Reggie

   "I still don't see how you came up with it," Starsky said, walking through the doors of the squadroom and sitting down at his desk. His feet propped up on the surface in front of him, he continued, "How, exactly, are you Batman, and I'm Robin?"

   "I'd suggest you look in the mirror, Starsk," Hutch answered. "Water?" he asked, as he paused beside the machine.

   "Sure. And whaddya mean, look in the mirror?"

   "Batman is the tall, handsome, mysterious half of the Dynamic Duo," Hutch said, handing over a paper cup of water to his partner. He sat down at his own desk and drank his own, crumpling the paper and tossing it carelessly away. "Robin's the goofy side-kick. It seems obvious."

   "Batman's older," Starsky argued, leaning across the desk to emphasize his point with a blunt finger. "An' I'm older than you, so you should be the Boy Wonder."

   "Starsky, it was an off-the-cuff remark made in the heat of the moment to a couple of smart-aleck perps. I didn't mean anything by it."

   Starsky looked unconvinced. "I say we get a second opinion. S'pose the Cap'n's in his office?"

   His question was answered in person before Hutch could even open his mouth, when Dobey suddenly appeared in the doorway of his office. "Starsky, Hutchinson. I'd like to see the both of you in my office, now."

   Hutch frowned at his partner, who answered him silently in kind. Dobey wasn't bellowing at them, which was a good sign that he wasn't about to chew them out for something - but he'd also used Hutch's full name, which he never did unless there was bad news to come.

   "Sure thing, Captain," Hutch said. He followed Starsky into Dobey's office and closed the door behind him. Starsky immediately slid into a chair, sprawling out in boneless comfort like he always did; Hutch remained standing, his back leaning against the closed door.

   Starsky decided to give an attempt at lightening the mood. His quirky nature didn't always choose the best times to come to the fore, unfortunately. "Say, Cap, between the two of us - Hutch 'n me - which one would you say was more like Batman?"

   Dobey gave Starsky a stony glare, but, to Hutch's relief, he also gave a snort. "I think that reporter had it right - the two of you are more like Mutt and Jeff. And no - I'm not going to tell you which is which, Starsky. You'll have to figure that out for yourself." He rubbed his hands wearily over his eyes, and then continued. "I assume both of you remember a certain long weekend you had about three months ago?"

   It was Starsky's turn to frown. He sat up in his chair, taking his feet off Dobey's desk, glanced back at Hutch, and then said, "No. That's the problem, Cap'n - we still don't remember that weekend."

   They'd both had the rare long weekend off, and had plans to drive down the coast and get in some trouble - drink some beers, seduce some women, raise a little hell. Because nobody expected them back until Tuesday morning, nobody realized that both of them had been abducted from their respective homes on Friday night. It wasn't until a uniformed officer riding his beat found them, bound and gagged and dumped in an alley early Monday morning, that anyone knew anything was out of the ordinary. They spent twenty-four hours in the hospital under observation, followed all of the non-existent clues, tore apart their apartments, and went through case file after case file, but hadn't found a thing. Neither man could remember the slightest thing that had happened over that weekend, and neither one was any the worse for wear, except they'd both been shot up with drugs to knock them out and wipe their memories. Worse still, neither of them had been contacted by anyone who had any motive for a double kidnapping of two prominent police detectives.

   "I may have some of the answers we've been looking for." Dobey opened a drawer on his desk and removed a large manila envelope, sliding it across the desk so that it rested on the corner nearest where Hutch was standing. "I think you'd better take a look at this, Hutch."

   Hutch picked up the enveloped and opened it, removing a sheaf of black-and-white photographs. As soon as he saw the first one, he realized exactly what had accounted for Dobey's dire mood. He glanced up, meeting Dobey's somber face.

   What Hutch found himself looking at was a picture of himself, lying on a bed in what looked like a seedy motel room - perfectly anonymous, like any of a hundred seedy motel rooms that littered the Bay City area, most of them rented by the hour rather than the night. He was in what could only be described as a compromising position, not of a sexual nature, but that might have been better than what the photo seemed to show. There was another person in the photo with him - and almost all subsequent photos in the envelope - but he or she was carefully concealed from the photographer's lens. This anonymous 'friend', shot mostly from the back and always from the neck down, was shown preparing a syringe, finding a vein, and injecting Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson with what looked a hell of a lot like a hit of heroin. Other drug paraphernalia - syringe, candle, spoon - littered the nightstand and the disheveled bed.

   "Jesus." Hutch didn't even realize that Starsky had stood, and was beside him, looking at the photos Hutch was leafing through. "Who the hell - ?"

   "That's what we want to know," Dobey said, grimly. "You both had a full toxicology scan in the hospital, and the doctors didn't find anything that they could identify; the drug that knocked you both out is still listed as unknown. No opiates showed up in either of you, Hutchinson - but if that picture shows up on the front page of the newspaper, it's going to speak a hell of a lot louder than any of our official denials will."

   "We've got his medical records," Starsky said, hotly. "Release those, too."

   "The damage will already be done, Starsk," Hutch said, his voice quiet and calm. He dropped the photos and the envelope back on Dobey's desk. "After people get a good look at any of these pictures, and you think anyone's gonna care about what really happened?"

   "Your eyes aren't even open! You're obviously not enjoyin' yourself, here," Starsky protested.

