This story was written for entertainment purposes only, and is not meant to infringe on any rights held by any holders of rights to Starsky & Hutch or Touched by an Angel. The characters, of course, are not mine.

Since this is a Touched by an Angel crossover, I thought I should mention that there is a suggestion of slash. Not rated R or anything, but just thought I should mention it.

The paragraphs between the ~~~~~ on page 19 refer to the fan fiction story, Angel Touch by Tammy L. Ruggles, and is used with the author's permission. Thanks, Tammy.

Song Credits:  Private Stock Records, LTD (Copyright 1976)
                        Black Bean Soup, Gardner McKay - David Soul, Topanga Music
                        Don’t Give Up On Us, Tony Macaulay, Almo Music Corp / Macaulay Music

   Hutch knocked on the apartment door hesitantly and was surprised by how quickly it was opened. Starsky just glared at him though and walked back into the living room. Feeling uneasy, Hutch stepped just inside and shut the door.

   "Starsk," he said quietly. "Can I talk to you?"

   "Do I have a choice?" came the sharp reply. Starsky was standing across the room, slightly turned away from him.

   It was a strange question, and it took a minute for Hutch to respond. "Yes, of course, you have a choice." He answered finally.

   Starsky turned to stare at him as if daring him to give him some choices.

   "Well, you could tell me I’m an asshole . . .a lousy friend . . ."

   "You are." He was still staring at Hutch with a hard, nearly emotionless expression on his face, but definite anger in his eyes. The expression was unnerving.

   Hutch flinched at the words and the cold hard look.

   "You could tell me to get out." Hutch said quietly, shifting his eyes away from the dark angry eyes of his partner. God, please not that!

   "If I did, would you leave?" Still the sharp dark eyes were glaring at him.

   Hutch took a sharp breath. His stomach felt as though it might jump out of his body at any time. His eyes met Starsky’s and begged, Please, don’t, but if Starsky heard the unspoken plea, his face didn’t show it.

   "Yes," Hutch finally managed just the one word answer in a breathless whisper. He waited what seemed an eternity, not realizing he was holding his breath.

   Finally, Starsky said impatiently, "You might as well just say what you came here to say."

   Hutch felt slightly dizzy, unbalanced by the strong negative emotions coming from his partner. He remembered to breathe again, but his mind was a blank at the moment.

   "Starsky, I fucked up."

   "No shit," Starsky echoed his thoughts in a sharp, angry voice.

   "I’m sorry." Well, that was lame. He knew he needed to say more, but . . . "I’m really sorry, Starsk," he said with as much sincerity as anyone could possibly squeeze into four little words.

   Starsky just kept glaring at him. The anger was raging in his eyes, but another emotion was burning there too. Pain. Hutch identified, feeling even worse. He’s hurting, and it’s my fault.

   Finally, Starsky spoke. "Why?"

   Such a simple question. God, I wish I knew.

   "How could you . . ." Starsky took a deep shaky breath. "How could you do that to me?"

   Starsky moved toward him then, stopping a few feet away from him.

   "I don’t know . . ." Hutch said, wanting to close his eyes to the pain and anger in those dark eyes. "I didn’t do it to hurt you."

   "You knew it would and you did it anyway." Not a question - an accusation.

   Hutch felt like taking a step backward, but didn’t. Please just stop looking at me like that - like some slimy creep on the street.

   "I didn’t want to hurt you." Hutch repeated. "I swear, if I could change what I did . . . if I could do anything to make it . . . like it never happened, I would."

   "Why the hell should I believe anything you say?"

   Hutch felt as though he’d been slapped. He just stared at Starsky unbelievingly. After a long moment of silence, he answered quietly but firmly, "I have never lied to you."

   The anger, until now, firmly controlled, was unleashed like a storm in the night. Starsky moved closer. "It’s all been one big lie!"

   Hutch did back away from him then, but one step and he was up against the door, Starsky’s hand was twisted in the front of his shirt, his face so close Hutch could clearly see fire in the dark angry eyes.

