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PART TWO

Cheryl T

   Starsky spent the rest of the afternoon agonizing over what to do with the information he had. What if he brought it up to Hutch and it made things worse? What if this was something Hutch wasn't ready to deal with? Starsky decided the only thing to do would be to wait until he could talk to Hutch's doctor and see what he recommended. Now, more than ever, Starsky began to question his wisdom in not going along with the doctor and trying to persuade Hutch to participate in the suggested psychotherapy.

   As he cleaned up around the small house, he shoved the copy of the newspaper article and police report under a pile of old magazines that had been read and reread in the hospital. He hoped that with them out of sight, maybe he could somehow push the decision out of his mind until Doctor Martin was available.

   As they worked on Hutch's leg exercises, Starsky found it hard to even look Hutch in the eye. He didn't know quite what to say to Hutch. He felt somehow like he was being dishonest by not telling Hutch what he knew. "Hey, Starsk...something wrong?" Hutch found it strange that the normally talkative Starsky was now the one being quiet.

   "What?" Starsky replied innocently, realizing that Hutch was looking at him like he was weird or something. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

   "Like what?" Hutch asked. "I'm wondering if you're coming down with something. You're so quiet...I assume you must be sick."

   "Very funny. For your information I was thinking about something real important." Starsky knew he had to do some fast thinking.

   "Important?" Hutch had a hard time not laughing. "What's so important that it's kept you so quiet?

   "For your information, I'm trying to decide what we're gonna have for dinner." Starsky finished with the motion exercises, and helped adjust Hutch back to a sitting position. "I'm taking the night off from cooking."

   "Well, that'll be a relief to my stomach," Hutch grinned.

   "Very funny! What do you feel like, pizza or Chinese?"

   "Since this is such an important issue maybe you should decide."

   "You've got a point. When it comes to food I do make the better choices." Starsky motioned toward the wheelchair. "Want back in the chair?"

   Hutch made a face at the mention of the chair, but allowed Starsky to help him back into it. "I'll ignore your comment about who makes the better food choices, but only because I'm actually looking forward to not eating your cooking."

   "And I'll ignore your last comment. I was just thinking...I could really make that wheelchair into a work of art. Maybe something with a stripe." Starsky gave Hutch an evil grin.

   "Starsky, please no more thinking today. Just feed me."

   "I'm on my way. Hey, you want to ride along with me?" Starsky paused on his way out the door.

   "No, I think I'll just read while you're gone." Hutch maneuvered the wheelchair over to his desk and reached for his book.

   "Anything you need before I take off?" Starsky stood behind Hutch, gently massaging his shoulders. "You sure you're gonna be okay alone?"

   "No, I don't need anything and yes I'll be okay." Hutch reached up and squeezed one of Starsky's hands. "Thanks, buddy."

   "No thanks needed. I'll be back in just a bit. One last squeeze to Hutch's shoulders, and Starsky was out the door.

   Hutch opened his book, but then decided that he would rather read today's newspaper. Turning the wheelchair around, he tossed the book back onto the desk and headed out the door and down the hall. Once in the living room, he was briefly sidetracked by the view out the front window. He never tired of looking at the view of the water and sky. He hoped that Starsky enjoyed it, too. Tearing his eyes away from the view, he moved to the table by the couch to get the newspaper. As he moved the newspaper, the pile of magazines also on the table began to slide. Grabbing the magazines to keep them from falling, Hutch's eye caught a glimpse of something that did not appear to belong in with the magazines. He found a large envelope, something that appeared to be a copy of a newspaper article, and a police report. Was Starsky working on a case? Taking a closer look, he found the article was from a Duluth newspaper...dated 1960. Seeing his name in the article, Hutch's hand began to shake. He wanted to deny what he was reading, it couldn't be true. His chest felt as if it were being crushed by something heavy, it was hard for him to breathe. He tried to deny what he was reading, but there it was staring him in the face. Two of his friends had died...and one was paralyzed. Why not him? Then the terrifying realization came over him...this time he had not escaped. Images of a car mangled beyond recognition, the horrifying sounds of metal and glass colliding, and then terrifying screams...Hutch squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to block it all out. Every emotion possible, from rage to guilt, seemed to race through Hutch's anguished mind. Throwing the papers he held in his hands onto the floor and now sobbing uncontrollably, Hutch in a desperate attempt to get away, turned the wheelchair quickly. Too quickly, the chair caught on the table leg and Hutch struggled to break free. Powered by his grief and anger, he finally succeeded in freeing the chair, but only to lose his balance and be sent sprawling helplessly onto the floor. As he hit the floor, his head connected with the edge of a table that sat next to the couch. The wheelchair landed on its side next to Hutch. Sobs wracked his body, he didn't even care that he was bleeding, helpless and all alone.

*****   

   Starsky hummed along with the car radio as he made the trip home. Not able to make up his mind between pizza and Chinese, he had ended up with both. He could just hear the remarks Hutch would have for him when he walked in carrying both. He wasn't even going to think about the information Dobey had sent him. Tonight they would just enjoy their food, relax and watch some TV.  Tomorrow, after talking to Dr. Martin, he'd know how to handle things.