   "Or maybe I just enjoyed myself too much already." Hutch's tone sounded defeated. "And if someone decides to go back - get some of my other records, then what?" He finally sank down into a chair. His eyes raised, and he looked straight at the Captain. "What else was there?"

   Starsky had picked up the first picture, again. "What else do you want? Isn't this enough?"

   Dobey hadn't spoken. "This was also included in the envelope." He handed over a plastic-wrapped piece of paper with a message consisting of words clipped from magazines and pasted on, much like a ransom note.

   Hutch found the comparison all too apt as he read it out loud. "What do you think of your fair-haired Detective Sergeant Hutchinson now?" He gave a humourless laugh. "So much for comparing me to the Boy Wonder," he said, handing the note over to Starsky.

   "Who's seen this?"

   "The package arrived on my desk this afternoon. The boys in the lab have already gone over it for fingerprints."

   "Let me guess," Hutch said, dryly. "They didn't find any."

   "Mine, and the clerk who brought the mail, plus partials from half a dozen Bay City postal workers, no doubt," Dobey shrugged. He picked up a lab report and handed it over. "The paper the photos are printed on is the most common type sold in the United States. There's nothing unusual about the stamps, either. The envelope seems to have gone through all the usual channels."

   "A perfectly neat and tidy case of slander," Starsky said, angrily.

   "Libel," Hutch corrected him, in a distracted tone.

   "What?"

   "It's libel, not slander. Libel is printed defamation, slander is uttered."

   "Some nutcase wants to flush your career down the toilet and you're arguin' semantics with me?" Starsky asked, in astonishment.

   "What do you want me to do?"

   "Get angry! Yell, scream, hit something." Hutch smiled at him, forcing Starsky to smile, too, if reluctantly. "Okay, so that's my job this time, eh?"

   Hutch just bowed his head, slightly. "At least I finally know what happened on my 'lost weekend'."

   "Yeah. And now we have even more questions than answers," Dobey said. "Like, who did this, and what do they expect to get from sending me these pictures."

   "Besides my badge?" Hutch asked.

   "He ain't gettin' that!" Starsky said, vehemently. "Not if I can help it."

   "Nobody's going to lose their badge," Dobey said, sharply. "Or their head, right, Starsky?"

   Starsky just shrugged.

   "This case just got a hell of a lot more complicated," Dobey sighed. "We always assumed that when you were taken, you were taken together, and held wherever and for whatever reason together. Now we have photographic evidence that wasn't the case. Not only that, we still don't know what happened to you, Starsky."

   "Hey, yeah," Starsky said, picking up the photos again. "Nice of 'em to include the newspaper close-up, for the date. Dammit!" he said, slapping them down. "What kinda scum are we up against, here?"

   "Captain," Hutch said, slowly, "Ben Forest - "

   "I'm way ahead of you," Dobey replied. "He's still serving his time. I've called the pen, and they're going to send us records of his visitors and correspondence, and all of his personal phone calls have been monitored. Apparently, he's not very popular, but it's a place to start. We're digging up the records of all his known associates from R&I."

   "Of course, that's just assuming that this was done by someone who knows what happened with Forest and me, and it wasn't just opportunistic," Hutch said. "Someone could have made a good wild guess at the best way to make me look corrupt."

   "An' hit you right in the jugular," Starsky added.

   Hutch nodded. At that moment, a uniformed officer knocked on Dobey's door and opened it. Starsky quickly turned over the top photo of the sheaf, so it covered all the others; Hutch smiled to himself at the gesture. Even if it was futile, its inherent protectiveness was very Starsky.

   "I've got the files you wanted, Captain," the officer said, handing over a thick stack of folders.

   "Good," Dobey said. "Let me know when the stuff comes in from the State pen," he added, as Starsky divvied up the files in three roughly equal sections. The uniformed officer left them alone to go through the files they had, which they did in solemn silence, sharing one or two notes of possible importance with each other.

   "This is drivin' me crazy," Starsky finally said, after they'd pored over all the files at their disposal.

   "We're not doin' any good going through this stuff. There's gotta be somethin' in these photos that will tell us something. And where the hell are those records from the pen, anyway?"

   The phone on Dobey's desk rang. "Yeah?" He listened for a while, unhappily. "All right, first thing in the morning." After he hung up the phone, he said, "That was the State pen. Their clerks are short-staffed at the moment, and they aren't going to be able to get everything to us until tomorrow."

   Starsky was unimpressed. "Great."

   "Go home," Dobey ordered. "You should have been off-duty an hour ago. And don't try to use this as an excuse to come in late tomorrow. I expect both of you here in my office at eight-thirty, going through Forest's records."

   "Sure thing, Cap," Starsky said. "Come on," he added, holding the door open for Hutch. "We'll go get something to eat, okay? An' I'll drive ya home."

   "Hutch."

   Hutch turned around as Dobey spoke his name. "Yeah?"

   "We're gonna get this guy."

   Hutch managed half a smile. "Yeah," he agreed, and exited the office.

********

********

   "You gonna be all right? You didn't eat much." They were parked in the Torino in front of Venice Place; they'd gone for dinner at a little Italian place, where Starsky ate half his meal and watched Hutch cut up and push most of his around his plate. It was distressing as hell to see his partner so disheartened; seeing him devastated and angry and pissed-off and even enraged would have been easier to deal with than this abject defeat. He almost hoped it was Forest who did this, for a reason, and not just some stupid punk who'd unwittingly hit on Hutch's greatest fear about himself.

