Starsky paused near the bottom of the steps, mulling about his talk with Brenner. Storming out after that crack about Hutch hadn't helped matters, he knew. But dammit he was sick to death of people maligning the man, especially after all of these years. He hadn't intended to blow up at his best connection in the Department (and, not to mention, a once near and dear family friend) like that and now...well, he wasn't sure what the hell to do now.

   "Swift move there, Starsky," he muttered, looking around the street before him for a moment. "Real swift move."

   He started walking again when a noise caught his attention. He paused and turned around, watching as an officer in a nearby cruiser climbed out of the front passenger side, cursing like a sailor as he stormed around the rear of the car toward the left rear door.

   And that's when Starsky saw the face in that window.

   His jaw dropped and he staggered back a step in shock. "H...Hutch?!" He practically coughed, his blue eyes wide and unblinking. Could it...could that...

   No...no, that guy looked...

   He watched as the officer yanked open the rear door and hauled the haggard, pathetic figure to his feet.

   "Starsky!" The man slurred as the officer roughly turned him around so his face was against the trunk of the car and his wrists were cuffed behind his back. "Lemme go! That's my...that's my partner! That's...that's Starsky! I gotta go to him...I gotta..."

   "Yeah, yeah, sure buddy. Hold still so I can get these damn things on you!"

   I'll be damned. That IS him! Oh god, Hutch...what the hell has happened to you?!

   Starsky swallowed back his tears of shock and forced himself to rush over to the car as the officer was trying to shove Hutch back into the cruiser. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "Hey, wait a minute...wait a second there..."

   The officer paused, holding Hutch like a rag doll since it was painfully obvious that Hutch had no real idea where he was or what the hell was going on. The cop couldn't help wrinkling his nose and keeping Hutch at a slight distance and Starsky's eyes filled with tears as he saw the front of the trenchcoat and worn black turtleneck beneath it.

   Oh my god.

   "What do you want, pal?" The officer frowned, dark eyes glaring at Starsky.

   For several moments Starsky couldn't find his voice, watching as Hutch's eyes seemed to look around, then at, then through him, but unable to really focus on anything. Jeezus, Hutch...

   "Hutch..." He rasped as he stepped forward. "Officer...what's he done?"

   "What?"

   "This guy, what're the charges against him?"

   The officer stared at Starsky as if he had suddenly sprouted wings. "Huh? Why, you know this bum?"

   Starsky looked at Hutch, watching as the man started to sag in the officer's arms. "Yeah," he replied quietly after a minute. "You could say that."

   "What's going on here, Joey?"

   All eyes turned as another uniformed officer approached, eyeing Starsky dubiously. "Something I can help you with, buddy?"

   "Actually, um...fellas, I think I can help you. That guy you, uh...you picked up...he's with me. I've been lookin' all over for him and..."

   "This drunk's with you?!" The first officer exclaimed, grimacing under Hutch's increasing weight. He glanced at his partner, visibly apprehensive.

   "Yeah," Starsky continued, hoping he sounded convincing. It'd been a helluva long time since he'd had to do something like this. Out of practice, Dave old boy. Out...of...practice.

   Something within him clicked slightly.

   An old flicker of excitement, of looking trouble in the eye.

   Of defying authority.

   Inwardly, he smiled slightly.

   "Yeah, he's my cousin. Just flew out from California. You know how these California guys are: nothin' but wine, women, and song. Looks like Kenny here found the wine before the women or the song. Listen, we've been through this before. This guy gets a little carried away sometimes, so can I just take him home and let him sleep this off, hmm? Maybe bring him back around in the morning to fill out whatever forms or whatever that you guys need?"

   The two officers were silent a moment.

   "It'll save us a helluva lotta paperwork, Joey," one of them began.

   "That's true," his partner nodded, shifting position as Hutch's weight continued to bear down on him with some bit of oppression.

   "And, I mean the guy is out here from California and his friend is right here and everything..."

   "Whatever! Just...somebody make up their minds here, okay! This guy isn't exactly easy to handle y'know!"

