Starsky squatted next to the open car door, yelling "I need an ambulance!" He looked at his partner, trying to reassure him. "You're gonna be fine."

   Hutch turned his head to look at Starsky, but could not find the strength to lift if from the seat back. He muttered, "I guess you turned out to be the winner, huh?" He tried to laugh, but it turned into a moan as another cramp seized him. He grunted in pain.

   Starsky watched him, grimly taking in the battered face, wondering what Pardee had done to his partner while Hutch was dying slowly in front of him. But it's gonna be okay, Starsky silently assured himself. The ambulance is coming. Hutch will get the antidote. Everything…

   Hutch moaned, his body arching, then falling toward the door as he used his remaining strength to try to get to his partner. Starsky caught him as he fell out the door, cradling his upper body while the blond's long legs remained in the car. Hutch was gasping, trying to breathe. The ambulance's siren sounded in the distance.

   Starsky looked into panic-stricken blue eyes and tried to soothe him. "It's okay, Hutch. It's okay. You're gonna be fine." He winced as Hutch continued to gasp, trying to get breath into lungs that seemed to be refusing to function. The blond was wheezing, working for every breath, his body tense with his battle to breathe.

   All Starsky could do was hold him, too stricken himself to even try to offer more verbal reassurance to his friend. He held Hutch's laboring body against him, trying to help him sit up so he could breathe better, but nothing was working. Hutch was breathing in whistling gasps, his lips open as he fought desperately for air. Suddenly the long body in Starsky's arms convulsed, then was still. Hutch's eyes rolled back in his head and he lay limply against his partner.

   Starsky had lowered Hutch's body to lie on the pavement when the ambulance screamed to a stop, and the paramedics were pushing Starsky aside and beginning to work on the patient.

   "Botulism. He has botulism!" Starsky was yelling. "Help him!"

   The paramedics worked quickly. The dark haired detective could only watch, his eyes riveted on Hutch's face. He barely noticed when Captain Dobey came to stand beside him, didn't even feel the hand that came to rest on his shoulder.

   An eternity later, the paramedics straightened. One of them knelt beside Hutch. A mask covered the blond's face, and the paramedic, Starsky noted that his name was Donaldson, was forcing air into Hutch's lungs by squeezing and releasing a balloon-like bag attached to the mask.

   The other man looked at Starsky. "We're taking him to Memorial. You can meet us there."

   Starsky's jaw set. "I'm goin' with him."

   "Sorry. You'll have to…"

   "The only thing I have to do is ride in that ambulance with my partner," Starsky argued. "Let's get going."

   The paramedic shook his head.

   Starsky glanced at his name tag. "Listen, Jameson. I'm going with my partner. If you keep arguing with me, and he dies while you delay this, I'll come after you. You can count on it. Now, let's get going."

   Jameson looked at his partner, who shrugged. Jameson sighed. "Okay, but stay out of the way."

   Starsky nodded, standing aside while they loaded Hutch's inert body into the ambulance. He absently held out his keys, and nodded when Dobey took them.

   "I'll have Harrison bring your car to the hospital," Dobey told him. "I'll be there as soon as Pardee is booked."

   Starsky nodded, then climbed into the back of the ambulance without looking back.

   Sitting behind Jameson, next to the stretcher, Starsky held a pale, cold hand in his and listened to Jameson talk to the hospital on the two-way radio. Above the roar of the ambulance's powerful engine and the wailing siren, he could only hear fragments. "Botulism…diaphoretic…pulse weak…difficulty breathing…possible paralysis…"

   When the ambulance roared to a stop at the entrance to Memorial's Emergency Room, Starsky jumped out as soon as the doors were open, and was immediately pushed aside as the paramedics and the waiting group of medical personnel whisked Hutch away to a treatment room. They had barely gotten the blond onto the examination table when a nurse yelled, "He's not breathing. Full respiratory arrest! We're losing him…"

   For what seemed like years, Starsky stood outside the door listening to the doctor's instructions and willing his fair-haired partner to breathe again. Please Hutch. Come on. You can do it…

   "Okay, airway's open. Get the respirator started, Stat! He's…" Starsky didn't need to hear the rest of the sentence. This was Hutch's only chance. Hutch. Come on, Babe. You can't quit now. We didn't make it through all the stuff we've gone through since the Academy to let it end like this. You gotta fight, Buddy. You gotta come back to me.

