**** Hutch ****

   It was a good thing Starsky couldn't see me after I left Professor Jenning's house. I drove like a bat out of hell, taking full advantage of the empty streets and the Torino's powerful engine. Pressing the gas pedal to the floor on the open highway. Screeching around corners on two wheels when I hit the city. And doing it all one-handed while I tried to track down Dobey and Dr. Franklin.

   Starsky would've been seriously pissed.

   Turned out Dobey was at Memorial, so I had the dispatcher relay a message, asking him to notify Franklin I was coming in with a sample of the poison so that he could have his lab techs ready. The clock on the dashboard read 3:11 when I pulled up to the emergency room entrance, and my hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped the syringe. I slammed the gearshift into park and left the engine running, not even bothering to close the door.

   A nurse was waiting. She took one look at me, carefully pried the hypo from my fingers, and sprinted down the hallway. Looking back, I'm not sure whether the rush was to save Starsky or to put as much distance as possible between herself and the wild-eyed blond man packing a gun.

   That would be me.

   Before I could try to follow, Dobey was at my side, taking me by the elbow and steering me over to a row of those damn plastic chairs. I was so strung out from stress and worry that he had me halfway toward parking my butt in one before I realized what I was doing. I shook off his hand and tried to walk away.

   "How's Starsky? I have to talk to Franklin!"

   Dobey stepped in front of me, a solid wall of captain. "Hold on..."

   I dodged, furious at being kept from my goal. "Get out of my way, Captain, it's been a long day and the last thing I need is..."

   "HUTCHINSON! SIT DOWN!"

   Dobey's roar could've awakened patients on the second floor. For all I know, maybe it did. Not being a fool, I shut my mouth and sat. We glared at each other for a minute while he worked one large finger into the knot of his tie and loosened it, then claimed the chair next to mine.

   "I just talked to the doctor." His voice did a 180-degree turn, gentleness replacing force. "They've got Starsky in a treatment room, prepping him for the antidote. He promised to come get us as soon as there's any news."

   Something in his eyes made my mouth go dry and my heart stutter. "Did you see him? How is he?"

   Dobey bit his lip and his eyes slid away from mine. "Hutch, I think you should be prepared for the possibility that..."

   I cut him off with an upraised hand. "How. Is. He?"

   "He went into respiratory failure and they had to put him on a machine to help him breathe. The doctor says he's putting up a helluva fight, but he's very weak."

   All I could do was nod to show I understood. The giddy rush of adrenaline from my confrontation with the Professor was depleted, and exhaustion and depression seemed to be all I had left. I couldn't even summon the energy to feel angry about the way I'd been cheated out of my storybook ending.

   I dropped my head back against the wall with a thud and closed my eyes. It was out of my hands now. Funny, but the thought didn't give me a feeling of relief, only despair.

   I sat in that lousy chair and waited for the entire course of my life to be decided by one curly-haired cop with a passion for bad horror movies. There were no distractions now, no leads to run down, no bad guys to bust. Nothing to do but contemplate my life without him in it. I grit my teeth and tried to picture it, even though it felt like pouring salt into an open wound. Tried to imagine someone else filling the holes Starsky would leave in my life. Cruising the streets and watching my back. Taunting me about my car and competing with me for a pretty lady. Playing practical jokes on Dobey and shooting pool with Huggy.

   I tried, but I couldn't do it. Those holes in my life were all Starsky-shaped--nothing, and nobody could fill them the way he did.

   I'm not sure how much time passed. Long enough for Dobey to quit nagging me about eating something and to bring me two cups of the worst coffee I'd ever tasted. My head ached, my eyeballs felt like ground glass, and I was jittery from far too much caffeine and far too little sleep. When Franklin rounded the corner I popped up on my feet before Dobey could blink.

   "How is he?"

   Franklin tilted his head in the direction from which he'd come. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

   I swallowed hard and glanced at the Captain, who raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to go ahead. The doctor led me down a corridor, through a set of double doors, and into a room nearly identical to the one my partner had occupied earlier. Starsky, more beeping machinery, and another nurse. I blinked and scrubbed at my eyes, the feeling of déjà vu so strong that for a moment I felt dizzy.

   Full circle and here we were again, but this time I could sense a difference. In the peaceful set of Starsky's sleeping face. In the quiet, relaxed movements of the nurse. And most of all, in the suggestion of a curve to Franklin's lips. He walked over to consult with the nurse, returning with a medical chart in his hands and smile lines around his eyes.

   "We started adding the antidote to his I.V. an hour ago and he's already breathing on his own." He looked down at the chart. "Two cc's hydrochloride, 1 cc bromoacetone, 4 cc's benzylcyanide, 1 cc diphenylamide." He flipped the chart shut and smiled for the first time since the whole nightmare began. "Yes, I think your friend's going to make it."

   The invisible fist released my chest, flooding me with the relief of a death row inmate handed a stay of execution. I touched his shoulder.

   "Thank you, Doctor."

   The words hung in the air, pitifully weak and inadequate, but Franklin nodded and moved off to talk with the nurse. I looked down at Starsky, his face pale and drawn, eyes shadowed, but giving off an unmistakable aura of peace.

   Alive.

   My eyes slipped shut and I offered up a semi-coherent prayer to a God I'm not even sure I believe in anymore.

   I had the strangest sensation that I heard a low chuckle in reply.