   Starsky drew in a breath as the newly arrived officer helped his partner remove the cuffs from Hutch. "You need a hand gettin' him to your car, buddy?" he asked as Starsky, without flinching, eagerly took a hold of his nearly unconscious friend.

   Starsky nodded slightly. "If you guys can hold him while I bring the car around, I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail." He started to walk away.

   "Hey!" The second officer exclaimed, causing Starsky to pause and turn around in curiosity. "H...how far away did you park, anyway?"

   "The garage. Where else?"

   The second officer groaned and shifted position slightly.

********

   That drive was the strangest experience Starsky had endured in some time.

   As he glanced in the rear view mirror at the slightly discombobulated, hideously reeking figure in the backseat, his heart broke. It got so bad that at one point, he had to pull the Sewing Machine off onto a side street and, his hands clasped like talons around the steering wheel, leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the wheel, closing his eyes and silently letting his shock and disbelief manifest themselves in painful but muted sobs.

   After a few moments, he straightened and glanced back around at the rumpled, crumpled figure crowded into the back of the car. This...shell...was Hutch? It was so hard to believe, even now, even when he was this close.

   Or maybe especially because he was this close.

   He swallowed over the lump that insisted on lodging in the hollow of his throat.

   "Oh god, Blintz," he choked, his voice slightly above a rasp. "What the hell happened to you, buddy? What the hell happened?!"

   Shaking his head, he resumed driving, bypassing the route home. Lizzie wouldn't understand this. He didn't have to think twice about that. He loved her but she had never seemed to fully grasp the feelings he had for this man, the feelings he'd always have for him. It was more than a friendship, more than a partnership, it was a kinship...

   He returned to the reality of the moment and found himself pulling the Sewing Machine into the parking lot of a lesser known, lesser reputable motel. As he turned off the engine, he found himself staring at the dilapidated structure in disbelief.

   Answer: The same thing he did for Charmen all those years ago...

   Trying to dry out someone he cared about.

   "What goes around comes around, eh, Hutch?" He muttered as he opened the door.

   Within a matter of minutes he was back at the car, with a set of room keys that, conveniently enough, opened the door to the room directly ahead. He paused, looking around the disturbingly desolate area a moment as he opened the back door of the car. "You know something, pally?" he mused after a moment. "I expect to be paid back for this one. You hear me? Paid back, big time."

   He grimaced as he struggled to heft Hutch's dead weight out of that damned subcompact car. It'd seemed like a long time since he'd had to do this kind of lifting, and his body was starting to protest in places he'd long ago forgotten even existed on his person. He grunted and groaned, nearly dropping the keys several times and Hutch at least twice as he fumbled toward the motel room door.

   When he was finally able to unlock the door and kick it open, he hauled Hutch's inert form inside and fell beside him onto a nearby bed, gasping for breath as he looked around the room that was lit only by the moonlight spilling in through the open door nearby.

   "Oh man," he breathed, half-laughing as he remained on his back. "I guess I...I guess I shoulda listened to Lizzie and joined that...that health club her parents have got out on Long Island, huh? You think, Hutch? I mean...I used to...I used to be able to run a pretty good clip, but I...I can't run so good any more, pal."

   He glanced at the figure beside him and sighed, reaching out to touch the man's arm to make sure that he was real.

   Suddenly, a hand seized around his wrist, painfully, like a vise and it was all Starsky could do not to cry out from the pain that suddenly coursed through that joint. He was literally jerked upward to a sitting position and gasped when he found himself staring into eyes that, despite their glassy haze, he knew well.

   "Hutch! Hutch! Hey...hey, pal, it's me! It's Starsky, man! It's Starsky! Hey..."

   Several tense moments passed as Hutch's eyes widened, staring at Starsky as if looking at an apparition. "St...Starsky?!" He stammered, his voice choking up into a nearly unintelligible sob that caught midway up his throat. "I'm...I'm hallucinating again. I..."

   Starsky's eyes misted over with tears. "No, pally. No, Hutch. It's me. I'm here. I'm really here."

   Hutch lapsed into silence again and his surprisingly firm grasp on Starsky's wrist eased up slightly. He tilted his head slightly and with his free hand, furtively rubbed at his eyes as if to see whether or not the 'apparition' would somehow disappear.