   "Dr. Anderson, he's breathing again."

   "Great work, guys. We got him back. Let's keep him that way, if we can."

   Starsky let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He slumped against the wall, suddenly boneless.

   "How is he?"

   Starsky looked into the worried eyes of his captain. "He stopped breathing, but they got him back." Dobey drew a sharp breath. Starsky shrugged. "I guess we'll know more after they examine him."

   Dobey put a huge hand on Starsky's arm. "Come on over here and sit down, before you fall down."

   Time seemed to be standing still. Dobey got them some very bad coffee from a machine, but it didn't matter. Starsky wouldn't have drunk ambrosia at that point. He was concentrating his whole being on the battle going on in Hutch's treatment room.

   "Starsky."

   The curly haired man looked up. Dobey was standing up, watching a man in a white coat approach them. Starsky automatically checked his nametag. Dr. Anderson. Hutch's partner stood, gripping his Captain's arm.

   "Are you here for Mr. Hutchinson?"

   Dobey extended his hand. "I'm Harold Dobey, Sergeant Hutchinson's Captain. This is his partner, Sergeant Starsky."

   Starsky just stared at the man, so Dobey added, "How is he, Doctor?"

   "He's alive," the doctor announced. "We've given him the antitoxin."

   "So he'll be okay," Starsky interjected.

   The doctor was shaking his head, and Starsky suddenly found that sitting down was a very good idea. "But…but Dr. Bryan, our lab chief. He said that the antitoxin…that he'd be all right," he muttered angrily. "He said…"

   The doctor sat down beside him. "He probably did say that," he acknowledged. "In an ideal situation, that could be true. But, we were almost too late. The antitoxin only stops the effects of the poison. It doesn't reverse them."

   Neither policeman spoke.

   "He's very weak, and there are complications…"

   Starsky exchanged a worried glance with Dobey. "What kind of complications?"

   "He's pretty banged up. It looks like he took a bad fall, or perhaps was beaten, or maybe both. He has a couple of broken ribs, and there may be internal damage."

   Starsky just stared. Dobey was the one who asked, "What's the prognosis, Doctor?"

   "He's paralyzed at the moment, including the respiratory muscles, but I hope the antitoxin has stopped the poison's progression so the condition will improve in the next few days. He's on a respirator to assist his breathing. It may be several days or even weeks before he can breathe on his own again. He can't swallow right now, so we'll have to feed and hydrate him intravenously until his condition stabilizes. In addition, there are the broken ribs, and possible internal injuries. He may develop pneumonia, but we'll monitor his condition so we can treat any onset of symptoms."

   "Is…he…is he conscious?"

   "No, but I expect him to regain consciousness soon. I can't give him any pain medication, it might mask his symptoms. He can't move right now, so we don't have to consider restraining him. In spite of or because of the paralysis and the respirator tube in his throat, he will be very uncomfortable, I'm afraid."

   "Can, can he feel anything? I mean, if someone touches him, will he know?" Starsky asked softly.

   The doctor shook his head. "Not much I'm afraid. He is almost totally paralyzed at this point. I doubt that he would be able to feel anyone touching him."

   "I want to see him," Starsky told him.

   Dr. Anderson shook his head. "I'm afraid that won't be possible for a few days. He'll be in intensive care, his condition will be closely monitored, but I don't think he should have visitors. He'll need all the rest he can get."

   A nurse ran out of Hutch's room. "Dr. Anderson. The patient…he…"

   Anderson sprinted into the room, not realizing that he was being followed by a curly-haired shadow.

   Hutch lay on the table, a respirator tube in his throat. He wasn't moving, but his eyes were rolling wildly. The heart monitor was recording a heart rate that increased rapidly with every second.

   "Mr. Hutchinson, you have to calm down," the doctor said, putting a hand on Hutch's shoulder.

   But the blond's panicked eyes continued to search the room, stopping only when they found Starsky's face. The dark haired man gently moved the doctor aside and picked up Hutch's limp hand with one of his own. His other hand stroked the dyed brown hair, and he leaned over until his partner's eyes locked with his. "Hutch, it's okay. You got botulism from that clam chowder you ate the other day, but you're gonna be fine. All you gotta do is rest and get better. The respirator is helpin' ya breathe, cause you can't handle it right now. But in a few days you'll be right as rain. Okay?'

