Strength and Honor

by Zebra 3 and Me

Some of these stories are What If possibilities (but not the only ones) on the early years of Starsky and Hutch.

STRENGTH & HONOR

By TLR

Sacred-A cult case leaves Hutch worried about his partner.

Harrowing-Hutch's revelation about his past.

Scars-What remains.

4. Decision-Hutch after The Fix.

5. Hurt (Decision 2)-A getaway is just what they need.

6. Safe-A trip to the Hutchinson farm.

7. Him-In the beginning for Starsky...

8. Steadfast-In the beginning for Hutch...

9. Heroisch-Starsky's new love is a substance abuse counselor.

10. Safe 2-Night Train-Starsky and two of his ladies.

Sacred

By TLR

Hutch stood in the large cave and relayed the details of the crime scene into a micro cassette recorder while other cops photographed it and collected the evidence into plastic bags and containers:

-"Cult slaying."

-"Ritualistic murder."

-"The severed head of what appears to be a young woman lies in a wooden salad bowl on an altar; split in half with a meat cleaver. The brain is missing from the skull cavity."

-"Bloody clothes. Hers we presume; they'll be bagged and analyzed."

-"Chalices with blood left in them will be fingerprinted, along with the cleaver."

-"The blood will be tested."

-"Bloody shoeprints on the ground are photographed, molds being poured for them, as well as tire tracks outside, as we speak."

-"We've seen this before."

Hutch heard a familiar cough to his left, turned, and saw Starsky.

"Hey," he said smiling, trying to conceal his concern, "what are you doing here?"

Starsky's eyes covered the crime scene. "Thought I'd check it out. Having had firsthand experience and all."

Hutch stepped in front of him to block his view, even though Starsky was a detective who'd seen many grisly murders.

"You're supposed to be home in bed. You have the flu. I told you I could get this one. Cap's going to put Frank on it."

"In my place?"

"Well, you know"-The blond glanced away-"You're under the weather and everything…"

Starsky walked out of the cave, weaved through a press of cops, photographers, and reporters, until he found Captain Dobey standing at his car briefing an older detective with gray hair named Howard Frank.

"Starsky!" Dobey barked. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were home sick."

"If you don't want me to handle this case, why don't you just say so instead of goin' behind my back and bringing somebody in?"

Dobey's brow creased. "Now listen here, Dave. My decisions are mine, and I don't have to explain them to you. Frank assisted on the Manson case."

To the older investigator Starsky said, "Congratulations." To the captain he said, "Hutch behind this?"

Dobey said nothing.

Starsky waited, but his superior's silence was the only answer he needed.

Starsky charged back to the cave, shoving a photographer aside.

"Hutch!"

Starsky moved through the narrow passage that led to the belly of the cave.

Hutch clicked off the recorder and looked at him. Their gaze held, and then Hutch looked away.

"It's only been two years, Starsk."

Starsky kicked a wooden table over, then stomped out.

Hutch followed, tossing the recorder to a fellow detective on his way.

"Finish, Hirsch."

Hutch ran through the narrow space that led outside.

When he broke into the clear, a pack of reporters closed in.

"Detective Hutchinson, is Simon Marcus reassembling his cult from behind bars?"

"Or are his followers just acting on their own?"

"Is it true Detective Starsky has been removed from the investigation?"

"Stuff it," he said as he muscled through the news crew, but when he was free of them, all he saw of Starsky was the taillights of the Torino as it disappeared in a spitting trail of dust and gravel.

XXXXXX=

"Woman was a prostitute," Detective Frank said as he handed Hutch a police file in the squad room at Parker Center. "Denise Fleming."

The mug shot of an attractive brunette was clipped to the cover. He looked down at the crime scene photo of her severed head on his desk.

"They plucked her right off the corner," Hutch murmured, almost to himself.

"But they didn't want her as a fellow member."

"I know. They wanted her for a sacrifice. I've had a little experience with cults myself, Howard."

XXXXXX=

Hutch took five minutes in the busy squad room to make a phone call to Huggy.

"If Starsk comes by, tell him I want to talk to him, okay?"

"Will do, blue."

XXXXXX=

Starsky got out of his Torino in front of his house, still peeved. He kicked his left front tire before rounding the front of the car to step onto the curb.

"Starsky my man."

Starsky turned on the walk and saw a young junkie he knew by the name of Tommy Burton. He was holding his arms and hunched into himself.

"What's up, Tommy?"

"Oh…" Tommy's jaw was clenched, he looked around the neighborhood. "Nothin'."

Starsky reached into his hip pocket, opened his wallet, and stuck a fifty in the teenager's shirt pocket.

"Take care of yourself, Tommy."

"Yeah, thanks, D."

Tommy turned and raced across the street. Starsky turned to go toward his house, but was met with a club to the side of his head.

Tommy gave a panicked look back over his shoulder, then ran faster.

XXXXXX=

Hutch parked behind the Torino and got out of his car.

It was late, but he had to talk to Starsky about this before he went home.

(It was for you, Starsk, why don't you see that?)

(Yeah, maybe a little extreme, a little paranoid, but I'm just trying to spare you)

(Who do you think you are? Do you really think you can stand between him and his nightmares? Or that keeping him off this case is going to erase what happened? He's handled it in his own way the past two years. Your attempts at helping him are only putting a wedge between you that doesn't need to be there. What if he tried to keep you from a heroin case? Where is your confidence in him?)

Hutch ran up to the front door. The house was dark.

(Already in bed. Sick, or mad?)

Hutch knocked on the front door.

"Hey, can I come in? I want to talk to you."

When there was no answer, he said, "I'm sorry, okay? But Dobey thought it was best too. Let's go talk to him in the morning, see if he'll let you back on. If you think it's okay, who am I to say otherwise?"

The silence made Hutch knock again. Then, when he was certain Starsky was deeply asleep, probably from flu medicine, he turned and walked back toward his car.

He'd call him in the morning.

Hutch stepped onto the sidewalk, looked down, and saw Starsky's wallet.

Fear surged through his bloodstream as he leaned over to pick it up, and his heart fell when he saw a blood smear on the Torino's front bumper.

He scrambled for the police radio in his front seat.

XXXXXX=

"He didn't make it inside," Hutch said as he stood on Starsky's walk and looked around.

"Repeat of two years ago?" Howard Frank asked.

"Wouldn't have to be. A lot of people would love to see us dead. But it's the style- snatching right off the street, a home, a public place, a courthouse..."

"There are dozens of caves up in that area, it could take a while to find him. If he's even there at all."

"Then we search every one of them."

XXXXXX=

Huggy grabbed Hutch's arm just as he was getting out of his car in front of the police station.

"I just heard, bro. I'll see what I can find out."

"Thanks, Hug."

XXXXXX=

"Looks like your little family's having a reunion," Detective Frank said to the man seated at a table in the interrogation room.

Simon Marcus looked at him. "The White Knight didn't come with you."

"He had things to do."

"What could be more important than talking to me about his missing partner?"

"I didn't say that's why I was here."

"You didn't have to."

"I'm here to talk about your followers."

"Don't lie. Simone never does. Why should you? I dreamed there would be a time when we would all be one again, and that my dream would become true."

"Your dream of killing Dave Starsky?"

"Of bringing us closer together."

"If we find you instigated his abduction, Marcus…"

Marcus smiled again. "Execution will never happen. In my dream I sit on death row, for many years, and die from old age in my sleep."

"Are you saying you've done something to warrant execution? Are you telling me you do have something to do with his disappearance?"

"I influence the minds of many men, and have through the ages. Politicians. Businessmen. Religious leaders. Judges. Lawyers. Doctors. Reporters. Detectives. I have through the years, and will continue to long after I'm gone."

"What grandiose delusions you have. I'm sure your followers believe every word of it."

Marcus sat in silence, gazing at the wall as if in meditation.

The door opened and Hutch stepped in, stalking over to the seated man, pulling his weapon from inside of his jacket and putting it to the side of his head, his hand trembling.

"Tell me where he is."

Frank shifted uncomfortably.

"Ken, you don't want to do this. He's not going to talk, and it won't help find Dave any faster."

Perspiration formed on Hutch's pale upper lip, while Simon Marcus sat calmly.

After long moments of silence, the cult figure spoke in a voice that was as calm as his serene face. "He dreamed about you last night. He dreamed you would come to save him. He wants you to have his wallet."

XXXXXX=

Six cultists muscled a struggling Starsky onto a stone altar inside the cave, forced a chalice of drug-laced water down his throat, then held him securely until it took effect.

More cultists circled the altar, chanting "Simone" in a rhythmic mantra.

He gasped for air, cursed them, but soon his struggling waned and he was obedient in their hands.

Two other cultists led a man in a suit into the cave and over to the wall some distance from the altar. The man looked dazed from the gash to the side of his head; the front of his shirt stained with blood.

"Starsky," the man gasped, "who are they? What are they-"

Starsky's muddled mind still recognized him as Stuart Lang, a detective who had gotten away with strangling a prostitute for "lack of evidence". He and Hutch had pursued the

case even in the face of anonymous death threats and harassment from several fellow officers. Dobey stood behind them, but with crucial items being "lost" from the evidence room (presumably stolen by officers helping out one of their own), the crime scene itself being tainted (presumably helping the cop out), and the reluctance of witnesses to come forward (presumably threatened into silence by cops) , the case fell apart. Lang's career continued uninterrupted. Business as usual.

The cultists holding Starsky sat him up. He was now a compliant rag doll in their hands, and tried to gaze at the detective through rolling eyes.

"He killed our sister in Simone," one of the cultists said to Starsky. "Simone dreamed he would die here, and that you would see it, and it would help you believe."

Starsky's brain was beyond functioning. He could only stare in a drugged stupor.

He was still staring when the cultists used machetes to cut the other cop's clothes from him.

Still staring when they handcuffed the other cop to an iron ring in the wall.

But started moaning and shaking his head no when they took their machetes and meticulously sliced down Lang's shoulders, chest, and arms, then tugged at his flesh, skinning him alive.

The other cop's screams filled the cave as his skin was peeled from his body.

Starsky's moan turned to a growl, and then to a cry. He tried one last time to resist, struggle, bite, kick, break from their grip, close his eyes, his mind, but the cultists held his head firmly and forced him to watch the act.

Within minutes the cop was unrecognizable, and looked more like a side of freshly-skinned beef than a human being. He was bloody from scalp to soles, the muscles of his body glistening red.

"Puh…" the cop muttered through his raw lips. He was barely alive. Blood loss and shock stole his life second by second. "Please."

One cultist drew the machete across his chest in a backhand swing, then chopped it down across the back of the cop's neck.

By this time Starsky was boneless in their hands again.

"He won't kill anyone again," a cultist whispered into his ear. "Do you understand us now?"

But Starsky was making the sound of one, long, constant moan in an attempt to drown out

the sight before him, the man's shrieks echoing in his head, and his own silent scream.

XXXXXX=

"All of the caves have been searched," Frank said when Hutch came into the squad room.

"Not all of them," Hutch said going for coffee. It was the only thing keeping him going. That and a bite or two of a sandwich when Dobey could shove one into his hand. "They have to look again."

"I decided to put some of them in the streets. They do abduct from street corners, you know."

"No, I don't know, tell me."

The sound of someone clearing his throat made Hutch look around to see a young man in his late teens with sweaty hair and a tremor in his hands.

"Hutch, I'm sorry. Can you help me out?"

Hutch walked over to him, observing the agony in his eyes with a critical eye.

"What do you want, Tommy?

Tommy rubbed his arms, pushed his sleeve up a little to reveal track marks.

"I'm really hurtin'. If I tell you something about Starsky-Dave-will you…you know…help me with-"

Hutch grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him to the wall.

"You little junkie. If you know where he is, you better be spitting it out, because so help me-"

Tommy shoved against him, tearful, sniffing. "You don't know how it is for me!"

"Shut up! I know that you use, you trick, you lie, steal, beg-ANYTHING for a fix! You sold him to that damn cult, didn't you? He tried to help you!"

"Yeah! Well I guess you would never do anything like that! Big cop! Mr. right! You'd never turn anybody over or betray somebody!"

Fellow officers, Frank, and Dobey moved closer to Hutch and the young man.

Hutch caught a look from Dobey, then slowly released his captive.

"Give me some paper," Tommy said running his sleeve across his mouth. "I can make a sketch of the two."

XXXXXX=

Starsky lay on his side on the altar, untied, gazing at the flickering candlelight while the followers circled around him, repeating "Simone" endlessly.

Two cultists leaned over him with long knives, whispering.

"Do you see? Do you see?"

"Yes," he whispered back without blinking.

The chanting stopped.

"Simone said this is your day," one of the cultists whispered to him. "The day he dreamed of. Are you ready?"

Without changing expression, he answered, "I'm ready."

The cultists came forward with their knives and crowded in, the sound of "Simone, Simone," rising in the cave again.

XXXXXX=

Tommy sketched with a severely shaking hand while Hutch watched dispassionately.

"Hurry up, will you?"

"Hutch," Dobey warned.

"Do you know where he is?" Hutch asked the boy.

"No."

Hutch grabbed his collar and shook him. "If I find out you're lying to me-"

Tommy finished the sketches of two of the cultists, then slid them to Hutch.

"That's all I know. They grabbed me off the corner, made me an offer." He held his arms.

"I didn't want to, but…" He trailed off miserably.

Hutch looked at the sketches, pulled some mug books over, then looked up when two uniformed officers escorted a rowdy young man into the squad room.

"Hutch!" one of the officers said. "Guy wants to talk to you!"

The guy was a young man dressed in khakis, hiking boots, and a plaid flannel shirt. In his hand he had a crumpled brown paper bag.

"I found this in a cave I was exploring," he said as he walked over to Hutch and spilled the contents out onto his desk.

Hutch stared at the chalice with dried bloodstains around the rim.

XXXXXX=

Hutch bolted from Frank's car and the two ran toward the cave, followed by Captain Dobey and the hiker.

"Starsky!"

Hutch stopped short when he entered the cave. There was an altar stained with blood, and on it Starsky's shredded bloody clothes, melted candles, bits of animal fur and bone, and a pile of dark brown skin that Hutch recognized as African American.

A fresh sacrifice has taken place here. Maybe two. Starsky and…

Hutch's head tilted backward, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto his back with a groan.

XXXXXX=

(Too late, Starsk)

(I failed you)

(I'm sorry)

(Please forgive me)

Hutch sat in his silent, darkened apartment, an untouched whiskey in his hand.

He didn't even notice when Huggy's fingers came to rest on the back of his head.

XXXXXX=

Howard Frank carried a bag of groceries into his living room and over to his ringing phone. He had invited his ex-wife and kids to dinner, and hoped they were calling to confirm.

But he didn't make it that far.

A club came down onto the back of his skull.

XXXXXX=

The detective was discovered an hour later by his ex-wife and kids. He was still alive when she called an ambulance, but lapsed into a coma on the way to the hospital.

XXXXXX=

Captain Dobey stood in front of Hutch and dropped emergency room photos of Frank's injuries into his lap.

"I need you on this, Hutch."

Hutch looked down at the photos, rubbed his forehead.

Dobey scrubbed at his mustache. "Shoeprints in Frank's living room are the same kind as Starsky's."

Hutch saw a photograph of the shoeprints too.

"They cut all of Starsky's clothes off of him," Hutch said. "One of them is wearing his shoes."

"Bastards" Dobey grumbled, "they want to defame him even after he's gone. If Frank ever regains consciousness, he can tell us who tried to kill him."

Hutch handed the photos back up to Dobey.

"I'm all out, Cap," he said tiredly. "You'll have to reassign it."

XXXXXX=

He had found an extra key to Starsky's house in his desk drawer at the precinct, so he used it to go inside.

Hutch felt the silence in his stomach, and then in his heart. A permanent silence that brought tears to his eyes. His partner's physical essence frozen in time. A jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table, a coin bank shaped like a robot on the kitchen counter, his guitar, album collection, magazines, model train, baseball cards, camera, and a paint-by-numbers of a seahorse.

(Before I try to let you go, I have to come here to feel you, be near you, one last time)

("He could still be out there", Huggy had said hopefully, going for one more try)

("Don't you get it, Hug? They butchered him into pieces. They made sure there would be nothing left to find)

Hutch walked over to Starsky's bookshelf, found a Polaroid that Diane had snapped of them at the pool table at Huggy's, arm slung around each other's neck in careless laughter, then slid it into his hip pocket behind Starsky's wallet.

XXXXXX=

Thirty minutes later he was back at Venice Place, removing his clothes and stepping into the hot shower to wash some of the grief, heartache, fear, and horror away, not at all surprised when the tears began to fall and his sobs echoed off the tiles.

(I've lost the ones who meant the most)

(Jeanie, Gillian, Vanessa)

(And now I've lost him)

XXXXXX=

Captain Dobey closed his car door and started across the street to the police station.

"Captain!"

Dobey turned to see Tommy, the young heroin addict, running toward him.

"I don't have time for you," Dobey said walking away from him. "Get yourself into detox."

Tommy grabbed his arms. "You gotta get some cops to Hutch's!"

XXXXXX=

Hutch walked into his bedroom toweling off and rubbing his hair dry, then pulled a pair of boxers from his top dresser drawer and pulled them on, then a pair of jeans, socks, and shoes.

A walk around the block or on the beach could help. Anywhere but here in the stifling, lonesome silence.

It was when he leaned over to tie his shoes that he saw Starsky's blue sneakers in his closet, then his partner wearing a black T-shirt and jeans and holding a knife over his head.

A combination of love and horror crossed Hutch's face as he rose to his feet.

"Starsk? Oh my God. What the hell-?"

Starsky stabbed his partner high in the right side of his chest before Hutch's stunned brain had time to react.

Hutch staggered back a step, holding his bleeding shoulder.

"Starsk!"

Starsky came a step closer, and Hutch saw the odd light behind his gemlike eyes, a faraway look that told of torture and terror and death instead of friendship and love and life. Cruel bruises ringed his throat, cigarette burns along his arms and hands, imprints from chain links around his wrists. He looked weak and pale, but lethal with a knife in his hand.

"Listen to me, Starsk. It's not you."

Hutch held his good hand up, as if to ward him off.

Starsky advanced one step. "It's me."

Hutch backed up again, bumping into the bedroom doorframe. He licked his dry, pale lips, his voice trembling.

"Not the Starsk I know. Hurt me? Hutch? Don't you know who I am?"

"Yeah. And I should've figured it out a long time ago, buddy. You're no friend."

"How can you say that? We've been friends for-"

"The dreamer explained it, and I understand it now. How you're selfish, and manipulative, and deceitful."

"What are you-"

"You remember attacking me, Hutch? When you found Gillian? What kind of friend attacks another friend like that?"

Tears glittered in Hutch's eyes at the memory. "A sorry one, I guess."

"And what about Kira? Supposed to be my best friend, huh? You slept with her. What kind of friend does that?"

Hutch closed his eyes. "I know. I don't deserve you, it's true. I ask myself why I hurt you, all the time. After all we've been through, the times you were there. With Forest, and when I was pinned in my car, and when I was down with the plague. I don't know why you stuck with me."

"Me neither. The dreamer said that to become good, we have to sacrifice for him."

"You're already good. What he means is that to please him, you have to do what he says."

Starsky advanced another step, and Hutch found his back against the wall. He held his shoulder again.

"I have to do this for him, Hutch. I have to show my loyalty, and my commitment, and my character."

"You don't have to show him anything. You've shown it to me. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"I was wrong. I thought you gave a damn."

Hutch winced with pain. "Then let me ask you. If you hate me so much, why me for your sacrifice? Aren't you supposed to pick someone you care about? He's just a killer, Starsk. He wants you in a jail cell right along with him, or in the ground, or his mind slave

forever."

Starsky's teeth clenched and he took another step closer.

"Don't say that. He's misunderstood. He rights the wrongs. He does what nobody else will do. What you and I would do if we didn't have a badge."

"Or a conscience."

"It's all clear to me now, Hutch. What they tried to tell me all this time. He comes to me in my dreams, and he teaches me things."

Hutch swallowed back tears. "Buddy, listen to what you're saying."

He raised the knife over his head again.

"I know exactly what I'm saying."

Hutch's right hand touched the gun hanging from the back of a chair. He slowly closed a shaking hand around it and whispered, "Don't make me shoot you."

Starsky placed a hand on Hutch's bleeding shoulder and raised the knife over his head. "You won't shoot me. You love me too much."

When the blade came down, Hutch caught his arm and tried to force him sideways, his voice a strained gasp. "Starsk, please. Stop. It's not you."

The sound of a gunshot rang out, then Starsky slumped against his chest, bleeding from the side of his head.

"Starsky!"

Hutch's tried to hold him up, but because his right arm was made useless from the knife wound, he had to sink to his knees with him.

"Help!"

Hutch looked around to see who had fired.

