Disclaimer: Written for entertainment only – not meant to infringe on rights held to Starsky & Hutch.
Author’s Note: First part of a series which will probably be titled Line of Duty.
Comments about this story can be sent to mariodee94@yahoo.com
    

by

Marlene S

   "Starsky . . ." Starsky heard Hutch yell for him, but kept on walking toward his car.

   Hutch caught up to him just as he was unlocking the Torino and grabbed his arm. "Starsk, wait a minute," he said, just slightly out of breath from his sprint across the police station parking lot.

   Starsky turned around, but even Hutch couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.

   "C’mon, Starsk, what’s going on?" The light blue eyes had a puzzled, pleading look.

   "Nothin’ "

   "Are you mad at me?"

   "What’s it look like?"

   "Can we talk about it?"

   "No."

   "C’mon, that’s not fair, Starsk. At least, tell me why you’re mad."

   "I can’t talk to you right now," Starsky said, very deliberately grasping Hutch’s wrist and removing his hand from his arm. He avoided looking into the shocked, blue eyes, so he didn’t see the pain that was there. Leaving his partner confused and hurting, Starsky got in his car and drove away without looking back.

********

   The following morning, Starsky was leaning back dangerously in his chair with his feet propped up on the desk, reading a report. He glanced up when Hutch entered the squad room, but his eyes returned quickly to the report.

   Hutch looked tired, like he hadn’t slept well. He was looking at Starsky with a concerned and puzzled look as he hung his jacket over his chair. Before he could say anything, Dobey stuck his head out of his door just long enough to command, "Hutchinson, my office, now!"

   Hutch tried to catch Starsky’s eye, but he hadn’t looked up again.

   "Wonder what I did now?" Hutch asked. Starsky still didn’t look up or say anything. Great, now he’s not talking to me at all.

   For a couple weeks now, his usually talkative and energetic partner had been strangely quiet and withdrawn. At first, Hutch had thought he was just in a bad mood. Since that was a rare occurrence with Starsky and usually didn’t last long, Hutch just let it go for awhile. But the mood didn’t go away, and Hutch began to feel more and more like it was only directed at him.

   After trying to talk again yesterday afternoon and getting nowhere, Hutch had spent most of last night trying to figure out what he’d done to make his partner mad at him. He came up with nothing. He lost track of how many times he’d tried to call. Starsky either didn’t answer the phone or he wasn’t home.

   But if Starsky was mad, this wasn’t his normal way of showing it. Silence and moodiness were his own methods. Starsky’s were more direct, more temperamental. He’d yell at him or at least make sarcastic remarks. Sometimes he’d resort to pouting. But this kind of silent treatment wasn’t like him at all.

   Oh well, it’ll have to wait for now, he thought, shaking his head as he went into Dobey’s office.

********

   "Hutchinson, sit down."

   "What’s this about, Captain?"

   "There’s no good way to say this, so I’m just gonna come right out with it," Dobey sighed and looked up at him. "Hutchinson, you’re to be re-assigned temporarily."

   "Re-assigned?"

   "I’ve got three people missing from Vice. Two of them are on loan to another precinct, and another one just put in for indefinite leave because his wife has a serious medical problem. I’m re-assigning you to help them out over there."

   Hutch just stared at him, the color drained from his face and his jaw dropped open. "You’re transferring me?" He barely managed the words.

   "It’s just temporary," Dobey said, his head bent over paperwork, his eyes not meeting Hutch’s.

   Hutch just stood there for a few minutes staring at the top of his Captain’s head, as if in shock. Then he seemed to snap out of it. He moved toward the desk and leaned over it, placing his hands in the middle of the papers. Dobey had almost no choice but to look up at him.

   "Captain, what the hell is going on here?! If this is a disciplinary action, I have a right to know." His voice was level, but the barely controlled anger was evident.

   "It’s not disciplinary, Hutchinson," the Captain said, matching Hutch’s level tone. As he stood up, Hutch mirrored his movement, straightening in front of him, still staring at Dobey with those icy blue eyes. The Captain leaned toward him, pointing his pen for emphasis. "I told you, I have a shortage of officers in Vice." Dobey understood Hutchinson’s feelings, but he was not in the habit of letting anyone intimidate him.

   Hutch turned abruptly and paced toward the door and back a few times. This just doesn’t make any sense, he was thinking. He stopped pacing suddenly and stood for a minute facing the door to the squad room. Unless . . . When he turned back to Dobey, he had a funny look on his face like he had just realized something. "What about Starsky?"

   Dobey sat back down. His voice was calmer. "I’ve got other plans for him."

   Hutch couldn’t believe how calmly Dobey had said that, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

   "Did Starsky request . . .?" he started but his voice caught and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

   "Starsky, has nothing to do with . . ." The captain began, but his voice trailed off as he watched Hutch pull his gun and badge, drop both on the desk, and open the door to leave.

   "What are you doing?" Dobey stood up and yelled at the slamming door, "Hutch, get back in here."

   By the time Dobey got to the office door and opened it, Hutch was halfway through the door to the hall. "Hutchinson, get back here . . ." but again, he was talking to a closed door. Damn. He really wasn’t expecting that. Now if it was Starsky, then maybe . . . but Hutchinson was usually the cool one.

   The squad room was unusually quiet. The officers in the room were all looking curiously at Dobey. Except for Starsky, still with his feet on the desk, apparently engrossed in the report.

   "I told you he wouldn’t go for it," Starsky said without looking up.

   "I don’t need you saying ‘I told you so.’ Just get out there and get your partner back in here," Dobey commanded angrily. "I want to see both of you in my office this afternoon."

   Starsky closed the file, and stood up. "And just how do you suggest I do that, Cap’n?" he asked as he turned to look directly at Dobey. "In case you’ve forgotten, I’m s’posed ta be mad at him." His voice was sarcastic and his eyes were dark with anger. He slapped the file he was holding against Dobey’s chest and glared at him.

