**** Starsky ****

   It was gettin' bad. Real bad.

   I sat there in the Torino, Hutch drivin' like a maniac, and I knew I was scrapin' the bottom of the barrel. What little bit of relief Cheryl's shot had given me was gone; the pain had spread from my gut up into my chest and it was gettin' harder and harder to breathe. I had to keep both hands clasped in my lap so Hutch wouldn't see that they shook like I was a wino with a bad case of the DTs. And everything around me had developed this annoying habit of fadin' in and outta focus like someone was adjusting a giant camera lens.

   No doubt about it, I was circlin' the drain. But I'd be damned if I'd let Hutch know, especially when he was so excited about the lead on Bellamy. I wanted to believe as badly as my partner that we'd ride in, nab the bad guy, and head off into the sunset with a cure, but my body had other ideas.

   And there were things that had to be said.

   I braced myself, knowin' Hutch wasn't gonna want to hear 'em.

   "Hutch."

   "Yeah, Starsk?" He snuck a quick peek at me, then hunched a little further over the steering wheel. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright from the adrenaline rush, his whole body thrumming with the chance to finally DO something. I almost felt sorry for Bellamy.

   Almost.

   I cleared my throat, but the sand in it wouldn't go away. "I never called Ma."

   His head snapped around. "What? I thought you said you called her when we stopped by your place for clothes."

   I shifted a little, lookin' for a comfortable position I knew I'd never find, and kept my tone patient. "I said I was gonna call her." I looked out the window at the passing cars. "I never did."

   Hutch looked back at the road, fingers tightening on the wheel. After a minute he gave a little nod. "You want to tell me why not?"

   I swallowed again, feelin' it catch in my throat. "Ma didn't like to talk about the night Pop died--hurt too much, I guess. One time, though, I was goin' on about how unfair it was to lose him that way. To never have the chance to say good-bye and tell him I loved him. There was some father-son thing at school, see, and I was the only one of my friends goin' stag.

   "Ma pulled me down next to her on the couch and put her arm around me. She said at least we never had to see him suffer--to die slowly of cancer or a stroke, crippled and helpless. We could remember him like he was, and our memories'd keep him with us. And she told me Pop already knew we loved him from the little ways we showed him every single day."

   Hutch stretched his arm across the seatback and rested his hand on my shoulder. "Your mom's a pretty smart lady."

   "Yeah." I blinked back the fogginess and tried to take a deep breath. Neither action was much of a success. "I didn't want her to sit by the phone, eatin' herself up with worry over what was happenin' to me. And I for damn sure didn't want her gettin' on a plane and comin' out here to see it."

   Hutch's voice was very soft. "Okay."

   Now for the hard part. "Hutch. If this don't... If Bellamy ain't..." I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, but it did the trick. "I need you to be the one to call Ma. Promise me, Hutch."

   I thought for a minute he was gonna drive us right into a parked car. His hand left my shoulder and he swerved just in time, then turned to glare at me. "What's the matter with you? Bellamy's our man; I'll make book on it! Once we have him we have the answer..."

   "Promise me," I repeated. Calm. Quiet.

   "Don't you DARE give up on me now, Starsk, not when we're so close I can taste it! We're gonna get that antidote, you just need to hold on, you need..."

   "I need you to promise." My voice cracked and I had to look away from the hurt and betrayal in Hutch's eyes. I tried again, but it came out a whisper. "Please."

   Hutch turned back to driving, his jaw clamped tight. "I promise." The words came through his teeth, sharp, clipped.

   It was almost enough. "Tell her... Tell her I knew."

   Hutch didn't say anything, but his hand crept to the back of my neck. I knew he'd take care of things, and the knowin' was like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders.

   We pulled to the curb at Bellamy's apartment. Hutch was out of his seat and around to my side of the car before I'd done more than swing the door open. I started to stand but my legs weren't cooperatin'. Hutch caught me before I hit the pavement and propped me against the car.

   "I'll take it, I'll take it."

   I grabbed onto his jacket, trying not to slide down into a little ball. "I, uh, as they say, have vested interests in this case. Besides, he's our only lead."

   Hutch dropped his forehead onto my shoulder, but not in time to keep me from seein' the grief in his eyes. "What am I gonna do with you, huh?"

   I wove my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and pulled. "Same as always, pal. Watch and marvel."

   He snorted and pulled away, grabbin' my arm and propelling me along with him. When we got inside I took a long look at the stairs, hopin' Hutch wouldn't see how discouraged I felt. Those steps coulda been Mt. Everest--with my vision shot to hell and my chest in a vise they seemed just as impossible to climb.

   When I grabbed onto the railing, Hutch let go of me and started up. I did my best to follow, but I couldn't help fallin' farther and farther behind. Sweat was runnin' into my eyes, makin' 'em sting and burn, my legs shook like Jell-O, and every breath sliced through my chest like a razorblade. Hutch kept lookin' over his shoulder, tryin' not to get too far ahead, but I could tell he was torn between helpin' me and goin' after Bellamy.

   About two-thirds of the way up, my legs disappeared. Oh, they were still there, but you wouldn't've known it for all the good they were doin' me. I went down hard, arms over my gut to try and spare my stomach, but the pain was still bad enough that the edges of my vision went dark and bright little sparks of light obliterated everything else.

   Hutch pulled me up and held me for a minute. "You want to wait here?"

   It was so tempting. All I wanted to do was curl into a little ball and not move. Only trouble was, that left Hutch alone in pursuit of a dangerous felon. Murder... Attempted murder of a police officer is a serious crime. Bellamy didn't really have much to lose.

   I shook my head, scrubbing at my eyes with the back of my hand. "No. Keep goin'."

   "You are the most stubborn son of a bitch, I..." Hutch trailed off, and I wasn't really sure if I'd heard anger or admiration in his words.

   I tried to form my mouth into a smile. "Said...the pot." Breathing was startin' to be awful hard work and I felt dizzy. "Let's go."

   Hutch hauled me up the rest of the stairs and down the hall to Bellamy's door, which was wide open. The charming Mrs. Bellamy was standin' in the middle of the room, fiddlin' with her dress and pretending like she didn't know we were there. Hutch leaned me against the jamb and I grabbed on, gulping in air like a fish. He moved into the apartment, gun ready, and started lookin' around.

   "Where is he?"

   "I didn't want to lie, he made me," she whined.

   Damn. How did Bellamy stand to listen to that voice? It'd drive any man to a life of crime.

   Hutch looked ready to make it murder. He stalked across the room and grabbed her by the arm, hard enough to leave fingerprints. "Where is he?"

   "The roof!"

   Hutch let her go and she rubbed at her arm, still not lookin' at me. He leaned in close to me on his way out the door, his grip on my arm as gentle as it'd been rough on hers.

   "Stay here."

   I couldn't argue with him; I knew I was only puttin' his life at risk, slowing him down and distracting him from what he needed to do. And that hurt even more than the pain in my chest. All at once, I saw how selfish I'd been to insist I come along. I shoulda stayed back at Metro, shoulda insisted another cop go with Hutch to back him up. It was my damn pride that stopped me, always thinkin' that no one could protect Hutch as good as me.

   Fine job I was doin' right then.

   "I didn't want to lie. He made me."

   Who was she tryin' to convince? I wanted to walk over, grab her by those skinny little arms, and shake her 'til her teeth rattled. But my tank was nearly empty, and I had something else to take care of.

   "He got a gun?"

   "Yes."

   Beautiful. Bellamy already had a head start. He'd've picked a spot, gone to ground, and would just be waitin' for Hutch to walk onto that roof. Hutch was headed right into a trap.

   "That's terrific."

   I'd always heard stories about people doin' things in a crisis that they'd never be able to do otherwise. Kinda like temporarily gettin' superpowers. Supposed to be because of a huge adrenaline rush or something.