   "Buddies . . . friends . . . partners . . ." He was hissing the words, almost spitting them in his face. "It’s all bullshit and I fell for it!"

   Blue eyes dark as midnight met the shocked sky blue ones.

   "No," Hutch whispered. No!

   "Me and Thee . . . yeah right . . ." Starsky continued. "I . . . trusted . . .you." He said each word separately and distinctly for emphasis.

   "And you took it and . . ." his voice was shaking with anger and he choked the words out through clenched teeth, ". . . and threw it back in my face."

   "No," Hutch whispered again, voice pleading, eyes filling. He swallowed hard to keep his jaw steady. "Starsk, please . . . let me explain."

   The angry eyes never wavered. All in one moment of time, Hutch felt the hand on his shirt tighten . . . saw the other hand clenched to a fist . . . closed his eyes and braced himself for. . .

   Starsky slammed his open hand against the door beside Hutch. His other hand dropped away from the shirt as he turned away.

   Hutch reminded himself to breathe again. He opened his eyes and took a step forward toward his friend.

   "Get out." The words were spoken quietly. Dangerously quiet.

   Oh, God. Hit me if you want to, but don’t say that.

   "Starsk," Hutch moved to touch his arm.

   Starsky turned back quickly, pushing him away at the same time. "Don’t touch me!" He was yelling now. "Get the hell outta here!"

   Hutch swallowed hard and took a step backward toward the door. He could barely see through the fog in his eyes. He turned and fumbled with the doorknob. Finally, it was open somehow and he was outside.

   Starsky stood in the doorway behind him. "I never wanna see you . . . I never wanna see your face again."

   NO! The word still screamed in his mind. He was standing on the landing moving toward the stairs.

   Breathe, he told himself. And he did, but then he was breathing too fast - hyperventilating. The door slammed behind him and the sound . . .the vibration . . . the emotions ripping through him . . . nearly knocked him off his feet. He stared down the stairs, eyes still clouded with unshed tears, remembered another time . . . blindfolded . . . He grabbed the railing to keep from falling just in time.

   His head was spinning from lack of oxygen. Breathe. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing.

   After several long, deep breaths, he felt a little better. He opened his eyes to stare at his hands gripping the rail, knuckles white. He let go and sat down on the top step. Elbows on his knees, head in his hands, eyes closed around the tears as they finally came, he whispered,

   Please, anything else . . .do anything else you want to me . . . but please not this . . .

   It was a prayer.

******

   Starsky flung his arm at the vase on the end table sending it crashing to the floor. He moved into the room blindly crashing several other breakables, until he caught sight of the picture on the bookshelf. He picked it up meaning to smash it on the floor, but his arm was suddenly still.

   He just stared at the two of them in the picture, smiling widely, arms flung over each other’s shoulders.

   He sunk to his knees on the floor, holding the picture in both hands, tears coming to his eyes. The beautiful blond hair blowing a little from the breeze. Smile like sunshine matching his own crooked grin. Both pairs of blue eyes shining.

   "Why, Hutch? . . . why . . ."

******

   Hutch didn’t see the two women watching him from the sidewalk below.

   "Who are they, Tess?" asked the beautiful red-head seated on the hood of the dented old Ford, dangling her barefooted, slender legs from the side.

   "They are our assignment, Monica," responded her older, black companion. Tess was also beautiful, but her beauty generated from the inside, an age-old wisdom and gentle compassion showing in her dark eyes. She wore a flowing dark dress that complimented her graying hair. "They’re policemen, partners, and also best friends for almost ten years." Tess paused and sighed. "But they’re at a crossroads now."

   "Crossroads?"

   "Turning point, angel-girl," responded the black woman sadly as she watched the blond man sit down on the step. "A fork in the road. They may choose to go separate ways."

   "But you said they’re best friends."

   "They’re struggling now, fighting, arguing. Without help, their friendship may be destroyed. They’re both asking for help, baby, and we’re gonna give it to them."

