Reggie

   Hutch leaned against the cool, wet tiles, hands and forehead pressed up against them as the water beat a steady stream over his body. Somehow, he'd thought a cold shower would help calm his nerves after the dream that woke him so violently, but it didn't seem to be doing him any good - at least, none that he could feel.

   He shut the water off and exited the bathroom, shivering in his robe and dripping puddles across the floor. He actually walked over to the telephone and picked it up before he realized what he was doing. There was no way he was going to call Starsky, not at three in the morning, not just because he'd had a dream -

   A dream starring my partner. And myself. A dream that was so damn real I can still feel him.

   He was not going to call and risk finding out that Starsky wasn't home, or that he was home, but wasn't alone. Or, worse still, that he was home, alone, and sitting by the phone waiting for his partner to call, waiting to hear the need dripping from his voice, waiting for him to say, "Please come over, because I need to see you, I need it even though I spent ten hours with you today, and yesterday, and the day before that, and the ten years before that."

   'Whatever you need,' Starsky had said; three little words that changed everything. He'd always known, but it had always been unspoken, before, that certainty that there was nothing that Starsky wouldn't do for him, wouldn't allow him, wouldn't give him. And now that it was spoken, he knew nothing; there were no certainties left.

   They worked together, the same as always, and the closeness had returned; at least, the physical closeness had, after they'd - he'd - gotten past the fear of it. He thought that's all that he'd missed in their partnership, the physical closeness, and once the equilibrium of that had returned, everything would be fine.

   Of course, the fact that they hadn't yet talked about how it returned seemed to be having repercussions he hadn't anticipated. They kept planning on it, only things always seemed to come up - the regular cases they worked, with the ongoing blackmail investigation always in the background of whatever homicide they were assigned to at the moment. The reticence wasn't only on his part, either; Starsky didn't seem in any particular rush to pin him down and discuss the fact that they'd -

   And, of course, the fact that he had a hard time even thinking about what they'd done didn't mean anything, either. It was hardly the sort of thing that one could look at in the abstract, or with a great deal of objectivity: sleeping with your partner, your male partner, when you were male and you didn't do that sort of thing, never had, never even so much as thought about it until your male partner came out with the fact that he not only thought about it but did it, with no small amount of regularity - well, what was he supposed to do? There were regulations about fraternization, there were unwritten and unspoken rules about gay cops on the force, there were societal norms and mores to look at.

   There was the fact that the one night with Starsky had been the best lay he'd had in years. There was also the fact that he felt like he shouldn't think of it - him - in those terms, as a "lay," a quick fuck, a casual indiscretion, a one-night stand that he saw over and over and over again, without actually being able to touch him. This was Starsky he was talking about: Starsky the best friend, the partner, the brother.

   The lover.

   No. It was one time. One time did not a lover make. If anything had taught him that, it was the past two weeks of calling up old girlfriends - old acquaintances, in most cases - who had spent nights with him. He hadn't realized that there were so many; not that he was the most promiscuous person he knew, not that there was anything inherently wrong with it even if he was. It was just the fact that he had a problem matching up names and faces, sometimes, and that certain background information was hazy, that there were a few names he couldn't remember at all. It just didn't matter to him at the time, and now it did, and he wasn't sure why.

   Was it fact that Starsky was there beside him, doing the same thing, sharing the same half-regretful conversations with the same sorts of half-forgotten people - women? 'And men. Men, in his case.' Did it seem just a bit juvenile, like they should have grown up by now, changed their lives, settled down? But those were the lives that they'd chosen a long time ago, to be police officers, married first and foremost to the job, to justice, to righting wrongs and catching the bad guys and protecting the innocent, and that meant a certain resignation to the fact that most other people didn't understand, or didn't want to understand, what the job entailed. Only, it had been years since he'd felt like that was what he was doing, or, at the very least, that he was doing any of it well. Everything had changed when Gunther had taken down Starsky so easily, without breaking a sweat, without lifting a finger; make a phone call, take someone's life, or nearly, and what was he supposed to do about it? How was he supposed to stop any of it, protect anyone, make any difference, when he couldn't even stop that?

