New Streets

by Zebra 3 and Me

These Starsky and Hutch stories contain drama, friendship, tragedy, and angst.

New Streets

by Navy Blue and TLR

1. Through a Glass Darkly—Starsky and Hutch encounter an emergency.

2. The Long Hours—After Vanessa's death.

3. Secret—A secret revealed.

4. Trick or Treat—A bad Halloween.

5. Breathwork—A post-Sweet Revenge story.

6. Vapour—A lady from their past returns.

7. Mister Hutchinson's Funeral—Oh no he didn't.

8. Trigger—After Sweet Revenge.

9. Starsky's Journal—The Plague.

10. Quake—The earth moves.

::::::::::::::

Through a Glass Darkly

By Navy Blue and TLR

Hutch and I were just cruising our regular night beat in the Torino when we heard the police radio announce a possible arson fire.

"Hey," he said picking up the mike, "that's my neighborhood," then added, "Central, we are in the area and are responding."

"Yeah," I said stepping on the gas, "maybe we'll catch that torch before he gets away."

Hutch put the Mars light on and we sped through traffic and pedestrians to get there in a hurry.

Firefighters were already there battling the blaze, and onlookers were standing around buzzing about it.

It wasn't a business that was aflame, as we assumed, it was a house fire, but the vacant buildings on each side of it were being consumed too. A couple of firefighters were holding back a woman screaming and struggling to get back to her little house, now engulfed.

"My baby!"

"Too late!" yelled the firefighter who held her. "We can't let you go in there!"

"Lucy," Hutch said under his breath as he spilled from the car and ran straight at the burning house.

A firefighter grabbed at him but Hutch slipped through his fingers like a smooth quarterback evading a tackle. He couldn't outrun me though. I grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him back, but he shoved me down and raced inside the burning building.

"HUTCH!"

I ran after him again, and two firefighters shoved me face down in the dirt to hold me there.

"Get offa me!" I growled, but it didn't work, they had me secure.

Lucy's screams turned into agony, and I said a quick prayer for Hutch and the baby. She worked at the greenhouse down the street from Hutch, where he bought some of his plants. Her husband died in an auto accident six months before, leaving her to raise a baby alone, and I think the baby's name was Mindy. About age two by now I guessed.

A confusion of voices spattered around me, including Lucy's: "I had to work late"—"Babysitter"-"Oh my God"—but others too: "How did it start?"—"Who's inside?"—"What happened?"

When I raised my head from the dirt and looked toward the house, I could see that the firefighters had sprayed out most of the flames, and what remained was a smoking skeleton. My soot-covered, water-dripping partner carried the toddler out in his arms, staggering and choking from the smoke. The firefighters released me so they could go see about Hutch and the kid, but I got to him first, taking the little one into my arms before he collapsed to his knees.

Lucy ran over and took the bundle from me, cradling it close, but her screaming just got more intense, wailing now.

"I'm sorry," Hutch gasped. "Lucy, I'm sorry, I tried, I'm sorry. I—"

I gently pushed Hutch onto his side while a medic put an oxygen mask over his face and tended to some burns on his arms and legs. His skin was hot to the touch but he didn't seem to notice he was injured.

"Easy," I said trying to calm him. "You did your best."

"No," he said closing his eyes. "I tried to revive her, I—"

"She was already gone," one of the firefighters told him. "Babysitter too."

Hutch's eyes came open again and moved to get up, reaching toward Lucy with begging hands. She was still holding her deceased child.

"Lucy…"

But Lucy was being escorted to an ambulance by some other medics, and I was left to tend to a Hutch that was in a state of shock.

::::::::::::::::

Hutch was treated for smoke inhalation and burns that weren't as serious as you might think, held overnight in the hospital for observation, but his injuries burned through to his psyche. Sometimes he feels responsible for things he has no control over, and this was one of those times. That's what I have in him, a partner who wants to right the wrongs of the world, save people, and do the right thing. He doesn't always show it, except to me maybe, but he takes things hard, he takes things personally, which is why I love him more than my own brother.

We couldn't wait to get to the bottom of the fire, but first things first. We had a funeral to attend to, and a kid's funeral is never easy. Lucy's parents were there, but it was Hutch she took solace in. I went to give him and his friend support, but to also keep an eye on him, because he was a little pale and strained in my opinion.

"Please find out what happened," she sobbed into his shoulder.

He put a bandaged arm around her and nodded. "I will," he said softly. "We don't think it was an accident."

Some, including a few fire investigators, were quick to point a finger at Lucy, said she must've had the fire set for insurance money, which she received a lot of. Hutch backed her all the way, from that very first night, and finally someone came forward with the truth.

His name was Myron Hall, and he sat nervously in the interrogation room, eyes shifting from me to Hutch, arms folded defensively across his chest, knee bouncing incessantly up and down under the table. Hutch's stoic look, still pale and somber, didn't help with the mood either as his eyes stayed unblinking on Myron.

"Let's hear it," I said.

We three sat at the table, Myron across from us.

Myron reached for a pack of cigarettes; I snatched them away. I don't smoke, but I lit one up just to play a head game with him. Maybe he'd talk for a smoke. Some do.

"Okay, um," he said holding his arms tight. You'd think he was fiending for heroin instead of cigarettes. I hear one is just about as hard to kick as the other, but I doubt it.

"Okay," I repeated. "Spill it."

One hand came up and scrubbed against his forehead. "Will you cut me a deal if I tell you the truth?"

The palm of Hutch's hand slammed down so fast and hard on the table that even I jumped.

"Talk!"

Myron looked from me to Hutch; kept his eyes on me, figuring I was the least likely to tear his head off under the circumstances. But if he hurt Hutch in any way, he had no idea.

"It was me," Myron finally said with a downward glance. "My pop owns the empty warehouse next to the chick's. I torched it for the insurance bread, but the fire got the girl's house too, and even the next building over. I didn't think. I didn't know. I-"

Hutch grabbed him up from his chair by the front of his shirt, and I intervened before he could slam the guy into the wall.

"It's okay," I said quietly, so as to help Hutch stay calm. "We got him. He's goin' down."

I wrestled the guy away from Hutch and shoved him back into his chair. "Keep talkin'."

He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to gather himself.

"We were just lookin' for easy money. We didn't know a lady and her kid lived next door, legit."

Hutch slumped back into his chair, leaning his head forward onto the table. I heard a small groan from him, but thought it was more emotional than physical.

"Hutch," I said giving him a serious glance. "You okay?"

He didn't answer.

"Can you help me?" Myron asked with pleading eyes. "With a deal? I didn't mean for the kid to die. I didn't."

Hutch couldn't take it anymore. He just got up and left. He knew I could handle the remainder.

Which was okay by me. I just looked Myron square in the face.

"We'll see."

::::::::::::::::::::

Hutch waited for me in the squad room, on the phone, to Lucy I'd bet, telling her about the break in the case. Except is was no hoorah, really. It didn't bring the baby back, it just lessened everyone's angst to know the fire starter had turned himself in.

I went to sit on the edge of his desk while he talked low to her, my hand on his shoulder.

Police work, and life itself, isn't like the movies and TV. In real life, children die, heroes cry, and bad guys get good deals. We don't always understand it, but we do the best we can with it.

When Hutch hung up, he looked up at me with soulful eyes and a single nod of his head. He was working his way back, and we lived to fight another day.

The End

:::::::::::::::::::

The Long Hours

By Navy Blue and TLR

It was a lovely day and Starsky decided to give in to Hutch's idea about spending time at the Dobey cabin. Yes, he had sworn to Hutch he would never go camping again after their run-in with Satan's witches, but his blond friend was in some ways still grieving his ex-wife Vanessa's death and was in need of some Starsky support due to melancholia. It just didn't seem right to leave him alone in the woods, but he had to sleep on it to finally make up his mind. He tried calling Hutch at the cabin to tell him he was on the way, but the phone rang and rang.

What a drive. It seemed longer without Hutch in the car to sing, play the radio, challenge him with trivia questions, ask him riddles, or play his harmonica, but he was getting there.

The winding road wasn't exactly what you'd call comforting to Starsky, but he had to admit that there were good places to take pictures, and he stopped with his camera to snap a few along the way. As he made his way around the steep curves, he was glad for one thing, and that was that he was in the Torino this time instead of Hutch's Frankenstein monstrosity. He thought about trying to raise Hutch on his police radio, on the outside chance he was in his car driving to the local town for supplies or something, but they were probably well out of range of each other.

Well, anyway, I can at least try calling him from the cabin again when I get to the store in that little town. In the meantime, I'll just play some tunes on the radio, some Minnie Riperton or Donna Sum—

He definitely was not expecting the deer that leapt in front of the windshield—a completely foreign sight before his eyes. It wasn't like he was used to driving in the country or was accustomed to being alert for animals jumping over his car. He overreacted and found himself not only striking the deer, but overcorrecting and tumbling down a steep embankment loaded with boulders, trees, thick vines, brush, bushes, and branches. He was unconscious when he hit bottom—the bottom being a somewhat narrow ledge where the Torino came to an abrupt and teetering stop.

::::::::::::

Hutch was sitting in a canoe with a fishing rod in his hands, but his mind wasn't much on fish. Vanessa's death had rocked him, and he was making a comeback, but it was her lingering presence, almost a spectre, that haunted his dreams. He dreamed time and time again that as he was doing his morning run, he would look for her, across a street, inside a parked car, inside a shop window. But he never found her. The recurring dream was so vivid that he woke up sure he could still smell her perfume. At its most lifelike, he woke up with a pant in his throat and tears in his eyes. The dreams weren't necessarily painful or disturbing, they just left him with a lingering feeling of unfinished business and mixed emotions.

"Takes time," Starsky had consoled him gently, and he would know. He'd lost loves before. They both had.

They both also knew that doing that kind of time in a prison of mourning was something a man couldn't escape before it was time. He had to do it for himself. Even his best friend couldn't erase it. He could only endure it with him. And Starsky had, every step of the way.

A smile piqued his mood when he felt a fish tugging on the line.

"Oh yeah," he said standing up in the boat and reeling at the whopper. "You're mine now, sweetheart." He looked over his shoulder and called, "Hey, Starsk, I got a good one for you today, you—"

But he bit his lip, forgetting that Starsky hadn't come with him.

:::::::::::::

A soft moan came from Starsky, his forehead bloody against the steering wheel. He tried to move but found it nearly impossible, as he was strapped in the seatbelt, and also because his left wrist felt broken, and at least one, or maybe both of his ankles.

He blinked at the blood and double vision in his eyes, and tried reaching for the police microphone, but it seemed so far, so far away, his fingertips nearly brushing it, but not quite. It also didn't help that the car rocked a little each time he moved, threatening to tip on forward and down into what seemed like an endless and fatally cavernous space.

"Huh…" He tried to say Hutch's name of course, but the pain in his chest crushed his breath.

Carefully, carefully he turned his head to try to see where he was, what his chances might be, if he were right side up, or upside down, but a wave of blackness came down and he passed out again.

:::::::::::::

Hutch stood at the cabin stove frying the fish he'd caught and cleaned, and even made California rolls out of some of it. But as delicious as it smelled, and as tasty as he knew it was going to be, he just didn't have the appetite, and knew he couldn't take the first bite of it, let alone finish it.

Grumbling under his breath, he put an oven mitt on and carried the frying pan of fish outside, flinging the contents from it and into the yard, where a couple of half-wild, hungry tabbies came to investigate.

He just wasn't in the mood. And, it wasn't just about Vanessa. As out of place as Starsky felt in the woods, he was the missing ingredient on this trip. Hutch had no one to talk to, no one to fuss at, laugh with, confide in, or tease.

I'll give it one more try, he thought as he went to the cabin phone. Maybe you'll come after all.

But there was no answer on Starsky's end of the line. So Hutch just sort of gave up and sprawled himself out on the couch, arm flung across his forehead, hoping he could sleep the afternoon away.