   "We're supposed to try to keep them together?"

   "We will keep them together," Tess turned to look at Monica then.

   "Why is it so important?" Monica said pushing her self gracefully off the car to stand beside her friend.

   "Because, my dear, very soon they will need each other, and their friendship, to face the most difficult time of their lives. If their friendship fails now, they may be lost forever."

   Monica nodded, understanding what Tess said, as well as some of what she didn’t say. "I have a feeling these two in particular deserve better than that," she said with her lilting Irish accent.

   Tess nodded and said, "I think this is an easy one." Seeing the question in Monica’s eyes, she added, "They already have plenty of love. All they need is a little push in the right direction." She put her arm around Monica’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. "And we’re gonna give it to ‘em."

******

   At some point, his mind started to clear.

   It’s been a long day, Hutch thought . . . and night. I need to go home. Maybe if I get some sleep I can think more clearly. Make some sense out of this. Had it really been only this morning . . .

   Yesterday morning, he amended as he noticed the light in the sky. It was dawn already.

   After Joey’s grenade exploded in the dance hall last night, they had been there quite a while longer "cleaning up" so to speak. After leaving the dance hall, he had gone back to the station and wrote the report. While he typed, he tried not to think about anything else. But he realized, as he placed the completed report in Dobey’s inbox, that he had been taking his time hoping Starsky would stop in on his way home. He hadn’t. They were supposed to be off tomorrow - today - so he was glad he had finished the report. At least, he had one day to deal with . . .losing his partner.

   Maybe, if I just get some sleep, things will look better. But he really didn’t think so.

   He got up and slowly made his way down the stairs to his car. The LTD started right away for a change, and he drove home on automatic pilot. He didn’t notice the dark woman standing on the sidewalk when he pulled up in front of Venice Place.

   He was just managing to pull himself out of the car and into a standing position when he noticed her.

   "Excuse me, young man. Can you help me?"

   He stared at her with uncomprehending eyes.

   "I’ve had a little trouble with my car." The woman was saying as she indicated the convertible parked in front of his car. "Could I use your phone to call a service station?"

   He nodded at her politely and managed to mumble a positive response.

   "Name’s Tess," she said reaching for his hand before he even extended it. "I really appreciate it."

   "Ken Hutchinson," he said automatically. "Uh, call me Hutch."

******

   Starsky was kneeling on the floor for a long time, silent tears falling on the glass of the photograph, lost in memories. A year ago in the park. Police barbecue. A beautiful day. Great food. A lot of beer. Relaxing. Playing games with Rosie and the other kids.

   Hutch had even been persuaded to play his guitar. Everyone always enjoyed his music, but Hutch was shy about it. Of course, the beer they’d had to drink that day had probably helped with the stage fright a little.

   Starsky had taken quite a few great pictures that day, but Edith had borrowed his camera to take the picture he was holding now. "Smile," she had said, unnecessarily since they were both grinning like cheshire cats already. Hutch had thrown an arm over his shoulders, and he had put his own around his partner. He had a copy made of the photograph for Hutch. It was on his piano. Through the foggy memories, he heard a sound. A soft knock on the door. He jumped up quickly and opened the door with the picture still in his hands, "Hutch . . ." But it wasn’t Hutch at the door.

   "Uh, can I help you," he asked almost automatically of the pretty redhead at the door. His brain wasn’t quite working. He brushed his hand across his eyes to dry them.

   "I’m really sorry to bother you at this time of day, but . . ."

   Day? It was day. The sun was already fully in view at the horizon. It was early though. Yesterday had been a long day, but it was over now.

   ". . . can you help me," The girl smiled at him, and he realized he had missed most of what she had said.

   At his blank stare, she repeated. "I’m your new neighbor from across the street. I saw your light on and was hoping I could use your phone to call my friend. Mine isn’t connected yet."

   You are beautiful, Starsky thought. His eyes were roaming before he could stop himself. "Uh . . . yeah sure. Anything you need, schweetheart."