   That's the only way I can explain how I made it up the stairs to the roof. Felt a little bit like I'd left my body and was watchin' myself from a distance. I don't know how long it took me. Seemed like hours, but it couldn't've been more than a few minutes. One time my legs did their disappearin' trick again, and I was scared that without Hutch I'd never make it back on my feet. I crawled up the next few steps until I could grab onto the railing and pull myself back up. It hurt so bad I was sure I must've shredded my insides.

   First time I visited my Aunt Rosie, when I was jut a little kid, she showed me a conch shell. She explained how the sound of the ocean was trapped inside, and she held it to my ear so I could listen. That same rushing, hissing sound, only about ten times louder, was drownin' out everything but the pounding of my heart. I could faintly hear gunshots, and Hutch yelling at Bellamy, but I couldn't make out the words.

   When I got to the top of the stairs, I eased through the doorway onto the roof. I was operatin' on automatic pilot, instinct the only thing keepin' me on my feet. More gunshots, and I squinted, tryin' to see if Hutch had Bellamy cornered.

   It was just the opposite, though. Hutch was crouched behind a vent, hidin', and Bellamy was on the offensive. I watched, horrified, as my partner turned and ran for cover with Bellamy's bullets exploding around him.

   Then it clicked. Hutch wasn't shootin' at Bellamy 'cause he was afraid--not for himself, for me. Kill ol' Vic, and you'd kill any chance we had of findin' out what was in that shot.

   Bellamy, on the other hand, didn't have nothin' to be scared of except ending up doin' time. A lot of very hard time.

   And just like that, I knew what I had to do. I hadn't been able to spare Hutch the agony of watchin' me die. But there was one last gift I could give him.

   Life.

   I could hardly lift my piece--felt like it weighed fifty pounds. My breath kept catchin' on the way down my throat and my hands shook. I sighted down the barrel, blinking hard to try and stop things from shimmering and blurring. Finally, everything slid into focus and I squeezed hard on the trigger. Bellamy was aiming his weapon at Hutch; he never saw it comin'.

   I don't know how many rounds I fired--I think I might've emptied the clip. I guess fugued out for a while, 'cause the next thing I knew Hutch was at my side, easin' the gun outta my hand. An elephant was sittin' on my chest, and the harder I tried to breathe the heavier it got. The ocean in my ears had turned into a hurricane, and my eyelids had developed a mind of their own, slippin' shut in spite of my attempts to keep 'em open.

   Hutch leaned his head next to mine, almost touching, and his voice was soft. "Thanks, buddy. What did ya have to do that for? He was the only guy that knew."

   "Seemed to be a good idea at the time." My legs folded and I barely felt Hutch grab me as I slid down the wall. Everything narrowed down to a little pinpoint of light as Bellamy, Hutch, and even the pain faded away.

   The light winked out.

**** Hutch ****

   I felt a little bit like a bird out of a cage. At last we had a name, something to do. Flying down the street in the Torino, taking the corners so fast the tires squealed, my spirits lifted for the first time all day. We'd collar Bellamy, force him to confess what was in that hypo, and Starsky would have his cure.

   He was the only one to dampen my enthusiasm; a nagging reminder that nothing was as simple as I wanted it to be. I could hear the rasp of his breathing and I'd caught glimpses of his shaking hands, though he tried hard to hide them. I never should have allowed him to come with me, he belonged back at Metro--or better yet, the hospital. He was so sick he could barely function, and it would be difficult for me to concentrate on Bellamy if I was covering for him.

   But I'd seen the look in his eyes, the determination on his face, and I couldn't say no. Starsky has a way of doing that to me.

   "Hutch." His voice was soft. Hesitant.

   "Yeah, Starsk?"

   "I never called Ma."

   "What?" I took my eyes off the road to glare at him, which wasn't a good idea considering the speed we were traveling. "I thought you said you called her when we stopped by your place for clothes."

   Starsky used the careful, patient tone of voice that always makes me feel like a moron. "I said I was gonna call her. I never did."

   I was only half-listening to him, most of my brain focused on what I planned to do to Bellamy once I got my hands on him. My mind was full of little daydreams: chasing Vic down like a dog until he was gasping for breath, shoving my gun up under his chin hard until he was sweating and shaking, delivering a few well-placed punches that would have his gut cramping in pain. Every little agony he'd brought upon Starsky I wanted him to experience--tenfold. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

   I forced myself back to the present. "You want to tell me why not?"

   When Starsky started recounting the things his mom told him, all thoughts of Bellamy flew out of my head. He mentions his dad fairly often, but I could count on one hand the number of times he's talked about the night his father died or his own grief. I pictured how he'd been, so lost and angry, and I had to agree with that long ago kid--it wasn't fair.

   I mean, you've got two boys who are roughly the same age. One has a relationship with his father that at best could be described as mutually respectful. Oh sure, there's love, but it's implied not spoken aloud, and certainly not openly demonstrated. The other kid worships the ground his dad walks on, tries to imitate his every move. They're very close--sometimes more like best friends than father and son--and love is expressed freely in words and touches.

   Now if you were God and you had to take away one kid's father, which would you choose?

   Guess God doesn't think much like you and me, huh?

   I shook myself out of my thoughts and put my hand on his shoulder. "Your mom's a pretty smart lady."

   "Yeah." Starsky's harsh, ragged breathing sounded overly loud in the car. "I didn't want her to sit by the phone, eatin' herself up with worry over what was happenin' to me. And I for damn sure didn't want her gettin' on a plane and comin' out here to see it."

   There wasn't much I could say to that. I wasn't sure Starsky had made the right decision, but I also hated the thought of Rachel enduring what I had the past 18 hours. It would kill her. "Okay."

   I guess I should've seen where my partner was headed, but Bellamy's face kept dancing at the edges of my vision, distracting me. When Starsky finally did get to the point, I nearly drove us off the road.

   "Hutch. If this don't... If Bellamy ain't... I need you to be the one to call Ma. Promise me, Hutch."

   I snatched my hand off his shoulder as if I'd been burned, and in some ways maybe I had. Anger pumped through my body like white-hot blood and if he hadn't looked so terrible I swear to God I would've hit him.

   "What's the matter with you? Bellamy's our man; I'd make book on it! Once we have him we have the answer..."

   He didn't get angry, but he didn't let up either. "Promise me."

   "Don't you DARE give up on me now, Starsk, not when we're so close I can taste it! We're gonna get that antidote, you just need to hold on, you need..." How could he do this to me? I'd been there for him every step of the way, why couldn't he do the same for me?

   "I need you to promise. Please."

   The rough little catch in his voice did me in. I turned away, because if I didn't I was going to wind up causing a soapy scene. Starsky would never forgive me for that. "I promise."

   "Tell her... Tell her I knew."

   I cupped my fingers around the back of his neck and held them there. His shoulders, which had been hunched up around his ears, sagged, and I knew my answer had given him a sense of peace.

   I couldn't say the same for myself.

   When we got to Bellamy's building I hit the pavement running. Starsky was trying valiantly to haul himself out of the car but didn't seem to be getting anywhere. It hit me again that he had no business being with me. I grabbed him and leaned him up against the car.

   "I'll take it, I'll take it."

   I should have known better. When had Starsky ever taken "no" for an answer?

   His fingers burrowed into my jacket as if that could keep him from sliding down into a Starsky-puddle on the cement. "I, uh, as they say, have vested interests in this case. Besides, he's our only lead."

   I wanted to feel anger again, but our conversation in the car seemed to have taken that option away. He was weak as a kitten, barely able to draw a breath, in excruciating pain...

   And so damn brave.

   My throat closed up so I dropped my forehead to his shoulder. "What am I going to do with you, huh?"