   Hutch blinked rapidly, as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Starsky nodded, answering his question as if he had spoken it aloud. "I know you're scared. But it'll be okay. You're paralyzed right now, but it's only temporary. It'll take a few days. Just hang in there, okay?"

   Another long look between the two men, and Starsky nodded. "I won't leave ya, I promise. I'll be right here with ya. You just rest. You trust me, don't ya, Blintz?"

   Hutch's blinked twice, then his eyes closed, and the heart monitor slowed to a more acceptable level.

   "Mr. Hutchinson, I'm afraid your friend can't stay with you. Perhaps, tomorrow he can visit for a few…" The doctor's words faded as Hutch opened his eyes and the monitor started it's rapid beat again. Unable to speak or move, Hutch could only look pleadingly at his doctor while his heart rate inched upward with every breath the respirator forced into his lungs.

   Dr. Anderson threw up his hands. He leaned over Hutch, finally catching the darting eyes with his own. "Mr. Hutchinson, will you calm down if I allow Mr. Starsky to stay with you?"

   Hutch blinked hard, and his heart rate began to slow. The corners of his eyes crinkled in relief.

   "Very well. I give up," Dr. Anderson muttered.

   "It's a good thing," Starsky told him. "I have a gun, you know."

   The doctor looked at the dark-haired detective, starting to smile at the joke. But Starsky wasn't paying attention; he was concentrating on the patient as he stroked the man's damp hair and bent over to whisper something to him. The doctor's grin faded as he realized that there was a good possibility that the detective had not been joking. A very good possibility.

   Hutch was moved to a monitored care area. It wasn't as restricted as Intensive Care, but his condition would be watched very closely just the same. The good thing about being this unit was that patients were in real rooms, not just cubicles. Starsky had to wait outside while the blond patient was settled in his room, but the doctor had been as good as his word and left instructions that Hutch's partner would be allowed to stay with him on an unrestricted basis.

   The first night, Hutch slept. He was just too weak to do anything else. And Starsky sat with him, holding his hand and listening to the whoosh of the respirator and the soft beeps of the machines monitoring Hutch's condition.

   Nurses came and went, checking the equipment, posting the readings on Hutch's chart. In the early morning, Starsky watched a nurse check the monitors and write something down. She smiled at him as she started to leave. He put out his hand to stop her. "How is he?"

   She smiled brightly. "He's holding his own."

   "How about the paralysis? Is it easing off at all?" he asked anxiously.

   She shook her head. "Maybe a little. It's too soon to tell."

   The dark-haired man sighed. "Thanks." He bowed his head.

   "He is improving, I think," she said gently. "It's just hard to watch."

   "Tell me about it. He was sick last year and I had to watch then, too. There was nothin' I could do then, either." He shook his head. "He was in isolation. I couldn't even touch him. All I could do is watch from a distance while he suffered."

   "What was wrong with him?"

   "He had the Plague."

   "The Plague? He's the one, the policeman who almost…?" She stopped. "And you must be the one who was on the TV, the one who got that man to come in. That was really something."

   He shrugged. "Yeah. It almost didn't work. It was just too close. And now here he is again." He looked at her, his jaw clenching with his resolve. "I can tell ya this, I ain't leaving him alone this time."

   She nodded, patting his shoulder gently as she moved out of the room.

   Starsky looked up to see worried blue eyes watching him. "Hey, Partner, it's about time you woke up," he said gently, stroking damp hair back from Hutch's pale forehead.

   Starsky spent most of the morning talking to Hutch, trying to keep him calm. Knowing how important it was to Hutch to be able to communicate, Starsky worked out a system for them to use. "Two blinks for yes, three for no." Blond lashes fluttered twice in agreement. And a series of rapid blinks to let Starsky know Hutch felt that words were necessary. They had that covered, too. It was a painstaking process involving spelling out each word, but it worked when Hutch needed to tell his partner something.

   "Okay, Blintz, what is it? Is the first letter a vowel?" Three blinks. "Okay. A consonant " Two blinks. Is it in 'b' through 'k'?" Three blinks. "Okay, 'l' through 't'?" Two blinks. "Good." Carefully, Starsky went through the process until he had worked out the word "tired."

   "Are you tired, Blintz? Want to get some rest?"