   Doctor Franklin finished giving instructions to the nurse, who promptly began disconnecting Starsky from several machines. "We're going to move him upstairs now, to the ICU. We'll continue to keep a close eye on him there until we're sure he's stabilized. If all goes well, he'll be in a regular room by tonight."

   I nodded, unable to pull my eyes from my partner's face. "When can he go home?"

   Franklin chuckled and shook his head. "I think we'll have to take things a step at a time. I can't say I've ever dealt with a patient quite like Detective Starsky."

   I grinned. "He is unique."

   The nurse stepped back and an orderly took her place, releasing the brake that immobilized the gurney. Franklin held open the door so that Starsky could be wheeled into the hallway.

   "Give us a few minutes to get him settled. After that you can sit with him for a while if you'd like." He started to follow the gurney, but paused and looked back at me with an inscrutable expression. "If you'd asked two hours ago, I'd have said your partner didn't have a chance of making it. I've never seen anyone fight harder to hold onto life. It's almost as if he knew you were coming."

   Franklin didn't wait for an answer, which was a good thing since my heart had suddenly crawled up into my throat, making speech impossible. I stood alone in the treatment room, taking slow, deep breaths for a long time before I was ready to find Dobey and give him the good news.

   An hour later I was sitting in a chair almost identical to the one in the ER, with a notable exception--it was beside Starsky's bed in the ICU. I'm not sure what Franklin had told the nursing staff, but a friendly nurse named Margaret, who couldn't have been a day under 60, had settled me in with a pillow and reassurances that I was exempt from the normal visiting restrictions and could stay as long as I liked.

   I watched my partner sleep, fully intending to remain alert myself. Dr. Franklin had warned me that Starsky was heavily medicated for pain and not likely to regain consciousness for some time, but after the grueling ordeal of the last 26 hours I found it hard to let down and relax. It had been close--too close. Part of me wanted to savor the moment of respite as Starsky began the upward swing toward healing. Part of me was still expecting the other shoe to drop.

   I was awakened by the twitch of long fingers beneath my own, not even realizing I'd drifted off. My neck felt like a bent coathanger and my mouth tasted of stale coffee and tears. I blinked and sat up straight, running a hand down my face. Starsky's fingers curled around mine and his eyelids fluttered. Margaret bustled in a moment later.

   "He's waking up!" I announced, probably sounding like Starsky had just won the Nobel Peace Prize or set an Olympic record.

   She smiled and checked first his pulse and then the I.V. "I noticed. I saw the jump in his vital signs on the monitor at the nurses' station." For the first time I heard the hint of a brogue in her voice and noticed auburn mingled in her predominantly gray hair. She leaned over, modifying her voice so that it was low and soothing. "David, can you wake up for me? There's someone here who's anxious to talk with you."

   Starsky's eyes opened a crack, slipped shut, and then slowly lifted to half-mast. Even from a distance I could see they looked glazed and unfocused. Margaret's warm smile blossomed, and it suddenly struck me that she must've been a knockout in her younger days.

   "Hello, David. Welcome back."

   Starsky slowly blinked and mumbled a word I couldn't understand in a raspy, creaky voice.

   "I'll be taking care of you, sweetheart. My name is Margaret, but you can call me Maggie. You're still pretty sick, but you're doing much better."

   I watched her as she spoke to him, the way she kept her movements gentle and slow so as not to cause him pain or startle him. I recalled Starsky's earlier complaint about nurses, and was grateful that this time, at least, he'd gotten a bona fide angel. Starsky lay passively while Maggie finished recording his blood pressure, still more asleep than awake despite the raised eyelids.

   "I've got a surprise for you, David," she said. "Look who's here."

   She stepped aside so that I could stop hovering over her shoulder and move into Starsky's line of vision. At first he just squinted blankly, and I had a brief moment of panic, wondering if the poison's devastating effects on his body had included brain damage. Fortunately, my alarm was short lived. His eyes locked onto mine and sharpened, losing a little of their vagueness. A crinkling of the skin around them, and the barest curve to his lips, seemed to be the closest thing to a smile he could manage.

   "Hutch." Little more than a puff of air, paper thin and fragile.

   "Hey, buddy." My throat closed up before I could say more, so I just stood there and grinned at him like an idiot.

   "Took you...so long?"

   I slid one hip carefully onto the bed and rested my hand lightly on his chest, relishing its steady, effortless rise and fall. "Stopped for a pizza."

   He chuffed out a weak little laugh, winced, and reached a shaky hand to his throat. "Hurts."

   Maggie, who'd been quietly observing us, slipped a plastic cup of crushed ice and a spoon into my hand. "His throat is sore from the tube. Go easy on the ice, his stomach won't be able to tolerate much yet." She patted my shoulder. "He's doing fine, so I'll leave you two alone. Don't let him talk too much, and don't worry if he doesn't make sense. He's apt to be pretty fuzzy from the drugs."

   I'm usually more reserved than my exuberant partner, but I guess the euphoria from knowing Starsky was going to be all right got to me. I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thanks, Maggie. You're beautiful."

   She flashed me the impish grin of a young girl. "Aye, that's what all the handsome young men tell me. I'll be right outside if you need me. Just buzz."

   I turned to find two solemn blue eyes watching me with a foggy, bemused intensity. I rooted around in the cup for a small spoonful of ice and held it to Starsky's lips.

   "Here, Starsk. It'll help your throat."

