Bedwyr

   God! What a mess! How the hell had something as...as right as him and Starsky wound up like this? Hutch closed his eyes, the pervasive lights of the hospital room hurting. But the pain in his head didn’t come close to the agony stored up in his soul. Oh Starsk! To lose him once had been Hell; three times was more than a man should have to bear. As the sedative dragged him down into sleep, Hutch found himself trapped in his memories.

~~~~~~

   Starsky working undercover alone had been a bad idea to start with; Hutch not even being a contact had been an even worse one. Still, Starsky had wanted to do it. Ever since Hutch’s brush with addiction, Starsky had had it in for drug dealers in a big way. Being told that he was the perfect man to help bring down one of the biggest organizations on the coast was too great an opportunity to miss – he said. So, in spite of Hutch’s fears, Starsky had gone ahead and agreed to the temporary transfer to Narcotics.

   What had really scared Hutch, was the feeling that Starsky had welcomed the chance to get away – from him!

   The next nine weeks had been hellish for Hutch. For the first time since they’d become partners, Starsky was completely out of reach. There was no direct contact. All Hutch knew of his friend was what he read in the reports that Narcotics grudgingly passed on to Dobey. Hutch could feel himself falling apart. It seemed that Starsky was the glue that held him together, and that without him he was slowly but surely crumbling away. Without Starsky beside him, real life seemed a game that he no longer knew how to play. Dobey, watching Hutch struggling to cope, wondered how the other half of the team was managing. At the time, Hutch had believed that, short of his partner being dead, he could never feel more alone.

   As it turned out, Dobey wasn’t the only one concerned about Starsky’s mental well-being. Sixty-four days after Starsky had gone undercover, Dobey got a visit from the Narcotics’ captain. Apparently Starsky’s contact had been concerned by aspects of Starsky’s behavior for some while, and wanted someone who knew the detective to meet with him and report back on his psychological state. Dobey seized the opportunity given him. Starsky was told that he was to meet a new contact, and less than seventy-two hours later Hutch was smuggled into a room in an out of town hotel. Hutch spent the next two hours pacing up and down and worrying. He had been worrying for nine weeks solid, but somehow, now, with Starsky due to walk through the door at any minute, the worry seemed to have intensified. It took him a while to realize that part of what he was feeling was nervousness – like a kid before a date. Hutch shook his head – he was worse off than he’d thought!

   When he heard footsteps stop outside the door, Hutch retreated into the bathroom. It probably was Starsky, but it would be silly to get caught by a chambermaid in a supposedly vacant room. The door swung open, and after several seconds a stranger moved cautiously into the room. His face was tight, hard, unsmiling, his body tense, controlled…alien. A stranger with slicked back hair and a well-cut suit. Hidden behind his door Hutch grabbed at the wall for support feeling suddenly sick. He waited until Starsky shut the door, took a deep breath, then stepped out of cover to find himself staring down the wrong end of Starsky’s gun. Hutch froze, keeping his hands in clear view. It was several seconds before he could manage to tear his eyes away from the gun and look at Starsky’s face. Starsky’s eyes were wild, flicking around the room, obviously not sure if he was still in role or not. Hutch took another deep breath and forced his body to relax.

   "Well Starsk, how are y’doing?"

   At the sound of that soft, slightly husky voice, Starsky had a disturbing urge to fling himself into Hutch’s arms and sob loudly. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t let go that much. He did, however, lower his gun before growling "What the hell are you doing here? You could blow the whole operation!"

   "Whoa there buddy, this isn’t my idea, your agent friend set this up."

   Starsky subsided somewhat, not sure if had the strength to survive another second in Hutch’s company.

   "Now, aren’t you going to offer me a beer?"

   Starsky gulped, feeling his world shift somehow. "Sure."

   Placing an arm across his partner’s shoulders, Hutch led the way into the main room of the apartment. Starsky tensed against the arm, but Hutch didn’t let go until he had positioned his friend in front of the drinks cabinet. He then flung himself down onto the sofa and waited nonchalantly for Starsky to join him.

~~~~~~

   A few weeks down the line, the warmth and comfort of the meeting in the hotel room seemed like an oasis. There had been an explosion, and Starsky had initially been reported killed. Only after several hours had it been discovered that he had, in fact, merely been injured. Hutch was frantic, but the powers that be were reluctant to break Starsky’s cover. Since his meeting with Hutch, Starsky had been re-energized and had maneuvered himself into a prime position in the Organization – surely Hutch didn’t want to ruin all his partner’s hard work? What Hutch actually wanted to do, was to go to Starsky, grab hold of him and never let him go. His body could still feel the ghost of their farewell hug in the hotel room. But they were right. Reliable reports said that his partner was being well cared for and making a rapid recovery. Starsky would kill him if he loused things up now!

   A few more weeks down the line and the oasis was looking more and more like a mirage. White (Starsky’s alias) was reported to have made a full recovery and had, apparently, resumed his criminal activities with relish, carving out a reputation for ruthlessness, which would have been alarming if they hadn’t known it was an act. They waited impatiently for Starsky’s next report, the one which would tell them it was time for the finale. It didn’t come. What did arrive was a report of White shooting and seriously injuring a police officer. Hutch was convinced that Starsky’s part in the shooting had been misinterpreted and Dobey was inclined to agree.