   He walked, restless, into the kitchen, found wine in the fridge, and then remembered that there was a bottle of scotch in the cupboard, somewhere. He found an ancient bottle of brandy, even, but no beer - they'd finished that the night before last, when Starsky had come over with a pizza and they'd sat and eaten and talked and played chess. It was like old times, like before. They were doing a good job of not letting it come between them, except when Starsky leaned over the board, studying his moves, tongue poking out between his pursed lips, and Hutch just watched him, not caring how much time passed before he chose a piece, not caring that he was being beaten again by Starsky's kamikaze style of playing, not caring about anything except for the fact that he was here, and Starsky was here, and they were both safe, and this was comfortable, and that was all he wanted for the rest of his life, just to sit here and spend time with his friend.

   And then Starsky moved his piece, and looked up, expectant and triumphant, and Hutch was lost in that indigo gaze that sparkled and shifted at him. The feeling was gone almost as soon as it came - all the comfort, all the ease, all the goodness of it - just vanished in the depths of that gaze. He lost three moves later, but it was all over then, and he knew it. He was back to being awkward and ill-at-ease, and Starsky felt it, too. How could he not? He left soon afterwards, regretful and silent.

   He poured a glass of wine, drank half it, and rested the glass on the counter. He was sure it would take downing the entire bottle to make any dent on his restlessness, and he'd probably end up with a headache, to boot. The only other option was the one he swore he wouldn't take, and yet -

   The 'helpful' doctor had pressed the pills on him in the hospital, after he'd gone a week on what felt like no more than ten minutes of sleep, terrified to close his eyes and lose Starsky because he wasn't watching, terrified that the man would flatline because he wasn't there - not so much in body, but in spirit. He was so wound up over Gunther and Starsky and all of it that he didn't think he'd ever sleep again, but even though he'd accepted the packet of pills from her all it had taken for him to wind down that time was a hot shower and a good cry, crumpled in on himself in the corner of the stall while the water ran hot and then cold around him. Finally allowed to mourn, he hollowed out his body of all the rampant feelings he'd been holding in so carefully, and then exhaustion took over where his brain hadn't been able to help.

   Now, he had nothing to mourn, nothing he could name, anyway. The profound sadness he felt most of the time that he was alone didn't have any release. He turned off the kitchen light, leaving the bottle of wine out to go warm and vinegary, and walked like a man condemned into the bathroom.

   It was still too cool in there, and it made him shiver. His feet were bare and the floor was cold - of course, it felt like the whole world was cold to him, these days. The only warmth was in Starsky - Starsky's eyes, Starsky's arms, Starsky's bed - but he couldn't go there, couldn't ask him to let him in and stay, retreat from the world and just stay, safe, until it stopped being so damn cold everywhere else. He ripped open the little packet and stared at the pills, knowing this was a road he thought he'd never have to take.

   Again.

   Might as well crush them up and shoot them straight into a vein. The thought didn't leave him alone as he filled the water-glass and swallowed, once, twice, toothpaste-flavoured water chasing back the pills that felt enormous sliding down his throat. Two sleeping pills, for one night's sleep. It was a small price to pay, right?

********

   When dreaming I'm guided through another world
   Time and time again
   At sunrise I fight to stay asleep
   'cause I don't want to leave the comfort of this place
   'cause there's a hunger, a longing to escape
   From the life I live when I'm awake

********

   "You feelin' okay?"

   He had his sunglasses on, with his eyes closed behind them, but of course Starsky could tell that, throwing the odd glance at his profile as he drove them into the Station. "Tired," he said.

   "You been sleepin' good, lately?"

   "Good," Hutch lied, and added, "just not enough," to temper the conversation with a little truth.