   Juggling the pizza and the bag with the containers of Chinese food, he fumbled for the doorknob. As he pushed open the door and set the food down on the table, he knew immediately something was very wrong. The anguished sounds of Hutch's crying tore at Starsky's insides. "Hutch?" God, I should never have left him alone.

   Quickly taking the few steps from the kitchen to the living room, Starsky stopped short at the sight before him. The toppled wheelchair, his best friend sprawled awkwardly on the floor sobbing, blood beginning to mat the fine blond hair that clung to his forehead. Starsky hesitated only briefly before taking the final few steps and kneeling beside his friend. "Hutch, what happened?" Starsky gently rolled Hutch so that he now lay on his back. Looking down at the red blotchy tear-stained face, Starsky asked again. "What happened, Hutch? Please, stop crying and talk to me." Wiping the blood away with a handkerchief he had taken from his pocket, he could see that the wound was not very serious. "Hutch, are you hurt anywhere else?" Starsky gently probed Hutch's ribs. Everything seemed okay there. Hutch's crying had eased a bit, but he still hadn't replied to any of Starsky's questions. Pulling Hutch up so that his head rested in his lap, Starsky tried once again to find out the reason for the tears. "Hutch, talk to me. Are you hurt? What happened? I just want to help you, buddy."

   "Why...why, Starsk?" Hutch managed between ragged breaths.

   "Why what, Hutch?" Starsky gently wiped again at the still slightly bleeding cut on Hutch's head.

   His voice almost completely emotionless, Hutch replied, "Why did I live? Why not one of the others? I just don't understand..." Hutch's voice trailed off, then the tears started once again.

   Starsky pulled Hutch tighter to him. "Take it easy, Hutch." Starsky's eyes moved around the room, trying to determine what had caused his partner to end up on the floor bleeding and crying. His roving eyes took in the papers that Hutch had thrown on the floor. Starsky knew immediately what they were. And it explained Hutch wondering why he had lived. "Damn it," Starsky swore softly under his breath. "Hutch, I'm sorry. I was going to tell you tomorrow."

   Starsky hated seeing Hutch helpless on the floor in this condition. "Hey, buddy, I think we should get you off the floor. Think you can help me?" Starsky grabbed a pillow from the couch to place under Hutch's head. "Okay, I'll get the chair and we'll have you off the floor in no time." It was easier said than done, but before long an exhausted Starsky had managed to get one very devastated Hutch off the floor and into the wheelchair. Starsky knelt down on the floor in front of the blond. The face that looked up at Starsky showed every bit of the pain that Hutch was feeling. Pain seemed to be carved into every line of the tear-ravaged face. "I'm sorry, Hutch, I should've told you." Starsky was at a loss as to what he should do now. "Hutch, I promise you everything is going to work out okay." Starsky took hold of Hutch's face and forced him to look him in the eye. "I've never lied to you, have I?"

   "No," Hutch whispered. "You've never lied to me. But I'm so confused." Hutch's voice sounded flat, as if the life had been drained out of him.

   "What do you say, we get you cleaned up and take care of that cut on your head? Then I'll warm up our dinner. The good news is that you can have both pizza and Chinese." Starsky watched for some reaction from Hutch, but nothing. "After that if you feel like talking...well, it's up to you. I just want you to know that I'm here for you. Whatever you need from me."

   Starsky watched Hutch's face thoughtfully as he cleaned and bandaged the cut on his forehead. He was usually pretty good at knowing what Hutch was thinking, but not this time. He could only imagine what thoughts were racing around in that blond head now. But he'd bet most of them centered on feeling guilty. Guilty that he had survived the accident that had taken such a toll on his friends. "Well, I guess that should do it." Starsky patted Hutch on the shoulder. Ready for something to eat?"

   "Not hungry...just tired." Hutch looked up at Starsky with a pleading look. "Is it okay if I just go to bed?"

   Starsky had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak. He could see that Hutch was both emotionally and physically worn out. "You know you don't need my permission to go to bed. You sure you don't want something to eat first?"

   "No, could you just help me get ready for bed?"

   That was not a good sign, Starsky thought to himself. In the last few days Hutch's spirits had been improving, and he had been showing signs of trying to achieve some independence. "Sure, Hutch, if that's what you want." Starsky turned the wheelchair and headed back to Hutch's room.

   Forty-five minutes, later a depressed Starsky sat eating cold pizza and wondering what his next step should be. The silence in the house was almost overpowering. Not the evening he had planned.

*****   

   Starsky sat bolt upright on the couch. Something had jolted him from the slumber he had fallen into. Then he heard what sounded like moaning. It was coming from Hutch's room. Starsky quickly made his way down the short hallway to Hutch's room, the moaning was getting louder and more frantic. Pushing open Hutch's door, the light coming in from the hallway was just enough for Starsky to make out the thrashing form of his partner. Taking Hutch gently by the shoulders, Starsky whispered, "Hutch, wake up. Wake up, Hutch, it's only a dream." Brushing the hair off the sweat-drenched forehead, Starsky watched as Hutch slowly opened his eyes. "It was just a dream, babe. You're okay."

   "A dream? It was so real." Hutch seemed to be struggling to catch his breath. Starsky moved closer to the head of the bed and, putting his arm around Hutch, pulled him closer. Feeling tears begin to roll down his face, he pressed his head into Starsky's shoulder. "I'm sorry," Hutch mumbled from the safety of Starsky's shoulder.

