Chapter Six

It was clearly obvious to Starsky as soon as they sped away, the tyres of the beaten up car squealing over the shiny concrete surface of the police garage.

Hutch was still royally pissed.

Stopping his partner from launching a full physical attack on Carlson didn't necessarily mean that he had succeeded in saving him from a blow out of rage. Far from it in fact. It meant that he himself now had to contend with the fallout. One very heated, quietly fuming Hutch.

Never an easy Hutch to have to handle.

Once clear of the precinct garage boom gates, Hutch floored the accelerator seemingly heedless of other cars as he spun the wheel tight to push his heavy car brashly into the flow of midday traffic. His action earned them a series of short sharp horn blasts. But Hutch, impervious to the honking abuse pulled the wheel hard to force his way into the fast lane. It was all Starsky could do not to wince in sympathy at the manhandling Hutch was giving the older car.

One more sudden and unnecessary change of lane resulting in him being thrown forward then jolted back with the change in momentum and he could no longer help himself – fuming Hutch or not.

"You okay or you want me to drive?" he asked tempting fate when he saw the glare Hutch shot him.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Of course I'm okay for God's sake!" but the set of his jaw and harsh, rapid breathing told Starsky otherwise.

"Might not get us home in one piece if you keep drivin' like that." Starsky's observation was serious but obviously in his Hutch's dark mood the comment was not well received.

"Like I said before Starsky, stop your complaining and let me drive dammit!" Hutch barked back at him before making another sudden violent swerve across the lane to cut in front of a car. With his eyes narrowed with deliberate focus on the road Starsky had the distinct feeling that it wasn't the road his partner was seeing nor was the gear shift beneath his death like grip what he was feeling. It was more than clear that Hutch was still back in the garage with Carlson remaining foremost in his mind.

"Fine. You can drive, just ease off on the weaving and the speed will ya'? My head is still got moveable parts inside of it." Starsky said, feeling no guilt for resorting to a tact that never failed with his partner. Even Hutch's foulest mood could be diffused by concern for his partner.

Within an instant Hutch pulled back on the accelerator, turning quickly to give Starsky a worried look. "Christ, I didn't even think of your head. Why the hell didn't you say something?"

"Just did, didn't I?" Starsky said wearily and sat back in the passenger seat like he was told. He didn't have the energy now to contend with Hutch when he was like this and knew it was best to leave him settle on his own. At least he had slowed the car to a reasonable speed as he lapsed into brooding silence.

After all, Starsky thought, he had enough of is own thoughts to keep him occupied on their tense laden drive back to Venice Beach. Clare's outspoken accusations back in the garage had been like a bucket of ice water to his sluggish self-awareness and he needed some space and time to adjust to what she had inadvertently helped him to realize. Although she had no doubt said it to hurt him, it was probably one of the most valuable and worthwhile interactions he had ever shared with her during their brief relationship.

One day, if and when this whole mess was behind him, he would thank her for throwing in his face what he had been too gutless to admit to himself, and had been so for quite a long while now.

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The confirmation call Anthony Durniak had expected was now an hour late and the waiting was more than a mild irritation. Late was unacceptable. He was never a man of patience and was intolerant of anyone or anything that kept him waiting. Agitation built in him as he paced across the plush carpet once more to take in the view from his expansive window. In the glass reflection he quietly admired his profile, the cut of his Italian suit, and the line of his muscular body. Turning to the side a little, he used the reflected image to rearrange the heavy fall of his thick gold hair where it swept across his crisply starched collar. He preferred to wear his hair a little long, pleased with its abundance and its glossy texture despite being in his mid thirties. He was proud of his well-kept appearance and his immaculate detail to his personal presentation. Appearances meant a lot, especially to a man who needed to project an image of power and control.

Anthony Durniak was a powerful and controlling presence in New York despite the growing number of other Mafia ringleaders.

Shifting his focus beyond his reflection, he took time to appreciate the magnificent view. Outside his plush tower office, the frenetic bustle of the pulsing city that spread out far below his vantage point never failed to excite him. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle, and no less thrilling because it was silent, cocooned as he was from its ceaseless cacophony. Presiding over the breathtaking view of the East River, he always felt somewhat possessive of the avenues and streets stretching out all around it, knowing as he did the depth of his power and influence over many of its inner sectors.