   Starsky nodded, like he knew and understood all about it. "Late night out, eh?" he said, not so much a conversation as a conspiratorial secret they shared, these two men of the world, great lovers that they were.

   Hutch just nodded with an enigmatic half-smile, and turned his head to stare out the window, hoping the gesture would preclude any further conversation. He didn't want to have this kind of a talk, because it was too close. Besides, his head ached and he couldn't get the fog away from his eyes; he hoped that he wouldn't have to take the dark glasses off at all today, so Starsky wouldn't be able to look at him and see what he'd done.

   "Anything good in the paper today?"

   "Huh?"

   "The paper," Starsky said, patiently. "You've been lookin' at it for the past ten minutes, so I was wonderin' what was holding your attention."

   Hutch looked down at his lap, just now realizing that he was holding today's paper in his hands. He'd paged through it without even looking at the headlines, folded it over and read a couple of paragraphs, but didn't have the slightest idea of anything it held. He straightened it out and turned back to the front page, grateful for something to talk about. "Hm. 'Washington Calls for

   Arms Talks. 'City Council to Discuss Clean Water Proposal.'" He read silently for a moment. "It's supposed to be sunny and clear tomorrow."

   "There's breaking news for ya," Starsky said.

   Hutch snorted. He turned to the second section. "Want me to read the scores, or the funnies?"

   "Neither. What's Dear Abby like today?"

   "You want me to read that?" Hutch asked, surprised. "Since when are you an advice-column fan?"

   "I dunno," Starsky said, shrugging. "It's kinda nice to know that some people got problems that can be wrapped up in two paragraphs, ya know?"

   "Yeah," Hutch agreed, paging through till he found the lifestyle section of the paper. "Oh, my, what have we here?"

   "What?" Starsky asked, trying to drive and peer over Hutch's arm at the paper at the same time.

   "Apparently this woman is having an affair with a married man behind her husband's back and wants to know what she should do about it."

   "I got this one," Starsky said, confidently. "There's only so many answers ol' Abby gives. She'll tell her to go get counseling with her minister, right?"

   "Not this time," Hutch said.

   "Why not?"

   "The guy she's having an affair with is her minister."

   "Ouch."

   "She signed it, 'Keeping the Faith in Kansas City'."

   "Well, that's a little tacky. Geez, Abby must be pissed."

   Hutch couldn't help it, he laughed. "I'm sure she's not taking it personally, Starsk. It's not like this woman's sleeping with her minister just to spite her, or anything."

   After a moment, Starsky asked, "Ain't that illegal?"

   "Adultery? I think there's some laws still on the books somewhere, but I don't think they ever get enforced." He chuckled. "And you think the jails are overcrowded now."

   "Nah, I don't mean like that. I mean a minister sleepin' with someone." Hutch still looked puzzled, so Starsky elaborated. "With the church, I mean. I thought they weren't allowed to have sex."

   "Oh," Hutch said, finally clueing in to what he meant. "No, you're thinking of priests. They're the only ones who have to be celibate."

   "So it's okay for a minister to sleep with someone else's wife?"

   "Well, no," Hutch said. "Not okay, exactly. I mean, there's certain rules - it's right in the Ten Commandments, 'Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife,' and all that."

   "So that minister could get ex-c - ex-commo - "

   "Excommunicated? I think that's only Catholics. He could probably get fired, though."

   "That's all? Huh. It'd almost be worth it, wouldn't it?"

   Hutch just chuckled. "I guess it depends on the woman, Starsk."

   Starsky was quiet for a little while, and then said, "Should write in to Abby with some of our problems. I mean, she's gotta get tired of all the adulterers and relationship problems after all this time."

   "'Dear Abby,'" Hutch said, pretending to read. "'We're two police detectives in California looking for a perp who knocked over a liquor store and killed a security guard. Got any leads? Signed, Bothered in Bay City.'"