   She smiled again and laughed at the Bogey impression. A lilting Irish laugh.

   He stepped aside and motioned for her to come in. He managed to show her to the phone, but then just stood there while she made her call.

   He didn’t hear a word of the conversation. His thoughts were still a little foggy. I need some sleep, he realized. Been up nearly twenty-four hours. Long day.

   ". . . a friend of yours." He realized she was talking to him again, taking the photo from his hand. He’d forgotten it was there.

   Monica wondered briefly why the blond man in the picture looked so familiar.

   "Uh, yeah. That’s Hutch, . . . uh, Ken Hutchinson. My partner."

   His face must have shown something, because she looked at him with gentle concern. "We’re cops," he added as an afterthought.

   "Are you okay?" she asked her green eyes seeming to stare right into his soul.

   "Yeah, I’m fine," he said shortly, hoping to put an end to that conversation.

   "Well, I guess . . ." she looked like she was about to leave, so he interrupted her.

   "Hey, I was just gonna make some coffee. Want some while you wait for your friend," he said quickly. She’s gonna turn me down, he thought when she looked at him in a sort of sisterly way.

   When she said, "Yes, I’d like that," it surprised him so much he just stood there looking at her.

   "Uh, oh yeah, coffee." He got the coffee maker started, grabbed a couple mugs, and sat down at the table where she was already sitting. He knew he had a stupid grin on his face, but he couldn’t help it.

   She smiled back. "My name is Monica, by the way."

   "David Starsky," he said holding out his hand. When she reached for it, he turned it over and kissed the top of it. "Pleased to meet you, Monica."

   She laughed again. "You’re very charming, David."

   "You should see me when I’ve had some sleep."

   "I imagine life as a policeman leads to many sleepless nights."

   "Yeah, the bad guys got weird hours."

   The coffee was done, so he got up and filled the cups. As he was setting the pot back on the machine, she said, "Tell me about your friend." He nearly dropped the pot on the floor, but recovered in time and set it down in the right place.

   "Not much to tell."

   "What happened to him?"

   "Nothin," he said giving her a puzzled look.

   "Well, you looked like you were crying when I came in and you were holding the picture, I just thought . . ."

   "Nothin happened to him. We just ain’t friends anymore."

   "Oh."

   He looked at her and felt a sort of warmth seeping over himself. Like she was looking into his soul again, but for some reason, he didn’t mind. He felt like he could tell her anything . . . everything. And for some reason he didn’t understand, he told her the whole story . . .

******

   While Tess used the phone, Hutch started water for coffee. Between the lack of sleep and the events of the previous day, he was still running on remote control, but he managed to get the water on and a couple of cups set out on the counter.

   "They can’t get here for at least an hour," Tess was telling him. "I guess I could wait out in the car."

   "Of course, you can’t," Hutch said, all manners as usual. "You’ll stay here and have a cup of coffee with me."

   "Well," Tess said, pretending to hesitate, "If you have tea instead of coffee, I could be persuaded."

   "Sure, you can have your choice." He showed her his fairly decent selection of herbal teas and after she decided on one, he hesitated a moment. I could really use the caffeine from the coffee, but tea sounds better for some reason. He put a tea bag in each cup.

   "So, what happened to you last night?" Tess asked in such a grandmotherly fashion that it didn’t sound like prying.

   Tess smiled, almost as though she could hear his thoughts.

   He paused before answering her question, and the kettle started whistling. Saved, he thought, as he got up to pour the water.

   He wasn’t off the hook yet though. As he placed the cup in front of her, she said, "When you first got out of the car this morning, you looked like you just lost your best friend." He nearly spilled the hot liquid on her, but caught himself in time.

   He sat across from her at the table and took a sip of the tea. Pretty hot, but he liked it that way. She was still watching him. When he looked up into her eyes, he felt warm inside. Must be the tea, he thought.

   "Actually," he said, surprising himself even as he spoke. "I think maybe I did . . . uh, lose my best friend, I mean," he had a lost look on his face and a lonely, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

   She just looked at him over the cup as she sipped the tea. "Mmmm," she mumbled.

