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Part Three

Carol & Valerie Wells

   Starsky finally talked his mother into going home. Nick had left days earlier, and both Starsky and Hutch knew that she felt uneasy about Nick's being in New York without her, as if there were anything she could do to keep him out of trouble.

   Hutch drove her to the airport and tried in vain to banish the memory of the last time he'd driven a Starsky to the airport.

   Rachel collected her boarding pass, checked her baggage, and finally looked up at him with those eyes so much like her elder son's. "Tell me the truth, Ken," she said soberly. "Is he really going to be all right?"

   Hutch knew she didn't mean physically. He squeezed her hand. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure he is."

   "I know." She gazed at him thoughtfully again for several moments. "Don't be afraid to call me if he needs me."

   "I won't."

   "And take care of yourself, too. He needs you most of all."

   "I will."

   She kissed his cheek and walked away from him.

   Starsky's therapy started the next day. He went at it with a kind of grim determination, but very little actual interest. It was as though, Hutch reflected, he thought he had to do it to please everyone else, but didn't care if he got better for himself. But no matter what his reasons, Hutch stuck with him every day, encouraging him to keep trying when he got too tired or weak to go on, helping him go through the exercises, rubbing sore back and leg muscles afterward. But Starsky hardly spoke. And he never smiled.

   Hutch was rubbing those sore muscles for Starsky a week after Rachel left, when Huggy showed up with a sackful of burritos. "Thanks, Huggy. I was gettin' a little tired of hospital food," Starsky said.

   "Thought you might be," Huggy said.

   "Hutch, would you mind going and getting me a cup of coffee?" Starsky asked. "They won't let me have any, but--"

   "Sure, buddy," Hutch said. "They don't have to know. Come on, Hug. We'll get enough for all three of us. I could use a cup myself."

   It was lunchtime and the cafeteria was crowded. Hutch and Huggy were standing in line to pay for the coffee when suddenly Hutch got frightened. His hands went cold and his heart started to pound. But there was nothing--nothing--in that cafeteria to frighten anyone. "Huggy," he said quietly. "Can you manage? I gotta go back upstairs."

   Huggy studied him for just a moment before saying, "Sure, Hutch. Go on."

   Hutch almost danced with impatience in the elevator up to Starsky's floor. He tried not to run when the doors finally opened. And when he got to Starsky's door, he paused, just for a second, to slow his breathing before opening it.

   Oh, my God.

   Starsky was sitting up on his bed, his Beretta in his hands. He was examining the gun as if he'd never seen it before, turning it over and over. And then he turned the barrel toward himself and looked down at it.

   Hutch was frozen to the spot, afraid to move, afraid to breathe...and afraid not to. He heard Huggy come up behind him, heard Huggy's startled indrawn breath, and still Hutch could not move.

   Where the fuck did he get that?

   Very, very quietly, Starsky said, without looking up, "Am I still your hero, Hutch? Would I be your hero if I put this against my head," he stroked the barrel with his other hand, "and fired? Would I? Huh?" His voice broke and Hutch saw a tear roll down his cheek.

   "Starsk--"

   "I'll get security," Huggy whispered.

   "No," Hutch said without taking his eyes off Starsky. He held out his hand, and Huggy put one of the cups into it. Hutch moved slowly and carefully toward his partner, carrying the coffee. He set it down on the bedside tray. "Here's your coffee, Starsk."

   At first, Starsky didn't move or acknowledge him. He continued to stare at the barrel of his gun as though fascinated.

   "Starsky. Your coffee."

   Finally, Starsky raised his head and met Hutch's eyes. "She's gone, Hutch."

   "I know."

   "She's dead."

   "I know."

   Starsky's hand went limp and the gun slid out of his grasp. Hutch took it and slid it into his hip pocket. Starsky's eyes filled, his shoulders shook, and he mutely held out his arms toward Hutch.

   Hutch sank onto the bed and gathered Starsky close, trembling with fear and relief, as he held his partner close and let him cry.