   The blond lashes moved rapidly three times. "No? Then who?" The dark-haired detective smiled. "Oh, I get it. You're mother hennin' me aren't ya Blondie? Worried about me?"

   Hutch eyelids fluttered two times.

   "I'm fine, Partner. You don't need ta be worryin' about me."

   "He's right, you know." Starsky turned to see Dr. Anderson doctor standing in the doorway. "You do look tired."

   Starsk shrugged.

   The doctor moved to the bed, his eyes flickering over the monitors before he turned to look from his patient to the dark-haired detective. "Mr. Starsky, you realize that you cannot possibly stay with your friend 24 hours a day until he recovers." Starsky started shaking his head, but the doctor had observed the partners enough to know what to say. "Your partner obviously needs you to be with him. It may be several weeks before he can breathe on his own. (Starsky put a steadying hand on Hutch's arm, forgetting for a moment that the blond couldn't feel the touch.) You won't be of help to him if you collapse from exhaustion. He has a long way to go, and he needs your support."

   The dark-haired detective frowned, then nodded. "I won't let him suffer alone. I had to do that once. I ain't doing it again."

   The doctor sighed. "He seems to be doing as well as can be expected. I'll check back this evening."

   At lunchtime, Captain Dobey came for a visit, along with his wife, Edith, and Huggy Bear. "Dave, let's go to the cafeteria. You look like you could use some food."

   "No, that's all right. Just bring me somethin', okay?"

   Edith ignored him and walked over to the bed. "Ken, would it be all right if I stayed with you while Starsky gets some lunch?" Hutch blinked twice.

   "That means yes," Starsky translated reluctantly. "I don't think…"

   "Come on Starsky." Before he could protest further, Dobey and Huggy took his arms and led him out of the room

   "I'll be right back, Buddy," Starsky called over his shoulder. He caught Edith's eye. "Keep talkin' to him, let him know you're here. If you hold his hand, hold it up so he can see ya holding it. He can't feel anything right now."

   She nodded, sitting down next to the bed and taking Hutch's hand. Starsky heard her starting to talk about something that had happened to her daughter, Rosie at school.

   When they reached the cafeteria, Starsky went to a table and sat down, while his companions went to get lunch. Starsky stared into space, lost in thought.

   When Dobey sat down with his detective, he said, "Starsky, you can't do this by yourself. There's no way. The doctor says Hutch could be here for several weeks."

   "You don't understand, Cap. He needs to have somebody with him," Starsky protested. He drew a deep breath. Hutch wouldn't appreciate him talking about things the blond felt should be kept private, but he had to make the captain understand. "When Hutch was trapped under his car, he was all alone. Even after we got him out and in the hospital, he had nightmares about being all alone, trapped under that car. It took him weeks to really get over them. And then he was alone when he had the plague, all alone in the isolation unit. Even the people who took care of him had to wear masks and gowns. And when I took him home, he started having those nightmares again, about bein' all alone and trapped. And now he's trapped again. He can't move, can't breathe, can't feel it when somebody touches him. He's scared, Cap. He's putting on a good front, but he's petrified, and I won't let him face that alone. I can't."

   "That's why we're here, Dave." Starsky looked up at his captain. It was never good when Dobey called them by their first names. "We're gonna set up a schedule."

   "What kind of schedule?"

   Huggy had joined them while Starsky was talking. He spoke up, quickly. "Starsky, there are a lot of people who care about you and the big blond. When people heard about Hutch and what he's going to need in the next few weeks, they started calling me and the Captain volunteering to help. They'll stay with Hutch so you can get some rest."

   "No, I can take care of him."

   "Sure you can. Until you collapse, and they put you in a bed and tie you down so you can't get to him. What good will that do you or him?" Huggy asked.

   Dobey leaned forward. "Hutch is already worried about you. I talked to his doctor and he told me what happened this morning. You have to take care of yourself, so your partner can concentrate on getting well."

   Starsky sighed, recognizing the truth when he heard it. It didn't make it any easier, though. He still felt like he was abandoning his partner. "Okay. I'll talk to Hutch. If he'll agree, then we'll work out a schedule." His eyes traveled from Huggy to Dobey as he vowed, "But if anything more happens to Hutch, I'm cancelin' the whole schedule thing. Got it?"

   Both men nodded, each devoutly hoping that nothing went wrong with the blond detective, and that if it did, they weren't around their curly-haired friend at the time.