   "Yeah," Hutch said. "I'm just not very hungry, you know?"

   "You gonna sleep?"

   Hutch shrugged.

   "You want me to come up? Play some Monopoly, or somethin'?"

   "Nah, you don't have to babysit me."

   "Of course I don't have to. You think I'm gonna sleep, either?" Starsky opened his door on the car, walked around, and pulled open the passenger door, dragging Hutch to his feet. "If you're gonna be miserable, you're gonna want company."

   "I think that's just an old saying, Starsk," Hutch said, but he didn't resist his partner's accompaniment. Truth be told, he didn't particularly want to be alone tonight, and Starsky could always be counted on to distract him from too much self-pity and self-recrimination.

   "Wanna play something? Chess, or Monopoly?" Starsky asked, as he pulled two beers from the fridge. "Might take your mind off it."

   Hutch shook his head, reaching out his hand for the beer. He collapsed on the couch. "I couldn't concentrate," he said.

   Starsky just nodded, and sat down in the chair beside him. "It don't make any sense," he said. "I mean - I know we didn't know what happened, but the thought that we were together - it made me feel better, you know? That doesn't make any sense, but - "

   "I know what you mean," Hutch said. "Maybe this is a good thing, that it's happening now. I've been thinking about leaving - "

   "You're not going anywhere," Starsky said, vehemently. "I'm not losing you over some punk who thinks he's going to blackmail the best cop on the Force."

   "The best?" Hutch grinned.

   "Second best," Starsky amended, falling back into their old joke. "Seriously, Hutch, you're not gonna let him do this to you. I'm not gonna let you." He put his beer down on the coffee table, capturing Hutch's free hand in his own. "It's our job to make sure trash like this don't get away with terrorizing innocent people."

   "Innocent people," Hutch repeated, meaningfully.

   "Look, you're not gonna start that again, okay? What happened to you was years ago, and you were innocent," Starsky reminded him. "Forest kidnapped you and drugged you up that time for days against your will. It wasn't your fault you got hooked on the stuff, and this time isn't your fault, either." He let go of Hutch's hand and took up his beer again. "Hell, if it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

   "And just how do you figure that?"

   "I'm the one who forgot my bag and had to go home that night and get it. If we'd been together, then maybe this never would have happened. They'd never have got the jump on both of just together."

   "You don't know that. It might have been a dozen guys taking both of us out. We're good, but neither one of us is Superman," Hutch pointed out.

   "Yeah, I guess. Dammit! I wish I could remember! It bugs the hell out of me that it's all just a blank."

   "That's what I thought, too," Hutch said. "Now that I know, I think I'd rather not."

   "Oh, babe, I'm sorry," Starsky said. "Geez, here I am going on and on about me, and you're the one who's been kicked in the teeth tonight. Nothing's even happened to me yet."

   "Yet," Hutch repeated. "For all we know, your photos will show up on Dobey's desk tomorrow."

   "Yeah," Starsky said. "I wonder how this face'll come out in black-and-white?"

   "I like you better in full colour, myself," Hutch chuckled. "Maybe you'll be lucky, and they'll have put a bag over your head.

   "Funny," Starsky said. Just at that moment, the phone rang. Starsky who was sitting closer to it, picked it up. "Hello?" he said. "This is David Starsky. Who is this?" He listened a moment, and then cupped his hand over the receiver. "Barbara?"

   Hutch groaned, and held his hand out for the phone. "Barbara," he said into the phone. "I'm sorry I didn't phone you earlier. Something came up, and I completely forgot about tonight - " He listened for a while, eyes closed, with a pained expression on his face. "Yeah, I understand," he said, finally. "I really am sorry." The next sound was obviously him being hung up on, and he passed the phone receiver back to Starsky, who replaced it gently in the cradle.

   "She sounded pleased to hear me answer the phone," Starsky said. "I should've let you get it."

   "She was probably happier to talk to you than she was to me. I completely forgot about dinner tonight. It wasn't exactly the first time that's happened," he added, ruefully.

   "Such is the life of a police officer," Starsky offered, sympathetically.

   "Didn't you have a date tonight, too?" Hutch asked, frowning.

   "I called from the station and canceled, before we left. Figured I was needed here, more." Starsky smiled, and rested his hand on Hutch's knee.

   Hutch covered that hand with one of his own. "Thanks, buddy," he said, sincerely.

   "Don't mention it. When it's my turn to face the firing squad, I'll expect the same treatment." Starsky emptied the last of his beer and retrieved Hutch's empty bottle, stepping into the kitchen to get more.

********

********

   "If we were in a plane that crashed in the mountains somewhere in South America without food or water and with no immediate rescue in sight, how long do you think I could go without food before eating you?"

   "Ten minutes," Hutch said, without even looking up from the report he was working on. Starsky was sitting across from him, reading one of his patented "1001 Pieces of Completely Useless and Patently Gross Information" books.

   "Be serious."

   "You're talking about eating me after we crash our plane in the mountains of South America, and you want me to be serious?" Hutch finally put down his pen and looked his partner in the eye. "And how do you know I wouldn't want to eat you, huh?"