Tony Durniak loved New York, always had and always would – even though in the past few years he had taken up his father's legacy and extended his operations to the lucrative west coast to take advantage its proximity to the Mexican border.

His thoughts went now to Los Angeles as he answered the buzz of his desk phone. It was his personal assistant putting through the call he had been expecting.

As the call went through, he cut in before the speaker could begin. "Monetti? I expected you to call over two hours ago. I trust you have a sound reason for the delay." Durniak's tone was unmistakably ominous, aimed to elicit fear and deference. "What have you got to tell me about our inside man? Has he made contact yet?"

This time he gave the caller time to speak.

"All I need to know," Durniak said, "is that he arrived in LA and is taking steps to contact the cop immediately. I don't want any time wasted here. When I find the law at my door I want to be ahead of the game."

He listened for a moment or two to the caller and relaxed a little more in his desk chair at what he heard.

"Good." He fingered his silk tie. "Good. Just be sure the bastard doesn't decide to do his own thing as soon as he's out of sight. His ties to the cop could make this difficult for him. Make certain when you meet with him that you emphasize how important it is that he keeps me informed. Informed, or out of my circle – permanently. After all this is the first time I've ever found the smart mouthed prick in anyway useful."

Durniak ended the call and paused only briefly before punching the line for his personal assistant. "Go over my schedule for the next two to three days and clear all my appointments except those that are essential or high priority. You can let them know I will be available for phone or video link up if necessary - from my West Coast office. Then arrange for a flight to LA for tomorrow – mid-morning. Book my usual suite."

With that decision made, he felt a little less uneasy.

The recent unfortunate turn of events in his meth production and distribution business was a matter he would need to follow up on himself. He had made the decision to take a direct role in dealing with the stolen parcel of meth for two reasons. The first was purely financial, due not only to the magnitude of the investment at stake, but also because the theft of the meth would jeopardize the entire production arm of that sector of his enterprise.

The second reason, however, that required his personal attention concerned the person at the center of the loss of his missing meth. A certain LA cop with whom he shared history. A man who, in his opinion, had had more time - and a better relationship - with his father than he should have ever had the right to enjoy.

David Michael Starsky.

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They'd said little to each other on arrival at Hutch's home and even less once inside where Starsky soon discovered that Hutch was continuing to silently nurse his black mood. Leaving Starsky he had walked straight out to the covered balcony, making some comment about needing to check on the welfare of his newly planted bulbs or some such thing. A ruse to buy more time for himself Starsky accepted it for what it was – Hutch needed the time to level down from his anger. He would deal with it eventually. Instead Starsky busied himself with putting on fresh coffee he didn't feel like drinking and doing his usual scour through Hutch's fridge for food he didn't feel like eating.

It didn't take long before Hutch came back inside, his body noticeably less taut, but his jaw still set firm. He accepted the cup of coffee Starsky handed him without a word and cupping it in his big hands, he looked down at the steamy vapor.

"I know what you're thinking," he said without looking up at Starsky.

"You usually do."

Hutch let out a frustrated breath. "Lashing out like that at Carlson was damn stupid of me. Stupid and dangerous."

"Yep, it was."

"Carlson pushed too hard Starsky."

"Sure he did. That was no doubt his intention when he came across us like sittin' ducks in the garage." Starsky put down his unwanted coffee. "You want to fuck up your career as well Hutch? Bad enough that one of us is in the hot seat with the IA without you throwing yourselves to them too. Jesus, who more than me would love to be the one to put my fist through his face huh? But one move by either of us toward him and this whole murder investigation gets taken to new level. There's already enough stacked up against me in this investigation," he said, and knew his voice carried the worry he felt after the harrowing morning he already had with homicide.

"Look I know all that Starsky. It's just that – I was wound up this morning, wound up too tight. I'll have to learn to cool it from now on." Hutch said.

"I guess we both need to cool it." Starsky said. "Not gonna be easy to do, but if we don't …."

Hutch nodded and then looked thoughtful.

"Dobey said you handled things well this morning with the Santa Monica team. How do you think it went?" Hutch asked him.

Starsky picked up his coffee again. "They're putting their teeth into my connection with Durniak. The motive for Vanessa's murder is tied up with her involvement with him and whoever else she was tied up to back East." He paused, distracted for a moment, holding his coffee in one hand while he patted down his shirt pocket with the other. "Tony Durniak. And they're linking Durniak with me of course."