In the doorway, Captain Dobey yelled for an ambulance over his shoulder, holstered his pistol, then came to crouch beside them.

"Just a graze," he said as he inspected Starsky's head. "Damn it."

Hutch pressed the heel of his hand against his partner's head to stop the bleeding.

"Drugs?" the captain asked.

"Drugs. Mind control. Hypnotism. Torture. Take your pick. Simon Marcus is in his head."

Starsky groaned against him.

"Sshh," Hutch said as he absently moved his body in a slight rocking motion. "Take it easy, Starsk. It isn't you."

XXXXXXXX

While Starsky was being treated in the emergency room, His right arm in a sling, a bottle of prescription pain medication in hand, Hutch shook the hand of Dr. Hathaway in the corridor.

"Dobey says your expertise is in ritualistic torture."

Hathaway smiled. "As well as Post Traumatic Stress, and other things. I'm a psychiatrist."

"Good. My partner needs a lot of help."

XXXXXXXX

Later that night while Starsky slept under heavy medication, Hutch sat in a chair in the shadowed hospital room, watching him.

(Gillian)

(Kira)

(Do you subconsciously feel that way about me, Starsk? Did Marcus play on your subconscious thoughts, or just make you believe you felt that way?)

(You love me, and I hurt you. Deeply, and more than once. But your heart was too big to ever hold it against me)

(At least on the surface)

(I wasn't lying when I said I don't deserve your friendship)

(I take you for granted, and I'm sorry)

(That may be the biggest hurt of them all)

"I'm sorry," he said out loud as he leaned over to the bed and touched his bandaged head.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Detective Starsky?"

Starsky sat in the hospital bed, not sedated but looking as if he were. His hands lay loose in his lap, his head tilted to one side, eyes fixed ahead.

Hutch felt a chill.

Dr. Hathaway stood at the foot of the bed so that he would be in Starsky's line of vision.

Starsky's lips moved in a bare breath of a whisper.

"Pardon?" the doctor asked.

Hutch looked at Hathaway. "He said Simone. That's the name of the cult leader. Simon Marcus."

"I know who it is, Ken."

"Simone," Starsky whispered again.

Hutch's hand moved for his forearm, but the psychiatrist moved his head no.

"Don't interfere."

(But I don't think I can bear this)

Hutch withdrew his hand and pursed his lips.

"Simone," Starsky muttered. "Simone."

Hutch closed his eyes, resisting the urge to leave the room.

When the doctor got nothing but the same response from Starsky for the next hour, he said, "We'll try again tomorrow."

XXXXXX=

Hutch found Captain Dobey pacing in the hospital corridor.

"How is he?" Dobey asked.

Hutch moved his head no, electing not to speak. He didn't trust his voice to remain steady.

"Wanted to apologize," Dobey said looking down at the hat in his hands.

Hutch squeezed his superior's shoulder, then slipped an arm around his shoulders and walked with him down the hall.

XXXXXX=

The next day Starsky was pulling against the restraints in his hospital bed.

Hutch looked at Dr. Hathaway. "Are you sure he can come out of this?"

Hathaway wrote in Starsky's chart.

"Can? Yes. Will? I don't know. He suffered a psychotic break during his captivity. The best example of temporary insanity I've ever seen. We'll use everything to help him. Therapy, medications…and hope for the best."

XXXXXX=

Days later.

"I don't think the doctor is reaching him," Hutch said to Huggy as he leaned his good elbow on the bar.

Huggy leaned toward him a little. "Let the doc do his thing. Somethin' like that ain't gonna go away overnight."

"I'm just afraid it's going to be permanent."

Huggy gave his hand a pat.

XXXXXX=

Since Starsky had begun to make eye contact with the hospital staff and was no longer fighting against the restraints, Doctor Hathaway allowed Hutch some time to visit him.

He lay on the pillows looking weaker than he had in recent days. Hutch wondered crazily if Marcus could even influence his physical condition, could slow his heartbeat and respiration.

(Stop it, you're talking like Marcus has the powers he says he has, he wants people to think he's more than human)

"Mind a visitor, partner?"

Starsky turned a weary head toward him on the pillow. "Do I have a choice?"

"I can leave if you want me to."

"Yeah, then they'll just keep me here longer."

"So, you know where you are?"

"Hospital."

"And you want to leave."

"Wouldn't you want to leave a hospital?"

Hutch adjusted his sling. "How's your head?"

"Still on my shoulders."

"Do you remember Howard Frank?"

Starsky said nothing.

"Do you remember hurting him?"

Silence.

Then Starsky looked at Hutch's sling. "What happened to your arm?"

"You don't remember?"

"Remember what? What happened to it?"

"Nothing."

Just when Hutch was beginning to believe that Starsky had lost his memory too, or at least part of it, he said, "The group isn't as bad as it looks. All they do is get rid of lowlifes."

"Like Howard Frank?"

"You know he likes to beat up suspects? One of them died in a holding cell, only the case never went anywhere. He used to beat his wife and kids up all the time."

"Were you one when they abducted you from the courthouse bathroom two years ago?"

"They had a reason. Once you understand why they do what they do, you can't really say they aren't doing society a favor. They grabbed me because of Simone. I understand that now. Simone didn't do anything."

"No, he just gets his followers to do his dirty work for him."

Eyes flashing, Starsky jerked on the restraints. "Don't talk about him like that! You don't know him! He has an agenda that you can't even begin to understand! He knew I could!"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"I found a cult deprogrammer," Huggy said as he slid into the passenger seat of Hutch's car.

"A what?"

"Hathaway ain't helping, so I found a deprogrammer. He rescues people from cults and gets them back to normal. You know. Un-brainwashes them."

XXXXXX=

"Thought reform, mind control, coercive behavior, ritualistic torture, and exit counseling," Doctor Crowe said to Hutch as he sprinkled pepper onto his beef tips at Huggy's.

He was a young man with a black ponytail, and wore a camouflage jacket. A gold safety pin was pierced and fastened into his left ear.

Hutch looked at him with arms folded across his chest. "What experience do you have? I don't want some quack who'll just do more damage."

"Parents, wives, husbands, all kinds of people come to me when a loved one is stuck inside an unsavory cult."

"There are savory ones?"

Crowe shrugged. "One man's cult is another man's religion. I get them out, then I get them back."

"Back?"

"To reality. I deprogram."

"With drugs? Because he doesn't need-"

"Never. I like a drug-free subject. The first step is to help them realize they've been under the influence of a cult."

"This is more than a cult, Crowe. He's endured and witnessed things that no human being should ever have to. Unspeakable things."

Crowe looked down at his plate, picking at his food. "My older brother was a POW in Vietnam. He came home a changed man. What they did to him over there…he ended up blowing his brains out. I couldn't help him. So ever since I've been trying to help other people like him, so they won't have to go through what he did."

Hutch reached for his wallet. "How much does this cost?"

Dr. Crowe smiled. "Huggy already gave me a retainer. You pay the rest when and if he's deprogrammed."

"If?"

Dr. Crowe took a drink of his lemonade. "Not everyone is deprogrammed. Some of them go back."

XXXXXX=

Dr. Crowe talked to Starsky from a chair next to the bed, while Hutch stood in a corner observing, arms folded across his chest.

Crowe held up crime scene photos of corpses, the victims of Simon Marcus and his followers. Some hung from trees and were gutted. Some reduced to body parts piled into wooden barrels. Others strewn in ditches or along roadsides. Still others were stuffed into garbage cans and folded into the trunks of vehicles.

"This is what your mentor does. He takes life."

Starsky looked at the photos without changing expression. "He gave me life so I could be a part of his vision."

"He let you live to terrorize you. It's easy to obey someone when they hold the power of life and death over you. You were so grateful to be alive that you opened your mind to entertain values and beliefs that are contradictory and repulsive to your own. It was how you survived. Couple that with whatever drugs they gave you-"

"Bull."

Crowe held up a photo of a pile of human skin.

"Did you see this man skinned alive while you were in the cave?"

Starsky closed his eyes, the first real sign of humanity since he'd been admitted to the hospital.

Hutch moved forward a step, then stopped himself and stood still.

Crowe held up a photo of the back of Howard Frank's wounded head.

"This is Howard Frank. He's comatose. Did you do this to him?"

Starsky looked at his partner. "Lowlifes."

Crowe held up photos of Starsky that were taken immediately after he was recovered from the cult members and used during Marcus' trial two years earlier.

Hutch sucked in a breath and held it. Even though he was aware of the pictures, he had never seen them.

Crowe's eyes didn't waver from Starsky's. "They did this to you two years ago. Two weeks ago they grabbed you in front of your house and tortured you in a cave." He held police file photos of Starsky's injuries in the emergency room just weeks ago. "Look at your throat. Are you a lowlife? Look what the dreamer did to your arms and your hands. They chained your wrists to something."

He closed his eyes, turned his head away, a slight tremble in his voice. "That was just to soften me up, like they do in the Army."

"They rebuilt your psyche the way they wanted it. He wants to destroy you, even now."

"Wrong."

"Detective Hutchinson says you've changed."

"I have. For the better. He doesn't understand." He looked at Hutch again. "If you'd just step beyond the boundaries you're used to, broaden your horizons like I did, you wouldn't be so worked up."

The door opened and a nurse looked in.

"I'm sorry, but Doctor Hathaway says you should end the session so Detective Starsky can get some rest."

Starsky looked down at the restraints on his wrists. He couldn't see the ones on his ankles

under the sheet.

"Is there a cop outside the door?"

"Two," Hutch answered. "Why?"

"Thought I heard 'em talkin' about Dobey. Did he shoot me?"

Hutch gave Crowe an uncomfortable look.

"Hutchinson?" Starsky asked. "Why'd he shoot me?"

(I don't want to send you over the edge, Starsky)

(If you lose it because you knifed me, I may not ever get you back)

"It was dark. He thought you were a perp."

It seemed to be enough of an answer for Starsky. Crowe looked at the nurse. "A few more minutes." She nodded and left the room.

Crowe looked back at Starsky.

"Let me personalize Simon Marcus for you. He's not the god you think he is. He doesn't have mystical powers. He's a convict with a record as long as your arm."

"He doesn't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it."

Crowe held up a photo of Hutch's knife wound that had been taken in the emergency room.

Hutch crossed the room and reached for the pictures. "You son of a-"

Crowe jerked them out of his reach, still addressing Starsky.

"Did Hutch deserve this? You tried to kill him. That's why you're restrained. That's why two cops are posted outside your door."

Starsky stared at the photo, then Hutch, confusion clouding his features.

"That's enough," Hutch said snatching at the pictures again. "His memory's trying to return. If he realizes what hap-"

Quickly Crowe switched the photos to his other hand, out of Hutch's grasp.

Starsky strained against the restraints, lifting his head from the pillow, panting, chest heaving.

"That true, Hutch? I hurt you like that?"

"No, Star-"

"Yes," Crowe said. "And that's why your captain had to fire on you."

Starsky tore at the restraints until the bed shook, until he was sweating with exertion, until his wrists were raw and red.

"Damn it!"

Hutch buzzed a nurse, then took Starsky's right shoulder in his good hand. "Calm down,

Starsk. I'm okay. You didn't do that much damage. You didn't know what you were doing."

To Crowe he said, "Happy now?"

But Crowe just smiled and made room for the nurse, who brought a tranquilizer, two orderlies, and Dr. Hathaway.

XXXXXX=

Two hours later Starsky was asleep, and Hutch was dozing in a nearby chair.

Crowe had gone for some coffee, and said he would be back soon.

"Huh-"

The sound of Starsky's soft mumble brought him out of his chair.

He went to his partner's bedside and looked down, hating the trapped look in his eyes. It was hard seeing him so helpless and alone with his fear.

His whisper sounded sincere, almost boyish. "I really cut you?"

Hutch gripped his partner's restrained hand, but not too tightly. The cigarette burns were still visible, and his wrist was swollen.

(Maybe Crowe was right in confronting you)

(You're coming back)

(This won't be easy for you, but it's easier than losing your soul and your mind to Simon Marcus)

"Yeah," he answered quietly. "You tried to kill me. That's how deep you were."

"And I did that to Frank?"

"But with all that's happened to you, we understand."

"My head's all messed up. They kept me doped. I dream I'm back there in the cave. Simone-I mean Marcus that is-gets in my dreams, and then I open my eyes and I'm here."

"You're safe now, and on your way back to your life. Just hold on, listen to us, and do your best, and soon, when they think you're well enough, they'll take these straps off."

"You mean when they think I'm not a danger to anybody."

"Or yourself."

Starsky closed his eyes. "They talked to me for hours. Lectured. Drugged me. Prayed. Talked. Made me talk. I don't remember what happened after they killed Lang. That was the breaking point."

Starsky's chest jumped with a sob at the memory of the screaming, dying man.

Hutch squeezed his hand harder.

"Get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up. Crowe will want to talk to you again."

XXXXXX=

Hutch stayed just outside the door drinking coffee while Crowe spoke with Starsky inside.

"Small steps now," Crowe had told Hutch earlier. "He's very fragile. On his way back to civilization, but not out of the woods yet."

XXXXXX=

The next time Hutch went in to visit Starsky, the first thing he noticed was that the restraints were gone.

"Hey," he smiled wanly from the bed.

Hutch handed him a movie magazine. Something normal.

"If he could make me turn against my best friend…" Starsky started as he looked down at the cover of the book. "I don't know if I can trust myself."

Hutch touched his shoulder. "I trust you. There's no way you'd have jumped me without his influence. You know that, don't you?"

"I'd like to believe that."

XXXXXX=

Huggy leaned down over Starsky's bed to give him a hug.

"How you doin, boy?"

"Better."

Huggy opened a picnic hamper and brought out a platter of pizza slices.

"Huggy's 7-cheese pizza will make you feel 7 times better."

XXXXXX=

Captain Dobey pulled Hutch aside in the squad room.

"Where you going?" Dobey asked him.

"Where you think I'm going? To visit Starsk."

"Since Frank regained consciousness, things are going to look a whole lot better for that partner of yours. Let me get my coat, I'll go with you."

XXXXXX=

Captain Dobey set a vase of flowers on the stand beside Starsky's bed.

"Starsky," he said stuffing his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat, looked at Hutch, then back at Starsky.

"About the shooting…"

Starsky smiled. "It's okay, Cap. You're a good shot."

XXXXXX=

Starsky was dressed in shorts and T-shirt and walking down the corridor of the hospital when Hutch stepped off the elevator.

"Dirtball!"

Starsky turned around.

Hutch jogged down to him, a grin on his face, his eyes alive at the sight of his partner up and about.

"I had some work to do on the other victims. Where you going?"

"Nowhere. Doc says to walk up and down a couple of times. Tomorrow I can walk outside."

"Anymore bad dreams?"

"No."

"That's good."

XXXXXX=

An hour later Starsky was in Howard Frank's room.

"I know why you're here," the older detective said with a smile as he dressed and prepared to be discharged from the hospital.

"Yeah?"

Frank smiled crookedly. "I didn't know you wanted me off the case that badly."

Starsky smiled and put his hand out.

"Apology?"

Frank gripped his hand. "You remember doing it?"

"Now I do."

Frank pulled his jacket on.

"Simon Marcus is a twisted freak, Dave. You're lucky to have survived. Intact that is. Do you know how many minds he's turned into gravy?"

Starsky nodded.

Frank picked up his small suitcase. "I'm going to find the doctor so I can get out of here. Good luck on your recovery."

XXXXXX=

Crowe shook first Hutch's hand, then Starsky's in the parking lot of the hospital two weeks later.

"Dave, looking good."

"Thanks."

Starsky's bruises were gone, and the burns had almost healed. Any healing left to be done was on the inside, and he was sure Hutch would keep an eye on that.

The partners watched Crowe get into his psychedelic van and drive away.

"Good guy," Starsky said.

"Yeah," Hutch agreed. "Real good guy."

As they started for Hutch's car, Hutch said, "So what do you want to do on your first day home?"

XXXXXX=

Hutch had reservations about Starsky confronting him, but trusted that he was strong enough to do it. Maybe too strong. Hutch could envision an enraged Starsky reaching through the bars to throttle him.

XXXXXX=

Simon Marcus looked as composed as ever in his cell when the detectives stood at the bars.

It was Hutch who put his hand through them and clutched his collar; Starsky who put a steady hand on his partner's arm.

The cult leader smiled as he looked at first Hutch, then Starsky.

"Do you know, Starsky, that I can leave my dreams and go inside your head.? I don't have to be with you to make you love me."

Hutch found himself stepping next to Starsky as if he wanted to absorb the words for him.

(Not that you can't do it alone, Starsk)

(Just letting you know that you don't have to)

(I'm here)

Starsky's voice was just as calm and sincere.

"Do you know, you maladjusted degenerate lowlife, that you will be sitting in here rotting in this cell until the day you die?"

End

Harrowing

By TR

XXXXXX=

Starsky and Hutch stood in the space of a small storage building that had been rented under a false name by Ben Forest's hired gun, Monk, a week before Hutch's abduction.

The police photographer snapped pictures of the dead man who bore a striking resemblance to Hutch.

He was lying on his side against the wall, wrists tied behind his back, blindfolded, a piece of duct tape across his mouth, and numerous pinpricks in his right arm. Blood and other bodily fluids had seeped from him and stained the concrete beneath him. His hair was now a muddy blond.

"They thought he was you," Starsky said with a look of distaste on his face. "Thought he knew where Jeanie was."

He glanced at Hutch, who looked at the corpse with eyes that were still a little bloodshot and weary.

"Who is he?" he asked Starsky.

Starsky shrugged, then looked at one of the uniformed officers. "Name?"

"Kevin Hunt. Lived on Hutch's street."

Starsky noticed his partner looked a little pale and his hands were shaky, so he took his arm and led him to the Torino.

"I'm all right," Hutch said, but leaned back against the car anyway, eyes on the ground.

"When they realized they grabbed the wrong guy," Starsky said, "they just overdosed him and left him here."

He hovered protectively in front of Hutch.

Hutch moved past him and rounded the front of the car and beyond it.

"I need to get out of here."

Starsky hurried after him and gently took his arm. "Hey. Come on, I'll drive you. We'll go to Huggy's. Or my place."

Hutch pried Starsky's hand from his arm just as gently and continued to walk down the sidewalk, waving an impatient hand at him over his shoulder.

"Not now."

Starsky watched him go, then went back to the crime scene.

"Berry," he said to the detective who was already on the scene when he and Hutch arrived. "Take care of this. I'll get back with you later."

Berry nodded, then turned back to the uniformed officer.

XXXXXX=

Thirty minutes Starsky knocked on Hutch's front door.

"Hey, Hutch!"

No answer came from the other side.

Starsky knocked again.

"Want me to kick it in?"

The door flung open and Hutch retreated inside to stalk around the living room.

Starsky entered the cottage and closed the door.

"What's goin' on?"

Hutch spun toward him.

"I have a better question. Why are you following me?"

"I want to make sure you're all right."

"You think I'm going to go get some H every time I want some time alone?"

Starsky grabbed him, shook him. "I just don't like seein' you hurt."

Hutch shoved him back. "Get out of here."

"I ain't goin' nowhere."

"I SAID LEAVE!"

Starsky sat down on the coffee table. "Make me."

Hutch took a step toward him, then took to pacing around the living room.

"Fine. Stay."

Starsky watched him pace. "Do you want a fix?"

Hutch unconsciously rubbed his arm. "No."

"Do you somehow take some blame for Kevin Hunt?"

"No."

"Did it cause a flashback or somethin'?"

"No."

"Then what spooked you?"

"I don't know. Everything about it. I just had to get out of there. I don't know why."

Hutch sat down in an easy chair, leaned forward, put his head in his hand.

Starsky walked over to him, crouched in front of him, took his arm, and lovingly turned up his shirtsleeve, running his thumb across the faded injection sites.

"You're two weeks out of withdraw. Everything you're feeling-lethargy, irritability, hyperactivity, aches, confusion, sensitivity, all of it-it's okay. It'll ease up."

Hutch's head was still down.

Starsky rubbed his hair and moved him back into the chair.

"Rest. I'll make you some soup."

Hutch leaned his head back against the chair, and closed his eyes.

Starsky went to the kitchen area to make the soup.

XXXXXX=

Starsky wasn't surprised that Hutch slept into the night, was even glad that he was getting a long stretch of sleep.

While Hutch slept, Starsky phoned Dobey to discuss the Hunt case, then sat down on the sofa at a little after nine to work a crossword puzzle in Hutch's newspaper.

Halfway through it he heard a soft noise from Hutch's direction and looked his way.

The blond was slumped back in the chair, gripping its arms, panting a little, sweating, eyes closed, mouth clamped shut, head moving slowly from side to side. He said no words; Starsky heard only faint whimpers of distress.

Starsky went to the chair and took his shoulders, shaking him a little.

