Disclaimer: This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders of the rights to Starsky and Hutch.

This is the first time that I will be posting by chapters—thanks Eli and S'gal! Hope it works! Mahalo to all of the wonderful people in my life, who continue to encourage, support, and inspire me in my endeavor to write.

Warning: "Silent Witness" might be considered a dark tale and contains some graphic scenes and foul language that may be offensive to some readers. This story also revolves around a paranormal/metaphysical genre; if this is not your cup of tea, then please refrain from sipping.

oo Silent Witness oo

CHAPTER THREE

(Wednesday mid-morning, a week later - Starsky's place)

Hutch stirred the chicken soup over the hot stove in Starsky's apartment. It had been a busy, but exciting morning, for he finally got to bring his friend home from the hospital. Starsky appeared to be fine, but Hutch still wanted to fuss and coddle over him, much to the irritation of the brunet. The blond had finally talked his buddy into taking a nap and he kept one ear cocked towards the bedroom door, just in case his partner needed anything, while he whipped up some lunch for the both of them.

As Hutch took out the bread and smeared some mayonnaise over each slice, his mind absently drifted back over the last week when Starsky emerged from the coma and opened his eyes . . .

At first the doctors were very cautious about being too positive. They immediately began to run a barrage of tests on the brunet who apparently wasn't exhibiting any of the delayed motor or speech skills that most people who woke from a coma did. It amazed the doctors that Starsky's pupils were reactive and alert and that he could respond accurately to questions that were asked of him, and it further surprised them that the brunet could immediately recognize his partner.

Hutch watched the comings and goings of the hospital staff as they ran through their tests, hovering over his newly wakened partner, as he protectively watched over the curly haired brunet. It frustrated the blond and grated on his already frazzled nerves to see what his exhausted friend had to go through. The constant prodding and poking and questions tired Starsky out and though he struggled to stay awake, his dark heavy lashes eventually closed as he fell asleep. Although Starsky answered every question accurately, his soft voice sounded so tired and weak that it made the blond angry, and he had to control himself from pushing all of the hospital staff out of the room and barring the door. Hutch looked up as the door to his partner's room opened once again, admitting Dr. Bradford who smiled up at the tall blond.

"Is he okay doc?" Hutch asked anxiously, pushing down the frustration he felt, while lowering his voice so as to not disturb his slumbering friend. He watched as the doctor looked over the charts once more, and silently followed, when the smaller man beckoned him out into the hallway.

"Your partner appears to be making tremendous progress Detective Hutchinson. It's quite amazing actually . . ."

"What do you mean doctor?" Hutch queried, his pale brows drawing together.

"I mean it's amazing how fast he's responding to everything. Usually waking from a coma is a slow process of what we call 'emerging'. The patient who first wakes from a coma will usually open their eyes, but they have no control over their speech or movements until some time later. Many of these simple things that we take for granted, need to be relearned from someone who awakens from a coma. Often times, patients never relearn these things and they enter into a wakeful vegetative state. Emerging from a coma is rarely like it is portrayed in the movies or on television detective, where a patient opens their eyes, smiles and is discharged the next day . . . recovery from a brain injury takes time . . . and yet, the way your partner has emerged from his coma appears to be something straight from a movie on TV." The doctor smiled and, shook his head in wonder.

"You say recovery from a brain injury takes time, but in Starsky's case, you told me he didn't have traumatic injury to his brain, no swelling or bruising . . ."

"Yes, and perhaps detective, that is why your partner has so far made remarkable progress since waking," Dr. Bradford interjected, "However, I need to warn you that even in the event where a patient recovers quickly, there may be long term problems with concentration, memory, fatigue, dizziness, short temperedness etc. These problems may never be resolved and may require lifelong coping skills on the part of the patient."

"Wait a minute doc," Hutch said, blue eyes locking on the diminutive man standing before him, "Are you saying that Starsky may develop these types of difficulties and problems . . ."

"I guess what I'm saying detective, is that the brain is very complex and it takes time to fully understand the extent of any head injury. We couldn't explain why your friend became comatose and likewise, his remarkable recovery astounds us all. I'll be running more tests on him and will keep him here for another week or so; to make sure he is functioning normally. Once he's home, I need you to watch over him and be aware of any subtle changes to his personality or to his physical or mental well-being . . ."

Hutch finished making the sandwiches and began cutting up carrot and celery sticks as he pondered over what the doctor had said. So far, his partner was absolutely fine, his quick wit and humorous banter was the same as always, and the injury to his head was all but healed. Hutch smiled as he ladled some of the steaming chicken soup into a bowl for the brunet. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Starsky had been resting now for almost an hour. If he didn't get up in another 5 minutes, Hutch decided he would peek in on his buddy and wake him up.