Ceasing the patting, he tracked his eyes about the room and could sense the disapproval in Hutch as he did it.

"In the coat cupboard," Hutch told him, "where I put your jacket last night." He said it with as much distaste as he might use when describing the whereabouts of a severed body part.

"What is?" Starsky asked, feigning vague disinterest.

"What you're looking for Starsky. I hung it up when we got back from the hospital – you probably don't remember with the drugs and all…"

"My holster?

Hutch spluttered disbelievingly. "Sure Starsky. Your holster. Like you really need your holster right now – especially when you have no gun." Hutch said drily.

Starsky gave him a wry look. "Smart ass." He walked over to the small entry cupboard near the front door.

"Have to warn you though there's only a few left." Hutch said it just as Starsky was pulling the crumpled jacket out and feeling in the side pocket. "And probably crushed to pieces the way you were lying in the car last night."

"Damn it to hell." Starsky lamented. "There's no more than four in here."

"Then I suggest you make them last. You've gotta kick the habit Starsk," he said in the paternal way that Starsky knew only too well. "I've never seen you smoke so much as in the last weeks. Your lungs are going to quit on you on the job. How the hell do you expect to chase down a felon or get out of the way of flying bullets with a clogged up chest and heart?"

For about one moment Starsky felt guilty for his behavior. Hutch was right – as he always was about these things. Then he quickly changed to feeling resentful when he realized how very much he really wanted the battered cigarette he was holding in his hand. How much he craved the bent up, half crushed slim paper tube. Damn Hutch for being right.

"Hey if I'm goin' in the slammer you think I'm gonna be worried about my freakin' lungs?"

There! Hutch could take that for making him feel like he was some needy addict when he had every right to be needy of something – especially now.

Hutch strode across the room, stood in front of him and jabbed his finger hard into his chest, his eyes were bright with frayed impatience.

"Are you going to go into pity mode on me now? If so you'd better let me know so I can tune out and come back when you've finished feeling sorry for yourself."

"Pity mode! Christ, five minutes ago you were the one in full on sulk mode when you couldn't get your own way with laying your fist into Carlson. What the hell do you expect me to say hey? Or act like for that matter? You tell me how else I should be acting or feeling! Christ Hutch. I'm in a corner with my back against it so tight and everything's crowdin' in on me. I can either take in the face or turn around and let it fuck me over from behind! Maybe it's easier to turn my back to it, have a freakin' cigarette and forget about things for a while."

"Or, you can talk to me about your worries with the investigation and we can deal with it together – like we usually do." Hutch said. "Since when did we ever take a punch to the face without fighting back or let ourselves be done over? Far as I remember that's not how we work partner. That's not our M.O."

"There is no "our M.O" in this one Hutch. Just mine. This is not your case pal. You ain't in it." He looked down to see that his fingers were crumbling the cigarette that had lain loose there, the shredded tobacco drifting to the floor and sticking to his hand. One less for his rasping lungs. God knows Hutch was right. He had to give the dirty habit away.

"The crap I'm not! I'm in this 'case' as you call it, about as much as anyone can be. Even more than you Starsky!" Hutch's voice rose to a frustrated yell.

"Yeah?" Starsky yelled back now, anger rising in him to match Hutch's. "And how do ya' figure that? To my knowledge you ain't the one being eyeballed for murder and drug dealing. You ain't the one who's being labeled as a dirty cop from the wrong side of the tracks. An ex-Brooklyn mob leach that could be playing both sides to pull in the cash."

Hutch looked dumbfounded for a moment.

"Where the Christ did all that come from?" he frowned. "Is this what went down in the interviews this morning?"

"Something along those lines – yeah." Starsky muttered, aware of his show of dented pride.

"Is that what the Santa Monica boys implied or are you reading more into this than you should?" Hutch asked, his eyes narrowed now as though he didn't quite believe Starsky's self-report. "I can't believe your lawyer would let them go at you like that. You're a cop – and a damn respected one at that."

"They're running a murder investigation Hutch." Starsky snorted. "They get to ask the questions and make some assumptions – lawyer or no lawyer."

"Well then what? What did they say? What could they possibly have to ask you about your past with – with Durniak? Was that it? Joe? Joe Durniak, or his son? " Hutch pressed and when Starsky didn't immediately answer, he reached out and shook his shoulder. "Talk to me will you damn it!"