   "Well, look at ya." Starsky waited a beat as Hutch waited patiently for him to continue, and then added, "And now look at me."

   "Yeah. And?"

   "Well, I'm all muscle. I'd be stringy and tough. You wouldn't want to chew on me - you'd never get any nourishment out of this body, just a sore jaw. Whereas with you - well, ya put on a couple of pounds, lately - "

   "Watch it," Hutch warned.

   "I could at least get a sandwich out of you. Gnaw on that spare tire a little while," Starsky grinned. "You wouldn't want both of us to starve to death, would you?"

   "If it's coming down to pure nourishment, I could chew on your fat head for at least a week," Hutch retorted.

   "Hey!" Starsky affected a hurt look. "There's no need to get personal, here."

   Hutch just rolled his eyes and went back to his report. Truthfully, he was glad to be doing this, getting back to the boring minutiae of everyday life. And Starsky had finally lightened out of his funk, too, which was a relief.

   They'd had absolutely no luck in following up the leads on the photographs. For all intents and purposes, Forest's men were scattered to the winds, and none of the 'great man's' activities suggested that he was planning anything more sinister than another appeal of his case. There had been no follow-up contact in the three weeks since the package arrived, and Hutch himself had almost gotten to the point where he could open up the newspaper in the morning without holding his breath, expecting to see himself splashed over the front page.

   "Idiot," he said, under his breath, surreptitiously watching Starsky's good-natured grin as he accepted the playful admonishment.

   "Starsky," Dobey appeared in front of the two of them. "Hutchinson. I need to see you in my office."

   Hutch visibly tensed when the Captain called his name. Starsky gave him a sympathetic look, as if he'd read his partner's mind. It was an automatic assumption to come to, since Dobey was wearing the same grim expression he'd had the last time they'd been called into his office in such a manner.

   They went into the office and sat in their usual places. Spotting a familiar envelope on Dobey's desk, Hutch nodded at it, and said, "So, I guess the other shoe's finally dropped?"

   "I hate to say it, but I'm almost relieved," Starsky admitted. "I been goin' crazy tryin' to figure out what the guy's been gettin' out of this."

   "Making us squirm was probably worth it," Hutch said. He held his hand over for the envelope, but to his surprise, Dobey held it out to Starsky.

   "Yeah, another shoe has dropped, but it isn't the one we've been expecting," the Captain said, somberly. "Starsky, this one's for you."

   "My missing weekend, eh?" Starsky said. He took a bit of a deep breath and opened up the envelope.

   Hutch was watching his partner's face, not the contents of the envelope as he pulled them into view. Seeing all of the blood drain out of Starsky's face was almost more disturbing than seeing what the pictures themselves held.

   Almost.

   The set-up was the same: a sheaf of black-and-white eight-by-ten photographs, eight of them in total, taken in an anonymous no-tell motel room. Hutch, having by now all but memorized the room he was photographed in, could tell at a glance that the place Starsky was in was similar, but not exactly the same; the bed was different, as was the nightstand. Instead of being littered with drug paraphernalia, this room was equipped with an entirely different sort of apparatus - equally damning, or even more so, going by the look on Starsky's face.

   There were handcuffs lying on the bed - not unusual, considering Starsky was a police officer, but that was the only thing about it that could be considered in the least 'usual'. Elsewhere, sex toys were sprawled out in obscene patterns - dildos, vibrators, messy tubes of opened lubricant, blindfolds and leather cuffs and even a cat-o-nine-tails that lay on the floor. Taken alone, it wasn't so damning - it was embarrassing to be photographed in the nude surrounded with this sort of stuff, of course, but certainly involved nothing illegal. The thing that made it so devastating to Starsky was his 'companion' for the shoot - not some young blonde lovely, not even a couple of run-of-the-mill hookers. It was a male - young, blond, thin, photographed carefully from collarbone to knees only, to limit his identification. The positions he took in the photographs verged on the acrobatic - anyone looking carefully would see that Starsky's face held no signs of pleasure, no signs of life, even, but expecting anyone to take more than a glance at the pictures and jump to any but the most obvious conclusions would take superhuman effort.

   Starsky had doubled over in his chair and was breathing heavily, as the photographs fell from his hands to the floor.

   Hutch was immediately beside him, rubbing his back. "Okay, it's okay," Hutch soothed. Breathe, just breathe, babe."

   Dobey picked up the photographs, putting them back into the envelope, as if aware none of them could bear the sight of them any longer. "When you were examined - well, suffice it to say that the doctor was very thorough with both of you. There was no evidence that anything - anything like this could have happened."

   Something inside Hutch registered profound relief that his partner hadn't actually been used like the photographs suggested. It stood to reason that any drug powerful enough to knock them both out cold like they'd been would render them useless for any sort of sexual activity - but that sort of depravity wasn't out of the question. Someone could have used Starsky just like a corpse before dumping him in that alley.

   "Who's seen 'em?" Starsky asked, when he finally caught his breath.

   "You, Hutch, myself," Dobey said. "And two men from the lab, Johnson and Willis." Before Starsky could protest, Dobey added, "They're the same ones who went over Hutch's envelope, and they're sworn to secrecy. They both know what really happened to you, Starsky - at least, as much as we know - and they're both professionals. Nothing about this is going to get out from this department."

