex three and a half minutes after receiving the call. A quick glance at the scene unfolding before them, told the detectives what they needed to know: the situation was winding down.

A six-foot-tall, balding, middle aged man was standing on the front lawn loudly cursing at the equally tall, yet slender woman on the front steps. The woman's waist-length brown hair was disheveled and knotted, partially covering her swollen, purple cheek. She screamed back at the man through bloodied lips. It was pretty obvious to the detectives that domestic violence had occurred, and it was their job now to break it up.

"Well, buddy," Hutch sighed, "how do you want to do this?"

Starsky smiled knowingly. "Well, I think I got the last one, so this guy's all yours."

"Oh, come on, Starsk. The last one was an eighty-year-old gay couple fighting about laxatives. This guy must weigh at least 300 pounds. There's no comparison!" Hutch argued.

"Good thing you've been working out."

Hutch chuckled and shook his head as he slowly climbed out of his car, followed closely by Starsky.

"Got your back, buddy," Starsky informed him as they neared the giant.

"Great. Just great." Hutch muttered to himself as he took in his surroundings.

It appeared the whole neighborhood had come out to watch the battle. One of them must have called it in, thought Hutch. He carefully approached the large man and, showing his badge, identified himself as a police officer. Then came the unexpected: the man began to cry. And not the quiet crying of the remorseful, but, rather, loud sobs and wailing. Before Hutch could duck out of the way, the man wrapped his thick arms around the blond, and sobbed into the detective's shoulder. Starsky, calmly resting against the Torino, now sure his partner was not in any immediate danger, gave Hutch a thumbs-up and couldn't suppress a grin that spread from ear to ear.

"Um, sir," Hutch said as he attempted to free himself, "I need to place you under, uh, a-arrest. Sir? Um, sir?"

The man, sniffing back copious tears, complied by placing his massive hands behind his back. Hutch glared at the laughing Starsky while he gently placed restraints on his captive.

In the meantime, neither officer noticed the woman's face twisting with new-found anger. Open-mouthed in sheer surprise, as if she just noticed her spouse endangered, the woman looked at Hutch who was busy cuffing her husband – the same man she'd been screaming at a minute earlier. But apparently her dislike towards police involvement outgrew her marital problems. Or maybe it came from a notion that she loved her husband more than showed at the moment. That was unclear and hardly mattered as she suddenly, with a loud cry, ran towards Hutch, too fast for even Starsky to stop her. She began pounding her fists into Hutch's back, demanding he let Bubba go.

Starsky grabbed her from behind, around her tiny waist, and began pulling her away from his partner. This, however, only succeeded to further enrage the woman, now turning her vengeance on the dark-haired detective. Starsky let out a pain-filled howl as the woman dug her sharp nails into his bare arm, drawing blood, and then running the heel of her wooden clog down the defenseless man's shin. Starsky quickly released her and began hopping on one leg while rubbing his bruised shin.

Starsky was just beginning to right himself, when he felt the woman hurdle onto his back, her legs wrapping tightly around his middle, and her hands painfully pulling his thick hair.

"Get her off, Hutch!" Starsky begged over the sound of the screaming banshee on his back.

Hutch finished putting Bubba in the back of the LTD, and now it was his turn to lean calmly against the car's door.

"She's all yours, buddy. I've got mine right here," Hutch patted the roof of his car and smiled at his unfortunate partner turning circles, swatting at the wild woman on his back.

Finally, Starsky decided he'd had enough, and did what he had to in order to rid himself of his unwanted passenger; he dropped onto his back, crushing the woman beneath his weight. The plan, however, wasn't completely trouble-free for the detective. The woman's knees, upon impact with the ground, dug painfully into his kidneys, causing Starsky to fight the urge to vomit right then and there. Hutch watched with one raised eyebrow.

Starsky rolled off the woman and was relieved to see that she looked mostly unharmed.

"OK, lady. Stand up," he panted as he painfully stood and brushed himself off.

The woman defiantly remained on the ground.

"Stand up, lady," Starsky raised his voice but she remained still. "Look, lady, just get up and we'll call it good, alright?"

Still the woman sat, now cross-legged on the warm asphalt. Starsky looked toward Hutch, exasperated. Then with a loud, resigned sigh, he removed his handcuffs and placed one around the woman's wrist.

"Get off the ground now, lady, before I drag you up,"

"Uh, Starsk," Hutch warned, "I'm not sure you want to do that."

The warning came too late, however; Starsky had already placed the other cuff around his own wrist and was pulling at the rebellious woman. A triumphant smile crossed the curly-haired detective's face when the woman finally stood, only to be just as quickly erased when she pulled her full cotton skirt above her head and let out a piercing war cry.

Starsky took note of Hutch's unusually wide eyes, and followed his friend's gaze down. What he saw brought a quick blush to his startled face: the woman was completely pantyless. That is when he also noticed the large crowd of neighbors still gathered, along with the officers who had arrived as backup. All eyes were on him.

Urgently, Starsky tried to get the woman to pull down her skirt, but she continued to run circles around the embarrassed man, screaming. He half dragged the struggling woman to the LTD. He met Hutch, who by now was doubled over with laughter. Franticly, he attempted to insert his keys in the lock, only to drop them when the woman elbowed him in the gut.

"Huuutch," Starsky whined, "do something!"

"Oh man," Hutch hiccuped as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "You're a great dancer, Starsk. I always knew you had it in you."

"Huuuutch." The curly-haired man looked so uncomfortable that Hutch decided to help.

"Okay, okay. Hang on." Hutch pulled the door open. "How am I going to get your wife to stop?"

"Lemme out. She'll listen to me," Bubba pleaded. The tone of his voice convinced Hutch easily. He gestured the big man out of the car.

Starsky was getting dizzy from being constantly spun around, and his wrist was becoming raw, when he heard a calm voice over the incessantly loud noise of the woman he was handcuffed to.

"Jan, baby, it's alright, let the cop go," Bubba entreated. "I'll be home by dinner, babe. Just let the cop go."

Surprisingly, the woman immediately stopped, and Hutch was able to separate the handcuffed pair. While Starsky stood bent at his waist trying to get his cool back, Jan ran over to Bubba and they embraced, lovingly.

"Did you practice a lot for that pirouette?" The blond bit his lip.

"Funny, very funny, Hutch."

"I mean – you'd look great in a tutu."

"Terrific. I'm being molested and my partner mocks me in front of an entire crowd."

"Audience, Starsk, audience." Hutch swallowed to hide another bubble of laughter. He just couldn't resist. "Can I get your autograph?"

'I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?" Starsky looked up at Hutch.

"Not for a while, buddy, not for a while," Hutch wiped at more tears. "Come on, I'll buy you a Danish."

TBC