The hand on his shoulder was too insistent and Starsky took a pace or two back, wishing now he hadn't opened his big mouth to Hutch about this aspect of the interrogation.

"Just stuff – crap from my past. My ties with Joe Durniak, and his son. You know all about that." Starsky evaded, suddenly not wanting to re-visit any of this with Hutch at the moment.

Hutch looked at him a little warily, Starsky thought, as though he wasn't sure whether to say what he said next. "You know Starsky, I actually don't know very much at all about your relationship with Joe's son. Whenever we talked it was always more about the impact Joe had in your early life. Not about Tony."

"Yeah well – that's because there's not much to talk about," Starsky looked longingly at the crushed cigarettes on the table.

"Starsk? I never asked you and you never told me – what happened when you went back East for Joe Durniak's funeral?" His tone was light but Starsky knew him better than that. Hutch was going to delve.

"What do ya' mean what happened? It was a funeral. Lot'sa family and friends cryin' and lookin' sad. The press havin' a field day with all the big names showin' their faces and lookin' grim in black."

"Don't play dumb with me Starsk okay? You know what I'm asking you. What happened between you and Tony?" Hutch persisted.

"Barely saw him. I was there to pay my respects to Joe and I did that. I kept to myself."

Starsky knew it hardly sounded convincing and that Hutch wouldn't buy it.

"So what, nothing happened? You didn't even speak to him?"

"What is this, an inquisition?" Starsky snapped.

"Cut it out Starsk. Don't go and get all riled up again on this. I'm just trying to figure out here what part of the story you have edited out. I don't care that you'd do that for IA or Homicide or even for Dobey – but I do care and I do wonder why you feel you'd have to do it for me?" he pressed.

"There is nothing of importance that happened at that funeral that I've withheld from you." Starsky said it lightly, his body language failing him in his verbal denial.

"Are you sure?" Hutch pried again. "Because, whether you or I like it or not, clearing your name could well involve rubbing shoulders with Tony Durniak in some shape or form. Thanks to Vanessa you seem to have been pulled back into his world."

"Told you already, there's no - "

"Starsk," Hutch interrupted more denials. "It's me asking you. Me. Hutch. If you kept things from me before about Durniak and your early life I can accept that, respect that – but not if it has some bearing on the now and what is going to happen to you in this investigation."

Huffing out a breath Starsky walked over to the hall table where his abandoned lighter still lay, casually picking it up and tossing it in his hands. "Well, if you want the whole damn back story, which ya' apparently ain't goin' to leave me alone till you get, then I need a cigarette."

He was quickly served the dirty look he expected. Starsky knew Hutch didn't appreciate him suckering him with his emotional games but was going to fold anyway – as he so often did with Starsky.

"Alright, have your damn fix of nicotine. But outside on the balcony, not in here. And, keep your distance from my newly transferred seedlings." Hutch scowled again as Starsky took the time to pick out the two best of the few remaining mangled cigarettes. He could easily have put Hutch's mind at rest and declared out loud his fresh conviction that this would be his last indulgence in the vice. These cigarettes were his last hurrah and then he would be done with the filthy habit. But he didn't say it. There were bigger issues at hand then his resolution to stop smoking – and right now this last inhalation of nicotine would give him the diversion and the time he needed to get his thoughts together. He had to decide what he was prepared to share with his worried partner about his past with Tony Durniak.

Jabbing the cigarette between his lips he led the way outside to the semi covered balcony. Hutch was right behind him and Starsky swore he could feel Hutch's eyes scorching the back of his shirt.

"I want to hear it all, I mean it Starsky," he spoke to Starsky's back. "Everything needs to be out on the table if we want to stand a chance of dealing with this. No secrets between us. No holding stuff back from each other."

It was all Starsky could do to keep walking and not to turn around and search Hutch's face.

Secrets? Holding stuff back from each other?

Was Hutch still talking about the investigation? About his past? Or was he also moving closer to what they both seem to be wanting but were too damn afraid to ask of each other?

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Outside on the street a half block up and across the road from Hutchinson's Venice Beach apartment, a late-model rental car was parked parallel to the street, its driver having secured one of the few remaining parking spaces in the trendy, busy street.