   "Yeah," Starsky said, swallowing hard. "We just wait until they hit the press."

   Hutch had retreated briefly from the office, and returned with a cup of water for his partner. "Drink this," he said, handing it over.

   "We don't know that will happen," Dobey said, in answer to Starsky's last statement. "That's what we expected from Hutchinson's photos, and that hasn't happened. We haven't been contacted about them at all, nor have they appeared in any public venue. There was nothing suggesting what anyone hopes to gain with these pictures, except to make all of us crazy - which is not going to happen."

   "Where's the note?" Hutch asked.

   Dobey handed it over, similarly plastic-wrapped. It was too familiar, once again - the same cut-out words pasted on a blank page to make up a single sickening statement. This time, the message read: "Detective David Starsky: Pig or Pervert?"

   "I think I'm gonna be sick," Starsky said, as his stomach roiled against the water he'd drank.

   "Take him home," Dobey said to Hutch. "You're both off-duty until tomorrow morning. Then, I want you both in here, going over every case file you've worked in the last ten years. No more of this waiting around for him to drop clues in our lap - we're gonna find out who the hell is doing this, and why!"

   "Sure thing, Cap," Hutch said, helping Starsky to his feet. He led the other man out of the office and through the squadroom, down the hallway, and out to the car. Even though they'd taken the Torino today, he didn't hesitate to deposit Starsky in the passenger side of the car, and retrieved the keys without protest from his pocket. Slipping behind the wheel, he took one glance at Starsky as he started the car up. Starsky was sitting with slumped shoulders and closed eyes, seeming to fight back with all his might not to give in to his natural reactions: to scream, to yell, to cry. It ripped Hutch's heart out to see him hurting like this, especially since he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

   Especially since he was the only other person in the world who had any idea of what Starsky was going through.

********

********

   "We're going to figure this out, buddy," Hutch said to his still-silent partner. Starsky hadn't said a word during the drive, and he still hadn't spoken now that they were in his home. He'd wandered around for a while, touching things here and there, before finally letting Hutch sit him down in a chair. "Dobey's right - this has gone far enough. It's not going to destroy us, too."

   "Too far," Starsky said. "I don't understand. I just don't."

   "It doesn't make any sense," Hutch agreed. "But then again, anyone who'd want to torture us this way has to be crazy, and it probably make perfect sense to that sort of a twisted mind."

   "I thought it was Forest," Starsky said. He spoke as if he was talking more to himself than Hutch. "I was sure, when those first pictures came in, that it was him, and that he was just covering his tracks really well. I mean - who else? Who else would have that kind of insight into the one thing that would make you absolutely crazy? Only him. Only he would want to do something like that - but now - " He trailed off, rested his head back on the couch, and closed his eyes. "Now," he said, his voice a breathless whisper.

   "What's changed so much?" Hutch said. "It could still be him."

   "No," Starsky said, sharply. "No, it ain't him."

   "You don't know that. He's just the sort of sick bastard that would do this to get back at us - after we put him away? He's got a perfect motive."

   "Against you, yeah. Forest knows you, knows exactly what to use to destroy you. But me, me he didn't know. He wouldn't have known that - "

   "That what?" Hutch couldn't make heads nor tails out of what Starsky was saying, although he desperately wanted to understand.

   "That those pictures would do this to me!" Starsky exploded. "How to dig around in my brain and pull this out. This, out of everything in the world he could have chosen."

   "Babe," Hutch was bewildered by Starsky's sudden show of anger - not that it wasn't warranted, but that it was directed so firmly and unwaveringly at himself. "What the hell are you talking about?"

   "Look at what's happened," Starsky said, swallowing. "First the pictures of you shootin' up - that is the one thing in your past that you wish you could erase, the one thing above all others that could drop right out of your mind with no regrets, right? Maybe the only thing, am I right?"

   "It's definitely right at the top of the list," Hutch admitted, "but - "

   "That's what made it such a perfect fit for Forest. Because he was the only one besides you an' me and Huggy and the Captain who really knew what happened to you. But this - Hutch, what happened to me, nobody knew. Nobody ever knew. I never told anybody."

   A glimmer of realization was starting to form in Hutch's brain. "What are you talking about?"

   Starsky couldn't meet his eyes. "Not even after - after John Blaine - I never did anything, never said anything. Not one word. I was so careful, Hutch, so fucking careful! I never wanted anything to - to hurt you, like John hurt - "

   Hutch gripped Starsky's shoulder, hard. "What are trying to tell me?"

   Starsky wrenched away from him. "Nothin'!" he said. "I never told you anything. I tell you everything, and I never told you. So who else would know? Who could've guessed, if you didn't?"

   "Starsky, you aren't making any sense - "

   "I'm gay!" Starsky finally shouted. The room went absolutely still, absolutely silent, except for the sound of panting breath from both men. Hutch was still on the couch, Starsky standing a few feet away from him. "I'm gay," he said, again, much softer. The word still seemed to somehow reverberate around the room.

   "You don't mean that."

   To Hutch's surprise, Starsky started to laugh. "No, of course not," he said. "Why the hell else would I say it, if I didn't mean it?"

   "I know you," Hutch said. "I've known you almost half my life. I would have known - "

   "Like John Blaine?"