   He let me feed him five or six spoonfuls of the ice, mouth opening as obediently as baby bird's, eyes slipping shut in bliss as it melted and ran down his abused throat. The silence between us was easy, comfortable, and I felt the tightly coiled spring inside of me slowly begin to unwind. Something about being able to perform that one small kindness for my partner healed me in places I hadn't realized were injured.

   By the time he consumed the seventh spoonful, Starsky's eyelids were beginning to droop, so I set aside the cup.

   "Tired." More of a sigh than a spoken word.

   I tucked the blanket under his chin. "You've got a right to be. Had a busy day."

   One corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided little smirk. It quickly faded, however, and a line appeared between his brows. "Poison?"

   I knew what he was asking and I didn't want to open up that can of worms. Not with him just this side of Death's door. I patted his chest. "I'll tell you the whole story later. Point is, we caught the bad guy and you're going to be okay."

   He peered up at me from under those lashes. "You."

   "Huh?"

   A deep breath, and the words were a little more slurred. "You...got the bad guy. Didn't do...nothin'."

   I shook my head, eyes stinging, and tucked a stubborn curl back from his eyes. "You did the hardest job of all, babe. You held on."

   His eyes slid shut and he smiled. "Nah...was easy. Pop tol' me...you were comin'."

   I stared at him, dumbfounded, while he slipped into a deep sleep.

**** Starsky ****

   The next time the light came, I was almost afraid to open my eyes. Would I be back in the "in-between place" with Pop? Standin' in front of the pearly gates, tryin' to fast talk my way inside? I kept real still and took inventory.

   I was layin' down, not standin', the softness of a pillow under my head. Soft, steady beeps came from somewhere over my left shoulder. But the dead giveaway was the sour smell, like Bactine and old piss.

   Man, if heaven smelled like that I might just volunteer to go stoke the furnace.

   It was about then that I felt something warm and heavy coverin' my left hand. I wriggled my fingers a little and struggled to pry open my eyelids. A voice spoke in my ear, soft and musical. I couldn't understand what it was sayin', but it made me curious enough to work harder at openin' my eyes. After a couple of tries I managed to keep 'em propped halfway, though it didn't do me much good. All I could see was a confusin' jumble of shapes and colors, like puzzle pieces spilled out of the box and not put together. The pain in my chest was gone, but it had played a dirty trick and migrated to my throat, which felt like raw hamburger.

   "Hello, David. Welcome back."

   The pieces started to fit together, and I could make out a smiling face under a white cap. I tried to ask who she was, what was goin' on, but the words came out as mixed up as the colors had been. She just smiled and kept talkin' to me. I knew the drill by now, and I braced myself, expectin' the orders, the poking and jabbing, pushin' and pullin'.

   They never came. Her voice stayed quiet and sweet, and her hands were slow and gentle. She told me I could call her Maggie, and that she was gonna take care of me. For just a minute, I started thinkin' maybe I'd made a mistake, maybe I was in heaven after all. Maggie sure seemed like my own personal angel.

   "David, I've got a surprise for you. Look who's here."

   My angel's face was gone and another took its place, too fast for me to track.

   I squinted hard at the blue and yellow blobs in front of me, and after a minute they shifted into place. It was like comin' home after a long trip.

   "Hutch."

   Sounded like the voice of a ninety-year-old man, but Hutch's face lit up like a candle. "Hey, buddy."

   Liftin' one corner of my mouth was easier than two, so I settled for a crooked smile. "Took you...so long?"

   Hutch was right there with me, didn't miss a beat. "Stopped for a pizza."

   I wasn't expectin' the laugh that ambushed me. Small as it was, just a little puff of air, really, it still set fire to my throat. I couldn't help grabbin' at it.

   "Hurts."

   Maggie said something to Hutch and handed him a little plastic cup and spoon. Even though I could hear the words, I couldn't keep up with 'em. Felt like everyone else was playin' at 78 rpm, and I was stuck on 33. As I watched, Hutch grabbed her hand to give it squeeze, then blushed at her reply. 'F I didn't know better, I'd've sworn Hutch was flirtin' with my angel.

   Maggie left and Hutch dug around in the cup with the spoon. He held it up to my mouth and I could feel coldness against my lips.

   "Here, Starsk. It'll help your throat."

   I wasn't too keen on the idea of swallowin' anything, but I opened up anyway. Little hunks of something wet and freezing cold slipped onto my tongue. Ice chips. I let 'em melt and trickle down my throat, almost purring 'cause it felt so good. When Hutch held out the spoon again I was only too happy to take some more.

   For a while, that's how it went--Hutch scoopin' up more ice chips and spoonin' 'em into my mouth; me layin' there and lettin' him do it. Normally I'd never of put up with bein' fed like a baby; it pisses me off when Hutch gets overprotective and acts like my mother.

   But after the last 24 hours from hell, nothin' was normal. I was so tapped out just liftin' my arm felt like runnin' a marathon. And Hutch? In spite of the big, goofy grin on his face, he looked like a rubberband stretched tight enough to snap.

   We both needed that time--no thinkin', no talkin', just soakin' up some peace and quiet. It gave me a chance to find my way back. To shake off the last little bits of that in-between place and pick up my life. It gave Hutch the chance to stop and let the good news sink in. To see that he'd passed the finish line a couple miles back and it was time to quit runnin'.

   I must've started to fall asleep, 'cause suddenly the spoon was gone and gentle hands were tuggin' at the sheets.

   "Tired."

   "You've got a right to be. Had a busy day." Hutch's voice was just as warm and comfortable as the blanket he tucked under my chin. The sharp edge was gone; he sounded like himself for the first time since Bellamy poisoned me.