   But Dobey wasn’t backing down. He pushed the folder back at Starsky, and glared right back. "I don’t care how you do it. Just do it," he barked. He turned back toward his office, but then hesitated. He turned back to Starsky again and added, "And don’t put this all off on me, you’re in just as deep." With that, he turned abruptly and slammed the office door behind him.

   Starsky angrily slapped the file on the desk, grabbed his partner’s jacket and his own, and went to look for Hutch.

********

   "Well, where the HELL is he?" Dobey wanted to know.

   "I don’t know."

   "What do you mean, you don’t know . . ." Dobey said, raising his voice even more.

   Starsky interrupted him, leaning over the desk, nearly in his Captain’s face, his voice was as angry as Dobey’s, "I mean, I don’t KNOW!"

   It was late afternoon, and Starsky had spent the last eight hours or so looking for Hutch and coming up with nothing. He was wound up tight and ready to snap any minute anyway, and Dobey’s attitude was pushing him over the edge.

   They glared at each other for a few minutes. Finally, Starsky hit his hand against the top of the desk in frustration and turned away. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. "I’ve looked everywhere. His place, Huggy’s, the beach, the gym, . . . hell, even my place . . ."

   "What about girlfriends?" Dobey had resumed his seat and his voice was calmer now too.

   "He ain’t seein’ anybody right now."

   "Could he have a girl you don’t know about?" Even as Dobey asked, he knew it was doubtful, but he wanted to cover all the bases.

   Starsky just shook his head.

   "Kiko and Molly?"

   "He took ‘em to a car race two weeks ago, but they haven’t seen him this week."

   "Did you check with his parents?"

   Starsky had been pacing, but he stopped suddenly and turned to look at Dobey. "No," he said quietly. He was frowning.

   Dobey didn’t push it. He didn’t really know what was wrong between the blond detective and his family, but he knew there was something. When Hutchinson was deathly ill with the plague, his parents were notified, but they didn’t visit or even call. Dobey had asked Hutch about them later and his response was simply, "They sent flowers, didn’t they?" It seemed like a sincere question, not sarcastic, but it was obvious that the flowers were all Hutch expected.

   Anyway, he had to put the idea out there. Maybe Hutch would go home. You never know what someone will do if he’s running. Starsky could do something with it or not.

   "He’s driving his car wherever he is. It’s not here, or at his house. I don’t think he’d make it to Minnesota in that clunker of his," Starsky pointed out.

   "You want me to have someone check the airport."

   Starsky just gave him a blank look.

   "For the car?"

   Starsky was quiet for a minute. "Yeah, I guess so," he finally said.

   Dobey picked up the phone.

   "I’m gonna go check with Huggy again," Starsky mumbled on his way out the door.

********

   "No, I haven’t seen him, Starsky," Huggy repeated. "Like I already told ya this morning."

   "Huggy, it’s really important."

   "It always is," Huggy said, wiping down the bar as he spoke.

   "I just wanted to make sure he didn’t say somethin’ and tell ya not to tell me."

   "Hey, man, I know better than ta get in the middle a you two. You know that. And he should too." He stopped wiping and looked at his defeated-looking friend. Starsky was seated on a barstool, facing away from him, his feet dangling, his elbows on the bar he was leaning against. He looked like a lost eight-year-old.

   "He in trouble or somethin’?" Huggy asked with more sympathy.

   Starsky shook his head and mumbled something inaudibly.

   "Huh?"

   "He thinks I’m mad at ‘im," Starsky repeated more clearly.

   " ‘He thinks.’ That mean you’re not?"

   "No, I’m not."

   "Then why would he think it?"

   "It’s a long story, Hug," Starsky said, pushing himself up away from the bar behind him and off the barstool with one fluid, graceful movement.

   Huggy frowned, shook his head, and went back to wiping down the bar. "Well, if ya ain’t gonna tell me nothin’. . ." he mumbled.

   Standing now, Starsky turned to face his friend. "It’s not like that, Huggy. It’s police stuff. Classified. You don’t wanna know about that, do ya?"

   Huggy just shrugged and thought, Prob’ly not.

   Starsky didn’t know what else to say. He just stood there for a minute. Makin’ enemies outta everyone lately, he thought, shaking his head.

   "Talk to ya, later, Hug."

   Huggy nodded a little distractedly.

   Starsky started toward the door.

   "Hey," Huggy called from the bar.

   Starsky stopped and turned back.

   "If he was plannin’ on goin’ somewhere, maybe Merle’s seen ‘im."

   Starsky’s face lit up a little. Maybe get the engine checked . . . or rent a different car. That sounded like Hutch. "Yeah, maybe," he said, opening the door. Then as an afterthought, he added a quick "Thanks, Hug," over his shoulder.

   "Yeah, don’t mention it," Huggy mumbled with a frown.

   Those two . . . Huggy thought shaking his head. Man, why I gotta have cops for friends anyway, I sure don’t know. That’s what he was thinking, but deep down he knew the answer. He’d do almost anything for those two, and they’d do the same for him.

********

   "Yeah, I seen ‘im," Merle admitted, wiping his already clean hands on an equally clean rag.

   They were standing next to Hutch’s newest old clunker parked on the side of Merle’s garage. Hutch had sold Belle, or traded it, not a month after he bought it. The car was too small he said. Starsky had thought it was a terrific idea . . . until he saw the "new" car.

   "Well, what did he say?" Starsky asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

   "Not much." Merle picked up a wrench and started walking toward the garage. "Just that that hunk-a-junk a his needed a tune-up and an oil change . . . and ‘e wanted to know, could I loan ‘im some wheels?"

   Starsky was following too closely, and nearly fell backward when Merle suddenly turned back around toward him. "Oh yeah, said ‘e was goin’ outta town."

