Pat Chachich

   Starsky made a disgusted face and tossed the spoon back into the bowl Huggy was holding. He sighed heavily, leaning back on the couch and covering his face with his arm. "No way," he grumbled. "Just forget it."

   Huggy exchanged a glance with Hutch, who gave him an apologetic shrug.

   "Starsky, my man, I'm hurt," Huggy said. "This elixir has been perfected through generations of the Brown family. It'll put a spring in your step and a smile on your face."

   "Not to mention get you to that stakeout tomorrow," Hutch put in.

   "I'm gonna have to get to the stakeout without that stuff," Starsky said firmly, gesturing toward the bowl Huggy had placed on the coffee table. He stopped to sneeze forcefully several times. "I'm sorry, Hug," Starsky continued, sitting up and accepting the handful of tissues Hutch offered him. He blew his nose, then turned to the slim black man. "Nothing against the honor of the Brown family, but that stuff tastes terrible." He leaned back against the couch again, closing his eyes.

   "Well, I'm gonna have to leave it to Blondie here to fight with you about it," Huggy said, standing up and moving toward the door. "Some of us have a business to run." He patted Starsky on the shoulder. "Later, Curly." Starsky mumbled a good-bye.

   Hutch got up and walked Huggy to the door. "Thanks for coming, Hug," Hutch said as their friend stepped out onto the porch.

   "No problem," Huggy answered. "Good luck with your patient." He turned and headed for his car with a grin.

   Hutch's answering smile faded as he closed the door and turned to look back at Starsky, who still lay with his eyes closed on the couch. He looked so miserable that Hutch had to fight down a wave of guilt at the sight.

   His mind drifted back to the incident at the docks that morning. Hutch had been shocked when he climbed back up on the dock and saw Starsky in the water. He hadn't heard his partner calling out to him before Starsky jumped in, and it had never occurred to him that Starsky would go into the ocean after him.

   Hutch felt another wave of guilt. The only reason Starsky had jumped in was because he thought Hutch was in danger, and all Hutch had done was yell at him.

   By the time they had gotten back to Hutch's cottage, Starsky was sneezing every five minutes, and had developed a hoarse cough. Hutch had gotten him into a hot shower and dry clothes, then bundled him under blankets on the couch. Starsky had stayed there the rest of the afternoon, alternating between complaining and staring miserably into space, looking for all the world like a five year old home with the sniffles.

   Hutch had tried to downplay his concern - he knew that Starsky wasn't really that sick. His partner always complained long and loud over minor ailments, and Starsky had been very vocal about how much he was suffering with this cold. It was when Starsky didn't complain that Hutch knew something was seriously wrong. Hutch's mind told him that Starsky would be just fine in a few days, but his heart hated to see his friend looking so uncomfortable.

   Suddenly coming to a decision, Hutch cast another look at Starsky, whose eyes were still closed, then headed into the kitchen. He emerged a few minutes later, stirring something in a steaming mug. He crossed the room and stood next to the couch.

   Starsky had turned on his side, facing the back of the couch, but Hutch could see that his eyes were open. He crouched down next to his partner.

   "Hey, Gordo," he said softly. "I've got something for you."

   "I'm not eating any more of that mustard green - whatever - stuff, Hutch," Starsky said grumpily, not turning around.

   Hutch smiled. "Not to insult 'Dr. Huggy', but I don't blame you, buddy," he said. "That stuff looked pretty awful." He stirred the mug he was holding. "This is an old Hutchinson family cure. My mom used to make it for me whenever I was home sick from school."

   Starsky turned around, looking interested, but a little suspicious. "Yeah? What is it?"

   "Warm milk and honey," Hutch said, holding out the mug.

   Starsky rolled his eyes. "Warm milk? Hutch..."

   "Just try it, Starsk," Hutch interrupted. "It always made me feel better when I was a kid."

   Still looking doubtful, Starsky reluctantly accepted the mug from Hutch and took a sip. His eyes widened in surprise, and he had to stop to clear his throat. "Your mom gave you this when you were a kid?" he asked incredulously. He took another sip.

   Hutch chuckled softly. "Well, mom didn't use brandy. That was my own addition."

   Starsky smiled slightly for the first time since they had left the docks. "That's what I like about you, Blintz. You're always thinkin'."

   Hutch returned the smile and sat back on the coffee table. There was a few moments of silence as Starsky slowly sipped his drink, then Hutch spoke softly. "Thanks, Starsk."

   Starsky looked up, startled. "What for?"

   "For going into that water after me."

   "You don't hafta thank me for that, Hutch," Starsky answered. "You're my partner. Besides," he continued, looking down at his mug, "I didn't do anything. You got out all on your own."

   "You didn't know that," Hutch replied. Starsky looked up to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Starsk," Hutch continued. "I was so busy trying to get out of the water and back to help you that I didn't hear you yelling for me. I should've been paying more attention - then you wouldn't've gotten wet and sick for nothing." Hutch looked down at his hands briefly, then back at his partner, his eyes reflecting his feelings of guilt and concern.

   "Hey, Blondie, it's okay," Starsky said, smiling gently. "I'll live...and I'm glad you're alright, partner."

   Hutch returned the smile, their eyes meeting in perfect understanding.

   "Anyway," Starsky went on, his grin widening, "A little more of this Hutchinson magic recipe, and I won't care if I'm sick or not." He drained the last few drops from his mug and placed it on the coffee table.

   Hutch laughed and reached over to ruffle Starsky's curls. "Maybe all that brandy wasn't such a good idea on an empty stomach. How 'bout I fix you some real food, huh, partner?"

   "Thanks, Hutch," Starsky answered. "I'm not really that hungry, though."

   "What?" Hutch said, an exaggerated expression of shock on his face. "You really must be sick," he teased. He laughed as he ducked the sofa pillow Starsky threw at him and headed back into the kitchen.

   He returned several minutes later and placed a bowl of soup on the coffee table. "Here you go, buddy. Don't worry, it's chicken noodle, not mustard greens, " Hutch said with a smile. Looking up, Hutch saw that Starsky's eyes were closed. "Starsky?" he called softly. "Starsk?" The only answer was Starsky's deep, slightly congested sounding breathing.

   Hutch's eyes softened and he reached down to pull the blankets up over Starsky's shoulder. " 'Night, partner," he whispered. "Thanks for being there."

THE END