Katherine

   I was sleepin' good, having a really nice dream. I guess the pill I took because of my bad tooth was workin'. When the phone rang, I didn't hear it cause I was havin' such a good time in my dream. But it finally registered, and I picked it up. "Starshky." So I was half asleep.

   "Starsk?"

   "Hutch?" I sat up. I was suddenly wide awake and not likin' what I was hearin'. His voice had that lost note in it, a note I had heard more than once, and way too often.

   "Sorry… Starsk."

   "Don't be sorry. Just talk to me." I was already moving around, getting to my clothes as well as I could while trying to hold on to the phone. A phone cord only reaches so far, ya know?

   "I need…I need..."

   I sat down on the end of my bed, trying to concentrate on my partner's voice. "What do you need, Blintz?" I spoke gently. I didn't want to scare him into hanging up. As long as he was on the other end of the phone, I had a chance to help him.

   "Candy bar. I need a candy bar…" His voice trailed off, and I heard him sob. Aww Hutch. Not again.

   'Candy bar' was a code he used to let me know when he was hurting. Even now he couldn't bring himself to say the words. Several months ago, he was kidnapped and forcibly addicted to heroin. He kicked it, with a little help from me, and has mostly gotten over the aftereffects of the physical and mental trauma. But every once in a while, he gets a craving. It's probably mostly psychological, but who knows? It ain't like we can ask the Department shrink or anything. Hutch still worries about somebody findin' out and kickin' him off the force, and I'm not much better. Neither one of us wants to see whether Internal Affairs will understand that it wasn't Hutch's fault. He was getting better, it's been a few months since the last time, and it has only happened a couple of times. But 'better' wasn't good enough.

   "I'll be right over."

   "Sorry," he sighed.

   "No. It's okay. I'm the one who made you promise, remember?"

   "Yeah."

   "So don't worry about it. I'm on my way."

   The first time it happened was just a few weeks after he went back to work. He was doing great, and our captain, Dobey, was finally convinced that he had kicked the stuff. Since a lot of our cases involve drugs, it was really important that the captain be able to trust Hutch to be objective about them.

   But one morning when I went to pick my partner up, he wasn't waiting at the curb. He didn't answer my knock on the door, and when I used the spare key and let myself in, I found him in the bed, his face buried in a pillow, trembling and crying.

   "Hutch?" I sat down and put my hand on his arm. He shook it off. "Hutch, what is it? Do you need a doctor?"

   "No! No doctors." He gathered the pillow closer. "I'm okay. Go on to work. Tell Dobey I'm sick. I'll be okay."

   I shook my head and put my hand on his arm again. "What is it, Buddy?"

   I could barely hear him with his face in the pillow. "I don't want it, Starsk. I don't want it. But…it hurts. It hurts so bad. I really don't want it." He raised his head finally. His face was streaked with tears. "I don't want it."

   I knew what he was talking about. My heart sank down to my heels, and I had a lump a mile wide in my throat, because so help me, I knew. I moved my hand up his arm and put it against his cheek. "I know Partner. I know."

   "It'll go away," he said softly. I didn't know whether he was tryin' to convince me or him. I don't think it worked on either of us.

   "Just hold on, Buddy. I'll be right back."

   I called Dobey, told him Hutch had the flu and I was gonna stay with him because he had a high fever. I don't think our captain bought it, but he didn't have a choice, really. He told me he'd put us both on sick leave for the day.

   Then I gathered up some washcloths and a basin of cool water. I put them on the nightstand and sat down on the bed, resting my back against the headboard. I pulled him into my arms and wiped his face with a damp cloth. Memories of holding Hutch after he got away from Forrest washed over me. I held him like this when he was kicking the stuff then. "It's okay. Just hold on, Babe. It'll be okay."

   I wanted to do more. I wanted to take the pain away. I wanted to stop the cramps and the nausea and the helpless trembling. I wanted to kick Forrest's teeth so far down his throat his toes would have cavities. But all I could do was hold him, just like I did in Huggy's apartment.

   In a couple of hours it was okay. The craving was gone, he was calm and peaceful in my arms. But I could tell he was still all tensed up about somethin'. I waited. Hutch would tell me in his own good time. Anyway, he was exhausted, and I didn't want to press him unless I had to.

