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DISCLAIMER: Portions of this story consist of actual dialogue from the episode "A Coffin for Starsky." No copyright infringement was intended.

Part Two

Time in a Glass
by
SunnyD

Part Three

Chapter 11

~~~~~~~~~~~
       Hutch
~~~~~~~~~~~

With impeccable timing, the coroner and crime lab folks arrived at the same time as the ambulance. What I didn't expect, was that Dobey would be with them.

After Starsky passed out, I'd dashed down to Bellamy's apartment just long enough to make phone calls to the precinct and the hospital before returning to the roof. Leaving him for those few minutes was like cutting off my right hand, but I saw no way around it. Starsky needed help and Bellamy needed a body bag, and sitting on my ass wasn't going to accomplish either one.

Bellamy's wife had grudgingly allowed me to use the phone, sniveling at my elbow until she heard me ask for a coroner's wagon. She ran out of the apartment then, shrieking Vic's name loud enough to wake the dead--no pun intended--and was collapsed over his body when I got back to Starsky.

I looked at her, and I felt nothing.

I gathered Starsky's limp body back into my arms and sat there, the rough brick gouging into my back and unshed tears burning my eyes and throat. I talked to my partner, praying to God that the sound of my voice would reach him and anchor him to me for just a little longer. I didn't let myself think past the words of comfort and encouragement. Bellamy was dead. My subconscious knew what that meant, but I refused to allow the knowledge out of its locked box. I just rested my chin on top of those dark curls and said whatever came into my head.

"You know, you always did have more guts than brains. I mean, did you really stop to think about what you were doing, emptying your entire clip into Bellamy like that? Talk about overkill. Wouldn't one or two have been enough?"

Of course, I knew the answer to that, too. One or two might have left Bellamy in good enough shape to pull the trigger of his own weapon. One or two might have left me the one lying sprawled on the cement, my eyes looking up at the stars without seeing them. Starsky had known exactly what he was doing, to Bellamy, and to himself.

"'Seemed to be a good idea at the time,'" I grouched, but my voice spoiled the effect by trembling. "What kind of a reason is that anyway? Pretty poor one, if you ask me. Starsk, you never..."

He wasn't breathing. The abrupt silence, after the regular pattern of ragged gasps, hit my ear as violently as a scream. I sat forward, goosebumps breaking out over my entire body.

"Starsky? Starsk?"

His head lolled like a rag doll and one hand fell from his lap to the cement with a soft slap. I grasped him by the shoulders and shook, hard.

"Don't you dare do this to me, Starsky! Don't you quit on me! You breathe, damn it! BREATHE!" I punctuated each sentence with a shake, the last one snapping his head back and forth until I was afraid I'd broken his neck.

The sharp, shallow gasp for air that followed was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. Starsky coughed weakly and his hands twitched, but he didn't open his eyes. An ambulance wailed in the distance.

I pulled him against me, wrapping one hand around his struggling chest and briskly rubbing his arm with the other. "That's it babe, keep it up. In and out. In and out."

I didn't even realize I'd been crying until I felt the moisture on my cheeks.

I had a crazy feeling of deja vu when the paramedics shoved me out of the way and started working on Starsky. The crime lab guys were right on their heels, the coroner bringing up the rear about five minutes later. I stood aside, unable to tear my eyes from what was happening to my partner, though I knew I should be briefing forensics on what had happened. They tried to talk to me, but their questions were just a faint buzzing in my ear, like an annoying mosquito. The paramedics' voices, though, were coming through loud and clear.

"Pulse is weak and thready."

"B.P.'s 140 over 100, respiration 35 and shallow. He's cyanotic, start him on O2."

"Pupils equal and reactive. Let's get an I.V. hooked up and get him to Memorial. Dr. Franklin's waiting for him."

Dobey's large hand on my shoulder almost made me jump out of my skin. "How is he?"

The question was directed toward Starsky, but his eyes were burrowing into mine. I suddenly realized I'd never bothered to wipe the tears from my face.

I mentally elbowed my father out of the way, but I scrubbed a hand across my cheeks. "Not good. He passed out after shooting Bellamy and he st...stopped breathing once."

Dobey's brow furrowed. "Did Bellamy get a chance to tell you anything?"

"Only that he was responsible for poisoning Starsky." I watched as the paramedics efficiently loaded my partner onto the gurney, tucking the I.V. bottle at his side.

"Go with him," Dobey ordered, voice gruff. "I'll wrap things up here and meet you at the hospital."

I looked at him, too overcome to find my voice. Evidently he read my expression because he waved me off and grabbed the arm of the nearest paramedic.

"That man is a police officer in protective custody. Officer Hutchinson will be accompanying him in the ambulance."

I could've kissed him, but I settled for a look of extreme gratitude. Dobey, always a little uncomfortable with that kind of thing, just motioned for me to stay with my partner. I pressed the keys to the Torino into his palm as I passed, and he bobbed his head in understanding.

We were about five minutes from the hospital when Starsky started to come around. The oxygen must have been helping, because his color looked a little better and his breathing wasn't quite so labored. His eyelids fluttered and that hand started roaming across the sheets. I leaned in close and put mine on his arm.

"Hey, partner. 'Bout time you decided to join us."

Blue peered out from under his lashes and a wrinkle appeared between his eyes. The hand I didn't have pinned wandered up to tug the oxygen mask off his mouth.

"Ya look terrible." Weak and raspy, but Starsky shone through.

I mustered a smile. "Yeah? Well you should take a look at your own ugly mug, buddy. You wouldn't win any beauty contests yourself." I saw the paramedic stretch out his hand to replace the mask, but beat him too it. "Leave it alone, Starsk. You need it."

The ambulance hit a pothole and Starsky convulsed in pain, his fingers digging into the sheets.

"Hey, take it easy, would you?" I snapped at the driver. "We're headed for the hospital, not the demolition derby!"

"Dr. Franklin said he could have Demerol for the pain," the other paramedic told me quietly, and pulled out a syringe.

Starsky's eyes went wide and he started shaking his head. "Hutch, no. Don't...don't let him!"

I shifted my body to block his view and laid a calming hand on his chest. "It's all right, Starsk, he's just going to give you something for the pain."

The panic left his eyes but he clutched at my sleeve. The mask muffled his already thin voice, though I could still understand the words. "Hutch...pain don't matter. Not much time...things to say."

I smiled at him, even though it hurt. "Game's not over till it's over, Starsk. I know how bad you're hurting. Take the drugs, you don't have anything to tell me that I don't already know."

One corner of his mouth turned up a little bit, but the Demerol must've been doing its job, because his eyelids started to droop. "Doesn't mean...shouldn't be said."

I never realized you could have your heart cut out and still live. Maybe I was just some kind of medical miracle.

"Save it. I'll buy you a steak dinner when this is all over, and you can tell me then."

Franklin was waiting at the emergency room entrance. He whisked Starsky into a treatment room, tossing me an apologetic look as the double doors swung shut.

Deja vu again.

I drank bad coffee and paced until Dobey arrived. He didn't even try to discuss Bellamy or the case, just sat beside me on an uncomfortable plastic chair that was way too small for his bulk.

"He saved my life." I had to say it, had to speak the words aloud even though we both already knew them. "Bellamy's dead and Starsky's dying, all because the stubborn fool wouldn't stay put when I told him to."

Dobey ran a hand down his face and turned toward me, cocking an eyebrow. "Sounds like something you'd do, doesn't it?"

I looked at him and started laughing, but the edges were broken and jagged, and it sounded a lot more like crying. One of the treatment room doors swung outward and Franklin motioned to me, his face grave.

"You can see your partner for a few minutes."

My legs felt weak and wobbly as I crossed the hallway to the door. When I stepped inside, Franklin was giving Starsky a shot of something while a nurse held an oxygen mask on his face and blotted perspiration with a soft, white cloth. His eyes were open, but glazed--probably from drugs since he didn't appear to be in pain and the heart monitor beeped steadily.

Franklin crossed to my side. "I'm sorry. We're going to have to take him upstairs now." I tore my eyes from Starsky's face to acknowledge his words. "If his timetable is right, he has less than two hours."

I managed to nod, when what I really wanted to do was to start swinging my fists at every useless piece of equipment in the room. I walked slowly to Starsky's side, taking his hand and leaning over so that he could see my face without having to lift his head.

"Hey, buddy. I...I have to go now." I knew he understood. The doc had things he needed to do, tests to run and treatments to try that I couldn't be a part of. I couldn't help Starsky here. I still felt as if I were abandoning him.

"Okay." He looked so weary and strung out, a pale imitation of my friend, my brother.

Maybe my feelings showed on my face because as I started to back away, Starsky stopped me.

"Hey." It wasn't much more than a whisper. I caught it more from the movement of his lips than hearing the word.

"Yeah?"

I think the idea that Starsky and I have some kind of "psychic connection" has been way overblown by other people in the Department. We've known each other a long time, and we've spent a good chunk of that time relying on each other for our lives. All good partnerships have an especially tight bond--so tight that I've heard of plenty of cops' wives getting jealous, or feeling a little left out of the loop. Okay, it's true that Starsky and I had gotten nonverbal communication down to a science between us, but I'd always chalked that up to time and friendship. Nothing "psychic" about it.

At that moment, though, Starsky proved me wrong. He looked at me, eyes connecting with mine on a level deeper than I can ever remember, and I knew exactly what he was trying to tell me because the words were echoing in my own heart.

And he knew I knew. The corners of his mouth curved. No one but me would have been able to tell, and even though my chest clenched in pain I smiled back and nodded just enough for him to see.

The orderly's hand on my shoulder broke the spell.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, okay.

I helped them move Starsky to another gurney for transport to the second floor, my eyes darting repeatedly to the clock. Dobey was at the doors, swinging them open so that the orderlies could wheel him through. I watched them head for the elevator, rage returning like the click of a switch.

"Well that's it, huh?"

Dobey's words did nothing to calm the anger simmering in my gut. I paced back and forth, trying to rub the exhaustion from my eyes and keep hold of my temper.

"No that's not it." I snapped my fingers, a nagging feeling on the edge of my mind that I was forgetting something.