-.-.-.-.oo0oo.-.-.-.-

He could still hear the high-pitched screams echoing in his mind as he bolted upright from his bed, his heart pounding painfully against his chest. He struggled to control his labored breathing and was surprised to see that his hands were trembling as he raised them to wipe the sheen of perspiration from his forehead. He clenched his fingers into fists as he took in a shuddering breath, his mind continuing to flash images from the nightmare, which had abruptly awakened him. He closed his eyes, still seeing the horrific scene as it played across his mind.

A school bus sliding on it's side careened down the street at top speed. Screams could be heard from the children trapped inside as sparks from the bus scraping across the blacktop, ignited the bright yellow vehicle into a raging inferno . . .

Starsky shuddered and dragged his fingers through his damp curls. He could still see her little face, frozen in horror, her mouth opened in a silent scream, her brown eyes wide and filled with fear. He knew the little girl was already dead, probably killed instantly as her tiny body was crushed from the impact of the large semi which plowed into the yellow bus.

'Help them.' Starsky opened his eyes. It was the voice again. That calm, soft whisper that sent chills racing down his spine. The brunet gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, as the slight throbbing in his head began to pound painfully, and he pressed his fingers against his temple to help alleviate the building pressure in his skull. The stormy blue eyes of the brunet flashed to his bedroom door as it was quietly opened, the smiling blond peeking around its edges.

"Hey buddy . . ." Hutch said softly, giving his partner the once over. He saw Starsky quickly remove his hand from the side of his head, but the rapid, shallow breaths and the pale, glistening face of his friend gave him away. Hutch frowned, "You okay?" he asked, stepping into the semi-lit room with the bed tray in his hands.

Starsky sighed heavily, "Yeah . . . why wouldn't I be . . . hmm?" The brunet slowly leaned his upper body back against the soft pillows, sticking his still trembling hands under the covers that were wrapped around his bare waist. His head throbbed mercilessly and Starsky wanted to press and rub against his temple to allay the pressure in his pounding skull and bring himself some relief from the intensity of the drilling pain.

"Oh, I don't know . . . you just seem to be a little on edge, looks like you just came out of the shower and forgot to dry off . . ." Hutch smiled warmly, nodding slightly at the glistening sheen on the brunet's chest, the faint scars from Gunther's assassination attempt still evident through the dark chest hairs of the brunet. "Head hurting?"

"No . . . just my ears! Hutch, would you stop with the twenty questions already huh?" Starsky snapped irritably, "And you didn't have'ta bring food in here. I coulda come out there. I didn't hurt my legs in that alley." The brunet turned away from the perceptive look in the light blue eyes of the blond.

"I know pal," Hutch soothed, his voice warm and soft, as he lowered the tray over his partner's lap. "Just thought I earned the right to mother hen you a bit . . . that's all." The blond detective knew his partner well enough to know that he was in pain. The doctor had warned him that Starsky might experience headaches now and then, but knowing that bit of information didn't help to alleviate the worry Hutch felt as his grumpy, stoic friend continued to try and hide it from him.

Starsky glared at his partner's smiling face then snorted softly, looking down at the steaming bowl of soup and the salami sandwich that Hutch made for him. The dark haired detective had the decency to blush, feeling like an ass for being so crabby with the softhearted blond.

Starsky sighed, knowing how much his partner hated the smell of salami and to know that he went out of his way to even pick up the oily meat touched the brunet deeply. "Sorry Hutch," Starsky murmured, raising his eyes to sheepishly gaze into the sky blue ones, which immediately softened, "Dunno why I snapped at ya . . . jus' tired and hungry s'all."

"Or maybe it could be because you have a headache?" Hutch pushed gently, not wanting to raise the ire of the moody brunet who picked up the spoon listlessly with his left hand.

"Somethin' like that . . ." Starsky said softly, at the blond's concerned look, he added, "I jus' had a dream . . . kinda shook me up a bit . . ."

Hutch sat carefully on the edge of the bed, not wanting to disturb the tray or jostle the bowl of hot soup onto his partner's lap. He took his own turkey sandwich off the tray and took a bite out of it, chewing thoughtfully; wanting to ask the brunet about the dream he had, as he watched his subdued friend take a cautious sip from the spoon.

"Hey . . .'s good!" Starsky said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "You make chicken soup way better than my Aunt Rosie."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Hutch snorted, "Wasn't she the one who made your stomach hurt with her soup?"