"Hutch! Come on!"

Hutch's distress escalated into a struggle.

"Hutch! Hey! Open your eyes!"

Hutch's eyes snapped open, and, still panting, grabbed him around the neck and clung to him, sobbing into his shirt collar, a weak, helpless sound that recalled the worst moments of his withdrawal at Huggy's.

"Starsk!"

Starsky worked to hold him up, and patted his back.

"What'd you dream, huh? Forest?"

Hutch pulled back from him, tried to get up, an aching sound still in his throat.

Starsky pushed him back into the chair.

"Talk to me."

"It was just a dream."

"About what?"

Hutch looked at the wall.

"I don't know."

Starsky put a hand over Hutch's chest, felt his galloping heartbeat, looked into his scared eyes.

"You don't know?"

Hutch swiped the tears from his face with one hand.

"Nothing."

Starsky took his chin in his hand, jerked his face around.

"Talk."

Hutch knocked his arm away. "Don't treat me like I'm some kid!"

"I want some answers!"

"I don't have any to give you! You keep at me, and keep at me, like you did at Huggy's, and I don't have any! It was just a dream! You said yourself it would all ease up!"

Hutch leaned forward and put his hands in his hair.

Starsky sat back on the edge of the coffee table.

"You're lyin', Hutch. I don't know why, but you are."

Hutch sat in silence, heaving breath, almost rocking back and forth, eyes a stormy blue.

Then his voice came, quietly, such a dramatic contrast to his heightened anxiety moments before.

"Please, Starsk. Just go home. Give me some space."

Starsky looked at his lowered head. "I love you, Hutch, and I want you to tell me what you dreamed. If it was about Forest, or Monk, or Hunt, or the addiction, or me, or anything, it's okay, I just want to know."

Hutch raised his head, wiped his red eyes again, appearing somewhat calmer.

"It's okay. I've had the dream before. I guess seeing Hunt like that made me dream it again."

Starsky glowered, almost glared, at the information.

Hutch laughed a little. "Stupid, really. That they can seem so real. They take you back."

Starsky still said nothing, he merely waited patiently.

Hutch rose to his feet, straightened his shirt, ran a hand through his hair. "I mean they can't hurt you. And I haven't had one in such a long time."

He took a breath, let it out, then walked into the kitchen area. "How'd the soup turn out?"

Starsky joined him.

"It's over now, Starsk. Let it go. I'm fine."

Hutch's trembling hand reached for the large wooden spoon Starsky had used to stir the soup, and Starsky took his hand, gripping it.

Hutch looked into his partner's eyes, and then put a hand gently over Starsky's mouth.

"He used to put duct tape over my mouth whenever I said something he didn't like…" He turned Starsky around, gently pulled his wrists behind him and clasped them. "…and around here…" He nudged Starsky's ankle with the toe of his shoe. "…around my ankles…" He gently turned Starsky around to face him. "…and left me in the bed. When I misbehaved, or got an answer wrong on a test, or asked him something, or wanted something to eat, whenever I needed punishment."

Starsky's voice was a soft, trembling rage. "How old were you?"

Hutch looked down; shrugged a shoulder. "Three. Five. Eight. Ten. Twelve. All the time until I was about fourteen."

"And your mother?"

"She uh…was too afraid of him to stop him. Whenever she said anything to him about it, he hit her."

"What stopped him?"

"When I went to live with my grandfather."

"Did you ever tell him?"

Hutch shook his head no. "I had some terrible idea that he would be hurt if I did. It was safer for both of us if I just kept my mouth shut."

Starsky looked down, took both of Hutch's wrists in his hands, held them, looked at them. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't like talking about it or thinking about it. I just wanted to put it behind me. And then…"

"And then Hunt…seeing him like that. Like you were."

Hutch nodded.

Starsky released his hands, ran a thumb delicately across Hutch's trembling upper lip. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

Hutch nodded again.

Starsky pulled him against his chest, stroked his hair. "That explains why he never comes

to see you, why you never call him."

Hutch hid his eyes in Starsky's collar. "I don't want to see him. It's not like it is with you and your ma."

"I know, buddy."

Starsky moved him back and held him at arm's length.

"You dream it a lot?"

"Not a lot. Once in a while. Something reminds me. And I'm right there again. Tied up. Can't talk. Wondering when he's coming back to let me loose. The older I got, the quieter I became, and he didn't have to use tape at all, I just kept my mouth closed."

"Invisible tape."

Hutch nodded.

Starsky nodded back. "I know a certain individual I'd like to pay a visit to."

Hutch's hand came up and gripped his sleeve. "You can't do that."

"Why not? Is it fair or right that he got away with that?"

"I don't know."

"Well I do!"

Hot tears sprang to Starsky's eyes.

"The thought of him treating you like that makes me want to go do the same thing to him!"

"Don't!"

"Are you still scared of him, Hutch? Even after all of these years? You're miles apart. You don't even speak. And he still has control over you. You're still his prisoner."

"You don't know him."

"I do know him. He's a monster and a coward."

"He could hurt you. I'd never forgive myself."

"Is that why you kept it from me? You thought he would hurt me if I confronted him?"

"I don't know what I thought. I just wanted to forget about it. Most of the time I don't even think about it. I didn't purposely 'keep it from you'. I just didn't think it was important enough."

"YOU'RE IMPORTANT ENOUGH! AND THE THOUGHT OF HIM HURTING YOU MAKES ME CRAZY!"

"Starsky, please."

They clung to each other, both trembling and panting.

Hutch licked his lips. "Promise me you won't say anything to him or do anything."

Starsky closed his eyes.

Hutch jostled him. "Starsky…"

Starsky pulled away to grip the back of a kitchen chair. He leaned over it, rocking back and forth a little, trying to control his temper.

"Yeah," he finally answered in a small, heavy voice. "For you. Whatever you want."

Hutch walked to him, taking his shirt collar. "Come here."

Starsky turned into his arms again.

"It's okay," Hutch whispered to him. "Just something I need to work out. I'm okay."

XXXXXX=

Later in the night they quietly sat eating Starsky's homemade chunky chicken soup in the kitchen.

"Did he molest you?" Starsky said just above a whisper as he looked into his bowl.

A soft laugh came from Hutch as he slowly stirred the robust noodles, carrots, celery, and mushrooms in his soup, obviously made with so much love and care, then asked, "Do you think molestation is the worst thing that can happen to somebody?"

Starsky looked at him.

"No," Hutch answered as he looked at his spoon. "He didn't do that."

Starsky suspected that there was much more to Hutch's story than he was willing to tell, more memories too harrowing to drag to the surface.

"Hutch, if you wanna tell me…"

Hutch leaned his elbows on the table, then rested his eyes into the heels of his hands, slowly moving his head no.

"Not now, Starsk."

Starsky tried not to stare at his partner. How could his dearest friend hide the most painful secrets of his life from him? How could he not share the burden, reach out, or trust him enough? During the many child abuse cases they worked, Hutch never once brought it up. Why was that? Denial? Suppression? Shame?

As if Hutch had read his mind, he said, "It's too much."

Starsky held his tears down somewhere in his stomach. Forest had not only managed to rob him, at least temporarily, of health, self-respect, and sureness, he had unearthed memories that Hutch had wanted left buried.

Starsky's hand reached out, rested on the back of his partner's neck.

"Whenever you want to tell me, Hutch."

XXXXXX=

Hutch slept on one end of the couch, Starsky the other, a protective arm curled around Hutch's socked feet.

Both slept deeply, and well.

XXXXXX=

The next morning Starsky awakened to the smell of coffee.

"Morning, Starsk."

He sat up and accepted the cup Hutch offered him.

"Feel okay?" he asked Hutch.

Hutch nodded and sat down in his easy chair, picked up the newspaper crossword puzzle Starsky had worked the day before.

"Let me finish this for you, Starsk," he said picking up the ballpoint pen and clicking it.

Starsky took a gulp of coffee.

"Sleep good, Hutch?"

"Just fine."

Starsky watched him work the puzzle, then set the cup down.

"I need to take a shower and borrow a change of clothes."

Hutch had already showered, shaved, and dressed for work. "Sure, help yourself."

Starsky rose to his feet, stretched, and yawned, then made his way to the bathroom.

He went inside, but looked at Hutch before he closed the door.

"You look better this morning, partner."

Hutch smiled at him. "Yeah. Thanks for everything." Starsky turned on the shower and stepped under the spray.

(I won't push you, buddy. You've been pushed enough)

(It may be tomorrow, it may be a year from now)

(But when you're ready to talk, I'll be here)

(That's something we both know)

End

Scars

By TR

XXXXXXXXXX

"Like this," Hutch said coming up behind the chair Carmella was sitting in and taking the fingers of her left hand, positioning them correctly on the strings of his guitar.

He kissed her hair, then her neck, then she turned and kissed his mouth, sliding her hands through his hair.

"And where do I put my other hand?" she whispered coyly to him.

He took her right hand, kissed it, and pulled her to his feet and into his arms.

"Wherever you want," he whispered back, and kissed her again.

The phone rang; the kiss continued.

Still locked in the kiss, he reached behind him for the telephone receiver, lifted it, and dropped it.

"That's better," he said edging her toward the bedroom, but Huggy's voice grew louder from the displaced receiver.

"Hutch? You there? Need to talk to you, man."

Hutch traced his fingers down her back, then sighed loudly and broke the kiss.

"I'm sorry," he said backing toward the receiver and picking it up. "I should get this."

She stood in his bedroom doorway, hair mussed, lips pouting, eyes hungry.

"Hug?" he said into the receiver. "What's up?"

"You need to get down here," Huggy said above the noise of the bar. "Somethin's goin' on with Starsk."

"What is it?"

"Hard to explain."

"Well, is he all right?"

"I don't think so. I gotta go. Don't tell him I called you. I want my head to stay on my shoulders, you dig?"

Hutch hung up, then reached for his jacket.

"Carmella, I'm sorry, I have to go."

She frowned. "Where?"

"Something's come up with my partner."

She walked over to him and slid her hands under his jacket and around his middle. "And that's more important than me?"

He kissed her. "It is tonight. Sorry. I'll walk you to your car."

XXXXXXXXXX

What's going on, Starsk?

Hutch drove as fast as he could, grip tense on the steering wheel, recklessly weaving in and out of traffic.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hutch walked into Huggy's, eyes searching for Starsky.

Huggy came up to him. "I tried to stop him," he said pointing through the crowd of laughing, partying customers and toward the pool table. "Told me to f off."

Hutch started his way through the crush of people, eyes fixed on the pool table, ears alert to Starsky's slurry voice.

"Bend 'em up," he panted in a strained voice to one of the cops that stood around him. "Harder!"

The cop that had Starsky's wrists cuffed behind him laughed.

"Man, I don't want to break your arms!"

Starsky was on his knees, hands cuffed behind him, the cop pulling his arms up behind him in the air.

Starsky's head was low, teeth clenched in obvious pain.

A few customers in the back watched curiously.

"More!" Starsky shouted in a slight slur. "I'll show you how it's done! Give me more!"

The cop reluctantly pulled harder, looking at his fellow officers for approval, but one was already walking away.

"Hey!" Starsky gasped. "That all you got?"

The cop released his arms and Starsky dropped facedown onto the floor.

The cop unlocked the handcuffs and then he and the others left, weaving and laughing drunkenly, one calling over his shoulder, "Okay, Starsky, you win."

"Sissies!" Starsky laughed after them.

Hutch stared at the cops as they made their staggering way out the door, then walked back to Starsky, reached down, gripped the collar of his jacket in one hand, the front of his shirt in the other, and pulled him to his feet.

"What are you doing?"

"Ah, you know," he said waving a dismissive hand. "Endurance. They couldn't beat me. Tryin' to show 'em how tough they need to be out there on the street." He put his hands behind him. "Want me to show you? Get your cuffs on me."

Hutch wanted to shake him, but didn't, suspecting that somehow that's what his partner wanted him to do.

Some customers stared as Hutch took Starsky through the crowd and toward the front door.

"Tough!" Starsky yelled into the air. "I'm tough!"

Huggy approached them, giving Starsky's bobbing head a sympathetic pat. "Anything I can do, Hutch?"

"Nah," Starsky slurred. "He's got it under control."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hutch led Starsky out of Huggy's and onto the sidewalk.

"Thanks," Starsky said as he dug in his left front jeans pocket for his car keys. "I'll just be on my way home now."

"You're not driving anywhere," Hutch said opening the passenger door to the tan Ford and putting him inside. "You're coming with me."

Hutch moved in front of the car and got in the driver's seat.

"Cool," Starsky said blinking his glassy, heavy eyes.

Hutch started the car and pulled away from the curb.

When they were on their way, Hutch said, "I think it's time to talk."

"I think it's time to go home."

Hutch looked at him. "Do you realize what you were doing back there?"

Starsky leaned his head against the window and looked at him through narrow eyes. "Bein' drunk. Havin' fun. Lettin' off a little steam."

"That guy almost broke your arm."

Starsky chuckled. "He wasn't gonna break my arm. I had harder than that before. I can take anything."

Hutch turned his gaze toward the traffic ahead, tears gleaming in his eyes.

"It's Marcus, isn't it?"

Starsky snorted. "What the hell does he have to do with it? That was over a month ago. Adios. Wimp cops back there don't know what pain is."

Hutch swallowed.

"Starsk…"

"I'm tired. I want to go to bed. My arms are fine."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hutch helped Starsky up the steps to his front door, unlocked it, and steered Starsky inside.

"Home, Starsk," he said guiding him toward the bed and removing his jacket. "I'll come early in the morning and we'll talk some more, okay?"

Starsky shuffled to the bed and plopped onto his back while Hutch unbuckled his shoulder holster.

"Your gun's on the nightstand," Hutch told him.

Starsky's soft snore answered him.

Sighing and running a hand through his own hair, Hutch walked to the door, turned the lights off, and left.

XXXXXXXXXX

The man standing in Starsky's bathroom waited until he heard the front door close, then meandered with slow, reptilian grace through the shadowed apartment.

His name was Snake, and with his devilish features-extreme widow's peak, dangerous black eyes, sharp cheekbones, narrow chin, and black goatee-he did look like he had just stepped out of an exaggerated oil painting of Lucifer.

Starsky slept unaware as Snake picked up his gun, but jerked awake the instant it touched his forehead.

Snake's voice was a willowy whisper, almost seductive, and slightly southern as he straddled Starsky's pelvis. "Don't move, pretty one."

Starsky gazed at him through bleary eyes, his breath still steady.

"Marcus sends his regards."

Starsky's right hand slipped off the mattress, his fingers working under it.

"Yeah," he whispered without blinking. "I miss him too."

Snake smiled and began to unbutton Starsky's shirt.

"Don't ridicule, darlin'."

"You won't get away with killin' me. I got a partner who won't stop until all you freaks are locked up."

"Oh, my," Snake whispered as he opened Starsky's shirt. "Yes. And I can scarcely wait to meet that boy. Is he as sweet as he looks?"

"And if you kill him, there'll be another one. And another one."

"Good. I like groups."

Snake smiled and leaned down, moving his face toward Starsky's, only a breath away, the tip of his tongue flicking once.

"You can tell me what you like, so you can enjoy it one last time. You want to turn over for me?"

Starsky shoved the knife into his side, and when Snake stiffened, pushed his dead body off into the floor.

XXXXXXXXXX

When Hutch arrived back at Starsky's ten minutes later, his partner was leaning casually against the back of his couch, hands still bloody because he wanted to disturb the crime scene as little as possible.

"Oh my God," Hutch said crossing the floor and glancing at the dead man in Starsky's bed.

"One of Marcus'."

Hutch looked at Starsky's bloody hands, then squeezed his shoulder. "Damn, partner."

Starsky gave a curve of his smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Starsk, about last night…"

The investigators and coroner were gone, Starsky had showered and changed his clothes, and now he was left with the task of pulling his mattress from the bed and dragging it down to the dumpster.

"Yeah, I wish he hadn't bled all over my Posturepedic."

Hutch helped him lift it off the bed and turn it upright.

"No, I mean at Huggy's."

Starsky tugged the vertical mattress toward the front door.

"I got plastered. So what."

Hutch pulled back on the mattress to stop it.

"You don't remember what you were doing with Darnell?"

"Kinda. I guess."

Starsky started pulling on the mattress again.

Hutch leaned the mattress against the wall, then stepped over to him and gently took his shoulders. "I'm worried about you. Let's talk about it."

Starsky turned away, looked down, then moved back and grabbed Hutch in a quick, desperate hug.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I guess it's time."

End

Decision

By TR

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Glad to get that scum taken care of," Starsky said after he and Hutch booked Forest and were on their way down the main corridor toward the exit door of the precinct.

Starsky noticed that Hutch walked as close to the wall as possible, moving slowly, almost shuffling, hand absently on his stomach.

"You okay?" Starsky asked him.

He answered with eyes gazing ahead. "Don't I look like I'm okay?"

Starsky stayed on the opposite side of the hall.

"Well, um, actually you look like you could use a chair."

The remaining gray circles under Hutch's eyes made him look haunted.

"I'm fine."

"Fine, huh?"

Hutch kept walking, his shoulder now brushing along the wall. He raised his chin as if to show the hall who was boss.

"I certainly don't need you babysitting me here at the precinct too."

(In front of everyone, right, Hutch?)

(You trying to maintain some dignity, show everybody here, the ones who've heard anyway, that it wasn't so bad?)

(Okay, it's the aftereffects talking. You lost Jeanie, Forest is booked, the drama of all that is over and now you're left with the man you see in the mirror, trying to put it behind you, present to the world something that looks like a normal life)

Starsky allowed the sting. He could allow a lot of stings for Hutch given the circumstances, just like he had upstairs at Huggy's. He could allow a lot of things for Hutch period.

Before they reached the exit doors, Hutch had slowed to a creep.

Starsky was going to let it go until Hutch's proud head went down and his knees gave, then Starsky stepped across the hall and caught his arm.

Hutch jerked it away.

"I'm capable."

But he sank lower and lower, until he was on one knee.

"What are you gonna do, crawl to the door?"

Starsky reached for him again. Hutch lowered his head, his hand came out toward him as if to grasp his collar, but pushed on his shoulder instead.

"Hands off. Get out of here."

Starsky realized what Hutch couldn't, or wouldn't, put into words: He was fighting a craving.

(Hutch, come on, you begged me for it at Huggy's when you were out of your mind lusting for it, now you won't talk to me because you want to look like you've licked it, you don't want to show weakness or want to acknowledge to yourself that it's happening)

When Starsky placed a hand on his shoulder, Hutch shrugged it off, whispering into the wall.

"Please, Starsk."

"Hutch, let me help y-"

Hutch shoved him with surprising strength.

"Don't touch me again!"

Starsky toppled back on his rear while Hutch staggered down the hall and out the exit doors.

Starsky sprang to his feet and ran after him.

Hutch was running past the Torino, stumbling more than anything.

"Hutch!"

Starsky caught up in seconds. Withdrawal had sucked the speed and vitality from his partner's very atoms. The man with the speed, agility, and strength of a mountain lion

was now gasping for air and holding his side. A negative image of the man he used to be.

He dropped to a knee to catch his breath and Starsky went with him.

"Hutch, it's okay."

Hutch grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling, pushing, his head down to hide the pain that strained his features. "It's not okay."

Starsky gripped his arms. "Then it will be. Give it time."

Hutch moved his head no.

Starsky pulled him to his feet, and Hutch pushed at him again, but headed for the passenger side of the Torino and not down the street.

Sweat had formed on the face that was still faintly ghoul-like. He wiped a shirtsleeve across his upper lip and lowered his forehead to the top of the car, waiting for his partner.

Starsky saw the lash marks from where he had been restrained.

(Those marks aren't even gone yet and you think you licked it?)

(Hate to tell you, buddy, but a ghost of your drug addiction will follow you for the rest of your life)

(You'll see it in the drug busts we make, in the eyes of the junkies we'll encounter, even in your dreams)

(I see it right now)

(And you know what? It's gonna follow me too)

Hutch opened the passenger door and sat down, leaned his head back, and held his arms.

Starsky got into the Torino and started it before Hutch could get out, then reached over and locked the door.

"Like that will keep me in," Hutch said pressing fingers into his eyes as if he had a headache. "I kicked Forest's door open, I'll kick yours open too."

"I hear you, tough guy."

Starsky pulled onto the street.

The ride was silent for a while, then Hutch said, "Touch is painful to me right now, Starsk."

An apology.

Conversation.

Clinical.

An attempt to hang on to him, even when it hurt to, like it was in Huggy's bed.

"Is it?"

"It's like all of my nerve endings are right on the surface."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize. And here I've been grabbin' at you all day."

"And sound grates on my nerves."

Hutch stuck a hand between his knees. "Muscle aches. Tremors."