   It didn't.

   He didn't.

   "Oh my god," Hutch slurred, releasing Starsky's arm and falling back slightly in shock. "Oh my god, it can't...it can't be..."

   "Hutch...Blintz..."

   "Don't call me that!" Hutch wept, crawling backward and fumbling to keep from falling off the side of the bed. "Don't call me that! I let only one person call me that!" Somehow, in his frenzy, he managed to flick on a bedside lamp that filled the room with a pale orange glow that was just enough light for him to get a better look at the features of the man who painfully watched him just a few feet away.

   Starsky watched as something about Hutch, the small shred of composure that the pitiful looking shadow of his friend had managed to construct, now started to crumble before his very eyes. Starsky said nothing as Hutch slowly fell forward, his body convulsing in sobs that had been held inside for years.

   With trembling arms, and remaining silent, Starsky held him.

   Awkwardly, at first.

   But quickly tightening his grasp as Hutch's body sagged unconscious once again.

********

   A voice from the past permeated his burgeoning consciousness with surprising clarity:

   He groaned and rolled onto his side, fighting off another wave of nausea as he forced his eyes open.

   "Hey there, pal. Take it easy. Don't rush it, okay? It's been a helluva night."

   Carefully he tilted his head and saw it was true. The face that now appeared in his field of vision WAS Dave Starsky. Older, definitely. But it was Starsky. No mistaking those eyes or that cockeyed grin. He tried to sit up, but felt a hand on his chest. Where are my clothes?, he thought. Where am I?

   "Lay back, buddy. I don't think you're gonna be wantin' to go anywhere in your skivvies. You've been having a serious case of the sweats. Looks like you had yourself one helluva fever on top of...well, on top of everything else."

   He felt a cool sensation on his forehead and he gasped slightly, then started to cough involuntarily.

   "Easy. Easy."

   He felt himself being held as the tremors started again and his reflexes tensed almost immediately even as he looked up into that face that he hadn't seen in so long. "Starsk..." he managed to utter, between convulsive shivers. "Starsk, I..."

   "You don't have to say anything, Hutch."

   Hutch blinked, the orange glow of the room almost glaring to his ultra sensitive eyes. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he needed to say! He watched, helplessly, weak as a damn kitten, as Starsky, who looked as if he'd been up all night, sat beside him as if gazing down at a miracle.

   In a way, he was.

   Hutch remained silent, his bare chest covered with perspiration and he fought to keep from coughing as Starsky gently rolled him onto his side.

   "There, buddy. Get it out. Get it all out."

   He gave in to the coughing fit. Couldn't help himself really. His lungs felt as if they were on fire and coughing seemed to be the only way to relieve that in some way. He felt strong hands on his arms and felt safe, secure...for the first time in a long, long time.

   As he was eased back onto his back he looked up at the time-worn but still recognizable features and smiled, his lips trembling slightly. "You...you never did...did listen to me...Gordo," he half-whispered.

   Starsky laughed, visibly relieved as he carefully wiped Hutch's brow and face. "Nope, pally. Never did. Never will. Ain't it good to know some things don't change?"

   Hutch tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a hacking cough, that wracked him with another spasm. He offered no protest as Starsky helped him sit up carefully, cradling him as one would an infant.

   "Now, no need to get choked up on my account," Starsky attempted to wisecrack as Hutch continued hacking up what felt like a large share of his lungs. His eyes shone with concern as he continued to cradle Hutch protectively.

   As his coughing finally subsided, Hutch let himself be eased back onto his back and looked up, smiling sadly. "Don't flatter yourself, partner," he rasped.

    Starsky remained silent for several moments, sitting back slightly and running a hand over his face for a moment. Hutch watched as Starsky got up and slowly walked over to stand before the motel room window, looking more than a little exhausted as he leaned one elbow against the window pane and slowly tilted his head down until his forehead slightly touched the glass.

   Hutch drew in a breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

   "How...uh...how did you..." His voice trailed off and he looked up at the ceiling. "Never mind," he muttered after a couple of moments. "I don't think I wanna know."