"Look, Hutch, we've only got two hours." I guess Dobey was trying to be helpful, to prepare me for losing Starsky, but I didn't want to hear it.

"I don't care if we've got two minutes! We don't give up!" I struggled against my frustration. "We've missed something, Captain. We've been in such a hurry, we've...we've rushed right past something important."

Dobey's temper was getting a little thin too. "Look, Hutch, we put 200 names in the computer. We get twenty possibles and three primes. It's not our fault if they all wash out."

His attempt to be logical only made me more furious. "They didn't all wash out! Vic Bellamy didn't wash out! He was the..." I stared at him, shock drying up my mouth and cutting off my voice. It was so obvious. How in God's name had I missed it? "Vic Bellamy...only had a tenth grade education. How in the hell did he get the smarts to pull something like this off?"

"You think somebody hired him." It was a statement, not a question.

"Absolutely. Don't you?" Excitement bubbled up to fill the hole in my chest. We were down, damn it, but we weren't out yet.

"Right." Dobey's enthusiasm was forced, but I didn't care. I'd generate enough hope for us both.

"Somebody's gotta tell me who."

Starsky still had almost two hours, and I wasn't going to waste another minute.

~~~~~~~~~~~
      Starsky
~~~~~~~~~~~

Things got pretty fuzzy for a while. I remember slidin' down the wall, the bricks scrapin' against my jacket, and then everything went black. I felt like I should be scared of the dark, but I wasn't. There was no pain or sadness there; it was kinda peaceful, and a chance to finally rest. The deeper I sank down into it, the harder it was to remember why I'd want to go back.

The voice wouldn't let me go, though. I could hear it, real soft and far away, like when I had my old apartment and could hear my neighbor's television through the wall. I couldn't understand any of the words, but I wanted to. Something about the voice felt soft and warm, like my crummiest pair of sweats or a big hug. It felt like home.

I wanted the comfort of that voice something fierce, but I knew I couldn't have it without the pain. And I really, really didn't want anymore pain.

I don't know if it was my own choice or not, but the voice got harder and harder to hear. Then it stopped.

And I think maybe I did too.

Next thing I knew, someone was shakin' me back and forth till I thought my head would crack open, yellin' in my ear. At first it was just more noise, but then one word broke through the fog and made sense.

It scared the hell outta me and I sucked in a big gulp of air from pure reflex. My chest lost the tight, squashed feeling I hadn't even noticed until that moment, and the darkness pulled back a little bit. I started coughin' so hard I thought my lungs were gonna shoot out of my mouth, but the air tasted so sweet it was almost worth the pain. I still couldn't open my eyes, but the voice, Hutch's voice, was close enough to touch.

"That's it, babe, keep it up. In and out. In and out."

Part of me wanted to laugh at him, to tell him I'd been breathin' by myself for nearly thirty years and to quit givin' instructions. Another part wanted to beg him to keep talkin', to crawl inside his voice and never come out.

Guess breathin' must've made me tired, 'cause I faded out again for a while. I dreamed we were back on the roof with Bellamy, only this time I couldn't lift my arm to fire my weapon. Bellamy laughed as he shot Hutch over and over, the same way he'd laughed when he used the needle on me. When he was finally finished, and Hutch was lyin' on the ground in a puddle of blood, he walked back to me and tossed the gun at my feet.

"Present for you, pig. Couldn't have done it without you."

My legs gave out on me and I dropped to my knees by my partner. There was blood everywhere, the ground, Hutch's leather jacket--even his hair was more red than yellow. His eyes were open real wide, like the time I surprised him with a brand new guitar to replace his old one. Only this time they weren't lookin' at me. And they never would.

I hadn't told him. There were things to say, stuff I needed to make sure he knew, and now I'd never get the chance. I tried to reach out and touch him, but I couldn't move my arms. My heart was bangin' away in my chest and I could hear an ambulance siren even though I'd never had a chance to...

"Hey, partner. 'Bout time you decided to join us."

I cranked my eyelids up enough to catch a blurry glimpse of blond hair and blue eyes. Lookin' at me.

Alive.

Relief hit me so hard that for a couple seconds I didn't even notice that the pain was back full force. I squinted, focusing enough to not only see Hutch's face, but the dark circles under his eyes. Just movin' my arm felt like liftin' a 100-pound weight, but I managed to reach up and drag the oxygen mask away from my mouth.

"Ya look terrible."

Jeez, was that really my voice? Sounded like a bullfrog with pneumonia. Hutch grinned at me, though.

"Yeah? Well you should take a look at your own ugly mug, buddy. You wouldn't win any beauty contests yourself." He reached over and put the mask back where it was. "Leave it alone, Starsk. You need it."

I was gonna tell him exactly what to do with that damn uncomfortable mask when we hit a bump that ran my insides through a blender. I bunched the sheet up in my fist and concentrated on not doin' anything embarrassing--like tryin' to puke up nothin' but air. Through the buzzing in my ears I heard Hutch doin' his Dobey imitation.

"Hey, take it easy, would you? We're headed for the hospital, not the demolition derby!"

That's my partner. Really knows how to win friends and influence people.

My guts were still sloshin' around from that pothole when I saw the paramedic pull out a hypo. I stared at it, still half-woozy from the pain, and all I could hear was Bellamy's laugh.

"Hutch, no. Don't...don't let him!"

The warmth of Hutch's hand covered my chest and he leaned in close, blocking out the needle. "It's all right, Starsk, he's just going to give you something for the pain."

That snapped me back to reality, but I still wasn't goin' for it. I remembered how stoned I felt after Cheryl's shot. I knew I didn't have much time left, and even though I was tired of hurtin', I couldn't afford to waste a minute. I grabbed for his arm, needin' to make him understand.

"Hutch...pain don't matter. Not much time...things to say."

He smiled at me, but I could see how tough it was for him to pull it off. "Game's not over till it's over, Starsk. I know how bad you're hurting. Take the drugs, you don't have anything to tell me that I don't already know."

I knew he was thinkin' about what Ma told me. Thing is, Ma was only half right. I knew my Pop realized I how much I loved him. Sometimes, though, you just need to hear it out loud. See, I'm pretty sure that's what was missin' around Hutch's house, and I'd like to set the record straight.

"Doesn't mean...shouldn't be said."

Warmth spread down my arm and through my body, turnin' the pain from a Great Dane into one of those yappy little furballs. I tried to stay awake but my eyes had other ideas. Last thing I heard was Hutch sayin' something about a steak dinner.

I was asleep before I could figure it out.

For just a minute when I woke up, I thought I'd dreamed the last twenty hours. I was layin' on the same bed, in the same room, with the same beepin' in my ear, and the same face lookin' into mine. Made me think of an old movie I watched on the late, late show once, where this mad scientist developed a ray gun that made you stuck in a certain moment of time, livin' it over and over again.

One look at the clock killed that theory.

"Detective Starsky, do you know where you are?"

Sayin' it would take way too much breath, so I just rolled my eyes. "Hospital."

The doc nodded. "Your partner's waiting outside. I'll let you see him for just a minute, but then we need to take you upstairs. We need to run some tests." He poked at his glasses.

"Sorry...'m late."

Franklin looked confused for a minute until he remembered my promise. Then he just looked uncomfortable. "We'll do everything we can, but there's not much time."

I shook my head. "Don't...blame you. Had...to take...a chance." I tried to smile. "Win some...lose some."

Felt like I was tryin' to suck air through a swizzle stick. The doc motioned to a nurse and she slapped a mask over my face. Something in my chest unscrewed half a turn and I could breathe a little easier. I lay there, ridiculously grateful, and for the first time I really accepted the fact that I was gonna die. I just didn't have nothin' left to fight it with any more.

The doc came back and gave me another shot, and I didn't even wonder what it was. Only thing I had energy left to care about was on the other side of the double doors.

Maybe thinkin' about him conjured him up, 'cause Hutch walked into the room a second later. I watched his face while Franklin found a nice way to say I was almost out of time. Hutch nodded his head like he understood, but I could see he wasn't buyin' any of it. Even after everything, with Bellamy on a slab in the morgue, Hutch wasn't givin' up.

That hurt me in places the drugs couldn't touch.

Hutch walked over then, and leaned in close so I could see his face. One hand slipped into mine and the other rested on my shoulder. Connected. I didn't want to lose that, but I knew we'd come to a fork in the road. And this time we were goin' separate ways.

"Hey, buddy. I...I have to go now."

The nurse had taken away the mask so I could talk, but the words wouldn't seem to come. "Okay."

I meant it. I was scared, and splittin' from Hutch just made it worse. But I trusted him to know what needed doin'. Problem was, Hutch didn't much look like he trusted himself. He started to pull away, so I gathered up all the breath I could.

"Hey."

A flea woulda sounded louder, but Hutch heard me. "Yeah?"

What do you say to someone who's made your world a better place? Who stuck by you when times couldn't possibly get any worse, and who celebrated with you when they couldn't possibly get any better? Someone you could always count on, even when everything else was fallin' to pieces. How can you put something into words that only makes sense in your heart?

But this was Hutch. I didn't have to.

He nodded and his fingers tightened. Somebody tapped him on the shoulder and he backed off, grumbling. He helped them move me onto another bed and someone covered me with a sheet. I caught a hazy glimpse of the Captain holding the door as they wheeled me out into the hall, then lost sight of them both.

I'd never felt more alone in my life.

Chapter 12

~~~~~~~~~~~
       Hutch
~~~~~~~~~~~

I have no memory of driving to Bellamy's apartment. My eyes were on the road, but my head and my heart were back in the hospital. Starsky's life rested in my hands now, thin and fragile as my grandfather's snow globe. Twenty years ago that treasure had been entrusted to my care and I'd dropped it, unable to save it from smashing to a thousand pieces on a hard oak floor.

I was terrified of making the same mistake.

Starsky had already given me his answer. I knew he was scared of dying alone in a hospital, surrounded by cold tile and strangers. But he'd let me go without protest, trusting me to help him the only way I knew how. Starsky doesn't give his trust easily, but when he does, it's with no holds barred. It warmed me and terrified me all at the same time.