   He stroked the hair at the nape of my neck, then pulled hard enough to startle me. "Same as always, pal. Watch and marvel."

   It was just what I needed to snap me out of my funk. I chuffed a little laugh and slipped my arm under his, taking most of his weight as we walked up the steps and into the apartment building. The winding flight of stairs leading to the third floor mocked us both. Starsky took one look before ducking his head, but I'd already seen the hopelessness in his eyes. In his condition, those steps must have looked as impossible as climbing to the moon.

   What I did next felt just as hard as climbing a mountain. When Starsky grabbed onto the railing, I let go. I moved around him so that I could lead the way, figuring I'd be in much better shape than my partner should things turn ugly. I tried to pace myself so that he could keep up with me, but my eagerness to reach Bellamy kept speeding up my feet.

   We were over halfway up the stairs when I heard Starsky go down. Thank God he saved himself from tumbling down the entire flight, but I could see agony in the curl of his body and his glazed eyes. I pulled him up and held him while the breath wheezed in and out of his lungs in jagged gulps.

   "You want to wait here?"

   My pigheaded partner wouldn't take the hint. "No, keep goin'."

   My emotions were all tangled up. I wanted to hug him and slug him all at the same time. "You are the most stubborn son of a bitch, I..."

   He put on the poorest excuse for a smile I've ever seen. "Said...the pot. Let's go."

   I pretty much carried him the rest of the way. He tried to help me as much as he could, but his coordination was shot to hell and I think he had to concentrate on just breathing. Bellamy's door was wide open--not a good sign. I propped Starsky against the jamb and moved inside, alert for any nasty little surprises. Like Ol' Vic popping out of a closet, for example.

   His wife never even turned around when I walked inside, she just stood in the middle of the room. The leg cast--now missing its owner--was lying on a chair. In my eyes she was just as guilty as Vic, she'd helped him fool us the first time around. Just the sight of the conniving little bitch made my blood pressure rise.

   "Where is he?"

   "I didn't want to lie, he made me."

   It takes a lot for me to rough up a woman, but I was way past the point of worrying about my manners. I grabbed her hard by the soft flesh of her upper arm and squeezed.

   "Where is he?"

   "The roof!"

   So much for loyalty to her husband. I knew instinctively that she wasn't lying. Too worried about saving her own skin.

   I crossed to where Starsky still had a death grip on the doorjamb and leaned in close--a poor attempt at some privacy. "Stay here."

   He didn't even try to argue. The reality of that hit me hard, like a sucker punch, but I shrugged it off and headed up the stairs to the roof. There was only one way to help Starsky now, and that involved me and my buddy Vic having a little heart to heart.

   When I got to the top of the stairs, the door to the roof was shut but not locked. I took a deep breath and dove through, somersaulting across the cement to land on my stomach. Bellamy was nowhere in sight, but I could sense eyes watching me.

   "Vic!" I lifted my head enough to pan the rooftop but still keep it attached to my shoulders. "Vic, it's not murder one yet!"

   I knew in my heart that he wasn't going to surrender. Bellamy was the type to go down kicking and screaming--and doing his best to take everyone else with him. But I had to give him the chance. "What was in the hypo?"

   Silence. Not a whisper of movement. I was getting desperate.

   "Vic, give it up!"

   He was cool, all right. Stay put. Make me go on the offensive and just wait for a good shot. The ticking clock really left me with no choice. I cautiously eased myself onto my feet, hoping I wasn't issuing an open invitation to blow my head off.

   "Vic!"

   Movement from the corner of my eye and I threw myself into another forward roll just as a bullet whizzed past my left shoulder. I crouched behind a skylight but when I brought my head up he fired again. Great! We had a regular Mexican standoff going.

   Vic got off another round and ran, giving me a clear shot at his back. I popped up and aimed, shouting a warning.

   "Hold it! Hold it!"

   Vic continued to sprint across the roof and skidded under the cover of a vent while I stood there, frozen, heart lurching.

   My God, how could I have been so stupid? One misplaced bullet and I'd sign my partner's death warrant. I was engaged in a gun battle with a man I couldn't afford to shoot.

   I swallowed, my dry throat clicking, and on cat feet started to circle around to the left of where Vic hid. Unfortunately, Bellamy shared my little epiphany.

   "Whatsa matter, Hutchinson? Didja lose your piece?" He laughed, a low spiteful chortle that had very little to do with amusement.

   The thought of Bellamy laughing that way as he injected poison into Starsky made my gun finger twitch. Bellamy didn't quit; he was starting to have a good time.

   "Or maybe you're afraid to shoot, huh? Kill me and you kill your partner, right?"

   I spun on my heel and ran back for the cover of a vent I'd left behind. Another bullet passed so close to my cheek I felt a puff of air, and I barely ducked in time. In the blink of an eye the game had changed, Bellamy in the role of cat and me playing mouse. I retreated further, dodging more gunfire, but Bellamy's confidence was growing and he was getting bolder.

   "You're dead, Hutchinson."

   He was right. I crouched behind the vent, sweat trickling between my shoulderblades, heart thudding hard enough to burst through my ribs, and felt despair take me under like a gigantic wave. I was dead. I could hear the scrape and shuffle of Bellamy's feet on the rough surface of the roof as he cautiously crept up to take his final shot, and I was powerless to stop him. I'd die a thousand deaths before I'd sacrifice Starsky to save my own skin.

   When the shots came I jerked, expecting to feel pain sear through my flesh. The dull swap of Bellamy's body hitting the concrete brought me to my senses, and I jerked my head up to see Starsky leaning in the doorway, gun loosely clasped in one limp hand.

   Bellamy didn't move.

   I crept cautiously over and grabbed him by both wrists, flipping him onto his back with one quick snap. Knotting my fists in his jacket, I lifted him up for a good, long look. His eyes were open wide and fixed, like two glass marbles, his body pliant.

   Dead.

   Silent.

   I lowered him slowly and picked up his gun, the movements automatic as my mind whirled in circles like a dog chasing its tail. Starsky was still propped against the wall, barely conscious, his eyes little more than slits and his respiration jagged and grating. I pocketed Bellamy's piece and walked over, easing Starsky's gun from his lax fingers. I don't think he even noticed.

   My heart twisted and I leaned against the wall, so close my forehead nearly brushed his. I forced words out through lips that felt like stone. "Thanks, buddy. What did ya have to do that for? He was the only guy that knew."

   At first I didn't think he could answer me. Every ounce of strength he had left was spent sucking in pitifully shallow gulps of air. His voice was almost expressionless, but I saw one eyebrow try valiantly to lift. "Seemed to be a good idea at the time."

   He looked at me then, those dark blue eyes locking onto mine as if desperate to communicate something more than his words. As I watched, they glazed over and he slipped slowly down the wall. I caught him, easing him the rest of the way. Held him up as his eyes fluttered shut and his chin dropped to his chest.

   I gripped him tightly, tugging until he sagged bonelessly into my arms, and murmured soft, reassuring words even though I knew he couldn't hear me.

   Inside, though, I was screaming.

**** Hutch ****

   With impeccable timing, the coroner and crime lab folks arrived at the same time as the ambulance. What I didn't expect, was that Dobey would be with them.

   After Starsky passed out, I'd dashed down to Bellamy's apartment just long enough to make phone calls to the precinct and the hospital before returning to the roof. Leaving him for those few minutes was like cutting off my right hand, but I saw no way around it. Starsky needed help and Bellamy needed a body bag, and sitting on my ass wasn't going to accomplish either one.

   Bellamy's wife had grudgingly allowed me to use the phone, sniveling at my elbow until she heard me ask for a coroner's wagon. She ran out of the apartment then, shrieking Vic's name loud enough to wake the dead--no pun intended--and was collapsed over his body when I got back to Starsky.