:::::::::::::::

This time when Starsky woke up he realized he was extremely thirsty, and it was getting dark. So, grunting with pain, his good hand groped for the seatbelt buckle, thinking he should take his chance outside of the vehicle rather than in, but found the latch stuck.

Terrific.

He grew quiet, trying to listen to the sounds around him, vaguely hearing a few vehicles passing by on the highway above him. He wondered if the Torino could be seen from the road up there, and it gave him a small burst of energy.

"Hey!" he called weakly. "Anybody…anybody hear me?"

I don't think it was loud enough. Yell again.

He tried yelling again, and got sharp stabs in his chest for his trouble.

Maybe I have a broken rib. I hope it doesn't puncture my heart or a lung.

He again tried reaching for the police radio, but saw that it was broken.

So much for that.

::::::::::::::::

Hutch woke up from his long nap, dreaming of Vanessa again, but this time it was different. This time he realized that in his dream, he actually found her, and she invited him to her home for a dinner party. He went, mingling with her and the guests. At the dinner, he was more of an observer than a participant, and the dream ended there.

When he woke up, there were tears on his cheeks again, but they weren't exactly sad tears. They were tears of some sort of relief and closure. It was the first time in weeks that he felt rested after waking.

Rising from the couch, he still wasn't hungry, but he was in the mood for a cup of coffee, and put a kettle of water on the stove.

As he waited for the water to heat, he looked out the cabin window, seeing a red bird perched in a tree. It made him smile in remembrance of Starsky scrambling for the cabin door in his red undergarment the last time they were here. But it also reminded him of the coven in the woods and the red robes they wore. And also the blood on Vanessa, and on him whenever she clawed his face, shoulders, or hands upon lashing out.

That's it, Hutchinson. Starsky was right. You didn't need to be by yourself this trip.

He began to pack his bags to go back home, and dialed Starsky's telephone one last time before leaving, but no one picked up.

::::::::::::

Well, Simon Marcus said as he leaned up close to the Torino's window on the driver's side to take a long look at the man held captive by his own vehicle. Well.

But it wasn't real. Just a dream. Starsky woke up with a cry of fright, panting a little. Looking around in the darkness, remembered where he was and how he'd gotten here. He heard night sounds around him. Frogs, crickets, the wind, and finally, a scream of some kind. A…no, could it be? Hutch told him mountain lions—or was it cougars—make a sound like screaming.

The feral sound chilled him to the bone.

Could it break through the glass? Could it attack him? Eat him?

In desperation, he pressed on the horn with his good hand, but it made only a weak sound, and what if it served as an invitation to the large California cat? Hutch said the males could weigh around 160 pounds. Terrific. A Starsky-size feline.

As if to confirm his fears, its presence, and its dominance, the heavy cat jumped onto the Torino, making it rock a little more, and looked at him through the windshield.

::::::::::::::::

The drive back home felt strange to Hutch because of the low-grade sense of dread pooling in his stomach.

Something is wrong. I can feel it.

Usually those words belonged to his partner, but today they pulsed in his loins and in his temples like a heartbeat. He stopped by the nearest telephone, which was in a phone booth outside a small grocery store/service station, and called Huggy Bear Brown, asking him to try to contact Starsky for him.

"Will do, my man," Huggy said, and clicked off.

::::::::::::::::

Starsky didn't know what time it was, but it felt late, and the wild cat stalking hungrily back and forth just outside the Torino reminded him that he too was thirsty and hungry. He couldn't help but remember how he'd found Hutch trapped and wounded under his car after he'd been forced from a mountain road.

The good thing: Starsky had a gun. The bad thing: It was in the glovebox where he couldn't reach it, and even if he could, the movement might take him right over the edge of the cliff and down to his doom. He hadn't strapped it on because he was taking a drive up to the cabin.

Basically, he couldn't defend himself if the cat broke through a window, and, because of his injuries, couldn't defend himself if he managed to get out of the car.

:::::::::::::::

The sun was just peeking up from behind the hills, and Hutch had to slow down because of a deer leaping across the highway, but when he did, something to his left caught his eye. A glint of some sort, down below him, through the bush. And when he looked, he saw a glassy reflection and a small flash of red at the bottom of the steep bank.

"Starsky?" he asked as he pulled over and put his car into the P for Park position.

Heart quickening, he opened his car door and was met with the unworldly sound of the big cat squalling at the bottom of the ravine.

"STARSK!" he himself screamed as he tried to hurry down the hill, gun out and ready to shoot any animal, person, or thing that threatened his partner. "I'M COMING!"

But the going was treacherous. He tripped, fell, got scratches on his face and hands, got back up, and kept descending.

I found you, Starsk. I found you. Please be alive.

The powerful cat jumped from the top of a high tree and sailed gracefully toward Hutch knocking him onto his back, but Hutch shoved his Magnum into the cat's throat and pulled the trigger.

The big cat dropped heavily on his chest, and Hutch rolled it off with a grunt, but kept moving down.

"Starsk," he panted. "Are you okay? Starsk?"

He put his gun away just as he reached the Torino. He could see Starsky slumped over the steering wheel, eyes glazed, fading fast, and took quick note of how the Torino wavered on its precarious perch.

"Buddy," Hutch panted as he carefully opened the driver's side door so he could assess his partner. "It's me."

Starsky gave a slight moan but that was all.

Hutch was still panting, still bleeding from the various scrapes and scratches he'd received on the way down. "You're going to be all right. I don't like moving you, but I'm going to have to get you out of here before the car goes over."

After determining that Starsky had a few fractures and was dehydrated, Hutch cut the seatbelt from him with a Swiss Army knife.

"You ready to climb this hill? We can do it."

Starsky reached for him as best he could, and Hutch slipped his arms securely around him.

"Let's go, Starsk."

:::::::::::::::::::

Starsky was recuperating at his home quite favorably, and Hutch seemed to be quite content to wait on him hand and foot.

"Got a surprise for you," Hutch said as he set a tray of piping tea down on the coffee table in front of him.

"Oh yeah?" Starsky smiled up at him.

"Come with me," Hutch said as he helped him up to his feet.

Left forearm in a cast and limping, Starsky went with him to the window and looked down, seeing his Torino. Hutch had made sure it was restored to perfect condition by their friend Merle the "Mechanic Magician" Earl.

"Wow, Hutch, what can I do to thank you?"

"Well," Hutch said smiling as he held out his hand, "I don't know. How about you promise to never drive to the country without me? Ever."

"Sure," Starsky smiled back as he gripped his partner's hand with his right one. "I think that's a promise I can keep."

The end

::::::::::::::::::::

Secret

By TLR and Navy Blue

I have been with Starsky many times when he's fallen for a girl. As his partner and best friend, I can most certainly pick up on the times when they click and the times they don't. Jenny was a young lady who opened a new bookstore a few streets over from his place. One day we went in to browse the books, and that's when I noticed the way they looked at each other.

It was a big store and there were plenty of books to consider. I took my Thoreau book up to the counter to pay. Starsky had been there all this time, taking up the whole space in front of me by leaning toward her and giving her the Starsky Special, which was his low-voice flirting, small come-on smiles, and gentle laughs.

"Oh, um," I said as I waited in line just behind him and jerked my thumb backward over my shoulder. "You're holding up the line, Starsk. I'm a paying customer, and so are about thirty other people here. You don't want the young lady to lose business, do you?"

Jenny smiled at me, then peered around me at her line of eager customers.

"Sorry," she said to us, then looked at Starsky. "Sorry, Officer Starsky."

"Don't be sorry. And you can call me Dave." He handed her his card. "Call me."

She handed him her own card. "Ditto."

He smiled as he slipped the card into his hip pocket, then gave me a look. "Pay the lady already. You're holdin' up the line."

:::::::::::

We had the weekend off, and spent it camping without incident, unless you count the bear that almost broke the door down trying to get in to find something to eat.

Then Monday morning it was back to work, investigating a drug dealer who was into pushing fentanyl. We interviewed a few witnesses we'd asked to come in, and planned to visit Huggy that afternoon to see if he could give us any word.

During lunch, Starsky's phone rang on his desk, and he was so interested in the conversation that he forgot about his overstuffed burrito. I myself was having a nutritious spinach and feta salad. Sometimes our tastes in food converged, but most of the time they were as different as our looks.

"Who is it?" I asked him, and he waved his hand at me to shush me, but then he took Jenny's card from his hip pocket and held it up for me to see.

"Ah, got it," I said forking my salad. "Ask her out."

He covered the bottom part of the receiver and said across the desk, "What do you think I'm doin'?"

I just laughed and returned to my salad.

When he finally hung up, he reached for his burrito.

"Dinner and a movie this weekend," he said taking a big bite.

"Can I go?"

"No."

He looked around for his soda, realizing he'd forgotten to get one.

"I'll be right back," he said jumping up and heading out the squad room for the vending room.

While he was gone, I took it upon myself to reach over and pick up the card Jenny had given him. It had the name of the bookstore, A New Leaf, with her name, Jenny Hoffman, under it, and then the phone number.

When Starsky came back with his soft drink, he snatched the card from my hand. "No way."

"I was just going to ask her if she has any obscure German folklore books."

"I'm sure."

::::::::::

All week long Starsky made excuses to drop by the bookstore. Once it was for a car magazine. Another time it was for a Thor comic book. Another time it was for a coffee table book of early Hollywood screen stars to send back to his Ma.

This girl had so captured his heart. He was so enraptured with her he called off the rest of his dates for the week, and was asking ME what he should wear on their dinner-and-a-movie date.

"Just…" We stood there looking through his closet. "Wear what feels comfortable, that's all."

"Not too fancy, not too shabby."

"You don't have to worry about the too fancy part."

He elbowed me hard in the ribs for that one. I had no room to talk. Most of the time I wear clothes that look like they come from a garage sale. To be honest, some of them do. My reason is that sometimes you want to blend in on the street. Wearing nice suits and shoes on our beat can say plainclothes cop to some. I also need to keep a stash of clothes for undercover.

By Thursday morning, he had done a complete turnaround. His mood was dark and sullen, he barely spoke, and didn't eat a bite all day.

"What's going on?" I asked him as we cruised our beat.

I was driving; he was looking out the window.

"Nothin'."

"You think you can fool me? It feels like a lot of somethin'."

He clammed up.

I knew he wouldn't tell me until he was good and ready, but that didn't mean I was going to stop asking. I let him out at his place, went to Huggy's for dinner, then drove to Starsky's on my way home.

When I knocked on his door, he answered with a "Go away. Catch you in the morning."

I didn't go away, I merely used the extra key he'd given me and unlocked the door.

Sometimes when he's bummed out, he lays on the sofa staring at the ceiling. But this night he was pacing around his living room, no TV or radio on.

"You have an annoying habit of coming in whenever you want to, Hutch."

"What are best friends for? You come into my place whenever you want to."

"You want your key back?"

"You want yours back?"

We stood in silence for a few long seconds, then I said, "What gives? Did something happen with Jenny?"

Finally, he slumped down onto the sofa and leaned forward, as if mentally exhausted by whatever was on his mind.

"Hutch", he said as he rubbed his forehead. "I don't know how to say this. I don't know where to start."

"Whatever it is, you've been carrying it around all day, and it's time you let it out."

"I can't."

"You can."

I moved closer to him.

"Just tell me."

He looked up at me with pain in his eyes. "I ran a check on Jenny this morning, just out of curiosity. And what I found…Hutch, this isn't about her. She didn't do anything. I did."

I wanted to say, Whatever it is, Starsk, just tell me so we can deal with it, but I didn't want to interrupt him. Besides, those were words I really didn't have to say, because he already knew.

"I've kept it a secret for so long," he said.

It won't leave this room, Starsk. Please tell me so I can help you.

He looked back down at his hands, which were now fiddling with the hem of his navy blue T-shirt.