When I got to Bellamy's place I took the stairs two at a time and pounded on the door. Even though in my opinion Vic's wife shared his guilt, Dobey had told me they'd been unable to find sufficient proof to charge her with anything. When she didn't answer right away I banged louder, not caring if I woke the entire building.

"Police! Open up!"

The door cracked open and I gave it a shove, causing her to stumble backwards. I pushed past and looked around the apartment, trying to figure out where Bellamy might've hidden evidence that would lead me to whoever hired him. His wife watched me with red-rimmed eyes, her hands cupping her elbows.

I glared at her. "I need information, and I need it now. Who hired Vic to poison my partner?"

Crocodile tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. "I don't know!"

I didn't have time or patience for her grieving widow act. I was standing near the kitchen, so I stalked inside and began yanking open drawers, looking for anything that might give me an answer. When my search yielded nothing but grocery bills, pens, paperclips, and string, I slammed them shut and started tossing the living room.

Mrs. Bellamy just stood where I'd left her, sobbing and babbling. "I'm sorry! Honest, I'm sorry! For Vic, and you, and me, and your partner."

Somehow I didn't really believe that she ranked herself third on that list. I tried to concentrate on searching but her sniveling set my teeth on edge. I snatched a box of receipts out of a drawer and kicked the door shut on my way past it.

"Stop being sorry!"

"I'm sorry, honest!"

Nothing. Little pieces of paper all over the damn house but none of them had anything to do with Starsky. I moved into the bedroom, ripping open more drawers while I felt like doing things I'd never done to a woman.

"Help me!" I carried a drawer back into the living room, sorting through slips of paper. "Vic wasn't smart enough to do this by himself. He had to have help, who helped him?"

"I don't know."

That tearful, helpless little voice wasn't fooling me a bit. The lady was a shark in a housedress, she just needed a push to show her teeth. "Who helped him!"

"I don't know!"

I dumped the drawer and lunged for her, digging my fingers into her arms and giving her a hard shake. "TELL ME!"

"I don't know his name!" The whiny little girl disappeared and I got my first glimpse of those pearly whites.

Now we were getting somewhere.

I spun her around and flung her down into an armchair, bracing a hand on each side to pin her in place. Starsky and I had taken turns being "bad cop" for years, but this time I wasn't playing a role.

"Tell me!"

She cringed, drawing her knees up to her chin, but her voice was hard as stone. "He hired Vic!"

"Who?"

"He had something to do with the University."

I slowly straightened, a chill scampering up and down my spine.

I stared down at Mrs. Bellamy, trying to throw off my shock and stay focused. "Jennings? Professor Jennings?"

Her eyes narrowed, her expression sullen. "I already told you, I don't know his name. He contacted Vic right after he got out of prison. Said he and Vic had something in common--a grudge against two pigs by the names of Starsky and Hutchinson. He told Vic it was payback time, and he knew just how to do it."

It was good, but not good enough. I leaned back into her face. "Why did he pick Vic? How did he know?"

Her lip curled in a snarl like a rabid dog. "What difference does it make? Vic is dead!"

My hand reflexively jerked toward her face but I caught it, stabbing a finger at her instead. "My partner isn't. Now answer the question!"

She flinched and cowered, turning back into a little girl. "I think I heard Vic say he knew the guy's son, okay? That's all I can tell you, I swear!"

I pulled back and headed for the door, sick of the sight of her. Before I left, though, I turned back. She was still sitting where I'd put her, arms hugging her folded legs and eyes hard.

"I may need you to make a statement, so I'd make damn sure I didn't go on any sudden trips if I were you."

I thought about Jerry Jennings all the way out to the University. The moments leading up to his death played across my mind like a movie screen, still technicolor clear in spite of the passage of time. What should have been a routine bust for pushing turned tragic because Jerry, his brain fried on methamphetamines, grabbed for my gun.

He'd died almost instantly, the bullet shattering his ribcage and shredding his heart. Internal Affairs had cleared me of any wrongdoing--even that bastard Simonetti couldn't find fault with my actions. In the police report I'd tried to downplay Jerry's nearly psychotic behavior to spare his father some heartache. Ironically, I'd done it at Starsky's suggestion.

When I reached Professor Jenning's house, Cheryl's car was already in the driveway. I winced, wishing I could spare her the ugly scene I knew was coming. I had no doubts that Cheryl was completely ignorant of her father's actions. She was a good person--intelligent, compassionate, and much more worthy of her father's attentions than her brother had been. I never quite figured out why the old man had such a blind spot when it came to his son.

I rang the bell, then knocked several times, unable to suppress my impatience. Cheryl opened the door, lines creasing her pale brow when she saw me on the front stoop.

"Hutch, what are you doing here?"

"Cheryl, I may need your help. Bear with me." I shouldered by her into the brightly-lit living room, noting that the Professor was fully dressed despite the odd hour. "I want to talk to your father."

Jennings met me halfway, his jaw tight with anger and a pipe clutched in one white-knuckled hand. "Detective Hutchinson! You're not welcome in my home."

I ignored his bluster. "We've gone way past that, Professor."

"Hutch, what are you talking about?" Cheryl's question held a note of bewilderment, and she put a restraining hand on my arm.

"Ask your father, he knows." I looked Jennings in the eye, gauging his reaction. "I just spoke with Vic Bellamy's widow."

"Vic Bellamy?" Cheryl's voice rose a notch, and it hit home again how much her presence was going to complicate matters.

I tore my eyes from the Professor's face to look at her. "That man that your brother was pushing dope for when he was killed." Cheryl's eyes widened, and her hand fell limply to her side.

Her father gestured at me with his pipe and stalked over to a desk. "You don't leave my house peaceably, I'm going to have to call the campus police."

I had a disjointed thought that the desk was a far cry from Starsky's organized chaos. Its surface was impeccably neat and paper free, a phone perched in one corner. I walked over so that we were squared off, the desk between us.

"You'll find them busy, Professor." I stabbed my finger at his chest, my own tight from the effort of keeping a leash on my fury. "They and some detectives are opening up your laboratory."

"But why?" Cheryl leaned in, insinuating herself between us by bracing her hands on the desk.

"They'll be looking for a poisonous compound injected into Starsky." I hesitated a beat, wishing I didn't have to say the rest. "Cheryl...your father is the man that wants to kill him."

"That's insane." Under her protest I heard it--the first small seed of doubt. I hated being the one to put it there. Starsky's pale, pain-riddled face flashed before my eyes and I shoved compassion out of the way.

"Yes, I guess it is," I agreed, locking my eyes onto the Professor's. Putting his actions into words and speaking them out loud made them more concrete. And added fuel to the flame of my own anger. "At least, that's what the defense attorneys will plead. But you see, Cheryl, your father contacted Vic Bellamy a few weeks ago after he got out of prison. The two of them held a grudge against me and Starsky. It was the perfect partnership, wasn't it, Professor?"

Jennings just looked at me, mouth curved with a hint of smugness.

Cheryl's eyes turned to saucers. "Dad, please, tell him it isn't so. Tell him!"

"Yes, Professor. Go on. Tell me."

The hint became a self-satisfied smirk. "Where did I make my mistake?"

I didn't owe him answers; he owed me. But I was willing to talk if it would convince him to save Starsky. "The compound itself. It was far too sophisticated for anyone as simple as Bellamy."

"Dad." Cheryl's broken whisper cut me like a knife, but her father didn't even seem to notice.

For the first time I saw real madness in those crafty eyes. It was difficult to maintain a poker face, to keep from licking my dry lips and evading that fanatical gaze.

"You'll not find anything in the lab." His voice was confident--triumphant, even.

My temper began to slip through my fingers. "Well then, they'll come here. They'll tear this..." Jennings eyes slithered away from mine to quickly pan the room, a dead giveaway that I'd hit a nerve. "It is here, isn't it? Of course it is, there's enough stuff for both Starsky and me."

Cheryl was nearly frantic, eyes wild and head shaking in denial. "Dad. Dad, please, what is this all..." She reached out to place a hand on her father's arm.

"NO, SHUT UP! Can't you ever keep your mouth SHUT!" The Professor knocked her arm away so that she staggered backward, one hand clamped over her mouth. From the callous way he treated her, she could have been a stranger.

Maybe she was.

I looked over my shoulder at the clock. 2:49. One more hour and it wouldn't make a difference whether Jennings came clean or not.

"Yeah." He sneered at me, face twisted. "You have it all figured out."

I nodded, deliberately countering with composure. "Yes."

"But why?" Cheryl pleaded.

The professor thrust out his jaw, eyes hard as steel. "Because they killed my son. They killed Jerry." The words dripped bitterness and venom.

I had to look away for a moment to keep my cool. This was why my partner lay in a hospital bed, dying? "Professor, you don't think for... You don't think we wanted to kill him, do you?"

A harsh jerk of his head affirmed my words. "I read your story in the police report."

"Dad, Hutch tried to protect you in that report! Jerry was an addict, stoned out of his mind constantly." Cheryl's response was a wail, betrayal and disappointment mingled with dismay.

"That's a lie," her father snapped.

"Sir, his mind had already been taken over. His brain was soup."

"No." Jennings was crumbling. He walked over to the desk chair and folded into it, bowed head shaking slowly back and forth. I kept after him, pressing my advantage.

"We tried to calm him down, we tried to bring him back to the house--it's in the report. He grabbed my gun; it went off accidentally. It's not his fault, he was spaced out!"

"STOP!" The Professor slammed his fist onto the blotter.

"Professor, I'm asking you. I'm begging you, PLEASE! Stop this before it's too late!" I'd passed the point of reasoning, reduced to begging a crazy old man for my partner's life.

"My boy is dead. He was a good boy."

My eyes skipped to the clock. It was a compulsion, like picking a scab. 2:50.

Jennings continued to babble, more to himself than to Cheryl or me. "He's dead!"

I bit my lip hard, hanging onto my temper by my fingernails. I tried to keep my voice calm and low. "I'm asking you to save my partner's life."

I could feel Cheryl over my shoulder, holding her breath. Her father stared at me, hesitating, then slowly pulled open the drawer in front of him and reached inside. When his hand emerged it was clutching an uncapped syringe, pointed at me. I'd seen that look on the faces of countless street punks. Cornered. Desperate.