   I looked at her, and I felt nothing.

   I gathered Starsky's limp body back into my arms and sat there, the rough brick gouging into my back and unshed tears burning my eyes and throat. I talked to my partner, praying to God that the sound of my voice would reach him and anchor him to me for just a little longer. I didn't let myself think past the words of comfort and encouragement. Bellamy was dead. My subconscious knew what that meant, but I refused to allow the knowledge out of its locked box. I just rested my chin on top of those dark curls and said whatever came into my head.

   "You know, you always did have more guts than brains. I mean, did you really stop to think about what you were doing, emptying your entire clip into Bellamy like that? Talk about overkill. Wouldn't one or two have been enough?"

   Of course, I knew the answer to that, too. One or two might have left Bellamy in good enough shape to pull the trigger of his own weapon. One or two might have left me the one lying sprawled on the cement, my eyes looking up at the stars without seeing them. Starsky had known exactly what he was doing, to Bellamy, and to himself.

   "'Seemed to be a good idea at the time,'" I grouched, but my voice spoiled the effect by trembling. "What kind of a reason is that anyway? Pretty poor one, if you ask me. Starsk, you never..."

   He wasn't breathing. The abrupt silence, after the regular pattern of ragged gasps, hit my ear as violently as a scream. I sat forward, goosebumps breaking out over my entire body.

   "Starsky? Starsk?"

   His head lolled like a rag doll and one hand fell from his lap to the cement with a soft slap. I grasped him by the shoulders and shook, hard.

   "Don't you dare do this to me, Starsky! Don't you quit on me! You breathe, damn it! BREATHE!" I punctuated each sentence with a shake, the last one snapping his head back and forth until I was afraid I'd broken his neck.

   The sharp, shallow gasp for air that followed was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. Starsky coughed weakly and his hands twitched, but he didn't open his eyes. An ambulance wailed in the distance.

   I pulled him against me, wrapping one hand around his struggling chest and briskly rubbing his arm with the other. "That's it babe, keep it up. In and out. In and out."

   I didn't even realize I'd been crying until I felt the moisture on my cheeks.

   I had a crazy feeling of deja vu when the paramedics shoved me out of the way and started working on Starsky. The crime lab guys were right on their heels, the coroner bringing up the rear about five minutes later. I stood aside, unable to tear my eyes from what was happening to my partner, though I knew I should be briefing forensics on what had happened. They tried to talk to me, but their questions were just a faint buzzing in my ear, like an annoying mosquito. The paramedics' voices, though, were coming through loud and clear.

   "Pulse is weak and thready."

   "B.P.'s 140 over 100, respiration 35 and shallow. He's cyanotic, start him on O2."

   "Pupils equal and reactive. Let's get an I.V. hooked up and get him to Memorial. Dr. Franklin's waiting for him."

   Dobey's large hand on my shoulder almost made me jump out of my skin. "How is he?"

   The question was directed toward Starsky, but his eyes were burrowing into mine. I suddenly realized I'd never bothered to wipe the tears from my face.

   I mentally elbowed my father out of the way, but I scrubbed a hand across my cheeks. "Not good. He passed out after shooting Bellamy and he st...stopped breathing once."

   Dobey's brow furrowed. "Did Bellamy get a chance to tell you anything?"

   "Only that he was responsible for poisoning Starsky." I watched as the paramedics efficiently loaded my partner onto the gurney, tucking the I.V. bottle at his side.

   "Go with him," Dobey ordered, voice gruff. "I'll wrap things up here and meet you at the hospital."

   I looked at him, too overcome to find my voice. Evidently he read my expression because he waved me off and grabbed the arm of the nearest paramedic.

   "That man is a police officer in protective custody. Officer Hutchinson will be accompanying him in the ambulance."

   I could've kissed him, but I settled for a look of extreme gratitude. Dobey, always a little uncomfortable with that kind of thing, just motioned for me to stay with my partner. I pressed the keys to the Torino into his palm as I passed, and he bobbed his head in understanding.

   We were about five minutes from the hospital when Starsky started to come around. The oxygen must have been helping, because his color looked a little better and his breathing wasn't quite so labored. His eyelids fluttered and that hand started roaming across the sheets. I leaned in close and put mine on his arm.

   "Hey, partner. 'Bout time you decided to join us."

   Blue peered out from under his lashes and a wrinkle appeared between his eyes. The hand I didn't have pinned wandered up to tug the oxygen mask off his mouth.

   "Ya look terrible." Weak and raspy, but Starsky shone through.

   I mustered a smile. "Yeah? Well you should take a look at your own ugly mug, buddy. You wouldn't win any beauty contests yourself." I saw the paramedic stretch out his hand to replace the mask, but beat him too it. "Leave it alone, Starsk. You need it."

   The ambulance hit a pothole and Starsky convulsed in pain, his fingers digging into the sheets.

   "Hey, take it easy, would you?" I snapped at the driver. "We're headed for the hospital, not the demolition derby!"

   "Dr. Franklin said he could have Demerol for the pain," the other paramedic told me quietly, and pulled out a syringe.

   Starsky's eyes went wide and he started shaking his head. "Hutch, no. Don't...don't let him!"

   I shifted my body to block his view and laid a calming hand on his chest. "It's all right, Starsk, he's just going to give you something for the pain."

   The panic left his eyes but he clutched at my sleeve. The mask muffled his already thin voice, though I could still understand the words. "Hutch...pain don't matter. Not much time...things to say."

   I smiled at him, even though it hurt. "Game's not over till it's over, Starsk. I know how bad you're hurting. Take the drugs, you don't have anything to tell me that I don't already know."

   One corner of his mouth turned up a little bit, but the Demerol must've been doing its job, because his eyelids started to droop. "Doesn't mean...shouldn't be said."

   I never realized you could have your heart cut out and still live. Maybe I was just some kind of medical miracle.

   "Save it. I'll buy you a steak dinner when this is all over, and you can tell me then."

   Franklin was waiting at the emergency room entrance. He whisked Starsky into a treatment room, tossing me an apologetic look as the double doors swung shut.

   Deja vu again.

   I drank bad coffee and paced until Dobey arrived. He didn't even try to discuss Bellamy or the case, just sat beside me on an uncomfortable plastic chair that was way too small for his bulk.

   "He saved my life." I had to say it, had to speak the words aloud even though we both already knew them. "Bellamy's dead and Starsky's dying, all because the stubborn fool wouldn't stay put when I told him to."

   Dobey ran a hand down his face and turned toward me, cocking an eyebrow. "Sounds like something you'd do, doesn't it?"

   I looked at him and started laughing, but the edges were broken and jagged, and it sounded a lot more like crying. One of the treatment room doors swung outward and Franklin motioned to me, his face grave.

   "You can see your partner for a few minutes."

   My legs felt weak and wobbly as I crossed the hallway to the door. When I stepped inside, Franklin was giving Starsky a shot of something while a nurse held an oxygen mask on his face and blotted perspiration with a soft, white cloth. His eyes were open, but glazed--probably from drugs since he didn't appear to be in pain and the heart monitor beeped steadily.

   Franklin crossed to my side. "I'm sorry. We're going to have to take him upstairs now." I tore my eyes from Starsky's face to acknowledge his words. "If his timetable is right, he has less than two hours."

   I managed to nod, when what I really wanted to do was to start swinging my fists at every useless piece of equipment in the room. I walked slowly to Starsky's side, taking his hand and leaning over so that he could see my face without having to lift his head.

   "Hey, buddy. I...I have to go now." I knew he understood. The doc had things he needed to do, tests to run and treatments to try that I couldn't be a part of. I couldn't help Starsky here. I still felt as if I were abandoning him.

   "Okay." He looked so weary and strung out, a pale imitation of my friend, my brother.

