by Detective Sergeant David M. Starsky

Editor: Kenneth R. Hutchinson
Ghost Written by: Anna M

   Two days later Hutch and I walked out of the commissioner’s office admitting finally that it could be a blessing to have friends in high places. We leaned against the Torino just inches apart and both folded our arms across our chests. "Eight years. He’s really been there eight years and she didn’t even know it." I stared at down at my Adidas.

   "You read what the evaluation said, Starsk. Possibility of full recovery but no positive signs since admission in 1972. He hasn’t spoken since he was found in that village. What can we say to Kim?"

   "We don’t say nothin’ yet. We go over there and see him for ourselves."

   "What?!"

   "Hutch, think! The doc’s report said he believed it a clear case of deep battle-induced trauma. Sole-survivor syndrome. He was a medic, Hutch, an’ he couldn’t save any of ‘em. Wouldn’t have made it out himself if the villagers hadn’t spirited him away and kept him hidden from the Vietnamese patrols. He’s withdrawn into himself. We gotta give him a reason to come out again."

   "We cannot, I repeat, cannot drag Kim over there and try to jolt him out of this, Starsky. I mean, do you really think she could face the shape he’s in knowing he’s been here all along and she couldn’t help him?"

   I smacked him on the back of the head, "What kinda idiot you take me for? I gotta better idea. Come on, we gotta swing by Natalie’s."

   Half an hour later we sat restlessly in a psychiatrist’s office in the suburban facility listening to him tell us why we shouldn’t expect too much, not to get our hopes up, and all the doom and gloom he could spout.

   "Is he capable of fully functioning as a member of society, doctor? If he comes out of this self-imposed shell or whatever?" Hutch looked as serious as he had the night he questioned the ER doctor about Bellamy’s poison. I was so proud of him I could burst and didn’t know exactly why.

   "Certainly. From the tests we’ve run, he’s a very intelligent young man. His records indicate that he graduated with a B.S. in Biology. He reads medical journals and a wide variety of other subjects. Won’t ask for them, of course. Just comes, knocks on my door, and waits for me to let him in and he’ll prowl around my office finding what he wants to read. He’ll play the piano in the activity room sometimes for hours. But he won’t speak, won’t really acknowledge you when you speak to him. And he won’t eat unless we take him by the arm, sit him down, and put the food in front of him. He watches television with some of our other residents but doesn’t give much indication that he’s paying attention. Well, that’s not completely true. He seems to have a spike in his awareness whenever there’s a baseball game on. To be honest, detectives, if his father had been willing, he could have given him adequate care at home. He hasn’t been on drug therapy. If we could find the right stimulus, I think there’s a definite chance he could recover at least 75% of his memory and social function and lead a normal life. But we’ve exhausted option after option. Nothing seems to reach him. We pleaded with his father for any ideas but… well… you’ve met Mr. Paulson. I must say I’m surprised you’re here right now…" Dr. Fisk trailed off and leaned back in his swivel chair. His brow furrowed and Hutch and I smiled at each other. The doctor was obviously fond of this particular patient.

   "Police Commissioner Riley went by and visited with him. Riley could charm the scent off a skunk," I said, grinning. Dr. Fisk laughed.

   "So there’s never been a mention of a Kim Grace?" Hutch asked.

   "No, I don’t believe his father ever said anything… let me look through my file to make sure." While he perused the file, I felt my fists clenching. Hutch’s response was to tap his fingers ominously against his chair arm. Damn Wade’s father. Damn him to hell. "No, no one by that name. Is that important?"

   I rose to my feet and held out the picture frame. "She’s your stimulus, doc."

   "How can you be so sure?"

   Hutch stood beside me. "Just let us see him. Come with us and you’ll find out."

   We walked slowly down the corridor lost in our separate but similar thoughts. I could tell Hutch battled an inner fury that matched my own. Eight years wasted! Dr. Fisk finally stopped outside door number 27 and turned to regard us soberly. "Please don’t feel badly if your plan fails, gentlemen. In some ways he’s not far removed from a waking coma."

   Dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved red tee shirt, he sat in a chair in the corner of the whitewashed room by an open window, a book spread on his knees and a completely blank expression on his clean-shaven face. Hutch gasped audibly. He no longer looked like a twin, but he could have still easily been Hutch’s slightly younger brother or at the least a cousin. Tall athletic physique, short pale-golden hair, very youthful features, and a sensitive mouth, but what got me were the clear blue eyes. Haunted eyes, I told Hutch some time later. The main variation between this man and the one in the photo I clung to was a nasty patch of burn scars down his left arm all the way to his wrist. Dr. Fisk must have seen me staring at the offending arm because he sighed and pulled us over to the side.

   "According to the army reports, when the villagers found him he was clinging to one of his fellow soldiers whose whole upper torso had burned from one of those VC concocted booby-traps. He must have put the flames out and was trying to get morphine into him when he died in Wade’s arms. The villagers had to pry Wade off. How they managed to salvage his arm until that American patrol came through and found him, I’ll never understand."

   "Jesus," Hutch breathed. I seconded the sentiment. It’s not easy realizing with proof that you’ve experienced someone else’s memories temporarily. I felt like I’d been pummeled in the gut with stones because the poor guy in the chair had not even twitched since we’d been in the room and had not acted like he heard the doctor’s words. Enough of this, I decided. I approached Wade and knelt in front of him trying to snag his attention.

   "Wade, I have something for you, buddy," I heard myself talking to him just as I would Hutch. Hutch noticed because I heard a soft fond laugh in the background. Wade did not acknowledge me. I swallowed, knowing I had to actually get him to look at the picture.

   "Put it in his lap, Starsk," Hutch said. I complied and watched as Wade’s face shifted one fraction of an inch at a time until his eyes connected with the framed picture. For a minute he just stared as though nothing had been introduced into the same lap that held his book. I was about to pound my head on the floor in frustration when I caught a glimpse of moisture in the sides of his eyes. I jumped up and swung around.

   "Has he cried any, doc?"

   "No, not that we’ve seen anyway. Why is he—"

   But I didn’t get a chance to answer. Wade clutched the frame in both hands and proceeded to fall out of the chair and onto his knees, not even registering the hard impact of his bones on the unforgiving floor. He trembled all over like he had a raging fever. Then he bowed his head and burst into wracking sobs. Dr. Fisk stared at Hutch and me like we’d just descended out of the sky on a cloud of thunder and lightening. But the fireworks display wasn’t over. After several minutes of violent waterworks during which we were all too stunned to move over to him and offer him any comfort, Wade lifted his eyes and focused on us.

   "Angel," he said distinctly. "Angel."

   "He’s not coherent," Dr. Fisk clucked his tongue, "but he spoke!"

   "No, he remembers her!" Hutch practically shouted. "That was his pet name for her."

   Dr. Fisk went over to Wade and assisted him back into the chair. Wade stared at him. "Major, they’ve suffered heavy casualties. Collins says the whole place was booby-trapped. Got to get to them, sir."

   "Wade, son…" Dr. Fisk began but Wade reached out and gripped his forearm comfortingly.

   "Don’t worry about me, sir. I’ve got a guardian Angel. She’d kick me square in my rear echelon, sir, if I don’t come back to her."

   Hutch and I found our eyes connected without each of us really intending to stare. How many times had we said similar things about each other in intense situations? Oh, you don’t know my partner. He’d kill me if I don’t show back up in one piece. I’ll kick your ass, Hutch, if you go in there like a fool hero… He’s gonna be so upset I got myself into this mess…

   Dr. Fisk captured both his patient’s hands and shook them, "Wade, do you know where you are?"

   Wade stared at him blankly for a minute before the haze fell from the blue eyes so like Hutch’s and slowly Wade nodded as if still in a dream. He said softly, "Dr. Fisk."