"Hutch, you know how you do stupid things as a kid, and you can get in over your head, and then you hope it just goes away…"

I waited. My heart beat like a drum, but I waited.

"I was about thirteen and wanted in with some older guys. I don't know if you'd call it a gang, but I guess that's what they were. They decided to let me in, and took me with them on one of their 'jobs', which was to rob a rich guy's house who was supposed to be out of town."

I knew he'd grown up a street kid for the most part, but he had never told me this story.

"Only," he continued, "he wasn't out of town, he was home, and he had a gun. But so did one of our guys, only I didn't know it before then. When I saw it, that's when I ran out of the house. I heard a shot behind me, and kept running, but later heard that the man was the one who fired, and everybody else scattered too. But before I left, I saw this little girl hiding behind her dad's overcoat, looking out at us guys. At me. Right at me. I didn't go back."

I wanted to say so much, but I just listened.

"I heard the man died of a heart attack the next day, Hutch. He was an older guy. I didn't speak to the gang again, and they never spoke to me. I turned myself in and told the cops what happened, spent a few months in juvenile and vowed to walk the straight and narrow after that."

My heart sank like a stone. "Starsk…"

He looked up at me again.

I went and sat next to him, my arm going around him.

"You were a scared kid, Starsk. You made some wrong choices, and you turned yourself in, which is more than most would do. But what does this have to do with Jenny?"

He moved his head no back and forth, wrestling with his thoughts. "It was her dad, Hutch. Her dad was Steve Hoffman. She was ten at the time, and we locked eyes that night, me and her. And so, I feel like I'm partially responsible for his death. I don't know how to tell her."

My voice fell to a whisper. "Oh buddy."

He blinked wet eyes. "Guess the sooner the better," he sighed, and stood to his feet.

"I'll go with you," I said looking up at him. "If you want me to."

I was sort of surprised when his head nodded yes, so we walked out the door.

"I'll drive," I said as I opened the passenger door of the Torino for him.

::::::::::

Jenny was watering plants on the stoop of her place, and smiled when we showed up unannounced.

"Well, hi, guys. Nice to see you again. Would you like to come in?"

"Sure," I answered for the both of us, and stepped inside. We were in her kitchen.

But right away she could read in Starsky's demeanor that this wasn't exactly a full-fledged social call. Her tone became a little more somber. "Would you like a drink? I'm having a wine cooler."

"No," Starsky said looking down and fidgeting with the zipper of his leather jacket. He never had problems meeting a young woman's gaze, but at the moment, it seemed an impossible task for him.

We locked eyes that night, me and her. And so, I feel like I'm partially responsible for his death.

I thought he would start from the very beginning, to try to explain and soften, but he simply said, "I was one of the boys that broke in to your house that night, and I came to tell you that I'm sorry your father died and that you had to grow up without him."

Her wine cooler shattered into the sink, and now Starsky did lift his eyes to her. But instead of shrieking at him and clawing at him like I thought she was going to do, she slowly and cautiously stepped around the kitchen counter to get a closer look at him, their eyes meeting the way they must have that night thirteen years ago.

Her voice came trembling and soft, like a little girl's when expressing disbelief.

"You," she whispered as she walked up close to him. "You were the little one. I saw you. You ran out."

He swallowed his tears. "I'm sorry, Jenny. I know that isn't enough, and it doesn't bring him back. But I really am sorry."

His presence and his words brought fresh pain for her. Her knees weakened and he caught her, moving her to her sofa.

"If you want me to leave, I will."

Hand over her trembling mouth, she nodded. "Yes. Go."

He stood for a long moment, then looked at me and turned around and quietly left.

"He turned himself in," I offered to her, unsure if she could even process what I was saying, or if it even mattered to her. "Did some juvenile detention, turned his life around. He grew up without his father too."

I waited to see if she would respond, but didn't, so I turned around and left to catch up with my partner at his car. He was already in the passenger seat, and I slid under the steering wheel, ready to pull away from her curb when she came walking toward us.

"I forgive you, Dave," she said blotting her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "I don't see our weekend together now, but I do forgive you."

He nodded, and smiled a little. "Thank you."

At that, we drove away.

::::::::::

They did not have their weekend date, but they did remain acquaintances. What happened thirteen years earlier is the sort of thing that binds you, whether you like it or not. When she was mugged one morning while opening her bookstore to do business for the day, about three months later, it was Starsky she called first, and he dropped whatever he was doing to go help her.

End

::::::::::::

Trick or Treat

by tlr and navy blue

Lawrence Hill, former juvenile delinquent housed in detention, now a free adult because it was his 21st birthday today, looked in the mirror at himself, not liking what he saw. He was a handsome guy, with dark, intense eyes and unruly hair; but what looked back at him was something else; something bad-a distorted image of himself-an ugly caricature created by five years of confinement and almost daily physical and verbal abuse by others in detention. Sometimes by a fellow juvie, other times by someone on the staff.

But when he tried to get help, no one listened, and his rage turned from those who harmed him, to the man who put him here, and that was Officer David Starsky. Starsky was the cop who'd bragged about arresting his father and sending him to prison for raping and killing a kid, where he died on the yard during a knife fight.

Then it turned into like/father/like/son when Lawrence jumped Starsky outside Huggy Bear Brown's one night and stabbed him with a knife. He wanted Starsky to die the way his dad had died, and would have succeeded if his partner Hutchinson and friend Huggy Bear hadn't intervened. Now, five years later, Starsky was so much unfinished business, a mere cleanup on aisle two.

Detective Starsky was used to getting threats from criminals behind bars and ex-cons out looking for revenge, or those he was getting close to arresting for one crime or another. He got them over the phone, or by way of other criminals, and some even by letter. And even though this particular threat was handcrafted in the cliché cut/out/newspaper/words to avoid handwriting analysis, it still didn't raise his eyebrow. Truth: He was too used to it. Not that he was getting soft or careless, no. Just that so many threats came without any follow-through. It was part of the territory. Having said that, he was ready for it.

Correction: Both he and Hutch were ready for it. Ready for anything really.

He merely continued to sift through the rest of his mail at his kitchen counter on this cool Halloween morning, when usually he would confer with his partner to see if he'd received a similar threat of bodily harm. But it was such a fun-feeling morning that he put the threat right out of his mind and went to his phone. Not to call Hutch about the threat. But to instead ask him about what time he and Kiko, and perhaps Molly, would be coming over for trick-or-treating in the neighborhood that evening, and he'd try to have the oil changed on the Torino in time. Kiko was a kid that Hutch took under his wing in the Big Brother program, so he was always trying to find ways to bring fun into the kid's life, maybe to prevent him from developing a life of crime on the street and becoming an image of his father. And with Molly being part of the Ramos family now, Hutch was even more dedicated to them.

"I don't know if or when we'll be over to your place," Hutch told his partner over the phone. "Camila and I are taking them to get their costumes, then who knows what. Thought you were going to a Halloween party with Cathy anyway."

"Cathy made up with her ex."

"Ouch."

"So that leaves me handing out candy, or going trick-or-treating with you guys."

"Do you have to sound so lonely when you say that?"

"Why don't you want my company all of a sudden?"

"Like I said, Camila and I-"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Starsky said in almost whispered wonderment. "Now I get it. You and the beautiful widow Ramos are getting….how shall we say…closer."

"Your words, partner," Hutch laughed a little. "Not mine. But you wouldn't be entirely wrong."

Starsky expelled a big sigh. "Okay, appears that my Halloween plans are looking slimmer and slimmer. Huggy's having a costume party at his place. Maybe I'll head over there."

"Have fun."

"Always do."

Hutch had his arm around Camila Ramos as they browsed through the department store, Kiko and Molly were eyeing all the fall and Halloween decorations and related toys, like a creepy haunted house with lights in the windows, bats that made screeching noises, and vampire fangs with painted blood. But it was the sight of Hutch with his mother that made Kiko feel the best.

Since his father was killed, Hutch was there for the both of them. First as a caring friend, then, as time went on, a father figure, and, surprise, a romantic interest for his mother. Most boys would resent a new man showing interest in their mother following the death of their father, but Kiko only smiled when he saw them kissing at the front door one night when Hutch was leaving after a special candlelight dinner. And Molly was very accepting of the new family arrangement as well. It seemed very natural to her, for she loved Hutch more than her own father.

In a way, it felt more like family to Kiko than when his father had been home, because his father was rarely around after doing time in the pen. He was out drinking, drugging, and making new deals that would surely land him back behind bars.

Little did they know this last score would lead him to a fatal knife fight down a cold dark alley. Hutch even tried to save the man's life by doing CPR, but it was too late. Kiko's father bled out between two wooden crates of spoiled produce. The boy took it hard, as most boys would. But Hutch was there to soften the blow, and truth be told, Kiko thought more of his mother than he had his father.

"Hey, Mom," Kiko said taking a werewolf costume from a shelf. "How about this?"

"If that's what you want," she said with a smile.

Kiko smiled up at Hutch. "You going to dress up too, Hutch?"

"No, I think I'll sit this one out. Starsky is into it enough for the both of us."

"He should be a clown," Molly offered.

"Popcorn," Camila said as she reached for a bag at the checkout counter. "We can pop some at our house."

"Or mine," Hutch suggested with a small smile.

It was almost dark, and trick-or-treaters were already out canvasing Starsky's neighborhood for treats with their plastic pumpkins and open treat bags.

Starsky was under the jacked-up Torino in his garage, trying to change the oil as quickly as possible, so that he'd be ready for whatever Halloween plans happened tonight. Either he could spend it trick-or-treating with Hutch, Kiko, Molly, and Camila, or he could spend it at Huggy's costume party, perhaps meet a girl there and bring her back home, now that Cathy was history.

If he chose the latter plan, he'd have to come up with a knockout costume. Usually the store-bought ones were boring. He preferred making them up homemade, spontaneously, from whatever he could find around his place. Let's see. Last year he was a troll. This year he could be something on the opposite end of the scale. Something not so menacing, maybe something sweeter, like Prince Charming, or Robin Hood, or even a puppy.

Had he been more aware of his surroundings, maybe looked around a little more like a cop instead of a civilian, he would have seen that not all of the trick-or-treaters were young children being escorted by their parents or other adults. One showed up wearing a full-length white sheet as a costume. Starsky did make note of his adult-size boots etched with red cobras beneath the hem of the white sheet, but by the time he realized that the author of the note was making good on his threat-See you on Halloween night, pig-it was too late.

The cobra-etched boot kicked the jack out from under the Torino and the car fell heavily onto Starsky's chest with a clunking sound. All the assailant had to do was walk on like he was collecting candy, blending in with the others. None of them knew his name was Lawrence Hill and he had turned 21 two days ago, released from juvenile detention after serving five years for stabbing Officer David Starsky. It wasn't his only crime, but it was the one that fueled the fires of hate and revenge that burned inside.

"Huh…"

The crushing weight on Starsky's chest was massive and unbearable. He could barely breathe, consciousness was fleeting, flittering, and if he could only call for help…call out to all those trick-or-treaters passing by-(he could actually see their shoes as they paraded past)-kids with costumes dragging the ground, dropping pieces of candy here and there.

God, don't let me die like this. I want to live. I got more to do. I want to marry the right girl, have a kid or two, kick it with my best friend till we're old and gray. Help me. Send Hutch. But if it's my time, if I gotta go, then please take care of him. Watch over him.

But the weight wouldn't let him draw a decent breath, and he began to suffocate in the sea of darkness that swallowed him.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn"-"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm"-

There was a muffled buzzing sound to the voices wafting above him.

"Starsky!"

Hutch's voice.

"Starsk!"

Hutch made it. Trick-or-treating, with Kiko, Molly, and Camila in tow. Maybe it would be all right now. But Hutch's voice faded out to the "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm" and "Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn" again, as consciousness slowly swirled around and down like a circling drain.

The weight lifted, but how?

It didn't hurt as much now, but how?