   Poison. Bellamy. How in the hell did he come up with an antidote when our buddy Vic was imitatin' a Popsicle in the morgue? I pushed aside the sleepiness and concentrated on makin' my tongue work.

   "Poison?"

   Okay, it wasn't brilliant, but it was short and to the point. I knew Hutch would get what I was askin'.

   Blondie thinks he's clever, but I can read him like a book. His face tightened up for a minute, and I knew he was decidin' how much to tell me. Actin' like my mother again, but I was too tired to care.

   He patted my chest. "I'll tell you the whole story later. Point is, we caught the bad guy and you're going to be okay."

   We. Yeah, right. More I thought about it, the guiltier I felt. I'd risked Hutch's life by makin' him drag me along during the investigation. If Bellamy'd shot him back on that roof, I'd've never forgiven myself.

   'Course, I wouldn't've had too long to be wallowin' in blame.

   "You." I was gettin' good at one word sentences. Unfortunately, Hutch wasn't followin' me.

   "Huh?"

   I sucked in a breath of air and tried again. It was like talkin' around a wad of peanut butter. "You...got the bad guy. Didn't do...nothin'."

   He blinked hard and shook his head. Loopy as I was, I could still see he was just a step away from tears. He reached over and brushed a lock of hair outta my eyes that I hadn't even realized was buggin' me. "You did the hardest job of all, babe. You held on."

   Ah, Hutch. You'll never know how close I came to lettin' go.

   I thought about Pop. How he was still just like I'd remembered him. How he'd seemed content and happy. How even though I couldn't see him, he was with me. And even though we couldn't be together, I'd made him proud.

   Best of all, I'd gotten to tell him something I'd been holdin' inside me for twenty long years.

   I smiled, and gave up on holdin' my eyes open. "Nah...was easy. Pop tol' me...you were comin'."

   I let myself slide toward sleep, knowin' two of the people I loved best were watchin' over me.

**** Starsky ****

   Three days later the doc finally let Hutch spring me from the hospital. Huh. Might as well say spring me from the slammer, there wasn't a big difference. I was so fed up by then I'd've done just about anything to get out. The food was worse than Hutch's health glop and they wouldn't let him smuggle me a burger. The television stuck on one channel that showed nothin' but nature documentaries. The damn white dress they made me wear kept bunchin' up around my waist when I tried to sleep and flapped open in back when I went to take a leak. And everywhere I turned people were tellin' me what I could and couldn't do--even my partner.

   Problem was, even though I was mentally ready to take on the world, physically I still needed a lot of help. Just doin' a simple little thing like gettin' myself dressed wore me out so much I had to sit back down on the bed. I kept tellin' myself I should be grateful just to be breathin'--and I was--but it didn't stop the frustration or brighten my lousy mood.

   "Hey there! All ready to be leaving us, I see."

   Maggie stood in the doorway, arms folded, a big smile on her face. The only bad part about gettin' out of the ICU to a regular room was losin' her as my nurse. She'd drop by several times a day, though, to check up on me. Once she even brought me a frozen juice bar from Pediatrics. Said if little kids havin' their tonsils out deserved 'em, I did too.

   "Hutch is comin' to get me." I waved her inside and she perched on the bed next to me. "Can't wait to blow this joint." I grinned at her. "No offense intended."

   She chuckled. "None taken. It's the way of it, you know, part of the healing. A few months from now and you'll have put us all right out of your mind."

   I nudged her with my shoulder and winked. "Nah, not all of ya. Couldn't forget my Irish Rose." During one of her visits Maggie had told me about growin' up in a small town near Dublin, where her sister still lived.

   The chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh and she patted my knee. "Now, David. You'd best be saving that charm for the young girls, don't you think?"

   "Careful, Maggie. Don't encourage him." Hutch leaned against the doorjamb, smiling at us.

   I lowered my voice. "Don't listen to him, Maggie. He's always tryin' to steal a pretty lady from me."

   Hutch snorted and walked into the room. "Trying?"

   Maggie shook her head and stood up, pursing her lips to try and hide a smile. "I'd say you both are nothing but trouble and I'm well rid of you." She looked at Hutch. "Take care of him, Kenneth. Just don't forget to take care of yourself while you're at it." When she turned back to me she frowned and shook her finger, but I could see she was teasin'. "And you! Don't be undoing our hard work with your own stubbornness. I don't want to see you back here because you didn't know when to ask for help."

   I stood up and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Maggie. You're one in a million."

   She smiled at me and then Hutch as he took her hand. "Aye, so I've been told."

   Once she disappeared out the door, Hutch cocked an eyebrow at me. "Well, partner, you ready to rejoin the rest of the world?"

   I rolled my eyes. "You got no idea. Let's go before they change their minds."

   Hutch turned toward the door, but when I started to follow he held up a hand. "Hang on, I'll be right back."

   I wasn't sure what he was up to, but my legs were already startin' to feel a little wobbly, so I propped myself against the bed and tried to be patient. I didn't have to wait long. He was back a second later, wearin' a big grin and pushin' a wheelchair.

   "Your chariot awaits."

   I glared at him and folded my arms. "I am not ridin' in that. I happen to have two legs and there ain't a damn thing wrong with either one."

   Hutch straightened up and put his hands on his hips. "Starsky, this isn't my idea and you don't have a choice. Hospital policy says you go out in one of these or you don't go out at all." His voice stayed real calm and reasonable, like a parent talkin' to a toddler throwin' a tantrum. 'Course that just made me madder.