   We left that afternoon walking on pure adrenaline and a puffy white cloud of hope. Dr. Fisk threatened us within an inch of our lives if we brought Kim into the situation before he had a chance to subject Wade to the necessary tests, evaluations, and preparation for such a milestone event. We had explained to him after Wade’s initial awakening the importance of his friendship with Kim. After lengthy debate and haggling, we finally agreed with Dr. Fisk that Kim might not be able to tolerate the waiting period so we decided not to let her in on our project until we could re-introduce the other half of The Inseparable. Captain Dobey displayed an amazing interest in the proceedings and granted us breaks in our busy schedule so we could visit Wade. Something fueled a desire in both of us to oversee Wade’s progress personally.

   Hutch bonded with him almost immediately. They shared opinions on music: Hutch even brought his guitar and introduced him to "Black Bean Soup." My green-thumbed partner also brought Wade up-to-date on some of the environmental initiatives that had been in the press. Wade had read newspapers during his eight-year stint at the facility but his recall of the material was sketchy. He remembered vividly the biological and medical articles he’d confiscated from Dr. Fisk’s office and spoke with enthusiasm about his experiences as a medic. He never spoke again about that final rescue campaign, however, after the first day we met him. Dr. Fisk said that should not alarm us. Some memories are best left to sleep for all of us. We agreed with that, looking at each other with walls of glass and oxygen tent in my mind and a shattered, bullet-ridden Torino reflected in Hutch’s eyes. On some occasions I went alone to the facility and Wade and I spent several enjoyable hours absorbed in baseball related chat. He amazed me, never expressing bitterness that his big league baseball career was for all intents and purposes over. His age and battle-scarred pitching arm saw to that. One day Hutch and I found him in a state of excitement. He greeted us with a broad grin, waved a newspaper at us, and then flung it in my general direction.

   "Dr. Fisk thinks this is something I could work toward," he explained. "Do you think she’ll--" His eyes clouded over and he bit his lower lip before turning away momentarily. Then his face shifted, all sunshine again. "He says I haven’t lost sufficient use of my arm to keep me out of this line of work. What do you think?"

   Hutch and I ducked our eyes and scanned an article about the continued success of the paramedic program in California. I smiled brightly and Hutch clasped Wade’s shoulder. "Pal, I think it’s a great idea."

   Huggy found us later that evening contemplating the dregs of our beer with dulled faces. We’d filled him in on our undertaking, shown him the photo of Kim and Wade, and sworn him to secrecy. He settled into the booth beside Hutch and looked back and forth between us before he slapped a fist down on the table.

   "Now, for two such good Samaritans, you dudes look like you’ve sentenced a fellow to twenty-years hard time. What gives?"

   Hutch rubbed his eyes with a not quite steady hand and settled against the wooden back of the booth. "It’s Wade… Doc says he’s making miraculous progress, but something’s missing."

   "Yeah." I echoed, swirling the last sip of beer around in the glass as if looking for the answer to our dilemma in the amber fluid.

   "Like what?" The ever-curious Huggy folded arms across his purple clad chest and prepared to hold forth on whatever we had to say.

   "Well, it’s Kim mostly. He asks us about her every day we go by. Without stealing her thunder, we’ve told him some of her accomplishments during his missing period. You know, her becoming a professor and all. And he’s thrilled. Starsk and I’ve agreed you can tell there’s a lot, I mean a lot of feeling there. But--" he fell silent, asking me with his eyes to help him put it all into words.

   "But when we bring up the future…as in, her comin’ to see him soon, our tellin’ her about him or anything like that, he gets really uneasy. Almost like he’s afraid."

   Huggy snorted, "If you two are this dense all the time, no wonder you depend on me to help solve mosta your cases. He loves her, you dumb street cops. He loves her and he’s scared spitless that there’s no room for him anymore in her world…or that she’s changed…or that he’s changed…or that maybe he’s not what she needs…or he’s not good enough. Put your ignorant selves in his shoes for half a second. You’ve dated enough women to qualify as not entirely clueless."

   We stared across the table at each other dumbfounded and telegraphed over the litter of half-eaten French fries and hamburger crumbs, "Are we really that blind?" Huggy smiled as if he had heard us and delivered the ever-practical solution, "Someone should whisper a few hints in the pensive blond’s ear." With a final nod, Huggy slid out of the booth and sauntered over to drape an arm around the shoulders of a shapely brunette standing alone at the bar.