Dangerous.

"Professor, give it to me." I stretched out my hand, hoping like hell he wasn't going to turn it into shish-kabob.

He cringed but didn't lower the needle.

"Give it to me."

The forceful approach obviously wasn't working. Jennings had recoiled from me as far as possible, the hand holding the syringe quivering. I softened my tone and raised my voice, working hard to appear non-threatening.

"Give it to me."

"Dad, PLEASE!"

At the sound of his daughter's plea, the Professor dropped his eyes and I snatched the hypo from his unresisting fingers. Victory and relief, pure and undistilled, hit me with a sweet rush like I hadn't felt since...

I ran for the door, leaving Cheryl to deal with the broken shell of her father.

~~~~~~~~~~~
      Starsky
~~~~~~~~~~~

White tile. Machines. Nurses. And lots of needles.

I was in a gray place--not awake, not asleep, hangin' in between. Somewhere there was still pain, bad pain, but it was too far away for me to care. My whole world narrowed down to just two things: breathin' and waitin' for Hutch to come back.

Both were getting' harder and harder to do.

I dreamed--daydreams, I guess, since I wasn't exactly sleepin'. Sometimes they were about stuff that really happened. Standin' in the street, lookin' down at the body of Lonnie Craig, a bright red puddle soakin' into the cement. Lyin' on a lumpy couch in an Italian restaurant, fightin' to keep my eyes open so I could toss a metal pitcher at the wall. Climbin' up a radio tower after Commander Jim, the wires biting into the palms of my hands, afraid to look down and see just how far off the ground we'd gotten.

Sometimes they were straight outta my fertile imagination. Chasin' a suspect through dark alleys and vacant lots for hours, never gettin' any closer. Showin' up in court to testify against a punk and developin' a weird case of laryngitis so I couldn't talk. Goin' home to visit Ma and findin' out she'd been dead and buried for years only somehow I didn't know it.

Crazy dreams that didn't always make much sense but had me wakin' up with the sheets balled up in my fists. They only had one thing in common, one piece that fit.

Hutch was there.

Not havin' him at my side while the doc and nurses were turnin' me into the incredible human guinea pig made it tough to find my way back from the gray place. I knew he was out there somewhere, lookin' for a miracle, but it was tough to think past white coats, beeping machines, and endless tests.

And I was so tired.

Once I think they let Captain Dobey in to see me for a few minutes. I got a hazy memory of brown skin and worried, dark eyes. Big, gentle hands and a gruff, no nonsense voice. Tellin' me to keep fightin'. That it was an order, and if I knew what was good for me, I'd listen up.

I tried to talk, to ask him how Hutch was doin' and when he'd be back, but my tongue felt thick and clumsy and I couldn't seem to gulp down enough air to use it. 'Fore I realized what was happening, the mask was back over my nose and Dobey was gone.

People were rushin' around me, fiddlin' with machines and the tubes and wires that connected me to 'em. All I could hear was the thumpin' of my heart and the wheezin' that air made as I tried to pull it into my lungs. My body felt like it didn't belong to me, my arms and legs 500-pound weights and my head stuffed with cotton.

I was tired.

Tired of the pain, constantly gnawin' my gut even when the drugs blunted its teeth. Tired of bein' poked and prodded--mask on my face, lights in my eyes, needles in my arms and wires on my chest. Tired of bein' surrounded by people but still feelin' alone.

Tired of fightin' for a miracle that wasn't gonna happen.

I expected darkness, the black velvet that had wrapped itself around me on the rooftop at Bellamy's place. Instead I was standin' in light, bright and golden, blindin' me like sun on water. I tipped my chin up, lettin' it warm my face as the hospital sounds faded slowly away to peaceful silence.

Laughter--a deep warm chuckle that echoed in the quiet. I recognized that sound even though I hadn't heard it for many years. My heart lurched sideways into my ribs and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

"P...Pop?" It came out in a whisper, shakin' as bad as my hands.

Fingers in my hair, rufflin' up the curls and then givin' 'em a tug. Only one person touched me that way, rough and gentle at the same time. I sucked in a sharp breath of air and found it laced with a familiar mixture of leather, gun oil, and cologne. I slowly turned around and found myself staring into blue eyes I'm told match my own.

He looked just the same, unchanged from that last night when I watched him walk out the door, slippin' his gun into his holster and whistlin' under his breath. He grinned at me, laugh lines around his mouth and a dimple in one cheek. Just the same.

"Whatsa matter, Curly? Now that you're a hotshot detective you can't give your pop hug?"

I launched myself at him and was wrapped in a bear hug that I'd waited twenty long years for. My eyes burned, my throat closed up... And I felt terrific. Bellamy, the poison--none of it mattered. For some reason I had a second chance, and I didn't want to blow it.

Pop stepped back and held me at arm's length, lookin' me over from head to toe. The corners of his mouth curled up and he cocked an eyebrow.

"Look at you, grown into a man. You were such a handful, there was times I thought you'd never make it that far. I been keepin' tabs on you, you know. Couple of times I wanted to reach down and give you a smack just to knock some sense into you, but you straightened out."

His words woke me up, reminded me that something funny was goin' on. I was standin' in the middle of nowhere, still wearin' a hospital gown and talkin' to a man who'd been dead twenty years. You can't get much stranger than that.

"Pop, how...where..."

He chuckled again and shook his head. "It's not what you think, David. You aren't in heaven, and there sure ain't nobody by the name of Bellamy or Wedell here either."

I stared, thinkin' how strange it felt to be lookin' eye to eye, not crankin' my neck back to see his face. "I don't understand."

His expression got serious. "You're not dead yet, son. Least not all the way."

"All the way? What the heck is that supposed to mean? How can you be part dead?"

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, something I remembered him doin' when he was tryin' to figure out what to say. "It's hard to explain. There's a place between Life and Death where the line is blurred--an in-between place."

I tilted my head at the emptiness around us. "This?"

Pop nodded. "That's why you can see me, and why I had to talk to you. Death is real close, David. You feel that, don't you?"

I swallowed hard, all the spit dryin' up in my mouth. "Yeah. I guess I do. Did you come to take me with you? Is that why you're here?"

Pop's smile looked a little sad, but he slung an arm around my shoulders. "No, Curly. I'm here to send you back."

That threw me. I looked around, soakin' up the stillness and the peace. My father's smile and the warmth of his arm across my back. And I remembered pain. Fear. Loneliness.

"Pop, what if I don't..." My voice wobbled and broke. "Don't you want me to stay with you?"

He dropped his arm, turning so that he faced me again. "David, there's nothin' I'd like better than that. Don't ever think I'm not countin' the days until we can be together again. But this isn't the time."

I dropped my eyes to try and hide the tears, but he must've seen 'em anyway. "I know you're scared, Curly. I know you're tired and hurtin'. But there's other people back there that still need you. Right now you belong with them."

"Hutch!" I was amazed and a little ashamed that I hadn't thought about my partner even once since findin' myself in that crazy place.

Pop nodded and one corner of his mouth turned up. "You two get into enough trouble together. Hate to think what might happen if you left him on his own." The smile flattened out and he looked at me with the stern, "I'm the father" expression I remembered from countless reprimands when I was a kid. "He's bustin' his tail to save you, David. You can't give up."

He was right. As soon as I accepted it, I felt the tug of the hospital room drawing me back and the light around me wavered and dimmed. Suddenly I remembered some unfinished business.

"Wait! One more minute! Pop, there's something you gotta know, something I never had the chance to say."

He shook his head, rollin' his eyes a little. "David, ain't you been listenin'? There's nothin' you've got to tell me that I don't already know."

"Okay, okay, I get that. Just bear with me and let me say it anyway, all right?"

He chuffed a little laugh. "All right, Curly. I'm all ears."

I took a deep breath and blew it out through my nose. "I love you, Pop. You were a good dad--the best. All I ever wanted was to be like you, to make you proud of me. I just wanted you to know that I..."

He cut me off by reachin' out to touch my face, his palm resting on my cheek and his fingers threaded through my hair. "David. Son..." He paused, and I was stunned to see him blinkin' back tears. I'd never, ever seen my pop cry. When he went on, his voice was soft, but steady. "You're the man I always hoped you'd be. I couldn't be more proud."

The pull got stronger and he dropped his hand. Suddenly his body looked thin, almost transparent and his voice sounded far away. "Take care of your mother, David, she needs you too. And give her and Nicky my love..."

The light flickered and died, snuffed out by the blackness I'd been expectin' all along.