   "Nothing to be sorry for." Starsky tightened his hold on the trembling body. "You need to start talking about it...that's the only way you'll ever be able to start dealing with it. Tell me about the dream."

   Hutch turned his head so he could see Starsky's face. He took comfort in the fact that, despite his life having been so drastically changed, Starsky was still the same. Starsky's face still showed the same strength and love, something Hutch so desperately needed now. Without thinking, Hutch reached out toward Starsky's face, needing to touch it, attempting to absorb some of that strength for himself. Hutch's finger tenderly traced the line of Starsky's cheekbone and jaw. Starsky's hand closed over Hutch's and he repeated his plea. "Tell me about the dream."

   It wasn't until Starsky's warm, strong hand had closed on his own and the question repeated, that Hutch realized Starsky was waiting for an answer. Hutch withdrew his hand and turned his face away from Starsky's questioning eyes. "I can't...I'm scared, Starsk. I buried every detail of that night because I couldn't deal with it. I still can't deal with it. Please don't make me do this."

   "Hutch, you've got to get this out in the open. You can't keep it buried. Don't you see what you've done?" Part of Starsky wanted to take Hutch by the shoulders and shake him, make him realize what he was doing to himself. "You feel guilty because you were the only one who didn't die or end up disabled.

   So now you're punishing yourself."

   "Shut up! Please, just shut up! I don't want to talk about this." I can't deal with it. Why can't you understand that?" The tears had started again. "Just leave me alone."

   Starsky slid off the bed, now really fighting the urge to shake his partner. "Talk to me!" Starsky practically yelled at Hutch, his voice tense and clipped. "Damn it, Hutch, let's deal with this so you can get back to living again."

   "No." Hutch's voice was cold and exact, making it clear that he was not going to talk to Starsky.

   "Fine. Have it your way." Starsky turned and left the room, pulling the door part way closed behind him. Once outside the door, he stood listening to the quiet sobbing from inside the room. Sighing in exasperation, he slid to the floor. Joining his partner in silent grief, Starsky sat back against the wall as the tears slid down his face. Hutch wanted to be left alone, but this was as far as Starsky was going. He was staying close. Just in case Hutch had another bad dream.

   Starsky woke to find the sun shining brightly into Hutch's bedroom. His whole body was stiff and aching. It had been a long, exhausting night, and Starsky had spent it in a chair next to Hutch's bed. Hutch had awaken from another bad dream, shortly after Starsky had taken up residence in the hall outside Hutch's room. The whole night had gone like that...one bad dream after another.

   Starsky got up and pulled the blind down to keep the sun from waking Hutch, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully right now. Looking down at the blond and thinking of what they still had to go through, Starsky remembered Mary's words: " I've got to warn you, there'll probably be days when the two of you will actually hate each other."

   "Well, buddy, I think Mary knew what she was talking about. Just don't hate me too much, huh? I'm gonna have to come down hard on you. It's for your own good." Starsky whispered the words to his sleeping partner.

*****   

   In the following days, it really did seem at times that they hated each other. Hutch continued to have his nightmares, and Starsky continued pushing Hutch to tell him about them--neither one of them willing to give an inch. So it had been a rather cold and tense last few days. Hutch had spent his time either in his room with the door closed or out on the beach just staring out at the water. That meant that a lot of Starsky's time had been spent staring at Hutch's closed door or watching Hutch as he stared at the water. Not exactly an exciting way to spend one's time.

   At the moment, Hutch was on the beach. Starsky watched as a light breeze ruffled the fine blond strands of Hutch's hair as he sat in his usual spot, just staring out at the water. Starsky felt a great sadness as he watched the forlorn figure. The blond in the chair just looked so desolate. And Starsky had to admit that he himself felt pretty lonely.

*****   

   "Nice day, huh?" Starsky asked, as he sat down on the sand next to where Hutch sat. "You must be getting hungry, since you didn't have any breakfast."

   "I'm not hungry," Hutch replied, not taking his eyes from the water.

   "You should eat something. How about I fix you some soup and a sandwich?"

   "Starsky, I told you I'm not hungry."

   "Hutch..."

   "Starsky, I said I'm not hungry! Just get off my back would you?"

   "Sure...I'm sorry...I just worry about you." Starsky got to his feet, pausing a moment, hoping that Hutch would stop him. But Hutch remained sitting in a stony silence.

   After Starsky had left, Hutch sat feeling consumed with guilt and grief. He didn't like hurting his best friend, but somehow he kept doing it. It was almost like he had no control over the words that came out of his mouth. Starsky deserved a lot better from him. He sat there a while longer before making the slow trip back to the house.

   "Starsk?" Hutch called out as he pushed the door open. Struggling a bit, he finally managed to get the wheelchair inside the door. "Starsk?" Hutch was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. Had Starsky been angry enough to go off and leave without saying a word? Hutch moved toward the living room, a feeling of panic now taking over. "Starsky...where are you? Starsky, I'm sorry." Hutch's trembling voice was tinged with fear.

   Hearing Hutch calling him, Starsky dropped the rag he had been polishing the Torino with, and ran toward the house. Something was wrong. "Hutch..." Fear swept through Starsky as he made his way toward the sound of his partner's distraught voice. "Hutch, what's wrong?"