   I grinned. "Sounds like smart advice to me. I mean, all we’d have to do is drop a few hints that Kim’s been feelin’…. Hutch, you listening?"

   Hutch shook his head like he was clearing out cobwebs and said, "Hmm, Starsky?"

   "Kim and Wade, dummy," I sputtered, astonished that he wasn’t on the same page. "Don’t you want to see them end up together?"

   Hutch sighed in his best long-suffering Hutch fashion. "Wade’s a great guy—and I’m not saying that because he and I have some things in common. He’s what she wants. Has wanted for years and years. And it’s not like he’s mentally incapacitated. He has every hope of resuming a normal life. She should be in that life."

   "So we tell her tomorrow?" I asked quietly, feeling a swell of joy. Hutch nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~

   The next morning we called Kim at the college and made sure she wouldn’t mind our dropping by for dinner that evening after our shift ended. Hutch snatched the phone away from me at one point and complained loudly and bitterly that he hadn’t had time to attend one of her class sessions. She must have responded with a saucy retort because he grinned foolishly and stammered something incoherent before tossing the phone back my way.

   "Whadya say to him?" I demanded, dying to know what had Hutch flushing all the way over to the coffee maker. Kim’s rich laugh filled my ears.

   "Oh, just that he might be too much of a distraction in the department. The secretaries already have a pool going on his…um…vital statistics. I don’t know how they plan on getting the info needed to see which one’s the winner."

   I spat the coffee I’d been gulping all over my new tee shirt and howled uproariously. Hutch glared at me from across the squad room before he laughed too.

   When we arrived at Kim’s around seven the aroma of cooking food ushered us through the door. We regarded each other with surprise. Kim shut the door behind us with an enigmatic smile and beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. Hutch loped in behind her while I dropped to the floor and greeted Mac with enthusiasm. Poor little fellow had been rather traumatized by Moriarty’s brief and nasty visit. Food distracted me however as Hutch set a baking dish on the center of the table with great ceremony. Kim beamed.

   "Wait a minute. What happened to your not cooking?" I asked, leaning over to drink in the intoxicating scent of mingled flavors.

   "Maggie came by today for my first lesson." She gestured at the dish as though she’d given birth. "It’s a casserole. Meat, vegetables, rice all in one fell swoop. I got an extra one to take to Marcia tomorrow."

   "How’s she doing?" I asked as Hutch dropped a portion of the casserole in my extended plate. Kim sighed as she divvied up the Riesling.

   "She’s going to go stay with her sister for awhile since she’s on extended leave from the nursing home. They aren’t going to replace her, though, because she’s too good a head nurse. But it’s going to take some time. She’s such an incredible lady. Oh, yeah, and she’s given me permission to continue with the publication of her memoirs under Tanaka’s name. He put a lot of work into organizing her papers and creating a piece of historical importance alongside a romantic, sweet story."

   Hutch waved a forkful of casserole, "Speaking of Tanaka. Starsky and I got a line on that organization that paid for Moriarty’s photos. Turns out a corporation in Japan is funding it and insisted Tanaka serve as its first president. They plan on sponsoring scholarships for American students to study in Japan and vice versa as well as grants for Japanese-American scholarly interests. Another professor in Hawaii is taking over the post and Tanaka’s second cousin is requesting that all the photos be collected and turned over to the organization in accordance with Tanaka’s wishes."

   "I really wish I’d had a chance to get to know Uncle Iko even better…write with him again. He’ll be missed terribly." Kim’s eyes grew sad as she contemplated her glass. Mac whined and climbed up into her lap. She laughed. "Ah, that’s my boy. Can’t let me stay down for a minute, can ya, fella?"

   "Kim, you ever call your folks and tell ‘em about any of this?"

   Kim scratched Mac behind the ears and stared into space. "Truth is, boys, I don’t really get along with my folks anymore. It doesn’t surprise me that my parents didn’t jump on the next plane when you called and talked to them about me. They’ve never really understood my desperation to stay out here after I got my PhD. They were so happy to move back to Maryland and when I divorced Michael, I think they assumed I’d just run happily back home like I had sense. Right now they’re focused on my sister-in-law’s troubled pregnancy and I’m going to leave them in peace to do just that. They know I’m safe and well; I called and told them that. I’m leaving it at that. When I call them every week I try to make sure I have happy things to talk about."