Chapter 13

~~~~~~~~~~~
      Hutch
~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a good thing Starsky couldn't see me after I left Professor Jenning's house. I drove like a bat out of hell, taking full advantage of the empty streets and the Torino's powerful engine. Pressing the gas pedal to the floor on the open highway. Screeching around corners on two wheels when I hit the city. And doing it all one-handed while I tried to track down Dobey and Dr. Franklin.

Starsky would've been seriously pissed.

Turned out Dobey was at Memorial, so I had the dispatcher relay a message, asking him to notify Franklin I was coming in with a sample of the poison so that he could have his lab techs ready. The clock on the dashboard read 3:11 when I pulled up to the emergency room entrance, and my hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped the syringe. I slammed the gearshift into park and left the engine running, not even bothering to close the door.

A nurse was waiting. She took one look at me, carefully pried the hypo from my fingers, and sprinted down the hallway. Looking back, I'm not sure whether the rush was to save Starsky or to put as much distance as possible between herself and the wild-eyed blond man packing a gun.

That would be me.

Before I could try to follow, Dobey was at my side, taking me by the elbow and steering me over to a row of those damn plastic chairs. I was so strung out from stress and worry that he had me halfway toward parking my butt in one before I realized what I was doing. I shook off his hand and tried to walk away.

"How's Starsky? I have to talk to Franklin!"

Dobey stepped in front of me, a solid wall of captain. "Hold on..."

I dodged, furious at being kept from my goal. "Get out of my way, Captain, it's been a long day and the last thing I need is..."

"HUTCHINSON! SIT DOWN!"

Dobey's roar could've awakened patients on the second floor. For all I know, maybe it did. Not being a fool, I shut my mouth and sat. We glared at each other for a minute while he worked one large finger into the knot of his tie and loosened it, then claimed the chair next to mine.

"I just talked to the doctor." His voice did a 180-degree turn, gentleness replacing force. "They've got Starsky in a treatment room, prepping him for the antidote. He promised to come get us as soon as there's any news."

Something in his eyes made my mouth go dry and my heart stutter. "Did you see him? How is he?"

Dobey bit his lip and his eyes slid away from mine. "Hutch, I think you should be prepared for the possibility that..."

I cut him off with an upraised hand. "How. Is. He?"

"He went into respiratory failure and they had to put him on a machine to help him breathe. The doctor says he's putting up a helluva fight, but he's very weak."

All I could do was nod to show I understood. The giddy rush of adrenaline from my confrontation with the Professor was depleted, and exhaustion and depression seemed to be all I had left. I couldn't even summon the energy to feel angry about the way I'd been cheated out of my storybook ending.

I dropped my head back against the wall with a thud and closed my eyes. It was out of my hands now. Funny, but the thought didn't give me a feeling of relief, only despair.

I sat in that lousy chair and waited for the entire course of my life to be decided by one curly-haired cop with a passion for bad horror movies. There were no distractions now, no leads to run down, no bad guys to bust. Nothing to do but contemplate my life without him in it. I grit my teeth and tried to picture it, even though it felt like pouring salt into an open wound. Tried to imagine someone else filling the holes Starsky would leave in my life. Cruising the streets and watching my back. Taunting me about my car and competing with me for a pretty lady. Playing practical jokes on Dobey and shooting pool with Huggy.

I tried, but I couldn't do it. Those holes in my life were all Starsky-shaped--nothing, and nobody could fill them the way he did.

I'm not sure how much time passed. Long enough for Dobey to quit nagging me about eating something and to bring me two cups of the worst coffee I'd ever tasted. My head ached, my eyeballs felt like ground glass, and I was jittery from far too much caffeine and far too little sleep. When Franklin rounded the corner I popped up on my feet before Dobey could blink.

"How is he?"

Franklin tilted his head in the direction from which he'd come. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

I swallowed hard and glanced at the Captain, who raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to go ahead. The doctor led me down a corridor, through a set of double doors, and into a room nearly identical to the one my partner had occupied earlier. Starsky, more beeping machinery, and another nurse. I blinked and scrubbed at my eyes, the feeling of déjà vu so strong that for a moment I felt dizzy.

Full circle and here we were again, but this time I could sense a difference. In the peaceful set of Starsky's sleeping face. In the quiet, relaxed movements of the nurse. And most of all, in the suggestion of a curve to Franklin's lips. He walked over to consult with the nurse, returning with a medical chart in his hands and smile lines around his eyes.

"We started adding the antidote to his IV an hour ago and he's already breathing on his own." He looked down at the chart. "Two cc's hydrochloride, 1 cc bromoacetone, 4 cc's benzylcyanide, 1 cc diphenylamide." He flipped the chart shut and smiled for the first time since the whole nightmare began. "Yes, I think your friend's going to make it."

The invisible fist released my chest, flooding me with the relief of a death row inmate handed a stay of execution. I touched his shoulder.

"Thank you, Doctor."

The words hung in the air, pitifully weak and inadequate, but Franklin nodded and moved off to talk with the nurse. I looked down at Starsky, his face pale and drawn, eyes shadowed, but giving off an unmistakable aura of peace.

Alive.

My eyes slipped shut and I offered up a semi-coherent prayer to a God I'm not even sure I believe in anymore.

I had the strangest sensation that I heard a low chuckle in reply.

Doctor Franklin finished giving instructions to the nurse, who promptly began disconnecting Starsky from several machines. "We're going to move him upstairs now, to the ICU. We'll continue to keep a close eye on him there until we're sure he's stabilized. If all goes well, he'll be in a regular room by tonight."

I nodded, unable to pull my eyes from my partner's face. "When can he go home?"

Franklin chuckled and shook his head. "I think we'll have to take things a step at a time. I can't say I've ever dealt with a patient quite like Detective Starsky."

I grinned. "He is unique."

The nurse stepped back and an orderly took her place, releasing the brake that immobilized the gurney. Franklin held open the door so that Starsky could be wheeled into the hallway.

"Give us a few minutes to get him settled. After that you can sit with him for a while if you'd like." He started to follow the gurney, but paused and looked back at me with an inscrutable expression. "If you'd asked two hours ago, I'd have said your partner didn't have a chance of making it. I've never seen anyone fight harder to hold onto life. It's almost as if he knew you were coming."

Franklin didn't wait for an answer, which was a good thing since my heart had suddenly crawled up into my throat, making speech impossible. I stood alone in the treatment room, taking slow, deep breaths for a long time before I was ready to find Dobey and give him the good news.

An hour later I was sitting in a chair almost identical to the one in the ER, with a notable exception--it was beside Starsky's bed in the ICU. I'm not sure what Franklin had told the nursing staff, but a friendly nurse named Margaret, who couldn't have been a day under 60, had settled me in with a pillow and reassurances that I was exempt from the normal visiting restrictions and could stay as long as I liked.

I watched my partner sleep, fully intending to remain alert myself. Dr. Franklin had warned me that Starsky was heavily medicated for pain and not likely to regain consciousness for some time, but after the grueling ordeal of the last 26 hours I found it hard to let down and relax. It had been close--too close. Part of me wanted to savor the moment of respite as Starsky began the upward swing toward healing. Part of me was still expecting the other shoe to drop.

I was awakened by the twitch of long fingers beneath my own, not even realizing I'd drifted off. My neck felt like a bent coathanger and my mouth tasted of stale coffee and tears. I blinked and sat up straight, running a hand down my face. Starsky's fingers curled around mine and his eyelids fluttered. Margaret bustled in a moment later.

"He's waking up!" I announced, probably sounding like Starsky had just won the Nobel Peace Prize or set an Olympic record.

She smiled and checked first his pulse and then the I.V. "I noticed. I saw the jump in his vital signs on the monitor at the nurses' station." For the first time I heard the hint of a brogue in her voice and noticed auburn mingled in her predominantly gray hair. She leaned over, modifying her voice so that it was low and soothing. "David, can you wake up for me? There's someone here who's anxious to talk with you."

Starsky's eyes opened a crack, slipped shut, and then slowly lifted to half-mast. Even from a distance I could see they looked glazed and unfocused. Margaret's warm smile blossomed, and it suddenly struck me that she must've been a knockout in her younger days.

"Hello, David. Welcome back."

Starsky slowly blinked and mumbled a word I couldn't understand in a raspy, creaky voice.

"I'll be taking care of you, sweetheart. My name is Margaret, but you can call me Maggie. You're still pretty sick, but you're doing much better."

I watched her as she spoke to him, the way she kept her movements gentle and slow so as not to cause him pain or startle him. I recalled Starsky's earlier complaint about nurses, and was grateful that this time, at least, he'd gotten a bona fide angel. Starsky lay passively while Maggie finished recording his blood pressure, still more asleep than awake despite the raised eyelids.

"I've got a surprise for you, David," she said. "Look who's here."

She stepped aside so that I could stop hovering over her shoulder and move into Starsky's line of vision. At first he just squinted blankly, and I had a brief moment of panic, wondering if the poison's devastating effects on his body had included brain damage. Fortunately, my alarm was short lived. His eyes locked onto mine and sharpened, losing a little of their vagueness. A crinkling of the skin around them, and the barest curve to his lips, seemed to be the closest thing to a smile he could manage.

"Hutch." Little more than a puff of air, paper thin and fragile.

"Hey, buddy." My throat closed up before I could say more, so I just stood there and grinned at him like an idiot.

"Took you...so long?"

I slid one hip carefully onto the bed and rested my hand lightly on his chest, relishing its steady, effortless rise and fall. "Stopped for a pizza."

He chuffed out a weak little laugh, winced, and reached a shaky hand to his throat. "Hurts."

Maggie, who'd been quietly observing us, slipped a plastic cup of crushed ice and a spoon into my hand. "His throat is sore from the tube. Go easy on the ice, his stomach won't be able to tolerate much yet." She patted my shoulder. "He's doing fine, so I'll leave you two alone. Don't let him talk too much, and don't worry if he doesn't make sense. He's apt to be pretty fuzzy from the drugs."

I'm usually more reserved than my exuberant partner, but I guess the euphoria from knowing Starsky was going to be all right got to me. I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thanks, Maggie. You're beautiful."

She flashed me the impish grin of a young girl. "Aye, that's what all the handsome young men tell me. I'll be right outside if you need me. Just buzz."

I turned to find two solemn blue eyes watching me with a foggy, bemused intensity. I rooted around in the cup for a small spoonful of ice and held it to Starsky's lips.

"Here, Starsk. It'll help your throat."

He let me feed him five or six spoonfuls of the ice, mouth opening as obediently as baby bird's, eyes slipping shut in bliss as it melted and ran down his abused throat. The silence between us was easy, comfortable, and I felt the tightly coiled spring inside of me slowly begin to unwind. Something about being able to perform that one small kindness for my partner healed me in places I hadn't realized were injured.

By the time he consumed the seventh spoonful, Starsky's eyelids were beginning to droop, so I set aside the cup.

"Tired." More of a sigh than a spoken word.

I tucked the blanket under his chin. "You've got a right to be. Had a busy day."

One corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided little smirk. It quickly faded, however, and a line appeared between his brows. "Poison?"

I knew what he was asking and I didn't want to open up that can of worms. Not with him just this side of Death's door. I patted his chest. "I'll tell you the whole story later. Point is, we caught the bad guy and you're going to be okay."

He peered up at me from under those lashes. "You."

"Huh?"

A deep breath, and the words were a little more slurred. "You...got the bad guy. Didn't do...nothin'."

I shook my head, eyes stinging, and tucked a stubborn curl back from his eyes. "You did the hardest job of all, babe. You held on."

His eyes slid shut and he smiled. "Nah...was easy. Pop tol' me...you were comin'."

I stared at him, dumbfounded, while he slipped into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~
      Starsky
~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time the light came, I was almost afraid to open my eyes. Would I be back in the "in-between place" with Pop? Standin' in front of the pearly gates, tryin' to fast talk my way inside? I kept real still and took inventory.

I was layin' down, not standin', the softness of a pillow under my head. Soft, steady beeps came from somewhere over my left shoulder. But the dead giveaway was the sour smell, like Bactine and old piss.

Man, if heaven smelled like that I might just volunteer to go stoke the furnace.

It was about then that I felt something warm and heavy coverin' my left hand. I wriggled my fingers a little and struggled to pry open my eyelids. A voice spoke in my ear, soft and musical. I couldn't understand what it was sayin', but it made me curious enough to work harder at openin' my eyes. After a couple of tries I managed to keep 'em propped halfway, though it didn't do me much good. All I could see was a confusin' jumble of shapes and colors, like puzzle pieces spilled out of the box and not put together. The pain in my chest was gone, but it had played a dirty trick and migrated to my throat, which felt like raw hamburger.

"Hello, David. Welcome back."

The pieces started to fit together, and I could make out a smiling face under a white cap. I tried to ask who she was, what was goin' on, but the words came out as mixed up as the colors had been. She just smiled and kept talkin' to me. I knew the drill by now, and I braced myself, expectin' the orders, the poking and jabbing, pushin' and pullin'.

They never came. Her voice stayed quiet and sweet, and her hands were slow and gentle. She told me I could call her Maggie, and that she was gonna take care of me. For just a minute, I started thinkin' maybe I'd made a mistake, maybe I was in heaven after all. Maggie sure seemed like my own personal angel.

"David, I've got a surprise for you. Look who's here."

My angel's face was gone and another took its place, too fast for me to track.

I squinted hard at the blue and yellow blobs in front of me, and after a minute they shifted into place. It was like comin' home after a long trip.

"Hutch."

Sounded like the voice of a ninety-year-old man, but Hutch's face lit up like a candle. "Hey, buddy."

Liftin' one corner of my mouth was easier than two, so I settled for a crooked smile. "Took you...so long?"

Hutch was right there with me, didn't miss a beat. "Stopped for a pizza."

I wasn't expectin' the laugh that ambushed me. Small as it was, just a little puff of air, really, it still set fire to my throat. I couldn't help grabbin' at it.

"Hurts."

Maggie said something to Hutch and handed him a little plastic cup and spoon. Even though I could hear the words, I couldn't keep up with 'em. Felt like everyone else was playin' at 78 rpm, and I was stuck on 33. As I watched, Hutch grabbed her hand to give it squeeze, then blushed at her reply. 'F I didn't know better, I'd've sworn Hutch was flirtin' with my angel.

Maggie left and Hutch dug around in the cup with the spoon. He held it up to my mouth and I could feel coldness against my lips.

"Here, Starsk. It'll help your throat."

I wasn't too keen on the idea of swallowin' anything, but I opened up anyway. Little hunks of something wet and freezing cold slipped onto my tongue. Ice chips. I let 'em melt and trickle down my throat, almost purring 'cause it felt so good. When Hutch held out the spoon again I was only too happy to take some more.

For a while, that's how it went--Hutch scoopin' up more ice chips and spoonin' 'em into my mouth; me layin' there and lettin' him do it. Normally I'd never of put up with bein' fed like a baby; it pisses me off when Hutch gets overprotective and acts like my mother.

But after the last 24 hours from hell, nothin' was normal. I was so tapped out just liftin' my arm felt like runnin' a marathon. And Hutch? In spite of the big, goofy grin on his face, he looked like a rubberband stretched tight enough to snap.

We both needed that time--no thinkin', no talkin', just soakin' up some peace and quiet. It gave me a chance to find my way back. To shake off the last little bits of that in-between place and pick up my life. It gave Hutch the chance to stop and let the good news sink in. To see that he'd passed the finish line a couple miles back and it was time to quit runnin'.

I must've started to fall asleep, 'cause suddenly the spoon was gone and gentle hands were tuggin' at the sheets.

"Tired."

"You've got a right to be. Had a busy day." Hutch's voice was just as warm and comfortable as the blanket he tucked under my chin. The sharp edge was gone; he sounded like himself for the first time since Bellamy poisoned me.

Poison. Bellamy. How in the hell did he come up with an antidote when our buddy Vic was imitatin' a Popsicle in the morgue? I pushed aside the sleepiness and concentrated on makin' my tongue work.

"Poison?"

Okay, it wasn't brilliant, but it was short and to the point. I knew Hutch would get what I was askin'.

Blondie thinks he's clever, but I can read him like a book. His face tightened up for a minute, and I knew he was decidin' how much to tell me. Actin' like my mother again, but I was too tired to care.

He patted my chest. "I'll tell you the whole story later. Point is, we caught the bad guy and you're going to be okay."

We. Yeah, right. More I thought about it, the guiltier I felt. I'd risked Hutch's life by makin' him drag me along during the investigation. If Bellamy'd shot him back on that roof, I'd've never forgiven myself.

'Course, I wouldn't've had too long to be wallowin' in blame.

"You." I was gettin' good at one word sentences. Unfortunately, Hutch wasn't followin' me.

"Huh?"

I sucked in a breath of air and tried again. It was like talkin' around a wad of peanut butter. "You...got the bad guy. Didn't do...nothin'."

He blinked hard and shook his head. Loopy as I was, I could still see he was just a step away from tears. He reached over and brushed a lock of hair outta my eyes that I hadn't even realized was buggin' me. "You did the hardest job of all, babe. You held on."

*Ah, Hutch. You'll never know how close I came to lettin' go.*

I thought about Pop. How he was still just like I'd remembered him. How he'd seemed content and happy. How even though I couldn't see him, he was with me. And even though we couldn't be together, I'd made him proud.

Best of all, I'd gotten to tell him something I'd been holdin' inside me for twenty long years.

I smiled, and gave up on holdin' my eyes open. "Nah...was easy. Pop tol' me...you were comin'."

I let myself slide toward sleep, knowin' two of the people I loved best were watchin' over me.

Chapter 14