   "Well it's a stupid policy, I ain't some kind of invalid!"

   In the back of my mind I knew I was bein' unreasonable, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. Ever since the poisoning I'd lost control of my life. My body's betrayal not only kept me from takin' care of myself, it left me useless to Hutch, too. To him, gettin' in that wheelchair might be no big deal, but to me it was the straw that broke the camel's back. And the camel was pissed.

   "It's only as far as the front door. After that you can kiss it good-bye. C'mon, get in the chair." Still patient, no sign of temper even though I was bein' an ass. Just another reminder things weren't the way they were supposed to be.

   I pushed myself away from the stability of the bed and started for the door, givin' the wheelchair and Hutch a wide berth. "Forget it. I'm outta here. You ride in that thing if you're so fond of it."

   Hutch snagged me by the arm and for the first time I saw a spark of anger in his eyes. "Stop being a baby! The hospital..."

   Wrong choice of words. In fact, he couldn't've picked worse if he'd been trying. I jerked my arm out of his grasp, too furious to recognize what a stupid move it was. "Screw the hospital, and screw you! I'll take a cab home."

   I had about three seconds to watch hurt flicker across Hutch's face before the dizziness slammed into me, my feet tangled together, and my legs folded up.

   And just like always, Hutch was there.

   He lunged for me, catching me under the arms and hauling me back upright. "Damn it, Starsky, what the hell is wrong with you? You want to check back in with a concussion?"

   It was the first honest anger he'd shown me in three days and I was too far gone to appreciate it. My fingers were knotted in his jacket, my forehead was pressed against his shoulder, and I was desperately trying not to prove him right by bawlin'.

   Hutch must've sensed what was goin' on, because his tone shifted from mad to bewildered. "Starsk?"

   I couldn't look at him. "I just want my life back, Hutch. To eat what I want, when I want. To be able to do a simple thing like put on clothes without needin' to stop and rest. If I can't sleep, I want to stay up late and watch a movie, not take a pill. To be alone for longer than fifteen minutes without someone checkin' on me. I want..."

   "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang on."

   Hutch shifted so that I could sit down on the bed, then joined me. His expression was so gentle and sympathetic I had to look out the window.

   "Starsky, three days ago you almost died. Ask any doctor or nurse in this hospital and they'll say you're a walking miracle. Cut yourself, and the rest of us, a little slack."

   I watched an airplane fade in and out of some fluffy white clouds. "'S not my miracle, Hutch. You conjured it up all on your own."

   I felt him go still, and I could almost hear the gears turnin'. "What's really bugging you, Starsk? Level with me."

   I shrugged and shook my head. "Nothin'. C'mon, let's go. I'll get in the damn chair."

   Hutch's arm across my chest stopped me. "Try again."

   Great. Now he was gonna tell me when I had to talk? I shoved his arm out of the way but it was back before I could move. I was in no shape to fight him, and we both knew it.

   "Talk to me." Quiet. Patient.

   God, I was gonna go out of my mind if he didn't stop treatin' me with kid gloves!

   "See? That's just what I'm talkin' about! You don't even get mad at me when I deserve it; you take my shit and never call me on it! I'm not made of glass, Hutch. When I screw up I expect you to tell me, same as always."

   Hutch stared at me through my outburst, a little line between his eyebrows that got deeper the more I yelled. When I finally ran outta steam he gave a little shake of his head.

   "Okaaaay. How about you let me in on just when you're supposed to have screwed up."

   I didn't want to talk about it, especially not there, but I'd just painted myself into a corner. I grit my teeth and looked him straight in the eye.

   "How 'bout when I almost got you killed?"

   His jaw dropped. "What?"

   The fact that he had absolutely no idea what I was talkin' about just made me madder. "Hutch, Bellamy was three seconds away from wasting you right in front of me! I never should've been out on the streets with you; I was in no shape for it. My inability to back you up almost got you killed!"

   Hutch gaped at me for a minute longer, then slid off the bed. He paced to the end of the room and then returned to stand in front of me, rubbin' the back of his neck.

   "Have you really been stewing over this for three days?" When I didn't answer he pulled his hand down his face and shook his head. "Starsk, you gave me all the back up I needed. You saved my life!"

   I couldn't stand to hear him put it that way. "It was a lucky shot! I could barely see, I could just as easily..."

   "It was what we do!" Hutch's razor sharp reply cut me off. He made a soft noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "We put ourselves on the line for each other. That's why we're so good at the job. Starsk, when I needed you, you were there. Just like I knew you'd be."

   His words filled a hole, a souvenir from Bellamy that Dr. Franklin couldn't heal. I couldn't give up quite so easily, though.

   "Yeah, well, I still shouldn't've been out there in the first place."

   Hutch smiled and braced a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe not. Of course, we both know I'd never do something like that." The corners of his mouth twitched.

   And suddenly I remembered. Hutch, still sufferin' from withdrawal and weak as a kitten. Insisting he was well enough to meet that two-timin' snitch Mickey, and nearly gettin' us killed as a result.

   Okay, so we were both stubborn idiots. Why did that make me feel so much better?

   I snorted and slid off the bed, carefully settling myself in the chair. "Let's go, Blondie."

   It took Hutch three tries to figure out how to release the brakes on the wheels so we'd move forward and not in little circles. I didn't even try to be nice about it.