   Hutch and I made eye contact over the almost empty casserole dish. He confiscated her hand and tugged on it so she shifted her gaze. "Kim, we have something to discuss with you, but why don’t we go over to the sofa and get comfortable first?"

   She stood between us and stared at the ocean like she’d never seen it before in her life. We waited patiently for the explosion. After the initial violent tears of almost painful joy she’d cried following our announcement, she’d gone into a trance. For the past two hours she hadn’t said a word and couldn’t stand us to look at her for very long. We felt compelled to scoop her up along with a change of clothing, drop Mac off at Maggie’s, and haul her to Venice with us. Suddenly she threw her head back and let out a murderous scream.

   "What’s that for?" Hutch whispered.

   She turned around and pounded fists in the empty air. "Eight years! Eight unholy, godforsaken years! How can anyone hate someone enough to let them suffer through that kind of half-life for eight years!!"

   "I know…." again Hutch’s whispery voice. "I know the lengths displeased parents can go to," he said with personal experience coloring his tone. "Parents who love the controlling of the child more than the child himself. Still, this is in a whole other league."

   "He—he never liked me. I think he thought I was proof of those ridiculous rumors about Wade’s sexual orientation. Wade kept me around all the time but wasn’t screwing me so I must be the willing accomplice. What did that make me in his eyes… a lesbian or just pathetic? And he—he hated me for it. I could tell it then…just didn’t know how much. Didn’t even begin to have a clue how much he hated Wade. Why can’t human beings leave one another alone to live the life that makes them happiest? I mean, as long as that life isn’t illegal or harmful to others?"

   Hutch’s face turned sad. "I think it’s a particularly nasty facet of human nature to despise any form of happiness not easily understood or fit into specific categories. And those of us who don’t want to play that game very often can’t do anything to stop the others from participating."

   I agreed with that assessment of Andrew Paulson. We had not told Kim that Mr. Paulson called us at the station after having been notified of Wade’s awakening and cussed us with every name in the book. He had refused to even visit his son. Kim was heaping enough blame on herself without having that burden to carry as well. Right now she angrily stomped her feet in the sand.

   "I let him down, guys!! What the hell do I say to him? Wade, I’m sorry you’ve been cooped up in a cell-like room for eight years because I was too dumb to figure out how to find you, help you. I tried! I went to Wade’s aunt and uncle but they just told me his father would make sure I was one of the first to know if he was found. Hah! Went to the military and got nowhere." She looked at me and then at Hutch. "You wouldn’t let each other suffer like that."

   "Apples and oranges," I told her with a smile. "For one thing we’re cops. There’s usually—usually been something we could do for each other. For another, we gave each other power-of-attorney a long time ago because of all the life-threatening situations we face. You didn’t have that authority. You’re just as much a victim in this as Wade is and he knows it."

   Kim grinned at both of us. "I can see you two each think the other can spin gold and weave rain clouds barehanded. Makes me feel good to be around you." With that remarkable statement she turned and started the trek back to Venice Place.

   We ended up all three staying there like a slumber party. Kim insisted on Hutch having the bed despite his continued arguing. Finally she stood right up next to him to demonstrate their drastic difference in height and that settled the sleeping arrangements. But she couldn’t get me to take the couch. I tucked her in and then made me a bed on the floor with blankets and pillows.

   The next morning I came out of the shower dressed and ready for work to find Kim had downed an entire glass of Hutch’s morning health concoction. I glared at Hutch, "Thought you said that stuff made a man outta ya. What the hell you doin’ givin’ it to Kim?"

   Kim responded by tugging on my hair and planting a sisterly kiss on my cheek. "Mornin’, Starsky. I’m still all woman. Promise. But I’m going to be all dead if I don’t get to the college in time for the faculty meeting. Especially since I’m leaving early. I mean, I have furniture shopping to do today."