He'd arrived on the early morning flight from New York as planned but now more than six hours later he still hadn't managed to secure a meeting with the cop Durniak had sent him to check out. It wasn't lost on him either that he himself was being followed. Durniak didn't get where he did by trusting anyone, especially his own inside men. The dark SUV had been parked further up the street behind him for as long as he had and he had little doubt that the man was the same guy who had called him earlier to arrange a meeting once he had done what he was sent to do with the cop.

Maybe Durniak didn't believe he could handle this gig without letting his emotions mess up his mission. Well Durniak was wrong. If this was his big opportunity to make his mark with the New York mobster then he was going to be damn sure he impressed his boss.

After all it wasn't if Durniak was expecting him to do anything that actually endangered Starsky. Besides, by fulfilling Durniak's orders the longer-term pay offs for his career with Durniak in New York were just too good to refuse.

Misgivings or not, if he were going to do this, then he would have to consider doing it soon. The two detectives had long since arrived back at the apartment. They'd arrived together as he had expected they would and both entered the small building. Given that he had already discovered that the police had sealed off David Starsky's own apartment he didn't doubt that Starsky was staying with Hutchinson in his Venice Beach digs.

With the most recent phone call from Tony Durniak's LA man fresh in his mind, he knew he had to stop delaying what he had come to do. The two detectives were, unfortunately, together, but it was unlikely he would get an opportunity to get the one he wanted by himself without the other being by his side. He couldn't risk them leaving again unexpectedly before he had a chance to make his move. Durniak would be gnashing his teeth if he didn't have something to tell him soon.

His employer was counting on him – and, he'd learned very quickly that when Tony Durniak counted on you, you had better know it was in your interests to deliver.

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Hutch couldn't be sure why he was harboring so much pent up negative energy, but as he followed Starsky out to the balcony he felt stifled and wired at the same time.

Perhaps his tense mood was the accumulation of the leftover anger from the garage altercation with Carlson, the remnants of last night's hangover and the worry about Starsky being investigated.

Hell, given all of that it wasn't as if he didn't have enough reason and cause to feel like he did. And now here was Starsky finally admitting that there might be even more for him to worry about with his tie in with Tony Durniak. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Starsky was about to tell him and how it could possibly be incriminating enough that the Santa Monica Homicide Team might be angling to investigate it in relation to Van's murder and the missing drugs.

All of this was plaguing him, weighing him down – and yet – none of it – if he was really honest, could explain how or what he was experiencing as he stood beside his partner waiting for him to open up about his past. Yes, there was worry. Yes, there was fear and concern for Starsky's welfare. And now, some immerging anger that Starsky might not have leveled with him on everything about Durniak, and in turn why Vanessa had come to him in the first place. Yet, none of these he knew for certain were the underlying cause of how he was feeling.

This was something else entirely.

And this something else was fighting its way to the surface in the midst of one of the most difficult times Hutch could recall in his life. A murdered ex wife and his best friend and partner as suspect.

Hutch watched now as Starsky leaned casually against the brick balcony, one leg bent up behind him as he lowered his curly dark head over his cupped hands to light the cigarette in his mouth.

Starsky drew back on the cigarette, tipping his head back to inhale, deep and long as though he was drawing in his life blood. Hutch couldn't help but watch the line of his neck as it stretched back to maximize the breath and the fall of his dark curls as they tumbled down loosely over his collar. Exhaling he looked up again, his head cocked a little to the side as he gave Hutch the smallest of smiles.

"I'd offer you a buck for your thoughts but by the troubled look in those pretty blue eyes of yours I'm not sure I want to know them." Starsky said.

"Not sure I could even tell you – not sure I even know them myself," Hutch replied, surprised at his own honesty. Joining Starsky's side , he leaned his hip against the waist height balcony wall.

"So – you and Tony Durniak?" he said, bringing himself back to the moment and away from his wayward thoughts. Thoughts he engaged in far too frequently of late.

Not surprisingly Starsky gave him one of his nonchalant shrugs as he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and squinted down at the red hot glow of burning tobacco. "Not much to tell and I didn't tell ya' because I knew you'd get on ya' high 'Hutchinson horse' about it." Starsky said, flicking the ash over the wall while he looked, or tried to look Hutch thought, unperturbed. "Besides, it's all past history." Then he frowned and the unperturbed look dropped away. "Or at least it was until this morning."

"In the interviews? With IA or Homicide?" Hutch queried.