   "Not those kinda problems, dummy," Starsky said, disgusted when Hutch just chuckled at him. "How 'bout, 'Dear Abby, my partner won't tell me what's keepin' him up nights. I'm worried about him and I don't know what to do. Please help, signed Confused Cop.'"

   Hutch got really quiet then, pretending to be absorbed in something absolutely fascinating in the paper - which turned out to be, as near as he could tell when his eyes focused again, some tournament bridge scores.

   "'Course," Starsky mused, when there was no forthcoming comment from the other side of the car, "she'd prob'ly just tell me to get him some counseling. And now I know about the secret lives of ministers, I don't think that's the sort of advice I'll be takin'."

   Before Hutch could say anything else - change the subject, was his thought - the car radio crackled to life.

   "Zebra Three, come in."

   "This is Zebra three," Hutch said, gratefully.

   "Patch-through from Captain Dobey," the dispatch voice said. "Hold, please."

   "Starsky?"

   "This is Hutch, Cap. What's up?"

   "Head over to the apartment building at the corner of Benson and Fifth. We just got a call about a gun that might tie in with your liquor store homicide."

   "Sure thing, Cap."

   "And as soon as you're done there, I want you to get your butts back into my office. I want an update on your other case - and no avoiding me, like you've been doing these past few weeks. I've alerted the entire building to hold you by any means necessary until I see you, and I'm willing to put out a city-wide APB if I have to!" The radio went silent, and Hutch reluctantly signed off.

   "Well, it looks like we're finally going to have to tell him we still don't know what's goin' on," Starsky sighed. "And here I was just starting to think it was gonna be a good day." He made a fast right turn at the next intersection and headed the Torino towards Benson and Fifth streets.

   "Starsk, think of it this way: Any day we wake up and don't find our pictures plastered across the front page of the 'Times' is a good day, in my book."

   "Good point," Starsky agreed. "If only we could be sure we could keep havin' days like that."

********

   So let's go there
   Let's make our escape
   Come on, let's go there
   Let's ask can we stay
   Can you take me higher
   To the place where blind men see
   Can you take me higher?
   To the place with golden streets

********

   By the time they got to Benson and Fifth, the situation had intensified astronomically, from a girlfriend who had called the police after a finding a suspicious gun in her apartment to a hostage situation when the boyfriend in question unexpectedly arrived home and found out the cops were on their way. There were three black and white units outside when the Torino pulled up at the scene. Johnson, one of the uniformed officers, apprised them of the situation.

   "You can see the apartment from here - it's the one on the third floor with the open window and the white curtains." Johnson checked his notebook before continuing. "Boyfriend's name is Lester Burns; the girlfriend is Faith Corelli - she's the one who called in the gun. We ran him; he's got a couple priors - just penny-ante stuff, mostly, a couple B&E jobs and a hit on a candy store he went up for a couple years ago, but no record of violence before now."

   "That must be why the girlfriend called in the gun."

   "Yeah," Johnson agreed. "Stayin' there was a bad move on her part. He's got her locked in and is threatening to kill her and then himself."

   "Any demands?" Starsky asked.

   "The usual," Johnson said. "He wants money and transportation out of the country, probably to Mexico. Or, hell, I hear Canada's nice this time of year."

   Hutch looked up at the possible entries to the building. "He want out for both of them, or just himself?"

   "He's looking out for number one. After she called the cops on him, I wouldn't be surprised if he killed her just for spite. Sharpshooters are on their way, but it's gonna be another fifteen minutes, at least." Johnson pointed to another run-down building on the other side of the street. "We've got a couple guys over there, watching him; he's been pacing, and keeping a close eye on her. He's got what looks like a .38, and he's real nervous."

   "A .38," Hutch said to Starsky. "That's what we were looking for on the liquor store job."

   "Right," Starsky said, grimly. "And if he was 'nervous' at the liquor store, that might explain how the guard who surprised him wound up dead. Do we know the set-up of the apartment?"