Chapter Fourteen

   "Now, you have to do these exercises every day, you understand, David," the physical therapist said, handing Starsky his release papers and a long list of instructions. "Every day."

   "Okay," Starsky said, taking the papers and handing them to Hutch, who stuffed them into his jacket pocket.

   "You can't have alcohol while you're on this medication, either."

   "Okay."

   "Make sure he eats right," she added to Hutch. "Limit his junk food intake."

   "I'll try," Hutch said, a slight twinkle coming into his eyes. "I can't promise it'll work."

   She smiled. "Do the best you can." To Starsky, she said, "I want you to drink three glasses of whole milk, every day."

   "Can it be in a chocolate milkshake?" Starsky asked, with the first glimmer of humor Hutch had seen in him for weeks.

   "Yes. In fact, that might even be better."

   "I can handle that." Starsky settled himself more comfortably in the wheelchair. "And I'll bring this stupid thing back before you even miss it. I ain't gonna need it long."

   "I'm sure you won't," she said.

   Hutch wheeled Starsky out to the Torino and opened the passenger door. "Okay, buddy, you're gonna have to help," he said, moving the footrests out of the way. He bent down and Starsky got a grip of his shoulder with one hand and the seat back with the other. In a couple of moments, Starsky was settled, but both were breathing hard.

   "How do you expect to get me up the stairs into my place?" Starsky inquired once Hutch had stowed the wheelchair in the trunk and gotten in on the driver's side.

   "Huggy's gonna meet us there," Hutch said. "We'll just carry you up. No big deal."

   Starsky closed his eyes and a look of pain crossed his face. "Shit."

   "Aw, Starsk. Don't let it get to you, buddy. It's just temporary."

   "I just hate to be so goddamned helpless."

   "I know. I'd hate it, too. But if you'll eat what I feed you and do your exercises every day, you'll be on your feet in no time."

   "Yeah." Starsky was silent while Hutch started the car and pulled out of the parking place, but when Hutch got to the street and turned on the turn signal to go left, Starsky said, "Hutch."

   "Hmmm?"

   "I wanna go to the grave."

   Hutch swallowed hard. "Right now, buddy? You sure?"

   "Is it too hard to get to?" Starsky didn't look at him.

   "No. It's right next to the path."

   "I just want to get the first look over with." Starsky finally looked up and the pleading in his eyes was more than Hutch could take.

   "Okay." Hutch turned right instead. The cemetery was only about half a mile away, and Huggy would wait for them. Hutch pulled the car up as close to the grave as he could get, got out and pulled out the wheelchair. Silently, he opened it up, positioned it next to Starsky's door, and helped his partner into it. Neither of them spoke as he pushed it, grunting a little, over the grass to the new grave. There was no stone yet.

   Starsky still said nothing, simply sat and looked at the mound of dirt. Hutch gently put a hand on Starsky's curly hair and let it rest there. After several minutes, Starsky said quietly, "Was she in pain, Hutch?"

   "A little. Not much. They kept her doped up."

   He nodded and was silent for several more minutes. "Did she know she was dyin'?"

   "Yes."

   "And you were with her?"

   "I was holding her hand, babe."

   Starsky closed his eyes. "What about...the baby?"

   "It was a girl, Starsk. Lydia asked me to tell you, but you were unconscious."

   Starsky made no sound, but Hutch saw his shoulders shake and quickly knelt next to the chair, wrapping his arms around him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into Starsky's hair. "I'd give anything to take it back. Anything."

   "Hutch, I wanna name the baby. Will they let me do that?" Starsky, his eyes wet and his voice still trembling, clutched at Hutch's arms and raised his head. "Will they?"

   If they won't, they'll have me to deal with.

   "I'm sure they will, Starsk. Lydia's folks were waiting to order the tombstone until you were better. They thought you'd want to decide what to put on it."