"Starsk, you're going to be okay. Just hang on, buddy. I'm here."

A bright light hovered overhead, and then it was lights out, but as the halo dimmed, he heard Kiko say, "Did you see that, Molly? Hutch lifted that car off of him."

Camila murmured something about adrenaline.

Now Molly's admiration for Hutch rose even more.

"I never use the M word," the doctor said. "But it's a miracle he survived. He has severe bruising on his chest, but no broken ribs, although he did suffer cardiac arrest."

Kiko looked at Hutch in the waiting room-"Huh?"-and Molly wore a confused look as well.

"Heart attack," Hutch whispered as he looked down at the floor and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Molly placed her hand on his shoulder, tears in her eyes. The tears were more for him than Starsky. Hutch had taught her how to feel for others, by giving so much of himself to her. It was an awkward feeling in a way, but she was getting better at it.

"He said it wasn't an accident," the doctor continued.

Hutch's head came up and he stared at the man.

"What did you say?"

"He was in and out, incoherent at times, but he seemed to be saying that a guy dressed in a sheet as a ghost, and wearing snake boots, kicked the jack out from under his car."

The doctors had told him to be patient while they tended to his partner in the emergency room, and he had complied, sitting as coiled as a feral cat ready to spring, but no more. He could stay away no more. He jumped to his feet and fled down the hall to where Starsky lay being sustained by hospital machines and technology.

Camila was left to put an arm around each of her overgrown babies, her heart going with her man.

The doctors buzzed for security, but Hutch moved in close to Starsky anyway.

"Who, Starsk? Tell me who."

But Starsky was medicated and not able to answer.

Hutch ran back to the waiting room, where Camila was blotting her eyes with a tissue.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"Take the kids back to your house," he panted, gently taking her arms. "I'm going after whoever did this."

"Please be careful, Hutch."

"I will," he said as he gave a parting glance to Kiko and Molly-Take care of your mother-and raced out the door.

Hutch contacted Captain Dobey by police radio to have a guard posted outside Starsky's hospital room and put extra officers on the case. Once he got home, he called Huggy Bear to find out if there had been any talk or brags about hurting a cop named Starsky.

"No dice," Huggy said. "But if I hear anything…"

"And, Starsky said something about snakehead boots, whatever that means. I'll have to get more details from him when he wakes up."

"Yeah. Take care of yourself, bro. One friend down is enough for one night."

Hutch took pursuit of Ghost Man the way he would any other investigation-only twice as hard, because it was Starsky who was the center of it. He had to keep a clear head. He couldn't let their friendship cloud his judgment or cause him to make mistakes. Now he understood why doctors weren't supposed to treat family members or close friends. If you lose objectivity, someone could end up hurt, but he also knew no one else would investigate the way he would.

No one.

It would be done by the book. Pictures were taken and evidence was collected at Starsky's house, especially the garage of course. Hutch himself looked through the rooms of the house, studying each one. The small stack of mail on the kitchen counter caught his attention, and he bagged the handcrafted death threat himself. Likely no prints would be found, but it was a piece to add to the puzzle.

His next move was to interview Starsky's neighbors, to see if they'd witnessed the incident, or saw an adult-size trick-or-treat ghost dressed in a white sheet. No one reported that they had.

Since Dobey assigned additional cops to the investigation, Hutch took some time to be with Starsky at the hospital. He was moved from ICU to a private room, and both spirits lightened when Hutch entered it. Starsky tried to sit up, but Hutch put a staying hand on his shoulder.

"No way," he said quietly. "Just rest."

Starsky wanted to talk, but only a whisper came out. "He could…he could get you too."

This was each thinking of his partner's safety and wellbeing before his own, putting him first, willing to hurt, sacrifice, or die if he had to, in order for him to be okay. If Bellamy's poison proved anything, it was this. If a gangster's bullets in the back of a restaurant proved anything, it was this.

"We'll get him," Hutch said. "Don't you worry about that. Now if there is anything else you can tell me about what happened…about him…and those cobra boots…"

But they were met with dead ends. Starsky sketched the boots so that Hutch would know what to look for, but the individuals Hutch questioned had never seen boots like those and didn't know where they were sold or who made them. He pored through every boot catalogue and called every boot store and maker in the area. Even the threatening note, which was a key piece of evidence, bore no fruit.

So, as time moved on, focus shifted to Starsky mending and gaining strength so he could return to police work. When the doctors gave him a clear bill of health, Huggy had a Thanksgiving dinner party at his restaurant bar. Hutch and Camila were there, as were Kiko and Molly.

Captain Dobey even threw Starsky a welcome-back party, made strictly of fellow cops and those who knew him in the department—a smallish affair that meant as much as the party Huggy had hosted.

The investigation into his attempted murder was stalled, but not forgotten.

Hutch raised a glass of champagne toward Starsky. "To the best cop in the room. Welcome back."

Starsky was all smiles, if not a little misty.

Eager to jump back into work, Starsky picked Hutch up for their regular beat, only now he was picking Hutch up at the Ramos house more and more often. Which kind of fit, actually. Hutch loved Camile, and, Starsky suspected, had loved her for some time now-maybe even before Kiko's father was killed-but Hutch could never and would never act on it. They had an easy way around each other, as if they'd been good friends for years, and that's what they had been, really. Good friends that grew into lovers, that grew into...well, a couple, and maybe husband and wife someday, with two kids. The perfect family for Hutch. So natural. It brought out his nurturing side supremely, and he was good at it. The dark half knew no one could take his place in Hutch's life, and wasn't envious, but he did want that kind of life for himself too.

"Hey, cheeseball," Hutch said sliding into the passenger seat next to him and handing him a brown paper takeout bag. "Got you something."

Starsky dug his hand into the bag and pulled out a raspberry scone drizzled in white chocolate.

"Camila made them," Hutch said taking a bite of his own. "She wants to know if you'll come over to have Christmas dinner with us."

"Can't understand you with your mouth full," Starsky said with his own full mouth.

Hutch swallowed and spoke again. "We're inviting you to Christmas dinner. Bring your Ma and your brother out."

"Yeah, it's been a while."

The small talk felt good, and it felt good to see Hutch happy. Likewise, Hutch was glad Starsky was back into the groove of things, even if their captain had been assigning them somewhat lighter cases than they were accustomed to, just to be on the safe side. But, per usual, Starsky's safety never left Hutch's mind, especially since Ghost Man hadn't been apprehended yet.

Everyone in the department noticed how Hutch stood a little closer to his partner now, watched out the windows and doors, walked a step ahead of him most of the time, had his jacket open more should he have to reach for his gun, and kept a sharp eye out when anyone new walked through the squad-room door.

Huggy, too, noticed that Hutch hovered a little closer to Starsky than he used to, and spent more off-time with him. Starsky was now getting a call from him almost every day, sometimes twice a day. Not that Starsky minded-he could talk to Hutch any time or any place about any thing. But it was beginning to become a little concerning, and Starsky pulled him aside in the vending room, almost into the corner itself, where it could be private.

"Hutch, you gotta ease up."

Hutch gave him a quizzical look. He honestly hadn't noticed his overprotective behavior.

"On what?"

"Guarding me to death."

Starsky made a point to keep his voice soft and low, because a slight look of hurt and confusion came to Hutch's eyes, and he never meant for that to happen.

"Starsk, I-"

Starsky squeezed his shoulder. "I know, buddy. I'd feel the same if some flake hurt you and we hadn't caught him yet. I get it. But I don't want this to wear you down."

"Wear me…Starsk-"

"I need you focused on the street, Hutch. And Camila and the kids need you. Christmas is just around the corner. Let's get back to normal, huh?"

"This is normal."

"No, buddy. This is you running on adrenaline and fear-"

"I'm not afraid."

"Not for yourself, no. But you are for me."

Hands on hips, Hutch looked down, biting his lower lip.

"I won't deny it. We missed something, Starsk. Someone is out there, just waiting to strike at us again, and we missed it."

"Give yourself a break. We'll get him."

Christmas was close, and it was one of Starsky's favorite holidays. But it wasn't the case for Lawrence Hill. It was close to Christmas five years ago that Starsky busted into the apartment he shared with his father and placed him under arrest for raping and murdering a little girl. The elder Hill didn't last long in prison. He already had enemies there. The system put young Lawrence in a foster home, but he ran away to find the cop responsible for his father's murder. The blade attack landed Lawrence in juvenile detention until he turned 21, but he didn't care.

Now, today, It was eye for an eye, knife for a knife. Maybe the cop's internal alarm system was down. It would be a good time to hit him again, make it stick this time. Maybe Christmas would bring Starsky a knife this year, since he survived the car falling on his chest and the heart attack that followed. And maybe his guard dog Hutchinson needed a visit from Santa too.

Their Christmas plans didn't go as planned. Starsky's mother was down with a sickness, so Nick decided to stay with her and provide her with a steady flow of chicken soup and her favorite Christmas songs on her old Victrola. Starsky got his love of Christmas from her.

Camila was a gracious host in her home, serving the finest Mexican cuisine at midnight-Noche Buena-along with other favorites. Starsky enjoyed sampling all the different dishes, while Hutch strummed Christmas songs on his guitar.

"Where are the presents?" Kiko asked.

"Santa's helper is delivering them," Starsky supplied.

Molly rolled her eyes. "Neither of us believe in Santa anymore, Dave."

Starsky glanced at Hutch. "That's what's wrong with kids today. Too cynical." To Molly he said, "Okay, so yes, by Santa's helper, I mean Huggy. Satisfied?"

"As long as he isn't dressed like an elf," Kiko grinned.

Camila began clearing the dishes and taking them to the kitchen sink, and Starsky helped. Over his shoulder he said, "Hey, Hutch, can you sing that Andy Williams song, 'It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year'?"

A knock and a "Ho ho ho!" came at the door, and Hutch rose from his chair with a smile to answer it, wondering what kind of presents Huggy would be bringing with the money he gave him. Standing with an armload of presents, however, was a young man wearing a Santa hat.

"Huggy sent you?" Hutch asked.

"Kind of. Can I come in?"

But it was Starsky's sharp "Hutch!" that froze his partner. Hutch quickly followed Starsky's gaze, down to the man's cobra-designed boots. Before Hutch could reach for his gun on the coffee table, Lawrence Hill pushed a knife into his stomach, then lunged at Starsky with the same bloody knife raised over his head. Starsky's draw was quick, but someone else's was quicker, using Hutch's gun to blast the would-be cop killer back outside the door.

It was Molly, and she cried Hutch's name as she dropped his gun and ran to him.

"Please be okay," she sobbed as she fell to her knees next to him, pressing her hand against his bleeding stomach.

Face white, eyes glassy, Hutch tried to tell her he was okay, but he wasn't. Starsky knelt with her to help him, and Camila called an ambulance, and then Huggy's, only to have one of his waitresses tell her that Huggy was beaten unconscious outside his back door but would be all right.

"Should have known," Hutch mumbled from his hospital bed when Starsky went in to visit him. He lost a fair amount of blood, but would make a full recovery. Kiko, Molly, and Camila were in the waiting room, relieved but still worried. "Last time we dealt with him, he was a teenager."

Starsky gripped his hand. "Hey, don't talk now. Just rest. Gotta get you on your feet by New Year's."

"How…how's Molly?"

"She's okay."

"Can you bring her in here?"

Starsky nodded and left.

She came quietly and bravely, but with tears in her eyes. She tried to keep her chin strong for him, but it trembled a little.

"I'm sorry, Hutch. I didn't mean to let you down."

He reached for her hand. "Let me down? You saved my life again, and Starsky's too."

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You're my girl. You'd make a good cop someday."

Her head lifted a little higher. "Yeah? Well I don't like cops."

"I know."

"Except for you."

He nodded. She saw his eyes grow heavy with fatigue and medicine, then leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

the end.

::::::::::::::::::

Breathwork

By Navy Blue and TLR

"Come on, Starsk," I said breezing into his place with a big smile on my face and the deed in my hand.