   Starsky frowned at that and asked, "What kind a car did ya give him?"

   Merle was looking down and sort of polishing the wrench he was holding with the rag. He rolled his eyes up to look at Starsky, but he didn’t answer.

   Starsky sighed as he pulled his wallet out and handed Merle a twenty. Merle started to take it, but Starsky was holding on to it. "Unh, uh. . ." he said shaking his head.

   Merle continued to give him that same look for a minute, but then said, "Dark Blue, ‘70, Chevy Impala, four doors." He started to take the twenty, but Starsky kept holding it. "And it’s a damn sight better lookin’ than his heap too," he added.

   "License plate?"

   Merle paused, his hand still on the money. Finally, he nodded. "I’ll havta get it." Starsky let go of the twenty.

   After Starsky had the license number and was back in his car, Merle put his hand on the door and peered in the open window, "Hey, Starsky?"

   "Yeah?"

   "That partner a yours jus’ bout threatened me." Merle had a wide-eyed look that was obviously a put on. "He says to me, ‘I won’t be responsible for my actions if I find any furry extras on my car," Merle said in a fair imitation of Hutch’s voice.

   "Yeah, whadda ya gonna do about it?" Starsky said, trying to keep a straight face.

   "Well, I was thinkin’ ‘bout maybe some o’ dem glow-in-the-dark thing-a-ma-jigs." Merle said sticking his lower lip thoughtfully. "Well, they ain’t furry..."

   Even though he was still worried about Hutch, Starsky was smiling as he drove away.

********

   It was now a little after ten p.m. and Starsky was sitting in the Torino, parked around the corner from the Pits. He was supposed to be meeting a snitch. The guy was probably just looking for a quick buck, but he had told Huggy he knew something about a certain blond cop. Starsky had been waiting over an hour. Normally, he’d be about ready to jump out of his skin by now, but for some reason, he just felt worn out instead.

   "Zebra 3 . . . Zebra 3 . . .Come in, Zebra 3."

   Starsky rubbed his face tiredly, and picked up the radio mic. "Starsky here. Whatcha got?"

   "Have a location on a 1970 Dark Blue Impala, license number RPD-8613."

   Starsky sat up at that, instantly alert again.

   "Yeah, give it ta me."

   "Address: 49 Cloverton Road. Just off Old Highway 92 about twenty miles out of the city. County sheriff called it in."

   "Minnie, is that you?" Starsky asked.

   "Yeah, Starsky, it’s me."

   "You got a cold or somethin’. You sound funny."

   "Yeah, I think I picked up that bug that was going around," Minnie confirmed in a nasal voice.

   "Hey, do me a favor, will ya?" Starsky said, starting the car, "Call that sheriff back and tell him not to do anything. I’ll take care of it."

   "Sure, Starsky."

   "Thanks." Starsky cut the communication and put the mars light on the roof as he made a U-turn in the middle of the intersection. He didn’t even blink at the honking horn and squealing tires of a green pick-up truck that nearly collided with the Torino, then skidded fairly harmlessly into a street lamp on the opposite side of the street. Starsky was well out of hearing range when the driver started hurling obscenities in his direction.

********

   About thirty minutes later, Starsky pulled the Torino in quietly alongside the blue Impala that was parked in front of a little hole-in-the-wall bar, aptly but simply named ‘The Tavern.’ He glanced in through the passenger side of the Chevy as he got out, noting a duffel bag and Hutch’s guitar in the back seat. Traveling light, eh, Partner? He unbuttoned his jacket, just in case he needed his gun in a hurry, as he entered the dark bar.

   "You want to repeat that, Grizzly Adams?" Hutch growled at the large, bearded man he had pinned against the wall, in the back of the bar. His voice was quiet and dangerous.

   Hutch must have misjudged the other man’s strength and level of inebriation, because a moment later, their positions were reversed and Hutch was pinned against the wall instead.

   "I said . . . " The big man had a low and dangerous voice of his own. "I’ve seen that cop STARSKY around and even though HE thinks he’s hot shit, I THINK he’s about as STUPID as my Aunt Nellie’s GOAT!"

   Starsky was standing in the doorway when he heard his name. He looked toward the sound, just in time to see his partner’s blond head bashed against the wall. Starsky couldn’t help but flinch. What the hell are you doin’, Hutch? This guy was easily 250 pounds and looked like solid muscle. He had one hand in Hutch’s hair, pinning his head against the wall, and one arm pushed hard against his chest so he could barely breathe.

   Starsky started to pull his gun, but thought better of it. Instead, as quiet as a cat, he made his way toward the two men. He didn’t make it quite soon enough though.

   Hutch was too drunk to keep his mouth shut. "Yeah, well you’re not so heavy on brains yourself . . ." He managed to choke out even though the room was spinning and someone was pounding on the inside of his skull with a hammer.

   The enraged mountain man continued to hold Hutch’s head up by his hair, while he punched him hard in the stomach twice. Starsky flinched again with each blow. He looked around for some kind of weapon.

   Hutch’s arms clutched his stomach. He groaned and started to sink to the floor, but was held up by the large hand that had moved from his hair and was now clenched in his shirt. Then he felt the pain explode in his head as a huge fist collided with his jaw.

   After that, he didn’t know what happened. He didn’t see the surprised look on the mountain man’s face as Starsky hit him once with the heavy end of a pool cue across his back and neck. He didn’t see him crumple to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. He didn’t hear Starsky say, "Well, you know what they say . . ."

   Blackness was all he could see, and he heard nothing at the moment.

   "The bigger they are, the harder they fall."

   The big guy was lying partially on top of Hutch, but Starsky managed to roll him off, at the same time, taking a quick look at him. The guy was breathing, but he wasn’t moving. Then again, neither was Hutch.