   "Goddammit!" It was Hutch's turn to shout, now. "John fucking Blaine was not my best friend! I didn't spend twelve hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year with John Blaine!"

   "Babe - " Starsky reached forward to touch him, only to find himself grasping a handful of air as Hutch moved quickly off of the couch and behind it, using it as a shield. Starsky wrapped his arms around his chest. "Right," he said to himself, softly.

   "You're going to tell me what you mean by saying that."

   "You want a dictionary definition? It's right over there." Starsky nodded at the bookshelf in the corner, then took a seat, curling up in an armchair. "Take your pick of letters - G, or H, or Q, or F."

   "I've seen you date every woman in the department, half of the women in this city."

   "For how long?"

   "Years."

   Starsky grinned, a little. "I meant, each one. A couple dates, a couple weeks, maybe. Some even a couple months. I could never get further than that with any of 'em. I don't hate women, Hutch - I love 'em. Just - not the right way. Not the same. Not enough to make me stop bein' what I am."

   "How many?"

   It was Starsky's turn to look puzzled. "How many what?"

   "Men," Hutch said, bluntly.

   "Have I slept with?" Starsky replied, his tone equally blunt. "Or have I loved?"

   "Either. Both." Hutch made his way around the couch and sat, again.

   Starsky cocked his head. "You really want to know?"

   "I asked."

   "Yeah." He thought, for a moment, before answering. "One."

   "You've only slept with one man?"

   "I've only loved one. It ain't none of your business how many I've slept with. I'll tell you this: it's more than one, an' less than a hundred."

   Hutch's mouth moved soundlessly as he struggled to formulate the questions that would solve this mystery for him - that would turn this perfectly familiar-looking stranger into his partner and best friend again. "John?" he managed, finally.

   "Even I'm not that good a liar," Starsky said. "I didn't know about him. Not a thing. There's no secret code, no radar. I had no idea about his secret. I don't know if he knew about mine. I think, if he had, he would've said something." He chuckled, humourlessly. "Maybe we coulda started a support group."

   "When we worked that case, I thought you hated - "

   "I hated the lying. I've always hated the lying - and now you know why, 'cause it was just showing me a big fucking reflection of myself, wasn't it? Same reason you flinch whenever we come upon an addict in an alley."

   Hutch nodded. "Yeah."

   "Only it ain't the same thing, is it? You stopped. It's a part of your past, a mistake you got over. I can't stop."

   "Why not?" Hutch asked, and immediately wished he hadn't, knowing the reason before Starsky spoke it.

   "It's who I am," Starsky said. "I want to stop, but there ain't enough women in the world to make me change who I am." His expression was pained; it hurt Hutch to look at him, but he couldn't make himself stop, even though Starsky was no longer meeting his eyes. "I thought about getting married, having kids - I'd still like to. But I couldn't do that to someone - have them marry someone who's only living half their life in public, an' the other half in the shadows, always afraid of getting caught, of being found out."

   "I just don't understand how," Hutch said. "How did you do it? How did I not know?" He looked at Starsky with a deep, furrowed frown on his face. "Who are you?"

   The last question seemed to take all of the life out of Starsky. "David Michael Starsky," he said, finally. "I'm a Detective Sergeant assigned to the Homicide division of the Bay City Police Department, and your best friend. At least, I was all of those things today. Tomorrow?" he shrugged. "Who knows?" He stood up. "You should go, get some sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

   "Yeah." Hutch stood, too, turned towards the door, then stopped. He tried to think of something to say to Starsky - anything, something reassuring, something to let him know that none of this changed anything, that everything would be okay. He couldn't come up with a word, a thought, a single sentence. In the end, he walked out the door without saying anything.

********

********

   "Captain - " Hutch stopped in the doorway of Dobey's office the next morning, when he saw not the Captain behind the desk, but his partner.

   "He's at City Hall," Starsky said. He didn't take his feet down from the desk, nor did he put down the photograph he was studying.

   "You come up with anything new from that?" Hutch asked, shutting the door behind him.

   "Nah. Other than the fact that looking at it doesn't make me want to lose my lunch, anyway." Starsky put down the photo. "You sleep?"

   "Yeah," Hutch lied. "You?"

   "Like a baby. They say that confession is good for the soul; I guess they're right. You, on the other hand, look like hell."

   "Thanks," Hutch sighed. "That's the look I was going for."

   Starsky sat up straight in the chair and leaned across the desk. "Tell me right now if you want me to resign."

   "What? Why the hell would I want you to resign?"

   "Or request a transfer, get a new partner," Starsky shrugged. "It's all the same thing. If you can't work with me, I want to know about it before Dobey comes back an' I haveta hear it from him."

   "So, who says I can't work with you?" Hutch asked, evenly.

   "That seemed to be the way things were going last night."

   "Last night," Hutch started, his anger coming to the fore again, "I had a hell of a lot dumped on me, in case you don't remember. Stuff I had no idea was coming, from someone I thought I knew better than anyone else in my life. Forgive me for not taking everything in perfect stride."

   "Okay, that was unfair," Starsky said, a little abashed. "I'm sorry. Maybe I didn't sleep quite as well as I could have."

   Hutch had picked up the same photograph that Starsky put down, and was studying it with much more of a clinical eye than he'd been able to look at it with yesterday. "This couldn't be someone you - " he started, not quite sure how to form the question but knowing that it had to be asked.