Starsky was recuperating just fine at my place. Physically. But mentally? Of course I knew the psychological injuries would need time too-perhaps more than the physical. But I still wish that part of his healing could speed up. I hated the helpless feeling of watching him struggle to become stronger each day, which included the times he broke out into a cold sweat when he heard gunshots on TV, or yelped out in a bad dream, or reached for me like a child. I comforted him the best I could, determined to not let Gunther win, even though he had admittedly gotten in a few good slugs.

Sifting through the refrigerator for orange juice in his pajamas and robe, he closed its door and looked at me. "Come on what?"

"I'm tired of seeing you in those hospital clothes," I said walking over to him.

He chugged a drink of juice from the glass bottle and said, "These aren't hospital clothes. It's loungewear, that you bought for me."

"I know, but they remind me of the hospital, and I'm sick of them."

I put the deed in his hand and went to his bedroom for some real clothes. I knew he would recover, but lately it seemed urgent that I do something for him, with him, that had nothing to do with Gunther's bullets or a hospital.

"I cleared it with your doctor," I said as I tossed him his favorite blue jeans and red T-shirt. "And Captain Dobey."

"Cleared what?" he asked, and then waved the deed at me. "What's this all about?"

I snatched the deed from him. "This," I said holding it up in front of his face, "is better than any visiting nurse or physical therapist. We now own—I mean, I own—or whatever, a piece of property in the woods. Which we are going to visit today."

Starsky stared at me while I began to pack our bags and his medicine.

"Right now?" he asked as he watched me move around his house in a whirlwind. I hadn't moved this quickly in a while. My heart beat hard and fast with excitement. And a little bit of hope, that I would have my partner back body and soul, safe and sound, the way we used to be. And if I could admit it to myself, the trip would be good for me too.

"Right now."

"But Hutch, you know I don't like camping."

"This isn't just camping," I said as I continued to toss things into suitcases and duffel bags. "Think of it as…an experience. We're going to build a cabin on that piece of land."

"What?"

"There's a big stream for water, all kinds of nut and fruit trees, berries, you name it. And a little grocery store about ten miles away."

"TEN MILES?! YOU MEAN CIVILIZATION IS TEN MILES AWAY?!"

"Well," I said, going for the philosophical approach, "civilization rests within each of us, does it not?", but when I saw he wasn't falling for my condescending cajoling, "We'll take your car, if that's what you're worried about. Full gas tank, plenty of supplies, tents, sleeping bags…"

"And how'm I gonna help you build a cabin at the moment?"

"Oh, I'm the one who's going to build, don't worry about that. All you have to do is supervise, enjoy the place, and get better."

He looked around doubtfully. "I don't know…"

This is the turning point, Starsk, don't you see? I don't want you getting too comfortable here; too comfortable in a predictable cocoon. I want you to feel that you've come through this and are headed forward, not stuck on a treadmill.

I went to him and took him by the shoulders. "I packed your camera. You're going to love it."

I waited for his response. I wanted it to by yes, but it very well could be no. It had to be his decision.

Whether for himself, for me, or both of us, I don't know.

He said yes.

::::::::::

On the drive up, he said, "All the woods look the same to me. What if we run into a bear or something?"

"Well, we have our guns, Davy Crockett. And I brought bear spray."

"Oh that's rich."

"No, really," I said reaching for the glove compartment and pulling out a canister. "Bear spray."

He read the can in his hand. "Do they make snake spray?"

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. I was so happy to have him with me like this again. This is what we needed—time to riff with each other, getting grounded again. It would take time, but I was certain this was the final push to the finish line. I think he felt it too, because his eyes twinkled with sarcasm and mischief for the first time since Gunther.

::::::::::

It took a few hours, but we made it to the spot. It didn't look that dissimilar from Dobey's place, except that it was a bigger area, and there was no cabin, just a pile of lumber, tools, and supplies to build it. It wouldn't be as big or modern as the captain's cabin. It would be small and simple, but it would be ours, and it would be handmade. I'd helped my grampa build one back when I was a teenager, and now seemed the perfect time to build a second one.

"Five grand acres," I said getting out of the Torino and expanding my arms in a long stretch. "All ours."

Starsk got out too and looked around, but his eyes zeroed in on the building supplies. "So what are we gonna sleep in tonight?"

I lifted the trunk and pulled out a couple of deflated air mattresses and pump, a big pop-up tent, sleeping bags, and camp chairs.

"This will be great for starters, while I get the cabin under roof."

"How long will that take?"

"No time at all. I'll show you around the property, and then we'll just build a campfire for our dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Fish dinner. Let's go."

He walked with me, and I showed him the stream first.

"This is where we'll get our water, Starsk." I crouched down to scoop up a handful of fresh clean water, and he did the same.

"This is our stream?" he asked me, like he was proud to say it.

"It is."

So we walked around looking the place over, me staying somewhat closer to him than usual because he didn't have all of his strength back. I wouldn't say he was weak on his feet, but I did notice that he stayed a little closer to me too.

:::::::::::

When we arrived back at the building site, I noticed he was a little out of breath.

"Here," I said unfolding a comfy camp chair. "Have a seat while I catch a fish or two."

He did, watching me fish from his chair, which is exactly what I wanted him to do.

When I caught the fish, I brought it back, built a campfire, and cooked it over the flames.

The sun was setting, and when he finished his meal, reached for his camera to get a shot of the sunset while I set up the tent and prepared the sleeping arrangements.

"Beautiful," he said, then hung his camera from the back of his chair.

When it was completely dark, I noticed his eyes getting heavy with fatigue, and with me playing the guitar and humming a slow tune, he crawled inside the tent and fell into a deep and restful sleep, the first time he'd done so without a sleeping pill or pain medicine since he'd come home from the hospital.

::::::::::

Next morning I let him sleep in, and I began meditating in a lotus position near the stream while the coffee, eggs, and bread I'd cooked on the fire were on standby until Starsk woke up.

The aroma of morning food woke him, as per the usual, and I heard him call my name quietly, but, in my reflective state, didn't look over my shoulder at him or acknowledge him. Nevertheless, I felt his presence as he walked up and sat down next to me.

A minute or two later I opened my eyes. He was sipping coffee and looking out over the stream.

He looked rested. No cries in the night, no tossing and turning, no reaching for me, although I've become accustomed of late to always sleeping with my arm within reach of his hand should he need me.

"Hey," I said taking his cup for a sip, "can I show you something?"

"Maybe."

I took the cup from his hand and set it on a fairly level stone.

"Sit like this."

He did.

"Now. I'm going to show you how to do some breathwork."

::::::::::

Starsky took my suggestion to heart, as I knew he would. He supervised and offered advice. Sometimes from a director's chair, sometimes from an air mattress, sometimes a pile of folded-up sleeping bags. A time or two he made a halfhearted attempt to hammer some nails, but I scolded him back to his seat, and he seemed to thrive on watching me work and sweat. Not that he was gloating. By no means. That wasn't his way. It was, how shall I say…there is a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that comes from building something with your hands, and he was allowing me to have it by letting me do this for him. For all of my education and training, I can be a little thick sometimes. It was only now I realized that this trip was helping me too, and he knew it.

We always kidded about owning a house together, and now it looked like we were doing it. It was our unspoken way, our unspoken truth: We were doing this for each other, The Me And Thee Effect in action. Stronger than love, stronger than death, and always full of life. If two people were predetermined to be best friends in this world, it was me and Starsky.

the end

:::::::::::::::::::

Vapour

a starsky and hutch story written by navy blue and tlr

:::

For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away-King James Bible, James 4:14.

:::

Starsky pulled up alongside the curb at Venice Place and let Hutch out.

"See ya in the mornin', Bronco," Starsky winked, and drove away with a casual wave and a glance in the rearview mirror.

Hutch stood on the sidewalk and watched him depart, his heart full of pride and love for the man who everyone a year ago said would never return to the police force. Well, he did return, both of them did, but as academy instructors, not detectives. Hutch had been offered Lieutenant, which would lead to replacing Captain Dobey someday, but...

"Starsky's my partner," he told the brass with that quiet conviction he possessed so easily. "Always will be."

I won't leave him behind, is what he didn't say, because it didn't need saying.

Not wanting to be a stumblingblock for Hutch's future success, Starsky tried to talk him out of his decision, but Hutch was solid. Once that was set in stone, the move to become instructors was easy. Still partners, still loving their job.

:::

After the Torino had turned the corner and was out of sight, Hutch climbed the stairs to his apartment and went in, feeling almost naked and off balance without Starsky being within inches of him all day long. This of course came from the intensity of closeness they had during Starsky's recovery, a situation that thrust them into an even tighter bond than they had before, if that were possible. Sometimes Hutch couldn't tell where his and Starsky's bodies, thoughts, days and nights—lives really-began and ended. And honestly, it didn't matter. Starsky needed him, and that was enough reason to be there. Hutch would gladly lay his life down—not just a dying death—but a living death if need be, for his best friend.

It was a blessing to be able to work alongside him once more, seeing him strong, invested, and full of zest again. There were a few physical issues caused by the massive damage, but David Michael Starsky was back.

There were times when both of them wondered if that day would ever come. Starsky needed so much help, and only Hutch would do. It made the recovery process go a lot smoother and faster.

It was an act of love that Hutch needed to do—a living sacrifice-and Starsky let him do it.

:::

Hutch was shrugging out of his jacket just inside his apartment, just as his phone was ringing.

"Hello?" he said tossing the jacket onto the sofa.

Instantly he recognized her voice.

Kate Larrabee.

"Ken?" she said with hesitation over the phone. "I need you."

:::

Her front door was unlocked, so he let himself in after politely knocking, but her home was dark, illuminated by only a small desk lamp. She sat in the corner of her sofa, a niqab veiling her face, her body appearing thinner than it had been before. Her eyes, beautiful as ever, were uncovered, but now full of pain. A pair of forearm crutches rested arm's length away against an easy chair.

"Kate?" he asked quietly, and settled down next to her, wrapping his arms around her carefully, as though he might break her.

"There's been a recurrence," came her slightly muffled whisper, confirming his fear. "It's…aggressive. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he asked as he pulled back and stroked her covered cheek with his thumb. "What ever could you be sorry for?"

"Giving in to my base, superficial nature, I suppose."

He looked into her eyes for a long time, his fingertips moving to lift her caul, but her hand covered his in a gentle but urgent plea. "Don't, Ken. Please."

Behind her muffled voice, he could also hear a slight distortion, a thickness, a scratch in her throat, possibly brought about by her illness or associated treatments.

He looked around her place, perhaps trying to hide the tears in his eyes. "Has anyone been helping you?"

"Randy. But, he's a photographer with a busy slate, and I don't want to keep him from his work. I sent him home. I called you because…I just need an old friend. Nothing more, nothing less."

He took her hand and kissed it.

"I'm sorry this is happening to you again, but thank you for calling me."

Instead of trying to encourage or philosophize, he simply put his arms around her again and held her until she fell asleep, then carried her to her bedroom and covered her, remembering to place the crutches within her reach.

Call it his grasp of extrasensory perception, or just plain knowing her too well, but as he was about to leave the room, he slid open her nightstand drawer, and what he saw confirmed his suspicion. He picked up her snub nose revolver and slipped it into his pocket. Then he softly closed the door and went to the phone in her living room to call Starsky.

:::

He made her breakfast the next morning. Fruit and toast. She came to her seat on her crutches and sat down, wearing a silk robe and gown, adjusting her veil with averted eyes.

"Coffee?" he asked as he poured himself a cup.

"No, thank you."

She looked over at the sofa, and saw where he had slept under a pink and white patchwork quilt he had found in the top of the coat closet.

"That belonged to my grandmother back in Minnesota," she said almost sadly. "A lifetime ago."

"I remember her," he said as he came closer to her with his coffee, taking a seat across from her, but leaning close.