(Yeah, Hutch, plus the fact that you were held down and punched)

(Forest, I want to cave your head in)

(Hutch should be out there chasing down suspects, assisting victims, flirting with the ladies, running on the beach, playing his guitar, or working out at Vinnie's Gym, not cringing, or doubting himself, or stumbling in the hallway of his own police station)

"You've been very kind to me, Starsk."

(You don't owe me an explanation, or an apology, or talk to me like I'm a stranger in a cab, we've been through too much for that)

(How much strength and willpower does it take to talk casually to another human being, even me, after all that?)

Starsky guessed that the detached conversation was the most his friend had in him.

XXX

The ride to the cottage was silent. They both needed room to think, and be, and feel.

Starsky followed him to the front door, taking his time because Hutch was moving so slow. Hutch pushed himself even though his body wanted to quit, in a way further

punishing himself, both physically and psychically.

"Go home," Hutch mumbled as he fumbled to put the key into the door.

The keys finally fell from his hand and onto the ground.

Starsky picked them up. "I'm spending the night."

Hutch looked too tired to object. It was only eight in the evening, but he was nearly asleep on his feet.

Starsky opened the door and went in first, should anything threatening be waiting inside, a habit that would stay with him forever in the future, thanks to Forest.

"Take the bed," Hutch said following him in and going straight to the couch, easing face down on it. He chose it instead of his bed. He hadn't wanted to lie in one or sleep in one since he left the one at Huggy's, somehow feeling safer and more comfortable on the couch, in a chair, or even on the floor, all in the living room where he could be near the door and windows if anyone broke in.

But Starsky didn't take the bed either. He got a sheet (touch is painful to me now, Starsk) instead of a blanket, and covered Hutch (I think it repulses you too), then turned the radio on low volume and sat down in a nearby chair to rest, his alert mind not allowing him fatigue at such an early hour. He couldn't get out of the urgent, almost possessive (obsessive) protective gear he was in.

Sometime later, Hutch, still face down on the couch, began to flinch and mumble in a nightmare.

"You like this stuff, don't you, baby?"

Hutch's breathing began to come heavier. His hand jerked, knocked against the coffee table, jostling books and empty coffee cups.

Starsky, still awake but drowsy, pushed himself out of the chair and went over to him, but by the time he got there, Hutch had quieted and was asleep again.

Starsky adjusted the sheet around his shoulders, (not too snug, Hutch), patted his hair, then sat back down in the chair, watching him, waiting for his eyes to grow heavy again.

(What else do you dream?)

XXX

"Stop," came Hutch's trembling whisper through clenched, chattering teeth.

Starsky opened his eyes in the chair and saw that Hutch was a chilling, trembling, curled shape under the sheet, ordering his body to obey.

"Stop it."

Starsky went to the bedroom for two blankets, brought them back, and placed them over him.

"This'll help."

Hutch threw them back.

Starsky picked them up, folded them, and put them on the back of the couch.

"They're right there if you need them."

Hutch closed his eyes.

"Sleep," he told himself. It was easier if he could sleep some of it away, but his body wouldn't listen. He would be awake until his cold bones said otherwise.

Starsky sat back down in the chair, leaning forward on its edge, trying hard to keep from turning the coffee table upside down.

XXX

Starsky hadn't slept well. A twilight doze was the most his worried, agitated mind would allow. Later he thanked his brain for that, because if he had been sleeping any deeper, he may not have heard the noise in the bathroom.

"Hutch?"

He sat upright in the chair, seeing that his partner had left the couch.

"Hutch?"

Starsky walked to the closed bathroom door and stood.

(Great, he's gonna love you for this, babysitter)

Starsky rapped lightly.

"Okay in there?"

"Taking a leak," replied the worn-out voice. "Is that all right with you? You want to watch?"

The noise, though. Things moving around on the sink, in the medicine cabinet.

"Got a headache?"

A weak laugh answered him, almost affectionate in its lightness.

Then, after the laugh, it was quiet again.

Starsky listened, for the running of water, a flush, the shower.

You are ridiculous, Starsky told himself. You really are. No wonder he calls you a babysitter.

"Did you fall?"

(Silly question. You'd have heard it)

(Go back to the chair, close your eyes, and get some sleep)

Starsky walked back to the couch, stood with his hand on top of the blankets he'd folded, and listened, hearing only silence.

(Maybe he fell asleep)

(Just sat down in the floor, or curled up in the small space, and went to sleep)

"Taking to it like a baby," Hutch's mumble sounded from the bathroom.

Starsky turned and walked back to the door, took the knob in his hand, rotated it.

Locked.

"Hutch?"

Silence.

"Hutch, let me in."

More silence from the other side.

"Hey, come on, I want to make sure you're all right. Call me a babysitter all you want to, swear at me, whatever, I just want to see."

Still more silence.

Then, "I'm okay. I told you I was taking a leak."

"I thought you fell asleep."

"No, I'm okay."

But Starsky shoved his shoulder against the door anyway, and it opened easily, with little damage or fanfare.

Hutch sat on the edge of his tub, looking vulnerable now that he was only in his boxers, his belt tightly wrapped around his upper arm, head bent studiously over the syringe he held against the crook of his arm.

Starsky lunged for the needle.

"Are you crazy?"

Hutch shoved him away; Starsky came right back, this time grabbing the syringe and tossing it into the sink.

Hutch charged at Starsky, who caught his upper arms and slammed him against the bathroom wall.

Hutch strained against the confinement, but Starsky had his shoulders pinned, his love coming out in anger, fear, and frustration.

"Why?"

Hutch again tried to wrestle out from under his hands.

"Why? Because I'm a junkie, that's why. That's what we do. Do you think I'm different?"

His hollow, spooked eyes were a dull blue. He was losing strength and will. His head dropped.

"Where'd you get the stuff?"

"Does it matter?"

Starsky spoke to his bowed head.

"You've come too far to blow it now."

"You don't know."

"I don't?"

Starsky waited to hear more. He looked down, seeing bruises on the inside and outside of Hutch's thighs where he had been kicked and stomped. The large purple, green, and yellow patches reached under his boxers and disappeared.

When Hutch's muscles gave up, Starsky helped him slide to the floor, removing his hands from his upper arms. Red fingerprints glared at him from where he'd held them in desperate love.

"I'm sorry, Hutch."

The size of the bathroom forced an intimacy that was as irritating for one partner as it was comforting to the other.

While Hutch was sitting on the floor with his head lolling drowsily, Starsky collected the syringe from the sink, then began looking for the rest of it.

"I don't want to be a junkie," Hutch mumbled with his head down.

"You're not," Starsky replied, still gathering paraphernalia. "A junkie is somebody who keeps taking it. You didn't take it."

Hutch slowly lowered onto his side. Starsky determined by his heavy breathing that he was drifting off to sleep.

Once he had the heroin and its accessories in a bag and locked in his trunk, Starsky got a pillow from the couch, and the sheet, and took them to Hutch, placed the pillow under his head, draped the sheet over him loosely, then pulled the chair near the bathroom so he could get some more sleep.

"I wish I could do this for you, Hutch," he murmured as his own eyes closed. "You know I would."

(What's it like fighting your own body, your own mind, the things that have happened to you, and the world itself?)

XXX

Starsky was in the kitchen the next morning when Hutch shuffled in.

"How about some coffee, Blondie?"

Hutch plopped into a chair and nodded.

While Starsky was getting the coffee, Hutch's hands moved toward the napkins and unopened mail and jars of health foods, yearning to rake it all off into the floor, but instead went into his hair and stayed there.

"I didn't take it," he muttered under his breath.

"I'm aware of that. I was there, remember? You're doin' okay, Hutch."

XXX

That evening Starsky drove Hutch to the beach, where they walked along in silence, allowing the ocean and birds to soothe their frayed nerves.

"I don't really want it," Hutch eventually said as he looked down at the sand while they walked. "No matter what I say."

They walked farther along the beach, then Starsky said, "I know."

XXX

Their fellow officers greeted them in the squad room the next morning.

"Morning," Hutch said with a nod and went to his desk to check for messages. He picked up some files; they slipped through his fingers.

Starsky started to retrieve them, but stopped short (let him do it, he's trying to be himself again) and turned to the coffeepot instead.

Hutch leaned down to pick up the files, swayed a little as he straightened, grasped the edge of the desk, and then just sat down in his chair. A three-page court document trembled in his hands. He put it on the table and kept reading.

Starsky set a cup of coffee on the table for him and took a sip from the one he'd poured for himself.

"Hey, uh," Hutch said to Starsky as his eyes glanced around at the detectives who had already turned back to their work. "How's Dobey going to handle the uh…"

Another

glance around the room.

"No report," Starsky said setting his coffee cup down.

Hutch looked at him with a flash of relief on his face.

Starsky walked over to Captain Dobey's office door, knocked, stepped in, then said, "Hutch is here. Don't let him go anywhere, okay? I'll be right back."

Without questioning, Dobey rose from behind his desk and a stack of investigations to read. He followed Starsky into the squad room and went to the coffee machine.

"Hey," Starsky said to his partner, "I'm goin' for a Danish at the machine. Want anything?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

Starsky nodded and went on out.

Dobey poured a cup of coffee, then sat down in Starsky's chair and pretended to read an arrest form that was on his desk.

Hutch looked at him, but said nothing.

XXX

"Thanks, Mikey," Starsky said as he slipped some money into the officer's hand.

Mikey smiled and opened the door to the jail cell, then Starsky stepped in and looked at the detainee.

"My lawyer's on the way," Forest said as he turned in Starsky's direction. Even in an inmate's uniform, he stood proud and confident.

(Wearing a little bit of my partner's, aren't you, Ben?)

Starsky walked over to him, reached under his jacket, and pulled out his gun.

"You won't shoot me, Starsky. You're a good cop."

Starsky brought the butt of the gun once, hard, across his face.

Forest rocked back, back of his hand going to the laceration on his cheek.

His only response was a snakelike curve of his lip.

Starsky turned and walked from the cell, smiling again at Mikey.

XXX

Starsky and Hutch attended Forest's arraignment.

The mobster sat with his lawyer, a bandage taped across his left cheek, adjusting the collar of his jumpsuit as if it were one of his expensive shirts.

Hutch sat quiet but attentive, while Starsky sat glowering throughout the entire proceeding.

When it was over and Forest was being led from the courtroom by a bailiff, he turned and looked at the detectives.

"I got more where that came from, Hutch," he said looking at the blond.

Starsky felt rather than saw his partner's muscles tense beside him, fight or flight, but that was the only outward sign that the gangster's words got to him.

"I do too," Starsky said back.

End

Hurt: Decision 2

By TR

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

Sipping a cup of coffee, Starsky slyly observed his partner from behind a file folder that he held. Slyly because he didn't want the whole squad room, and especially Hutch, to see that he was still keeping a watchful eye on him.

Hutch was taking a report from a mugging victim.

Simple enough. He'd done it so many times before he could probably do it in his sleep, but the twister of forced heroin addiction and withdrawal had left him a wilted flower. Even though he was making an admirable effort to rebound and was back to work, symptoms lingered behind like faint fingerprints, visible only to Starsky's loving and discerning eye: The way Hutch kept scribbling out sections on the report or simply starting over with a new one because he wrote the information in the wrong place. The way he asked the lady five times in a row to repeat what she'd just said. The way his knee bumped up and down in agitation under the table, or the tired way his weight rested on one elbow on the desk.

"He's doing well, isn't he?" Captain Dobey had remarked earlier in his office, almost proudly. He wanted the ordeal behind Hutch as badly as the partners did.

"Gettin' there," Starsky said with a nod.

(Compared to the wretched creature I held in my arms two weeks ago, Cap, Hutch is doing outstanding. I'm more worried about his emotional and mental condition than his physical one. He'll get his strength back, the occasional craving will subside. But something has been stolen from my partner, and I want to see him get it back, and I want to see him whole again)

(In time)

(Give him some room)

(Give him some space)

(He's just now rising from rock bottom and you want him just like he was before)

(Of course I do, I would give anything, do anything, to erase what happened, to see the sky in his eyes again and the sun in his smile)

(But that won't come overnight)

(It will happen in its own time and in its own way)

(He has to reclaim his own sense of self, you can't do that for him)

Starsky shifted his weight from his right leg to his left, resisting the urge to help him out with the report, and growing more uneasy by the second. Filling out a form was one thing. If he messed up, he could just start over. But you can't start over on the street when a goon has a gun in your face. That's why Dobey had put him back on desk duty for the time being.

Starsky had seen Hutch on the street in light duty, and agreed with Dobey that he just wasn't ready for anything heavy.

He was short with victims, punishing to suspects, pulled his gun unnecessarily, and kicked at a begging junkie in a doorstep.

"Hey," Starsky said after the mugging victim had left. It had taken Hutch thirty minutes to fill out a ten-minute report. He went to their desk, leaned over, and planted his elbows on it, speaking in a low, compassionate tone. "I got this relative who has a place up north in the mountains. What say we get some stuff together and head up there?"

A sudden wave of fatigue passed Hutch's features-the difficulty with the report having passed.

"I don't know…"

"Don't you wanna hear the birds barkin' and the owls oinkin' and the crickets clappin'?"

"You don't even like that kind of stuff."

"No, but you do, and that's what you need right now. You need to relax and clear your head. Meditate. Talk to the trees. Be at one with the weeds. Whatever it is you do."

"I don't feel like driving."

"I'll drive."

"I don't feel like packing."

"I'll pack."

Hutch clicked the ballpoint pen up and down, up and down, up and down, another nervous habit.

Starsky gently took the pen from his hand and gingerly ruffled his straw-like hair.

"Okay?"

Hutch finally smiled. "Okay."

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

Starsky drove, keeping the radio low and his voice low to avoid irritating his partner's serrated nerves.

He was dressed for success in a red thermal undershirt, jeans, and hiking boots.

Hutch had tossed on the first thing he touched in his closet, a green T-shirt, brown corduroys, and a pair of rugged Earth shoes.

The drive was beautiful, and Hutch mooned longingly at the majestic mountains, winding roads, lush greenery, and colorful flowers.

Starsky noticed that just the sight of nature alone was helping to buff his partner's tarnished soul.

"Thanks, Starsk," he said with a smile.

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

"Here," Starsky said handing him a camera when he parked the Torino in front of the two-story cottage. "Shoot some pictures while I take the stuff in."

"I can help you," Hutch said getting out of the car. "I'm not an invalid, you know, just a recovering addict."

Hutch smiled, but the words still pierced Starsky's heart. He unlocked the trunk. "Just take the pictures."

Hutch smiled and turned to snap some shots.

Starsky reached into the trunk for a box of supplies.

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

Hutch's appetite had not fully returned, so Starsky was thoughtful enough to bring along light foods that he would enjoy and that would be nutritious.

(Skip the hunting and fishing this time, Hutch. We'll do that when you're stronger. For now it's just replenishing what's been depleted)

"Nice place," Hutch said wandering around the cottage with a saucer of raspberries, cubed cheddar cheese, and wheat crackers Starsky had handed him. "All electric. Plenty of room. A bed in the loft, sleeper sofa down here. Stove, fridge, TV, telephone, washer and dryer, and dishwasher?" He smiled at his partner. "It's not a cabin, it's a hotel."

Starsky shrugged as he made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "I didn't say we were gonna rough it."

"I'm glad," Hutch sighed as he sank onto the comfortable couch and put a raspberry in his mouth. "I've had all the roughing I can handle for a while."

Starsky's heart tugged out of place. He carried a glass of milk over to him.

(That's why I chose this place, Hutch)

Hutch's smile as he took the glass of milk told Starsky he'd read his mind.

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

Snow was beginning to fall outside the cottage, covering the trees and ground in a soft white blanket.

Hutch laughed as Starsky stood in front of the couch, twirling a finger in a circle over his own head.

The game was charades, and Hutch wasn't tuned in.

"A helicopter?" Hutch asked him.

Starsky shook his head no, and twirled his finger in a circle again.

"Crazy?"

Starsky stomped his foot on the floor. "No!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying, do it again."

Starsky circled his finger again.

"A bird!"

"NO!"

Hutch threw his hands up. "I don't know!"

"IT'S A BEANIE!"

"Oh for-" Hutch sighed and closed his eyes. "A beanie."

"Now your turn."

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

Near midnight.

Hutch stood at the living room window and watched it snow.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful."

He pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it across the back of a chair.

Upstairs in the loft, Starsky took his own shirt off and looked over the railing at his partner. "Yeah, beautiful and cold. Couch or bed, Hutch?"

"Bed looks pretty comfortable to me."

"Enough said."

Several extra blankets and pillows were folded on a chair next to the bed. Starsky took two blankets and a pillow downstairs and began to prepare the couch.

"Night, Hutch."

"Night, Starsk. I'll get the lights."

End

Safe

By TR

::::::::::

"Dave, you can't mean this."

He stood in her doorway, hands on his hips, looking down at his shoes.

Melinda took his face in his hands and raised it.

"But I love you. I think we're…no, I know. We're right for each other. When I'm with you I feel like a new person, like I'm alive, and whole."

He took her hands politely and held them. "I think that's the problem."

"You're not having fun?"

"It's not that. It's just… I need room to breathe. I'm not ready to settle down, and already you want me here at a certain time at night, and you hate it when I even say hello to another girl. You don't trust me, you smother me. I don't know how else to tell you, but

it's the truth. I need out. I don't want to be married right now."

"We're not married yet."

"Yeah! That's the point! You act like we are!"

"Dave, don't-"

He sighed and put a hand in his hair. "Okay. Sorry. I don't want to yell. I'm just telling you like it is." He kissed her cheek. "You're a good person, but I can't give you what you want right now."

He turned to leave, she grabbed his arm.

"No, wait. Dave. Please. Listen to me. I'll change. I won't bug you anymore. Just let me show you how it will be for us and. And If you can't do it right now, okay, but maybe later, okay? Maybe later you'll-"

With tenderness and sympathy, he pried her fingers off.

"Sorry," he whispered heavily, and went out.

She was left to cry in the doorway.

::::::::::

"Well that went well," he said sliding into one of Huggy's booths across from Hutch. He picked up a tortilla chip and dipped it into salsa.

"Heartbreaker," Hutch said sipping a beer.

"Terry never tried to change me," Starsky said picking up his own beer. "She accepted me hook, line, and sinker. That's one reason I loved her."

Hutch reached into his pocket for some change. "I think you need some music to cheer you up."

"I got it," Starsky said as he walked to the jukebox and dropped in some change.

A pretty waitress named Trish approached the table and set down a tray of tacos.

"Huggy said the whole-wheat tacos are for you, Ken."

"Whole-wheat tacos? A man after my heart."

"Goat cheese, refried soybeans, organic tomatoes and lettuce."

"I think I'll marry him."

She grinned and looked Starsky's way.

"What's Dave been up to?"

"Trying to bow gracefully out of smother-hood."

"Huh?"

"Breaking up."

"Oh. Poor baby."

"Why don't you go talk to him? He could use some fun."

"I think I'll do that."

She carried the empty tray over to the jukebox.

"Hi, Dave. Tacos are served."

He called up Roberta Flack's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face", turned to Trish and started a slow dance with her, and Hutch knew it wasn't Melinda he was thinking about, or even Trish.

Starsk. Man. You break my heart. I wish I could take that for you. I've been there.

"Dave?"

Hutch looked around to see Melinda making her way through the tables and toward the jukebox.

"Hey," he said reaching for her hand, but she moved past him as though she hadn't heard.

Starsky saw her and stopped dancing with Trish, but kept his arm around her as he stood and talked to Melinda.

"Dave, please," she said clinging to the front of his shirt, her eyes red from crying, cheeks streaked with mascara. "I know we can work this out. Don't leave me. You're all I have."

"Excuse me, Dave," Trish said rubbing his back. "I'll be in the kitchen."

As Trish walked away, Melinda said, "I thought you cared about me, but you don't. You don't care how I feel, what I think, how it looks-"

He gently took her arm to lead her to the door.

"You need to find happiness with yourself first," he said quietly. "I can't be everything for you."

"Please, Dave, let's talk. Please? I'll do whatever you want."

He escorted her outside and to her car.

"Melinda, I broke it off with you tonight, and I meant it. Just…move on, huh? Be good to yourself."

He helped her into the car, then walked back inside without a look over his shoulder.

Hutch was munching on one of his wheat tacos when Starsky returned to their booth, and he tried not to let his concern show, trying to keep the scene light.

"Tacos are getting cold, bambino," Hutch said nudging the tray to him.

"Yeah," Starsky grumbled as he picked one up. "What the hell kind of taco is this?"

"Mine. Healthy. Those death-wraps are yours."

Starsky put the wheat taco down and picked up a regular one.

Trish approached the booth again, and he pulled her onto his lap.

"Is the coast clear?" she asked.

"Yeah. Sorry our dance was spoiled."