   "I’m sure you don’t want to hear . . ." he started.

   "Not like I have anything else to do at the moment," she laughed at that, and he smiled a little. "Tell me . . ." she said with softness in her voice and her warm brown eyes.

   Surprising himself with his openness, he was suddenly pouring out the whole story to her like a police report with extra details. Baring my soul to a stranger. I must be tired, he thought, but still he kept talking.

   When he was finished, he sat for a long quiet minute just staring into his empty cup. "I’m an idiot and an asshole. I can understand why he’s so mad," he added.

   "Well, you can’t give up."

   He looked up, startled for a minute, as though he’d forgotten she was even there. "He told me to get out," he said with a puzzled look. "And that he doesn’t want to see me anymore. Besides, why should he forgive me?"

   "I’m not saying what you did was right, but everyone makes mistakes sometimes. It’s part of being human."

   "I certainly make more than my share," Hutch was staring into his empty cup again.

   "I’ll bet you aren’t as hard on anyone else as you are on yourself," Tess said, knowing that Hutch was never quick to judge anyone. In fact, he was the first to treat people with respect no matter what their circumstances. People like Sweet Alice and Brenda Williams. He was even forgiving with Tommy, who had done such terrible things. I think it’s your turn for a little forgiveness.

   "I’m just saying that maybe he’s better off without me."

   "Well, baby, I don’t think that’s true," Tess said.

   After a pause, Tess added, "I really didn’t think you were the type to just give up . . ."

   You have always kept going, kept trying, even when the odds were against you. Remember . . . And Tess began paging through his memories.

   Hutch was seeing all those events one by one clearly in his mind. Of course, he didn’t know that Tess was helping him see them.

   "No," Tess said out loud. "You aren’t the type of person to give up."

   Maybe there’s some way . . Suddenly, he felt a little better. "But he won’t even let me talk to him." I can’t do it when he’s so angry. The brief glimmer of hope was fading fast.

   "Write him a letter."

   "What?"

   "Or a song."

   He just stared at her.

   "Well, you play, don’t you. I saw your piano and guitar. Just thought if you play music, maybe you write a little too."

   "A little." Then he mumbled, "Not very well though."

   "Aw, baby, you’re just bein’ shy. Play me something."

   For some reason, he wanted to play for her. He couldn’t quite understand it. He never liked to play for anyone, especially not a stranger. Sure Starsky . . . his stomach felt tight for a minute . . . or Huggy . . . a girlfriend once in awhile . . . but nobody else. He did play sometimes, but he was usually so nervous it wasn't very enjoyable. His music was private.

   Then why did he get his guitar, tune it, and start singing? He didn’t answer that question.

   Before long, Tess had joined her beautiful voice with his, singing the last verse:

   Tess had a few requests after that, and the sound of their voices filled the apartment for the next hour or so. Hutch was actually sorry to see the tow truck come. Tess gave him a big, motherly hug before she left. "Don’t give up, baby," she whispered in his ear. He smiled at her - hope filling his smile and his face with sunshine.

   He went back inside and started writing. A long letter. He re-wrote it a couple times, until he got it right. Well, as right as it’s gonna be anyway, he thought. After re-reading it for the third time, he decided to just leave it as it was. He was fiddling with the pen after that and started jotting down a few lines that turned into a poem . . . no, a song. He could already hear the melody in his mind . . . and in his heart, so he went to get his guitar.

   When he finally finished and looked at the clock, it was nearly one. He dozed on the couch for awhile and then got up to take a shower.

******

   Starsky felt a hundred times better after spilling his guts to Monica. He had told her the whole story in detail, including his feelings. He never talked to people like that. Well, accept Hutch . . . his stomach hurt a little at that thought . . . or Terry.

   Yeah, Monica is a lot like Terry, he thought feeling better again. But Monica interrupted his thoughts.

   "You’ve been friends a long time, and I know what he did is wrong, but everybody makes mistakes sometimes. Maybe you should listen to what he has to say."