   "This ain't exactly the Ritz," Johnson said. "It's your typical flop - the apartment they're in is one room with a kitchenette and a bathroom."

   "Is he holding on to her, or moving around?" Hutch asked.

   "A little bit of both. He keeps close to her sometimes, and then paces around. He turned his back on her when he was on the phone. That's why we figured, bring in the sharpshooters to take him out."

   "That's gonna take time, though, and I'm not real anxious to leave that girl in there with a nervous guy with a gun." Starsky looked at his partner. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

   "Fire escape?"

   "You read my mind, partner." He turned to Johnson. "Try and get Burns on the phone again, and see if you can keep him distracted, okay?"

   "Will do."

   The fire escape ladder was in as good condition as the rest of the building, Starsky was quick to note, although it didn't crumble into dust beneath them. Hutch went up first, followed closely by Starsky, who, unlike his devil-may-care partner, climbed swiftly and determinedly without looking down. When they were both settled on the fire escape directly outside the apartment, Starsky drew his weapon and glanced at Hutch, who counted to three on his fingers.

   Hutch went in high, Starsky low, the way they always did. Burns was still on the phone when they came through the window, his back to them, and was ranting about getting his car and his traveling money. Starsky hit the floor and rolled, managing to tackle the guy to the floor by grabbing his legs, while Hutch kicked the gun out of his hands. It was all over in seconds.

   The girlfriend didn't start hysterically screaming until Starsky was getting his cuffs on Burns, leaving Hutch to try to calm her down. He eventually ended up handing her over to a uniformed officer in the hall to take her to the station, and then went to check on his partner.

   "You okay?"

   "Yeah, fine," Starsky said, as he pushed the handcuffed prisoner to another officer. He rubbed his hands wearily over the back of his neck. "You ever get the feelin' we're gettin' too old for this?"

   "Us? Never." Hutch put a hand on Starsky's shoulder and pushed him out the apartment door. "Come on, let's go so we can get to the real important part of our job."

   "You mean the paperwork, right?"

   "You know it, buddy."

********

   Although I would like our world to change
   It helps me to appreciate
   Those nights and those dreams
   But, my friend, I'd sacrifice all those nights
   If I could make the Earth and my dreams the same
   The only difference is
   To let love replace all our hate

********

   Dobey was on them the moment they walked in the squad room, before they even made it to their desks. "I don't want the two of you to think that just because you wrapped up this liquor store case that I'm forgetting about that other matter we need to discuss. I expect your reports on my desk in an hour, and the two of you in my office right after."

   "But, Cap - " Starsky started, only to have the door to Dobey's office closed in his face as the man retreated inside. "D'you ever get the feeling that he doesn't like us?" he asked Hutch.

   "Nah. He's just in a good mood over our stellar arrest record," Hutch sighed, sitting down at his desk and rolling a piece of paper into his typewriter. "How slowly do you think I can get away with typing this one up?"

   "We already know the answer to that - take more than an hour, and it'll be permanent desk duty." Starsky dug through his pockets, and then said, "Hey, blintz, gimme some money for the candy machine, willya?" Hutch gave him a long-suffering look, but Starsky just protested, "You know I work better on a full stomach."

   "Yeah, I know - you're efficient as a six-year-old full of sugar and caffeine," Hutch scolded him, but nevertheless handed over the required change and was rewarded with a bright smile. For some reason, having these normal, everyday exchanges with Starsky made him feel extraordinarily good - like everything was back to normal between them. And then he would notice something that he'd seen without realizing it a thousand times before - like the swing of Starsky's hips when he used one to push open the squad room door on his way to the candy machine - and everything normal fell on its head again.

   He sighed, and pecked out the first few lines of the report.

   Fifty-five minutes later, they were sitting in Dobey's office, Starsky with his feet up on the corner of his desk, neither one meeting the Captain's or each other's eyes. Hutch felt like he was in the principal's office after getting caught smoking in the boy's bathroom, as he tried not to squirm in his seat.

