Hands stretched out from his body, Starsky carefully twisted to the left. He felt a twinge in his lower back, and he held himself still a moment before straightening and lowering his hands. He would never be satisfied until 100% mobility was achieved, but for now he was pleased with his progress. He was able to do most of the things required for his job. The one time when they had gotten into a scuffle with a junkie, Starsky had yielded to reality and stepped back while Hutch handled it alone.

Starsky finished dressing while waiting for Hutch to return from errands, which included going to his own apartment to water his plants. Hutch's apartment saw very little of its occupant these days, and Starsky knew that at some time in the near future it was going to be a point of discussion.

When the blond returned, they were going to look for a new stereo receiver, since Starsky's had seen its last days, and then head on in to work at 2:00 p.m. They were now on the afternoon shift, while still continuing to give most of their attention to the Sandstone case. Starsky had combed the mug books, but had not found any of the men who had kidnapped him.

Thankfully, however, no new murders had been committed in the past six weeks.

The phone rang and Starsky marched over to it. "Yeah?" he greeted.

"Starsky," came Dobey's firm voice, "is Hutch with you?"

"Not at the moment, but he should be here soon. What's up?"

A heavy sigh was heard across the line. "I guess it might as well be you who tells him this time."

Starsky's heart kicked into gear. This time. "Tell him what?"

A pause, then an unsteady, "Luke Huntley killed himself."

Starsky held his breath. Hutch. Oh, God, Hutch. "Oh, God, no."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Dobey said in a softer tone. "His landlord heard the shot early this morning and broke down the door. Luke was a DOA at Memorial."

Starsky pressed his hand against his forehead. "Oh, no. Oh, no." Why, Huntley, why? How could you do this? "Did he leave a note?" He realized his own voice was unsteady.

"Not that anyone's been able to find." Another heavy sigh. "The officers that interviewed the neighbors haven't been able to find out anything. From all appearances, it looks like Luke took his reasons with him."

"Damn him," Starsky hissed.

"Yeah," the captain agreed softly.

There was an awkward silence for a full ten seconds.

"Starsky...."

"Yeah?"

"I know Hutch is going to take it hard. I know it's not going to be easy telling him."

"No, it won't," Starsky agreed, already feeling as though his heart was breaking with the mere thought. "But... but I'll take care of it, Cap'n."

Another pause, then, "Starsky, I wish there was something I could say that would make it easier for him...."

"So do I, so do I."

Another sigh. "Uh, look, if neither of you make it in today, I'll know why."

Starsky let out the breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Right, Cap'n. Thanks." He was relieved that Dobey was neither ordering them to show up for work, nor insisting they take a compassionate leave day. Dobey was leaving it up to them to do what they felt was best.

The line went dead, and Starsky slammed down the receiver. "Damn you, Huntley. Damn you to every kind of hell. You selfish, selfish bastard." Starsky found himself in the bedroom, not knowing what he was doing there. He stood next to the bed, fists clenched at his sides, eyes squeezed shut, trying to imagine how he was going to....

He heard whistling outside the door, and his eyes popped open. A moment later, the lock rattled, and then the door opened.

"You got your ass out of bed yet?" Hutch called as his footsteps were heard moving toward the kitchen.

Starsky found himself in the bedroom doorway. Hutch glanced back over his shoulder as he opened the refrigerator. The taller man paused, returning his partner's gaze. "What's wrong?"

Starsky took a few steps into the living room. "Hutch?" He couldn't keep the tremble out of his voice.

Slowly, the blond closed the refrigerator. "What?" Then, more firmly, "What is it?"

The smaller man stepped closer. "Hutch... Hutch..."

The other's voice hardened as dread settled in his tone. "What?"

Starsky glanced at the floor. Then he looked back up. "Luke Huntley killed himself early this morning."

Hutch stared at him. Then his mouth dropped open, horror lighting his eyes. Then the feeble plea as he took a step back. "No."

Starsky moved closer. "Hutch, I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

Hutch squeezed his eyes shut and a fist curled against his chest. Slowly, he sank to the floor, his back against the refrigerator. "No. No. No."

"I know it hurts, pal," Starsky said as he knelt beside the other. He reached for the shoulders. "I know -- "

Hutch instantly stiffened. "Don't," he commanded in a small voice, eyes still closed. "Just don't."

Starsky let his hands drop to his sides. Carefully, he stepped back and knelt on the floor at the opposite side of the narrow kitchen. He understood that Hutch needed space in which to work it out, but he also understood that Hutch needed him near.

His partner continued to sit on the floor, curled in on himself, fist against his chest as though trying to keep the hole there from widening. Starsky didn't know what else he could do, so offered the little information he knew. "Dobey just called me a moment ago," he said gently.

The long back heaved. "Was there a note?"

"Apparently not. Dobey said the landlord heard the shot and found him."

Hutch's expression relaxed slightly, but his eyes were still closed, and he turned his face so that his cheek pressed against the refrigerator. "Why?" he pleaded brokenly. "Why?"

The best thing he could do for Hutch at the moment, Starsky thought, was to keep a level head while the other went through whatever agonies were necessary. "I don't think anyone knows the answer, Hutch. Just Luke himself."

