Disclaimer: As always, I don't own them, I just wish I did.

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Thanks to my Uncle David, a veteran of Vietnam, for giving me a glimpse of what he went through, and in memory of his friend Moe, a "good man who left us too soon."

The Soldier

By LovinFace

Today I saw a side of my partner that I rarely see. The soldier. He doesn't talk about Vietnam and I don't push it. What I do know about his experiences over there barely constitute a paragraph. Bits and pieces that I've picked up through off the cuff remarks, mumblings in his sleep on stakeouts, or after one too many drinks. He was in the Army. Sometimes I catch him standing "at ease" when he's talking to someone. I suspect that he had been captured at one point, but I couldn't be sure. I do know that he was wounded though. I caught the tail end of a flashback once early in our partnership when we had a case involving a Vietnam vet that ended badly.

But like I was saying, today I saw the soldier in him. We had been ordered to protect Joe Durniak and ended up on the run with Terry Nash, the man who killed Durniak. That's a whole other story. The man was part of Starsky's past, another part that he doesn't talk much about. Joe Durniak knew Starsky's father, paid for his funeral. Starsky seemed to tense up talking about it. Again, I didn't push it. It wouldn't have done any good. But like I said, that's another story.

Back to the soldier. Starsky hates to fly. Hates heights. He functions well enough though, so it's never been a problem. He was pretty wary of the Baron…we both were. But we had to find the "castle" and the best way to do it was by air. We land in the desert and that's when the soldier began to surface. I took the field glasses and scouted out the castle. Starsky kept scanning the area away from the castle, like he was looking for something or expecting something to happen. The Baron was prepared…he gave us all automatic rifles. Starsky and the Baron went one direction, Terry and I went the other. We met on the rooftop. Starsky had just put a guard down and then turned quickly when he heard me approach. The look in his eyes was unlike any look I had seen before. It even scared me for a minute. He was so focused, so intense, so…how do I put it…so ready to shoot….to kill.

Starsk, the Baron, and I went into the castle. Starsky took the lead. Down the stairs. Down the hallway. He kept the lead. We found a new brainwashing victim in a room. Terry had a meltdown I had to deal with. The Baron was in the hall. Starsky had his own rifle and Terry's rifle that I had handed to him. I was dealing with Terry and the next thing I know Starsk is standing in the hallway, returning fire with both rifles, telling the Baron to come home. Then when we decided to escape by using the hand grenades, he takes two grenades like he's done it a million times before. Maybe he has.

We finally head back to Bay City and he's being really quiet. I know he's tired. I know he's thinking about his tomato being blown up. But his jaw is tense and I know he's also remembering the war. I contemplate whether to say anything to him. We ride in silence a bit longer.

"You wanna talk about it Starsk?" I ask, trying to sound casual, though I'm really concerned.

He turns his head slowly to me. "Nah. Nothin' to talk about."

Then he's looking out the window again, jaw still tense, and his left hand clenched into a fist. I decide to try another tactic.

"How about we go to Huggy's get a drink or two?" Maybe if I can get a couple of beers in him, he'll relax.

Starsky turns his head toward me again. "Nah, I'll pass. I just want to go home and get some sleep."

He turns to the window again. Still tense. Still too quiet.

We finally reach his place. He slowly opens the door and pulls himself out of the car. After shutting the door, he leans in through the window. "I've got some beer upstairs if you want to come up."

That's all the opening I need, and I put the car in park.

We get inside and he immediately gets comfortable, changing from his jeans into sweats and a t-shirt. I root around in his fridge and find some cold pizza and beer…no surprise there. We decide to eat on the couch. He picks up a slice of pizza in one hand, leafs through a magazine with the other. So much for talking. I sip my beer, feigning interest in the label.

He tosses the magazine to the table and sets his pizza down on the plate. He reaches for his beer but then pulls his hand back. It's shaking. I act like I don't notice and take a bite of my pizza.