   Another stretch of silence passed.

    "Hutch...Hutch, we have to talk..."

    Hutch swallowed and closed his eyes again as another wave of nausea began to make slight rumblings within the hollow of his stomach. There was also a sharp throbbing beginning in his temples and a slight tremoring in his arm. Damn. It's starting already.

    He opened his eyes and labored onto his side, using his right hand to try to keep his left arm from trembling. "Starsky, I...I need a drink..."

   Slowly Starsky lifted his head, turning his pain-filled eyes at the shadow of his friend. "What?" He exclaimed, his brows furrowing in disbelief as his perspiration beaded brow wrinkled noticeably.

   "I need a drink. Just one...just to..."

   "You've gotta be kidding me!" Numb with disbelief, Starsky semi-staggered toward Hutch, his eyes flashing. He hovered above his friend, hands clenching and unclenching as if to work out some sort of nervous tension.

   "Starsk, you don't understand..."

   "Don't understand...don't understand?! What the hell is there to understand, Hutch?!"

   Hutch swallowed, and forced down the nausea enough to where he could somehow pull himself to his feet, albeit unsteadily. The tremors were now more than a little noticeable and he felt a heated flush of embarrassment stain his face as a pitiful look passed over Starsky's face as his friend noticed the shakes.

   "Starsky, don't lecture me. I don't need that right now. What I do need is..."

   "What you need is a damn swift kick in the ass! Hutch...have you...have you looked at yourself? I mean, really looked at yourself? You look like hell, man!"

   "Great...just great, Starsk. You really know how to make a friend feel better..."

   "Don't start with that, Hutch...we've played this scene before..."

   "Yeah, I know! I know we have! You think I'm so damn plastered I don't remember how we left things, pal?!"

   "Hutch...for god's sake, don't do this. You're sick, buddy. I wanna help you. I couldn't...you wouldn't let me help you last time." He paused. "I know about Laura, buddy. I know you're hurting. And I know you're scared. I know..." He stopped again, watching as Hutch's thin veil of composure crumbled before his eyes. It was as if Starsky had brought to the fore the very thing that Hutch had been struggling so hard to suppress...

   "She's been kidnapped," Hutch rasped, slowly seating himself back on the bed and staring ahead at nothing in particular, barely registering Starsky seating himself beside him. The words sounded so hollow, so strange; almost as if they were coming from another person entirely. "I...I haven't seen her in years. Not since...not since just after the divorce. She, uh...she called me...a couple of weeks ago. To, uh...to see how I was doing."

   Starsky remained quiet, letting Hutch tell this story in his own time and in his own way.

   "I, uh...I got into town and, uh...I was gonna go straight over to Cat's...y'know, to see how she was doing. See what I could do. I...I swear, that's what I meant to do..." His words trailed off again and he lowered his elbows to his knees and pressed his forehead against the back of his hands, the pain in his temples easily dwarfing the trembling that was still radiating down his left arm. "I never meant to...I never meant to...I just needed one drink, Starsk! That's all! One drink!"

   "That's the way it goes, isn't it?" Starsky's voice was quiet, subdued, free of the sarcasm that would have normally underscored his words and tone. "Just one drink, and another, and one more until you are so drunk you can't stand and can't even think. You've been there, Pal. We both have, and I can't let you go there again. Not with this Laura kidnapping hangin' over your head. I know you're going to want to go after her, and I can't let you do it while you're drunk. It ain't safe, and it ain't gonna' happen. You're just gonna have to hang in there and go through the hell to get to the heaven."

    "Heaven?"

   "Yeah...the way you're gonna feel when you've gone one day, one hour, without actually needing a drink. When you can think, see, and feel everything, without having to have that damned bottle attached to your hand..."

   Hutch studied his face for a moment, then looked down at the trembling arm and fingers. He drew in a breath and straightened his back carefully, letting his still partially glassy eyes look toward the tacky orange draperies framing either side of the partially opened window. "I don't know if I want that, Starsk," he forced after a moment. "I don't know if I want to feel, if it hurts worse than it does right now."