She winked at Hutch. "Rain check."

"Hey," Hutch said to him, "you know what? You need to get away for a while. No cases, no psycho babes, just some fun in the sun."

"Beach?" Starsky asked.

"More like Minnesota. Grampa invited me to come out for a couple of weeks. You can go. It'll be good for you."

He kissed Trish. "You can come too."

"Sorry, I can't leave my granny alone for extended periods."

"Aw, too bad. We'll take her too. Hutch needs a mature woman."

Trish giggled. "Sorry. Rain check on that too. Wow, I'm missing all the fun."

::::::::::

Aaron Hutchinson stopped working on his tractor when he saw Hutch's car coming down the dusty lane.

"Ken!" he yelled as he waved his worn brown cap around in the air. "Kenny!"

He started across the barnyard in a stiff but determined gait.

Hutch stopped the car and got out, and was engulfed in a hug by his bear-like grandfather.

"Grampa," Hutch grinned, "this is Starsky. David."

Aaron took his old leather work glove off before shaking his hand. "Starsky David. About time we meet. You're the one who keeps pulling my boy out of trouble, huh?"

Starsky smiled. "Well, yeah, he's helped me outa a couple of jams too. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hutchin-"

"Aaron. I'll kick your butt if you call me anything but."

"Okay. Thanks."

The old man was robust for eighty, red-faced and white-haired, but his blue eyes were his most striking feature-calm and reassuring pools charming his weathered face.

Starsky felt the calloused skin and realized that even though Aaron employed many people, he still did plenty of work himself.

"You boys better be hungry," Aaron said putting his arms around them and walking them toward the farmhouse. "I baked you a cake. And Starsky David, you have to speak up with this bad ear."

"Okay!" Starsky said raising his voice.

::::::::::

The house was spacious and clean; homey for a widower.

Starsky saw that it was the family photos that warmed the rooms.

"Hey," Starsky said picking up a black and white picture of a blond-haired boy in bib overalls proudly holding up a fish next to a lake. "This you, Hutch?"

"Yep," Aaron said as he joined Starsky at the dining room buffet to look at the picture. "Me and my boy went fishing all the time. Taught him to swim."

"And ride a horse," Hutch added. "Play a guitar, shoot a gun, fix a car, raise a garden. The list goes on."

Aaron picked up a framed photo of a beautiful blonde woman holding a baby Hutch on her lap.

"This is…was…his grandmother. Esther. I lost her about ten years ago, you know. We were married fifty years."

Starsky glanced at Hutch, who gave him a sweet tearful smile.

"I know," Starsky said quietly.

Aaron brushed big-knuckled fingers over the glass, then looked at Starsky. "You can have more than one love in your life, you know. There's a lady down the road and we have real nice times together."

Starsky looked at his partner, who was innocently looking at an antique clock.

"Ken told me about your sweetheart passing," Aaron said quietly.

"Yeah, she was a special lady."

"You'll always cherish her." Aaron clapped his hands. "Everybody wash up! Let's eat!"

When they started for the dining room table, Starsky said, "What kind of cake did you bake?"

Aaron cupped his ear and turned to listen.

"Say again?"

Starsky spoke louder. "What kind of CAKE did you bake?"

"Strawberry!"

::::::::::

Aaron passed Hutch a big bowl of tossed salad, then a platter of baked lemon pepper chicken breast, then began to cut his corn from its ear with his pocketknife.

"Any interesting criminals lately, Ken?"

"All kinds, Grampa."

"Got some hoodlums coming onto the field at night down by the lake, partying I suppose, leaving their stuff behind. I called the law on them."

"What happened?" Starsky asked.

"Nothing. Can't catch them. They deny everything. Can't prove who it is. But I was young once, and I snuck around and tried to get away with things."

Hutch winked. "You?"

"Who do you think it is?" Starsky asked. "We'll go crack their heads together."

Aaron laughed. "Like walnuts, uh?"

"Yeah, just like that."

"The Perry boys I think, but like I told the police, I can't prove it. I don't mind them coming over, it's leaving their party trash around for me to pick up I don't like."

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other in tacit agreement. They would make a house call to the Perry home before they left.

"Don't worry about it," Hutch said. "We'll take care of it."

"Cake time," Aaron said wiping his mouth with a napkin and hustling off to the kitchen with one hand on his lower back.

"He's a lot slower than he used to be," Hutch said watching him. "The thought of some

knucklehead kids giving him a hard time really ticks me off."

"Here, Starsky David," Aaron said setting the cake down in front of him and slicing into the bright pink frosting with a cake knife. "You get the first piece."

::::::::::

"Want to show you boys what I got you," Aaron said opening the barn door an hour after they'd eaten.

It was almost dark, and the night air was damp and cool.

Aaron turned the barn light on.

Starsky and Hutch followed the old man inside, where two horses stood prancing and whinnying about in their stalls.

"Horses?" Starsky asked as he looked at the animals.

"They sure aren't cows, Starsky," Aaron said. "Speaking of which. You want to learn how to milk a cow in the morning? My dairy barn's up on the hill behind the house."

"No way. I ain't milkin' no cow. I stop at horses."

"You don't milk horses," Hutch said.

"You know what I mean."

Aaron walked over to the stalls, opened them, and led the horses by their bridles into the main area of the barn. One horse was black, the other was white.

"Which one you boys want?"

Starsky smiled and walked over to the black one, petting its mane. "I'll take this black beauty. Hutch, you can have the white cloud. Thanks, Aaron. I never had a horse before."

Hutch walked over to the white horse and rubbed its forehead.

"Thanks, Grampa."

"You two get a good night's sleep, and you can ride in the morning."

Starsky looked at Aaron. "I don't know how. We didn't exactly have horses on my

street."

"Ken'll show you, he's a good rider."

::::::::::

After their breakfast of pancakes, fruit, and coffee, Aaron picked up a set of keys from the dining room buffet.

He was dressed in pale, worn denim pants, a clean white shirt, and a soft suede work jacket, not his everyday work clothes.

Hutch was putting dishes into the dishwasher while Starsky was investigating a collection of rattlesnake rattles in a large, clear glass bowl on the kitchen counter next to the coffeemaker.

"Um, uh…how many you got here, Aaron?"

"Stopped counting at a hundred."

"Where'd you buy 'em?"

"Buy 'em? I killed every last one of 'em. Over the years. You be careful a snake don't spook your horse."

Starsky looked at his partner. "Now I gotta worry about rattlesnakes?"

"Only if they bite you or scare your horse."

Aaron laughed and scratched his short white hair. "Well. Since you boys'll be riding today, I'm going to take the truck into town for some repairs, may stop off at my lady friend's on the way back."

"Sure," Hutch said. "Have fun."

Aaron whistled as he walked to the front door. He opened it and stopped in the doorway, giving them a look. "What did you name your horses?"

"Beauty," Starsky said.

"Cloud," Hutch answered.

"See you boys later. Help yourself to one of those rattles, Starsky David."

Aaron went on out.

Starsky turned his attention back to the bowl of rattles.

"Gee, thanks, Aaron."

Hutch smiled and turned the dishwasher on.

"All done. Let's ride."

::::::::::

After Hutch gave his partner some basic riding instructions in the barn and the horses were saddled, he led them out to the barnyard and over to the fence and tied only Cloud's reins to it.

"Get on," Hutch said holding Beauty's reins. "We'll take it slow around here first until you get the feel for it."

Starsky gave him a worried, doubtful look as he put his foot into the stirrup and carefully swung up into the saddle.

"How'd I do?"

"So far so good. Hold onto the reins, and away we go. Just a short walk around the barnyard."

Starsky held to the reins while Hutch slowly led the black horse around by the bridle.

Starsky was tense, on the verge of perspiring, but trying.

"How'm I doin'?"

"You haven't fallen off, so you're doing just fine."

"I got just one question."

"What's that?"

"Where are the brakes?"

::::::::::

"We'll do some trotting and galloping tomorrow," Hutch said three hours later as he and Starsky rode the horses in a leisurely walk across a field. Hutch made sure to keep his horse near Starsky's should he have to quickly grab the reins. "Today we'll just walk, get you used to it. I want to show you the whole farm. The lake, my old tree house, and the cave with the Indian artifacts."

Starsky looked around at the wide-open fields that seemed to roll from one gentle hill to the other, bordered by fence, thick woods, brush, dirt paths, and streams.

"That could take hours."

"I know."

"Do horses get hungry?"

"Of course they get hungry. They had hay and oats last night, and water. And for snacks…"

"Horses eat snacks?"

Hutch patted his saddle bag. "Apples and carrots today."

"I'll take one of those apples."

Hutch fished out an apple and tossed it to him.

"See that stream over there, Starsk?"

"Yeah."

"We'll take the horses over there for a drink."

Starsky leaned down and patted Beauty's neck. "How's that sound, boy? I could use one my-"

The arrow thumped into Starsky's shoulder from the front and he toppled backward off the horse, the apple flying from his hand.

"Starsk!"

The sudden movement startled Starsky's horse, which galloped away.

Hutch quickly wrapped his horse's reins around a fence rail and jumped off to run back to Starsky, who was lying on his side and clutching his bleeding shoulder.

"What-what the hell happened?" he panted as he blinked up at Hutch.

Blood spilled from his shoulder and over the arrow and his hand. His head fell back to the ground.

"Oh, Hutch, I'm gonna be sick. It hurts."

Starsky rolled onto his stomach and made a retching sound. Hutch jumped on the other side of him to look at the wound.

"You've been shot with an arrow."

Starsky tried to raise his head again, but couldn't hold it up. Hutch sat him up and broke the arrow off until only a couple of inches protruded.

Starsky's head rolled back against Hutch shoulder, he gasped against the pain.

"Can't move, Hutch. You think it was a poison arrow?"

"I don't know, I hope not. We'll get you back to the house, call an ambulance."

Starsky tried to look around, but his head only drooped. "Who shot me?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

Hutch stuffed the broken shaft into his back pocket.

"My guess is Grampa's friendly party boys."

Starsky groaned and clutched the sleeve of Hutch's jacket. "Can't get up."

"Let me help you. Come on. On the count of three. One, two-"

"Three."

But Starsky's legs were wobbly. Hutch held him up and walked him toward the remaining horse.

"Where's Beauty?" Starsky panted.

"Don't worry about him. We'll have somebody come and get him."

"Who shot me?"

"I told you I don't know, buddy. I'll find out."

"Did you get shot?"

"No, I'm okay."

Hutch saw his face getting pale and shiny.

"You gonna pull the arrow outa me?"

"I don't think I should do that. It'll bleed a lot more. And hurt like hell. Right now the arrow's plugging the wound. We've got to get you up onto Cloud, okay? We'll go back to the house and I'll drive you to the hospital."

They reached the white horse, and Hutch said, "Lift your foot now, put it in the stirrup."

Starsky's foot came a few inches off the ground, and he started to sink lower.

Hutch held onto him before he collapsed entirely.

"I'm going to put you on the horse," Hutch panted. "It's going to hurt. Just try to hold onto the saddle horn once you get up there."

"Saddle's got a horn?"

Hutch couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped him.

He lifted Starsky up, put his leg across the horse, and steadied him in the saddle.

"Where's the horn?" Starsky mumbled as he groped around.

Hutch put his hand on the horn.

"Here. Hang on to it."

Starsky's hand rested on the horn in a weak grip. He tried to sit up, but slowly drifted forward.

Hutch unloosened the horse's bridle from the fence post, gripped one hand around Starsky's belt, the other around the reins, and began to walk the horse back across the

field.

Starsky kept slumping forward, his head dropping lower and lower, until he started to fall sideways.

Hutch pulled him back upright, then jumped onto the horse behind Starsky and took the reins.

"Have to ride double, Starsk. You can't sit up."

"Don't want to sit up," he muttered. "Want to sleep."

Hutch felt his shivering body in front of him, and thought of shock.

"Here," he said taking off his jacket and wrapping it around his partner's shoulders. "Take it easy. We're on our way."

No answer came from Starsky. He started to slip sideways, but Hutch reaching around him with both arms to hold the reins created a support that held him upright.

"Starsk? Did you hear me?"

But only his short, labored breathing answered back as they made their way back to the farmhouse.

::::::::::

"Dear God," Aaron said as he got out of his pickup truck and hurried over to help them.

"What happened to him?"

"Arrow. Watch his shoulder."

"Arrow? How?"

Aaron reached up and took Starsky into his arms, lowering him onto the ground and letting him lie against him until Hutch could get off the horse.

"Who did this?" the old man asked as he blinked hard.

"I don't know. Probably your rowdy neighbors, but I'm not worried about who right now, I've got to get him to the hospital and I'm not waiting on the ambulance. He's in and out of consciousness." He checked Starsky's wound again. "Your truck working okay now?"

"Like a dream. Let's go. I'll drive."

Hutch hefted Starsky into his arms, then carried him to the farm truck. Aaron opened the passenger door, then went to the driver's side, got in, and helped pull Starsky inside.

::::::::::

The ride in the old truck was bumpy, and Aaron drove as fast as he dared.

Hutch sat against the door with an arm around Starsky, holding him close and tight to minimize the jarring.

"Huh…" Starsky said as his eyelashes fluttered drowsily against the front of Hutch's shirt.

"Hey," Hutch whispered. "Sorry about the bumps. We're almost there."

Aaron patted Starsky's arm.

"Hold on there, Starsky. You're in good hands."

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

"Arrow," Starsky murmured as Hutch and Aaron brought him into the emergency room. "My horse."

A doctor and a nurse rushed a gurney over to them.

"We'll get your horse," Hutch told him as they helped him onto the gurney. "Just let the doctors work on you. I'll be right here."

He glanced at the doctor. "Save that arrowhead. I'll need it for evidence."

::::::::::

Hutch was pacing in the waiting room when Aaron stepped in.

"I'm going for coffee, boy, you want one?"

Hutch moved his head no and kept pacing, turning his head away to hide his watery eyes.

Aaron walked over to him and placed a hand on his back, then left the room.

:::::::::::

With latex-gloved fingers, the doctor dropped the bloody arrow into a stainless steel tray and looked at the nurse. "Let's get our cowboy into a recovery room."

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

"It was an accident!" the teenager shouted with raised hands from his seat on the couch. "We were just goofing off with it!"

The youth sat with three other youths, all hunched into a crowded row like a miniature lineup.

Aaron moved his double-barreled shotgun across all four faces.

"My parents will be back any minute!" the second teen added.

"Good. I want to talk to them to. You almost killed a young man I just happen to take a liking to."

"We didn't mean it! We didn't even think it would go that far! It was homemade!"

"I'm making a citizen's arrest. That means you're coming with me to the sheriff's office, and you're going to turn yourselves in."

"Or what, old coot?" the third boy asked.

The first barrel of the shotgun exploded into the ceiling.

::::::::::

"He did what?" Hutch asked the Sheriff and two deputies in Starsky's hospital room as he looked from them to his grandfather.

Starsky passed a medicated smile to Aaron. "Way to go, man."

::::::::::

His arm in a sling, Starsky stood in the doorway of the barn with Aaron and the black horse while Hutch loaded their suitcases into the trunk of the LTD in the barnyard.

"Don't worry," Starsky said holding an apple to the horse's mouth. "I'll be back."

Aaron smiled and stepped back with a camera, snapped a picture. "I'll send you a copy."

Hutch closed the trunk and walked over to his grandfather.

"Take care, Grampa," he said giving him a hug.

"I will."

He held his arms out to Starsky, who gave him a one-arm hug.

"Keep the Indians in line, okay?"

"I plan on it. And here. Want you to have this. Hold out your hand." Starsky held out his good hand while Aaron fished in his pocket. "Souvenir," Aaron said as he put a rattlesnake rattle in his hand. Starsky smiled, shook it to hear it rattle, then slipped it into his pocket. "Thanks. I'll keep it with my arrowhead."

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

Trish stared at his sling with an open mouth when he walked into Huggy's with Hutch.

"Oh my gosh, Dave, what happened in Minnesota?"

"You're not gonna believe it," he said giving her a kiss.

She began a litany of "oh baby" and "poor thing" as she stroked his face and kissed him over and over.

Hutch patted Starsky's shoulder as he moved past them and went to the bar for a beer.

Huggy came over and slapped him five.

"Starsky tangle with a bobcat or something?"

"Or something."

Hutch looked over his shoulder to see his partner dropping change into the jukebox, choosing a song, and then begin a slow dance with Trish.

"Heard anymore from Melinda?" Hutch asked Huggy.

"Zero. Guess she got the hint. "

"Good. For him, I mean."

"No doubt. Think I'll go say hi to the patient."

Hutch nodded, then smiled at a pretty redhead who settled onto the stool next to him.

"Hi," he smiled. "Buy you a drink?"

"Oh, I'd love that."

Huggy walked to the jukebox to welcome Starsky back.

End

Him

By TR

XX*

Several heads, male and female, turned in the library to watch the man with the startling blond hair walk across the wide floor to a row of books marked "Romance". He had a

gentle face, the build of a young horse, the hands and feet of a sturdy puppy. Today he wore chocolate-colored corduroys and a black turtleneck.

He turned into a row of books and found what he was looking for-his partner with the brilliant blue eyes and cropped dark hair, who, at the moment, had his arms wrapped around a girl wearing short shorts and long legs.

"Hey," Hutch whispered as he came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder of his red football jersey. "Captain Dobey wants to see us."

Starsky continued to kiss the girl, moving her farther down the row and away from the interruption.

Hutch grabbed his sides and tickled hard, causing Starsky to laugh and jump back.

"Come up for air," Hutch hissed.

The girl gave Hutch a sulky look. "I thought he was mine today."

"Cap's," Hutch said taking Starsky's arm. "Sorry, Kiki."

Starsky mooned at her as Hutch dragged him away from her.

"Not as sorry as I am," she said as she blew a sigh up into her feathery bangs.

Heads in the library turned again to watch the pair laugh and race each other to the door.

"SSHH!" the librarian scolded after them.

XX*

"What do you think it is?" Hutch asked as they jumped into Hutch's VW.

"I don't know," Starsky shrugged as he dug into the front pocket of his jeans for a pack of gum. "First undercover assignment, could be anything. Wanna stick?"

"Is it sugarless?"

"No, it ain't."

"I'll pass."

Starsky folded the stick over double and popped it into his mouth.

XX*

Captain Dobey looked at his detectives.

"Someone-a hooker we think-is killing johns down in the Bellford district. I want you to look at the case files then work out a cover-"

"I'll be a john," Starsky said raising his hand. To Hutch he said, "You be a hooker."

"Why should I be a hooker?"

"We need a hooker."

"Don't we need a pimp?"

"You won't pass for a pimp."

"I could pass for a john."

"Why don't you be a drug dealer? That way the girls will spill information in exchange."

"I'd rather be a john."

Dobey rolled his pencil back and forth between his palms.

"Starsky," he said to settle the argument, "you're the john. Hutch, you're the hooker. Now get out of here."

The partners exited the captain's office, then went to their desk, Hutch pulling on a black and white baseball jacket, Starsky pulling on an Army jacket.

"Don't worry," Starsky said shoving him toward the door. "You'll look cute as a hooker."

XX*

Hutch was leaning in the doorway of an adult bookstore and leafing through a magazine while male and female hookers met with johns in cars and on foot on the sidewalk. He wore white jeans and no shirt. Several cars cruised slowly by, a few whistles came his way.

He started to step off the stoop to go to one of the cars when Starsky strolled up and took his book away. "Whatcha doin' tonight, Blondie?"

The car carrying the interested parties drove on by.

Hutch looked around, coughed into his hand, then shrugged. "I don't know, what are you

doing tonight?"

The working prostitutes and regular customers watched the newcomers with curiosity and interest as they went about their business. Starsky and Hutch took mental snapshots of interested faces, makes and models of cars, license plates, took mental notes of names and conversations.

Starsky looked down at the magazine. "National Geographic ain't exactly one of my turn-on's." He tossed it over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

Hutch stepped down out of the doorway, slipped an arm around his shoulders, and felt the gaze of some on the street.

"Good," Starsky said under his breath as he glanced over his shoulder at their audience. "We made our first appearance. Established our turf. Don't wanna look like a couple of undercovers scoping it out, so we come back tomorrow night, only we go for others. We build it slow, make friends, carefully." He patted Hutch's face. "And don't go all the way or I'll have to bust ya."

Hutch laughed and shoved him away. "Dirtball."

XX*

They took a cab to Merle's body shop, where they had left Starsky's metallic blue Duster, then stopped by Huggy's for a beer on their way home.

Hutch dropped some change into the jukebox, punched up Springsteen, Cocker, and Dylan, then took a seat next to Starsky at the bar.

Huggy set two beers on the counter in front of them.

"Lose your shirt, Hutch?" Huggy smiled crookedly.

"Our fledgling undercover case," Starsky said. "Maybe you heard somethin' about it."