   Maybe my feelings showed on my face because as I started to back away, Starsky stopped me.

   "Hey." It wasn't much more than a whisper. I caught it more from the movement of his lips than hearing the word.

   "Yeah?"

   I think the idea that Starsky and I have some kind of "psychic connection" has been way overblown by other people in the Department. We've known each other a long time, and we've spent a good chunk of that time relying on each other for our lives. All good partnerships have an especially tight bond--so tight that I've heard of plenty of cops' wives getting jealous, or feeling a little left out of the loop. Okay, it's true that Starsky and I had gotten nonverbal communication down to a science between us, but I'd always chalked that up to time and friendship. Nothing "psychic" about it.

   At that moment, though, Starsky proved me wrong. He looked at me, eyes connecting with mine on a level deeper than I can ever remember, and I knew exactly what he was trying to tell me because the words were echoing in my own heart.

   And he knew I knew. The corners of his mouth curved. No one but me would have been able to tell, and even though my chest clenched in pain I smiled back and nodded just enough for him to see.

   The orderly's hand on my shoulder broke the spell.

   "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, okay.

   I helped them move Starsky to another gurney for transport to the second floor, my eyes darting repeatedly to the clock. Dobey was at the doors, swinging them open so that the orderlies could wheel him through. I watched them head for the elevator, rage returning like the click of a switch.

   "Well that's it, huh?"

   Dobey's words did nothing to calm the anger simmering in my gut. I paced back and forth, trying to rub the exhaustion from my eyes and keep hold of my temper.

   "No that's not it." I snapped my fingers, a nagging feeling on the edge of my mind that I was forgetting something.

   "Look, Hutch, we've only got two hours." I guess Dobey was trying to be helpful, to prepare me for losing Starsky, but I didn't want to hear it.

   "I don't care if we've got two minutes! We don't give up!" I struggled against my frustration. "We've missed something, Captain. We've been in such a hurry, we've...we've rushed right past something important."

   Dobey's temper was getting a little thin too. "Look, Hutch, we put 200 names in the computer. We get twenty possibles and three primes. It's not our fault if they all wash out."

   His attempt to be logical only made me more furious. "They didn't all wash out! Vic Bellamy didn't wash out! He was the..." I stared at him, shock drying up my mouth and cutting off my voice. It was so obvious. How in God's name had I missed it? "Vic Bellamy...only had a tenth grade education. How in the hell did he get the smarts to pull something like this off?"

   "You think somebody hired him." It was a statement, not a question.

   "Absolutely. Don't you?" Excitement bubbled up to fill the hole in my chest. We were down, damn it, but we weren't out yet.

   "Right." Dobey's enthusiasm was forced, but I didn't care. I'd generate enough hope for us both.

   "Somebody's gotta tell me who."

   Starsky still had almost two hours, and I wasn't going to waste another minute.

**** Starsky ****

   Things got pretty fuzzy for a while. I remember slidin' down the wall, the bricks scrapin' against my jacket, and then everything went black. I felt like I should be scared of the dark, but I wasn't. There was no pain or sadness there; it was kinda peaceful, and a chance to finally rest. The deeper I sank down into it, the harder it was to remember why I'd want to go back.

   The voice wouldn't let me go, though. I could hear it, real soft and far away, like when I had my old apartment and could hear my neighbor's television through the wall. I couldn't understand any of the words, but I wanted to. Something about the voice felt soft and warm, like my crummiest pair of sweats or a big hug. It felt like home.

   I wanted the comfort of that voice something fierce, but I knew I couldn't have it without the pain. And I really, really didn't want anymore pain.

   I don't know if it was my own choice or not, but the voice got harder and harder to hear. Then it stopped.

   And I think maybe I did too.

   Next thing I knew, someone was shakin' me back and forth till I thought my head would crack open, yellin' in my ear. At first it was just more noise, but then one word broke through the fog and made sense.

   It scared the hell outta me and I sucked in a big gulp of air from pure reflex. My chest lost the tight, squashed feeling I hadn't even noticed until that moment, and the darkness pulled back a little bit. I started coughin' so hard I thought my lungs were gonna shoot out of my mouth, but the air tasted so sweet it was almost worth the pain. I still couldn't open my eyes, but the voice, Hutch's voice, was close enough to touch.

   "That's it, babe, keep it up. In and out. In and out."

   Part of me wanted to laugh at him, to tell him I'd been breathin' by myself for nearly thirty years and to quit givin' instructions. Another part wanted to beg him to keep talkin', to crawl inside his voice and never come out.

   Guess breathin' must've made me tired, 'cause I faded out again for a while. I dreamed we were back on the roof with Bellamy, only this time I couldn't lift my arm to fire my weapon. Bellamy laughed as he shot Hutch over and over, the same way he'd laughed when he used the needle on me. When he was finally finished, and Hutch was lyin' on the ground in a puddle of blood, he walked back to me and tossed the gun at my feet.

   "Present for you, pig. Couldn't have done it without you."

   My legs gave out on me and I dropped to my knees by my partner. There was blood everywhere, the ground, Hutch's leather jacket--even his hair was more red than yellow. His eyes were open real wide, like the time I surprised him with a brand new guitar to replace his old one. Only this time they weren't lookin' at me. And they never would.

   I hadn't told him. There were things to say, stuff I needed to make sure he knew, and now I'd never get the chance. I tried to reach out and touch him, but I couldn't move my arms. My heart was bangin' away in my chest and I could hear an ambulance siren even though I'd never had a chance to...

   "Hey, partner. 'Bout time you decided to join us."

   I cranked my eyelids up enough to catch a blurry glimpse of blond hair and blue eyes. Lookin' at me.

   Alive.

   Relief hit me so hard that for a couple seconds I didn't even notice that the pain was back full force. I squinted, focusing enough to not only see Hutch's face, but the dark circles under his eyes. Just movin' my arm felt like liftin' a 100-pound weight, but I managed to reach up and drag the oxygen mask away from my mouth.

   "Ya look terrible."

   Jeez, was that really my voice? Sounded like a bullfrog with pneumonia. Hutch grinned at me, though.

   "Yeah? Well you should take a look at your own ugly mug, buddy. You wouldn't win any beauty contests yourself." He reached over and put the mask back where it was. "Leave it alone, Starsk. You need it."

   I was gonna tell him exactly what to do with that damn uncomfortable mask when we hit a bump that ran my insides through a blender. I bunched the sheet up in my fist and concentrated on not doin' anything embarrassing--like tryin' to puke up nothin' but air. Through the buzzing in my ears I heard Hutch doin' his Dobey imitation.

   "Hey, take it easy, would you? We're headed for the hospital, not the demolition derby!"

   That's my partner. Really knows how to win friends and influence people.

   My guts were still sloshin' around from that pothole when I saw the paramedic pull out a hypo. I stared at it, still half-woozy from the pain, and all I could hear was Bellamy's laugh.

   "Hutch, no. Don't...don't let him!"

   The warmth of Hutch's hand covered my chest and he leaned in close, blocking out the needle. "It's all right, Starsk, he's just going to give you something for the pain."

   That snapped me back to reality, but I still wasn't goin' for it. I remembered how stoned I felt after Cheryl's shot. I knew I didn't have much time left, and even though I was tired of hurtin', I couldn't afford to waste a minute. I grabbed for his arm, needin' to make him understand.

   "Hutch...pain don't matter. Not much time...things to say."

   He smiled at me, but I could see how tough it was for him to pull it off. "Game's not over till it's over, Starsk. I know how bad you're hurting. Take the drugs, you don't have anything to tell me that I don't already know."