********

   Hutch agreed to the schedule, seemingly relieved that Starsky would be getting some rest. Not being at his best in the morning, Starsky opted to take the early afternoon shift, coming to the hospital at noon and leaving after Hutch was asleep for the night. During the morning, Huggy and Edith took their turns sitting with Hutch. Minnie Kaplan or Dobey or someone else from the precinct took the early evening time so Starsky could get some supper. Starsky spent most of his time with his partner talking to visitors or answering phone calls and trying to distract the blond by reading to him from the newspaper or from some of the books he found at Venice Place when he went there to water the "jungle".

   Hutch still slept a lot of the time. He patiently endured the nurse's care, the baths and the frequent changing of his unresponsive body's position so he wouldn't develop sores and the physical therapists' manipulating of his limbs to keep the muscles limber while he was unable to move them. The nurses even washed the temporary brown dye from his hair, restoring the familiar golden color. But Starsky worried about his partner. He couldn't move, couldn't speak with the respirator tube in his throat, couldn't eat or drink. He seemed to withdraw more and more every day. Starsky thought he understood; Hutch was coping in the only way he could. But understanding didn't make it easier for the dark-haired detective to watch.

   The doctor assured his friends that the blond was getting stronger, but the botulism had severely weakened him. "It will take a while for him to get his strength back, even after we take him off the respirator. It may be a few months before he can return to work."

   Starsky tried not to sleep during his time with Hutch. He was afraid that Hutch would have a nightmare or need something, and have no way of communicating the problem. Often he would look up from the TV he was watching or the book or newspaper he was reading aloud to find blue eyes watching him, but Hutch would never communicate whatever was bothering him. Starsky knew that it was something beyond his partner's ongoing ordeal, but he couldn't find out what else was bothering the blond. The long hours of worry and care took their toll, and he sometimes fell asleep, usually with his head on the side of his partner's bed and his hand holding Hutch's.

   One evening, ten days' after Hutch was admitted, Starsky woke to find Hutch's fingers weakly twitching in his hand. He found his partner's blue eyes watching him. "Hutch. Your fingers moved. Can you do it again?"

   Hutch closed his eyes at the effort, but he managed to move two of his fingers slightly. He opened his eyes to find Starsky grinning from ear to ear. "You did it, Buddy. You moved 'em. You'll be out of here in no time."

   Hutch closed his eyes. Moving his fingers had exhausted him, and he drifted back into sleep. He continued to improve, much too slowly for the partners, but he did improve. He was able to move more each day, and finally the doctor felt that it would be safe to let him try to breathe on his own, after several days of "weaning", when the respirator setting were gradually reduced. When the time came to remove the respirator tube, Starsky tried to keep Hutch calm, assuring him that he would be able to breathe, promising him that the medical staff would be ready to act if he couldn't breathe. The curly-haired man stood beside the bed, holding Hutch's hand, telling him over and over again that everything would be okay, trying to calm the fear in his friend's tired blue eyes.

   Dobey, Edith and Huggy were waiting anxiously outside the room watching the closed door while they waited for word on Hutch. At last the door opened and the medical personnel filed out. Dobey searched each face, but couldn't find any encouragement in anyone's expression.

   After they left, Dobey took a deep breath and walked into the room. Hutch lay pale and still in the bed. The respirator was pushed aside, silent for the first time in weeks. For a moment, it appeared to the captain that his detective wasn't breathing. Then a small rise and fall of the blond's chest reassured him.

   Starsky stood on one side of the bed, stroking the sweat-matted strands of blond hair back from Hutch's forehead and talking softly to him. The doctor stood at the foot of the bed, watching the two men, and writing something on Hutch's chart.

   Dobey couldn't keep from smiling as he watched a shaky hand rise to touch Starsky's arm. Hutch's lips moved, but the captain couldn't hear what he said.

   "Your throat will be sore for a while, Mr. Hutchinson." Dr. Anderson pointed out. "I advise you to talk as little as possible for a few days."

   Hutch nodded, smiling a little. "At least I can if I need to," he responded in a raspy whisper.

   Starsky grinned. "Yeah, no more spelling bees," he said,

   The blond man smiled, closing his eyes. The events of the day caught up with him, and he slept.