"Shoot. I see a lot of things and hear a lot of things. But don't be draggin me into nothin' that's gonna get me or my place any grief."

"Never," Starsky said.

"Well," Hutch amended, "we'll try not to."

XX*

Closing time at Huggy's, and Starsky and Hutch were the last to leave.

Standing on the sidewalk, Hutch opened the door partway. "Hey, Huggy! Call me a cab!"

"No sweat," Starsky said. "I'll take you home."

"Sure?"

"'course."

Hutch yelled back through the door, "Never mind the cab!"

They crossed the street and got into the Duster.

"I feel like we wasted a whole night," Hutch told him as he looked into the rearview mirror and smoothed down his white-washed hair. "People were looking interested just as I was leaving."

"Don't worry. Plenty more where that came from. We don't want to seem too obvious, or desperate. Spells cop right away. We especially don't want to look like we've been dicks for only three days."

Starsky started the car and pulled away from the curb.

Hutch picked up a thin paperback lying in the seat between them. "Satanic Symbols?"

"Don't worry, I ain't no devil worshipper. It was for this call I went on before we were put together. The symbols carved in their bodies kinda stayed with me, so I figure the more I learn about what I don't understand…it helps the job."

Hutch thumbed through the book, looking at the pictures. "I attended the Manson trial. Did you?"

"Nah, didn't get to."

"I like what those guys are doing in the behavioral science unit. The old guys don't appreciate it. They go by the physical evidence and the science, which is a must. But if we don't know why people do what they do, or the type of people who do these things, or know anything about the victims…"

"I hear ya. Hey-" He snatched at Hutch's hand. "What kinda ring is that?"

Hutch raised his hand, showing him the oval set. "Mood ring. Changes constantly."

"Oh yeah? That mean your mood changes constantly?"

"I don't know. I just got it today, so I don't know how accurate it is yet. It came with a booklet but I haven't had a chance to read it yet."

"What color does it turn when you're horny-I mean, hungry?"

Hutch laughed. "I'll get with Gabriella tonight and let you know."

XX*

Starsky parked in front of Hutch's cottage to let him out.

"See ya in the morning, Hutch."

"Yeah. Take it easy."

Starsky gunned away from the cottage with a squeal of tires.

Hutch opened his door and stepped inside, but before he could turn the lights on, three figures descended on him in a flurry of fists and feet.

He rammed the back of his head against the face of the one who held him, threw his knee up into the groin of the one in front of him, plunged an elbow into the solar plexus of the third, but when two more assailants emerged, the five beat him to a crumpled heap in the floor.

His pockets were searched, wallet taken, watch confiscated, mood ring lifted, along with the gun he'd left holstered on the kitchen chair.

"Let's get out of here," one of the voices said as they scrambled for the door.

Hutch groaned and tried to raise his head, but a kick delivered to his face knocked his head back to the floor in unconsciousness.

XX*

The next morning Starsky found Hutch's door ajar. He looked in, saw the trashed house, and stepped inside, gun drawn should the intruders still be around.

He glanced around, then, satisfied the place was empty, holstered his gun.

"Hutch?"

A soft moan reached Starsky's ears, and he looked down.

"What the hell?"

He'd never seen his partner this way before. He'd always been so untouchable, so strong, together, capable, and beautiful. Now he looked more like a helpless broken doll sprawled on his side. Hutch was tough; a good fighter. He knocked clown heads together every day, worked out at a gym, ran every morning, and was an explosive physical force when he had to be. How many people had it taken to overcome him?

"The hell!" Starsky shouted as he bent down to him.

The left side of Hutch' face was bruised and swollen, a gash ran down his cheek. More bruises spotted his arms, chest, stomach, and back.

Starsky lifted his head.

"Hey, who did this to you? What happened?"

Hutch's hand came up to clutch his wrist. "Help me up."

Starsky slipped an arm under Hutch's neck, lifted him to a sitting position, then leaned him back against the wall.

"You look like hell, partner. Who was it?"

Hutch sniffed through the dried blood in his nose. "I don't know. It was dark, and they wore ski masks."

Starsky went to the bathroom, wet a washcloth, then brought it back, dabbing at the cut on his cheek.

Hutch winced and pushed his hand away. "I'll be all right." He patted his hip pocket, found his wallet gone, saw his empty gun holster on the kitchen chair. "I think it was your everyday, garden variety robbery. Stole my gun, wallet, watch. Probably kids after some drug money."

Starsky glanced at his partner's hand. "Even took your damn mood ring." He placed a hand on top of Hutch's head. "Think you can get up?"

"I'll try."

Hutch tried to get up, but wobbly legs took him a step backward.

Starsky steadied him. "Whoa. You don't look like you should go in today. How many sick days you got?"

"All of them."

"You need to use a few. Come on. I'll drive you to the emergency room."

"I don't need a doctor, really, just let me-"

Hutch stepped away from him, then a round of dizziness took him sideways.

Starsky got a shirt off the bed and slipped it around him.

"Just do what I say, man, I don't want a partner who ain't a hundred percent, and you wouldn't either. You could have a concussion, cracked ribs, anything."

"I can drive myself, you don't have to go."

Starsky put an arm around him and walked him out the door, cupping the side of Hutch's face that wasn't bruised.

"You ain't drivin' nowhere like this. You look like you been bronco bustin'."

Starsky opened the passenger door of the Duster and helped him sit down, then turned his partner's face to one side to examine more closely.

"Damn it!" he yelled as he rammed his elbow into the car door. "I can't believe this! I'm gonna wipe the floor with those hoods!"

Hutch's hand closed around Starsky's wrist. "Don't do anything rash."

"Rash! Who do they think they are! Just come into your place and work you over! No way!"

Hutch's eyes closed. Too tired and sore to argue.

Starsky made sure he was completely in the car, then closed the door.

XX*

Captain Dobey approached Starsky in the hallway just outside the emergency room.

"I'll have to reassign the johns case."

"I know. He ain't up to it."

"How is he?"

"They're checkin' him over right now, gonna do some x-rays. When I saw him like

that…I just wanna kill somebody."

"Don't let your temper get the best of you. Save it for the street. His gun and wallet were stolen, correct?"

"Yeah, but right now I'm more worried about his damn head. I can take care of myself. But if somethin' ever happened to him…"

Dobey nodded. "I lost a partner. You try to be careful, you think it'll never happen, but…" He looked closely at Starsky's bowed head and troubled expression. "I know about the friend you lost in Vietnam. And your Pop."

"Hutch is…" Starsky glanced at Dobey, then away. "He's more than that. It's different."

Dobey patted his back. "I'm satisfied that you two can handle anything this job has to offer."

XX*

Hutch was sitting up on the gurney and buttoning his shirt when Starsky stepped inside the emergency room.

Now Hutch was pale beneath the bruises, and his eyes looked a little druggy from pain medication, but he offered a smile in Starsky's direction.

Starsky wasn't smiling back. His gaze was fixed on the big shiner covering his swollen left eye.

"X-rays okay, dirtball. I can go home."

Starsky helped him off the gurney, wincing when Hutch moved in a stiff shuffle like an old man, one hand covering his black and blue stomach, the other gripping Starsky's arm for support.

"I can't stand this, bronco."

"Can't stand what?"

"Seein' you hurt like this. It makes me hurt too. Especially my stomach."

Hutch smiled. "Heart too, by the sound of it. Don't worry about me. I'm all right."

Starsky guided him through the lobby and toward the exit.

"That door looks like it's a mile away," Hutch said.

"Almost there. We'll stop if you need to."

"No, I just want to get out of here and go home."

XX*

Starsky eased Hutch onto the bed, pulled his shoes off, then covered him with a light blanket.

"Okay, you just rest while I put some Billie Holiday on for you, make you some hot chicken soup and iced herbal tea for later, then I'll clean up around here."

"Yeah," Hutch sighed closing his eyes, but pinched Starsky's sleeve before he could step away from the bed.

"What is it, Hutch?"

"Nothing. Just…thanks." He placed a tired arm across his forehead.

Starsky gently lifted his arm from across his eyes, squeezed his wrist, and looked at him. Very gently he said, "You're welcome."

Hutch rose up on an elbow and reached for a drink of water on the night table.

Starsky watched him take a drink.

Hutch set the glass down, wincing from a cut in his lip. "Hell."

He lowered his head back to the pillow, thumb testing the cut in his lip.

Starsky spoke with a voice wavering with love, eyes a wounded blue as his fingers ran across the top of Hutch's hair. "I love you like a brother, and the thought of somebody poundin' you up makes me crazy."

Hutch closed his eyes. "Nice to hear that, just don't let it cloud your judgment."

Starsky smiled. "Already has, Blondie. Now you get some sleep and let me take care of things."

Hutch nodded and closed his eyes, welcoming the slow rolling wave of sleep.

XX*

Three hours later the slow, careful music of a beginning guitar player brought him out of

his slumber.

Hutch looked around. His house was clean, the aroma of chicken soup and herbal tea filled the air, and Starsky was relaxing in a chair trying to play a song on his guitar.

"Hey. Jose Feliciano."

Starsky started to put the guitar down.

"No," Hutch said softly, "keep playing. I like to hear somebody besides myself."

Starsky continued to play the song, talking as he did so. "Feel better?"

"Much."

"Made some soup."

"Smell's delicious. I'm starving. Thanks for cleaning up my place."

"Some of your stuff was broken beyond repair, so I had to throw it out. Couple of lamps, that glass-top end table. Bookshelf. Mirror, and a couple of pictures."

"No wonder it looks so clean."

Hutch pushed himself to a sitting position, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees until he could get his bearings.

A knock at the door made Hutch look around for a gun. Starsky opened his jacket to show him his, then went to the door and opened it.

Handle first, Huggy held Hutch's gun out to Starsky.

"Don't ever say I didn't do you no favors."

Hutch got out of the bed and limped over to the door with a smile.

"Hey, Hug, how'd you get it back?"

"I know every pawnbroker around. And that ain't all. I got one of the sloths in the back of my car. He confessed. Said he'd spill the others for a deal."

"What?" Starsky asked.

"Citizen's arrest." He looked at Hutch with a flash of sympathy. "I don't sit too well with folks messin' with my friends."

Starsky shoved Huggy aside and marched toward the long, sleek vehicle. A heavyset gang member wearing a colored handkerchief around his neck and a chain for a belt sat with his hands cuffed behind him in the back seat.

Starsky tore the door open and reached in, grabbing the man and dragging him out.

Hutch and Huggy were both there to separate them.

Hutch took Starsky's arms and turned him completely around to face him.

"No."

"No?"

"No. Let the courts handle him. You'll just get in trouble."

Starsky jerked around toward the gang member. "HE'S THE ONE IN TROUBLE!"

Hutch jerked him back around.

"By the book. For me. For you. We do this right."

Huggy shoved the gang member back into his car, slammed the door, then crowded against Starsky right along with Hutch.

"He's right. I didn't bring him by so you could clobber him. I brought him by so you could see I got him."

Starsky's face told of a burning, yearning need for revenge.

He looked at the gang member, then back to Hutch.

"He and whoever else, almost killed you, and you want me to just let it go?"

"No, I want you to arrest him and put him in jail, and do the same with the others."

Starsky slowly released a pent-up sigh of frustration and resignation.

"Okay, Hutch. Okay." He looked at Huggy. "I made some soup. You and Hutch help yourselves while I put this joker under arrest and take him to get booked. I'll be right back to join you."

Huggy and Hutch smiled with pride and relief as Starsky opened the car door to talk to the man.

XX*

When Starsky returned, he found that Hutch and Huggy had waited on him to eat their meal. The soup was still simmering on low, and the two were talking quietly at the table, Huggy's hand on the curve of Hutch's neck, the blond head nodding solemnly at whatever Huggy was telling him.

"He okay?" Starsky asked Huggy as he came into the kitchen.

"Dandy."

"Don't worry," Starsky said as he lifted a pitcher of cold tea from the freezer and began to pour it into three glasses. "Clown's still in one piece." He set the tea on the table and began to scoop the soup into bowls, then set it on the table too.

Starsky sat with them and they began to eat the steaming soup of chicken broth teeming with chunked chicken, fat noodles, carrot and celery cubes, and sliced mushrooms.

Huggy smiled wryly and appreciatively. "That's the manliest chicken soup I ever saw in my life."

"He's passionate about everything." Hutch smiled at Starsky. "Tastes as good as it smells. Thank you."

XX*

A couple of weeks later Starsky walked through the door of Vinnie's Gym.

Hutch was jabbing and kicking at the punching bag, sweating, out of breath, but smiling, cheeks blushed with vibrancy and humor again.

"Lookin' good, man," Starsky said as he sat on one of the benches lining the wall.

"Want to work out with me?"

"Nah," he answered as he opened a brown paper bag and took out a box of Pop tarts and a lidded Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate. "Wouldn't want to hurt you or anything. Brought you some breakfast."

Hutch stopped punching the bag, then picked up a towel and wiped his face as he walked over to where Starsky sat.

"Sorry, not my kind of breakfast."

Starsky reached into the bag and pulled out another lidded Styrofoam cup and a granola bar. "Banana milk and a health bar."

Hutch smiled as he sat down next to Starsky and took the breakfast. "Thanks."

Starsky reached into the bag again. "Plus I got you this," he said putting a small brown velvet bag with a drawstring in his hand. "Don't take it the wrong way. I couldn't find a mood ring like the one you had, so I got you that instead."

Hutch opened the small bag and spilled the contents into the palm of his hand.

It was a tiger's eye ring.

"Hey," he said putting it on his finger and admiring it. "It's beautiful. I really like it."

Starsky rose to his feet. "Knew you would. Get a shower or we're gonna be late."

Hutch smiled as he walked toward the shower room.

Starsky watched him go, glad that his partner's strength, agility, and health had been restored.

End

Steadfast

By TR

XX*

It was late and their shift was over, but Starsky said he wouldn't be ready to leave until he took the statement from the elderly woman who'd been mugged on her doorstep.

Hutch stood casually by a filing cabinet in the squad room and dropped some trail mix into his mouth as he watched his partner escort the frail, shaken lady to her seat, treating her with care and concern, one arm around her, the other supporting an elbow.

"Try to relax," he said as he helped her into a chair at their desk. He took a kerchief from his pocket, wet it from a cup of water next to the typewriter, and dabbed the scrape on her forehead. "And tell me everything that happened, step by step."

Hutch inwardly smiled, certain that his tough, streetwise partner treated his mother as tenderly. The soft touch would come in handy when attempting to elicit crucial facts during interviews. Putting a witness at ease and establishing a rapport was the first step, and Hutch realized that it came naturally to him and he was always this attentive to those

who were less fortunate or wounded by life.

Hutch admired his ability to be tender when called for, ruthless when necessary.

"Good first month," Captain Dobey said as he swatted Hutch's shoulder with a file folder on his way from the office. "Glad to have you aboard."

Hutch straightened, and nodded respectfully, brushing trail mix crumbs from his dark green suede pullover.

"Yes, sir, it was a good week. Thank you."

Dobey looked Starsky's way, observing the delicate way he was handling the elderly lady. He knew his new detective was capable of smashing a suspect's head into a concrete wall, but he hadn't seen his finesse until now.

"Keep up the good work, Starsky," he said with a nod.

Starsky gave a courteous glance his way, without breaking the flow with the witness.

After Dobey left, Hutch sighed with relief and resumed his casual stance at the filing cabinet, spilling the rest of the trail mix into his mouth.

XX*

Hutch sat in his VW bug and watched Starsky escort the woman to her front door, slip some money into her hand, and hand her a card.

"We'll call you when we catch him," he assured her. "Keep your doors locked and your light on, and if anything else happens, give us a call."

"I will, dear. Thank you."

After the woman was safely inside, Starsky bounced down her walk and toward Hutch's car, but when he tried to open the passenger door, the handle came off in his hand.

"When the hell you gonna get another car, Hutch?" he asked as Hutch leaned across the seat to open the door from inside.

"Soon," he answered as Starsky slid into the small car beside him. "Got my eye on this real cool LTD. Reasonable price too."

Hutch's VW puttered and popped away from the curb.

"Can't pursue crooks at this pace," Starsky said. "May as well chase 'em on foot."

"Yeah, I'll let you out here and we'll see who gets to your place first."

Starsky opened the glove box. "Got any gum?"

"Somewhere."

Starsky pulled out a pair of pink lace panties. "Michelle?"

Hutch snatched the lingerie from his hand and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

"Natalie."

Starsky grinned. "We gotta go somewhere and celebrate."

"For finding her bloomers?"

"One month of detective-hood."

"Oh yeah, so where, like Huggy's?"

"Yeah, like that. But let's swing by my place first, huh? We'll take my car."

"What's wrong with mine?"

"If we meet a couple of chicks, I don't want to drive them around in…this. It's too small, and it still has Flower Power written on the back."

"Oh hush and chew your gum."

Starsky grinned and popped a piece of Trident into his mouth. "Can I see the panties again?"

"No."

Starsky chuckled and leaned his head back against the headrest, drumming his fingers on his knees.

Hutch drove through town toward Starsky's place, humming to the radio and enjoying the wind in his hair.

"We can do it," he said out loud, and with a smile.

Starsky was humming his own song. "Say somethin'?"

"I said we can do it."

"Do what?"

"Our job. I think we'll work out."

"Take you a month to figure that out, Blondie? I knew it the minute we met."

Hutch raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"We're in it for the same reason. Bust criminals, help people."

Hutch slowed the VW down to a crawl as he neared Starsky's apartment.

"What the-"

"My car!"

Starsky jumped out of the passenger door before Hutch came to a complete stop.

Starsky ran toward the thug who was stealing a stereo through the broken window of his metallic blue Duster.

"Starsky!"

Starsky jumped the man, landing on his back.

The thug flipped Starsky over his shoulder, then threw an arm around his throat and lifted him off the ground, growling with the effort of choking him.

At first Starsky was kicking and punching, but when Hutch saw him go limp in the man's viselike arm and his eyes rolling back, he ran with a growl of his own and delivered a highflying dropkick to the man's head.

The thug toppled onto his back, Starsky dropped, and Hutch landed on his hands and knees.

"Damn," he winced as he scrambled to the broken window of the Duster and reached in, snatching up the mike.

"Control One, this is Zebra 3," he panted. "I need a black and white and an ambulance at Starsky's RIGHT NOW!"

He threw the mike back inside and ran over to where Starsky lay face down, half on the sidewalk, half in the street.

"Oh man," he panted as he turned Starsky over into the crook of his arm to assess him. "You okay? Starsky!"

Starsky's head was drooped away from him.

"Chokehold," Hutch whispered as he lifted his head and turned his face toward him, feeling for a pulse in his neck, listening to his breathing. "God, no. Breathe! Come on!"

Strained, wheezing sounds began in Starsky's throat, his arms lying heavily on the ground.

Hutch lifted his chin to improve his airway, and put a hand over his chest to feel his heartbeat.

Starsky couldn't speak, he could only gasp as his eyes rolled back, his face turning a dark red toward blue.

When Hutch could no longer hear his faint attempts to breathe or feel his heartbeat beneath his hand, he shoved Starsky onto his back and began artificial breaths, then chest compressions, then artificial breaths, then chest compressions, until the ambulance arrived.

XX*

"We'll get the swelling down on the way; trach if we have to," the medic told Hutch as they loaded Starsky into the ambulance. "You can follow us if you want."

"Forget that," he said as he climbed into the ambulance too.

XX*

Hutch sat forward in the hospital chair, eyes on Starsky's chest as if his heart would stop beating at any moment, ears listening for his breaths as if he would stop breathing.

It had happened so quickly. A live wire one second, dying on the ground the next. He had never seen his partner any way but fine, bouncy, funny, and feisty. Perfect. Never this. He'd never seen anyone like this before. No one close anyway. Just on the job. That he

could handle. That was objective. This was different. Personal. He was taken back by the enormous protective instincts that boiled in his bloodstream, under his skin, in his bones, throughout his heart. He would kill for, bleed for, die for this man, who had entered his life, fought for him and with him on the street, looked out for him, laughed with him, cared with him, hurt for him, loved him, trusted him, and respected him. His sweet, tough friend was now inside of his soul, and he refused to let anything or anyone change that or him.

"Just watch out," came his whispered ice-chip words to the streets, the criminals, and the world.

"You watch out," Starsky whispered back in a raspy voice.

Hutch smiled, the coldness melting from his eyes and his voice as he rose and leaned over the bed, fingers smoothing the sheet around his partner's shoulder.

Starsky gazed at him with blood-red eyes, his hand going to his discolored throat, looking unsettlingly inhuman but heartbreakingly human at the same time.

"You get him?"

"I got him. He's on another floor. Broken jaw, busted nose, two missing teeth, and half of an ear. How's that grab you?"

Starsky's hand twined around the edge of the sheet. "Hell of a ride."