Starsky took a bite of his salami sandwich, relishing its wonderful flavor, "Yeah, but she made great wonton. Hey . . . when did I ever tell you about my Aunt Rosie?" the brunet said between swallows, his blue eyes twinkling playfully.

Hutch smiled again, noting how quickly the salami and the soothing warmth of the soup were drastically changing the brunet's dour disposition. In all the years that they had been together, it always amazed the blond how sweetly childlike his partner could be at times, and yet, Hutch knew that there was also a darker side to David Michael Starsky; a side that he had only glimpsed once or twice in all the years that he'd known the man.

Though they rarely talked about it, Hutch had seen the devastation and retaliation that Starsky had wrought with a rifle, when he willfully blew up a car and the men inside of it, thinking they had just killed his blond partner during the Haymes abduction case. Anyone who threatened those Starsky loved were subject to his dark ire, and Hutch was glad those times were few and far between.

"You've told me about more relatives than I care to remember!" Hutch laughed, watching as his partner enthusiastically wolfed down his sandwich. "Hey . . . try chewing it before swallowing huh? You've just come out of a coma . . . don't want you choking yourself to death!"

"Funny . . . very funny Blondie," Starsky mumbled as he licked the mayonnaise from his fingers, smacking his lips loudly. The brunet proceeded to lift the bowl of soup to his oily mouth and began to noisily slurp it down.

"God, Starsk," Hutch cringed, "No wonder they call cops pigs!"

The brunet lifted lowered eyes, and glared at his blond counterpart. He put the empty bowl back on the tray and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hey. . . being a pig ain't so bad. Did I ever tellya that them pigs can have orgasms that last for thirty minutes Hutch, huh? Man, that's awesome ain't it? A thirty minute orgasm!"

The tall blond rolled his pale blue eyes to the ceiling, "You're the only guy I know who wouldn't mind turning himself into a pig just for sex," Hutch laughed when he heard his partner snort loudly, "Pretty disgusting buddy . . . and yes, you already told me that nauseating fact when you were so into that trivia book Dobey gave you to read."

The blond's smile turned to one of concern, as he saw the brunet wince and turn away, closing his eyes against the lancing pain that throbbed in his skull. Starsky suddenly pressed his fingers against his left temple, while Hutch steadied the tray, "You okay Starsk? Need an aspirin?" Hutch asked softly.

"Nah . . . " Starsky said slowly, gasping as hot, burning spasms of pain stabbed repeatedly in his head and a bright light exploded behind his closed lids . . .

He could see her little face, mouth opened as she screamed her terror, her little hand pressed against the window of the school bus, as the huge semi-truck careened towards them. He felt helpless, knowing the truck driver was too drunk to notice what was happening. He could feel the little girl's fear and 'knew' that she knew she was going to die. He could 'hear' her crying desperately for her mommy to save her and it tore his heart apart. "Help them." The same calm voice whispered in his mind, "Save them."

He shuddered, fighting down the bile that wanted to rise up as nausea made him want to throw up the meal he had just consumed. The piercing sound of children screaming filled his mind and he pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to ease the punishing ache in his head.

He could feel the heat from the raging fire as the flames consumed the school bus and its passengers. He crawled along the broken shards of glass and debris from of the shattered bus, which had finally slid to a stop, still on its side. He was horrified and sickened by the carnage that lay before him. Little bodies were thrown all about, sprawled in unnatural poses, while some children who were still alive, were screaming for help, beating against the windows which were jammed shut. He ignored the mayhem, his attention focused on the seat ahead of him where he knew the little girl lay crushed. He knelt next to her broken, bleeding body that was wedged between the twisted and broken seats. Her wide brown eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling of the bus and he knew that she was dead. It terrified him to see her little mouth open suddenly, watching in morbid fascination as her small head turned slowly towards him and her expressionless eyes focused in on his petrified face. "You're too late," she quietly whispered, "You're too late . . ."

Starsky became aware of the shallow rapidness of his own panicked breathing, the pounding of his heart sounding loud in his ears. He felt chilled by the cold sweat that ran down his chest and neck, and eventually became aware of the soothing warmth that seeped into his sweat drenched back. The warm hand rubbing gentle circles into his back, continued to draw him from his stupor, as he became aware of the soft, low murmurings in his ear.

"Hey buddy . . . it's okay, take it easy . . .deep breath," Hutch continued to murmur softly, gently stroking his partner's back, as he eased him into awareness. He watched the brunet's bewildered eyes make contact with his own. "You okay pal?"