   "Furniture shopping?" I asked, eyeing Hutch as if he might have the answer. He shrugged, equally ignorant.

   "I’ve got to turn my study into a second bedroom in preparation for Wade leaving the institution. Thankfully, Maggie’s husband insisted on doing the re-painting. Can’t even tell Moriarty was there--"

   "Oh, but why do ya need a second—" The question was out of my mouth before I realized what I was asking and I bit down hard on my tongue as I caught the annoyed roll of Hutch’s eyes. Kim didn’t even blink. She smiled mildly at me.

   "Just because I’m in love with him doesn’t mean he returns or ever will return those feelings. I know that. I’m going to offer him a home as long as he needs it. If he wants to get his own place, move to Canada, or join the French Foreign Legion, I’ll support him. That is if the Department Chair doesn’t kill me first! Come on, you guys!"

   Over take-out breakfast the following morning in the Torino, our dining view the Pacific from an excellent look-out position, we debated paying Wade a visit before we escorted Kim to their all-important first meeting. Feeling proactive, I was all for hopping by there and playing Cupid. Hutch took a different view.

   "Just because Huggy thinks he knows the ins and outs of this situation doesn’t give us the right to interfere," he asserted calmly, spooning his yogurt concoction hungrily. "They have to work things out on their own. He’s had time to come to terms with this visit and how he feels. Nothing may ever happen. Or if it does, who’s to say it has to happen now?"

   "Don’t be so damn logical about it!" I complained around my mouthful of scrambled egg breakfast burrito. "This is important!" My tone of voice must have conveyed how much this meeting meant to me because Hutch eyed me through the heart, probing the underside of my soul.

   "Why? I mean, I know this is important to them, but why are you so worked up about it?"

   "I’m not worked up!" I protested, realizing immediately that I was lying straight through my teeth and the burrito.

   "Come on, Starsky. This is really important to you. I understand you want things to turn out well for Kim. So do I. And we haven’t even talked about those weird visions and stuff… But this meeting means more than all that to you, doesn’t it?"

   It did. But why? What about this meeting seemed so momentous to me? I couldn’t even answer that in my own mind. "What time is it?"

   "You’re not seriously going to make me reach for my watch right now?" Hutch pleaded, both hands occupied with his breakfast. I sighed and turned my wrist over.

   "Yup. Might as well go pick up Kim if we’re not gonna play match-maker."

   Hutch braced himself for the start of the engine and the abrupt swing back onto the highway. "Are you sure she really wants us tagging along? She’s perfectly capable of driving herself, you know. You didn’t wrangle an invite?"

   "Hutch, you oughta be ‘shamed." I shot him one of my sidewinding glares. "I called her last night and she assured me she wants our moral support. Have we ever refused a lady moral support?" Then my concern antenna thought it picked up a signal. "Hey… you feelin’ uncomfortable or something?"

   Hutch groaned, crumpled the yogurt container into a ball of plastic and tossed it into the bag of other breakfast relics at his feet. "Why the hell would I be uncomfortable?"

   I risked a lengthy glance at his profile using my instincts for driving. The pale gold sheet of hair prevented me from catching a full view of his face, but what little I observed told me that something was warring within that green turtlenecked chest. "You could tell me what’s got ya lookin’ like ya got a crime to confess." Then my mental calculator started clicking and I thought I’d spit out the right numbers. "Um.. Hutch, those memories of Wade’s you experienced…you didn’t…um…start developing feelings for Kim?"

   "Feelings for Kim?" Hutch looked like he wanted to laugh out loud. "Of course not, idiot! You really are blind, you know that? Drive the car, Starsky."

   Kim emerged from her house wearing an old pair of tennis shoes, faded jeans, and a university baseball jersey that swallowed her whole. I nudged Hutch in the ribs, frowning, "Now if a woman met you lookin’ like that wouldya think she had the slightest interest in makin’ it with you?"

   Hutch eyed the approaching female with a soft smile. "Nope. But this is Kim. I think that baseball jersey screams her feelings better than a short skirt and tight blouse ever could."