   He just looked at her.

   "Maybe, he just got caught up in something . . . and well …." Monica paused a moment, searching for the right words. "Maybe he really didn’t mean to hurt you."

   "He slept with my girlfriend, after I told him I was in love with her." Starsky said, with a how-can- you-even-say-that look on his face.

   "Did you ask him how he felt?"

   Starsky stared at her a moment with his mouth opened until he realized it and shut it. No, I didn’t . . .

   Evidently, Monica knew the answer to her question by the look on his face. "Haven’t the two of you ever liked the same woman before? Maybe even competed for one?"

   Again, the look on his face must have betrayed him.

   "If you’ve played games like this before, what makes this time so different?"

   Starsky couldn’t answer that question.

   "You think . . ." Starsky was beginning to realize the truth in what she was saying. "If I had asked him how he felt . . . maybe . . ." Maybe, it wouldn’t even had happened.

   "Maybe I’m just a sore loser," he said finally.

   Monica laughed at that. He certainly has a way of summing it all up with only a few short words. Cutting right through the clutter to the heart of the matter. Probably helps make him a good detective.

   But the wheels were turning in Starsky’s head and he didn’t notice her expression.

   We really haven’t been talking as much lately. We’ve even been pushing each other away at times. He remembered how he’d acted after he shot Emily Harrison, letting Hutch work the case on his own, not wanting to open up to him. They were still good as partners, . . . but about all we do together anymore is work . . . maybe hang out at Huggy’s once in awhile. But something was missing. I wonder when’s the last time we had a midnight monopoly game.

   "And she was a police woman," Starsky looked startled when Monica’s words seemed to be following his own thoughts. "I would imagine that would make things a little easier," she added.

   Starsky knew what she meant. Many of his relationships . . . Hutch’s too . . .had been blown because the lady couldn’t handle the job. Hutch’s especially, he thought thinking of Vanessa and Abby. Dating a fellow cop eliminated a whole set of problems right from the beginning.

   There were a hundred reasons, Hutch might have been drawn to Kira. He does have some kind of weird attraction to manipulative . . . Vanessa,. . . or just plain crazy . . . Diana Harmon . . . women. Kira certainly fell into the manipulative category. Maybe the crazy one too, he thought knowing he was just being vindictive.

   "I’m sure he didn’t want to hurt you," Monica said, echoing his thoughts again.

   Get outta my head, lady. But he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to.

   "But I told him I never wanted to see him again. I yelled at him. I almost hit him again."

   He remembered the look on Hutch’s face last night - this morning. Please, don’t . . . Starsky had almost heard the thought in Hutch’s mind. That was nothing new, but his ignoring it was.

   "Please, Starsk . . .Let me explain." He remembered Hutch's words from last night and realized, I didn’t even give him a chance.

   "He’s never gonna speak to me again," he said aloud.

   "I don’t know about that. He doesn’t seem like the type to just give up." Not with Tess working on him anyway, she thought.

   But Starsky already knew that about Hutch. Whenever he had needed Hutch, he was always there. He never gives up on me. It went both ways, of course. Partnership.

   When Monica’s friend showed up several hours, Starsky didn’t even consider how much time they had spent talking. He felt a little depressed watching her leave though, as she waved to him from the convertible. It was a little like watching his dad leave for work when he was five.

   He just shook his head. Went back inside. Sat down on the couch. And promptly fell asleep, like he really was five again.

******

   When Starsky finally woke up, he had no idea what time it was or what had awakened him. The phone wasn't ringing. He figured he was about due for a call from Dobey demanding the report on last night’s incident. Starsky was usually a very sound sleeper, so it couldn’t have been the soft tread of footsteps outside the door.

   He sat up quickly and saw the envelope that had been slid under the door.

   He was up and to the door like a bolt. He grabbed the envelope, just taking in the Starsk written in Hutch’s neat script on the front of it, before he opened the door.

   Hutch was nearly to the car, but he stopped when he heard the door open.