"Simonetti made mention of it but the Santa Monica Detectives made more of a deal about it. They had photos – God knows how or why – of Joe's funeral. Must have had some police presence undercover or something because I sure as hell don't remember being snapped."

"Photos? What do you mean?" Hutch asked, his brow knitting.

"Some photos of me and Tony," Starsky told him as though that explained it enough.

"Go on." Hutch prompted, not liking the sound of it already.

"It's like I told Vanessa when she came to me thinking I could be an 'in' for her with Tony. My relationship with Joe's son had always been a rocky one. He was always resentful of the way Joe had time for me as a kid, jealous of any affection or privileges he offered me and unwilling to share any part of his father. It got more pronounced as we got older. By the time I left New York he was old enough to make those feelings known to me – clearly. I think that if I hadn't ended up being sent away, Joe's closeness to me would have caused serious problems for both sides."

"Did you ever run across him once you'd left New York – Tony I mean? I know you saw Joe occasionally." Hutch wanted to know.

"Only once that I can recall. I'd gone home to visit Ma – Nicky was havin' his first round of problems with the law. You and me were just outta the Academy. Joe made his usual effort of being there for Ma' though I know she never wanted his help or the influence he could wield to help Nicky. She always hated his mob connections even though she knew he was a friend of Pa's. Anyway, Tony had quite a strong presence in the local mob by now, and he had quite a bit of pulling power with some of the younger guys. When I was at home he made sure to pay me a visit and let me know the score. Or rather, had his heavy handed goons let me know the score."? Starsky grimaced at the memory, rubbing his jaw as though feeling the long ago pain.

"The asshole. What did Joe do when he found out?" Hutch could feel himself getting wound up as he always did when he heard accounts of Starsky being threatened.

"Joe didn't find out. If he had it would have been worse – for me and for my family. Tony was convinced I was like some prodigal son who was out to steal his father from him. I'd never used him as Tony thought I had and it wasn't me who sought Joe out but he was in my still in my life anyway. After Tony's messengers delivered the warning I decided in future to keep well clear of him for Ma's and Nicky's sake."

"And then Joe died and you flew over for the funeral. I wish to God you'd have let me go with you Starsky, knowing all of this."

Starsky shook his head emphatically. "That's why I purposely didn't want you there. I didn't want Dobey to know either - don't think he would have been impressed. Not particularly good PR for the Department. I was worried about how Tony would be with me – and couldn't risk you being around beside me if he decided to act out. IA would have more than just a couple of society page photos to throw in our faces." Starsky looked at Hutch and quirked his mouth. "I had enough trouble keeping you off Carlson this morning big boy."

Hutch's only response was to grunt.

"Still," Starsky continued, "I was damned if I wasn't going to farewell Joe Durniak goodbye. He'd been a big part of my life – and my father's. Tony, it turned out, had other ideas that didn't match my sentimentalism. He was none too happy to see my face in the crowd at the funeral."

"I take it that meant he let you know he wasn't happy. How bad did it get?" Hutch tried to recall now how his friend had seemed when he had returned from the east coast after the funeral. Had there been any indication that something was awry when he got back? He couldn't recall any distinguishing marks or bruises on his friend's body. He would have been not let it pass without comment if he had so if there were then Starsky must have made sure to keep any evidence of a beating covered up.

Hutch waited while Starsky, deep in thought, ground the cigarette butt into the worn brick ledge.

"Not physical at least. Not like the other time. He just made sure to have his boys pull me aside for a very private little meeting and let me know just how much he really hated me. With his father dead he felt totally empowered. Free to give it to me straight. That's why I was so pissed with the implications that Simonetti and Carlson were making about Tony and me. If anything those implications are as off base as they could be Tony sees me as the classic enemy and being a cop, one who can't be bought, just makes his opinion of me worse." Starsky said. "For my part, I'm not all that fond of him either."

"And you think that Homicide is going to make something of all of this - whether you have bad or good blood between you and Tony Durniak?" Hutch could see how this must have all seemed to him and could understand his distress.

"Yep. Can't win either way. Just knowing Durniak black marks me," his tone was bitter as he lifted his left hand to press his thumb and fingers into his eyes. "And you know what? If I didn't know him Vanessa would never have come to me like she did – and she might still be alive. " He looked at Hutch. "Don't tell me you haven't thought the same thing."

"I haven't no – because it makes no sense to think that way. You can't possibly know that – you have no idea of what would have happened to her given how deep she was in all of this."