   "I want to name her Emily Ruth," Starsky said. "On the...on the plane..." his voice shook a little, but he steadied it, "we talked about names. Emily was Lydia's grandmother and she wanted to name the...the baby Emily if it was a girl. And Ruth is for Lydia." He smiled a little. "If it was a boy, she wanted to call him Kenneth."

   Hutch choked a little, and Starsky turned to look at him. "Hutch? I'm sorry, buddy. I shouldn't have told you that."

   "It's just that--" Hutch couldn't go on. He rested his head against Starsky's shoulder and tried to get hold of himself.

   "Hutch? What's the matter, partner?" Starsky put his hand under Hutch's chin and made him look at him. "Lydia loved you, Hutch. You shoulda seen her face when she told me she wanted to name the baby Kenneth. She looked like," he smiled again, "a little girl cookin' up some mischief. She said, 'Hutch'll pretend to be mad, but you watch, he'll secretly be pleased.'"

   "And I would've been."

   "So what's really wrong, then?"

   "Oh, Starsky...." Hutch shook his head. "I'm so sorry about all this. God, I'll never forgive myself."

   "For what?"

   "For buying those goddamned tickets!"

   Starsky stared at him for several moments before he found words. "What? You been blamin' yourself for this? Hutch, that was the nicest thing you coulda done. You couldn't've known what would happen. Nobody's blamin' you, buddy!"

   "I am."

   "Well, don't." Starsky gave him a little shake. "I don't blame you, Hutch. Lydia wouldn't blame you, either, and she'd tell you so in no uncertain terms if she could. Now, look," and he put his hands on either side of Hutch's face, "you stop that, right now. It was an accident. Nobody's fault. Not yours, for sure. Definitely not yours. Okay, Hutch? Huh?"