   I knew he was thinkin' about what Ma told me. Thing is, Ma was only half right. I knew my Pop realized I how much I loved him. Sometimes, though, you just need to hear it out loud. See, I'm pretty sure that's what was missin' around Hutch's house, and I'd like to set the record straight.

   "Doesn't mean...shouldn't be said."

   Warmth spread down my arm and through my body, turnin' the pain from a Great Dane into one of those yappy little furballs. I tried to stay awake but my eyes had other ideas. Last thing I heard was Hutch sayin' something about a steak dinner.

   I was asleep before I could figure it out.

   For just a minute when I woke up, I thought I'd dreamed the last twenty hours. I was layin' on the same bed, in the same room, with the same beepin' in my ear, and the same face lookin' into mine. Made me think of an old movie I watched on the late, late show once, where this mad scientist developed a ray gun that made you stuck in a certain moment of time, livin' it over and over again.

   One look at the clock killed that theory.

   "Detective Starsky, do you know where you are?"

   Sayin' it would take way too much breath, so I just rolled my eyes. "Hospital."

   The doc nodded. "Your partner's waiting outside. I'll let you see him for just a minute, but then we need to take you upstairs. We need to run some tests." He poked at his glasses.

   "Sorry...'m late."

   Franklin looked confused for a minute until he remembered my promise. Then he just looked uncomfortable. "We'll do everything we can, but there's not much time."

   I shook my head. "Don't...blame you. Had...to take...a chance." I tried to smile. "Win some...lose some."

   Felt like I was tryin' to suck air through a swizzle stick. The doc motioned to a nurse and she slapped a mask over my face. Something in my chest unscrewed half a turn and I could breathe a little easier. I lay there, ridiculously grateful, and for the first time I really accepted the fact that I was gonna die. I just didn't have nothin' left to fight it with any more.

   The doc came back and gave me another shot, and I didn't even wonder what it was. Only thing I had energy left to care about was on the other side of the double doors.

   Maybe thinkin' about him conjured him up, 'cause Hutch walked into the room a second later. I watched his face while Franklin found a nice way to say I was almost out of time. Hutch nodded his head like he understood, but I could see he wasn't buyin' any of it. Even after everything, with Bellamy on a slab in the morgue, Hutch wasn't givin' up.

   That hurt me in places the drugs couldn't touch.

   Hutch walked over then, and leaned in close so I could see his face. One hand slipped into mine and the other rested on my shoulder. Connected. I didn't want to lose that, but I knew we'd come to a fork in the road. And this time we were goin' separate ways.

   "Hey, buddy. I...I have to go now."

   The nurse had taken away the mask so I could talk, but the words wouldn't seem to come. "Okay."

   I meant it. I was scared, and splittin' from Hutch just made it worse. But I trusted him to know what needed doin'. Problem was, Hutch didn't much look like he trusted himself. He started to pull away, so I gathered up all the breath I could.

   "Hey."

   A flea woulda sounded louder, but Hutch heard me. "Yeah?"

   What do you say to someone who's made your world a better place? Who stuck by you when times couldn't possibly get any worse, and who celebrated with you when they couldn't possibly get any better? Someone you could always count on, even when everything else was fallin' to pieces. How can you put something into words that only makes sense in your heart?

   But this was Hutch. I didn't have to.

   He nodded and his fingers tightened. Somebody tapped him on the shoulder and he backed off, grumbling. He helped them move me onto another bed and someone covered me with a sheet. I caught a hazy glimpse of the Captain holding the door as they wheeled me out into the hall, then lost sight of them both.

   I'd never felt more alone in my life.

**** Hutch ****

   I have no memory of driving to Bellamy's apartment. My eyes were on the road, but my head and my heart were back in the hospital. Starsky's life rested in my hands now, thin and fragile as my grandfather's snow globe. Twenty years ago that treasure had been entrusted to my care and I'd dropped it, unable to save it from smashing to a thousand pieces on a hard oak floor.

   I was terrified of making the same mistake.

   Starsky had already given me his answer. I knew he was scared of dying alone in a hospital, surrounded by cold tile and strangers. But he'd let me go without protest, trusting me to help him the only way I knew how. Starsky doesn't give his trust easily, but when he does, it's with no holds barred. It warmed me and terrified me all at the same time.

   When I got to Bellamy's place I took the stairs two at a time and pounded on the door. Even though in my opinion Vic's wife shared his guilt, Dobey had told me they'd been unable to find sufficient proof to charge her with anything. When she didn't answer right away I banged louder, not caring if I woke the entire building.

   "Police! Open up!"

   The door cracked open and I gave it a shove, causing her to stumble backwards. I pushed past and looked around the apartment, trying to figure out where Bellamy might've hidden evidence that would lead me to whoever hired him. His wife watched me with red-rimmed eyes, her hands cupping her elbows.

   I glared at her. "I need information, and I need it now. Who hired Vic to poison my partner?"

   Crocodile tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. "I don't know!"

   I didn't have time or patience for her grieving widow act. I was standing near the kitchen, so I stalked inside and began yanking open drawers, looking for anything that might give me an answer. When my search yielded nothing but grocery bills, pens, paperclips, and string, I slammed them shut and started tossing the living room.

   Mrs. Bellamy just stood where I'd left her, sobbing and babbling. "I'm sorry! Honest, I'm sorry! For Vic, and you, and me, and your partner."

   Somehow I didn't really believe that she ranked herself third on that list. I tried to concentrate on searching but her sniveling set my teeth on edge. I snatched a box of receipts out of a drawer and kicked the door shut on my way past it.

   "Stop being sorry!"

   "I'm sorry, honest!"

   Nothing. Little pieces of paper all over the damn house but none of them had anything to do with Starsky. I moved into the bedroom, ripping open more drawers while I felt like doing things I'd never done to a woman.

   "Help me!" I carried a drawer back into the living room, sorting through slips of paper. "Vic wasn't smart enough to do this by himself. He had to have help, who helped him?"

   "I don't know."

   That tearful, helpless little voice wasn't fooling me a bit. The lady was a shark in a housedress, she just needed a push to show her teeth. "Who helped him!"

   "I don't know!"

   I dumped the drawer and lunged for her, digging my fingers into her arms and giving her a hard shake. "TELL ME!"

   "I don't know his name!" The whiny little girl disappeared and I got my first glimpse of those pearly whites.

   Now we were getting somewhere.

   I spun her around and flung her down into an armchair, bracing a hand on each side to pin her in place. Starsky and I had taken turns being "bad cop" for years, but this time I wasn't playing a role.

   "Tell me!"

   She cringed, drawing her knees up to her chin, but her voice was hard as stone. "He hired Vic!"

   "Who?"

   "He had something to do with the University."

   I slowly straightened, a chill scampering up and down my spine.

   I stared down at Mrs. Bellamy, trying to throw off my shock and stay focused. "Jennings? Professor Jennings?"

   Her eyes narrowed, her expression sullen. "I already told you, I don't know his name. He contacted Vic right after he got out of prison. Said he and Vic had something in common--a grudge against two pigs by the names of Starsky and Hutchinson. He told Vic it was payback time, and he knew just how to do it."

   It was good, but not good enough. I leaned back into her face. "Why did he pick Vic? How did he know?"

   Her lip curled in a snarl like a rabid dog. "What difference does it make? Vic is dead!"

   My hand reflexively jerked toward her face but I caught it, stabbing a finger at her instead. "My partner isn't. Now answer the question!"

   She flinched and cowered, turning back into a little girl. "I think I heard Vic say he knew the guy's son, okay? That's all I can tell you, I swear!"

   I pulled back and headed for the door, sick of the sight of her. Before I left, though, I turned back. She was still sitting where I'd put her, arms hugging her folded legs and eyes hard.

   "I may need you to make a statement, so I'd make damn sure I didn't go on any sudden trips if I were you."