   "Starsky, get your feet off my desk. You're not going to tell me you still don't know what's going on, right?" Dobey said, finally. "You're not going to tell me that, because the two of you are highly-trained, highly-paid - "

   Starsky snorted, then quickly tried to turn it into a coughing fit.

   "Highly experienced detectives. So that means you aren't going to sit there and tell me that you still don't know who's behind this blackmail scheme, right?" Dobey looked at them expectantly. "Hutchinson?"

   "Well, Cap - " Hutch said, shifting in his chair. "Uh - "

   Starsky came to his aid, sort of. "If you really don't want us to tell you, we won't tell you, right Hutch?"

   "No," Hutch agreed.

   "We wouldn't want to upset you," Starsky added. "So, we could just go - "

   "How is it possible that you still don't know who's behind this!"

   "Well, Cap," Hutch said. "We've only been working on this for a couple of weeks, now - "

   "And we've eliminated a lot of people," Starsky said.

   "A lot," Hutch repeated. "There are a few people we haven't been able to find - "

   "And we are still working other cases, besides."

   "Right," Hutch said. "Like the one this afternoon, which came to a very satisfactory conclusion, right, Starsk?"

   "Absolutely," Starsky said. "There were no injured parties, including the gunman - "

   "Enough with the double-talk! I've got your reports to read if I want to know about what happened this afternoon. What I want to know now is who is behind the attempted blackmail of two of my best detectives - although, I don't know if I can even call you two that anymore!"

   "Captain," Hutch sighed. "We're no happier about this than you are. In fact, I'd daresay we're even less happy - it hasn't exactly been fun and games to go digging through the past to try to figure out which old flame might be holding a grudge. And we don't even really know if it is an old flame - it's just our best guess."

   "This blackmailer ain't playing with a full deck," Starsky added. "There's been no regular contact, no ransom request, and we ain't heard anything for weeks. Maybe it's over, maybe it ain't. Right now, all we can do is wait, right?"

   "Maybe isn't good enough," Dobey said, and seemed as though he was fully prepared to work up an entirely new head of steam over the subject, but he suddenly sighed. "Okay, we wait. But I want both of you to keep your eyes and ears open on this`- I hate feeling like I'm caught in the crosshairs like this."

   "Us, too, Cap," Hutch said, with a glance at Starsky who nodded in grim agreement. "If it was up to us, we'd have whoever it was already, and this would all be over."

   "There ain't much else we can do," Starsky said. "Short of picking up the city, shaking it out an' seeing what drops down, we've done everything we can."

   "Don't tempt me, Starsky," Dobey said. "If I thought it would work, I'd order the two of you to do just that. I gather you've talked to Huggy about this?"

   "Yeah," Hutch confirmed. "He knew just about everything already, so we filled in the blanks and asked him to hit the streets for us. So far, he's as much in the dark as we are."

   Starsky actually grinned. "Personally, I think it's underminin' his confidence."

   To Hutch's great relief, even Dobey found the humour in that statement. "Maybe you two ought to consider getting a new informant, huh?"

   "We couldn't do that to Hug, Cap," Starsky said, standing up. "It'd break his heart."

   "Is that all, Cap?" Hutch asked, also getting to his feet.

   "Yeah. But I expect to be kept apprised of any and all developments in this case - no more avoiding me, either of you."

   "Us? Avoid you? Cap'n, I'm hurt," Starsky said, with a very mischievous pout. Hutch opened the door and pulled his partner out of the room before he had a chance to say anything else and did get them assigned to permanent desk duty.

********

   So let's go there
   Let's make our escape
   Come on, let's go there
   Let's ask can we stay
   Can you take me higher
   To the place where blind men see
   Can you take me higher
   To the place with golden streets

********

   "It goes faster if you turn it on, you know."

   "Huh?"

   Hutch couldn't help it, he chuckled. "The car," he said, "it goes faster when you turn it on."