~~~~~~~~~~~
      Starsky
~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later the doc finally let Hutch spring me from the hospital. Huh. Might as well say spring me from the slammer, there wasn't a big difference. I was so fed up by then I'd've done just about anything to get out. The food was worse than Hutch's health glop and they wouldn't let him smuggle me a burger. The television stuck on one channel that showed nothin' but nature documentaries. The damn white dress they made me wear kept bunchin' up around my waist when I tried to sleep and flapped open in back when I went to take a leak. And everywhere I turned people were tellin' me what I could and couldn't do--even my partner.

Problem was, even though I was mentally ready to take on the world, physically I still needed a lot of help. Just doin' a simple little thing like gettin' myself dressed wore me out so much I had to sit back down on the bed. I kept tellin' myself I should be grateful just to be breathin'--and I was--but it didn't stop the frustration or brighten my lousy mood.

"Hey there! All ready to be leaving us, I see."

Maggie stood in the doorway, arms folded, a big smile on her face. The only bad part about gettin' out of the ICU to a regular room was losin' her as my nurse. She'd drop by several times a day, though, to check up on me. Once she even brought me a frozen juice bar from Pediatrics. Said if little kids havin' their tonsils out deserved 'em, I did too.

"Hutch is comin' to get me." I waved her inside and she perched on the bed next to me. "Can't wait to blow this joint." I grinned at her. "No offense intended."

She chuckled. "None taken. It's the way of it, you know, part of the healing. A few months from now and you'll have put us all right out of your mind."

I nudged her with my shoulder and winked. "Nah, not all of ya. Couldn't forget my Irish Rose." During one of her visits Maggie had told me about growin' up in a small town near Dublin, where her sister still lived.

The chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh and she patted my knee. "Now, David. You'd best be saving that charm for the young girls, don't you think?"

"Careful, Maggie. Don't encourage him." Hutch leaned against the doorjamb, smiling at us.

I lowered my voice. "Don't listen to him, Maggie. He's always tryin' to steal a pretty lady from me."

Hutch snorted and walked into the room. "Trying?"

Maggie shook her head and stood up, pursing her lips to try and hide a smile. "I'd say you both are nothing but trouble and I'm well rid of you." She looked at Hutch. "Take care of him, Kenneth. Just don't forget to take care of yourself while you're at it." When she turned back to me she frowned and shook her finger, but I could see she was teasin'. "And you! Don't be undoing our hard work with your own stubbornness. I don't want to see you back here because you didn't know when to ask for help."

I stood up and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Maggie. You're one in a million."

She smiled at me and then Hutch as he took her hand. "Aye, so I've been told."

Once she disappeared out the door, Hutch cocked an eyebrow at me. "Well, partner, you ready to rejoin the rest of the world?"

I rolled my eyes. "You got no idea. Let's go before they change their minds."

Hutch turned toward the door, but when I started to follow he held up a hand. "Hang on, I'll be right back."

I wasn't sure what he was up to, but my legs were already startin' to feel a little wobbly, so I propped myself against the bed and tried to be patient. I didn't have to wait long. He was back a second later, wearin' a big grin and pushin' a wheelchair.

"Your chariot awaits."

I glared at him and folded my arms. "I am not ridin' in that. I happen to have two legs and there ain't a damn thing wrong with either one."

Hutch straightened up and put his hands on his hips. "Starsky, this isn't my idea and you don't have a choice. Hospital policy says you go out in one of these or you don't go out at all." His voice stayed real calm and reasonable, like a parent talkin' to a toddler throwin' a tantrum. 'Course that just made me madder.

"Well it's a stupid policy, I ain't some kind of invalid!"

In the back of my mind I knew I was bein' unreasonable, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. Ever since the poisoning I'd lost control of my life. My body's betrayal not only kept me from takin' care of myself, it left me useless to Hutch, too. To him, gettin' in that wheelchair might be no big deal, but to me it was the straw that broke the camel's back. And the camel was pissed.

"It's only as far as the front door. After that you can kiss it good-bye. C'mon, get in the chair." Still patient, no sign of temper even though I was bein' an ass. Just another reminder things weren't the way they were supposed to be.