   "Starsky, it's no good." His voice was weak, but he spoke firmly.

   "What do you mean?"

   "It started when I woke up. I wanted it so bad. I didn't want it, but my body did… I almost…I almost went to get some," he whispered, his voice thick with shame.

   "But you didn't," I said gently. "You were strong."

   He shook his head. The misery in his eyes made me cringe. "I'm not strong , Starsk. I can't fight this forever. One of these days I'll give in. I don't want to, but I know I will."

   I patted his shoulder. "No you won't. You're tired and discouraged and weak right now, so you don't have any confidence in yourself. But you'll lick this like you did before. And you'll do it every time from now on. You won't let Forrest win. You're too stubborn for that."

   He managed a grin. "Think so?"

   "I know so. And even it you're not stubborn enough to beat it, I am. Me and Thee together, remember? I'll be here. I'll help you whenever you need it. Okay?"

   "No. I can't ask you to…"

   "You don't have to ask, Buddy. I'm volunteerin'. I want you to promise me somethin'."

   He looked at me expectantly.

   "I want you to promise that the next time this happens, and I hope it never does, but if it does, I want you to promise that you'll call me. No matter what time it is, I want you to call me."

   He was shaking his head, but I put my hands on either side of his face and held his head still. I looked into his eyes. "I mean it Blintz. If you need me, you call. Promise me. If it gets so bad you start to go out the door to find a score, you call me first. Promise me."

   "Promise," he agreed faintly.

   I sighed. I knew he'd keep that promise. He always keeps his promises, or at least he tries to. Especially the ones he makes to me.

   So, here I am, on my way to his place again.

   I don't know if what happened yesterday has anything to do with it, but I can't believe this is a coincidence. I'm a cop. Coincidences usually turn out not to be coincidences, if you know what I mean.

   Anyway, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that it happened. Her name's Belinda Williams. She was a singer, used to sing with Vic Rankin, a musician who we were tryin' to find. He had a gambling habit, and she was a drug addict. I guess they sort of looked out for each other, two lost souls with nowhere else to turn. Hutch knew all about them. He was a fan of Rankin's from way back. My partner likes music, all kinds of music, and Rankin used to be a well-known jazz pianist and Belinda Williams sang with his band.

   Anyway, Rankin stole some money from a guy named Garth White. Turns out the money was counterfeit, part of a scheme to flood the streets with bad money. Needless to say, White wanted Rankin and he really didn't care what kind of shape he was in, seeing as how he wanted to kill him anyway. Vic was runnin' for his life, and his wife told us he might have run to Belinda.

   When we got to her place, she was in bad shape. Runny nose, shivers. She needed a fix, bad. We found out Vic had been there, but a couple of thugs White sent over had scared him off.

   Hutch was trying to talk to her, trying to find out what went down. He said somethin' about her needin' a fix real bad.

   She came back real fast with, "What would you know about it?"

   He didn’t say anything, and his face barely changed expression, but I knew what she said hit him hard. I stood behind him, just watching, knowing he wouldn't appreciate it if I jumped in. All I could do was watch, trying to brush away my own memories of him shivering in my arms, fighting the poison that Forrest had forced on him.

   She told us Rankin was wounded and Hutch sat with her on the bed, trying to get as much info as he could. Turns out she called White, ratted on Rankin 'cause White promised her a $100.00 for Vic. And the worst part of all was, she didn't see what she'd done wrong. She needed a fix. Her attitude was "What else could I do?"

   When she told him all she could, Hutch stood up, and stood with his back to her, hesitatin', debatin' with himself about what he should do. I knew what would happen, probably before he did. I didn't try to stop him. I just watched while he dug into his pocket and pulled out some bills. He handed her some money, tellin' her to "go ahead, die a little." He knew about that. I think he dies a little every time one of those cravings hits him. Just like he died a little every time Forrest's goons held him down and put that poison in his arm.

   That's all there was to it. We found Rankin, saved him and his wife, and wrote our reports. End of case. Hutch never said another word about Belinda. But I knew it bothered him.

   So, I shouldn't have been surprised when he called me. But I was.