   Hutch looked into Starsky's eyes and saw nothing but love and concern there. He wasn't lying. He couldn't. Hutch could always tell when Starsky was lying. Every time. He rested his cheek against Starsky's shoulder again, and they sat there for a long time, drawing and giving comfort.

~~~

   Huggy was waiting when they arrived at Starsky's, sitting on the steps with a cigarette in one hand and a paper bag at his feet. "About time you boys turned up," he called cheerfully, trotting down the steps to meet the car. "Got you some dinner to tide you over the first night, Starsk," he went on, opening the door and getting the wheelchair out. He opened it like an old pro and reached in for Starsky. Hutch joined him and together they lifted Starsky out and put his arms around their necks. Making a chair of their joined hands, they carried him up the stairs. Huggy set Starsky's feet on the porch floor while Hutch took all of his weight. Once Huggy had the door open, the two of them got Starsky inside and deposited onto the couch while Huggy went back for the wheelchair.

   "See, Starsk? That wasn't so bad."

   "I feel like a sack of moldy potatoes," Starsky complained, but he didn't sound serious, and Hutch let it pass.

   Huggy hung around only long enough to make sure Starsky was settled and Hutch didn't need any help moving him around, then pleaded a neglected bar and left to go back to The Pits. Hutch went into the kitchen to warm up the Chinese food Huggy had thoughtfully provided and mixed Starsky up a chocolate malted milk while he was there. He came back, plopped it all onto the coffee table, and affected a Jewish mother accent. "Eat something. You'll feel better."

   Starsky actually grinned at him. "Needs work. But it's not bad. You must've spent a lot of time with my mom."

   Hutch grinned back and gave a shrug. "Yeah. I s'pose."

   Starsky had practiced with the wheelchair at the hospital, so he didn't need much help navigating around the apartment. Huggy and Hutch had moved furniture around to make it easy for Starsky to get from one room to another, and Hutch helped him get in and out of the bathroom. The problem was, the medications and the lack of feeling Starsky still had below the waist combined to make it difficult for him to know when he had to use the bathroom, and sometimes there was little or no warning, so Hutch had to stay near and be ready to move at a moment's notice. That didn't bother Hutch, but it bothered Starsky. All in all, by the time the news was over at 11:30, both were more than ready to call it a night.

   "I want you to holler if you need me for anything overnight," Hutch said, grunting a little as he lifted Starsky into the bed. "Don't worry about bothering me, okay? It's what I'm here for. You want a drink of water, you gotta go to the john, you yell. I'll be right in there."

   Starsky was silent, but he nodded. Hutch tucked the covers around him, gave him a pat on the shoulder and left the room. It wasn't easy to get comfortable on Starsky's couch, but Hutch was tired, and it wasn't long before he fell asleep. Something woke him some time later, however, and he sat up, listening. When he heard nothing more, he got up quietly and tiptoed to Starsky's room to peek in at him. Though Starsky was lying on his side, and Hutch couldn't see his face, he knew he was awake. He went on in and sat down on the edge of the bed.

   "You okay?"

   Starsky sighed and flopped over onto his back. "I'm sorry. I woke ya up."

   "I told you--"

   "I don't need nothin', Hutch," Starsky said apologetically. "I just...I couldn't sleep."

   "Aw, Starsk." Hutch heard the bleak note in his partner's voice, try as Starsky might to keep it out. He laid a hand on Starsky's shoulder and gently stroked back and forth. "You wanna talk?"

   "It won't bring her back."

   "No. But it might help you sleep."

   Starsky stared up at the ceiling for several moments, one hand covering Hutch's where it lay on his shoulder, and finally said, "I thought, when I came home, I'd be bringin' Lydia with me. And we'd be lookin' for a bigger place, so as to have room for the baby when it--she--was born. And pickin' out a crib, and buyin' baby clothes and diapers...." His voice broke and Hutch squeezed his shoulder a little, to remind him he was nearby. "Hutch, I--I don't know how to go on without her."

   "I know, buddy." Hutch could barely make the words come.

   "Every time. Every goddamned time...." Starsky stopped, but Hutch knew what he was talking about.

   "If I could trade places with her, I would," Hutch said earnestly, his heart aching. "I'd rather be dead myself than have Lydia dead and you suffering so much--"

   "Hutch, no!" Starsky sat bolt upright and took Hutch by the shoulders, shaking him a little. "Don't even think such a thing. Don't even think that!"

   Hutch shut up, a little startled.

   Starsky's eyes bored into his. "I miss her so much," he said, his voice shaking. "I'd give almost anything to have her back. Anything but you. I couldn't give that. I'll learn...," he paused and swallowed hard, "...to live without her. It's gonna take time. A lot of time. Most of my dreams were wrapped up in Lydia, in our future, in the ba-- in Emily. And it hurts, Hutch. Oh, God, it hurts. But I couldn't do that, Hutch...I couldn't go on, if you weren't here to see me through it."

   Hutch couldn't speak for a moment. But when he could, he said, "But it's all my fault, Starsk. I did this. I took her from you with those damned--"

   "No, you did not," Starsky said, almost angrily. "It is not your fault. What about all those other people who were hurt, who died? Did you kill them, too?"

   Hutch hadn't even thought about the other people since the crash.

   "I didn't think so," Starsky said, a bit more calmly.

   "But I told you it was over, the jinx was over. I told you that this time it would be all right."

   "That still don't make it your fault!"

   Hutch dropped his eyes.

   "What makes you think you can take all the blame for everything that happens to me? Aw, Hutch. You big blond blintz." Starsky smiled, in spite of his wet eyes, and gave Hutch a hug. "You're an idiot, you know that? Have I told you that today?"

   Hutch grinned a little. "No."

   "Well, consider yourself told."

~~~

   After that, the air was cleared considerably. Hutch helped Starsky with his exercises every day, and Starsky did them, though he hated it and complained bitterly and constantly. He also complained about the food that Hutch and Huggy conspired to feed him and even got to the point he complained about having to drink chocolate milkshakes. But all his complaining was just a way to let off steam, and Hutch knew it. He didn't take it seriously and rarely even acknowledged it.

   One afternoon, Starsky was resting up from his labors and watching a game show on television. Hutch hated game shows, but he was in the kitchen trying to fix supper, so he didn't have to watch it.