   "I think we better get the hell outta here, Partner," he added quietly, with a gentle hand on Hutch’s head. He scooped his friend up off the floor and over his shoulder and stood up a bit unsteadily, balancing the extra weight. He staggered toward the door.

   The middle-aged woman behind the bar and the other five people in the place didn’t even seem bothered by the incident. Prob’ly just a normal night at The Tavern, Starsky thought.

   "Maybe ya better call an ambulance for him," he suggested to the bartender, with a jerk of his head in the direction of the big man still on the floor in the back. The door closed behind him, so he didn’t hear her response if there was one.

   He managed to get Hutch into the Torino as carefully as he could and pushed his long legs in after him. Then he hesitated a second, catching his breath. Gunther’s bullets had done a number on his lungs and even though Hutch had lost some weight in the last year, Starsky wasn’t quite up to lugging him around like that. He wondered about leaving the Chevy there, but there really wasn’t any other choice. He quickly collected the duffel bag and guitar from the back seat and locked the car.

   The dust from the Torino’s tires had long ago disappeared by the time the mountain man finally woke up.

********

   "Uhh," Hutch moaned and shifted on the couch. His arms were wrapped tightly around his stomach.

   Starsky’s apartment was closer, so that’s where they were. Starsky had somehow managed to rouse Hutch enough to maneuver him up the stairs and to the couch before he passed out again. That was about an hour ago. It was just after midnight now.

   Starsky was there quickly, his hands on Hutch’s shoulders, balancing himself on the couple inches of sofa next to his friend. "Hey, easy there . . ."

   Hutch groaned again and tried to open his eyes. He shut them again almost immediately when the room began to spin. "Gonna be sick . . ." He said as he rolled over onto his side, giving Starsky more room to scoot over next to him. Hutch had managed to get his head over the side of the couch and Starsky was ready – there was a trash can right there where it needed to be.

   Starsky held onto Hutch’s arm with one hand and rubbed his back with the other.

   When he had finished, Hutch moaned again and rolled back over onto his back. He was sitting up a little, his head wedged between the cushions of the arm of the sofa and the back of it. His arms were clutched around his stomach. He opened his eyes a little.

   "Better?"

   Hutch managed to roll his eyes toward him, but tried not to move his head. "Yeah, a little."

   "Ya still look a little green." Starsky said with a smile.

   "Yeah," Hutch tried to smile back, but it was pretty weak.

   Starsky patted his arm and then went to get rid of the trash can. He brought it back clean, just in case, along with a wet cloth and some cold water.

   Hutch moaned again when he felt the cool, wet cloth on his forehead and face. His eyes were closed again, and he didn’t open them. Starsky unbuttoned his shirt and continued bathing his chest and arms with the cool water. He managed to pry Hutch’s arms away from his stomach, flinched a little at the bruises that were already showing, and gently applied the cool water there, as well.

   Starsky was fairly sure that no ribs were broken, since there weren’t any bruises on his chest. The only other bruise, which had grown larger and more colorful since they got home, was the one on his jaw. There was a pretty good lump on the back of his head that worried Starsky a little. He continued to bathe Hutch’s face, chest, and arms with the cool water, going to get some more several times.

********

   A few hours later, Starsky sat in the bamboo chair, feet propped up on the coffee table, elbows on the arms of the chair, chin resting on his folded hands, watching his partner sleep.

   The blond head was wedged in the cushions again, so he was partly sitting up and seemed to be more comfortable now. Earlier, he had been tossing and turning a lot. The blanket Starsky had put on him was mostly kicked off on the floor and tangled around one long blue-jean clad leg. Starsky smiled affectionately at his rumpled-looking friend, with his white shirt unbuttoned, bare feet, and tousled blond hair. Starsky had removed his shoes and socks, but didn’t want to wake him up enough to take off his jeans.

   Starsky was letting himself doze a little in the chair, but he wanted to stay alert enough to keep checking on his partner – just in case he had a concussion or something. On the way home, he had debated about taking Hutch to the hospital, but had ended up here instead. They both really hated hospitals, and Starsky was pretty sure he could handle this one.

   Not quite as good at it as you are though, he thought.

   Suddenly, he could see the back room of a little Italian restaurant as clearly as if he were there right now. He could feel the strong, gentle hands. Hear the calm, comforting voice of his partner. See the concerned blue eyes and the warm smile. Yeah, Hutch knows how to take care of me, he thought with a warm smile of his own. Good thing too because he had needed a lot of help after the shooting. And Hutch was there the whole time.

   Starsky wasn’t looking forward to explaining himself to his partner tomorrow. He had pretty much decided to call them both in sick, so Hutch could sleep in and then they could talk. Dobey won’t like it, but oh, well. There’re a lot of things I don’t like lately either, Starsky thought . . .

********

   Flashback – two weeks earlier – the police station squad room.

   It was a fairly slow day, and Hutch had taken off at lunch to run some errands. Starsky was sitting at his desk, eating lunch and flipping through the latest issue of Hot Rod, when Captain Dobey came out of his office and leaned against the desk next to him.

   Starsky looked over at him, taking a drink of his root beer and swallowing the food in his mouth. The captain didn’t speak right away, so finally Starsky asked, "Yeah, Cap’n, what can I do for ya?"

   Dobey just grunted a little and fiddled with the pen in his hand. Finally he said, "I got a friend, name of Jenkins, Paul Jenkins. Used ta be a cop. Real good cop. Good friend too." Dobey was still looking at the pen, not at Starsky. He was speaking quietly so no one nearby could overhear. He almost seemed to be talking to himself.

   It was odd for the captain to be so quiet, and Starsky wasn’t sure how to take it. He just listened.

   "He works for the government now, some federal agency. I’m not sure which one," Dobey continued, then paused for a minute. "Heard from him yesterday. He’s workin’ on a case. Somethin’ you might be interested in."

   "Me?" Starsky asked, raising his eyebrows.