   "Starsk...I thought you had left." Relief washed over him at the sight of Starsky. Hutch gulped hard, fighting the tears that had filled his eyes. "I'm sorry, Starsk...I don't mean to be such a bastard. I really wouldn't blame you if you did leave."

   "Hey, take it easy." Starsky rubbed the shoulders of his distraught partner. "I was just polishing the Torino. I'm not going anywhere. I know you don't mean half of the stuff you say. You've just got a lot to deal with."

   "I don't deserve you, Starsk. I'll understand if you want to change your mind about staying with me. I'm sure I could manage okay, I could get a nurse to come in sometimes." The words rushed out of Hutch's mouth, as if he were afraid that he might change his mind if he took the time to really think about what he was saying.

   "Not a chance, buddy. You're stuck with me. We're in this together. Now that that's all settled, I'm going to fix you something to eat."

   The rest of the afternoon passed smoothly. Starsky brought out the Monopoly game, and had managed to keep some conversation going while they played. The afternoon had ended on a much brighter note than it had begun.

   As Starsky helped Hutch get ready for bed that night, Hutch turned their conversation in a serious direction. "Starsk, have you given any thought to the possibility that I might not walk again?"

   "Nope." Starsky spoke the word with certainty. As if there were no doubt in his mind that Hutch would walk again.

   "Well, maybe you should," Hutch said with quiet emphasis.

   "Nope."

   "Starsky, you have to at least think about it," he sighed with exasperation. "I don't want you spending the rest of your life taking care of me. This is no kind of life for you."

   "I won't. You're gonna walk again." The words were spoken with a quiet confidence. "You just need to talk about what's happened. If not to me, then to someone else."

   "I can't!" Hutch replied, in a low, tormented voice. I just can't."

   "Well, then I guess I'll spend the rest of my life taking care of you. Just remember it's your choice."

   Their eyes met as Starsky helped lift Hutch into bed. There was no escaping the look of iron determination that Starsky's eyes held. "Think about it, Hutch, this is no life for either of us." The look in Starsky's eyes had softened. "Sleep well, buddy."

   As Starsky reached the door, Hutch searched desperately for the words to tell Starsky how much he meant to him. But somehow he couldn't find the words. All he could manage was, "Good night, Starsk."

   Starsky, unable to sleep after the talk with Hutch, felt restless. Maybe a snack would help. As he entered the kitchen and turned the light on, he found himself face-to-face with a complete stranger. "What the hell?" Starsky said aloud, as he wondered how the intruder had managed to enter the house without him hearing him. Could be I'm out of practice or losing my touch. "What do you want?" Starsky demanded.

   "Your money and anything else I might decide I like." The intruder was young, maybe twenty or so, and appeared to be either drunk or on drugs. He wasn't as steady on his feet as he should be, and his words slurred a bit. Starsky wondered if he could overpower the kid without either of them getting hurt. As if the kid had read his mind, he looked at Starsky with an almost satanic smile on his face. "Don't even think about it. You behave yourself and no one has to get hurt." The kid's voice was loud and desperate sounding.

   Starsky hoped that that he could persuade the intruder to just take what cash was in his wallet and leave. Starsky's wallet lay on the kitchen counter where he had placed it when he had gone outside to polish the Torino. He prayed that what was in the wallet would be enough for the dark-haired, angry young man who had confronted him when he had entered the kitchen. His biggest fear right now was that Hutch would wake up and call out to him. He had to get the punk out of here, the sooner the better.

   "Just take the wallet and go." Starsky motioned toward his wallet that lay on the counter. "Neither one of us wants anyone to get hurt. Just take it and go." Starsky felt a bit of relief as the young man reached for the wallet. But the feeling was short lived. After grabbing the wallet, the young man shoved Starsky, clearly intending to leave the kitchen and check out the rest of the house. "Get out of my way, and keep your mouth shut and no one will get hurt."

   Hutch woke up, looking around the dark room. Something was wrong. Voices had interrupted his slumber--loud voices, and he knew he wasn't dreaming. Listening intently, he could discern Starsky's voice, but didn't recognize the other one. He wished he could make out the words, but he was only able to catch a word here and there. The clock on the nightstand showed it was 3:18 a.m. Not the usual time for visitors. Something had to be wrong, why else would someone be here at this hour of the morning? Was Starsky in some kind of trouble?

   Unable to stand it any longer, Hutch reached up for the trapeze-like bar that was attached to his bed and just above his head. Taking hold of it, he pulled himself to a sitting position. He had to get into his wheelchair. He knew he could do it, but could he do it in time? Could he do it without whoever was out there hearing him? Damn, he hated being so helpless. It seemed to take forever, but after much sweating Hutch was finally seated in the wheelchair. His arms ached, but he had done it. Whatever was going on out there, Hutch knew he wouldn't be much help in this wheelchair. He had to get to their guns. He knew Starsky had put them away somewhere. They had to be in Starsky's room. Please, God, just let me get to them in time.

*****   

   No matter what the cost, Starsky knew he had to keep this guy from leaving the kitchen. If the kid got past him, Hutch would be defenseless. Knowing he couldn't hesitate any longer, he reached out and grabbed hold of the intruder's arms, and jerked him roughly away from the doorway. Caught off guard, the kid stumbled a bit and Starsky lost his grip on him. Taking advantage of the situation, the now desperate young man quickly landed a heavy blow to Starsky's midsection that sent him sprawling into the counter behind him. Struggling to get his breath, he lunged for the kid. They both tumbled to the floor, but the kid was quicker and was back on his feet before Starsky had time to react. Thinking quickly, Starsky brought his leg out and tripped the young man. Now Starsky had the upper hand.

   Being very careful not to make any noise, Hutch cautiously made his way the short distance to Starsky's room. Fumbling for a bit, he finally managed to get the bedroom light on. His blue eyes scanned the neatly kept room, searching for the most likely place Starsky would have stashed their guns. Wheeling himself to the nightstand, he quietly pulled open the drawer...nothing. "Damn it," Hutch muttered under his breath. He felt so helpless. He knew without a gun there wasn't much he could do. He had quickly searched all of Starsky's dresser drawers. Nothing. The only other place the guns could be in this room had to be the closet. Hutch cursed under his breath again. He had hoped to find the guns hanging within reach, but no such luck. He had thought for sure Starsky would have put them in his room. Where else would he have put them? Looking up, the feeling of total fear and utter helplessness just about consumed him. There, on the top shelf of the closet, he could see his Magnum and Starsky's Beretta. What the hell had Starsky been thinking?

   The sounds of the struggle that Hutch now heard coming from the kitchen made him realize he had no time to waste. There was no doubt that Starsky was in trouble. Hutch stared up at the guns; the Nordic blue eyes gleamed with determination. He could do it, he had to. Starsky was always there for him when he needed him, now he had to be there for Starsky. Girding himself with resolve, Hutch grasped the arms of the wheelchair. His upper body strength had improved dramatically during the last few weeks. He had no doubt that he could lift himself out of the chair. The question was, could he keep himself steady enough with one hand while he reached for his gun with the other? So much depended on him staying upright. If he were to fall, the noise would alert whoever was out there with Starsky. It would all be over.

   Taking a deep breath, Hutch steeled himself as he grasped hold of the arms of the chair. He could do this, he had to...he just had to. Taking another deep breath, he willed himself to relax. Leaning forward as best he could, he reached down with his hands and lifted first one foot and then the other off the chair. Lifting himself up, he could feel his body tremble. Even his insides seemed to be shaking. He continued to steadily lift himself until he was almost standing. Grabbing hold of the doorframe with his left hand, he prayed that the chair would not move out from under him as he finally brought his fatigued and sweat-drenched body to a standing position. All of a sudden, Hutch felt his body begin to sway as his balance became unsteady. Gripping the doorframe tighter, he willed himself to stay on his feet. His heart was hammering and his breathing ragged as he reached up for his Magnum. Steady...steady, he kept repeating the words over and over in his mind. Stretching his arm as high as he could, sweat dripping from his face, he finally felt his fingers make contact with the Magnum. His fingers tightened on the gun as he slowly pulled it toward him and off the shelf. As the gun slid off the shelf, the weight of it was nearly more than he could handle. But by some miracle, he stayed on his feet, the gun now firmly in his hand. Apprehension swept through Hutch as he realized he still had a long way to go before he could get to Starsky. Could he make it in time?

   The struggle in the kitchen continued. The kid seemed to have super human strength despite the drugs or alcohol in his system, or maybe because of it. Whatever the reason, Starsky realized this might just be a battle he would lose. That idea was confirmed when he heard the sound of gunfire, and felt the burning pain of the bullet as it entered his shoulder. How could he have so totally misjudged the situation? Starsky felt his knees give way as he slid to the floor. He felt the blood soaking his shirt, as his eyes looked into the face of the intruder. Starsky couldn't believe the cold fury that had spread across the young man's face. The cold brown eyes flashed with outrage. Starsky felt outrage himself. The kid stood with the gun still pointed at Starsky. Even knowing he probably only had seconds to live, Starsky's thoughts were of Hutch. Hutch would now be at the mercy of this strung out kid...his next victim. This wasn't the way things were supposed to end.

   The sound of the bullet seemed to echo through the bedroom where Hutch still stood. No...please, no. Reacting without thinking, Hutch moved toward the bedroom door. Panic like he had never before known welled up in his throat. Not actually realizing what he was doing...Hutch half stumbled, half walked out of the bedroom. Using the wall for support, he continued his clumsy journey toward his partner. Please don't let me be too late.

*****   

   Powered by fear and adrenaline, Hutch continued to move toward his goal of reaching the kitchen. His stumbling caused more noise than he realized, and the intruder was quickly alerted to his arrival. Hearing the same sounds the intruder heard, Starsky watched in horror as the young man turned, his gun now leveled toward the door. Before Starsky could call out a warning, he heard the sound of a gunshot along with wood splintering. The now desperate intruder panicked and fired in the direction of the door, causing bits of wood to fly in all directions. Starsky attempted to move to a better position, hoping to focus the armed intruder's attention away from the door and back on himself. He didn't like the idea of Hutch being a target for this guy. His plan worked and not only did he manage to get himself into a better position, but the gunman had turned back to him. It was evident that the gunman was quite rattled knowing that there was another person in the house. He also seemed to be coming down from whatever it was that he was on. Not a good situation. Starsky kept his eyes on the doorway to the kitchen. He wondered what was going through Hutch's mind out there. The gunman had been silent since shooting Starsky. His eyes were constantly shifting from Starsky to the doorway. Starsky didn't think he wanted to know what was going on in his mind. Starsky kept his eyes glued to the door. Not sure what to expect from his partner, he wanted to be ready for anything.

