Chapter 11

The drive up the M6 took a little under an hour and the two detectives turned off the motorway and onto country roads that wound around fields edged with hedges. After another quarter of an hour, during which Starsky extolled the virtues of the handling, the engine, the noise and the comfort of the car, Hutch pointed to a sign.

'Here, turn left. Oswaldtwistle. We're here'. They turned into the village, then following Sam's directions turned right down a narrow lane, down the side of one hill and up another and pulled up outside a small stone cottage. The sign outside it read The James House and Sam was waiting outside in the garden to greet them.

'Hey Hutch, it's been too long. Did you find us OK? Love the car!'

Hutch came forward, limping a little and gave her a hug as Starsky hung back, once again retreating into himself, now that the euphoria of the drive was over. He really didn't want to be bothered with strangers, especially female ones. But he smiled as the woman came forward to say hello.

She was quite short, about 5'2", he thought. She had mid length brown hair and the brightest green eyes he'd ever seen. Apart from the colour of the eyes, he was reminded quite forcibly of another girl with brown hair and twinkling eyes. His heart gave a lurch. No, he couldn't cope with a woman who looked like Terry. This was just too much.

Hutch noticed the unusual reticence in the brunette, but couldn't really place why he should act like that. He felt tired and worn out and just wanted everything to be alright for once.

'Sam, this is Dave Starsky, my partner. Starsky, Sam Scott. I met her on a police exchange visit. She's a detective with the Lancashire Constabulary'.

Starsky forced himself to smile, knowing he'd better get used to the situation; he was going to be there for a while. 'Hello' he said. 'Thank you for letting us stay'.

She appraised the dark haired man. So, this was the partner that Hutch had spoken about, the one that was "tired". He was tall, but not quite as tall as Hutch, and whereas Hutch was all golden blond and all American boy next door, this man was ruggedly handsome. She took in the dark curly hair, the slim, muscular build. Looking into the face, she became lost in the depths of the darkest blue eyes she'd ever seen. But there was something else there. This man was not happy. She knew that for a fact. The "tiredness" Hutch had spoken of ran deep in him. Not just tiredness from too much work. This was a bone deep tiredness. He looked almost as though he was tired of life. She wondered what could have caused such pain in the man, and the caring part of her hoped she could help.

'Come in and I'll make us some tea' she said, leading the way through the garden into the house. They entered through a large kitchen with a stone floor and a large inglenook fireplace. There were rag rugs on the ground and a large square wooden table in the middle of the room. The place smelt of baking and herbs. Through the kitchen they walked directly into a lounge at the other end of which another door led into a study. Sam looked round. 'Its one of the oldest house in the area', she said. 'Dates back to 1649. We've been restoring it. We keep finding extra bits. Two weeks ago, we were decorating when we found a hollow place in the wall. We made a little hole and discovered another staircase! Please, sit down, I'll go and get the drinks'.

The two men sat, Hutch on the large settee, Starsky on a comfortable old chair. As he sat back a small Jack Russell Terrier hustled into the room. Looking as though he owned the place, he sniffed at Hutch, then jumped up onto Starsky's knee, stared with big brown eyes into the brunette's face and then, with a deep sigh settled himself down. The dark haired detective was amused. He'd always liked dogs, and he started stroking the furry little thing, finding the action oddly comforting. The whole place had a peaceful quality to it. Almost like time stood still. He felt like he didn't really need to consider the outside world. Like the years the old house had seen somehow protected him from reality. He felt himself relaxing just a little.

Sam came into the room holding an old fashioned tea tray with mugs, a tea pot, milk jug and sugar basin. Suddenly she looked uncomfortable. 'Oh, I'm sorry. I should have asked. Do you want tea or coffee? Oh my', she said, 'Well I've never seen Bobby do that before'. She pointed to the dog. 'He hates men. I can't believe he's sitting on you. Erm……….do you mind? I can get rid of him if you'd prefer'.

Starsky smiled. 'Nah, I seem to have made a new best friend. He's good, I like dogs'.