Then in a voice barely above a whisper he says, "Lotta memories came crashing back today, Hutch."

I set my pizza and beer down on the coffee table. I reach out and pat his thigh and say, "I know." I don't really though. I mean, I don't know what the memories are like because I didn't serve in the war.

He leans back and pulls his knees up to his chest. "I lost a lotta friends over there. Thought I was gonna lose you today." He rests his head on his knees.

I recall him shouting a warning to me during the shootout. Dobey had likened the event to a war zone. Maybe it was.

I place my hand on Starsky's shoulder. He is so tense. I begin to massage his shoulder gently. He doesn't protest, but he doesn't shift to make it easier either. His head is still resting on his knees, his arms holding them tightly to his chest.

I finally say, "Starsk, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. No pressure. Just if you want to." I continue to massage his shoulder.

He slowly looks up at me. The pain in his eyes is evident. He shakes his head and rests it against his knees again. We sit this way for a while.

Then he lifts his head and looks right at me, oceans of raw emotion in his eyes. I have to look away for a second or two. I turn back to him.

He begins to tell me how they called him Curly over there, and how his best friend was Moe, a guy from St. Louis who loved burritos and redheads and could answer just about any trivia question you threw at him. Then he tells me how he and Moe and 10 other guys were ambushed in the jungle and held in a POW camp for over four weeks, and how when "Charlie" realized the camp was going to be raided by US soldiers, they opened fire. Some soldiers died quickly. Some died slowly, like Moe, who died while Starsky was desperately trying to "hold his guts together," – his words, not mine. He tells me how he had been so focused on Moe, that he didn't even realize he had taken a bullet just above his hip. Only after he had carried the body of his friend to a chopper and was pulled in did he realize that he was wounded.

He stops talking and I can tell he is trying not to cry. I want to pull him into my arms, tell him everything is okay now, but I know that isn't what he needs right now. So I casually pick up my beer and take another sip. He does the same.

"I'm glad you weren't there," he says quietly.

I smile and try to think of something to say. What do you say to a man who has been through what he has over there? I'm not qualified, that's for sure. I was still in the states, in school, catching glimpses of the war on TV. I didn't slog my way through the jungle. I didn't watch helplessly as my best friend died. That thought produced a shudder and I reached out to squeeze Starsky's arm. Still at a loss for words, I just sit there, squeezing his arm, letting him know that I'm here for him, but feeling totally inadequate.

I release my hold on his arm. "Starsk – I – " I'm completely at a loss for words. I just look at this man, my partner, my best friend, and I am so thankful that he is in my life, that he is safe and sound, and I vow to make sure he stays that way.

"I don't wanna talk about this any more, Hutch," he says, his voice no longer subdued. Then he pulls me into an embrace. "Thanks for listening though."

He releases me and stands up from the couch. End of discussion. He takes the plates with the half eaten pizza to the kitchen. I pick up the beer bottles and join him in the kitchen. He finishes his beer and tosses the bottle in the trash.

I finish my own beer. "Well, Starsk, I guess I'll head out. I'll see you tomorrow." I throw my empty bottle away and turn to go back in the living room to retrieve my jacket, though I really want to stay. I've heard from other vets that sometimes talking about the war causes nightmares.

"You can stay here if you want," he says. "I mean, you'll just have to come over here in the morning any way since my car is gone." I hear him sigh at that last statement.

"Well, Starsk, I can always take you to see my guy – he's got a gray Ford with just a few dents and, though it's not as classy as MY car, it – " I stop mid sentence as I'm blindsided by a dish towel thrown at me by my partner.

"Nope, I'm gonna get another Torino, candy apple red, white stripe – she was my dream car, Hutch." He smiles at me then. A real smile. "Besides, you know that deep down you love my car."

Okay, he's pushing it now and I throw the towel back at him. After all, I can't really let him think he's right now, can I?

The End