She drew the saucer of toast and fruit closer to herself, but didn't touch it.

"She always said I should have hung on to you. Maybe I should have listened."

He took the snub nose from his pocket and placed it between them on the table.

"Is this why you called me? So I could talk you out of it?"

She looked down. "I guess you're wondering what happened to that newfound outlook you instilled in me. It did work. I was confident at Angel's trial, thanks to you. I guess…I'm only human. My wheelchair is arriving late this afternoon. I don't know how to be ready for that."

"I can arrange to be here. What do you need? What can I do?"

She reached for his hand. "I heard what you did for David. I couldn't ask that you do it again."

When her tears broke, he came off his seat to hold her again.

"I'm taking the day off," he told her gently. "And I think we should seriously talk about getting married."

:::

While Hutch was out getting her some healthy food, Starsky dropped by, bringing her flowers.

"They're beautiful," she said in a choked whisper.

"Not as beautiful as you are."

"Thank you," she said as she lay her cheek against the petals.

"Want me to put those in water?"

She nodded, and he took them, slipping them down into a crystal carafe and filling it with water.

After he set the flowers on the coffee table in front of her, he slowly unzipped his powder blue hoodie to reveal his bare, bullet and surgery-scarred torso.

"I fought for my life," he said quietly. "Whether you fight for yours is entirely up to you. But do me a favor and please don't hurt him."

:::

Hutch picked up some fresh produce, vitamins, and supplements from his favorite health food store, then picked Starsky up at his place to take him to have dinner at Kate's.

"Thanks for coming, Starsk," he said as he turned onto Kate's street. "This will be a tough day for her, with the wheelchair coming and all. I thought maybe you could talk to her, give her some insight, show her how to do things."

Starsky's eyes were stormy today. He chose his words carefully, for he never wanted to hurt Hutch's feelings, especially when he was vulnerable. But sometimes the truth needed to be said. "I know you want to protect her, buddy, but are you sure marriage is the way to do it?"

Hutch's silence was the only answer he could give. He drove on, for fear of saying something he didn't really mean, like, I helped you, but I can't help her, is that it?

His thoughts of defending himself and scolding Starsky took a backseat to the sight in front of him, however: A coroner's team and a crime lab unit were on scene in front of the former model's home, as was Captain Dobey's car.

Hutch and his partner spilled from the LTD and ran toward her house, but Harold caught Hutch by the arms.

"Hutch, no. Stay here. They'll bring her out. You—"

Hutch tore away from him, followed by Starsky.

"KATE!"

Panic and fear rose in Hutch's voice, choked out by tears.

He glimpsed them covering her on her bed, the wheelchair having been delivered an hour earlier than scheduled.

Starsky grabbed him from behind; a fierce hug really.

"Nah, stay here, Hutch. Stay with me."

But Hutch didn't. He ripped himself free of Starsky's strong, protective arms and ran to her, shoving through those tending to her.

"No," he said as he reached for her through their physical barriers-"Kate"-only able to brush her shoulder with his fingertips before they carried her away from him and out the bedroom door. Then the front door. Then to the coroner's vehicle.

He tried to follow. Starsky held him back again.

"Save her," Hutch said as his eyes followed her out. But it was only a whisper.

Her face was covered in a sheet, and there was no saving her.

Captain Dobey came in and put a small note into Hutch's hand, squeezing his shoulder.

"No," Hutch said moving his head negatively. "I took the gun. I…"

"Pills," the superior said. "I'm sorry, Hutch. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

The captain looked at Starsky as if to say, Take care of him.

Starsky nodded, even though he never, ever needed to be told to take care of him.

Hutch didn't really notice that everyone had left. He still stood in the same spot, the little note still between his hands, still looking at the door as if expecting her to walk back through it any second.

Starsky moved him to the sofa and gently sat him down, taking the note from his hands and reading it, although he already guessed the gist of it.

He read it aloud, to make sure Hutch could hear it:

Dear Ken,

Thank you for coming when I needed you. I didn't want you to save me, I just wanted to tell you goodbye. I love you.

Always your Kate.

Hutch had his face buried in his hands. Starsky slipped an arm around his neck, voice soft with lovingkindness.

"Listen to me, buddy. She was gonna do it no matter what. There was nothin' you could say or do that could've changed it. Her mind was made up."

The silence in the room lasted a long, long time. Hutch looked around, as if unsure of his surroundings.

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" he asked with tears and a half-hopeful smile.

"Yeah, Hutch, she was. She was beautiful."

the end

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Mister Hutchinson's Funeral

by navy blue and tlr

It was a hot and sweaty day. The kind where you're doing more suffocating than breathing. Me and Hutch had heads to crack, one being a perverted punk that was into exploiting and molesting mentally challenged teenagers. But once we were finished with him, wound up back in the squad room, Hutch reaching for a desk fan while I hustled to get some cold water.

It hadn't been that long since he nearly succumbed to the plague, and I worried about him ripping and running around like a mad dog. He doesn't handle the heat as well as I do. Not sure why, but maybe it was my time in Vietnam. I do think that with all he's been through, and I don't mean just that life-sucking virus, his fuse is a little shorter than it used to be, and things get to him a little deeper. He says things to me he's never said before, but I love him, so I let it go, and accept him as the Hutch he is and will become.

When I brought our water back to our desk, Hutch was standing and on the phone, but his face had drained its color of heat-red. It was now paste-white. I thought he was sick again, would pass out, so I quickly set the water down and slid a chair up behind him.

The receiver fell from his hand and I caught it, putting it back in its cradle.

He stood on unsteady legs, staring at the wall.

"My father died," he said just a hair above a whisper. "Heart attack."

I eased him down into the chair, dipped my hand in some of the water, and rubbed it across the back of his neck. My voice was just short of whispering too.

"I'm sorry, Hutch."

He sat woodenly, but tears rose to his eyes, making them shine like pale jewels.

Then the guy who as of late liked to rip me up one side and down the other looked up at me with an aching plea in his eyes.

"Will you go with me?"

The man is dead now, Hutch. He can't criticize, judge, or abuse you anymore. And you still need me for backup?

I nodded and gave his hair a stroke. "'course I will."

::::::::::::::

I packed for him while he spoke on the phone with his mother. She was a wreck, and Hutch told her we'd be in the air as soon as we possibly could.

After he hung up the phone, he just sank into his chair and stared numbly ahead. I snapped the suitcases closed, then walked over to him.

"Anything I can do?" I asked as I placed my hand on his shoulder. "Get for you?"

"No", he said patting my hand. "I'm fine."

Fine can mean different things coming from Hutch. Sometimes it means he really is fine. Sometimes it means he wants to be fine but isn't. And other times it means he's a mess and needs me to fix him. Yet other times it means he's closed a door and doesn't want to talk at the moment, but he'll bring it up later.

I could've said many things right then. About how I knew what it felt like to lose a dad, even though mine was lost when I was ten. Or how we all lose people and it will get better in time.

But I didn't say anything, just walked around watering his plants for him and putting his health food jars away properly so they wouldn't go stale while we were in Minnesota.

::::::::::::

I've been to the Hutchinson home in Minnesota a few times. And to the Hutchinson home in Florida. And the one in Hawaii. And the one in Alaska. Because Richard was a well-to-do hotel developer who put his heart and soul into properties. Too bad he didn't invest that much into his son, but Hutch and I both knew there wasn't anything we could do to change that, back then, or now. The man was what he was, nothing more or less. He only had one kid, so it looks like he could've given Hutch a break, but Richard wasn't the type.

He and I butted heads a few times, mostly over Hutch. He was a difficult man, but in time we came to an understanding, and kind of grew fond of each other.

Dorothy met us at the door with an expensive hanky in her hand, obviously the one she'd been drying her tears with.

"Oh Kenneth!" she cried as she lifted her arms toward him for a hug.

She needed him. He held her, rubbing her back.

"It'll be okay, Mom. I'm here now. Come on, let's go in and sit down, all right?"

She nodded, and I closed the door after the three of us were inside.

"David," she said over her shoulder, "I'm in shambles. Please forgive my rudeness. Make yourself at home, and help yourself to anything."

While Hutch took her to one of their sitting rooms—the one closest to the kitchen—I went into the kitchen to make them both some hot tea. I could hear her weeping in the other room, and the lonely sound of it brought tears to my eyes. That's the way Ma sounded when she lost my pop.

It was no secret Hutch was closer to his mom than his dad. She was poised and elegant, but still had a warm side that reminded me a lot of Hutch, so I guess apples don't fall too far from the tree. He was as comfortable in a country club as he was a pizzeria. And as far as Hutch being like his dad, there wasn't much in that area, except his temper and stubbornness.

I did their tea up fancy, setting it on a serving tray with a single rose I found in a bouquet someone had sent with condolences. When I carried it to her and set it on the coffee table in front of them, she gave me a red-eyed, tearful smile and said, "Thank you, David, how is your mother?"

"Just fine," I said, then looked at Hutch. "You guys need anything else?"

Hutch was wiped out, so he could only offer a small shake of his head in the negative. He held to his mother's hands in that role-reversal kind of way, the way I'd held my ma's when I became man of the house after Pop died. Hutch had to take care of his mom now. Not physically, but his strong sense of responsibility would lead him to call her more often, visit with her when he could, make sure she had the things she needed, and had someone to turn to when she had a problem.

"Okay," I said. "I'll bring the suitcases in and take them upstairs."

::::::::::::::

Dorothy took a sleeping pill before going to bed, which left me and Hutch unpacking our suitcases. It gave us something simple to do while moving through the grounds of grief.

"The house sure feels different without Richard in it," I said.

Hutch nodded. "I can't believe he's gone. Mom said he's been having heavy chest pains all week but wouldn't see a doctor. His office assistant found him on the floor behind his desk when she brought his lunch."

When Hutch and I began to turn in for the night, I took my stuff to my room. I say my room because Richard and Dorothy insisted I make one of the guest rooms my own, so I did. Still too fancy for my taste, but it was nice of them.

When I turned down the spread and plumped the pillow, that's when I saw it. A business-size envelope with my name on it, written in Mr. Hutchinson's bold, forward-slanted script.

I opened it to find a letter inside.

Taking it out, I began to read:

David,

I'm writing this to you because my heart is failing, and I feel my time is short. Also, Kenneth will believe these words if he hears them from you rather than me.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, my eyes still on the words.

I love my son, but I didn't show him in a way that he needed. I always wanted him to be a replica of me. My hopes, dreams, and plans were tied up in him, and I thought he would carry on the business I'd built. But he and I are two different people, and he wanted none of it. He preferred police work over a comfortable, safe life. Secretly I admired him for standing his ground and following his path, but I could never tell him. Pride wouldn't let me.

I sat there not knowing what to think. The man clearly had a heart, but kept it so closed off that he couldn't even tell Hutch that he was proud of him.

And my thanks goes to you, David, for being the friend and family he's needed all these years. I resented you because you were filling a role I never could.

That part put a lump in my throat. I always wondered what he really thought about me and my friendship with Hutch in his later years.

This last item is difficult to bring up, but I must. In my travels and business dealings, I have met many women. I love Dorothy, but wasn't a perfect husband. I had a brief affair that bore another son, younger than Kenneth. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I never tried to contact him, or his mother, and they never tried to contact me. I thought it best to let it lie. I don't even know his name. I ask everyone concerned for forgiveness.

Richard

::::::::

I sat a few minutes longer with the letter in my hands. This piece of paper was evidence of the walking contradiction known as Richard Kenneth Hutchinson. A conflicted man.

I folded the letter, slipped it back inside the envelope, then tucked it into my suitcase, figuring Hutch needed a good night's sleep before I read it to him in the morning.

::::::::::

Hundreds of people attended Richard's funeral. Hutch of course sat with his mother—he on her right, me on her left. The casket was closed by Richard's prepaid burial plans, and Dorothy provided a framed photograph of him next to the casket.