   Dobey turned to look at him then. "Yeah, actually, he specifically requested your assistance."

   The surprise on Starsky’s face changed to confusion. "How does he even know me?"

   "I can’t really tell you much more. It’s a federal investigation. Classified information and all that. You’ll have to talk to him about it."

   Starsky just looked at him for a long minute.

   Dobey looked away from him again and sighed. "I really think you should check it out." He cleared his throat. "There are reasons you’ll want to, I think."

   Starsky was still a little puzzled, but he trusted Dobey. If the Captain thought they should talk to this guy, they’d talk to him.

   "What’s the address? When Hutch gets back, we’ll go check it out."

   An uneasy expression passed over the captain’s face, but disappeared just as quickly. Dobey stood up from against the desk and turned toward Starsky. "Not Hutch, just you."

   Starsky mouth dropped open at that. "Huh?"

   "I mentioned that you work with a partner, but Jenkins insisted he only wants to talk to you."

   But Starsky was already shaking his head. "No way."

   "Dave." Dobey put his hand on Starsky’s shoulder and gave him a long, sincere look. "I think you’ll at least want to talk to him. You can always turn it down." He handed Starsky a business card and went back into his office without another word.

   Starsky just sat there staring at the card for a long time. He didn’t like it. He and Hutch were partners, but they were also friends. They didn’t have many secrets, and they didn’t work without each other, unless there was a damn good reason. But this was Dobey, who was suggesting it. He’s right, I guess. I can always turn it down. He wrote Hutch a quick note that he was leaving early, grabbed his jacket, and went to talk to this Jenkins guy.

   Jenkins, as it turned out, did have a case that Starsky couldn’t pass up. He was working on busting up a small, but dangerous syndicate operation based out of New York. The head of the operation was Anthony J. Scollini – the same man responsible for the death of Michael Starsky more than twenty years ago.

   Jenkins didn’t want Hutch to be involved, and even though that bothered Starsky, he tried to put it out of his head. He really wanted to get Scollini, and he figured his partner would understand. That is, if he ever had a chance to explain it to him.

   Jenkins was starting to get impatient because Starsky wasn’t spending enough time on the case, and he was the one who suggested that Starsky "have a fight with his partner" or "just pretend to be angry with him." He also suggested the transfer idea to Dobey because he was impatient to have Starsky on the case full-time. As it was, Starsky hardly even had time to review the files because he had to keep what he was doing from Hutch. They spent entirely too much time together – on duty and off – to keep a secret like this for long.

   Starsky didn’t actually start a fight with Hutch though. At first, he just tried to keep quiet about what was going on, but that didn’t work either. Hutch had suspected something was up almost immediately. After the third or so "after work blow-off," Hutch had started thinking that Starsky was mad at him. So Starsky just went along with it and let him think so. I’m such an idiot.

********

   Sunlight streaming into the room and the soft groaning of his partner woke him in the morning. Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d only slept about two hours, since checking on Hutch last. He groaned a little himself and got up, rubbing the back of his neck. He was stiff from sleeping in the chair. His shirt was mostly open now too, half of it hanging out over his jeans, and he absent-mindedly rubbed his hand over the scars on his furry chest. He went to sit next to Hutch, gently pushing back the blond hair, and laying his hand on Hutch’s forehead. He was relieved to find it was cool and dry.

   Light blue eyes were squinting at him.

   "G’mornin," Starsky said, with a smirky little smile.

   "I don’t think so."

   "Well, maybe ya will later. Go back to sleep for awhile."

   It didn’t take more than that for persuasion. "Yeah . . ." Hutch answered groggily, but then was out again.

   Starsky moved his hand down to gently cover the dark bruise on Hutch’s jaw, as if he could wipe it away with a touch. He shook his head a little, pulled the blanket up over Hutch a little more, and went to make some coffee.

   After a two cups and some stale Hostess donuts he found in the cabinet, he still didn’t feel much better. But he had to call Dobey anyway.

   "Starsky, did you find . . ."

   "Yeah, I found him."

   "Well, . . ."

   "He’s okay, but a little . . . under the weather, Cap. We’re gonna need the day off."

   "Starsky . . ." the deep voice boomed, but Starsky pulled the phone away from his ear, so he didn’t hear what Dobey said. He rubbed a hand over his face and waited until there was a pause in the noise coming from the receiver. "Captain," he said, when he got the chance, "I been up all night, and I’m tired. Hutch isn’t feelin’ too good. And we gotta talk."

   The phone was silent for nearly a minute.

   "You’re gonna tell him," Dobey asked, in a calmer voice. It wasn’t really a question.

   "Yeah."

   "Jenkins probably won’t like it."

   "The hell with Jenkins. I should never’ve gone along with this stupid idea in the first place."

   The phone was quiet again.

   Finally, Starsky said, "We’ll be in tomorrow."

   "Well, see that you are . . . both of you."

   Starsky sighed. He normally could speak for both of them, but this time he wasn’t so sure. "I’m gonna try."

   After that, he made a quick call to Merle and made arrangements for him to pick up the Impala. He wasn’t too happy about it even after Starsky offered to pay him extra, but he finally agreed. Starsky was too tired right now to even think about going out there for the car today. Besides, he didn’t want to run into Grizzly Adams again.

   He sighed again and shuffled off to the bathroom. Maybe a shower’ll wake me up.

********

   It was about noon, his stomach was growling, and he was nervously flipping through a magazine, but not really reading it. His mind was on what he had to say to Hutch. He looked over toward the couch, and was surprised to see his partner sitting up, rubbing his hands over his face.

   "Hey, you’re up," Starsky said softly.

   "Yeah? . . . Am I?"

   They sat in silence for a few minutes. Starsky got up and moved over to the couch, putting the magazine down on the coffee table as he sat down next to Hutch. He waited a minute before putting his hand on Hutch’s leg.