   "Well, I hope he’s into readin’ symbols as much as you, Blintz," I muttered and then boasted a bright smile when Hutch exited the car so Kim could crawl in next to me. Her face was several shades paler than her normal, naturally tan complexion. "Feelin’ okay?" I tossed a concerned glance at her.

   "Are you kiddin’? I’m scared stiff."

   Hutch shifted in his seat so he could give her his undivided attention, "Now, what’s there to be afraid of?" he said in his best reassuring tone. A low sound, mixture of groan and growl I’d heard come out of my own throat some times, drifted from our passenger.

   "Oh, Hutch. I’ve told myself ten times this morning alone that if he pats my head, says it’s nice to see me, and talks about Sequoia trees for half an hour, I won’t mind a bit. Then I take another look in the mirror and say, ‘BS, Kim Grace.’"

   "Kim, you shouldn’t expect too much. He’s been subjected to a whirlwind of changes after having lived some passive existence for eight years. It might take him a while…."

   "Take him a while!" Kim laughed, interrupting Hutch’s logic. The sound held no joy. "He had years to give me the slightest hint and he never did. Now that I’m faced with actually seeing him again, I’m having to fight down the little voice that tells me I’m stupid for feeling this way about him. I mean, I feel silly. What do I say? ‘Hi, Wade, I’m here. Your best friend, your buddy, only now I want you to take me to bed. Can you handle that?’ Yeah, I’m sure that would go over real well."

   I watched Hutch’s face turn a vivid shade of rose and laughed out loud because I figured it had to be caused by Kim’s frankness, one of the things I admired most about her. "Now that’s what I like to see. A woman who can sum up her wishes without feelin’ shy about it."

   "Oh, gee, I don’t know, being kidnapped by a serial killer seems to have loosened my tongue."

   I risked a side glance at her, smiling in a knowing way, "Tell me about it."

   Hutch emitted a loud groan, "Okay, if you two are through bonding, can I inject a thought? Kim, Dr. Fisk says Wade hasn’t even mentioned his father. Hasn’t asked about him. Hasn’t said a word. Now that may have something to do with the fact that he knows his father kept you from learning about his return to the States, but do you see what I’m saying? If he doesn’t respond automatically to you, please try not to take it personally."

   Great, Hutch, I thought with a quick flash of irritation. Just go ahead and spoil the mood with somber thoughts and preparation for a big, fat disappointment. That’s all she needs. I heard a forlorn sigh. "Thanks, Hutch, for grounding me. But don’t worry. As I’ve said before, I’m so happy to have him alive, breathing, and conscious of who he is, I’ll try my best to be thrilled even if he tells me he’s marrying a psych nurse and moving to American Samoa."

   "The only psych nurse I spotted looks like Helga the Viking Opera Singer," I soothed, laughing. "Think you’re safe on that score."

   We spent the rest of the drive in silence. My joke had apparently calmed the need in Hutch to protect Kim from her own expectations and Kim seemed to have faced her own worst fear mentally and shored up her courage. Only when we parked in front of the institution did Kim’s resolve fade in a soft whimper as she contemplated the building. Ever the protector, Hutch held a hand out and took hers as he helped her out of the car.

   "Whatever happens," I heard him whisper, "just believe that your friendship is still as intact and precious as always."

   I patted her head. "Big smile, lady," I encouraged her and then followed them through the main entrance and to Dr. Fisk’s office. He greeted Kim with a broad smile and firm handshake. We could tell the psychiatrist wanted to have a nice long chat with his favorite patient’s best friend, but Kim’s face betrayed her anxiety and nervousness. He smiled softly and said, "We can talk anytime, Dr. Grace, but I think someone in the activity room would hold a delay against me forever. He’s alone in there. He’s been playing piano for the last hour."

   "Calms his nerves," Kim murmured, flinching slightly. Dr. Fisk’s smile disappeared and his kindly face flooded with concern.

   "Are you sure you’re ready for this? Wade has had longer to prepare himself…."

   "If I have to wait another minute you’ll be fitting me for one of those tight, white jackets with the funny sleeves."