The men both said tea was fine, and they settled down in the cool room to drink their drinks and allow Sam and Hutch to catch up on old times. Starsky was happy just to listen to the conversation as it flowed. Sitting quietly with the dog, he watched the woman. She did have the look of Terry. She even seemed to have some of the mannerisms – the little smile that played on her lips and in her eyes and the zest for life. He watched her closely, fascinated before shaking himself. Its not Terry. Don't be a fool!

The afternoon wore on and eventually, Sam showed them to their rooms. Small and cosy, they were under the eaves of the house and were plainly furnished with a queen sized bed each, bare wooden floor boards, rag rugs which added colour and a wardrobe. Hutch seemed to limping worse than ever, and Starsky finally asked him 'Hey, how's your leg. You OK?'

Hutch rubbed it a little. 'Its sore, but it'll be OK. I just forgot to take the antibiotics. No problem'.

'How many d'you forget to take Blintz?' the brunette asked.

Hutch sighed. 'I was too preoccupied with making sure you were OK. I didn't think. I'll be fine'.

'How many?' Starsky pushed.

The blond looked embarrassed 'Didn't actually manage to remember to take any'.

'Shit, Hutch. You spent so much time looking after me. Take your pants off, let me look'.

'No. No it's fine. I'm OK' Hutch stressed a little too loudly for the brunette's comfort.

'Humour me' he said, and sat down on the bed.

Hutch sighed, knowing Starsky could be just as obstinate as he could. He undid his belt, unbuttoned the waistband and unzipped his pants. Pulling them down to his knees, he sat down shakily. There was a red line tracking up from the bullet wound towards his groin, the heat from the wound radiating outwards and the wound itself an angry purple.

'Oh crap, I don't have time for this' he said, as his partner took a closer look.

'I knew you didn't look so good', Starsky said. 'I know it's hot today, but you were really flushed downstairs. You need a doctor Blintz. I'll get Sam'.

'No, don't bother her. I'll start the antibiotics now an' I'll be OK, honest'.

Starsky looked doubtful. 'I don't know Hutch. Are you sure they'll work now? It's been a week since you were shot'.

'Yeah', Hutch said, pulling his pants back up. 'No problem'.

'Well, you're the one with the medical know-how', the brunette responded, a slight hesitation in his voice.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dinner was a simple affair. Sam's husband was away on business, so it was just the three of them and the dog at the meal. Starsky enjoyed the simple cheese, fresh brown bread and apple, savouring the simplicity of the meal. Sam had bought a bottle of Californian wine in their honour, and it complimented the meal perfectly. The only thing that marred it for him was the flush he still saw on his partner's face and the fact he didn't eat much.

Sam didn't seem to notice, putting it down to jet lag from their long flight. She realised they'd had a long day and when both men said they were ready for bed, she simply said goodnight and saw them to their rooms.

After the week spent at Hutch's apartment it felt odd to be sleeping separately – even though they'd been in different rooms, there wasn't a door separating them before. Hutch got undressed and had another look at the wound on his leg. He cursed himself for not being more careful, knowing how gunshot wounds could so easily become infected because of the fibres from clothing that got trapped inside wounds. Oh crap. He really didn't need this right now. He was concentrating on getting his partner well. This was an unnecessary diversion. He felt like shit and took two antibiotics, realising that it was probably far too late for them right now.

Starsky got undressed in his own room. His neck wound was still raw and tender, and he preferred not to wear his pyjama top, so that the collar wouldn't rub, and anyway, the night was surprisingly warm. He got into the bed, feeling the fresh crisp cotton sheets and the slight cool breeze from the open window. He lay and listened to the sounds from outside, so different from his own apartment. There was the sound of the breeze in the trees, a cow mooed a way away and……was that an owl? It was strange and different, but somehow right and comfortable. He relaxed and listened, the only thing worrying him at that moment being the welfare of the blond in the next room.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Starsky must have drifted off to sleep at some point, because the scream shook him awake suddenly, bringing on a sweat of panic. He was out of bed and opening the door before the last reverberations of the sound subsided. Realising it had come from his partner's room, he pushed open the door and peeked inside.