   Hutch continued to get better, although much too slowly for the blond's high expectations of himself. Finally, the doctor allowed him to go home, but with strict instructions to rest and let his body recover from the effects of the toxin. Hutch agreed eagerly, ready to do anything to get out of the hospital room that had come to be more of a prison than a sanctuary. But to his disgust, he found that his traitorous body did need large amounts of rest and that his traitorous partner was determined to see that the blond patient strictly followed the doctor's orders. It was almost a relief when Starsky finally and reluctantly went back to work.

   Starsky had tried to get Hutch to talk about his ordeal, but his friend was stubbornly silent. He thanked Starsky and his other friends for taking care of him, but refused to say anymore about his illness. It seemed to the dark-haired partner that the blond was trying to forget it had ever happened. But, that was difficult to do when he still tired very easily and required naps in the morning and afternoon to restore the strength the botulism had sapped from his body. Even a strict health food regimen and extra doses of vitamins seemed to have little success in speeding his recovery. "It will take time," was the only advice the doctor could give.

   Starsky knew Hutch was having nightmares but the blond refused to talk about them. The dark-haired detective was becoming seriously worried.

   The day he returned to work, he stopped on the way back to Hutch’s place to pick up a pizza. Hutch wasn't up to eating spicy food yet, but Starsky was going into severe pizza withdrawal. After he admired Hutch's new Buddy Holly album and threw the pizza in the oven, he sat on the sofa. His effort at meditation was cut short when he realized that he had put the record in the oven and left the pizza on the range top. Hutch seemed extraordinarily calm in the face of this disaster, but Starsky sprinted to the kitchen area. Too late. "Hey, partner, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He came back into the living area, fearful of his partner's justifiable anger.

   Hutch sat on the table, unfolding his legs, then leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

   Starsky put a hand on his friend's shoulder. But Hutch was giggling. Starsky smiled anxiously, thinking that maybe it would be okay. Maybe Hutch wouldn't kill him. "Hutch?"

   The blond's body shook, he was laughing so hard. "You...you...pizza...burned..." was all he could get out. He continued to shake, but Starsky slowly realized that he was no longer laughing.

   Starsky's smile turned to a look of concern. His partner wasn't giggling, he was sobbing uncontrollably. He sat down next to Hutch, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close.

   He whispered, "It's okay, Blintz. There's nobody here but me. No one's here but us. There's no one to see." He gently pulled Hutch to rest against him, tightening his arms around his friend protectively. "It's okay. Just let it out. It's okay," he whispered. At first the blond was tense in his arms, but as Starsky continued to whisper to him and rub his back soothingly, he relaxed, putting his arms around the dark-haired man's neck and burying his face in his shoulder as sobs wracked his body.

   Starsky had held his partner like this before, when Gillian died. As he did then, he held on tightly and let the man in his arms cry. The blond had endured weeks of fear, weakness and uncertainty while he recovered from the botulism, and still faced a long period before he recovered completely. Although his condition was continuing to improve, the pent-up emotions were overwhelming him and had to be released, just as he had released them when Gillian was murdered. Starsky whispered encouragement and held him, letting him know that he wasn't alone.

   Starsky remembered other times when Hutch turned to him, times when the blond had reached the end of his resources. The long days and nights when he had been trapped beneath his car had drained Hutch. Starsky had told Dobey about the nightmares, but now one but the two partners knew that, once the blond came home from the hospital, Starsky had spent many nights soothing him after he woke from yet another nightmare of being trapped and helpless, abandoned and alone. Even after Hutch insisted he was fine and that Starsky should go back to his own place, the dark-haired man's sleep had been interrupted more than once by an embarrassed blond partner who needed to hear his voice to calm him down after a bad dream.