"Careful with that IV," Hutch said gripping Starsky's hand. The same hand that tended to his wounds with the gentleness of bird wings, that rested on his shoulder at times with an almost reverent compassion. "If you need to hang on, you hang on to me."

Starsky smiled, but winced when the words passed his aching throat. "Medics told me how you helped me. I don't know what to say, except thank you?"

"I'm just glad you're still here, buddy. I thought you were gone. I don't ever want to feel that bad again, and as long as there's something I can do about it, I'm going to do it."

Starsky gazed at him in awe. He had never had anyone so blatantly and completely on his side before, who would do anything for him. He had always taken care of himself, had been on his own for some time now, and was quite good at it. It was almost too much to comprehend and accept that another person could care so deeply about his welfare and happiness, and the only thing he could do was make a solemn, silent promise to himself and to his partner to never damage or betray such loyalty and devotion.

Their partnership had deepened into friendship, a bond that was rooted in survival, trust, and mutual respect. They would both put themselves in harm's way for each other if

necessary, and not every man could say he had a friend who would be willing to do that, or had shown that.

He spoke in his strained voice, eyes wet. "Sounds like a good plan, Hutch. I hope to do the same for you."

XX*

The next day Starsky was propped up in bed watching a news segment on the Patty Hearst case when Hutch came in with a brown paper grocery bag.

"Whatcha got there?" Starsky asked.

Hutch set the bag on the bed and took out a change of clothes for Starsky, a book of crossword puzzles, a pack of Hostess Twinkies, and a copy of The Godfather, the dog-eared paperback he'd been reading at his apartment.

"Wow, so to get you to be nice, all I gotta do is get messed up by a goon?"

Hutch smiled and ruffled his hair. The redness in his eyes and bruising on his throat looked much improved today.

"Picked up my car too."

"Oh yeah? The LTD?"

"Oh my God. Wait till you see it. I got such a bargain, and it's got a much stronger motor than the VW. We'll be flying high in this one."

"Can't wait."

"Got your window replaced too."

"Aw, Hutch, you didn't have to."

"Can't let the police radio get stolen. Captain Dobey would have our hides."

"Did I hear my name?" the captain's voice sounded in the doorway.

Starsky and Hutch straightened their postures and smiled as they shook his hand.

"Good to see you're still in one piece," the captain said to Starsky as he approached the bed.

"Thanks to Hutch."

Dobey sized Hutch up. "The culprit's in intensive care, Hutch."

"He hasn't learned Hutch's rule yet," Starsky said.

"What rule?" Dobey asked.

"Never, ever mess with my partner," Hutch replied.

What Starsky had said in the car was true. They went into police work for much the same reason. To bust criminals and help people. That was partnership. But now there was another reason that they would work out as partners. They were true friends, and their safety and well-being rested in each other.

XX*

Captain Dobey walked across the lobby of the hospital and toward the exit doors after his visit with Starsky.

(Never, ever mess with my partner)

Dobey had observed the precise moment their partnership had turned to friendship, and it was the same for both of them-not at the same time, but in the same manner: The second they realized that they, and each other, could actually be killed on the street. For Starsky it was three and a half weeks ago, when Hutch was jumped in his cottage by some thieving drug fiends. For Hutch it was last night. Dobey now saw a sudden maturity and seriousness in their demeanor, an unspoken but crushingly real adhesive that only a life and death experience can bring. It didn't diminish their character or courage in any way, it only made them, and their bond, stronger, melding them into virtually the same person.

Dobey recognized it because he'd shared a similar bond with his partner Elmo.

He had no doubt Starsky and Hutchinson would be good detectives, and he knew it was because they had each other when times were tough.

XX*

It was night, sometime around one in the morning.

They were on light duty-stakeout-until Starsky was stronger. If anything went down at the warehouse, they were to relay the information to Lichtfield and Zimmerman, who would take it from there.

Hutch sat under the wheel while Starsky dozed with his head against the window.

He thought perhaps the need to watch over Starsky would ease up once he was out of the hospital and back to work, but it only intensified over the last few days. Gone were the days when they thought they were invincible. Gone were the days they thought they were untouchable because they were good cops, had all the training, and had good instincts. They would work the streets and interact with others with reasonable caution. They would take nothing for granted. Not their safety, not their lives, and not their friendship. They would risk their lives to protect and serve others, and would fight to the death for themselves. They were no longer two separate people, but now a morphed creature conjoined by danger, duty, and friendship.

"The hell away from me," Starsky mumbled as he held his throat and stomped his foot on the floorboard once. He started making gasping sounds in his sleep, stiffening, pawing more desperately at his throat.

Hutch squeezed his shoulders and whispered, "Hey, hey, it's all right. You're dreaming. Come on now."

Starsky turned away from him and into the window, hand still on his throat, still wheezing.

Hutch got out of the car, rounded it, and opened the passenger door, crouching down so he could see Starsky's face, but it was difficult since his head was down.

"Listen to my voice, buddy. Let's calm down so you can breathe, get control."

Starsky's head nodded.

"Take in a slow, deep breath, and let it out a little at a time."

Starsky released his pent breath, then tried to obey Hutch's words.

"Good, partner. One slow, long breath at a time."

Even though Starsky's fingers still hooked around his shirt collar, they relaxed with the sound of Hutch's voice.

"You're relaxing. That's good. Your throat's open, it's okay. It was just a dream."

Starsky's lush dark lashes fluttered, blue jewels gleaming beneath, then they raised to the calmness of Hutch's eyes. His hands left his throat, reached out.

"You said…" Starsky swallowed. "If I needed to hang on…"

Starsky leaned forward and clung to his neck, releasing a sob into the shoulder of his black and white jacket.

"Scared," he whispered. "Thought I was gonna die."

Hutch patted his back.

"That's it, Starsk. I'm here."

End

Heroisch

By TR

XX*

Hutch knocked on the drug counselor's office door and waited.

The bright-eyed brunette came from around her desk with a smile.

"Hi, Ken. What's up?"

"Hi, Angie, I uh…" He ran fingers through his hair, looked around. "Short and sweet, okay? If you don't tell him, I will. And if you don't leave him…you're going to hurt him. And that I won't abide."

Her shoulders dropped and she sat down on a small leather sofa, staring at the floor.

XX*

"Right there. Right there. Yes."

Starsky's eyes were closed like a satisfied cat's while Angie massaged his shoulders.

He sat on the edge of his bed in jeans, she on her knees in the bed behind him, caressing his bare shoulders.

"What a way to start the day," he said tilting his head back.

She kissed him.

"I like that other way too."

"So do I. But if I don't get out of here, Hutch'll send a posse after me."

He rose to his feet, pulled on his shirt, buckled on his holster, slipped on his jacket, and kissed her again.

"See you tonight."

"Okay, doll face. I'll have a spaghetti dinner ready for you." "A woman after my own heart. Have a good day at the office."

He patted her fanny, she patted his, and he trotted out the door with a merry whistle.

XX*

Hutch was waiting on the curb outside his apartment when Starsky pulled up in the Torino.

"Few minutes late," Starsky said across the seat. "Sorry."

Hutch opened the passenger door and looked in. "Can we talk?"

Starsky shifted into park. "All ears."

"I mean upstairs?"

"We're gonna be late. Come on, talk on the way."

Hutch got into the car.

Starsky signaled and pulled onto the street.

"It's about Angie," Hutch said tentatively.

Starsky looked at him. "What about her?"

Hutch took a breath and let it out.

"She has a coke habit."

Sudden stop. Starsky braked sharply, throwing Hutch into the dash.

"No way."

Hutch held his forehead. "What do you mean, no way?"

"I mean no way."

"Do you think I'm lying to you?"

"Mistaken. I know her. We've been together three months now. I'd know somethin' like that. I'd see it."

"Not if she hides it from you. We have cokeheads in our own department, for God's sake, do you know which ones-"

Starsky jumped out of the car and slammed the door shut. "She's not a cokehead!"

Hutch jumped out after him. "Ask Huggy!"

"Yeah! He knows everything!"

Hutch watched him pace and fume on the sidewalk.

Starsky's hands were on his hips and he looked like a pent-up panther.

"Did you verify?"

"With a coworker."

"Good work, Dick."

"Don't get steamed at me! I'm not the one on coke!"

Starsky stared at him.

"You're wrong, Hutch."

"She didn't deny it when I confronted her about it."

"You confronted her?"

"Hell, I didn't know what else to do."

"Recheck your facts. You got the wrong girl."

"I know how much you care about her, but I think you have the right to know, so you can make a decision-"

"Already made it," he said getting into the car and driving away.

Hutch was left standing on the sidewalk.

XX*

Angie was making the bed when Starsky got there.

"Okay," he said slamming the door. "Out with it."

She turned toward him. "What? Hey, baby, I was just getting ready to leave for the off-"

Hutch had wasted no time getting a cab, and came in right behind him, pointing a finger at her with an outstretched arm.

"What did I tell you, lady?"

She started between them to leave.

Hutch took her arm.

"Tell him."

Starsky gripped his arm. "Hands off."

"I quit," she told Starsky with desperation in her eyes. A glance at Hutch. "Okay?! Am I good enough now?"

Hutch reached for her again. "It's not that easy."

"The voice of experience!"

Hutch went white, his mouth slack.

Her eyes were tearful now, and spiteful. "Your friend Bernie came to my office for some information."

"Witch."

Starsky shoved him backward, and Hutch went crashing against the wall, then face down on the floor.

Starsky stared at his fallen partner, who was now raising his head and blinking his eyes.

"Hutch," he said with tears jumping to his eyes as he walked over to help him up.

Hutch climbed to his feet, roughly knocking his arm away, a trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth.

"Okay, Starsk," he gasped as he stumbled toward the door. "I get the picture."

Starsky went after him, reaching out.

"Hutch, no."

Hutch shrugged away from him and staggered toward the waiting taxi.

Starsky turned back to her.

"I'm clean, Dave. Do I have to take a drug test for you?"

He stroked her hair, kissed her quickly. "No. I'm goin' after him. We'll talk later, okay?"

"I didn't mean to say what I said to him…not like that."

"I know, I know."

"Is he upset because I was on drugs, or because he was?"

XX*

"Is this a joke, Hutchinson?"

Hutch tossed calculator, address book, pens, photos, and other paraphernalia from his desk into a small cardboard box in the squad room.

The piggybank he hurled against the wall.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Dobey saw a slight tremble in his hands, the cut in the corner of his mouth.

"Want to tell me what's going on?"

"No. I just want a transfer. I'm outa here."

"To where?"

"San Diego. I've already filled out the forms, just do what you can."

"The hell I will. Not before I get a decent explanation."

Fellow officers watched Hutch pack, then passed each other confused, curious looks.

Starsky walked in and stepped over to their desk, close to Hutch so the rest of the room couldn't hear.

"Hutch, I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?" Dobey asked. "Did you hit him, Starsky?"

"No," Starsky said. "The wall did."

"Don't," Hutch said with his head lowered as he involved himself with putting things into his box. "Not here."

"Then let's take it outside."

Hutch picked up the box.

"I'm taking it to San Diego. See ya, pal."

"Hutch-"

Hutch stalked to the door, box under his arm, all eyes on him.

Starsky followed.

"Wait-"

Hutch turned, pushed a finger in his chest, looked at him with tears in his eyes, then went on out.

Starsky watched him walk, then leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.

But only for a moment.

"Hutch!"

He ran down the hall after him, and then down the stairs, but by the time he reached the parking lot, Hutch was gone.

XX*

"Why did you tell Hutch about Angie instead of me?" Starsky asked Huggy in the corner

of his busy, noisy kitchen.

"And have you tear my head off? No thanks. He said he'd handle it."

"Oh he handled it all right."

"Why couldn't you hear the truth, man?"

"She quit the coke."

"So she says."

"Huggy, come on."

"Okay. Good for her. Been nice if she'd let Hutch in on it."

"Why she gotta tell him anything? He's not her probation officer. She's datin' me."

"Guess she hoped it'd just die down."

"Hutch won't let it."

"She figured what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you, I guess. Probably thought you'd up and leave her."

Starsky looked down and turned his hands palm up. "I can't believe I shoved him."

Huggy put an arm around him and jostled him gently. "My man. You went through the fire with him on the junk. I see why you didn't want it to be your girl too. Anything but that again, huh?"

Starsky nodded.

XX*

Starsky drove to Hutch's place, and saw that his car was gone, went upstairs to the apartment, and found the door wide open, the closet and drawers empty. His plants, guitar, books, art, photos, and other cherished possessions were gone.

Starsky didn't look around for a note. He knew there wouldn't be one.

XX*

"Where in San Diego?" Starsky asked as he sat on the corner of Dobey's desk.

"I don't know."

"Which precinct?"

"I don't know."

"Why there?"

"I don't know! Don't interrogate me like I'm some blasted suspect, Starsky, I don't know! You're a detective, figure it out! But I gather you're the last person he wants to talk to, so why don't you just cool it for a while!"

Starsky jumped off the desk, kicked a chair sideways, and stormed from the office.

XX*

He didn't look too happy when he came through his front door.

Angie had never seen the sullen side of him before, only the happy, funny, and playful.

"Dave, I'm sorry," she said going to him and hugging him. "I wish I had handled this differently. I should have told you. But I was afraid. I knew about Ken…I didn't want to scare you off…"

He held her, stroked her hair. "It's okay. I love you."

"I'm sorry he's gone."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Me too."

XX*

Detective Murray extended his hand to Starsky in the squad room. "Morning."

"Yeah."

Detective Murray was a tanned young man with prematurely gray hair, fond of pink polo shirts, blazers, creased slacks, and penny loafers. An Italian horn earring was in one ear and he wore his airy, breezy cologne like a halo.

Dobey stood in his doorway drinking a cup of coffee.

"Good luck," he said with a stern eye on Starsky.

I'm gonna need it, Starsky's expression said as he followed his new partner out the door.

XX*

"Huggy," Starsky said gesturing toward Murray as they took a stool at the bar. "Like you to meet my new partner, Mark Murray."

Huggy nodded. "Pleased. Can I get you two the special for lunch?"

"What would that be?" Murray asked.

"Beef tips and mushroom gravy on mashed potatoes, green peppers on the side."

"I'll have a salad, thanks. I'm a strict vegetarian."

"I'll take a special," Starsky said.

Huggy went to tell one of the waitresses, then joined the detectives again.

"Talked to Hutch?" he asked Starsky.

"Nope. He knows my number."

Huggy looked at Murray. "So how you diggin' your new partner, man?"

XX*

Police parking garage.

Squealing tires.

Black and white.

Guns in the windows.

Cops.

Hutch's voice a loud echo.

"Starsky, get down!"

Hutch ran toward them, screaming, his arms wide open.

"No! No! Shoot me! Me!"

And they did.

He toppled onto his back, dying, gasping, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Starsky ran to him, lifted his head, saw the faint smile of satisfaction on his face, the dying light in his eyes.

"Starsk? You okay?"

XX*

"Oh hell!" he squeaked as he awoke from his dream with tears in his eyes.

The bedside clock read 3:00 a.m.

He turned into Angie's arms and hid there on her breast, weeping as she held him and soothed him.

XX*

When he got into the passenger side of Murray's car the next morning, the well-groomed detective said, "You don't look so hot today."

XX*

Starsky looked around Murray's immaculate glass and brass apartment while he fixed him a drink at his bar.

A bi-racial man in a tank top and Hawaiian shorts joined Murray at the bar.

"Dave," he said handing them both a drink. "I'd like you to meet my partner, Sierra."

"Your partner? I'm your par…oh." He shook Sierra's hand. "Hi."

"Would you and your lady friend like to join us this weekend?" Murray asked. "We're going sailing."

"Sure," Starsky replied. "We'll take you up on that."

XX*

"This is the life," Starsky said as he lay back on a lounge chair while Angie handed him a drink.

She sat down cross-legged next to him, her hand stroking his bare chest. "It's so nice here."

A few feet away Sierra was applying oil to Murray's bronzed shoulders.

"I love you," Starsky whispered as he pulled her on top of him.

"Love you too."

XX*

Captain Dobey opened his office door and looked out, motioning toward Murray and Starsky.

"Need to see you two about a new assignment."

XX*

Starsky awoke with a headache, Huggy's party from the night before still with him. He heard Angie humming as she put her makeup on in the bathroom mirror. "Mornin'," he mumbled getting out of bed and heading for the kitchen. "Morning!" she called. "Coffee's on the counter!"

"Rather have an aspirin," he said picking up her purse. He reached in and pulled out a tin of aspirin, but when he opened it, all he saw was white powder.

"I'll get the aspirin for…" She froze five feet away from him.

He looked down at the tin, then back at her, hurt, hard tears in his eyes.

"Why?"

"I… relapse, okay? I'm sorry. It happens. But I'm really trying, though…" She walked toward him, cupping his face. "I'm so sorry."

He took her hand and brought it down. "You never stopped."

"No, Dave, that's not entirely true, I…"

"You've been using all along."

"No, it's not exactly like that, it's-"

"You lied to me. I thought you were done with this."

She reached for him again. "Baby, I'm really sorry, just give me another chance to-" He dropped the tin into her purse, put the purse in her hand, and escorted her to the door.

"I can't do this," he said opening it. "You chose that over me. You know where I stand on that."

She turned, tried to hug him.

"No, please, give me another-"

"You need help, Angie. I'm not gonna stand by and let you do this to yourself, or me."

"Dave, I-"

"Out," he said, with no real anger, just resignation. "Just go."

"Are you saying we're through?"

"I'M SAYING I DON'T NEED AN ADDICT IN MY LIFE!"

She burst into tears and ran from the apartment.

He slammed the door and pounded his fist into it, once, twice, three times, then slid down to the floor and leaned his head back against it.

XX*

"Everything's cool, cool, cool," Starsky slurred as he swigged beer in the back booth at Huggy's.

Huggy held his hand out. "Give me your car keys."

"Give me yours."

Huggy looked up to see Murray walking his way.

"That was quick," Huggy said.

"Anytime." He leaned over to Starsky. "Ready, partner?"

"Sure," he said pushing himself to his feet. "Just don't take advantage of me. I'm in a compromised position. No partner, no girl. Defenses down."

Murray and Huggy exchanged a brief look of sympathy and exasperation, then Murray walked Starsky toward the rear exit.

XX*

After Murray helped Starsky to the bed and covered him, he took the keys to the Torino to make sure he couldn't drive.

XX*

Starsky was looking for the keys the next morning when Murray dropped by.

"Here," Murray said tossing them to him.

Starsky hadn't showered or shaved yet, his clothes were rumpled, his hair mussed.

"It's been three months, Dave. And I'll be straight with you-no pun intended. There are days when I feel like I have only half a partner out there, when I don't get that you're watching my back, giving me cover, or caring much about the job in general. Where's the other half, San Diego?"

Starsky glowered at him with a lowered head.

"I want another partner," Murray finished. "One who gives a damn."

"Mark-"

Murray turned and left, slamming the door.

XX*

Starsky parked in front of a used bookstore/health food store called Summer Days and walked in, going to the young woman sorting books on a shelf behind the counter.

"Excuse me," he said clearing his throat.

She turned, a sunny blonde in a peasant blouse.

"I'm Morning. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm looking for somebody."

When she gave him the reserved, noncommittal shrug of a shoulder, he pulled his shield from his hip pocket, his voice remaining soft.

"Really, really looking for somebody."

Starsky heard footsteps on the stairs at the back of the store, saw cream-colored cotton pants, then a dark brown, loose button shirt, a white Puka shell necklace, and a shock of blond hair.

Their eyes met, but Morning didn't stay to watch the exchange; she left.

Hutch walked past Starsky to follow her, and when he did, Starsky saw the sleepy smile and angelic eyes of his latest dose.

Starsky gripped his arm, stopping him up short.

"May I help you?" Hutch asked with dreamy eyes.

He slipped from Starsky's grip and walked toward the door.

"Morning!" Hutch called lazily.

Starsky followed him, took his arm again.

Hutch turned.

"Where is she going, and why are you touching me?"

Starsky slammed him to the wall, but Hutch's mellow expression didn't change.

"How?" Starsky whispered shakily. "How could you do this?"

"Oh it's really very simple. I met a girl with some sweet stuff. Pure white. Can you come back later? I'm not into Starsky right now."

"You did this to hurt me. Make me mad. Make me come and get you."

Hutch laughed gently. "Don't you have enough to handle with your other addict?"

Starsky punched the wall next to his head.

"Don't push me."

"Hey, hey, hey, you're the one who does all the pushing."

"I came to apologize."

"Accepted. Now you can leave, and I can get back to what I was doing."

"You were right. She never stopped using. We split up last week. I wanted to believe in her, just like I believe in you."

"I like it here, Starsky. No pain, no partner, no worry. You don't have to fret about me raining on your parades, and I don't have to care whether you take some user's word over mine."