   Dr. Fisk laughed. "Well, gentlemen, are you to escort her the whole way?" Kim turned around and pleaded with us silently, her eyes brimming. We nodded together. "Then be my guests. You know the way."

   The walk down the corridor seemed to take three times as long as the one we strolled with Dr. Fisk on the day of Wade’s awakening. Right outside the double doors to the activity room, Kim froze, swaying slightly. Hutch gripped her shoulders. "Kim we can turn around and leave if you’re not ready. Wade isn’t the type to hold it against you."

   "I’m…I’ve…God, I’ve never even let myself dream about this for the better half of the last decade. I’m ready." She squared her shoulders under Hutch’s grasp and he removed his hands slowly, flashing me a worried smile. I beamed, ever the optimist about Kim and Wade. We pushed through the double doors barely making a sound.

   Wade was indeed lost in the possession of the musical instrument, his back to us. He appeared to have three hands, they moved so quickly across the ivories. It was a lovely sound… and I realized he was playing one of the songs Hutch had written and taught him. We hadn’t spoken and I swear that the double doors hadn’t even brushed against each other as they closed, but suddenly the hands on the ivories stopped cold and a voice fairly vibrating with emotion whispered, "Angel?"

   Kim stepped forward, shaking all over, but I could still see enough of her profile to know that any theater in Bay City could fill the house with sentimental movie freaks at five bucks a pop just to see the expression on her face. "Wade…."

   The figure at the piano jumped to his feet and whirled around. He didn’t even see us. I think Hutch and I must have suddenly become invisible. I felt my hand extend and clutch at the sleeve of Hutch’s turtleneck. His corresponding hand latched lightly around my wrist. We steadied ourselves as though bracing for a shift along a fault-line.

   Wade’s face filled with light and his mouth opened in a smile that defied years, pain, separation, war, and everything unpleasant. Then he ran his eyes over the small bundle of quivering female in front of him, sized up the baseball jersey, and suddenly spread his arms invitingly. Kim choked out a sob and threw herself against her best friend without further hesitation. Wade’s arms closed around her and held her tightly against him, lifting her off the ground. "Angel, I should never have left you…please forgive me." He buried his face in her curls.

   Hutch and I looked at each other. We knew we should discreetly bow out but we literally couldn’t move, still held fast in this incredible moment. Besides, the two people had forgotten our very existence.

   "Wade…." was all Kim could verbalize.

   Wade pulled back slightly and looked down at her, and even at this distance I could tell that his lower lashes glistened. "I shouldn’t…not before we talk… but I can’t help it. Over there, in country, I promised myself I would… oh, hell!" He confiscated her chin and lowered his face. The resulting contact of their lips and Kim’s impassioned gasp broke the spell woven around Hutch and me. Still clutching each other’s arms, we moved backwards through the double doors.

   Standing in the corridor, we released our hold on each other and stared into corresponding blue eyes. Hutch expelled a deep breath. "Looks like it’s just the two of us again."

   I felt like a cat given a lifetime supply of the finest fresh seafood. "That’s not so bad, is it?"

   "No, Starsky, not bad. Never bad." The words were coated with sincerity. I felt my chest propelling a grin from my heart to my lips. "Partners," he said softly.

   "Best friends," I said with equal softness.

   "Sidekick."

   "Sidekick! Let’s get something straight, Hutchinson! I am not your sidekick. Just because you think you’re the brains in this partnership—"

   Hutch clasped my shoulder and smiled straight into my soul. "Most important thing in the world to me."

   I laughed, the sound sheer screaming joy. "Well, when you put it like that…." I threw my arm around his shoulders as we turned around. Then I froze. "Thing?! First I’m a sidekick and now I’m a thing?!" Hutch burst out laughing. I scanned his face and joined in. We walked back down the corridor. I felt fine. All was right with the world. The future was going to be great. But if there’s to be a continuance of this saga, Blondie’s in charge of the writing because I’ve officially exhausted the muse.

THE END

   For those interested in understanding the experiences of American Marines on Peleliu Island and Okinawa, see Eugene B. Sledge’s autobiography: With The Old Breed