   Just as the gunman's eyes once again shifted to the doorway, Starsky watched as the blond head of his partner appeared. The sound of gunshots shattered the silence of the house. The gunman's body went limp, the gun fell from his hand, and he landed crumpled in a heap on the floor. Seconds later, Hutch, too, went down. Starsky pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his shoulder. "Hutch. What the hell were you thinking?" Stopping to check on the condition of their intruder and finding that he was dead, Starsky moved to Hutch's side. Kneeling beside his friend, he searched for signs of a bullet wound. Nothing. "Hutch, where are you hurt?" Starsky's hands shook as he once again checked his partner for any sign of injury. Realizing there were no apparent injuries, Starsky sighed deeply, then without warning found himself sobbing. In reality, this nightmare had lasted less than thirty minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to Starsky. He had been so frightened for Hutch.

   "Starsk...I'm okay. I'm not hit.... Really, I'm not hurt. Take it easy, buddy." Hutch tried his best to soothe his partner. "I fell, Starsk...I'm not hit. I just fell, and I'm not hurt." Hutch took hold of his partner's shaking hands. "We're gonna be okay."

   "Fell?" Starsky glanced out into the hallway. Then he looked at Hutch as if he couldn't believe what he had heard. "You fell?"

   "Starsk...how are you? How bad is your shoulder?" Hutch, ignoring the fact that Starsky was trying to keep him down on the floor, insisted on sitting up. "Starsky, your shoulder..." Hutch's tone showed the impatience he was feeling with his partner.

   "Hutch...Hutch...where's your wheelchair? Starsky's puzzled face looked from the Magnum that lay on the floor next to his partner, to the hallway where there was no evidence of the wheelchair. "How? Hutch...you walked? You did it!" Starsky's voice rose with the excitement that was building up in him.

   Hutch stared at his friend for a moment, "I did it. I walked." The smile that lit up his face was enough to once again bring tears to Starsky's eyes. Only this time he didn't cry alone; Hutch, too, had tears flowing down his cheeks.

   Starsky pulled Hutch into a tight hug. "I knew it. Didn't I tell you that you'd walk again?" Even though tears slid down his face, the joy and relief was evident in his voice.

   "Starsk?" Hutch pulled away from the hug.

   "Yeah?" Starsky grinned at his friend.

   "I think we should call this in and get an ambulance."

   "You are hurt...why didn't you say something?" Starsky's voice now held a note of concern.

   "No, I'm not hurt. But if you're gonna bleed all over me, I think we should get you to the hospital. And to tell you the truth, buddy, I don't think either one of us is in any shape to drive. Oh, and then there is the matter of that body over there that should be reported."

   "So typical," Starsky grumbled. "You always have to attend to all the little details." But Starsky knew Hutch was right. His shoulder was beginning to throb, and he would feel better if a doctor checked Hutch over, too. Starsky struggled to his feet, pain showing on his face and in his every movement.

   Within minutes of placing the phone call, sirens could be heard in the distance.

*****   

   The two young detectives were both released from the hospital the following morning. A somewhat shaken Captain Dobey had been summoned to the hospital. Expecting the worst, he was both surprised and overjoyed to find that Hutch had walked, and relieved that Starsky's wound was not serious. Delivering them both back to the beach house, he instructed them to take it easy and not to worry about the paperwork on the shooting. He would come by the next day and they could take care of it then.

   After making sure the two were settled, Dobey left for the station muttering, "Some of us still have to work."

   Starsky chuckled, thinking how things seemed to be on their way back to normal once again. The doctor would be calling later with a therapy schedule for Hutch. Their favorite nurse would be coming out to help them get started.

   Starsky looked up to find that his partner, who had been seated on the couch, had fallen asleep. "Good idea, partner," Starsky said as he arranged the blond more comfortably on the couch and covered him with a light blanket. Neither of them had gotten much sleep the night before. After taking a pain pill for the still throbbing shoulder, Starsky headed into his room to grab another hour or so of sleep. The sight of the empty wheelchair, which still sat in front of his closet, brought tears to his eyes. He was so proud of his friend.

   Starsky struggled to rouse himself from the deep sleep he had been enjoying. He could hear Hutch...he sounded frightened. Starsky sat bolt upright in bed, the movement reawakening the pain in his shoulder. The pain was forgotten when he heard Hutch cry out again. Starsky was quickly on his way to his friend's side.

   Hutch seemed to be deep in a bad dream--a dream he couldn't seem to find his way out of. And from the looks of the sweat-drenched body, he had been trapped there for some time. Starsky tried to wake the blond by gently shaking him. "Hutch, wake up, it's only a dream."

   "I'm sorry. Please forgive me." Hutch's voice was full of anguish. And it seemed the more Starsky tried to wake him, the more agitated the blond became. "It should have been me. I'm so sorry." Starsky shook Hutch harder this time. The blue eyes opened and stared blankly at Starsky.