   I thought about Jerry Jennings all the way out to the University. The moments leading up to his death played across my mind like a movie screen, still technicolor clear in spite of the passage of time. What should have been a routine bust for pushing turned tragic because Jerry, his brain fried on methamphetamines, grabbed for my gun.

   He'd died almost instantly, the bullet shattering his ribcage and shredding his heart. Internal Affairs had cleared me of any wrongdoing--even that bastard Simonetti couldn't find fault with my actions. In the police report I'd tried to downplay Jerry's nearly psychotic behavior to spare his father some heartache. Ironically, I'd done it at Starsky's suggestion.

   When I reached Professor Jenning's house, Cheryl's car was already in the driveway. I winced, wishing I could spare her the ugly scene I knew was coming. I had no doubts that Cheryl was completely ignorant of her father's actions. She was a good person--intelligent, compassionate, and much more worthy of her father's attentions than her brother had been. I never quite figured out why the old man had such a blind spot when it came to his son.

   I rang the bell, then knocked several times, unable to suppress my impatience. Cheryl opened the door, lines creasing her pale brow when she saw me on the front stoop.

   "Hutch, what are you doing here?"

   "Cheryl, I may need your help. Bear with me." I shouldered by her into the brightly-lit living room, noting that the Professor was fully dressed despite the odd hour. "I want to talk to your father."

   Jennings met me halfway, his jaw tight with anger and a pipe clutched in one white-knuckled hand. "Detective Hutchinson! You're not welcome in my home."

   I ignored his bluster. "We've gone way past that, Professor."

   "Hutch, what are you talking about?" Cheryl's question held a note of bewilderment, and she put a restraining hand on my arm.

   "Ask your father, he knows." I looked Jennings in the eye, gauging his reaction. "I just spoke with Vic Bellamy's widow."

   "Vic Bellamy?" Cheryl's voice rose a notch, and it hit home again how much her presence was going to complicate matters.

   I tore my eyes from the Professor's face to look at her. "That man that your brother was pushing dope for when he was killed." Cheryl's eyes widened, and her hand fell limply to her side.

   Her father gestured at me with his pipe and stalked over to a desk. "You don't leave my house peaceably, I'm going to have to call the campus police."

   I had a disjointed thought that the desk was a far cry from Starsky's organized chaos. Its surface was impeccably neat and paper free, a phone perched in one corner. I walked over so that we were squared off, the desk between us.

   "You'll find them busy, Professor." I stabbed my finger at his chest, my own tight from the effort of keeping a leash on my fury. "They and some detectives are opening up your laboratory."

   "But why?" Cheryl leaned in, insinuating herself between us by bracing her hands on the desk.

   "They'll be looking for a poisonous compound injected into Starsky." I hesitated a beat, wishing I didn't have to say the rest. "Cheryl...your father is the man that wants to kill him."

   "That's insane." Under her protest I heard it--the first small seed of doubt. I hated being the one to put it there. Starsky's pale, pain-riddled face flashed before my eyes and I shoved compassion out of the way.

   "Yes, I guess it is," I agreed, locking my eyes onto the Professor's. Putting his actions into words and speaking them out loud made them more concrete. And added fuel to the flame of my own anger. "At least, that's what the defense attorneys will plead. But you see, Cheryl, your father contacted Vic Bellamy a few weeks ago after he got out of prison. The two of them held a grudge against me and Starsky. It was the perfect partnership, wasn't it, Professor?"

   Jennings just looked at me, mouth curved with a hint of smugness.

   Cheryl's eyes turned to saucers. "Dad, please, tell him it isn't so. Tell him!"

   "Yes, Professor. Go on. Tell me."

   The hint became a self-satisfied smirk. "Where did I make my mistake?"

   I didn't owe him answers; he owed me. But I was willing to talk if it would convince him to save Starsky. "The compound itself. It was far too sophisticated for anyone as simple as Bellamy."

   "Dad." Cheryl's broken whisper cut me like a knife, but her father didn't even seem to notice.

   For the first time I saw real madness in those crafty eyes. It was difficult to maintain a poker face, to keep from licking my dry lips and evading that fanatical gaze.

   "You'll not find anything in the lab." His voice was confident--triumphant, even.

   My temper began to slip through my fingers. "Well then, they'll come here. They'll tear this..." Jennings eyes slithered away from mine to quickly pan the room, a dead giveaway that I'd hit a nerve. "It is here, isn't it? Of course it is, there's enough stuff for both Starsky and me."

   Cheryl was nearly frantic, eyes wild and head shaking in denial. "Dad. Dad, please, what is this all..." She reached out to place a hand on her father's arm.

   "NO, SHUT UP! Can't you ever keep your mouth SHUT!" The Professor knocked her arm away so that she staggered backward, one hand clamped over her mouth. From the callous way he treated her, she could have been a stranger.

   Maybe she was.

   I looked over my shoulder at the clock. 2:49. One more hour and it wouldn't make a difference whether Jennings came clean or not.

   "Yeah." He sneered at me, face twisted. "You have it all figured out."

   I nodded, deliberately countering with composure. "Yes."

   "But why?" Cheryl pleaded.

   The professor thrust out his jaw, eyes hard as steel. "Because they killed my son. They killed Jerry." The words dripped bitterness and venom.

   I had to look away for a moment to keep my cool. This was why my partner lay in a hospital bed, dying? "Professor, you don't think for... You don't think we wanted to kill him, do you?"

   A harsh jerk of his head affirmed my words. "I read your story in the police report."

   "Dad, Hutch tried to protect you in that report! Jerry was an addict, stoned out of his mind constantly." Cheryl's response was a wail, betrayal and disappointment mingled with dismay.

   "That's a lie," her father snapped.

   "Sir, his mind had already been taken over. His brain was soup."

   "No." Jennings was crumbling. He walked over to the desk chair and folded into it, bowed head shaking slowly back and forth. I kept after him, pressing my advantage.

   "We tried to calm him down, we tried to bring him back to the house--it's in the report. He grabbed my gun; it went off accidentally. It's not his fault, he was spaced out!"

   "STOP!" The Professor slammed his fist onto the blotter.

   "Professor, I'm asking you. I'm *begging* you, PLEASE! Stop this before it's too late!" I'd passed the point of reasoning, reduced to begging a crazy old man for my partner's life.

   "My boy is dead. He was a good boy."

   My eyes skipped to the clock. It was a compulsion, like picking a scab. 2:50.

   Jennings continued to babble, more to himself than to Cheryl or me. "He's dead!"

   I bit my lip hard, hanging onto my temper by my fingernails. I tried to keep my voice calm and low. "I'm asking you to save my partner's life."

   I could feel Cheryl over my shoulder, holding her breath. Her father stared at me, hesitating, then slowly pulled open the drawer in front of him and reached inside. When his hand emerged it was clutching an uncapped syringe, pointed at me. I'd seen that look on the faces of countless street punks. Cornered. Desperate.

   Dangerous.

   "Professor, give it to me." I stretched out my hand, hoping like hell he wasn't going to turn it into shish-kabob.

   He cringed but didn't lower the needle.

   "Give it to me."

   The forceful approach obviously wasn't working. Jennings had recoiled from me as far as possible, the hand holding the syringe quivering. I softened my tone and raised my voice, working hard to appear non-threatening.

   "Give it to me."

   "Dad, PLEASE!"

   At the sound of his daughter's plea, the Professor dropped his eyes and I snatched the hypo from his unresisting fingers. Victory and relief, pure and undistilled, hit me with a sweet rush like I hadn't felt since...

   I ran for the door, leaving Cheryl to deal with the broken shell of her father.

**** Starsky ****

   White tile. Machines. Nurses. And lots of needles.