   "Sure you don't want me to drive?"

   "Very funny. You know, just because you have some irrational dislike of my car, doesn't mean I can't drive anything on wheels better than you, even that striped tomato. You should've seen me when..."

   I waited but he didn't finish. "I should've seen you when--what?"

   "Never mind."

   I shrugged. There was probably something there I should know, but I'd worry about it later. Hutch maneuvered me out the door and down the hallway to the elevator.

   "Starsk?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Checked the TV listings this morning. There's a Bela Lugosi marathon on channel 5 tonight."

   And that's why he's my best friend. He hears me, even when I'm not makin' a lot of sense.

   "Yeah?"

   "That's right."

   I tilted my head back so I was lookin' at him upside down. "Pizza and beer?"

   We'd reached the elevator. Hutch walked around me to punch the button, then leaned against the wall facing me. "Popcorn with salt--no butter--and rootbeer."

   I grinned at him. "I can live with that."

   The elevator was empty, thank God, so Hutch had no trouble gettin' the wheelchair inside. We were almost to the main floor when I remembered something I had to do.

   "Hutch?"

   "Yeah?"

   "When we get to your place, I need to call Ma."

   His hand came down on my shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "Got a lot to tell her, huh?"

   "Yeah."

   The doors opened and Hutch was quiet as he wheeled me out into the hallway. When he finally did speak up, his voice was soft and unsure.

   "Starsk?"

   "Yeah?"

   "You know what you said in the ICU? About knowing I was coming?"

   I wondered when he was gonna ask me. And I wanted to tell him. I just wasn't quite ready.

   "Yeah."

   "You ever going to talk to me about that?"

   I nodded without lookin' up at him. "Yeah. I am. I just need a little more time."

   I heard the smile in his answer. "You've got it."

   We turned a corner and started down the long corridor that would take us to the front doors and Hutch slowed down a little. Just when I was gonna ask him to quit messin' around and get us outta there, he leaned over.

   "Hey, Starsk? Did you know if you build up enough speed, it's possible to do a wheelie in one of these chairs?" The low, evil tone of his voice warned me I was about to find out.

   "That's real interesting, Hutch, but I don't think it's such a good idea. I mean, like you said before, I practically died a few days ago and I'm still a convalescent..."

   "Hang on, buddy. I'll show you just how good a driver I am."

   "Hutch, you don't gotta prove nothin' to me, I already... HUUUUUUUUTCH!"

**** Hutch ****

   Three days later I finally had the go ahead from Dr. Franklin to take Starsky home--well, home to my place, anyway. Even though he was doing better every day, he was still weak and needed a lot of help. To tell you the truth, I didn't mind. I'd come as close as you could get to losing him. Having him back was a gift, even if it meant taking care of him and putting up with his moodiness until he could get on his feet.

   And he was moody--no doubt about it. One minute he was his old self, flirting with the nurses and trying to coax me into smuggling a hamburger to him. The next he was quiet and withdrawn, not talking unless I asked him a question, giving me one-syllable answers. When I'd pumped a nurse for information, she'd told me he was having some trouble sleeping, and that even though he wouldn't admit it, she was pretty certain he'd been suffering from nightmares.

   So when I bumped into Dr. Franklin on my way to Starsky's room, it seemed like the perfect chance to voice my concerns without my partner knowing I was checking up on him.

   "Dr. Franklin?"

   He looked up from the chart he was signing and smiled, an expression I still wasn't used to seeing on his face. "Detective Hutchinson. Here to take your partner home?"

   I shook his extended hand. "Yeah, I'm headed there now. Do you have a minute?"

   He flipped the chart shut and gave me his complete attention. "Is there a problem? I signed Detective Starsky's release papers this morning."

   "No. Well, maybe. I'm a little worried about him."

   Franklin's quizzical expression smoothed into understanding. "I realize he's still quite weak, but he's made amazing progress. Just give him a little more time and..."

   I held up a hand and shook my head. "Not about that. I can see that physically he's improving, more every day. It's..." I rubbed the back of my neck, searching for the right words. "He's been quiet, distant. Sometimes I can't get more than two words out of him. It's not like Starsky." I chuckled. "Usually I can't get him to shut up. And the nurses tell me he's been having nightmares and trouble sleeping. I just..." I sighed, wondering if I sounded ridiculous. "I'm just concerned, that's all."

   Franklin nodded and I was relieved to see empathy and not amusement in his eyes. "Detective, I don't have to tell you how close we came to losing your partner. You've earned the right to worry a little."

   I chuffed a weak laugh and he continued. "Having said that, I can reassure you that the behavior you're seeing from your friend is completely normal, considering the circumstances. His body has been through a severe trauma. It's understandable that there will be psychological repercussions as well as physical. The mood swings, the nightmares--just give him some time. As he grows stronger and we continue to cut back on the drugs, I'm sure you'll see them disappear."

   It was what I'd been telling myself, but hearing it from the doctor lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. I shook Franklin's hand again.

   "Thank you, doctor. For everything. Now I'd better run. If I'm late Starsky's going to..."

   I glanced up at the clock, not even realizing that I'd stopped speaking. For one terrible moment time rolled backwards, Starsky was dying, and I was desperately racing to save his life.

   I'd been having a few nightmares of my own.

   Franklin's hand on my arm pulled me back. "Give yourself some time too, Detective. Your partner isn't the only one to survive a trauma."