I pushed myself away from the stability of the bed and started for the door, givin' the wheelchair and Hutch a wide berth. "Forget it. I'm outta here. You ride in that thing if you're so fond of it."

Hutch snagged me by the arm and for the first time I saw a spark of anger in his eyes. "Stop being a baby! The hospital..."

Wrong choice of words. In fact, he couldn't've picked worse if he'd been trying. I jerked my arm out of his grasp, too furious to recognize what a stupid move it was. "Screw the hospital, and screw you! I'll take a cab home."

I had about three seconds to watch hurt flicker across Hutch's face before the dizziness slammed into me, my feet tangled together, and my legs folded up.

And just like always, Hutch was there.

He lunged for me, catching me under the arms and hauling me back upright. "Damn it, Starsky, what the hell is wrong with you? You want to check back in with a concussion?"

It was the first honest anger he'd shown me in three days and I was too far gone to appreciate it. My fingers were knotted in his jacket, my forehead was pressed against his shoulder, and I was desperately trying not to prove him right by bawlin'.

Hutch must've sensed what was goin' on, because his tone shifted from mad to bewildered. "Starsk?"

I couldn't look at him. "I just want my life back, Hutch. To eat what I want, when I want. To be able to do a simple thing like put on clothes without needin' to stop and rest. If I can't sleep, I want to stay up late and watch a movie, not take a pill. To be alone for longer than fifteen minutes without someone checkin' on me. I want..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang on."

Hutch shifted so that I could sit down on the bed, then joined me. His expression was so gentle and sympathetic I had to look out the window.

"Starsky, three days ago you almost died. Ask any doctor or nurse in this hospital and they'll say you're a walking miracle. Cut yourself, and the rest of us, a little slack."

I watched an airplane fade in and out of some fluffy white clouds. "'S not my miracle, Hutch. You conjured it up all on your own."

I felt him go still, and I could almost hear the gears turnin'. "What's really bugging you, Starsk? Level with me."

I shrugged and shook my head. "Nothin'. C'mon, let's go. I'll get in the damn chair."

Hutch's arm across my chest stopped me. "Try again."

Great. Now he was gonna tell me when I had to talk? I shoved his arm out of the way but it was back before I could move. I was in no shape to fight him, and we both knew it.

"Talk to me." Quiet. Patient.

God, I was gonna go out of my mind if he didn't stop treatin' me with kid gloves!

"See? That's just what I'm talkin' about! You don't even get mad at me when I deserve it; you take my shit and never call me on it! I'm not made of glass, Hutch. When I screw up I expect you to tell me, same as always."

Hutch stared at me through my outburst, a little line between his eyebrows that got deeper the more I yelled. When I finally ran outta steam he gave a little shake of his head.

"Okaaaay. How about you let me in on just when you're supposed to have screwed up."

I didn't want to talk about it, especially not there, but I'd just painted myself into a corner. I grit my teeth and looked him straight in the eye.

"How 'bout when I almost got you killed?"

His jaw dropped. "What?"

The fact that he had absolutely no idea what I was talkin' about just made me madder. "Hutch, Bellamy was three seconds away from wasting you right in front of me! I never should've been out on the streets with you; I was in no shape for it. My inability to back you up almost got you killed!"

Hutch gaped at me for a minute longer, then slid off the bed. He paced to the end of the room and then returned to stand in front of me, rubbin' the back of his neck.

"Have you really been stewing over this for three days?" When I didn't answer he pulled his hand down his face and shook his head. "Starsk, you gave me all the back up I needed. You saved my life!"

I couldn't stand to hear him put it that way. "It was a lucky shot! I could barely see, I could just as easily..."

"It was what we do!" Hutch's razor sharp reply cut me off. He made a soft noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "We put ourselves on the line for each other. That's why we're so good at the job. Starsk, when I needed you, you were there. Just like I knew you'd be."

His words filled a hole, a souvenir from Bellamy that Dr. Franklin couldn't heal. I couldn't give up quite so easily, though.

"Yeah, well, I still shouldn't've been out there in the first place."

Hutch smiled and braced a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe not. Of course, we both know I'd never do something like that." The corners of his mouth twitched.

And suddenly I remembered. Hutch, still sufferin' from withdrawal and weak as a kitten. Insisting he was well enough to meet that two-timin' snitch Mickey, and nearly gettin' us killed as a result.

Okay, so we were both stubborn idiots. Why did that make me feel so much better?

I snorted and slid off the bed, carefully settling myself in the chair. "Let's go, Blondie."

It took Hutch three tries to figure out how to release the brakes on the wheels so we'd move forward and not in little circles. I didn't even try to be nice about it.

"Sure you don't want me to drive?"

"Very funny. You know, just because you have some irrational dislike of my car, doesn't mean I can't drive anything on wheels better than you, even that striped tomato. You should've seen me when..."

I waited but he didn't finish. "I should've seen you when--what?"

"Never mind."

I shrugged. There was probably something there I should know, but I'd worry about it later. Hutch maneuvered me out the door and down the hallway to the elevator.

"Starsk?"

"Yeah?"

"Checked the TV listings this morning. There's a Bela Lugosi marathon on channel 5 tonight."

And that's why he's my best friend. He hears me, even when I'm not makin' a lot of sense.

"Yeah?"

"That's right."

I tilted my head back so I was lookin' at him upside down. "Pizza and beer?"

We'd reached the elevator. Hutch walked around me to punch the button, then leaned against the wall facing me. "Popcorn with salt--no butter--and rootbeer."

I grinned at him. "I can live with that."

The elevator was empty, thank God, so Hutch had no trouble gettin' the wheelchair inside. We were almost to the main floor when I remembered something I had to do.

"Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

"When we get to your place, I need to call Ma."

His hand came down on my shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "Got a lot to tell her, huh?"

"Yeah."

The doors opened and Hutch was quiet as he wheeled me out into the hallway. When he finally did speak up, his voice was soft and unsure.

"Starsk?"

"Yeah?"

"You know what you said in the ICU? About knowing I was coming?"

I wondered when he was gonna ask me. And I wanted to tell him. I just wasn't quite ready.

"Yeah."

"You ever going to talk to me about that?"

I nodded without lookin' up at him. "Yeah. I am. I just need a little more time."

I heard the smile in his answer. "You've got it."

We turned a corner and started down the long corridor that would take us to the front doors and Hutch slowed down a little. Just when I was gonna ask him to quit messin' around and get us outta there, he leaned over.

"Hey, Starsk? Did you know if you build up enough speed, it's possible to do a wheelie in one of these chairs?" The low, evil tone of his voice warned me I was about to find out.

"That's real interesting, Hutch, but I don't think it's such a good idea. I mean, like you said before, I practically died a few days ago and I'm still a convalescent..."

"Hang on, buddy. I'll show you just how good a driver I am."