   "Hutch . . . wait," Starsky was calling him. He turned slowly, uneasily as Starsky bounded down the stairs with his usual unfettered enthusiasm.

   His dark-haired partner skidded to a stop a few feet from him. Then hesitated.

   Now what? Starsky wondered for a minute still holding the envelope in his hand.

   Yeah, now what? thought Hutch. I was just gonna deliver it and leave. Hadn’t planned on this. But he did notice there was no anger in Starsky’s eyes, only uneasy hesitation.

******

   Neither man knew they had an audience. Monica was perched on Hutch’s clunker again, and Tess was standing nearby smiling.

   "I think our work here is done."

   "But aren’t we going to tell them we’re angels."

   "I don’t think we have to."

   Monica looked very disappointed. "But I love that part."

   "Well, maybe we’ll just watch a little while longer . . ."

******

   "Where ya goin’?" Starsky finally asked.

   Hutch shrugged and mumbled, "No where." That’s exactly where I’m going without you, partner. "I was going home, I guess."

   "Come up for a minute?" The dark blue eyes were hopeful.

   God, those eyes. How can anyone ever say ‘no’ to him? Not that he wanted to right now.

   "Sure," he managed to respond, though he was clenching his teeth together to keep his mouth from quivering. I’m so nervous. How am I ever gonna talk to him?

   He climbed the stairs behind his partner. ‘Partner.’ Hope I can still say that tomorrow.

   Starsky let him go through the still-open door first. Once inside, Hutch wasn’t sure what to do, so he moved into the living room, allowing enough room for Starsky to come in and close the door. Then he just stood there. Never felt this way here before, like an outsider. Usually Starsky’s apartment felt as much like home as his.

   "Wan’ a beer?" Starsky was asking.

   He really didn’t, but he looked at his friend and nodded anyway. "Yeah, thanks."

   He noticed several items, a vase, a lamp, a plant . . . smashed on the floor. He bent to pick up the plant, carefully. "What the hell happened here, Starsk?"

   "Oh," Starsky was blushing a little, "uh, I guess, I did that," he said, handing Hutch the beer.

   Hutch took it, but still had the plant in his other hand. "Do you have another pot?"

   "Yeah, probably under the sink."

   Hutch started toward the kitchen.

   "Uh, Hutch."

   He turned back, "Yeah?"

   "You want me to read this?"

   Hutch just stared at the envelope.

   "Or . . . you can tell me what’s in it?"

   Hutch wasn’t sure he could do that right now. "Uh, maybe it’d be better if you read it," he said his eyes meeting Starsky’s with a hopeful, somewhat fearful look. God, please don’t let me say the wrong things. "I’m not sure I can say it right."

   Starsky seemed to understand. He just nodded and sat on the couch, opening the envelope.

   Hutch looked at the plant in his hand and was glad to have an excuse to leave him alone for a minute. "I’ll just take care of this plant, while you’re reading."

   Starsky nodded and unfolded the letter.

******

   Hutch finished re-potting the plant and just stood in the kitchen waiting. Maybe the letter wasn’t enough. Maybe it was too much. Hard to take back anything written down in ink. It’s really quiet in there.

   Finally, curiosity won over the nervousness, and he took a peak at his partner.

   Starsky was just sitting on the couch, shaking his head, a half-smile on his face, tears in his eyes, still looking at the letter. That’s good I think, Hutch thought.

   He worked up the nerve and sauntered up to the couch. "Man, you’re a slow reader," he tried to say it lightly, jokingly.

   Starsky just looked at him, unashamed by the tears in his eyes. You love soapy scenes, Partner, and I know it. You’re secret’s out, Hutch was thinking.

   But of all the things Starsky might say, Hutch never in a million years would have guessed the next words to come out of his mouth.

   "I don’t even like dogs."