   "You gonna be okay?"

   "I’ll have to get back to ya on that one."

   More silence.

   "Where were ya gonna go?"

   Hutch shook his head a little. "I dunno." He paused. "North . . . Canada maybe . . . the mountains . . . I don’t know." Another pause. "Guess I didn’t get too far."

   Starsky smiled a little and patted him on the leg. "I don’t know about that. You might not’ve made it to the mountains, but you found a mountain man."

   Hutch snorted but smiled a little. "Not one of my best moves, was it?"

   "Next time, pick on someone your own size."

   "Yeah."

   Another pause.

   "What was that all about anyway? All I heard was my name and somethin’ about a goat."

   Hutch smiled again. "The guy said he knows you."

   "He does?"

   "Said he does."

   "Hmm." Starsky couldn’t remember ever seeing the guy before, but when you run into as many people as they did, you never know. "Did he know you?"

   "I don’t think so." Hutch leaned back on the couch again and closed his eyes. "He came in after I’d already had a few. A few too many," he added with a sigh. "He started talking to me even though I wasn’t really in the mood for conversation. Guess I mentioned you at some point, and he recognized the name."

   Hutch rubbed a hand through his hair. He didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled a little as he said, "He doesn’t like you much."

   After another pause, the smile disappeared, and Hutch added, "I tried to just sit there and tune him out, thinking he’d stop soon, but he kept finding more creative insults. I couldn’t let him get by with that."

   "Hutch, he was 250 pounds of solid muscle?!"

   "So?" Hutch’s voice was quiet, and he had opened his eyes.

   Starsky started to say more, but was stopped by the steady, sincere gaze of those sky blue eyes that asked silently What would you have done?

   Finally, he just shook his head and sighed. He’s got me on that one. The two of them could throw insults back and forth at each other all day long, but they seldom allowed anyone else to get by with it. Anyway, Hutch had a protective streak that had gotten a mile wider after Starsky was shot. He knew there was no sense in trying to argue with him on that.

   "Yeah, but you’re s’posed to be the brains, remember?"

   Hutch smiled a little weakly. "Yeah." After a pause, he added, "A little weak on the brains, but the brawn came through."

   That was just an old joke between them now – brains and brawn. A lesson learned.

   Hutch closed his eyes again, and said softly. "Thanks."

   "You’re welcome."

   "What did ya do anyway, shoot the guy?"

   "Nah," Starsky drawled and grinned. "I just hit him with a pool stick."

   Hutch opened his eyes again. "A pool stick?"

   "Yeah."

   "That’s all?"

   "Got your sorry ass outta there, didn’t I?" Starsky pointed out with a shrug. "It’s not so much what ya hit ‘em with, it’s more where ya hit ‘em."

   Hutch smiled again. He sat up slowly and used the arm of the sofa to get to his feet. "I need some coffee, some aspirin, and a shower. In that order."

   Starsky watched him moving slowly toward the kitchen. "Hutch, we gotta talk."

   Hutch stopped, but didn’t turn around. His tone was sharper now, with a little of the Hutchinson iciness in it. "Like I said, I need some coffee and a shower."

   "Hutch . . ." Starsky was up off the couch and moving toward Hutch.

   Hutch turned around quickly and Starsky nearly ran into him. He could see the anger in the cool blue eyes that met his. "Look, you didn’t want to talk yesterday, so now you’re just gonna have to be patient. We can talk later . . ." He turned back toward the kitchen, then quickly back around again, nearly colliding with his partner, pointing his finger at Starsky’s chest as he added, ". . . IF I feel like it."

   "Hey," Starsky said, backing up a little and holding out his hands in surrender, "I was just gonna offer to make some more coffee. The stuff that’s out there, I made five hours ago."

   "Oh." Hutch’s expression softened a little, but was still wary.

   "Okay?"

   Hutch nodded. "Okay."

********

   Starsky didn’t actually have very long to wait. Less than an hour later, Hutch came out of the bedroom, looking much better. In fact, he seemed his usual self except for the bruise on his face. He had the same jeans on, but had borrowed a black shirt from Starsky’s closet. Actually, the shirt looked familiar, and Hutch suspected it was one of his own that had been previously borrowed from his own closet, but he didn’t feel a need to mention it.

   Starsky had been slouching in the armchair with his stocking feet on the coffee table, but he put his feet down and sat up when Hutch came into the living room. The TV was on, but he hadn’t really been watching it. Daytime soaps or game shows were the only choices, and neither was very appealing right now.

   Hutch didn’t miss the hopeful expression on Starsky’s face. "Go ahead," he said, sitting near the end of the couch by the chair Starsky was sitting in, his knees almost touching Starsky’s.

   Starsky gave him a blank look.

   "You can talk now. I’m listening."

   "Oh," The blank look disappeared and was replaced by a worried one. Starsky took a deep breath and decided he should just get it over with. He told Hutch the whole story about Dobey and Jenkins and the case itself, avoiding looking at his partner through the whole thing.

   When he finished, there was a long silence, and he looked up to find Hutch staring at him with disbelief written all over his face.

   "That’s supposed to make me feel better?" Hutch nearly spit the words at him. His eyes were definitely icy now and his voice was sharp with anger.

   "I, uh, . . ." Starsky just stammered, caught off guard by the extreme reaction.

   "You acted like that just because some federal asshole and Dobey thought it was a good idea. Since when do you listen to feds?!"

   Starsky was still speechless, staring at Hutch with wide eyes and his jaw hanging open. It was probably just as well because Hutch wasn’t finished reaming him yet.

   "You let me think you were mad at me, just so you could take a case?!" Hutch’s voice was getting louder and angrier with each word. His eyes, holding Starsky’s captive, were as ice cold as an Arctic lake.

   Hutch shot up off the couch suddenly like a rocket, and started pacing. "I can’t believe this . . ."