   He had unlocked his door, so when I got to his place I just walked in. He was lying on the floor. It looked like he'd tried to get to the sofa, and didn't make it. He was all curled up, his arms wrapped around his waist, his eyes screwed shut, trying to block out the craving.

   "Hutch?"

   He was concentrating so hard he didn't even hear me. I don't think he felt my hand on his shoulder either. But when I sat on the floor and pulled him into my arms, he seemed to relax a little. "Starsk?"

   "You better hope so," I teased. "Otherwise, you could be in big trouble."

   He shook his head. "Couldn't be anybody else. Nobody else would put up with me," he mumbled, burying his face in my shirt.

   I held him while the craving subsided and he relaxed. These episodes never lasted long, but the intensity of the longing always left him drained and exhausted. As he regained control of his own body, he slipped into deep sleep.

   He didn't even wake up when I wrestled him onto the sofa. He was a dead weight, a heavy dead weight. I smiled down at him. He looked like a big kid. He looked so innocent. In sleep, his face didn't show effects of the horrors we faced every day, or the mental and physical wear and tear we've both endured. He looked about 16, ready to go to the High School prom. The White Knight, ready to take on the world.

   I sat in the chair, watching him sleep.

   I must have dozed off, cause the next thing I knew I was starin' at the ceiling. I sat up. Hutch was still on the sofa, but he was awake and watchin' me.

   "Hey, Blintz. Feelin' better?"

   He shook his head. But I don't think he was answerin' my question. "I shouldn't have done it, Starsk."

   "What, Blondie?"

   "I shouldn't have given her the money. It's not going to help her. She'll just use it to get a fix, and then when it wears off, she'll still be in that same shape. I didn't help her."

   I knew what he was talkin' about. He musta been thinking along the same lines I had been. Sometimes we think alike. Sometimes, I think we read each other's minds. So, I just said, "Maybe not. But you don't know that for sure. Maybe she used it to get help for herself."

   "I don't think so, Starsk."

   I shrugged. "I don't either, but we can't give up. At least not you, Buddy. The White Knight has to keep tryin'.

   He smiled, a weak smile, but a smile. "Tilting at windmills is more like it. Me and Don Quixote."

   "And Sancho, don't forget him."

   He looked startled, like he didn't think I'd know something like that.

   "Hey, I've read the classics," I protested. It felt good to be kiddin' around with him again.

   "It's getting late." He was grinning now. "Good thing, Dobey gave us the day off."

   He stood up. He was a little wobbly, but he stood on his own. "Hungry?"

   I nodded. He started toward the kitchen, then he stopped. He was lookin' at me with that look he gets when he's done somethin' he knows I won't like. "Uh, Starsk…You aren't busy this afternoon, are you?"

   "I don't think so. I don't have my calendar with me, but I think it's clear." I was getting suspicious. "Why, what have you done, Blondie?"

   "I…we have the day off…and I…your tooth has been bothering you and I…well…I...uh...I made an appointment for you with my dentist."

   I stood up then. "You what? You had no right."

   He stood up straighter, crossing his arms across his chest. "I had every right," he protested. His eyes were flashin' blue fire.

   "What makes you think that?"

   "If Sancho was in pain, don't you think Don Quixote would do everything he could to make him feel better?"

   I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

   "Well, how do you expect me to keep tilting at windmills without my faithful squire?"

   "Faithful squire!" I roared. "Is that all I am, your squire?"

   "Faithful squire," he corrected with that superior grin that made me wanna slug him.

   To tell ya the truth, my tooth hadn't been botherin' me too much, but since I was thinkin' about it, it started to hurt. Now that I wasn't concentratin' on Hutch, it was beginnin' to be really painful again. "Okay, okay." I put on my best needful expression. "You're comin' with me, aren't ya?"

   He shrugged. "Sure. I made an appointment for the same time to get my teeth cleaned."

   "Good." Then I remembered, "Hey. You just got your teeth cleaned three months ago." I could still hear him tellin' me that I needed to take better care of my teeth. On and on and on…he about drove me crazy. But I distinctly remember him saying, "You should get your teeth cleaned every six month, Starsk."

   He threw up his hands. "What can I say? They're dirty again." He grinned as he went into the kitchen.

   I was grinnin' too. Don Quixote would be there in case Sancho needed him. That's all I wanted to know.

THE END