   And Vanessa. Starsky never really understood why Hutch had given his heart so thoroughly to a woman the curly-haired partner considered a cold-hearted gold digger. But he had, and even after the divorce, a part of Hutch's tender heart had remained in Vanessa's keeping. If only she had understood that. But she hadn't, and she thought nothing of trampling on her ex-husband's feelings, using him to protect her while she wove a web of lies and deceit around him. The web had almost entangled him permanently after she was murdered and he was suspected of killing her. When Starsky responded to Hutch's frantic call, he found his partner once again devastated by an encounter with Vanessa. The fact that she died was bad enough, but her stupid greed had caught Hutch in a situation that could have led to his imprisonment, or worse. Somehow the blond had held himself together while Starsky questioned him about what had happened, and managed to keep functioning while Simonetti and Dryden from Internal Affairs hounded him. It hadn't been easy. Hutch almost lost it when he thought Starsky was going to arrest him, and it had taken a visible effort to make himself calm down and listen, really listen, to what his partner was telling him. After they left Dryden handcuffed to the table in Hutch's apartment, Hutch had stuck close to his partner. When they went to Huggy for help, Hutch was reluctant to get more than a small distance away from Starsky while he called their captain, staying close enough to touch, as if he needed the reassurance of his partner's presence. After the partners, with Huggy's help, got Wheeler's confession on tape and completed booking the fence and his goons, Starsky helped the blond straighten up his apartment. And when the exhausted man refused to sleep in the bed his ex-wife had occupied the night before she died, Starsky had sat with him on the sofa and held him while he cried for her and for the doomed hopes for their life that he had never quite been able give up. The theft of the diamond had been bad enough. But she had used Hutch, preying upon his caring nature by pretending to be facing a biopsy, pretending that she still cared about him when she was just using him for protection from the powerful fence she was trying to fool. In halting whispers, the devastated man talked to the only person in the world he would tell about his feelings of loss and betrayal. Finally, exhausted and disheartened, Hutch had slept with his head on Starsky's shoulder.

   And when Hutch finally was released from the hospital when he had the plague, it had been the dark haired partner who was the victim of nightmares about losing his best friend. And it was the blond who calmed him and held him in his arms, soothing and reassuring his friend until the curly-haired man was recovered enough to insist that Hutch get back into bed so he could get the rest he needed in order to heal.

   Starsky returned to the present, gradually becoming aware that Hutch had calmed down and was now asleep, his head resting heavily against Starsky's shoulder. The dark-haired partner man gently wiped the blond's tears away with his fingers and held his much-loved friend until he stirred. Not really awake, the big blond allowed himself to be led to the bed, where he settled against the pillow with a sigh. Starsky sat on the edge of the bed, expecting Hutch to return to his rest.

   But drowsy blue eyes opened. Starsky barely heard the soft whisper, "Sorry, Starsk. I...I didn't mean...I shouldn't have said you were...brawn."

   The dark-haired man grinned. "It's okay, Blintz." He relaxed a little. Maybe at last his partner was ready to talk.

   The blond head on the pillow moved negatively. "No. It was wrong. Don't...don't want you to think I don't know...how smart you...are."

   "Thanks for the compliment, Pal. But I didn't take you seriously. I know I got brains, and I know I'm not the only one in this partnership with some brawn. We work together. I know that. We're buddies." Were they finally getting to what was bothering Hutch? He hoped so.

   "Are you sure?" Hutch muttered. "I wasn't much of a buddy when I faked amnesia."

   "Yeah, after I ran the Torino into a construction shack and put you in the hospital," Starsky responded. "We worked that out, Hutch. Remember?"

   The blond head nodded slowly. "And I got so mad at you when you and Dryden..." His voice trailed away as he turned on his side, away from Starsky's gaze.

   "You thought we were gonna arrest you. Anybody would have been upset," Starsky countered softly. "You calmed down, though. You trusted me."

   "Yeah, and I let you go with Lionel Fitzgerald. I told him he'd take you...and he...he..."

   "He tried to kill me," Starsky agreed, rubbing his hand up and down Hutch's arm in a soothing motion. And you found me and saved me. That's what partners are for, Hutch."

   "I left you alone with Monique..." Hutch continued his list of failures.

   "Hey how were you to know she was crazy? She fooled everybody, including me. You found me in time, Blintz. You kept her from killin' me."

   Hutch turned so he could look at his partner. "I...I never did thank you for protecting me when I went undercover at Laura's house. That crazy sailor...almost..."

   "Never happen. You had him all the way. You just couldn't do much with Laura there and him holding on to Hannah. We saved them, Buddy. But we did it together, like always."

   Hutch was shaking his head, but Starsky cupped a pale cheek to stop the motion. "How about when I let you go up to that college alone while I "interrogated" Caitlin? You coulda been killed by that crazy professor and his girlfriend."

   The blond managed a small smile. "You were there when it counted, when she was gonna shoot me on the beach. You saved me."