   Starsky carefully put a hand on Hutch's bare shoulder. "Trust me, Hutch. You'll want to feel. You can only stay numb for so long before you start losing yourself. It's time to find yourself again, buddy. It's time to find Laura. Together."

   Slowly Hutch looked up and met Starsky's gaze and he smiled.

   Genuinely.

   Gratefully.

********

   "Lizzie? Darlin', it's me. I know you're there. Pick up the phone, will ya?"

   Glancing over at Hutch who lay curled in a fetal position on the opposite bed, Starsky cradled the telephone between his shoulder and ear. The sun was cresting the horizon outside, but Starsky felt no closer to getting sleep now than he had earlier, helping Hutch through another bout of tremors and nausea, and then another until his friend eventually, finally, mercifully, collapsed.

   "Lizzie," he sighed after a moment. "Lizzie, the machine's right next to the bed...c’mon, darlin' and speak to me. Pick up the damn phone, will ya?"

   He waited a moment as the other end was picked up abruptly. "Where the hell are you, David?" His wife snapped.

   "Listen to me, sweetheart, something's come up..."

   "Don't 'sweetheart' me, David Starsky!" The irate female voice continued. "You take off and stay out all night and expect me to believe that..."

   "If you would shut up for five minutes and listen to me, maybe you'll understand!" He didn't mean to snap. Really.

   She fell silent.

   He exhaled carefully, leaning his head back against the garishly designed headboard behind him. "Thank you! Now...what I'm calling to tell you is that I might not be home for a couple of days and..."

   "WHAT?!"

   He closed his eyes and held the phone away from his ear for a moment. That woman has a helluva voice this early in the day, he thought sarcastically. When his breathing was calmed enough he glanced over at Hutch, who hadn't moved a muscle in over an hour and a half. (A good sign there.) "How could you not have heard that?" he mumbled before warily returning the phone to his ear and leaning his head back again. "Lizzie....dear....sweetheart...darling...pumpkin..."

   "Don't start with me, David!"

   "Wha..."

   "If you don't get home in twenty minutes, don't come home at all!"

   He grimaced and ran a hand over his face. "Lizzie, you know I don't deal with ultimatums..."

   "And I don't deal with liars."

   The phone clicked loudly.

   He held onto the phone and continued to look out the window. The day was progressing at a faster rate than he expected. After a night of caring for Hutch as a parent would a sick child, Starsky found himself less than reassured by the promises awaiting them in this new day. They had yet to even begin to contemplate what to do about finding Hutch's kid. And after this brief, but no less painful, odyssey into the beginning dark depths of withdrawal, Hutch might not be up to functioning enough to embark on such a demanding task.

   Starsky exhaled deeply, looking at his friend who, even in deep slumber, seemed restless as he rolled onto his side, his eyelids fluttering noticeably even as they somehow managed to remain closed. "I wish I could wipe it all away, buddy," he smiled sadly. "For both of us." He looked down at the gold band on his finger and leaned his head back again.

   The next thing he knew he was opening his eyes, surprised to discover that he had fallen asleep at some point. What was worse, when he rolled over onto his side and looked around the room, he noticed something that immediately struck him with alarm...

   Hutch was gone!

   "Oh god," He gasped, hastily scrambling off the bed when he spied the partially open motel room door. With hair and clothes disarrayed, he staggered to the door and threw it open, and stopped abruptly when he was nearly plowed over by a figure that only vaguely looked like...

   "Hutch?!" he gasped, his jaw flapping open in astonishment.

   The man standing before him was definitely different. He was cleaned up; shaven, showered, and in clothes Starsky couldn't help but wonder where the hell he'd managed to scavenge from. He looked like an older version of the Hutch he knew and loved so well...not that pathetic, drunken version Starsky had pitifully dragged here nearly twenty four hours earlier. He even managed to scavenge up a handful of bags that looked like he'd been out for some time.

   Quite some time.

   "G'morning, Sleeping Beauty," He beamed and Starsky's eyes teared up at the familiar spark that was back that was Hutch. "Brought you a present."

   Starsky watched in astonishment as Hutch handed him a fairly good size shopping bag and walked right by him into the room as if nothing were out of the ordinary. "Wh...what the hell is this?!"