   I was in a gray place--not awake, not asleep, hangin' in between. Somewhere there was still pain, bad pain, but it was too far away for me to care. My whole world narrowed down to just two things: breathin' and waitin' for Hutch to come back.

   Both were getting' harder and harder to do.

   I dreamed--daydreams, I guess, since I wasn't exactly sleepin'. Sometimes they were about stuff that really happened. Standin' in the street, lookin' down at the body of Lonnie Craig, a bright red puddle soakin' into the cement. Lyin' on a lumpy couch in an Italian restaurant, fightin' to keep my eyes open so I could toss a metal pitcher at the wall. Climbin' up a radio tower after Commander Jim, the wires biting into the palms of my hands, afraid to look down and see just how far off the ground we'd gotten.

   Sometimes they were straight outta my fertile imagination. Chasin' a suspect through dark alleys and vacant lots for hours, never gettin' any closer. Showin' up in court to testify against a punk and developin' a weird case of laryngitis so I couldn't talk. Goin' home to visit Ma and findin' out she'd been dead and buried for years only somehow I didn't know it.

   Crazy dreams that didn't always make much sense but had me wakin' up with the sheets balled up in my fists. They only had one thing in common, one piece that fit.

   Hutch was there.

   Not havin' him at my side while the doc and nurses were turnin' me into the incredible human guinea pig made it tough to find my way back from the gray place. I knew he was out there somewhere, lookin' for a miracle, but it was tough to think past white coats, beeping machines, and endless tests.

   And I was so tired.

   Once I think they let Captain Dobey in to see me for a few minutes. I got a hazy memory of brown skin and worried, dark eyes. Big, gentle hands and a gruff, no nonsense voice. Tellin' me to keep fightin'. That it was an order, and if I knew what was good for me, I'd listen up.

   I tried to talk, to ask him how Hutch was doin' and when he'd be back, but my tongue felt thick and clumsy and I couldn't seem to gulp down enough air to use it. 'Fore I realized what was happening, the mask was back over my nose and Dobey was gone.

   People were rushin' around me, fiddlin' with machines and the tubes and wires that connected me to 'em. All I could hear was the thumpin' of my heart and the wheezin' that air made as I tried to pull it into my lungs. My body felt like it didn't belong to me, my arms and legs 500-pound weights and my head stuffed with cotton.

   I was tired.

   Tired of the pain, constantly gnawin' my gut even when the drugs blunted its teeth. Tired of bein' poked and prodded--mask on my face, lights in my eyes, needles in my arms and wires on my chest. Tired of bein' surrounded by people but still feelin' alone.

   Tired of fightin' for a miracle that wasn't gonna happen.

   I expected darkness, the black velvet that had wrapped itself around me on the rooftop at Bellamy's place. Instead I was standin' in light, bright and golden, blindin' me like sun on water. I tipped my chin up, lettin' it warm my face as the hospital sounds faded slowly away to peaceful silence.

   Laughter--a deep warm chuckle that echoed in the quiet. I recognized that sound even though I hadn't heard it for many years. My heart lurched sideways into my ribs and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

   "P...Pop?" It came out in a whisper, shakin' as bad as my hands.

   Fingers in my hair, rufflin' up the curls and then givin' 'em a tug. Only one person touched me that way, rough and gentle at the same time. I sucked in a sharp breath of air and found it laced with a familiar mixture of leather, gun oil, and cologne. I slowly turned around and found myself staring into blue eyes I'm told match my own.

   He looked just the same, unchanged from that last night when I watched him walk out the door, slippin' his gun into his holster and whistlin' under his breath. He grinned at me, laugh lines around his mouth and a dimple in one cheek. Just the same.

   "Whatsa matter, Curly? Now that you're a hotshot detective you can't give your pop hug?"

   I launched myself at him and was wrapped in a bear hug that I'd waited twenty long years for. My eyes burned, my throat closed up... And I felt terrific. Bellamy, the poison--none of it mattered. For some reason I had a second chance, and I didn't want to blow it.

   Pop stepped back and held me at arm's length, lookin' me over from head to toe. The corners of his mouth curled up and he cocked an eyebrow.

   "Look at you, grown into a man. You were such a handful, there was times I thought you'd never make it that far. I been keepin' tabs on you, you know. Couple of times I wanted to reach down and give you a smack just to knock some sense into you, but you straightened out."

   His words woke me up, reminded me that something funny was goin' on. I was standin' in the middle of nowhere, still wearin' a hospital gown and talkin' to a man who'd been dead twenty years. You can't get much stranger than that.

   "Pop, how...where..."

   He chuckled again and shook his head. "It's not what you think, David. You aren't in heaven, and there sure ain't nobody by the name of Bellamy or Wedell here either."

   I stared, thinkin' how strange it felt to be lookin' eye to eye, not crankin' my neck back to see his face. "I don't understand."

   His expression got serious. "You're not dead yet, son. Least not all the way."

   "All the way? What the heck is that supposed to mean? How can you be part dead?"

   He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, something I remembered him doin' when he was tryin' to figure out what to say. "It's hard to explain. There's a place between Life and Death where the line is blurred--an in-between place."

   I tilted my head at the emptiness around us. "This?"

   Pop nodded. "That's why you can see me, and why I had to talk to you. Death is real close, David. You feel that, don't you?"

   I swallowed hard, all the spit dryin' up in my mouth. "Yeah. I guess I do. Did you come to take me with you? Is that why you're here?"

   Pop's smile looked a little sad, but he slung an arm around my shoulders. "No, Curly. I'm here to send you back."

   That threw me. I looked around, soakin' up the stillness and the peace. My father's smile and the warmth of his arm across my back. And I remembered pain. Fear. Loneliness.

   "Pop, what if I don't..." My voice wobbled and broke. "Don't you want me to stay with you?"

   He dropped his arm, turning so that he faced me again. "David, there's nothin' I'd like better than that. Don't ever think I'm not countin' the days until we can be together again. But this isn't the time."

   I dropped my eyes to try and hide the tears, but he must've seen 'em anyway. "I know you're scared, Curly. I know you're tired and hurtin'. But there's other people back there that still need you. Right now you belong with them."

   "Hutch!" I was amazed and a little ashamed that I hadn't thought about my partner even once since findin' myself in that crazy place.

   Pop nodded and one corner of his mouth turned up. "You two get into enough trouble together. Hate to think what might happen if you left him on his own." The smile flattened out and he looked at me with the stern, "I'm the father" expression I remembered from countless reprimands when I was a kid. "He's bustin' his tail to save you, David. You can't give up."

   He was right. As soon as I accepted it, I felt the tug of the hospital room drawing me back and the light around me wavered and dimmed. Suddenly I remembered some unfinished business.

   "Wait! One more minute! Pop, there's something you gotta know, something I never had the chance to say."

   He shook his head, rollin' his eyes a little. "David, ain't you been listenin'? There's nothin' you've got to tell me that I don't already know."

   "Okay, okay, I get that. Just bear with me and let me say it anyway, all right?"

   He chuffed a little laugh. "All right, Curly. I'm all ears."

   I took a deep breath and blew it out through my nose. "I love you, Pop. You were a good dad--the best. All I ever wanted was to be like you, to make you proud of me. I just wanted you to know that I..."

   He cut me off by reachin' out to touch my face, his palm resting on my cheek and his fingers threaded through my hair. "David. Son..." He paused, and I was stunned to see him blinkin' back tears. I'd never, ever seen my pop cry. When he went on, his voice was soft, but steady. "You're the man I always hoped you'd be. I couldn't be more proud."

   The pull got stronger and he dropped his hand. Suddenly his body looked thin, almost transparent and his voice sounded far away. "Take care of your mother, David, she needs you too. And give her and Nicky my love..."

   The light flickered and died, snuffed out by the blackness I'd been expectin' all along.

PART FIVE