Several people stood up to say something nice about him, mostly colleagues and family friends.

Hutch didn't, and it really didn't seem out of place. I knew my partner. He would have felt like a hypocrite saying nice things if he didn't really feel them or mean them.

Hutch was far from hating his dad, but they had a conflicted relationship. Richard's letter left him nonplussed.

For Hutch, the funeral was more about being there for his mother. He was emotional to a degree, but overall a stoic pillar for others to lean on.

When the service was over and everyone stood up and started to leave the church, Dorothy placed her hand lovingly on the top of the casket and whispered, "Oh, I do love you, Richard, and will miss you so much."

As the three of us walked back down the aisle toward the double exit doors, I noticed a young guy sitting in the back pew of the church by himself, against the wall. Hutch didn't notice him because his attention was on his ma, putting his arm around her and blotting her wet cheeks, but I couldn't miss that Hutch hair and blue eyes.

I don't even know his name.

It was hard to read the guy's expression. He wasn't crying and he didn't seem to be upset. Uncomfortable would be a better word. Like he felt out of place, as if maybe he was second-guessing his decision to come here.

He seemed kind of awkward and withdrawn—shy even-and his clothes didn't reflect a rich Hutchinson father, or even a working-to-middle-class brother. He wore an old buttoned white shirt with worn cuffs that seemed to be a size too big, no belt, and black jeans with a split in one knee. The most expensive-looking part of his wardrobe were his black Dingo boots. You could tell the young guy was trying to look presentable for the funeral, but maybe couldn't afford it, or maybe, like me, the latest fashion and high-price clothes weren't important to him.

As Dorothy went on outside with some of her church lady friends, I took Hutch by the arm and drew him close, nodding my head toward the guy who sat looking at Richard's casket from the back pew.

Hutch moved through a few people to maneuver around the pews until he reached the back one.

The guy looked up, and their eyes met.

It was weird, but I got a deja vu feeling that reminded me of when I first met Richard, how intimidating he seemed to me at first, how uncomfortable I felt around him. I saw a flash of that in this guy's eyes, wondering, I bet, what Hutch would think of him, how would he react to his secret son being at Richard's funeral and entering their lives.

Hutch gave him a direct look, but instead of using the cold tone of his father, said in the warm style of his mother, and his own honorable self, "You must be my younger brother. I'm Ken Hutchinson, and this is my partner David Starsky. Nice to meet you."

The kid looked stunned, eyes stuck on Hutch's hand. Then he slowly reached out and gripped it, still uncertain. He looked about my brother Nick's age, maybe a little younger.

"I'm Theo. Theo Ansten. Do you mind if I…walk up there to the casket and pay my respects?"

"No, I don't mind. I'll go with you if you want."

As I watched them walk up there together, I couldn't help but note the strong family resemblance. I also wondered how Dorothy would take it once they met, but knowing the lady, I'd say she'd be hurt to know Richard cheated on her, but happy to know Hutch had a brother. Who, by the way, was interested in becoming a cop, just like my own brother Nick.

the end

::::::::::::::::::

trigger

a starsky and hutch story by navy blue and tlr

:::::::::

Starsky was having a fitful night of sleeping and dreaming, an occasional occurrence while convalescing at his home following the Gunther shooting. His dreams were vivid and visceral, sometimes so intense he woke up biting his hand or screaming into his pillow against the atrocious images of Hutch lying bloody on the ground-Starsky's efforts to revive him, useless.

Sometimes the daylight hours were only a little better. His state of hypervigilance kept him jumping against the slightest sound and movement, and Hutch had tried to help him feel safer by putting a gun and telephone within his reach.

At 1 am a sound woke him, or was he still dreaming? With his medication, and the late hour, it was hard to tell. Someone was pounding at his door, but he couldn't do anything about it. He felt paralyzed in his living room hospital bed, unable to move, his chest tight with fear.

Hutch had already gone home to get some shuteye, after a long day preparing for the Gunther trial and babysitting him. Alone now, every sound was amplified, even his breath, which felt hot and thick in his throat, almost choking him like too much smoke.

Whoever has been messing around outside my house is now back, or so it sounds. It could be one person, maybe two, and there is yelling but I can't understand a word, it's bushwa. I'm cold, painfully cold to the bone, which adds to my paralytic fear.

I wouldn't be afraid at all if Hutch were here, but I can't let him give up every waking moment for me, even though he wants to. He made sure I'd be safe while he was away, which means a pistol under the pillow of my living room hospital bed, and a phone within inches of my hand.

He knows I have bad dreams about the bullets chopping into my body, but I can't tell him about the worst nightmares, the ones that have me thrashing and have him running to soothe me. I just can't.

I'm an emotional catastrophe, and Hutch says all the right things, like, "It's PTSD, Starsk, and part of it could be your medicine. It's normal. It's okay." He got a library book for me to read on the subject, and although I appreciate every single thing he does, the way he loves me and takes care of me, I can't let him know how bad the dreams are, because he keeps bringing up therapy, and I'm just not ready for it. I can barely get to the john by myself, let alone have the mental stamina to tackle the night demons that bust in with machine guns and fire, not just at me, but at Hutch too.

The bloody images of Hutch sprawled on my living room floor, dying because I can't get to him, are enough to make my heart stop beating, and sometimes I think that's what's happening. If his heart stops, mine does too. But I can't lay that kind of stress on him. So I keep it wrapped up inside, until it leaks out in the next night terror. It's worse than Vietnam.

Maybe I need to stop taking my medicine. Maybe I need Cabrillo State.

More sounds. Voices. Getting louder. Closer.

"Hey," I say, cursing my own voice for sounding pathetically weak. I'm an easy target. What a chump. "I got a gun."

Did I say that out loud? Was it loud enough to carry to the intruder's ears?

Come on in then! I dare ya!

The pistol is in my left hand, I reach for the phone with my right, to call Hutch, but I fumble it, and my lifeline clatters to the floor.

No, Hutch is my lifeline, but he isn't here.

More pounding at the door, and I try to sit up, bringing up the gun and aiming it. I still can't make out the gibberish.

A guy busts in with a machine gun and fires at me. I return fire, and it drops him. I'm good with a gun. Am I back in Vietnam? God, help me.

My breath comes in pants now as I struggle to move out of the bed, gun still aimed, and as I limp closer to the intruder, I see it isn't an intruder at all, but my Hutch, who has come back to stay with me, the handle of his overnight bag still clutched in his hand.

It's the bloody dream I have of Hutch, come to life, full blown. I drop to my knees beside his still body, the pistol thudding to the floor. He's looking up at me with confusion in his ocean-colored eyes. I've taken the life of the man who gave me all of his.

His hand moves, fingers reaching for me. No blame. He loves me, and look what I do.

I take his hand. "Hutch, I'm…"

Mind foul with disgrace and self-loathing, Starsky crawled to the phone and fumbled for the receiver, calling for an ambulance but not aware of what he said into the receiver.

Hutch's groan took him to his side again, where he found him faintly breathing.

"Hold on," Starsky said touching his death-white face. "Hold on."

:::::::::

Captain Dobey arrived at the hospital to find Hutch in surgery with a bullet wound above his heart, and Starsky sitting despondent in a wheelchair in the waiting room, Huggy shaking him by the shirt until he was a limp rag doll.

"WHY!" Huggy cried at him. "Why didn't you listen to him! Why didn't you talk to him or let him help you!"

Dobey hurried to pull Huggy away. "Ease up."

Huggy retreated panting to the window to stifle a sob as he looked down at the night traffic, his back to them.

The captain walked over to Huggy. "The doctors think it's side effects from his new medicine."

:::::::::

After Starsky was examined and medicated, he was held overnight for observation, but the next morning, he was in his wheelchair going to ICU to see Hutch.

Hutch was sedated, connected to machines, tubes, and monitors.

Starsky didn't want to take his hand, because he felt he had no right to. He felt like a betrayer. He sat drawn and diminished in the wheelchair.

"Sorry isn't enough, Hutch. I didn't mean for this to happen. I'll see about therapy now. There's no way…" His chest hitched, his heart hitched, with a small sob. "No way I can let this go on. I coulda killed you."

:::::::::

When Hutch was strong enough and coherent enough for visitors, it was Starsky he asked for.

::::::::

"It was an accident," Hutch said in his recovery room as he groped for his partner's hand. "I should have made an appointment for you, so I'm partly to blame."

Starsky accepted his hand just as Huggy came in and joined them at Hutch's hospital bed, placing his hand over their clasped ones.

"Sorry, bro," he said to Starsky. "Glad things are gonna be all right with you now." Looking at Hutch he added, "You too, Blondie."

end

::::::::::

Starsky's Journal

"The Plague"

Let's talk about death. I see him through the glass, my partner and friend. He places no one above me. My personal angel, bodyguard, and confidant. He doesn't want to die, but he isn't afraid to. But should he go now, my heart will go with him. He would want me to go on and live a happy life, but my heart will be with him.

::::::::::::::::

Quake

A Starsky and Hutch story by Navy Blue and TLR

It started out a beautiful day in Bay City, but when everything began shaking inside the courthouse and without, most knew the drills and ducked for cover, except for Starsky and Hutch, who were well aware of the drills but nevertheless tried running the halls as hard as they could to get to each other.

Starsky had been at the prosecutor's table, and Hutch had stopped at the men's room to clean a spot of coffee from his tie.

The streets and sidewalks outside were buckling from the upheaval, vehicles were crushed by falling concrete slabs, people were running for their lives or taking shelter wherever they could find.

"Starsk!" Hutch yelled as he stumbled against a wall that was cracking and crumbling.

He thought perhaps his voice would get lost amongst the hundreds of other voices shouting in the building. Most people were exiting, grabbing colleagues and even strangers to help them outside and away from falling debris. He himself stopped to lift a pregnant teen through a broken window and outside.

But the heightened sense of danger only served to strengthen and sharpen the partners' concern for each other. Somehow, through the rumble, clatter, wafting concrete dust, and other people yelling, Starsky heard his partner's voice, able to detect it among so many.

"Hutch!"

Starsky tried to keep his balance as he dodged the gauntlet of falling blocks, light fixtures, pipes, and beams. Doors splintered and flew open or closed, glass cracked and dropped like daggers, furniture rattled around the hallway, sprinkler systems went off, whole rooms seemed to be breaking apart, but he plowed forward and jumped over obstacles in his way. Outside, vehicles rocked back and forth like boats in water, the streets cracked like peanut brittle, and it was hard for people to stay on their feet. Worse, debris killed some instantly, while others lie suffering and crying out in the streets.

The quaking seemed to go on for almost fifteen minutes. By the time it was over, most of the people had gotten outside, some unharmed, some badly injured, but the courthouse and a few of the nearby buildings were collapsed. Some were trapped inside under rubble, dead or alive it was hard to tell.

When the dust settled, moaning and screaming could be heard-pleas for help. Two voices, however, had stopped calling out, and those belonged to Starsky and Hutch.

::::::::::

Huggy Bear's was hit, but he managed to get as many customers and staff as he could under tables or outside the second he felt the building shaking. Besides his local relatives, his mind naturally turned to his friends Starsky and Hutch. He tried to call Captain Dobey from a dead phone, too shaken to realize the extent of the damage.

The movement subsided, but there was always room for an aftershock, and he braced himself, mostly his nerves.

He went outside to get in his car, to go see about his family, which included two plainclothes detectives, but his car was demolished.

As he looked around the street-his street as he liked to call it-it was unrecognizable. It was hard for his brain to accept the fact that the street was no longer that, just broken piles of asphalt and concrete, broken buildings, burning homes, and crying, hurting men, women, and children. Power was out, fires were burning, gas explosions were going off here and there, bricks sprinkled down like rain, utility poles lay across the street and against buildings and vehicles like chopsticks, and at its worst, some people were falling like dead birds from rooftops. It was more like a warzone. He walked dazedly through the wreckage, tears making tracks down the dust on his face like a sad clown, thinking crazily, Man, this must be The Big One.