   It took him a minute to realize where that came from. "wife, kids, white picket fence, and a dog." What exactly does he mean by that? But Hutch’s thought was interrupted by Monica’s laugh behind him. Both men turned around at the same time. Monica looked at Tess a little sheepishly, but Tess just smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

   Hutch was staring at Monica. "You . . . I know you . . .you were in the hospital . . ." He looked at Starsky, "When I had the plague, she was in the hospital with me."

   That’s why he looked so familiar, Monica thought. "Yes, David couldn’t be there, but he prayed for you, and God sent me to bring you comfort."

   Starsky’s puzzled look disappeared as he flinched at the memories of that time. The worst part about it was that he couldn’t be with Hutch. Looking through the glass was not enough. After he found Callendar, he insisted on going in anyway, but before that he had to save Hutch’s life.

   But if I had lost him then, before I could be with him . . . he didn’t finish the thought. He did remember praying for Hutch. How could I have been so mad at him? How could I forget how much he means to me?

   "You told me Starsky would find Callendar and that everything would be all right." Hutch was staring at her with wide-eyed wonder. "I’ve never remembered that until just now."

~~~~~~~~~~

   "Who are you?" Hutch asked. And Tess, what’s she doing here?

   "I . . ." she looked at Tess, "We are angels sent by God."

   Monica moved toward Hutch, guiding him effortlessly toward Starsky on the couch. Hutch sat down taking comfort in the familiar shoulder touching his. Monica placed a hand on each man’s arm and kneeled in front of them. She was smiling, and a beautiful light enveloped her and lit the room. Both men just stared at her in awed silence. "We're here to help you find your way back to each other."

   The two friends looked at each other and then back at Monica in disbelief.

   "There is so much love here," Monica said with tears in her eyes. "It’s overwhelming, but God wants you to know that He loves you too."

   "David, your father is with Him, and you know he loves you. And Hutch, your father loves you even though he has a difficult time expressing it. But as much as your earthly fathers love you, your heavenly Father loves you so much more."

   "The road the two of you have chosen is a hard one. You’ve already had many difficult times and even doubted your path. You may have reason to doubt it again. But your Father wants you to know that he rejoices in the good you’ve both done and he is sad with you in your times of despair."

   Hutch finally spoke in a hesitant voice, "But why . . . I mean there are wars . . . kids dying in the street . . . people starving to death . . . why do we get an angel . . . what makes us so special?"

   Starsky turned his look of disbelief on his partner. Leave it to you, Buddy, to argue with an angel. An angel? He turned an astonished look back at Monica.

   But Monica didn’t seem to mind the question. "You are special, both of you. You’ve chosen to help others even if it is difficult at times."

   "And," she added looking at Hutch, "there are angels enough for everyone."

   Tess had moved around to stand in front of them. The mysterious light was surrounding her as well, as she said, "God has given you both a special gift and He doesn’t want you to lose it. We’re here to remind you just how special and powerful that gift is."

   "What gift?" Starsky asked, finally finding his voice but still looking at Monica and now at Tess as if they were from outer space. Well, heaven, that’s pretty close.

   Monica moved her hands from their arms to touch each of them lightly on the cheek. She looked from one to the other. "The gift of each other. The love, the bond you have is so powerful. Never underestimate it. Rely on it, trust in it, . . . trust in each other. Know that it is stronger than anything and everything else."

   "But you already know that." Tess said. "You just needed a little reminder." She smiled that all-knowing smile and added, "And remember too that love, in whatever form it takes, is a gift from God. Treasure it."

   ‘Whatever form it takes.’ Wonder what that means, thought Hutch.

   And then Tess and Monica were gone, but the light and the warmth remained.

   Starsky turned toward Hutch then, putting his hands on his friend’s shoulders and turning him gently. Sky blue eyes met his. "You’re the best friend I’ve got in the whole world," Starsky repeated those words from the past and pulled Hutch into a firm hug, whispering, "I love you, Buddy." Hutch just melted into that embrace, and at that moment, no one else and nothing else on earth existed for the two of them, except each other.

   Nothing will come between us again, partner. One thought echoed in two minds. Silent promise understood.

******

THE END