   By the time I got to Starsky's room I'd regained my equilibrium. One of the nurses had given me the go ahead to take him out to the car, as long as I obeyed the wheelchair rule. I knew Starsky wouldn't like it, but I figured he'd be too happy about leaving to make a fuss.

   Starsky was flirting with Maggie when I stepped in the door. I just watched them for a minute, pleased to see my partner looking so cheerful. Maggie had been a godsend. She'd made that first day in the ICU bearable for Starsky and me, getting him to smile with her teasing and mothering both of us. She evidently had a soft spot for my partner, since she'd continued to visit him and check his progress even after he graduated to a regular room.

   When Maggie left I was more than ready to put the hospital behind us, and I knew Starsky had to be even more anxious. "Well, partner, you ready to rejoin the rest of the world?"

   "You got no idea. Let's go before they change their minds."

   He started to follow me out the door but I stopped him. "Hang on, I'll be right back."

   I made a big show of pushing in the wheelchair with a flourish. "Your chariot awaits."

   Starsky's reaction was pretty much what I expected. He folded his arms and stuck out his lower lip in that pigheaded expression that drives me crazy. "I am not ridin' in that. I happen to have two legs and there ain't a damn thing wrong with either one."

   So much for his good mood. I kept my answer patient, which really wasn't all that hard to do. These days I was so grateful just to have him breathing, I got a lot less irritated by his little quirks. "Starsky, this isn't my idea and you don't have a choice. Hospital policy says you go out in one of these or you don't go out at all."

   "Well, it's a stupid policy. I ain't some kind of invalid!"

   "It's only as far as the front door. After that you can kiss it good-bye. C'mon, get in the chair."

   The funny thing was, me staying calm just seemed to infuriate Starsky. He stomped toward the door, circling around me and the chair as if we were carrying the plague.

   "Forget it. I'm outta here. You ride in that thing if you're so fond of it."

   I loved him. I was ecstatic that he was still alive. But there was only so much of his spoiled child routine I was going to take. I reached out and grabbed his arm. "Stop being a baby! The hospital..."

   I guess I hit a nerve without even trying. Starsky went absolutely white with anger and jerked away from me. "Screw the hospital, and screw you! I'll take a cab home."

   Things happened lightening fast after that. Pulling away from me must have thrown off Starsky's already fragile sense of balance and he would've wound up on the floor if I hadn't caught him. I tried to slow the pounding of my heart, terrified that he could have really hurt himself. So of course, I covered by yelling at him.

   "Damn it, Starsky, what the hell is wrong with you? You want to check back in with a concussion?"

   I expected him to yell back at me, or even to shove me away. Instead he just held onto me like I was a life preserver and he'd just abandoned a sinking ship. I could tell from the tension in his body and his short, sharp pants for air that he was a breath away from tears.

   "Starsk?"

   His voice was so low and soft I could barely hear it. "I just want my life back, Hutch. To eat what I want, when I want. To be able to do a simple thing like put on clothes without needin' to stop and rest. If I can't sleep, I want to stay up late and watch a movie, not take a pill. To be alone for longer than fifteen minutes without someone checkin' on me. I want..."

   "Whoa, whoa, whoa."

   I got us situated on the bed, but he still wouldn't look at me. I was stunned by his outburst. I'd known he was sick of the hospital, and I'd seen him struggling with his physical limitations, frustrated and discouraged. It just wasn't like Starsky to let it get him this far down.

   "Starsky, three days ago you almost died. Ask any doctor or nurse in this hospital and they'll say you're a walking miracle. Cut yourself, and the rest of us, a little slack."

   He'd look at the window, but not my face. "'S not my miracle, Hutch. You conjured it up all on your own."

   Well.

   Now we were getting somewhere.

   "What's really bugging you, Starsk? Level with me."

   "Nothin'. C'mon, let's go. I'll get in the damn chair." All of a sudden the dreaded wheelchair wasn't so bad. I had to be closing in on the real problem.

   "Try again." I put my arm out to keep him from slipping off the bed and walking out the door.

   Of course, that just pissed him off. He'd just explained how frustrated he was with being told what to do, and there I was insisting he had to talk. He probably thought I hadn't been listening, but I had. That's why I couldn't give him a choice.

   "Talk to me." I know my partner. Sometimes getting him to come clean about what's going on inside is like pulling teeth. But if you can get him angry enough, so that he really blows his top, he'll let his mouth go before his brain can stop it.

   "See? That's just what I'm talkin' about! You don't even get mad at me when I deserve it; you take my shit and never call me on it! I'm not made of glass, Hutch. When I screw up I expect you to tell me, same as always."

   Screw up? He wasn't making sense.

   "Okaaaay. How about you let me in on just when you're supposed to have screwed up."

   He glared at me. I could see he didn't want to talk about it, but he was too mad to just let it drop.

   "How about when I almost got you killed?" He ground it out through clenched teeth, furious, but I think the anger was more for himself than for me.

   I gaped at him. "What?"

   "Hutch, Bellamy was three seconds away from wasting you right in front of me! I never should've been out on the streets with you, I was in no shape for it. My inability to back you up almost got you killed!"

   It all slid into place. If I'd've been a cartoon character, a little lightbulb would've gone on over my head. Suddenly the brooding, the distance--it all made perfect sense. I got off the bed and paced, struggling to come up with the right words.

   "Have you really been stewing over this for three days?" The stiff set of his shoulders was all the answer I needed. "Starsk, you gave me all the back up I needed. You saved my life!"