The blond's expression now looked thoughtful, and his eyes slowly opened to stare at the floor. Dryly, he said, "He tried to tell me, that night, and I wouldn't listen."'

Starsky straightened. "When? Tried to tell you what?"

Hutch swallowed. His eyes stayed fixed on the linoleum. "When we found you," he replied with gruff weariness. "He was talking... trying to tell me... and I wasn't listening. You were lying there, hurting like crazy, that damn knife stuck in you... and I wasn't listening."

The other's expression was now ragged with guilt, and Starsky leaned toward him, prompting, "What was he saying, Hutch? You must have heard some of it."

The eyes raised slightly as Hutch seemed to fight to remember. "He said something... something... almost exactly like what you said." Finally, the sky blue orbs glanced in Starsky's direction. "You know, that night wh-when you brought it up th-that society expects everyone to live by the same rules. And what was someone supposed to do when they wanted something different from what everyone said that they were supposed to want?"

Starsky blinked. In disbelief, he asked, "Luke said that, too?"

"Yes," Hutch nodded quickly. A trembling hand pushed back through his hair. "Only, he wasn't talking about being gay, necessarily. He was talking, in his case, about not - not - just not wanting to get married, that sex never really meant anything to him, or something like that." Now, the pale brows narrowed painfully, as Hutch reasoned, "So, he was free now. He had the life he wanted." Frantically shaking his head, "I just don't understand...."

Starsky felt his heart twisting, but knew he had to continue to give the other the freedom that he needed to express what was going on inside him. Very gently, he noted, "It sounds to me like you heard a lot of what he was saying."

Hutch seemed to calm for a moment, as though he were thinking it through. Then he looked at Starsky with wide eyes. "I-I told him about us." Quickly, Hutch shook his head. "I mean, I mean... he already thought he knew. He thought we'd been... like that... for a long time. I told him it was still new. And he seemed... happy for us." The eyes closed and the motion of the chest increased. "I just don't understand...."

Before Starsky could speak, Hutch suddenly looked at him again. Voice full of pain, the blond said, "Starsky, he was the first person who loved me for me. I didn't-didn't have to be a certain way, behave a certain way. I-I-I didn't have to accomplish some... some thing to get his approval, I didn't have to wear a certain kind of clothes." The voice weakened. "I didn't have to put on any kind of front. I was just... myself... around him, and he gave me so much love." Then, barely a whisper, "For no reason at all."

Starsky closed his own eyes a moment, trying to get a grip on his emotions, which were threatening to brim over.

Suddenly, Hutch curled against the refrigerator, fist clutching desperately at his chest. "I let him down. Oh, God, I let him down."

"What do you mean?" Starsky whispered intently. Huntley, if you loved him, how could you do this to him? Damn you!

In a small voice, Hutch croaked out, "He needed me to take care of Doris. And I didn't."

Needing space was one thing. But trying to hide against the protection of the cold refrigerator was unacceptable. Starsky sprang forward, put an arm around Hutch's shoulders, another beneath his knees to draw him against his own body. "Hutch, think," he demanded firmly. "Think about what you just said."

The other's face was turned away, eyes squeezed shut. Starsky gripped the cheeks, turned Hutch's face back toward himself. "Hutch, think."

The eyes opened.

Starsky's voice softened with relief. "Hutch, are you sayin' that Luke killed himself to get back at you? Is that what you're sayin'? That he'd give up his whole life just to hurt you?"

Again, the pale brows furrowed as an attempt was made to think it through.

Tenderly, Starsky assured, "He loved you too much to pull something like that. I don't know exactly why he pulled the trigger, but I know he was a man with a lot of problems that went back a lotta years. Just because he wasn't strong enough to deal with them all anymore doesn't mean he loved you any less." A new thought struck, and Starsky managed a semblance of a smile as he asked, "He loved you enough to help you find me, didn't he?"

Hutch's face relaxed slightly, and he managed a small nod.

Feeling the worst of the crisis was over, Starsky eased his grip on the fleshy cheeks and brushed his fingertips along the pale flesh. "Ah, Hutch, I'm sorry." He moved down to grip the hand that now lay limp against Hutch's chest. "I know it hurts, pal. And I know there's nothin' anyone can do about it." He squeezed the hand briefly. "But just know that I'm right here, like I've always been. Right here," he reminded in a whisper.

The faded blue eyes met his own. In a flat tone, Hutch said, "I can't even cry for him."

Starsky pushed his hand back through Hutch's hair. "That'll come later, when you're ready. I'll be here then, too."

The blond turned his face against his partner's shirt.

Starsky pulled him closer, rested his cheek on top of the thin hair. "Just let me hold ya a minute," he whispered, stroking up and down the back. Hutch now seemed like a rag doll in his arms, and Starsky wasn't sure if he should be relieved or concerned.

They stayed like that for over ten minutes. Then Starsky brushed a pair of fingers down one cheek and whispered, "Dobey says it's okay if we don't go in."

Hutch considered a brief moment, then shook his head. "I gotta go in." He started to prepare to rise. "I have to do something."

Starsky helped him to his feet.

CHAPTER 12