   "Hutch, it was just a bad dream." Starsky's voice was low and soothing. He brushed the damp strands of hair off the blond's forehead. "Just a bad dream. Talk to me. Tell me about your dream." Starsky knew it was still important that Hutch talk about the tragedy in his past.

   Hutch shook his head, struggling to sit up. Starsky pulled Hutch up and slid one of the pillows from the couch and placed it behind Hutch's back. He could feel Hutch's body trembling. It was apparent to Starsky that the nightmare had taken its toll on his partner. "I'll be right back." Starsky returned with a glass of water and a damp cloth. Hutch waved the glass away, but did allow Starsky to wipe his face and neck with the cool cloth. "Feel better? Tell me about the dream, Hutch." Starsky gently massaged the back of Hutch's neck.

   "Everything was all jumbled up. You...the accident." Hutch paused, tears choking him. "I couldn't help you. I tried, but I couldn't help you." Tears had begun to roll down his cheeks.

   "Go on." Starsky hoped to keep Hutch talking...get it all out so Hutch could deal with it and move on. "Tell me about the accident." Hutch sat, head bowed and hands pressed over his face, almost as if he were trying to hide from the memories that kept haunting him. Starsky reached out to the bowed head and, placing his hands on each side, he slowly lifted Hutch's head. But Hutch kept his hands firmly in place on his face. "Hutch, look at me." Starsky tried to make his tone firm, but he knew he had failed miserably. Hutch was in so much pain it was almost more than Starsky could bear. He didn't want to inflict any more pain on him. But Hutch had to talk, had to get it out in the open and deal with it.

   Hutch's hands slowly dropped away from his face, almost as if he no longer had the strength to hold them there. "You just don't know. You don't know what it was like..." Hutch's voice sounded old and weary. "I didn't understand. Why? Why had this happened, and why was I the only one who was left alive and intact?" Hutch sat silent, trying hard to put all the pieces in place. "I remember waking up in the hospital and nobody would tell me anything. But everyone looked so sad...the doctor, the nurses, and my mother. I could tell my mother had been crying. But no one would answer my questions." Hutch's broad shoulders heaved with each breath he took. Starsky knew Hutch was teetering on the edge. Maybe he should stop him now. This might not be the way to do this. What if his reliving the accident did more damage than good?

   "Hutch, it's okay. Maybe we should stop now and talk more later." Starsky felt that maybe they were both getting in way over their heads. Hutch looked utterly miserable, his eyes dark and filled with pain. His breathing was rough and ragged. He looked physically ill.

   "No!" Hutch's voice was almost frantic. "You wanted to hear about it. I'm gonna tell you. I overheard my parents talking. I heard them talking about funerals." Hutch's hands were now knotted into tight fists. "Mark and Billy's funerals. You know what I did then? I started to scream and I kept screaming until my throat was raw and I couldn't scream anymore. And then I started throwing up, and I continued throwing up..." Hutch's voice trailed off but only for a second. As if a dam had been broken, the words just poured out. "Then they drugged me. They kept me drugged for days. I didn't even get to say good-bye to Mark and Billy. When I got out of the hospital it was like they had never existed. No one mentioned them to me. My friends were just gone." The tears were flowing rapidly now, making wet trails down the pale cheeks. "Starsk...they were just gone." Hutch struggled to speak over the huge lump in his throat. I knew that Tim had been hurt, but nobody told me..." Hutch stopped and Starsky watched as his partner fought to hold himself together. "It wasn't until weeks later...we were driving past Tim's house and he was outside with his dad. He was in a wheelchair and he had some kind of brace on his neck. I tried to ask my parents, but they just brushed me off. They told me not to worry about Tim, that he would be taken care of."

   Starsky leaned back, put his arm around Hutch and pulled him close. "I'm so sorry, buddy." He wished he could think of something to say that would make things better. But deep down he knew there were no words that could ever make things better. He could only give Hutch his love and support.

   "For months I thought about nothing else. I tried to figure out why I was the lucky one. What was it about me that I had deserved to live? I was nothing special. Starsky, why me?" Hutch's voice had become a hushed whisper. "I hated it. I hated being the lucky one."

   "Hutch, I'm sure there was a good reason why you lived. You've done a lot of good in your life. You shouldn't feel guilty about anything. It wasn't like you had a choice in any of it."

   Hutch wrenched away from the safety of Starsky's arm. "It might have been different. If I hadn't been afraid to ask my father." Hutch braced himself on the arm of the couch, then pulled himself to his feet.

   "Ask your father what, Hutch?" Starsky watched as Hutch wobbled a bit. "Please sit down, Hutch, you're not ready to be doing much moving around on your own."

   Hutch ignored the request to sit down. "My dad was in a bad mood and I didn't want to ask him for the car. I was supposed to be driving that night. If I had been driving that night..."

   "If you had been driving what would have been different, Hutch? You might be dead or maybe in the wheelchair instead of Tim? The only real difference would have been more guilt for you." Starsky thanked God that Hutch had not been driving. The guilt would have destroyed him long ago.

   Hutch awkwardly took two steps away from the couch, as if trying to move away from the memories. "I don't know. I just feel like I should have been able to do something. Hutch's anguished words tore at Starsky's heart. How like Hutch to think he should have been able to change the course of that night's events. He watched as Hutch attempted another clumsy step, but it was not to be and the blond stumbled and fell to the floor.