"That's the jack talkin'."

"Was it talking the day I tried to spare you from going through-" A sob caught in his throat, his wet eyes roamed to the ceiling. "Me? Again?"

Starsky gently took Hutch's head in his hand, thumbs stroking his sideburns.

"I'd go through it with you a hundred times if I had to."

Hutch's glistening eyes were still on the ceiling.

"You think you're sparin' me now, Hutch? Nothin' hurts me like you. Nothin'. You're high as a kite right now."

Hutch pushed his sleeve up. "Look, ma. No tracks."

Starsky's eyes were drawn to the inside of his arm, where the skin was smooth and clear, then back to his face.

"Snorting it?"

"No pesky needles. Takes a little longer to get there, but if you have pure it's just as good. Ben never had anything this good. I feel like I just screwed and went to heaven."

Hutch closed his eyes, against the tears, against the love, against Starsky.

"Just get out of here," he whispered.

Starsky took his hands away from his face. "You're killin' me."

Hutch spoke with his eyes still closed. A tear slid down his cheek.

"What are you going to do about it?"

"After you come down, in, what, a couple of hours? You're going home with me."

Hutch opened his eyes and smiled. "The hell I am."

He walked toward the front door of the store, turned, and strolled out backward, arms up, smiling.

"Rescue me, baby. Save me."

Starsky was left to stare at the empty doorway.

XX*

"Little mama," Starsky said to Morning, who was behind the store picking some herbs.

She rose to her feet with a cautious smile.

He pressed her up against the building and put a finger in her face.

"You will leave town immediately-"

"Ow, you're hurting me!"

"And you will never speak to him again. You don't know him. You don't know his name. You forgot him. Or you will do hard, hard time for dealin'."

She nodded, her features twisted in pain.

XX*

Hutch climbed up the stairs in the back of the store, a bottle of wine under his arm.

"Morning," he said opening the door to her book-cluttered, plant-clustered apartment. "Look what I found down at the-"

Starsky, who was standing by a window, turned toward him.

"What is this," Hutch said putting the wine on the small café table, "an intervention?" Starsky spoke without much humor or warmth in his voice.

"I'll give you a choice. You can come with me to a private detox center, or you can come with me to the nearest police station."

Hutch laughed and reached for a corkscrew. "Or I can just walk out the door."

Starsky pulled baggies of heroin from his jacket pocket. "You want to go down for this?"

Hutch looked around. "Where's Morning?"

"She's not comin' back."

Hutch inserted the corkscrew. "You're bluffing."

Starsky walked toward him, pulling out his handcuffs.

"You're under arrest or on your way to a clinic."

Hutch kept unscrewing.

"The hell I am. I'm not kicking it again. It's not like before. It's me choosing when and where and how I get it, not them."

As Starsky walked closer to him, Hutch stepped out of the way, but Starsky pushed him face-first against the wall and held him there, forcing his arms behind and cuffing him.

"I will not lose you to that stuff, Hutch. I know you don't want it. You were just hurtin', mad at me, wanted a little payback, but damn it…no more."

Starsky expected a retort, an explosion, another attempt to run. But instead, Hutch exhaled a tearful sob into the wall.

XX*

Mark Murray and Sierra Sloan were waiting on the street, Mark standing with the back door of his car open.

"Who the hell are you?" Hutch asked with red eyes.

"His partner."

Starsky steered a still-cuffed Hutch into the backseat. "Watch your head."

Hutch sat looking forward, eyes frightened and wasted, tensing against the inevitable.

Starsky closed the door, then Mark and Sierra got into the front seat, used the automatic locks to keep Hutch in, and drove away.

Starsky watched the car leave, and the last thing he saw before the vehicle made the corner was Hutch turning his head and looking back at him.

When Mark's car was gone, Starsky looked down, the enormity of the moment overcoming him, taking him to a crouch at the rear bumper of his Torino, where he clutched it and wept with a lowered head.

XX*

Mark and Sierra were still waiting with Hutch in the car, outside the detox center, when Starsky pulled up at the front door.

"Thanks, guys," Starsky said as he approached the rear door and opened it.

Hutch sat woodenly in the back seat. Starsky crouched next to him.

"They'll put you out during withdrawal, Hutch. You shouldn't feel the hardest part.

When you wake up, the worst will be over. They'll give you medicine to help you

through the rest."

Hutch finally turned his head toward him, and nodded.

Starsky turned him to unlock the handcuffs, then helped him from the car and escorted him toward the doorway.

"I'll be here every day, Hutch," he said smoothing the wrinkle from the back of his partner's shirt.

XX*

Two weeks later.

When Starsky stepped into Hutch's room at discharge, he found that he had just showered and changed into a red warm-up suit.

He looked pale and tired as he crouched down to tie his shoes, but didn't appear to be chilling or shaking.

"Hey," Starsky said quietly. "I hear you're ready to blow this joint after the doc talks to us."

Although Hutch's shoes were tied, he stayed in his crouch, head down, eyes on the floor.

Starsky stepped toward him.

"Hey."

He took Hutch under the arms and lifted him to his feet, then pulled him into a hug.

"I'm sorry," Hutch whispered. "God, I'm so sorry to put you through this again."

Starsky moved him back. "It's okay. You look good. How you feel?"

"Okay. Medicated, but okay. Little shaky inside. Nothing I can't handle."

"Doc wants to talk to us about discharge and follow-up.."

XX*

The ride back to Bay City was mostly silent, but comfortable and peaceful. Hutch slept with a bagful of medications in his lap while Starsky played the radio.

When Hutch was awake, he looked at Starsky with his head still resting against the window.

"What about Angie?"

Starsky kept his eyes on the traffic.

"What about her?"

"Are you going to talk to her?"

"Maybe. But just to give her an ultimatum, which I sorta did already."

"I owe her an apology."

"What for? You were right about her usin'."

"I was a little hard on her."

"She was a little hard on you. Hypocrite. She's a damn drug counselor for cryin' out loud."

"Doesn't make her immune."

XX*

Angie's office was their first stop once they returned to Bay City, but they were surprised to find that her personal items were gone. All that was left was a desk, a filing cabinet, and the small sofa for clients.

A man in a turtleneck sweater approached them.

Starsky recognized him as Angie's supervisor.

"Where is she?" Starsky asked.

"You haven't heard."

Starsky looked at him.

"She fired?"

"She overdosed in her apartment last night. We have to clear out her office for her replacement. I'm sorry that you're learning the news this way, she…"

Hutch nodded at the man, who turned and left.

Starsky slumped against the wall.

"I shoulda been here. If-"

Hutch pulled Starsky to him.

"Shut up, huh? It isn't your fault."

XX*

Starsky and Hutch sat at her funeral, along with Captain Dobey, Huggy, and Mark and Sierra.

XX*

"What are you thinking?" Hutch asked his silent partner as they walked to the Torino following Angie's services.

"You don't want to know."

Hutch opened the driver's door for him.

Starsky stood in the gap between door and seat and looked at his medicine-coated but otherwise-mending friend in the nice-fitting suit and tie.

"I'm thinkin' that coulda been you, Hutch, and I never want it to be."

Hutch looked down at his shoes. "It won't be, buddy. What I did was stupid. Terrible. To me. You. I don't know what I was thinking. You're the last person I want to hurt in this world ."

Hutch continued to look down. Starsky fluffed his hair. "Get in the car. You look tired."

Hutch nodded and walked around the back of the car to the passenger door.

Mark and Sierra walked by on their way to their vehicle.

"Nice meeting you," he said to Hutch with a wink. "Take care of my partner."

Hutch smiled. "Don't worry, I will."

XX*

I'm not into Starsky right now.

Look, ma. No tracks.

Rescue me, baby. Save me.

With a start Starsky woke up from his dream, panting, hand over his chest, throat dry and hoarse.

The bedside clock read 1:00 a.m.

He reached for the phone and dialed Hutch's number.

It was late. If he was asleep, he would be royally ticked.

But he had to call.

"Hello?" came his sleepy mutter.

Starsky swallowed, forearm across his eyes.

"Hey, uh. Just checking. You okay?"

Sleepy laughter.

"Fine."

"Good. Uh. You need anything, you call me."

"Yeah. Get some sleep."

"Yeah. 'night."

End

Safe 2 (Night Train)

By TR

XX*

Starsky reached the fleeing felon first, pulling him off the chain link fence before he could climb over, and threw him to the ground and straddled his lower back to cuff him.

The criminal wasn't going down easy. His elbow smashed behind him and high into Starsky's chest, just beneath the collar bone.

Hutch saw him wince, grab his shoulder.

Already on his way down the alley, but speeding faster because of the flash of pain in his partner, Hutch ran to the criminal, planted a boot across the back of his neck, and continued to cuff him.

Starsky slumped against a dumpster, holding his shoulder and gasping as he watched Hutch escort the man to two uniformed officers waiting at the alley entrance.

Starsky closed his eyes, composed himself, and pushed himself to his feet.

"All right?" Hutch asked as he jogged back down the alley.

"Yeah," Starsky grimaced, but the beads of sweat on his face told Hutch otherwise.

"Come on then, let's book the guy."

Starsky followed Hutch from the alley, still holding his shoulder.

It had been a month since the accidental arrow of reckless teenagers sank into his shoulder on the Hutchinson farm and the department physician had given the green light on active duty, but Starsky still found the area sensitive and hadn't expected a two-hundred and fifty pound man to pound it like a sledgehammer.

"Sure you're all right?" Hutch asked when they reached the red car.

"Nothin' a couple of aspirin won't fix."

They got into the car and drove the suspect to the precinct.

XX*

The pain in his shoulder subsided by evening, enough to allow he and Hutch could play a game of pool at Huggy's.

"Trish workin' tonight?" Starsky asked as he and Hutch passed Huggy, who was refilling a drink for an older woman at the bar.

It was then that Trish came from the kitchen, smiling and walking back to the pool table.

"Hi, Dave," she said slipping her hand beneath his jacket to stroke his back.

He turned and took her in his arms, kissing her, pulling her close.

"Missed ya," he said into her hair.

"Same here."

Hutch handed him a pool stick. "I'll go easy on you with that shoulder."

"Shoulder's fine," he said taking the stick and giving Trish another kiss.

"Good enough to take a train ride with me?"

"Sure. When?"

"Huggy gave me next weekend off."

"Deal. Think you could rustle me up a BLT?"

"Of course. Ken?"

"I'm fasting, but thanks."

"Fasting." She shook her head, then headed back to the kitchen. "Life is short, Kenny! Live a little!"

"Hey, Trish!" Starsky called after her.

She turned his way.

"My place later?" he asked.

"Deal."

He watched her behind until it disappeared into the kitchen, then turned back to the pool table.

"Melinda's back," Hutch said as he racked the balls.

Starsky looked over his shoulder, and, before the distraught young woman could start a conversation or make a scene, took her arm and led her out the back exit.

Once there, he said, "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't come to Huggy's anymore?"

"You're here to see me, right? We broke it off-"

"You broke it off. I still have feelings for you, Dave, I can't help it. What am I supposed to do?"

He softened a little, touched her arm. "I'm sorry. But have you tried going out, meeting somebody else?"

"I don't want anybody else. Why can't you understand?"

"Look-"

Her hand came around to slap him, he snatched it.

"It's over for me, Melinda. Maybe not for you. But for me. So you need to go home, call a girlfriend, or an old boyfriend, and get over it."

"Just like that. That's what I mean to you."

"You know what a restraining order is?"

She stared at him.

"You would do that?"

When only the threat in his hot blue eyes answered her, she moved past him, shoulders dropped in defeat.

XX*

Trish lay asleep in the crook of his arm, a wistful smile on her face, the fingers of one hand nestled in the band of his pajama pants. He was asleep, too, when he thought he heard a sound in his bedroom. (Or was he just dreaming?)

Thinking it was (Bellamy)-(Someone like him)-(Get your gun), an intruder, he reached for his weapon on the nightstand, but it wasn't there, and when the butcher knife came down, he instinctively rolled on top of Trish to protect her.

XX*

"Starsk!"

He hadn't answered his door or phone, so Hutch had no choice but to use a spare key to get in.

The place should have been jumping with Starsky's morning noises-the TV, a radio, stereo, laughter, the coffeemaker, the shower, his own singing-but there was only-

"Oh my God."

Hutch ran to the bedroom-(blood)-(everywhere)-(hers, his)-(are they dead)-(is he dead?)

Starsky was draped facedown across Trish, back bloody from where he had taken the first stab into his own body instead of allowing it to go into her.

A soft groan escaped Starsky and Hutch at the same time.

Hutch carefully took him under the arms and lifted him from Trish, who was clearly beyond saving given the gaping slash in her throat. Even though Starsky had tried to

shield her, the attacker had managed to rip and chop into Trish's entire right side-cheek, neck, breast, ribs, waist, hip, thigh, calf, and ankle.

The bedside phone lay in Starsky's lax hand.

"Starsk," Hutch gasped. "Buddy, I'm here."

He tried to call me. Dear God, he tried to call me.

Hutch lowered him onto his side on the empty side of the bed, checked his body for additional injuries, then took a handkerchief from Starsky's bedside table and pressed it against the slow-bleeding knife wound.

"Hey," he whispered shakily as he leaned down to Starsky's ear. "I'm getting you to a hospital. Hold on."

Starsky could only offer a faint sound in his throat.

Hutch pulled a blanket from the chair to cover him, and carefully took the phone from his hand.

(Attacked you in bed while sleeping)

(The most vulnerable time)

(The most intimate place)

(Defenseless)

(Even then, you tried to protect her)

(Who would-)

(Who could-)

Melinda.

XX*

Bitch.

He drove like a madman toward her apartment.

Do you think she's going to be sitting there waiting for you to arrest her?

She's long gone, sucker.

Forgive me, Starsk. I have to get her. I'll be with you as soon as I can. Just hold on.

Don't let go.

Her car was still here.

XX*

Her apartment was a holy shrine to the man she loved.

Souvenirs of her obsession and their relationship wallpapered the room-hundreds of photos, poems, movie ticket stubs, romantic cards, restaurant napkins, letters she'd written but hadn't mailed, some of his clothes-everything taped or tacked.

"Melinda!"

He drew his gun and moved through the apartment.

(Please be here. Jump out with your damn brave knife and come at me so I can blow your cowardly head off-)

One of the letters, taped to the wall, grabbed his attention; the only one written in red ink, and the only one with his name on it.

He read it without touching it.

Dear Hutch, I'm sorry it has to end this way. I can't live with him, I can't live without him, I can't bear to see him with anyone but me. If I can't have him, she can't either. I love him so much. At least this way we'll be together, forever.

Heart stammering, he went to each room, glancing in closets, beside furniture, under tables…

"Melinda!"

The bathroom.

The bathtub.

"Oh hell."

Red suicide.

Bathed in blood that she had released from her veins.

Blood in the tub, on the walls, floor, ceiling, shower curtain.

A pack of razor blades was on the edge of the tub, one still in her lifeless hand, another lodged in her neck.

XX*

"He lost a lot of blood," Dr. Turner was telling Captain Dobey in the hallway outside the emergency room when Hutch approached. "But he's going to make it. The knife didn't strike anything vital but it almost got his lung."

Hutch clasped her hand, trying to steady his voice, his red-rimmed eyes turning from helplessness to relief. "Thank you. When can I see him?"

"We'll need to transfer him to a room first," she said. "Maybe sometime later this evening. He'll be under medication, so..."

"Okay." He looked at Dobey. "It was Melinda."

XX*

Hutch sat as close to Starsky's hospital bed as possible, exhausted head down on his folded left arm; his right gripping his partner's hand through the chrome guardrail.

Starsky lay on his side, medicated and asleep.

(Case closed, Dobey says)

(Trish lies in the morgue, Melinda lies in the morgue, and you lie here cut and pale)

(Thank God you survived her insane rage)

"Thank God," he whispered out loud.

Starsky stirred softly, moaned weakly.

"You made it," Hutch said quietly as he raised his head and looked at him. "Just sleep."

But Starsky's dark lashes fluttered groggily, and he gazed at him with eyes that reminded Hutch of blue diamonds.

"She didn't kill me?" he asked in a pitifully small voice that brought tears to Hutch's eyes; a fresh flow of rage and hatred through his veins.

Hutch smiled softly, still holding to his hand.

"She tried. Just go to sleep You're okay

"Is Trish?"

(Please)

"Huh?" Starsky breathed.

"She…"

"Tell me."

Hutch lowered his head, and Starsky turned deeper onto his side, deeper into the mattress, almost facedown, curling Hutch's forearm against his chest and weeping into his pillow.

"I'm sorry," Hutch whispered.

"I tried to save her."

"I know. But you couldn't."

"She-Melinda-I saw her with the knife. Can't remember after that…"

"It's best you don't. It's okay. Melinda did us all a favor."

Starsky moved his head back a little on the pillow so that he could see Hutch.

"She confess?"

"In her suicide note."

Starsky read an odd look of guilty satisfaction in his eyes.

"She slit her wrists in her bathroom, Starsk. Dead when I found her. I just thank God you're here."

"I knew she was obsessed, why didn't I..."

Hutch felt the dampness of perspiration against his arm through Starsky's hospital gown, felt his distressed movements in the bed.

"Trish'd still be here if I'd-"

"No, buddy. No ifs. A restraining order wouldn't have stopped her. No one or no thing

could have. She was bent on doing the two of you in."

Starsky wanted to speak longer, resist more, but he was overcome by fatigue, medication, and grief, his voice a sigh. "Hutch…" He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, his grip on Hutch's arm fading as his shattered mind turned in a fragmented kaleidoscope of faces, names, voices, and images-Terry, Trish, Melinda.

"Back hurts," he said quietly. "Could you have the nurse bring me somethin'?"

Hutch rose to his feet, rested his hand on the side of Starsky's head for a moment.

"Sure. I'll be right back."

XX*

Melinda, why didn't you just off yourself and leave them alone?

You just had to drag them into your insane jealous rage, didn't you?

Well, he survived your attempt at taking his life, and I'll be damned if you put one more ounce of guilt or heartache into his soul.

Hutch approached the nurse's station.

"My partner is in pain. He needs something."

XX*

Hutch was sitting with Starsky in the hospital room a few days later when Huggy walked in wearing a black-on-black suit with a white carnation in the lapel.

"Hey, Hug," Starsky mumbled quietly, making no effort to pretend that he felt well today.

He was propped up in the bed, looking down at his folded hands.

Hutch stood at the window, watching the parking lot below, and turned toward Huggy and gave him a half-smile.

Huggy walked over to Starsky, gave him a brief, careful hug, then placed a gold locket necklace belonging to Trish in his hand.

"She left this at my place," he said, then joined Hutch at the window.

Starsky opened the locket. Inside was a picture of them kissing in Huggy's doorway.

XX*

Starsky was pale but functional when he and Hutch walked into Huggy's a couple of weeks later.

His eyes went to the kitchen, where he'd seen Trish bouncing about so many times before.

(I almost see you there, honey)

(Hear your pretty laugh)

(See your sunny smile)

(I miss you)

Hutch saw Starsky looking toward the kitchen, and slipped an arm around him.

"Booth," Hutch said guiding him toward the back. "More comfortable for you."

Huggy went back to their booth to say hello.

XX*

The old woman in the nursing home bed mustered a polite but quivering smile when she saw Starsky and Hutch entering her room.

"You must be David," she said reaching for his hand with her age-spotted one.

A nurse drew the curtain next to her bed to tend to her roommate.

"Yeah. And this is my partner, Hutch."

The woman smiled at him too.

"I was able to go to her funeral," she said. "It was nice. All of her friends were there. She took such good care of me at home. I'm just so sorry she's gone. She deserved to live a long life."

Starsky patted her hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"I understand. You were in the hospital. She talked about you all the time."

"Did she?"

"She was going to bring you for dinner the weekend she-"

Starsky pulled a chair over to the bed and sat. "If there's anything I can do for you, get you, take care of…" He reached for the wallet in his hip pocket, but the lingering stiffness in his upper back stopped the movement.

Hutch saw his arm drop, and reached for his own wallet, handing Starsky a card, who in turn handed it to Trish's grandmother.

"Call me," Starsky said. "Okay?"

She got a pair of reading glasses from her bedside table and read his contact information.

"I will," she said as she placed the card on the table next to her plastic water pitcher.

XX*

Hutch found him crouching at her headstone a week later, and crouched with him.

"I don't feel her here," Starsky said blinking back tears.

Hutch put a hand over his friend's heart. "She's here."

XX*

Two weeks later he boarded a commuter train in the middle of the night.

He waited until he was fully healed, so Hutch wouldn't worry about him, and so he could ride comfortably.

Trish had shared his love for them, but had never ridden on one before.

He slouched low in the seat and closed his eyes, beautifully sad, and let the train take him away.

End