Didn't matter. He'd do his best to find his people, and help any way he could. As he staggered through the debris in shock, sirens began to wail, and his mind went yet again to Starsky and Hutch.

::::::::::

Captain Dobey was running late for the trial Starsky and Hutch were attending that day. As Edith handed him his briefcase to usher him out the door for work, the trembling began, much less severe than what was happening downtown, but still enough for him to move himself and his wife under the dining room table for some protection from falling shelves and other dangerous things.

"Harold!" she cried clutching his arms. "The children!"

"I'll go to the school and get them," he said as he moved his bulkiness from beneath the table. "Stay here where it's safe."

"No," she said coming out from under the table too. "I'm going with you."

Once in the car, Harold turned on the radio for news reports, praying the routes to the schools were clear enough to rescue his kids.

::::::::::

The media reported fallen bridges, collapsed overpasses, broken water lines, stilt homes tumbling downward into earth or water; the number of fatalities unknown but expected to be in the thousands. The earthquake was felt in nearby states and was reported to be the biggest in California's history. Earlier predictions by seismologists had it at about 3 on the Richter scale, but it turned out to be 9.

::::::::

Emergency vehicles had difficulty reaching the most affected buildings, the courthouse being one of them, but rescuers managed to get inside to help the wounded and search for survivors.

One survivor was Dave Starsky, who came crawling out from under some concrete blocks that had thankfully created a triangular void that kept him relatively free of injury except for some abrasions on his handsome face.

He did emerge coughing and choking, however, and looked frantically around for his partner.

"Hutch!" he called as he climbed up over broken blocks, which seemed piled high like mounds of boulders now. In some places, he could look up through what remained of the roof and see the blue sky. In other places, dust and smoke obscured his vision. A few fires were breaking out, and firefighters were ordering everyone out of the building for fear of a gas explosion.

Starsky ignored the orders. Instead, moved farther away from safety, and deeper into the congestion of rubble.

"Hutch!"

Two firefighters that knew him came and grabbed his arms.

"You're coming with us," one of them said. "We'll look for Hutch".

He struggled against them, but was unsuccessful at breaking free because he collapsed from smoke inhalation.

Outside, the rescuers carried him by arms and legs over to an ambulance, where the medics put him on a gurney and placed an oxygen mask over his face.

"Hutch," he gasped behind the mask. "Gotta get Hutch."

He wanted to say more, but lost his struggle to breathe and passed out instead.

::::::::

Backup generators kept Emergency going at Memorial Hospital. There was controlled chaos among the doctors, nurses, medics, staff, and patients. Triage dictated that Starsky remain in the hallway, which made no difference to him. He made several attempts to leave the somewhat damaged building, but was brought back every time by his friend Huggy. Starsky wheezed one thing and one thing only: "Hutch. I gotta find Hutch."

"Make you a deal," Huggy said as he sat him down on a gurney and put the oxygen mask back on him. "You keep this on for a while, chug this water I'm about to give you, and then we'll go look for him together."

Starsky nodded and held his chest, but Huggy knew the pain was more in his heart than in his lungs.

::::::::::

Harold and Edith Dobey were able to pick their children up at school, thanks to the minimal damage done to the building. Teachers and staff were able to protect the students by diving under desks and following the drills they'd practiced. Only minor injuries were reported, and no fatalities, at least at this school.

After he took his family home and calmed them as best he could, his next destination was the police station to help coordinate and delegate as captain, even though half of the precinct was destroyed and some officers dead, wounded, or missing. The mayor was on the car radio announcing that arenas, auditoriums, houses of worship (the ones undamaged anyway) and emergency shelters-some of them tents and recreational vehicles-were being set up to offer first aid, water, food, and some semblance of a cot or pallet.

:::::::::

Huggy borrowed a car from an uncle and took a street less damaged, he and Starsky heading back toward the courthouse as quickly as they could to look for Hutch and help any way they could. Starsky gripped the dash, head swiveling for any sign of his partner.

"Hurry," he whispered. His voice was still smoke-raspy, but at least he was breathing better now.

"I'm tryin', bro. It ain't easy drivin' these messed up streets."

The ride was tense. Huggy couldn't help but look at the devastation, the sunken rooves, busted storefronts, and gaping crevasses in the sidewalk and streets, people calling out for help and helping one another with first aid because victims horrifically outnumbered emergency personnel. Starsky's eyes were laser-focused in the direction of the courthouse, with only one person on his mind at the time.

Huggy turned the radio on and heard that the National Guard was being dispatched and the White House was offering whatever assistance necessary.

As they got closer to the courthouse, the debris in the streets became impassable, blocking entrance by vehicle.

Starsky had his door open and was spilling out at a run even before Huggy stopped the car.

"Wait up!" Huggy called as he rushed to catch up with him.

As they maneuvered their way through slabs of concrete, the deceased, medics helping victims, and people searching in a daze for others, they were met by rescue workers and soldiers from the National Guard.

"Sorry," they said blocking their way, "no one is allowed back in. Orders."

"My partner is in there," Starsky said displaying his badge and pointing toward the imploded courthouse.

"Rescuers brought out who they could, Sergeant," the soldier said looking at the shield. "We have orders."

"Ken Hutchinson?" Starsky asked.

"No one by that name," the rescuer said looking down at a list on a clipboard.

Starsky moved past them, but one soldier pulled him back, while another raised up his gun.

"I'll have to detain you if you take another step. There aren't any more survivors. We've had men in there all day."

Standing next to Starsky, Huggy put a tight arm around his shoulders to hold him still, and said to the soldiers, "You got to keep looking, man."

When the soldiers simply moved their heads no, Starsky lunged through them, but was met with the butt of a rifle to his face.

"Hey man!" Huggy said to them as he crouched to one knee next to the unconscious Starsky.

A couple of uniformed police officers walked over, followed by Captain Dobey.

Harold threw vicious glares at them all. "What the hell is going on here!"

Huggy looked up at him with a protective hand on Starsky's back. "Hutch is missing."

::::::::::

The soldiers agreed to go back in and look again for Detective Hutchinson, but their search was fruitless. They were able to rescue a woman who'd regained consciousness and managed to clang on a pipe with her hairbrush, but as for Hutch, it was a lost cause.

:::::::::

The sun was going down on the devastation.

Huggy and Starsky sat in the car belonging to Huggy's uncle, watching the rubble to see if Hutch emerged, the car radio on should there be news of more survivors pulled from the piles of concrete.

Huggy walked to one of the emergency shelters to bring back a sandwich and some coffee and water, but Starsky refused it, his eyes scanning the rubble for a sign of his partner.

"He coulda made it out," he said in a small voice, no longer the furious cop on edge. Now he was simply a wounded friend missing the one he loved most in the world.

"Sure," Huggy said. Even though he doubted Hutch was alive, he couldn't stick that knife into his friend. Not today.

"He could be walkin' around with amnesia or somethin'."

"He could."

"Let's go try the hospitals again, and the shelters. He coulda wandered in off the street. He could be at his place, or mine, or the captain's, or yours…"

Huggy noticed that some people were affixing pictures of their lost loved ones to fences, signs, under windshield wipers, broken bricks, anywhere they could find. He reached into his hip pocket and brought out a picture of he, Hutch, and Starsky in front of the bar at his last birthday party, arms slung around one another's necks. Diane had taken it.

Carefully he tore Hutch out of the photo, then he got out of the car and borrowed a man's staple gun and his pen, wrote "Missing: Ken Hutchinson" on the picture, along with Captain Dobey's phone number, and secured it to a telephone pole.

When he turned around to return to his uncle's car, he saw that Starsky was gone.

:::::::::::

Starsky got a ride to his house, hoping to find something that told him Hutch had been there looking for him, like a note, but found nothing except a little damage and disarranged furniture caused by the earthquake.

He tried dialing Hutch's number, even though he knew the lines were dead.

Some of his neighbors were outside cleaning up debris.

"Hey, you seen Hutch?" he asked.

They looked into his dazed, pale face, and had to tell him no. He looked just like every other person in a state of shock out looking for their lost loved one.

Then he went to Hutch's place, where there too he found minor damage to the building, and people cleaning up outside or helping others out. Starsky took the time to hand one of Hutch's neighbors a flashlight, then went up the stairs, both dread and hope in each rising step.

Starsky reached up over the door for the key, let himself in, and stood looking around.

Hutch's apartment was in perfect condition, as though there had been no quake, as though it were waiting for him to return.

You should be here, Hutch. With me. Taking care of things, and people. Doing what you do best. Where are you? I know you're somewhere, because you can't be under that courthouse. You just can't be.

He took a few steps in, his eyes going to the coffee table. Hutch's guitar was propped against it, where he'd been strumming that morning before they set off for a day at the courthouse. Their empty coffee cups were there too, as was Hutch's new coral-colored cactus flower.

Starsky picked up the guitar with loving hands, sat down on the sofa with it across his knee, and began to strum softly, finally letting the tears come.

::::::::

Rescue became recovery.

Hutch's friends knew what that meant. Emergency personnel were no longer looking for the living, but the dead. The voids and spaces had been searched, debris removed, cadaver dogs brought in.

:::::::::

Huggy tried to talk to him, Captain Dobey tried to talk to him, and so did his brother Nick.

Nick stood in Hutch's home, the only place David wanted to be these days. The loss of his father had hurt David, but the loss of his partner would break him.

"He ain't comin' back," Nick said gently as he put an arm around his neck. "Just like Pop."

"No body," Starsky murmured quietly as he looked down. "He could still be alive."

Nick held his brother's cheeks in his hands.

"David, your MIA buddies in Vietnam. You still think they're alive?"

"He wouldn't give up on me," Starsky told him. "I won't give up on him."

"David, please. You're killin' me here. You know Hutch. You think he'd want you to live in denial the rest of your life? Body or no body, he isn't here. He could have burned to ashes. He could have been crushed to bits. We may never know what happened to him. But. Hutch. Isn't. Coming. Back."

:::::::::

A memorial service was held for the missing, the dead, and the presumed dead.

Starsky sat in the pew at the church, Huggy on one side of him, Nick on the other. Captain Dobey and his wife sat next to Huggy.

All the pews were full, and subtle instrumentals were playing over the speakers.

Sympathetic words were spoken at the front of the church, kind messages were read by mourners and Hutch's friends, encouraging statements about rebuilding came from the officials, but Starsky only halfway listened. It didn't seem real. It felt like Hutch should be sitting at his side, not his brother.

I'm not ready to lose you, Hutch. We're supposed to be in each other's lives until we're a ripe old age. But maybe Nick is right. Maybe I have to find a way to let you go, but how can I? I want to hang on to you at the same time. Is that so wrong? Is that so bad? I feel like if I let go of you, I let go of myself, and if I hold on to hope and faith, I'll always have you. I don't know what the future holds, but I know mine won't be much without you.

The mourners were weeping softly, so wrapped in their grief that they didn't notice the back door opening. But Starsky heard it, and when he turned in his seat, saw Hutch limping down the aisle, hair mussed and matted, face scuffed, clothes dirty with dry bloodstains and dirt, looking as dazed as Starsky felt.

"Starsk?" Hutch whispered weakly.

Slowly Starsky rose to his feet and moved down the aisle toward him, wonder in his voice.

"Hutch?"

Their ordeal ended the way it began, with each calling the other's name.

Hutch took a few more steps, his knees starting to drop, but Starsky was there to catch him in his arms.

"Where you been, huh? Where you been?"

"Got out, blacked out," he said weakly. "Wandered around, crawled inside a van and blacked out again. I…I think I'm okay now."

As Starsky moved him up to sit next to him in the pew with his friends and loved ones, he shed tears and put an arm around his partner, pulling him close.

The hands of his smiling friends reached for him with warmth and comfort, welcoming him home.

End