   He turned to face Starsky again, who still had the same shocked expression. He’d been a little worried about how Hutch would react, but somehow, he had thought he would understand.

   "I haven’t been sleeping, worrying, feeling guilty, trying to figure out what I’d done to you. How could you do this . . . and over some stupid case?"

   "Not just any case," Starsky said, his voice barely a whisper.

   Hutch stopped pacing and stood directly in front of Starsky. They just looked at each other for what seemed a lifetime to Starsky. Sometimes they could communicate better without words, but this was more like a stalemate staring contest.

   Finally, Hutch sat down heavily in his previous position on the couch. He rubbed his hand over his face, and then looked at his partner. A lot of the anger had faded, leaving confusion and pain in the blue eyes that sought Starsky’s.

   "Hutch . . ." Starsky started, but didn’t know what to say to wipe away that pain.

   Very quietly, Hutch said, "I thought we’d agreed that we were more important than the job?" His eyes were locked with Starsky’s again.

   Gunther’s attack had been extremely traumatic for both of them, more so than anything they’d experienced before. But all they went through, during the incident and afterwards, had only brought them closer together. They had been back together on the street for over a year now, and their partnership – and their friendship – was tighter than ever.

   After the shooting, they had considered not going back to police work, but in the end, they knew they both wanted it. However, they had agreed to be more careful. They were working more by the book. They wore vests when they were on duty. They reported their position as regulations specified. They always waited for backup. It was difficult, and sometimes not as effective, but it was a lot safer.

   "Aw, Hutch, . . ." Starsky leaned over and put a hand on Hutch’s leg. "Man, you know you’re more important to me than anything?" He waited, but Hutch didn’t say anything, so he tried to explain. "This case isn’t just any case. You havta understand what it would mean to me to help bust Scollini."

   Hutch was staring at his own hands clasped in front of him. He didn’t answer.

   "I wasn’t makin’ a choice between you and the case, babe," Starsky tried again.

   "That’s what it amounts to." Hutch’s voice was still quiet, and he didn’t look up.

   "But that’s not what . . ." Damn, what was I thinking.

   "You made your decision without even talking to me," Hutch interrupted quietly.

   With a heavy sigh, Starsky said, "I guess, I just thought you’d understand." He patted Hutch’s leg in apology.

   Hutch looked up at him then. "Did you even think about it, Starsk?"

   Starsky just looked at him, "Huh?"

   "Even if you forget the fact that we’re friends, did you even think about what you’re doing?" The blue eyes were softer but still intense.

   "You’re talking about working in a city 2000 miles away from everyone and everything you know. This organization has probably been under investigation for years already. You have no idea how long it will take. You accepted the case knowing almost nothing about the organization, or the case, or your part in it."

   Starsky didn’t respond. He wanted to look away from that steady gaze of blue, but he couldn’t.

   "And if you did stop to think about us at all, what did you expect? You think I’ll just politely accept a transfer? Would you really leave, letting me believe you’re mad at me? Do you think I could let you go to New York, not knowing why you’re mad at me? You think I’ll just sit back patiently waiting for you to come back . . . for God knows how long? And when you finally come back and get around to explaining it me, then what? I’m supposed to say, ‘Oh, sure, I understand, Starsk. You had to go bust the guy that killed your dad over twenty years ago, no matter what the cost. Of course, I understand.’"

   Starsky was shaking his head now. He had taken his hand off Hutch’s leg.

   Hutch’s voice was still quiet as he asked. "Did you think about it at all?"

   Starsky managed to tear his eyes away from Hutch’s. "You don’t understand." He said, in a voice low with anger. "There’s no way you could understand." His eyes were burning.

   "Starsk, busting Scollini is not gonna bring your father back."

   Damn that superior attitude. "How stupid do you think I am?" Starsky stood up then, his eyes dark with anger as he looked at Hutch again. "Don’t you think I know that?!"

   "Starsky, I’m just trying to say that you’re not thinking. You’re acting solely based on your feelings . . ."

   "And what’s wrong with that?" Surely Hutch, of all people, should know how important it was to follow your gut sometimes.

   "Starsk, . . ." Hutch began, but Starsky interrupted.

   "How the HELL could you know anything about it anyway?" He said through clenched teeth. "Whadda you know about feelings?" He knew it wasn’t fair – Hutch was one of the most caring people in the world – but anger was pushing the words out. "Just ‘cause you don’t give a damn about your family, doesn’t mean everyone else is the same."

   Hutch visibly flinched at the words, and his mouth dropped open slightly. Starsky saw the pain in the light blue eyes and regretted what he had said, but he was still too angry to feel guilty. The truth hurts, don’t it, Buddy, he thought with a satisfaction he shouldn’t be feeling.

   Starsky’s conflicting emotions were making his chest tight and his stomach churn. Nobody – not even Hutch – could compete with Starsky’s feelings for his father. Michael Starsky was a hero in his son’s eyes. A hero, as a person can be only when seen through the adoring eyes and mind of a ten-year-old child.

   Starsky wanted to lash out, to hurt anyone who would have the gall to challenge his feelings and his duty where his father was concerned. But at the same time, this was Hutch, and Starsky felt his pain as if it were his own. And there was a duty to him too that could not be denied.

   Hutch stood up to face him. His expression was the definition of sadness. His eyes were cloudy with unshed tears. He spoke quietly but sincerely, "If you need me, you know where I am. That won’t ever change." Then he started toward the door.

   "Hutch . . ."

   Hutch opened the door, but paused when his name was spoken. For a minute, Starsky thought he would come back, but he didn’t turn around as he said, "See ya around, Buddy." His voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, but it still broke a little on the last word. Then he was gone.

********

   Starsky had no idea how long he stood, numb, just staring at the door. So many emotions were raging in him, that there was barely room for coherent thought.