   Throwing the other bags on the nearest bed, Hutch threw him an odd look. "What's it look like, partner? A change of clothes? Can't have you going around all day looking like you just got outta bed, can we?"

   "What the..."

   "Close your mouth, Starsk. You'll catch flies. Not only that...it's not exactly the most intelligent expression you've ever had."

   Starsky jerked slightly as Hutch walked toward the adjoining bathroom, seemingly without a care in the world. What the hell is THIS now? Last night the man was drunk out of his mind, suffering from severe withdrawal and...

   He shook his head, looking down into the bag that Hutch had practically shoved into his hands. Dazed, he extracted what looked to be a very expensive suit of clothes, a suit that definitely wasn't Starsky. Not in the slightest. He looked toward the bedroom, his eyes darkening with suspicion.

   Damn.

   He put the clothes back in the shopping bag as Hutch exited the bathroom, pausing and throwing him a strange look. "Starsk? You all right?"

   "The truth? No. No, I'm not all right!" With a burst of anger that surprised him, he threw the bag to the floor. "I'm not all right, pal, and neither are you!"

   "What?!"

   "You heard me! Stop the crap, okay, Hutch?! Just...just stop the crap! Those clothes...the real Hutch would know damn well that even if I could afford stuff like that, it's not me! It's not my style!" He paused, watching as Hutch paled visibly.

   "What the hell are you saying, Starsky?"

   "Stay still."

   "What?"

   "I said, stay still!"

   Hutch stared at him, blue eyes taking on a decidedly glazed appearance the closer Starsky got to him. There was also the distinct aroma of heavy mouthwash and cologne emanating off his friend.

   To hide the alcohol, Starsky thought bitterly. To hide the damn alcohol!

   "Just as I thought...you're drunk. You're goddamn drunk!"

    Hutch's eyes hardened and he tensed visibly. "What are you talking about? Starsky, what the hell is..."

   "Damn you!" Grabbing the collar of Hutch's sportscoat, Starsky shoved the man backward against a nearby wall. "I thought you were going to try! I thought..."

   "Let go of me, Starsk!"

   Trying to yank himself away from Starsky, Hutch inadvertently positioned himself so that the large arm of his sportscoat dangled perpendicular to the floor and a small bottle half-filled with an amber-colored fluid fell to the carpet.

   The tension between them shot up dramatically.

   Hutch watched, his face flushing slightly, as Starsky gingerly knelt down and picked up the object, examining the label as he returned to a full, upright position. "Great. This is just great!" He looked at Hutch, his blue eyes hardened with resolve and tinged with emotional turmoil and angst. "You can't even keep off this stuff for one day?! How in the hell are you going to even begin to think of finding Laura when you can't even find your own way out of a damn bottle!" Without thought, he threw the bottle against the nearest wall, watching it shatter but taking no pleasure in watching the amber liquid stream down the tacky orange and green painted wall.

   "Don't lecture me, Starsky! Don't you dare lecture me!" Now reasonably ired himself, Hutch glared daggers at Starsky. "I don't...I don't wanna hear it! You got that...buddy? Pal? Friend? You have absolutely no idea the kind of life I've had to lead these past couple of decades. No idea!"

   "So TELL me about it, Hutch! Talk to me, already! Please! Tell me what the hell happened to you, man!"

   Hutch was silent, his face registering a slow change from anger to reluctant resignation, that he really did want to talk to Starsky.

   That he'd wanted to talk to Starsky for years.

   "Hutch?"

   A slight smile slowly upturned Hutch's lips. "Why don't we talk over breakfast, huh? You...uh...you still like eggs? Scrambled?"

   A strange shudder passed through Starsky, as if a fleeting memory was running away from his attempt to latch onto it.

   He paused, gazing intensely into Hutch's eyes.

   What he saw there frightened him.

   But it also comforted him.

   Maybe Hutch was ready after all.

   Maybe.

   Drawing in a deep breath, Starsky smiled slightly, but genuinely. "Yeah," he replied quietly after a moment. "Sounds good. Sounds real good."

PART THREE