   Usually, Starsky cheered the contestants on, answered the questions himself or groaned aloud when a contestant did or said something he didn't agree with. And he'd been doing that until a few minutes ago. But gradually Hutch realized that for the last several minutes, in spite of the fact that he could hear the studio audience yelling and cheering, Starsky had been utterly silent. Worried, he went into the living area to see if something was wrong.

   Starsky was sitting in his wheelchair, hands folded in his lap, head bowed. Hutch went over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Starsk? What's wrong? You okay?"

   Starsky nodded once, but didn't look up.

   "Come on. I know something's wrong. Why won't you look at me?" When he still got no answer, he knelt so he could look up into Starsky's face. "Starsk?"

   Starsky finally glanced at him, but immediately turned his eyes away again. "I'm too fuckin' embarrassed to even say it."

   "Embarrassed? With me? Come on, buddy. Since when?"

   Starsky smiled a little wanly.

   "Okay. Spill it. What's wrong?"

   He bit his lip and quietly said, "I shit myself."

   Hutch wasn't sure he'd heard right. "What?"

   "I said," Starsky raised his voice, "I shit myself." He was red from collar to hairline.

   "Aw, buddy." Hutch gentled his voice and patted Starsky's arm. "You know that's just a side effect of all this. It's no big deal. It's okay."

   "It's not okay," Starsky said, a little angrily. "I shit myself, man, that is not okay." He fisted the arm of the chair. "This sucks."

   This was not a case of Starsky letting off steam and pretending to be frustrated and angry when he really wasn't. Hutch couldn't remember ever seeing his partner this agitated. "Come on, babe. It's just shit. What the fuck? You think I never did that?"

   Starsky's lips twitched a little, and Hutch was encouraged by that.

   "I mean, shit happens."

   The lips twitched again, more this time.

   "You always were kind of a shithead," Hutch went on.

   A snicker escaped.

   "After all, what's a little shit between friends?"

   Starsky actually laughed, though he was visibly trying not to, and choked it back as soon as he could.

   "I mean, we don't need this shit...."

   "Stop!" Starsky was laughing hard now, his eyes beginning to water.

   Hutch couldn't hold back any longer, either, and he gave Starsky a friendly slap on the back. "Come on, shit-for-brains, let's get you cleaned up."

   That set Starsky off again, and he gave up trying to hide it, though Hutch could see the gratitude in his eyes, too, that Hutch had treated the whole matter lightly.

   "And when we're done doing that," Hutch said, releasing the brake on the chair and turning it toward the bathroom, "we'll go get shit-faced."

~~~

   Two months later, when Starsky was on his feet again and back on light duty, the tombstone came and the cemetery sent a letter that it had been put in place. Starsky read it silently, with sad but dry eyes, then slid it across the desk to Hutch, who was plowing through reports. Hutch looked up, took the letter and read it. Then he looked at Starsky again. "About time for our lunch break, isn't it?"

   Starsky nodded gratefully.

   Hutch was still driving most of the time, since Starsky's legs remained a bit weak. He pulled the LTD up next to the Geisler plot a few minutes later. Starsky stayed seated for a moment, looking at the backside of the stone, before getting out and walking toward it. Hutch trotted to catch up and laid a hand on his shoulder as they stood together, looking down at the dark gray granite.

   At the top was carved the outline of an angel with spreading wings, her arms held out as if to protect the two people who lay below. Under the angel, it said "Lydia Ruth Geisler Starsky. Beloved daughter, wife and mother. 1950-1981."

   Under that was an etching of a hand cradling a tiny, tiny baby.

   "Emily Ruth Starsky," the inscription read. "Adored daughter of Lydia and David."

Immortality
There is a vision and a fire in me
I'll keep the memory of you and me inside
We don't say goodbye
We don't say goodbye
With all my love for you
And what else we may do
We don't say...goodbye.
        "Immortality" by Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb