Katherine

   It was the Fourth of July. And I had a lot to celebrate. Six months ago I was nearly killed in the police garage; today I am well on the road to getting well. Really getting well. I was back on desk duty, and the doctor said if I kept on doing as well as I was, I'd be back on the streets in a matter of weeks.

   Hutch and me went to the park to celebrate. There was kind of a neighborhood carnival, with food and games and music. It was great. At dusk, a country-western band played and at 10:00 there was a fireworks display. I had a wonderful time, and Hutch did, too, although I knew something was bothering him. He was quieter than usual, which meant he hardly said a word unless I said somethin' to him first. But he smiled and clapped during the music, and oohed and ahhhed with the rest of the crowd during the fireworks.

   Hutch stayed with me for three months after I got home for the hospital. He took leave and was my full-time nurse and guardian angel for those three months. I can never repay him for that, but I know he knows I'd do the same for him. And because of him, giving me strength and faith when I had none of my own, I will be well; I will be his partner again.

   Although he says I've always been his partner, no matter what. That's what kept me going, knowing that we're partners, always.

   He moved back to his place last month. He picks me up in the mornin' and I have to ride in that rolling junk heap he calls a car. He brings me home and gets me settled for the evening, but he doesn't stay with me anymore. At work, he's on desk duty, too, unless somebody needs a temporary partner because theirs is on leave or sick or somethin'.

   I was really tired when we got to my place after the fireworks. Hutch looked exhausted. I don't think he's been sleepin' very well. So I suggested he sleep on my sofa. He has some clean clothes here, left over from when he stayed with me, so he said okay. Hutch isn't the best housekeeper in the world, but he's always clean about his person, and the thought of wearing the same clothes for two days makes him a little sick.

   My partner still worries about me, so I wasn't surprised that he made sure I was comfortable and didn't need anything before he went to the sofa to sleep. Like I said, I was tired and I fell asleep real quick.

   It was still dark when I woke up, and lay there tryin' to figure out what had woke me up. My clock said 3:23 a.m. Then I heard them. Firecrackers.

   Crack! Pow! Pow! Crack! A whole string of 'em. I smiled. Must be kids celebratin' the holiday. Inconsiderate little twerps, shootin' off firecrackers at this hour. In the quiet, they sounded like cars backfirin' or…"

   "Starsk?"

   It was Hutch, crouchin' in my doorway. He sounded funny; his voice was kind of hollow.

   "Hey, Buddy?"

   He was breathin' hard.

   "Starsky. Get down! Please get down."

   I turned on the bedside light. Hutch was digging at his left shoulder, like he was tryin' to get to his Magnum. He musta thought he had it, cause he held his hand out like he was holding a gun.

   "Starsky, get down!!!"

   The firecrackers rattled again, and he ducked like he was bein' shot at.

   "Starsky!"

   By the time I got to him, he was kneeling on the floor, bent over like he was coverin' something, protecting it. I knew what it was. It was my body, bleedin' from three bullet holes, lying on the floor of the police garage. I had seen this before. After the shooting, the newspapers all carried the story with a picture of him bendin' over me like this. People had actually saved the newspapers and gave them to me while I was recovering.

   I knelt next to him, thankful that I could make this particular maneuver again. I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him up, but he wasn't there. He was in that garage, tryin' to protect me.

   "Hey Buddy. It's okay. I'm right here. I'm okay."

   I kept talkin', trying to get through the haze that surrounded him. He was rocking now, sobbin' my name with every breath. I could hardly talk for my own tears.

   "Partner, it's okay. Really. It's okay."

   I tried again, and this time I could pull him up and into my arms. He didn't really know that I was holdin' him. But he leaned against me while I rubbed my hands across his back. He was tremblin' somethin' awful and still cryin'. His arms came up around my waist and he held on, cryin' and sayin' my name over and over again. He sounded so lost.

   Finally, he started to calm down and I was able to help him get to his feet. He didn't even know when I pushed him onto the bed. He just turned on his side and curled up, hiding his face in his hands. I sat down with my back against the headboard, and pulled him to me, letting him lie all curled up against my chest. His hair was damp with sweat, his body still tremblin'.

   His sobs had stopped, but he was whisperin', "Starsky, why didn't you get down? Starsky, don't leave me. Starsk…"

   "Hey, it's all right. I'm all right. It's okay, Buddy."

   My words musta started getting through, 'cause he relaxed a little and stretched out some, and his arms went around me while he buried his face in my chest. I put my arms around his shoulders and held him, resting my cheek in his damp hair. I didn't say anything else, just held him, letting him figure out where he was and what was happening. He just lay there with his eyes closed, but he was breathing better and he wasn't tremblin' as bad. I remembered the last time I held him like this, when he was tryin' to overcome a forced heroin addiction. I sighed, realizing finally that Gunther's bullets had damaged my partner almost as badly as they had me.

   His eyes opened, and he tilted his head to look at me.

   "Starsk?"

   I smoothed his hair with one hand.

   "Yeah, Buddy?"

   "Are you okay?"

   I couldn't help smilin' at the big lug.

   "Sure, I'm fine. But, what? Why?"

   He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was shakin' again, but he got control of himself.

   "I'm sorry," he whispered into my torso. He tried to pull away, but I held him. Normally it wouldn't have been easy, what with me still recuperatin' and all, but he was so weak after this episode that I had no trouble holdin' him. None at all. That really worried me.

   "Just stay right there, you're fine," I told him. I rubbed his back some more, and he relaxed against me. I don't think he really wanted to let go, he was just afraid he was gonna hurt me. As if he could, intentionally or unintentionally.

   He turned in my arms, his back against my chest, his head resting on my shoulder. I put my arms around his chest, and he put his hands on top of mine.

   "Sorry," he said again.

   "No need to be sorry, buddy. It was just a nightmare."

   He didn't say anything. A suspicion was formin' in my mind.

   "Hutch, this isn't the first one you've had, is it?"

   He still didn't say anything, but his body stiffened.

   "Hutch?"

   "No," he finally admitted, faintly. "It's not."

   "Is that why you've been so tired lately? Nightmares keepin' you from sleepin'?"

   He shook his head, but I knew I was close to the truth. He sighed.

   "It's more that nightmares keep me from going to sleep," he said softly.

   "You mean, you aren't sleepin' at all?"

   He nodded.

   "Since when?"

   He was quiet for a long time. I thought he might have drifted off, but he finally said, "Since I went back to my place."

   "Awww, Hutch. Why didn't you say somethin?"

   He shrugged, tiredly. "It's not that bad. I stay awake 'til I'm so tired I know I won't dream. I sleep then."

   "How often?" I asked coldly.

   He shrugged again. "Every couple of nights," he said so faintly that I had to dip my head to hear. "Enough to get by."

   "Get by? Get by? You're exhausted. Why didn't I see it before?"

   "Starsky, it's okay. I'm okay. They'll go away. They did before…"

   He stopped, realizing that he'd said too much.

   "You've had nightmares before? When?"

   "Before you got out of the hospital. I'd come over here, to get your place ready for you. I fell asleep on the couch several times, and I'd wake up. I was always in your bedroom, standing there, calling your name." He sighed. "I'm so tired, Starsk."

   "I know. Go to sleep. I'll stay with you."

   He was too tired to protest. He just relaxed against me and was almost instantly asleep. I eased us both down in the bed and pulled him into my arms, his back against my chest. I held him all night and through the late morning while he slept. I slept too, glad that he finally felt safe enough to get a genuine rest. But it isn't over. We still have a lot of talking to do.

THE END