   "Hutch." Starsky was immediately at his side, but the fall didn't seem to faze Hutch. Starsky pulled him gently into his lap and sat back against the couch. "It's all over, Hutch. We don't have to talk it about it anymore. It's the past, Hutch, and you can't change anything."

   "You know there was just a second before the semi hit me...I knew what was going to happen, and I thought now...now it's my turn. Hutch had used up the last shred of his control. He closed his eyes and yielded to the compulsive sobs that wracked his body.

   Starsky tightened his hold on his partner and kept up a steady stream of soothing words. "It's okay, Hutch. You don't have anything to feel guilty for, nothing you could have done. It's all over, let it go." Hutch lay there feeling drained and lifeless. But at the same time he experienced a feeling of relief. Looking back, he knew there was nothing he could have done to change what had happened. He knew he had no control over who lived and who died. It had been out of his hands. Hutch shivered with chill and fatigue. "Hey, let's get you off the floor, huh?" Starsky pulled Hutch back up to the couch and covered him with a blanket. Starsky sat at Hutch's side on the edge of the couch as the tears continued to flow. Picking up the once cool cloth, he wiped carefully at Hutch's pale face, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. The last twenty-four hours had taken their toll on him. He continued to sit with Hutch until the crying ceased and his breathing evened out. Starsky thought Hutch looked a bit more peaceful now as he lay there sleeping. The worst was over.

*****   

   Starsky glanced at his watch and was surprised to find that he had been sitting watching over his friend for more than an hour. Deep down inside, Starsky selfishly believed that the reason Hutch had been the lucky one that tragic night was because of him. Somehow it was meant to be. God must have known how much I needed him. The thought that he might have missed having Hutch in his life was just unthinkable. Lost in his thoughts, Starsky didn't realize that a pair of bright blue eyes had been watching him closely.

   "What were you thinking just now?" Hutch asked as he continued to study Starsky's face. Starsky had looked so serious and sad Hutch had to know what was going on in his mind.

   Starsky was surprised to find that Hutch was awake and had been watching him. "Hey, how ya feeling?" Starsky gave Hutch a sheepish grin, a little embarrassed at being caught in such deep thought.

   "I'm okay. Don't change the subject. What were you thinking about?" Hutch's eyes never left his friend's face.

   "I was thinking how glad I am that you were the lucky one that awful night. I know it was hard on you, but I can't imagine my life without you. I need you. I think God knew that, too, and that's the reason you survived that car accident. Does that sound silly to you?"

   "No, not silly... kind of mushy." Hutch attempted a weak smile.

   "Hutch, when I realized that it was your car under that semi I...I felt like...like my life had ended. I blamed myself for your accident. Talk about guilt, buddy, I was drowning in it. Starsky swallowed hard, "I don't know if anyone told you, but I couldn't handle it when I heard you were paralyzed...I couldn't deal with it, I walked out on you."

   "You didn't walk out on me. You just needed some time. And you came back and that's all that matters." Hutch reached out and grasped Starsky's hand firmly. "No more guilt for either of us, huh?"

   "You know, partner, that sounds like a real good idea." Starsky gave Hutch one of his trademark lopsided grins and squeezed his hand tighter. "I've got a good idea, too. You go back to sleep for a bit while I fix us something to eat." Starsky couldn't help notice the fatigue that still lingered on Hutch's face.

   "Starsk, quit worrying about me. Remember I'm not the one who got shot. Seems to me you should be the one getting some sleep."

   "Yeah, well, you first," Starsky said as he headed to the kitchen.

   Hutch shook his head and then closed his eyes. Within seconds he was fast asleep again. Starsky stood in the doorway with a satisfied smile. Things were going to be okay.

   Three weeks later, Starsky stood at the window watching Hutch as he walked slowly along the beach. Hutch, strong and healthy, was a beautiful sight. Therapy had gone so well that it wouldn't be long and he would be back to work. Starsky had planned to go back to work next week, but Dobey, in a generous mood, had announced that Starsky was not to return to work until his partner did. With Hutch practically recovered, it would be nice to have some time to just relax.

   Hutch, seeing Starsky in the window, motioned for him to join him. Starsky grabbed a couple of cold sodas and joined his partner. They sat quietly for a while just enjoying the sunshine and each other's company. Then Starsky broke the silence, "Anything special you want to do while we have the time off?"

   "Nope, what we're doing is just fine with me." Hutch leisurely stretched his now tanned and strong legs. "I think I could get use to this. What about you? Anything you want to do before we go back to our daily grind?"

   "No, not really." Starsky sighed, "I'm really gonna miss this place."

   "Yeah, me, too. Leave it to Huggy to find just the right place." Hutch smiled, thinking about their friend. "He always comes through for us. Oh, there is something I guess I need to take care of before we go back to work."

   "What's that?"

   "I need to find a car. You know it's not going to be easy to replace my car." Hutch waited, knowing Starsky would have something to say on the subject of his car.

   "That shouldn't be too hard. I'm sure any junkyard will have just what you're looking for."

   Hutch laughed, "Yeah, I guess. But I know something that I would never be able to replace. Never in a million years."

   "What's that?"

   "You." Hutch smiled at Starsky.

THE END