   It wasn't what he wanted, or needed, to hear. "It was a lucky shot! I could barely see, I could just as easily..."

   "It was what we do!" I couldn't believe he was beating himself up over a series of circumstances that I viewed as a gift. "We put ourselves on the line for each other. That's why we're so good at the job. Starsk, when I needed you, you were there. Just like I knew you'd be."

   Finally, finally, I got it right. I could see something shift in his eyes and his fists unclenched. Guess it was too much guilt to drop all at once, though.

   "Yeah, well, I still shouldn't've been out there in the first place."

   He was right. It wasn't as if I hadn't had the same thought myself as we'd climbed the stairs to Bellamy's apartment. But if I'd been Starsky...

   But I had, hadn't I?

   "Maybe not. Of course, we both know *I'd* never do something like that." I smirked at him.

   I'm seriously reconsidering my stand on that psychic connection. Starsky received the unspoken message--I read it in his face. He looked at me for a long moment, then hopped off the bed and got in the chair.

   "Let's go, Blondie."

   He was enough of his old self after that to give me grief when I couldn't figure out how to work the wheelchair, snickering under his breath and making little snide remarks. Finally he couldn't contain himself.

   "Sure you don't want me to drive?"

   "Very funny. You know, just because you have some irrational dislike of my car, doesn't mean I can't drive anything on wheels better than you, even that striped tomato. You should've seen me when..."

   Oops. I definitely did not want to go there. Guess Starsky's not the only one who occasionally loses control of his mouth. I snapped mine shut and concentrated on navigating through the doorway. Starsky took the hint.

   We were quiet on the way to the elevator, and I had time to think over everything Starsky had said. About wanting his life back. About all the ways we'd taken it from him, even if it was for his own good. I couldn't do anything about most of it, but I had a surprise that might cheer him up.

   "Starsk?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Checked the TV listings this morning. There's a Bela Lugosi marathon on channel 5 tonight."

   I grinned to myself. Only for you, buddy. Personally I'd rather watch those nature documentaries.

   Starsky's reaction was worth the sacrifice. He tilted his head back, looking like a delighted little boy. "Yeah?"

   "That's right."

   He tipped his head down but I could see him smirking. "Pizza and beer?"

   Fortunately, I'd anticipated the question and was two steps ahead of him--I'd checked with his nurse when I picked up the wheelchair. "Popcorn with salt--no butter--and rootbeer." I punched the elevator button.

   Starsky's grin was the 1000 watt one I hadn't seen since Bellamy. "I can live with that."

   I figured in time the feeling might fade, and I'd come to take him for granted again. I hoped it never would. Bellamy and the Professor had inadvertently taught me a lesson I wouldn't soon forget.

   We were the only people in the elevator, but Starsky's voice was soft, subdued. "Hutch?"

   "Yeah?"

   "When we get to your place, I need to call Ma."

   I closed my eyes, glad that he couldn't see just how grateful I was not to be making that call. Once Starsky was out of the woods, I'd volunteered to let Rachel know what had happened, that he was in the hospital, but doing fine. He'd given me an odd look and shaken his head, but he also hadn't seemed inclined to call her himself.

   I squeezed his shoulder. "Got a lot to tell her, huh?"

   A long pause before he spoke, and I had the strangest feeling that just for a moment he'd gone somewhere else.

   "Yeah."

   A question, one that had been hovering in my mind since Starsky regained consciousness, tugged at my lips. I'd almost spoken it aloud countless times over the last three days, but something held me back. Maybe simple respect for his privacy during a time when he was allowed so little. Maybe fear that something profound had happened to him but I'd never know what it was.

   The doors opened and I pushed him out. "Starsk?"

   "Yeah?"

   "You know what you said in the ICU? About knowing I was coming?"

   For some reason I couldn't just say it.

   "Yeah."

   "You ever going to talk to me about that?"

   He didn't tense up or seem upset by the question. Just looked...preoccupied. I got the feeling that whatever he'd experienced was like a new picture, and he hadn't figured out where to hang it. Once he did, I hoped he'd want to share it with me.

   "Yeah. I am. I just need a little more time."

   Time. We had plenty of it now. No reason to gulp it down--I was willing to sip.

   "You've got it."

   We turned a corner and I could just make out the entrance to the hospital at the end of the long hallway. Inspiration struck. In college I'd briefly worked as an orderly. On slow nights some of the guys would hold wheelchair races in the deserted corridors down by the morgue. I was good--so good that after a while no one wanted to go up against me, because I always won. So Starsky was tired of being treated like glass, huh? Just maybe I could do something about that AND pay him back for those cracks about my driving.

   I bent over him, dropping my voice to sound low and dangerous. "Hey, Starsk? Did you know if you build up enough speed, it's possible to do a wheelie in one of these chairs?"

   His fingers tightened in a white-knuckled grip on the arms. "That's real interesting, Hutch, but I don't think that's such a good idea. I mean, like you said before, I practically died a few days ago and I'm still a convalescent..."

   "Hang on, buddy. I'll show you just how good a driver I am."

   "Hutch, you don't gotta prove nothin' to me, I already... HUUUUUUUUTCH!"

THE END

Author's note: I've always felt lukewarm about the epilogue to ACFS, so I decided to end my story this way and in this place. It's certainly possible for that scene to occur sometime after the events in this chapter, but for me, the fat lady is singing. <G> Thanks for hanging in there for the long haul. It's been great fun, and I've treasured each and every generous piece of feedback.