   "And after I shot Emily, I let you work the case alone while I felt sorry for myself and spent all my time with her. Those were mean dudes, Buddy. And I let you go after them alone. And then I blindfolded you and sent you down the stairs."

   "No, Starsk it's okay. You needed time. You..." Hutch's protest was soft, but sincere.

   "I let you handle the case by yourself. Just like I did when Rosey and I...well you know. I left you to work alone, Hutch. What kind of partner was I then?"

   The blond shrugged. He locked his gaze with Starsky's and looked at him for a long moment. "Starsk...I don't know...I don't understand..."

   "What, Blondie?" the dark-haired man asked, gently.

   The blond head moved negatively on the pillow. "Something's going on. I don't understand it...I don't like it... Things are different. I can't tell you why or how, but they're different. I don't know what's going on... I don't know how to fix it...but I know something's wrong."

   "Between us?" Starsky questioned, silently acknowledging the truth in his partner's words. Things had changed, and he, too, was at a loss to explain what was wrong or to find a way to fix it.

   "And around us. All around us." Hutch sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, resting his head on his forearms. "It's so strange. We're getting things done, but we're doing everything the hard way. Everything seems out of kilter, somehow. Nothing we do is helping. It's...it's like we..." He looked up, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "Can't you feel it Starsky? We're not the same. What if we've lost it? What if we've lost 'us'?"

   Starsky's wasn't an analytical nature. The blond was the one who usually looked at things from all angles and analyzed, sometimes over-analyzed them. But Hutch was so bewildered, Starsky had to say something, especially now that he knew what had been bothering his partner. "Hutch, I know that things aren't like they used to be. We've been through a lot the last couple of years. Nobody can go through stuff like that without bein' changed some. But we can fix it, I know we can. It won't be easy. We can't do it overnight. It's taken a long time to get us where we are." Starsky ruffled his partner's hair and Hutch watched him silently. "It'll take some time to get back to where we were, that's all."

   Hutch buried his face again. Starsky could barely make out his words. "What if we...what if we can't?"

   "If we want it bad enough, we'll do it, Blintz. We can do anything if we work together. Haven't we proved that, already?"

   "Yeah, but that's part of the problem. I'm not sure we're working together, Starsk. Not like we used to. Seems like lately we end working separately a lot more than we used to. And when we are together, we get into weird stuff. This "Hide and Seek" thing is just the latest example. I don't even know why I suggested it." He sighed, frustrated by his lack of understanding. Hutch was a 'fixer'. If he saw a problem he solved it. Or tried to. And now he faced a problem he didn’t know how to fix, one that threatened the most important thing in his life, his friendship with Starsky.

   "And I don't know why I went for it," Starsky added. He grinned. "It wasn't the best idea the 'brains’ of this team' ever had, that's for sure."

   Hutch raised his head, locking gazes with his partner. "Did I thank you for finding me? When Pardee dragged me out of that dump, I knew I'd had it for sure. If he didn't kill me, whatever was wrong with me was going to... Thanks, Partner." He sighed again. "I'm...sorry..."

   Starsky's expression softened into a smile. "Hutch, you're exhausted and you aren't nearly well yet. We aren't gonna figure this out tonight. But now that we realize that there's a problem we'll fix it. I know we will. Trust me, huh?"

   "Don't I always?" Hutch grinned, as a wave of exhaustion washed over him and he relaxed back into the bed. He closed his eyes as a new thought hit him. "You know, Starsk, it may get worse before it gets better."

   "It may not be easy, and it will take time, but I promise you, Partner, we'll get it back. I know we will."

   "So you think we've lost it, too, huh?" Hutch muttered, already half-asleep.

   Starsky stroked his friend's cheek for a moment. "We didn't lose it, Blintz. We just mislaid it for awhile. We'll find it. Piece of cake."

   Too exhausted to worry about it any more, Hutch whispered, "'night, Starsk."

   "'night, Partner."

   Starsky stood up and started to leave the sleeping area. He was stopped by a drowsy voice. "Starsk, I'm not gonna pay you what I owe you for winnin' the bet," Hutch told him in a slurred whisper.

   "Oh yeah? How come?"

   "I'm keepin' ...keepin' it on account..."

   "On account? What are you talkin' about, Blintz?"

   "I'm keepin' it on account of you burned my record," Hutch murmured as he finally let go and went to sleep.

THE END