   "Oh," Starsky said, as if just now realizing that they were sitting in the car that wasn't going anywhere. "Yeah." He started the car and pulled away from the curb in front of the station. "I was just thinkin'."

   "Uh-huh." Hutch waited a beat, then two. "About -?" he prodded, when it became apparent that Starsky wasn't going to be forthcoming on his own.

   "Dinner."

   "Of course," Hutch said. "Anything in particular about it?"

   "Just wonderin' if you wanted to come over. For dinner." He paused. "Tonight. At my place."

   Hutch looked at his profile, vastly amused at his partner's uncharacteristic lack of confidence. "Are you asking me out, Starsk?"

   "I'm askin' you to come over for a pizza," Starsky said, quickly, and with no small amount of irritation. "Just like any other night. You don't have to worry about me - " He trailed off, and Hutch thought he could detect a flush on his skin.

   "About you -?"

   "Look, never mind, okay? Just forget it."

   Hutch nodded, and looked out the window, trying not to let the amusement he felt inside show up on his face. "Starsk?" he asked, a minute later.

   "Uh-huh?"

   "Want to grab a pizza on the way home?"

   Starsky glanced at him, and Hutch was almost certain he saw a familiar twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," he said nonchalantly, with a shrug. "Sure. If you're hungry."

   "Oh, absolutely. I'm starved."

   "Well, okay, then."

   "Thanks."

   "Don't mention it."

   Hutch chuckled again, and stretched out in the seat, staring out the window as the city passed them by.

   "You're in a better mood."

   Hutch shrugged. It was true, he was in a better mood, for no real reason that he could put his finger on. The day had just seemed to improve as it went on. "We caught the bad guy," he said. "Without any major injuries - "

   "Except my neck," Starsky interjected.

   "Except your neck," Hutch amended. "No loss of life, no explosions, no fires, no plagues of locusts. I'd call it a successful day."

   "Yeah," Starsky said, glancing at him. "I guess you're right."

   The mood between them was much more relaxed for the rest of the drive home, even though they barely spoke for any of it. They stopped at Mario's and grabbed a pizza to go, picked up a six-pack, and ended up not too long afterwards at Starsky's place.

   Three slices of extra pepperoni with mushrooms and two beers later, Hutch lazed on the couch, full and warm and uninterested in ever moving from the spot. Starsky was sitting sideways beside him, legs folded lotus-style, his head resting on the back of the couch. Hutch could feel eyes on the side of his head, and smiled.

   "What?" Starsky asked, and Hutch heard the smile in his voice without even looking."

   "I don't know," Hutch shrugged. "You ever wish you could just stop time - pick a moment and keep living it forever?"

   "No. Never had a perfect moment, I guess."

   That made Hutch look at him, finally, and he turned to mirror Starsky's pose on the couch. "There's still time," he said.

   "I haven't given up," Starsky said, but didn't move, just stayed still and watchful.

   Hutch leaned forward, resting his arm on the back of the couch, drawing his fingers closer and closer to his partner's face, until he brushed against a soft curl with one fingertip. Then his fingers were buried in masses of hair, and his forehead was resting against Starsky's, and it was only then that those deep blue eyes closed and they waited, stretching the moment out, so close already that it seemed they could just move a little bit closer and be one.

   "I should go," Hutch said. He didn't move, but his hand stilled its movements in Starsky's hair.

   Starsky nodded. "Okay."

   He was going to get up off the couch and go out the door; Hutch told himself that and believed it even as he brushed his lips over Starsky's mouth, and then it felt like he was drowning, clasped on to Starsky like his life depended on it, like the only way he could get breathable air was by taking it directly from his partner's lungs.

   He was breathing heavily by the time he broke away from the hungry kiss, but he wasn't the only one. His eyes were drawn to the sight of Starsky's mouth, parted lips still red and wet from the kiss. "I should go," he said again.