Starsky took in a shuddering breath, taking refuge in the soft, blue depths of his partner's eyes and he quickly nodded, feeling everything, but okay. He lowered his eyes to his trembling hands, which were quickly covered by the blond's.

Hutch gently squeezed his partner's cold fingers, drawing the brunet's cobalt gaze to lock with his own. His blue eyes were hesitant, but expressive once again, and the blond gave a silent sigh of relief.

Seeing those vibrant blue eyes staring vacantly off into the distance a minute ago scared the living daylights out of Hutch. He had tried shaking his partner to snap him out of it, waving his hands before his friend's face, but Starsky just sat still in that trancelike state, his face frozen in horror. What disturbed Hutch the most though, was hearing his partner's barely audible voice whispering, "It's too late . . ." over and over again. Hearing the eerie sadness that clung to those three words sent a shiver of fear down the blond's spine and he reached out his large hand to gently stroke his partner's back, hoping that touch would bring some sort of comfort to his partner, in as much as it brought reassurance to him.

Looking at Starsky now, and seeing that vulnerable look of uncertainty in his eyes, brought out the protective streak in the blond and he gently squeezed his partner's hand once again, "You wanna talk about it?" Hutch asked softly, feeling the slight tremor in the brunet's hands. He wasn't sure if it was Starsky's or his hands that were trembling . . . seeing his partner transfixed that way had been terrifying to the blond. "What happened buddy?"

Starsky gazed into the warmth of his partner's eyes, the gentle squeeze from his partner's hand bringing comfort and support. The brunet let out a heavy sigh, lowering his eyes to their connected hands, "I-I don't know . . . the dream . . ."

"The dream?" Hutch repeated softly, not wanting to distract his partner, "You mean the dream you had before you ate?" The blond wanted to kick himself. He knew he should have pursued that issue; instead, he had let his partner's playful bantering change the subject from wonton soup to orgasmic pigs. Well, he wouldn't let his friend off the hook this time.

"I've been meaning to ask you about that dream . . ." Hutch hedged, not wanting to push his partner, but knowing that they needed to talk about what had just happened. The cold knot of fear that still resided in the blond's stomach grew larger, when he saw the color drain from his partner's face.

"Look Hutch," Starsky said softly, turning his gaze away from the worry in his partner's eyes, "I-I don't want to talk about it right now . . .'kay?" The dream was so real that the residual effects from it, clung to him like the black, tattered remnants of the Reaper's robe, and it shook the dark haired detective to his core. The last thing he wanted to talk about was that . . .

"Hey . . . what if we go to Huggy's tonight huh? I haven't seen him since getting hit in the alley . . . wouldn't mind having a beer too." The brunet hoped his friend would start his long-winded spiel about not drinking alcoholic beverages on the day you get out of the hospital. For once, Starsky prayed for a lecture from his friend.

'Good try pal,' Hutch thought silently, 'But I'm on to you.' Hutch smiled reassuringly, knowing his partner was doing everything within his power to avoid the topic of his dream. Whatever it was about, Hutch knew it had shaken his street-wise partner, and that thought was disturbing.

Hutch knew that Starsky never ran from problems, usually choosing to address it head-on or to tough it out alone, silently bearing any pain or hurt, whether it was physical or emotional. Hutch respected his partner's way of handling things. The blond knew, when his friend was good and ready, he would turn to him and articulate his feelings, allowing him to comfort and advise. For the most part, Hutch abstained from pushing his partner until he was ready to share, however, there had been times when he had been forced to assert dominance over the situation and force his partner to open up even though he wasn't ready to, and now was such a time. The blond imperceptibly squared his shoulders; preparing himself for the battle ahead with his stubborn, closed-mouth partner.

"Well . . . actually, Huggy was going to make an appearance here before he opened his place tonight. I'm surprised he hasn't arrived yet." Hutch said, glancing at the clock on this partner's nightstand. "I tell you what, why don't you come out with me to the living room and I'll make us a pot of hot coffee . . . then we can talk." The tall blond said the last four words firmly, making sure the brunet knew from the tone of his voice that he would not stand for any argument concerning this matter.

The brunet sighed heavily, understanding that there would be no deviating from the subject and he raised weary eyes up at this partner, resignation swimming in a sea of blue. "Okay," he said softly, "We'll play it your way, Hutch."

"Good!" Hutch smiled, taking the tray away to carry it back with him to the kitchen, "Always knew you were bright . . . now get dressed and meet me in the kitchen."

"Yes mom!" Starsky grouched, much to the amusement of the blond who snorted loudly, a huge grin on his face as he left his disgruntled partner sitting on the edge of his bed.

To be continued . . .