   "Nah," Starsky said, reading his mind, and the look on his face. "He's not my type."

   Hutch put the photo down with no small discomfort. "So what is your type?"

   Starsky grinned a very small, very private grin. "Older than that. He looks like jailbait. I'm sure that was part of the idea, though."

   "No tattoos or other identifying marks, either," Hutch said.

   "Of course not. That would make it far too easy for us to do our jobs."

   "Robbing banks in Bolivia is starting to look better and better," Hutch agreed.

   Starsky looked at him, startled, and gave a genuine snort of laughter. "I'm ready to go whenever you are, Sundance."

   "Whatever way you think this conversation is going, I'm not going to call you 'Butch'."

   That made Starsky laugh out loud, and Hutch grinned broadly at having broken through the lingering tension between them. "Damn," Starsky said, finally, wiping tears away from his eyes. "I could have gotten used to that."

   "I hate to bring this up," Hutch said, hesitantly, loath to break the peace that had settled between them again, "but, is there anyone - anyone from your past who might have set this up? Someone outside of a case, I mean?"

   "Someone I slept with, you mean," Starsky clarified. "I don't know, babe. I really don't. I can't think of anyone who got close enough to want to do something like this, and there hasn't been anyone at all since before I got shot."

   For some reason, that revelation surprised Hutch. "Really?"

   "What? You think I'm a sex maniac?" Starsky grinned in such a way that Hutch knew he was kidding. "Getting shot by Gunther's men changed a lot of my attitudes. I'm more interested in quality, now, than quantity. Maybe it just doesn't seem to be worth the effort. Maybe I need it to mean something more. Plus - " He trailed off, then, shrugging.

   "What?"

   "The scars are a lot to explain. Some people get off on 'em," Starsky rolled his eyes. "Frankly, those aren't the type I'm really interested in sleepin' with. Everyone else just sorta freaks out about it." He grinned. "'S like sleepin' with a target sheet from the firing range, I guess."

   "Don't say that," Hutch scolded. "The scars are a permanent part of you, but they aren't everything. Anyone who can't see beyond that doesn't deserve to be with you."

   "Thanks," Starsky said, and Hutch coloured a little. "I try to tell myself that when I look in the mirror. You know," he continued, "the thing I was worried most about all this wasn't that those pictures of me might hit the front page - not that I especially want that to happen."

   "You and me both," Hutch said. "I'd love to hear my father's reaction to his son's 'drug problem' being splashed all over the news."

   "Yeah," Starsky agreed. "But what scared the hell out of me was the thought that this might come between us - you an' me. I can deal with not bein' a cop - I don't want to, but I could do it. And, hell, there's other places to live besides here. But if I'd blown our friendship - our partnership - all to hell just because I didn't think I could trust you, Hutch, that would've killed me."

   "You couldn't have known how I'd react. I don't blame you."

   "I should have known," Starsky said, vehemently. "I should have remembered that you're my best friend, and that means more than anything else. I'm sorry, Hutch."

   "Don't be. This isn't a situation that either one of us should have been put in."

   "Are you ever gonna be able to trust me again?"

   "I do. I will. Always." Hutch paused. "Would you ever have told me, if this hadn't happened?"

   "I don't know," Starsky said, painfully. "A couple of times I almost did - when I was drunk, mostly. I want to say 'yes, absolutely' and leave it like that, but I honestly don't know. I was so afraid of losing you, you can't even imagine."

   "Maybe I can." Hutch slid the photos back into the manila envelope and closed the fastenings. "We should probably get started going over those past case files."

   "Yeah, I guess." Starsky stood up, and walked over to the door leading to the squadroom. "You thinking what I'm thinking?'

   "That we're never gonna find out who did this?"

   "Yeah. That someone's just jerkin' us around, like a coupla bugs under glass, just to see us squirm. Of course, if these pictures show up on a front page one day in the future, we might both still get outed - so to speak."

   Hutch chuckled. "Yeah. The heroin addict and the gay cop. Which one of us do you think will be more welcome at the next Policeman's Ball?"

   "All things considered, I still dance circles around you, blintz," Starsky argued, opening the door to let Hutch pass through.

   "Says you."

   "And the rest of the free world, besides."

   "You ever think - just for a moment - that people were just being polite about your 'terpsichory', pal?"

   "That many people? I don't think so."

   "Whatever delusions help you make it through the night, you just go right on believing them, Starsk."

********

********

   The decaying tenement building was covered with "Condemned" signs, most of them tacked onto the boards that had been haphazardly nailed over the broken windows, to keep the worst of the elements out. Still, despite the outward appearances of desertion, they took no chances when entering, Hutch first, followed by Starsky, both with guns drawn, listening for any sounds of danger.

   They crept up a paint-peeled stairwell, then another, until they reached the third floor. That was where they'd been directed by the caller.

   "Huggy?" Hutch called out.

   "I'm here," Huggy said, emerging from one of the dilapidated rooms, his hands raised. "You want to put down the hardware, or are we not all friends anymore?"

   "Sorry, Hug," Starsky said, sheathing his weapon. "Where's the body?"

   Huggy nodded towards the room. "In the Presidential Suite."