   Finally, he walked to the window and looked out at the street. A street so different than the one in his memory . . .

********

   Gradually the scene faded in his mind. His thought processes began to return to normal. Starsky moved away from the window and sank into the armchair again. As angry as he had been, he knew that Hutch was right. He hadn’t thought about any of it rationally. There were many times in their job that you had to go with your feelings, no matter what your head was telling you. He and Hutch had both been there. But this was different.

   He had shoved all other thoughts and feelings aside, and was acting soley on his feelings of loyalty and duty to his father. He’d even set aside his feelings for Hutch in the process, as if refusing to think about something could make it not relevant.

   Hutch . . .

   Starsky knew he’d been downright mean to his partner, who had only been trying to make him think about the facts. Even though he’d been hurt by Starsky’s decision, he wasn’t holding it against him. He was just being his friend, like always. Even as he left . . .

   Starsky sat for a long time trying to decide how a person could possibly weigh such loyalties. A duty to his father, family, blood, twenty years ago . . .

   A duty to his partner, family, blood – maybe not, but a bond just as strong. Stronger, he thought. A bond of love.

   But he had loved his father too. And this was all he could do for him.

   Starsky sat up all of a sudden, as his glance fell on Hutch’s guitar left standing in the corner of the room, and he realized, "Hutch doesn’t have a car."

********

   Where the hell was he?

   Starsky had driven the usual way to Hutch’s apartment, keeping an eye out for the blond head on his way. There was no answer when he knocked, but just to be certain, he had used his key to check anyway. The place was empty, and he was pretty sure Hutch hadn’t been there today.

   He was on his way back now, searching even more intently for his partner. Examining the possibilities. If he walked all the way home, would he be there by now? If he stopped somewhere to get a cab, he’d definitely be home by now. He coulda called Huggy, but wouldn’t he still have gone home? He couldn’t be feelin’ too good after last night . . . Oh, man, Hutch couldn’t a walked that far in the shape he was in . . .

   Some impulse told Starsky to pull into the park two blocks from his own apartment. He drove slowly through the small park and was about to give up when he spotted the familiar blond head. He parked the Torino and walked in the direction of the bench where Hutch was sitting. He walked up from the side, and Hutch didn’t seem to hear him. He was sitting hunched over a little, staring straight ahead. His hair was too long, and it looked even more blond against the black shirt he was wearing.

   Starsky spoke quietly so he wouldn’t startle his friend.

   "Hutch . . ."

   He didn’t seem startled or surprised even. He turned as if in a daze and gave Starsky a tired nod.

   "You okay?"

   Hutch just nodded again.

   Starsky sat down next to him and laid his hand on Hutch’s knee. They sat like that in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Starsky said softly, "I’m really sorry, Hutch."

   Hutch glanced over at him, but then looked away again. "It’s okay," he said, his voice husky. "Shouldn’t really have to apologize for telling the truth."

   Starsky frowned at him, even though Hutch wasn’t looking at him. "There’s no reason to slap a person in the face with it either."

   Hutch shook his head and sighed a little. "Starsk, you were right. There’s no way I can understand how you feel." He shifted a little, so he was sitting up straighter. "My father is very much alive, and even if he wasn’t . . . well, it’s just like you said . . . I probably wouldn’t care that much."

   "I don’t believe that."

   Hutch sighed again. "Well, anyway, it wouldn’t be that much different than it is now."

   They sat again in silence for a little while.

   "Well, you were right too," Starsky said. "I just didn’t wanna see it, so I got mad."

   Hutch didn’t say anything.

   "I didn’t think it through. I just went with my gut."

   "Sometimes, you have to."

   "Maybe so, but this is different. I didn’t consider anything else. I sorta blocked it all out, so I wouldn’t have to think about it." Starsky paused a minute, looking out into the park. "I guess I did it ‘cause I felt like I didn’t have a choice in takin’ the case or not." His voice dropped, "I feel like I owe it to him, Hutch."

   Hutch moved his hand to cover Starsky’s. "Yeah," he agreed softly.

   "But that wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry about that too."

   Hutch just shook his head. "It doesn’t matter."

   Starsky pulled his hand away and turned to face Hutch on the bench. "It does to matter," he said somewhat indignantly. "You matter."

   Hutch swallowed hard and didn’t say anything right away. Finally, as if Starsky’s words had given him the strength, he turned to face Starsky. His eyes were sad, almost pleading. "Okay, then, I have something to say." His voice was shaky. "Starsk, I don’t want you to go to New York."

   Starsky didn’t know what to say to that. He put his hand on Hutch’s shoulder.

   "I know you have to," Hutch whispered, closing his eyes, "but I don’t want you to."

   They sat in silence again for awhile. Starsky’s hand on Hutch’s shoulder. Hutch’s hand on Starsky’s knee. Starsky struggled for some solution to make his friend feel better. There really was only one way this would work.

   "What if we both go?"

   Hutch opened his eyes again and stared at him. "Sounded like this Jenkins character was pretty clear about that. They don’t need me in it."

   "Yeah, well, I do."

   More like I need you, Hutch thought, feeling very needy at the moment, and not really caring. He didn’t say anything though.

   "Dobey wants to talk to us tomorrow. Will ya come with me?"

   "I’ve already quit, Starsk."

   "So? It’s not like we haven’t done that before."

   "I’m not gonna take a transfer," Hutch said decisively, then he added, "Or a new partner."

   "Will ya come with me? Just see what he says?"

   Hutch looked like he was going to be stubborn, but then he just closed his eyes and nodded.

   "Starsk?" he said after another a pause.

   "Yeah?"

   "Could you do me a favor?"

   "Sure."

   "Could you take me home? I’m tired."

   "Yeah, partner. Me too."

   So Starsky took him home and tucked him into bed. Then he went to talk to Dobey.

THE END