The moon bathed the room in light enough to see the blonde's head on the pillow. As he crossed the room, he saw that the golden hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his partner's forehead. He reached down gently and touched Hutch's cheek feeling the heat radiating from it. He was burning up. The blond head was rolling back and forth on the pillow and Hutch was muttering unintelligibly.

Starsky bent down and put a hand on the blonde's shoulder, shaking him gently.

'Hutch? Hey buddy. Hutch, wake up' he was rewarded by the sight of ice blue eyes, now rimmed with red, looking back at him. At first there was no recognition in them, and the brunette was shocked at just how sick his partner looked. He tried again.

Hey Blondie, it's me, Starsky. Ya there? Hey, come on Blintz, wake up' he pleaded.

Recognition came back to the eyes then and Hutch focussed on his partner. His forehead creased and he squeezed his eyes together, trying to bring the world into sharper focus.

'Starsk?' he gasped, raising himself slightly. His head leaned back against the pillow and he drew a ragged breath. 'Oh boy, I feel like shit….c cold'.

Starsky put his hand against the sweat soaked forehead. 'You're burning up, pal. You need a doctor'.

The blonde's hand came up and caught Starsky's. 'Don't bother Sam. Just get me to the bathroom. Cool water'll do' he tried to rise, but collapsed back on the bed..

The brunette got the legs back under the sheet, noting that there was a distinct swelling around the wound now and headed off, coming back a moment later with a washcloth soaked in cold water. He laid it on the blonde's head and used a towel to wipe the arms and chest.

'I don't care what you say, you need to see someone now. You've got a temperature an' it's not going ta go down on it's own, ya know'. Starsky was really worried now. Hutch seemed to have drifted back off to sleep and although he knew his artner would be as mad as hell, he padded along the corridor and knocked gently on Sam's door. A muffled, sleepy voce responded.

'Sam?' Starsky said softly. 'I'm real sorry to bother ya, but Hutch is sick. I think he needs a doctor'.

The door opened and Starsky's stomach lurched all over again at the sight of her. She was so like Terry. Sam's face was still a little crumpled with sleep, but she took in the handsome man in front of her, bare chested and worried. She also saw the fresh wound on his neck and the discoloured bruises across his side, chest, and, she, presumed, back. Later, she told herself. Later, I'll find out. She followed the brunette back up the corridor and into the guest room. She knelt down by the side of the bed and switched on the small lamp. Feeling the blonde's forehead and noting he was sweating still, she stood and went into the bathroom. She came back with a thermometer and stuck it under Hutch's tongue. A moment later she extracted it. 103. Hutch wasn't really fully conscious. He moaned and shivered and had gone back to talking under his breath. Nothing that made sense, - just sounds really.

'Was he ill before you set off to come to England?' she asked.

Starsky shook his head. 'It's a long story, but he was in a heist on the docks back home last week and some whippo shot him. I've been……well, I've not been well, and he's been so bothered about me, he didn't take his antibiotics. Shit, this is all my fault1' he turned away so that Sam wouldn't see the look of pure hurt on his face.

Sam looked at him sharply, hearing the pain in those few words and knowing she would explore their meaning later. Briskly, she went downstairs and Starsky heard her speaking to someone on the telephone. He heard the receiver go down and she returned to the room.

'Dr Patterson's on his way'. She looked at Starsky's worried, beaten expression and put a hand on his arm 'He'll be fine David, honest. He just needs the doctor to see him and it'll be OK'. She looked again into those stormy dark blue eyes and asked gently 'Do you need the doctor too?'

The question brought the brunette up short. 'No!... No, I'm just…….I dunno. Just lets get the Blintz dealt with, then I'll be fine'.

Sam smiled. 'What did you call him?'

Starsky smiled back and sat down on the blonde's bed, smoothing the golden blond hair away from the forehead. 'Blintz. It's just a nickname. A blintz is a white frosted cake – it just suits him'.