   "I'll go," Hutch said. "You want to go call it in, Starsk?"

   "I'd hold off on that, if I were you," Huggy warned, as Starsky started back down the stairs. "I called the two of you here for a specific reason, if you catch my drift."

   "Is it someone we know?" Starsky asked, in alarm.

   "That I do not know, but at the very least, it's someone who knew the two of you." He headed back into the room. "Come on."

   The condition of the room was in keeping with the rest of the place; it looked as though the owners were just waiting for it to fall down, rather than going to the expense of paying a wrecking crew. A squatter had obviously been here to stay for a while; the body itself lay across a soiled mattress in a corner of the room, and there was a hotplate and a broken sink as a nod towards civilization. The only other things in the room, besides a thick layer of dust, was a pile of dirty clothes, a couple of syringes, a near-empty baggie of heroin, some other drug paraphernalia, and a half-open duffel bag.

   "Recognize him?" Huggy asked.

   "Never seen him before," Hutch said, peering at the man's face. 'Man' was stretching it a little; it looked doubtful that the guy had made it much past his eighteenth birthday. "You, Starsk?"

   "He's not ringing any bells with me, either. What makes you think he knew us, Hug?"

   "I'd suggest you take a look at some of our friend's personal belongings. They're most enlightening."

   "He's a hype," Hutch said, checking the cool, pale arm, where a dark row of track marks eloquently told the tale of the man's short life and death. "That doesn't make him a friend."

   "Neither does this," Starsky said, from where he squatted by the duffel bag of personal effects. Hutch looked over at him as he carefully used a corner of his shirt to pull forth a familiar manila envelope stuffed with black-and-white photos, a packet of negatives, and a worn leather wallet from the bag. "Three guesses what's in here."

   "Dammit," Hutch said. "You suppose this is just another clue, or the end of the line?"

   "We gotta call this in," Starsky said. "This is evidence."

   "Yeah."

   Huggy spoke up. "Not if it was removed from the scene before you two even got here," he said.

   "We can't do that," Hutch said. "I appreciate the offer, though."

   Huggy bowed his head. "I figured that's what you'd say."

   "How did you find this guy, Hug?" Starsky asked.

   "Got a phone call this afternoon from someone who suggested I come and check this place out, and bring some money with me. Said he'd recently come upon some interesting materials that might be worth something, if I didn't want my good friends Starsky and Hutch to wind up on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow." He shrugged. "What can I say? Some hype makin' idle threats about the Dynamic Duo piqued my curiosity."

   "I've got to ask, Hug," Hutch said, sharing a glance with Starsky. "You didn't do this, did you?"

   "Moi? I think not. Both of you know I abhor violence. When I arrived for my meeting with Mr. Personality over there, I found him just as you see him now. Apparently he got over-excited at the prospect of heading out on Easy Street, and decided to party a little too hearty before I got here."

   "Were you gonna pay him?" Starsky asked.

   "After seeing what he had to offer? I assume you would have paid me back," Huggy said.

   Starsky smiled. "Thanks, Hug. I'm glad it didn't go down that way, but thanks anyway."

   "If you two are going to go by the book with this one, I think it's time for me to make myself scarce."

   "Sure, Hug," Hutch said. He threw a dirty blanket over the glassy-eyed corpse. "Thanks again."

   "I'd like to think, if our positions were reversed, that you'd do the same for me." Huggy paused in the doorway. "Just so you know - if that duffel bag makes a disappearing act somewhere between here and Metro, nobody's gonna hear about it from me." With a tip of his head, Huggy left the room and headed down the stairs.

   "He's right, you know," Hutch said, squatting down beside Starsky. "We don't have to turn this stuff in. This isn't a murder case - the guy OD'd. Nobody has to know about all the rest of it."

   Starsky looked at his partner with open shock. "You'd do that? Suppress evidence?"

   "It isn't evidence of this crime, Starsk. The crime that it is evidence of seems to have been closed by this guy's death. I just don't see what good it would do to dredge this all up again. It's been two months since the last package arrived. We're finally getting back to normal."

   "So to speak," Starsky said, dryly.

   "Poor choice of words," Hutch said, with a laugh. "Seriously, Starsk. If you want me to go out back and burn this stuff, I'll do it. It's not gonna do me any good to keep it, either."

   "You serious about that?"

   Hutch nodded his head. "As far as I'm concerned, it's your call, Starsk."

   "The fact that you'd offer means everything." Starsky zipped up the bag. "We'll turn it in. It'll get sealed in some files somewhere. The next time somebody sees it, we'll be drinking away our profits from our latest bank job in Bolivia."

   "Okay," Hutch agreed, following his partner out of the room.

   "Hey, Hutch."

   "What?"

   "You ever wonder what would happen if our airplane to Bolivia crashed in the mountains and we were stranded without any food and water and no hope of rescue?"

   "I've been thinking about that," Hutch said, rolling his eyes.

   "And?"

   "I think you should start eating more. You're looking a little thin, these days. We'll stop on the way home tonight and get a pizza, okay?"

   "With extra cheese?"

   "Absolutely," Hutch said. "My treat."

   "Are you just trying to fatten me up in case you gotta eat me when our plane crashes?"

   "Me? Never. Though, I hear Mario's has really great garlic bread, too - "

THE END

The sequel to this story is So Bad