"Doesn't alter the fact that she died because of what happened in my apartment with those goons. If I hadn't been in the picture, if she hadn't grabbed my gun…."

Hutch stalked over to him and seized his arm.

"What the hell do you want me to say here Starsky? That I agree with all this shit you're saying? That I hold you responsible for Van's death? That I think that your connections to Durniak got her killed? What? What do you want me to say?" Hutch shook his arm roughly, his voice cutting and hard.

"You see, that's the whole problem for me Hutch. You haven't said much of anything about how you feel about Vanessa being with me when she was murdered. Not once so far. So, I'm thinkin' - maybe you need to get it off ya' chest."

Hutch evaded the direct issue Starsky was probing at.

"None of this is easy for me either you know Starsky."

"Don't you think I know that? Hardly convenient having your partner out of commission and the whole precinct thinking I was involved with your ex behind your back -" Starsky wrenched his arm out of Hutch's hold and stepped back.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Hutch called out as Starsky turned and walked away "I never said that –"

Inside the apartment, Hutch caught him up quickly and Starsky whirled around to face him.

"Like Clare and Carlson said, everyone is going to assume that I was with her behind your back, whether you believe I wasn't or not. And you know there's the drug issue and my connection somehow with Durniak. Don't try and tell me that none of this makes you burn." Starsky raised his voice louder. "Why don't you just go and say it. Say it to me Hutch God damn it! Stop being so freakin' understanding about my feelings!"

"You're putting your own slant on this buddy. I don't feel like there's anything to say and I'm getting sick of telling you that –" he sliced his hand across Starsky's visual field.

"And I'm gettin sick of hearing you say it!" Starsky countered, not stepping back from his partner's vehemence but looking as though he no longer wanted to be near him.

Something about him at that moment seemed so elusive, so tenuous, almost as though, Hutch thought he was fighting to remain in the same room.

"I know there was nothing between you and Vanessa." Hutch said quietly.

"But there was Hutch. There was and you know it. There was the resentment I held toward her. More than just resentment. I hated her and have done for all these years for what she did to you? Can you really be sure I didn't act on those feelings? That I didn't set this whole thing up to get her out of your life, get her out of both of our lives?" Hutch could see the naked pain in his eyes. "And even if you did, even if you really thought I might have done it, what scares me Hutch is that you might just accept it and go on supporting me. If that's what you really believe, I couldn't stand it. I wouldn't want it – even though I know you'd do it for me." Starsky implored now, his voice trembling and his hands shaky as he reached out to hold Hutch's shoulders.

"I don't need to cover for you Starsky because there is nothing to cover." Hutch insisted again. "Just stop this shit will you?"

But Starsky looked no where near letting up on his quest.

"Ask me will you. Go on. Ask me what you haven't asked me yet." Starsky's said with dark determination. "If you don't – I'm gonna walk outta here right now, " And Hutch could see in his eyes that he would.

Starsky raised his eyebrows in wait. When Hutch said nothing he gave a grim nod and turned to open the door.

Cursing out loud, Hutch jumped to the door and pressed his hands down on it, slamming them both on its surface with a ferocity he couldn't control.

"Why are doing this!" he demanded hoarsely. "Why do you need me to ask you something that I already know the answer to?"

"What do you know?"

"Oh for God's sake Starsky! That you're innocent."

"Hutch, do you really know what or how far I might go to protect you or stop you being hurt? If it came down to it, do you understand what I might be capable of doing for you?"

"Yes, yes I think I do. It's no different for me." Hutch tried to reason.

"Are you so sure? Even if it meant killing someone?" He paused, his mouth in a grim line.

Hutch felt the blood drain from his face.

This ruthless provocation was too much for him.

He took a breath. It came out as a tremulous, but angry whisper – the anger was for Starsky who had pushed him to this, not because of any doubt he had about the answer.

"Did you have anything to do with Vanessa or anything to do with her death or why she came to you in the first place?" There he had said it. He had asked. The treachery he felt at having to do so left him shaken.

Starsky lifted his head, looked him square in the eyes and answered. "No."

It was simple and direct – such a tiny word – but once Starsky had uttered it Hutch could almost swear he could see his partner begin to let go and relax, his face losing some of its hardness, his body no longer seemingly poised for flight.