"Hutch, you don't gotta prove nothin' to me, I already... HUUUUUUUUTCH!"

~~~~~~~~~~~
      Hutch
~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later I finally had the go ahead from Dr. Franklin to take Starsky home--well, home to my place, anyway. Even though he was doing better every day, he was still weak and needed a lot of help. To tell you the truth, I didn't mind. I'd come as close as you could get to losing him. Having him back was a gift, even if it meant taking care of him and putting up with his moodiness until he could get on his feet.

And he was moody--no doubt about it. One minute he was his old self, flirting with the nurses and trying to coax me into smuggling a hamburger to him. The next he was quiet and withdrawn, not talking unless I asked him a question, giving me one-syllable answers. When I'd pumped a nurse for information, she'd told me he was having some trouble sleeping, and that even though he wouldn't admit it, she was pretty certain he'd been suffering from nightmares.

So when I bumped into Dr. Franklin on my way to Starsky's room, it seemed like the perfect chance to voice my concerns without my partner knowing I was checking up on him.

"Dr. Franklin?"

He looked up from the chart he was signing and smiled, an expression I still wasn't used to seeing on his face. "Detective Hutchinson. Here to take your partner home?"

I shook his extended hand. "Yeah, I'm headed there now. Do you have a minute?"

He flipped the chart shut and gave me his complete attention. "Is there a problem? I signed Detective Starsky's release papers this morning."

"No. Well, maybe. I'm a little worried about him."

Franklin's quizzical expression smoothed into understanding. "I realize he's still quite weak, but he's made amazing progress. Just give him a little more time and..."

I held up a hand and shook my head. "Not about that. I can see that physically he's improving, more every day. It's..." I rubbed the back of my neck, searching for the right words. "He's been quiet, distant. Sometimes I can't get more than two words out of him. It's not like Starsky." I chuckled. "Usually I can't get him to shut up. And the nurses tell me he's been having nightmares and trouble sleeping. I just..." I sighed, wondering if I sounded ridiculous. "I'm just concerned, that's all."

Franklin nodded and I was relieved to see empathy and not amusement in his eyes. "Detective, I don't have to tell you how close we came to losing your partner. You've earned the right to worry a little."

I chuffed a weak laugh and he continued. "Having said that, I can reassure you that the behavior you're seeing from your friend is completely normal, considering the circumstances. His body has been through a severe trauma. It's understandable that there will be psychological repercussions as well as physical. The mood swings, the nightmares--just give him some time. As he grows stronger and we continue to cut back on the drugs, I'm sure you'll see them disappear."

It was what I'd been telling myself, but hearing it from the doctor lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. I shook Franklin's hand again.

"Thank you, doctor. For everything. Now I'd better run. If I'm late Starsky's going to..."

I glanced up at the clock, not even realizing that I'd stopped speaking. For one terrible moment time rolled backwards, Starsky was dying, and I was desperately racing to save his life.

I'd been having a few nightmares of my own.

Franklin's hand on my arm pulled me back. "Give yourself some time too, Detective. Your partner isn't the only one to survive a trauma."

By the time I got to Starsky's room I'd regained my equilibrium. One of the nurses had given me the go ahead to take him out to the car, as long as I obeyed the wheelchair rule. I knew Starsky wouldn't like it, but I figured he'd be too happy about leaving to make a fuss.

Starsky was flirting with Maggie when I stepped in the door. I just watched them for a minute, pleased to see my partner looking so cheerful. Maggie had been a godsend. She'd made that first day in the ICU bearable for Starsky and me, getting him to smile with her teasing and mothering both of us. She evidently had a soft spot for my partner, since she'd continued to visit him and check his progress even after he graduated to a regular room.

When Maggie left I was more than ready to put the hospital behind us, and I knew Starsky had to be even more anxious. "Well, partner, you ready to rejoin the rest of the world?"

"You got no idea. Let's go before they change their minds."

He started to follow me out the door but I stopped him. "Hang on, I'll be right back."

I made a big show of pushing in the wheelchair with a flourish. "Your chariot awaits."

Starsky's reaction was pretty much what I expected. He folded his arms and stuck out his lower lip in that pigheaded expression that drives me crazy. "I am not ridin' in that. I happen to have two legs and there ain't a damn thing wrong with either one."

So much for his good mood. I kept my answer patient, which really wasn't all that hard to do. These days I was so grateful just to have him breathing, I got a lot less irritated by his little quirks. "Starsky, this isn't my idea and you don't have a choice. Hospital policy says you go out in one of these or you don't go out at all."

"Well, it's a stupid policy. I ain't some kind of invalid!"

"It's only as far as the front door. After that you can kiss it good-bye. C'mon, get in the chair."

The funny thing was, me staying calm just seemed to infuriate Starsky. He stomped toward the door, circling around me and the chair as if we were carrying the plague.

"Forget it. I'm outta here. You ride in that thing if you're so fond of it."

I loved him. I was ecstatic that he was still alive. But there was only so much of his spoiled child routine I was going to take. I reached out and grabbed his arm. "Stop being a baby! The hospital..."

I guess I hit a nerve without even trying. Starsky went absolutely white with anger and jerked away from me. "Screw the hospital, and screw you! I'll take a cab home."

Things happened lightening fast after that. Pulling away from me must have thrown off Starsky's already fragile sense of balance and he would've wound up on the floor if I hadn't caught him. I tried to slow the pounding of my heart, terrified that he could have really hurt himself. So of course, I covered by yelling at him.

"Damn it, Starsky, what the hell is wrong with you? You want to check back in with a concussion?"

I expected him to yell back at me, or even to shove me away. Instead he just held onto me like I was a life preserver and he'd just abandoned a sinking ship. I could tell from the tension in his body and his short, sharp pants for air that he was a breath away from tears.

"Starsk?"

His voice was so low and soft I could barely hear it. "I just want my life back, Hutch. To eat what I want, when I want. To be able to do a simple thing like put on clothes without needin' to stop and rest. If I can't sleep, I want to stay up late and watch a movie, not take a pill. To be alone for longer than fifteen minutes without someone checkin' on me. I want..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa."

I got us situated on the bed, but he still wouldn't look at me. I was stunned by his outburst. I'd known he was sick of the hospital, and I'd seen him struggling with his physical limitations, frustrated and discouraged. It just wasn't like Starsky to let it get him this far down.

"Starsky, three days ago you almost died. Ask any doctor or nurse in this hospital and they'll say you're a walking miracle. Cut yourself, and the rest of us, a little slack."

He'd look at the window, but not my face. "'S not my miracle, Hutch. You conjured it up all on your own."

Well.

Now we were getting somewhere.

"What's really bugging you, Starsk? Level with me."

"Nothin'. C'mon, let's go. I'll get in the damn chair." All of a sudden the dreaded wheelchair wasn't so bad. I had to be closing in on the real problem.

"Try again." I put my arm out to keep him from slipping off the bed and walking out the door.

Of course, that just pissed him off. He'd just explained how frustrated he was with being told what to do, and there I was insisting he had to talk. He probably thought I hadn't been listening, but I had. That's why I couldn't give him a choice.

"Talk to me." I know my partner. Sometimes getting him to come clean about what's going on inside is like pulling teeth. But if you can get him angry enough, so that he really blows his top, he'll let his mouth go before his brain can stop it.

"See? That's just what I'm talkin' about! You don't even get mad at me when I deserve it; you take my shit and never call me on it! I'm not made of glass, Hutch. When I screw up I expect you to tell me, same as always."

Screw up? He wasn't making sense.

"Okaaaay. How about you let me in on just when you're supposed to have screwed up."

He glared at me. I could see he didn't want to talk about it, but he was too mad to just let it drop.

"How about when I almost got you killed?" He ground it out through clenched teeth, furious, but I think the anger was more for himself than for me.

I gaped at him. "What?"

"Hutch, Bellamy was three seconds away from wasting you right in front of me! I never should've been out on the streets with you, I was in no shape for it. My inability to back you up almost got you killed!"

It all slid into place. If I'd've been a cartoon character, a little lightbulb would've gone on over my head. Suddenly the brooding, the distance--it all made perfect sense. I got off the bed and paced, struggling to come up with the right words.

"Have you really been stewing over this for three days?" The stiff set of his shoulders was all the answer I needed. "Starsk, you gave me all the back up I needed. You saved my life!"

It wasn't what he wanted, or needed, to hear. "It was a lucky shot! I could barely see, I could just as easily..."

"It was what we do!" I couldn't believe he was beating himself up over a series of circumstances that I viewed as a gift. "We put ourselves on the line for each other. That's why we're so good at the job. Starsk, when I needed you, you were there. Just like I knew you'd be."

Finally, finally, I got it right. I could see something shift in his eyes and his fists unclenched. Guess it was too much guilt to drop all at once, though.

"Yeah, well, I still shouldn't've been out there in the first place."

He was right. It wasn't as if I hadn't had the same thought myself as we'd climbed the stairs to Bellamy's apartment. But if I'd been Starsky...

But I had, hadn't I?

"Maybe not. Of course, we both know *I'd* never do something like that." I smirked at him.

I'm seriously reconsidering my stand on that psychic connection. Starsky received the unspoken message--I read it in his face. He looked at me for a long moment, then hopped off the bed and got in the chair.

"Let's go, Blondie."

He was enough of his old self after that to give me grief when I couldn't figure out how to work the wheelchair, snickering under his breath and making little snide remarks. Finally he couldn't contain himself.

"Sure you don't want me to drive?"

"Very funny. You know, just because you have some irrational dislike of my car, doesn't mean I can't drive anything on wheels better than you, even that striped tomato. You should've seen me when..."

Oops. I definitely did not want to go there. Guess Starsky's not the only one who occasionally loses control of his mouth. I snapped mine shut and concentrated on navigating through the doorway. Starsky took the hint.

We were quiet on the way to the elevator, and I had time to think over everything Starsky had said. About wanting his life back. About all the ways we'd taken it from him, even if it was for his own good. I couldn't do anything about most of it, but I had a surprise that might cheer him up.

"Starsk?"

"Yeah?"

"Checked the TV listings this morning. There's a Bela Lugosi marathon on channel 5 tonight."

I grinned to myself. Only for you, buddy. Personally I'd rather watch those nature documentaries.

Starsky's reaction was worth the sacrifice. He tilted his head back, looking like a delighted little boy. "Yeah?"

"That's right."

He tipped his head down but I could see him smirking. "Pizza and beer?"

Fortunately, I'd anticipated the question and was two steps ahead of him--I'd checked with his nurse when I picked up the wheelchair. "Popcorn with salt--no butter--and rootbeer." I punched the elevator button.

Starsky's grin was the 1000 watt one I hadn't seen since Bellamy. "I can live with that."

I figured in time the feeling might fade, and I'd come to take him for granted again. I hoped it never would. Bellamy and the Professor had inadvertently taught me a lesson I wouldn't soon forget.

We were the only people in the elevator, but Starsky's voice was soft, subdued. "Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

"When we get to your place, I need to call Ma."

I closed my eyes, glad that he couldn't see just how grateful I was not to be making that call. Once Starsky was out of the woods, I'd volunteered to let Rachel know what had happened, that he was in the hospital, but doing fine. He'd given me an odd look and shaken his head, but he also hadn't seemed inclined to call her himself.

I squeezed his shoulder. "Got a lot to tell her, huh?"

A long pause before he spoke, and I had the strangest feeling that just for a moment he'd gone somewhere else.

"Yeah."

A question, one that had been hovering in my mind since Starsky regained consciousness, tugged at my lips. I'd almost spoken it aloud countless times over the last three days, but something held me back. Maybe simple respect for his privacy during a time when he was allowed so little. Maybe fear that something profound had happened to him but I'd never know what it was.

The doors opened and I pushed him out. "Starsk?"

"Yeah?"

"You know what you said in the ICU? About knowing I was coming?"

For some reason I couldn't just say it.

"Yeah."

"You ever going to talk to me about that?"

He didn't tense up or seem upset by the question. Just looked...preoccupied. I got the feeling that whatever he'd experienced was like a new picture, and he hadn't figured out where to hang it. Once he did, I hoped he'd want to share it with me.

"Yeah. I am. I just need a little more time."

Time. We had plenty of it now. No reason to gulp it down--I was willing to sip.

"You've got it."

We turned a corner and I could just make out the entrance to the hospital at the end of the long hallway. Inspiration struck. In college I'd briefly worked as an orderly. On slow nights some of the guys would hold wheelchair races in the deserted corridors down by the morgue. I was good--so good that after a while no one wanted to go up against me, because I always won. So Starsky was tired of being treated like glass, huh? Just maybe I could do something about that AND pay him back for those cracks about my driving.

I bent over him, dropping my voice to sound low and dangerous. "Hey, Starsk? Did you know if you build up enough speed, it's possible to do a wheelie in one of these chairs?"

His fingers tightened in a white-knuckled grip on the arms. "That's real interesting, Hutch, but I don't think that's such a good idea. I mean, like you said before, I practically died a few days ago and I'm still a convalescent..."

"Hang on, buddy. I'll show you just how good a driver I am."

"Hutch, you don't gotta prove nothin' to me, I already... HUUUUUUUUTCH!"

End

Author's note: I've always felt lukewarm about the epilogue to ACFS, so I decided to end my story this way and in this place. It's certainly possible for that scene to occur sometime after the events in this chapter, but for me, the fat lady is singing. <G> Thanks for hanging in there for the long haul. It's been great fun, and I've treasured each and every generous piece of feedback.