   "I can drive you home - "

   "No, stay. I'll take a cab," Hutch said. "Come to my place tomorrow night," he added, impulsively. "Let me make you dinner, and we can talk."

   Starsky grinned slyly. "Are you askin' me out?" he teased.

   "Yes," Hutch said, firmly.

   Starsky seemed genuinely surprised by both the answer and its tone. "Okay," he said, a little stunned. When Hutch got up from the couch, he added, "You don't have to go, you know."

   "Yes, I do. We have to talk, and if I stay here, now, we won't talk." He leaned over and kissed Starsky again, using a superhuman effort at control not to deepen it too much, not to sit back down, not to push Starsky over and climb on top of him and forget everything else.

   When Hutch finally made himself grab his coat and walk away from the couch and over to the door, a still-breathless Starsky called out after him, "Who are you?"

   "Your partner," Hutch said with a shrug, and left the house.

********

   Up high I feel like I'm alive for the very first time
   Up high I'm strong enough to take these dreams
   And make them mine

********

   Sure this morning at least that Starsky was home alone, Hutch knocked first as a courtesy and then let himself into Starsky's place. "You know how tired I am?" he called out, heading directly for the kitchen. "I'm so tired, I actually hope you've got some of that sludge you call coffee made." The kitchen was cool and empty, the coffee pot still in the drainer on the counter from when it had been washed yesterday. "Guess we're both lucky, and I'll have to make it," he said to himself, running water into the pot. "Starsk?" He waited a beat, but there was no answer. "C'mon, Starsky, wake up. You think Dobey was in a bad mood yesterday, if we're late, he's going to have us arrested. Or, worse still, directing traffic for the next six months."

   He walked from the kitchen into the bedroom, frowning when he found the bed neatly made, with no sign of Starsky anywhere in sight. It was only then that a growing sense of disquiet made him take out his gun from its holster and ease into the bathroom. It, too, was chilly and empty, and the fact that there was no condensation on the mirror and no dampness in the tub told him that Starsky hadn't just gotten up early and had a shower already this morning. The bathroom, like the bedroom, seemed completely undisturbed, like it had been days since anyone had been there, rather than mere hours.

   He went to the phone in the kitchen, looking at the pad there to see if Starsky had received an emergency call, maybe, and had gone out. But Hutch had parked his LTD behind the Torino in the driveway; if Starsky had gone anywhere, he would have taken his car.

   The bad feeling Hutch had when he found the undisturbed bed crept up his spine and made all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "If he'd gone anywhere willingly," he said to himself. He closed his eyes and tried to think; there was no sign of a struggle, but there hadn't been the last time they'd been taken, either. "And the last time, we were fine," he said. "Just fine. They released us completely unharmed. Maybe a certain someone's just looking to increase their photo collection."

   He walked back into the bedroom, willing the room itself to give up some clues to Starsky's whereabouts. He went to the closet and opened the door up to see if there was any clothing missing, anything that might suggest a sudden trip out of town - a trip so urgent that he wouldn't call his partner first to let him know what was going on. "Maybe if his mother was sick," he said, trying to make himself believe that even that extreme situation would make Starsky so crazy that he wouldn't turn to his best friend immediately for support.

   He sifted through the row of neatly hung jeans and shirts, and then stopped cold when he saw, hanging in the far side of the closet, Starsky's holster. And inside it, his gun.

   An old conversation immediately flashed into his mind, unbidden. 'You mean you want me to hit the streets with no pants, no badge, no gun?' Starsky had asked him, incredulous and disgusted at the very notion. "You did that time," Hutch answered the old ghost, "but to leave home with no gun and no Torino? It'd never happen, Starsk." He immediately picked up the telephone on the side of the bed. "This is Detective Hutchinson," he said, when his call was answered. "I need a lab team to meet me at Detective Starsky's place, immediately." He paused a moment, and then said, with carefully controlled anger, "You're damn right it's important! Detective Starsky's been kidnapped."

THE END

The sequel to this story is Blue