In a similar way the emotion of the interchange had exhausted Hutch and he wanted to sink down on the sofa but he was fearful that if he moved back from where he had Starsky pinned against the door that he would flee the apartment.

More than anything he didn't want that to happen. It was as though they were moving closer and closer toward something inevitable.

"What are doing here? What are we doing to one another – turning this on each other like we are?" Hutch asked, defeated and upset by what had just happened.

It was he who posed the question but he already thought he had half of the answer. He looked into Starsky's dark blue eyes and wondered if he had the other half. What was going on, he knew was more of the same of what they had been doing to each other for the past couple of months. Dancing around the hulking presence that was always with them whenever they were in a room, a car – hell whenever they were simply together. All that was happening was the tempo was building with each passing day.

Hot and feverish, red and dangerous, the feeling was deep inside of him. A burning addiction for something he had not yet even tasted was rising up in his chest and it was taking all of his strength to hold it in.

The timing was all-wrong. Starsky needed him more than ever right now to be the partner and friend he had always been for him. Not something he felt he wanted to become for him.

Still against the wall, trapped in the triangle of Hutch's chest as he barred any opening of the door, Starsky looked like he might be considering the question but instead he had his own to ask.

"How did you think I felt when Clare said what she did to me in the garage?" he asked.

Hutch was surprised at the question. It seemed to have come out of nowhere.

"I knew it was painful and hurtful for you to hear it – and I felt so bad for you." Hutch told him.

"In fact it wasn't hurtful at all Hutch, " Starsky said. "You see, it was what I needed to hear."

"I don't – I'm not getting you here buddy." Hutch was genuinely confused now. He thought back to the moment in the garage that morning when Clare had thrown the insults at Starsky about their time together and her mistaken assumptions that he had been having some sort of affair with Vanessa….

"Clare told me that she always thought I was wanting something else the whole time that I was with her remember?" Starsky asked him, watching Hutch more closely with each word.

"Yes, she thought – wrongly of course, when she found out about the murder, that it was Van you were with – Van you really wanted – "

"She was wrong Hutch," he said. "At least," Starsky took an unsteady breath, "she was wrong about Vanessa."

"I know – of course she was…what she said – " Hutch stopped then, the words dying on him lips. He saw it. On Starsky's face, in his eyes. Something he had only ever dreamed of seeing.

Hutch felt he couldn't move for fear that what he saw would fall away and he would be left thinking it had all been in his imagination.

"But, she was right about me wanting something else – someone, that wasn't her." Starsky lifted two fingers to his temple and tapped. "And all the time I had it locked up here and wouldn't let it out. You know that Hutch? Locked so deep in my fuckin' subconscious it couldn't get free until – "

"Starsk…."

"This is so damn hard for me…." Starsky choked, his voice dry and scratchy with emotion. " Hutch…."

"Please…" Hutch begged, but didn't even know what he was pleading for. All he knew was he didn't want what Starsky had to say next to be anything but what he hoped he would say.

Hutch never did get to hear it and Starsky never got to say it.

The pathway down which Starsky had been taking them came to a screeching halt when the door behind Starsky's head vibrated loudly with what seemed in the quiet room to be a thunderous knock. The dark blue eyes that had been regarding him so earnestly were torn away abruptly when Starsky jerked his head back at the intrusive noise from outside.

Reflexively Hutch pulled back from the door too, startled and displaced by the loud knocking.

For a few seconds their eyes found each other again, but it was only fleeting, before whatever had begun to unfold between them was packed safely away in order to deal with the outside world.

"Jesus!" Starsky jumped away from the door as though it had just electrified his back. "Thought you got this place secured with the intercom in downstairs now."

"Must be one of the other tenants." Hutch suggested, more for something to say to stabilize his shaky emotions and to give him time to recover from his disappointment at the intrusion. "They'll probably just go away when they think I'm not here."

Starsky moved completely away from the doorway clearly not wanting to be part of greeting whoever was at Hutch's door. Understandable Hutch thought because neither did he. "Hutch your car is parked out front and they'd hear our voices."

"Shit!" Hutch hissed, and fumbled clumsily with the locks, his fingers not getting the message clearly from his brain. Little wonder he thought, for his brain was still three paces back trying to fathom what Starsky had left unsaid but had been beginning to tell him with his eyes.

With his mind totally focused on what had just transpired between them, Hutch pulled the door open to find Nick Starsky standing on the other side.

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