   "I’ll ring through, see if I can’t find out what really happened."

   Hutch nodded and then sat himself in the chair opposite the desk as Dobey picked up the phone. During the call the captain’s face lost all traces of good humor. When he finally put down the phone he just looked tired and sick. Hutch felt his gut clench. Dobey rubbed the heel of his left hand across his forehead.

   "Err.." He glanced at Hutch, then looked away again. "There…there were five witnesses to the shooting, three of them police officers, who positively identified…White as the gunman. They said it was a fluke he didn’t hit anyone else."

   For long moments there was silence in the office until Dobey broke it once more. "They’ve asked if you’ll give them a hand sorting it all out."

   Hutch stared for a moment, then smiled – one of those insincere smiles that meant so little and hid so much. "Sure."

~~~~~~

   A couple of weeks later, the Narcotics team, with Hutch in tow, tracked White down to a suspected drug’s warehouse. There was some shooting, but eventually Hutch and two officers cornered White in a back office. The dealer with White made a run for it and was hotly pursued by Hutch’s companions. White dove for shelter behind a desk and loosed off a shot.

   Hutch ducked alongside some large cartons, his heart racing. That it was Starsky, there was no doubt; that Starsky had become White, as the department’s psychologists had claimed, Hutch needed to be convinced of. Glancing around, Hutch checked that they were alone - he didn’t want to get Starsky…Starsky killed by blowing his cover. He couldn’t see anyone, but maybe there was someone in listening distance, he’d have to be careful.

   "Hey, White! You hear me?" There was no reply. "I’m alone, can’t we talk?"

   There was a short pause, then… "Yeah. Let’s talk." Hutch’s relief was so great, that he didn’t register the amusement in White’s voice.

   Moments later Hutch was standing facing his partner, hidden from the door by a filing cabinet, his gun hanging loosely at his side. So absorbed was he by the sight of his friend, that it was a while before he noticed the gun pointing squarely at his chest. His eyes flicked from the gun to the face of the man holding it. A frown of puzzlement gathered on his brow.

   "Buddy…what…" Hitting the floor came as rather a surprise to Hutch, as did the realization that he’d been shot by his best friend. Speaking of whom…

   "So, cop, what did you want to talk about?" The gun in White’s hand rose again.

   Hutch struggled to make himself heard over the sound of his heart pumping blood all over the floor. "Starsk…why…?"

   White’s finger tightened on the trigger.

   It could truthfully be said that, as he passed into unconsciousness, Hutch was convinced.

   White looked down at the body sprawled before him and couldn’t understand why he suddenly felt horribly sick. A noise outside in the warehouse caught his attention, and he stealthily slipped away.

~~~~~~

   Hutch was eventually released from the hospital after three weeks, and told to convalesce for at least four weeks after that. Since he had recovered consciousness his mood had been swinging between furious, bitter and vengeful, and a conviction that it had all been some awful mistake and that his partner needed help. Starsky would never hurt him, he must have mistaken him for someone else, that was it! Of course he must have, a bright well-lit office, looking directly at him, easy mistake to make! But he wasn’t himself, the psychologists said - that’s true enough - but even if he thought he was White, surely, after everything they’d shared, after that embrace in the hotel room, surely the bond, the love, between them was stronger than any mental aberration? Pathetic Hutchinson! Your best friend shot you and left you to die, and he did it with a smile on his face. What is this power you have over people? They claim to love you, and then they try to kill you - remember Diana? The only constants were his self-contempt and his deep depression.

   Despite all this, it was less than four days before Hutch turned up in Captain Dobey’s office. Knowing that Hutch would pursue his own line of enquiry, with or without official sanction, Dobey grudgingly gave into Hutch’s demands that he used his convalescence time to try and find his erstwhile partner. The more he thought about it, the more Hutch became convinced that some fraction of Starsky still existed in White. It would have been so easy, so logical, for White to have finished him off that day in the warehouse, but he hadn’t. And though Hutch acknowledged that he was building a case on the flimsiest of evidence, he was convinced that he could get through to Starsky if he had the opportunity. Thus, despite his doctor’s (and Dobey’s) disapproval, he established himself as an importer looking for expansion, and looking to White’s organization for his ticket. Then he waited.

   It wasn’t until three weeks after Hutch had been officially returned to duty, that his desperate search finally yielded a result. He tracked White for a week, then lured him to yet another hotel room.

   The sense of déjà vu was strong. Hutch was inside the room first, and as the handle was pushed down, he quite instinctively dodged into cover, and when he came out, it was to find himself looking down the wrong end of a gun held by a man who, outwardly at least, looked like his former partner. White was frowning, but his hold on the gun bespoke caution rather than aggression. Since there was no immediate reaction - of recognition or otherwise - Hutch decided to play along the scenario he’d set up, until and opening arose. It was a relief to fall into a familiar routine, it gave Hutch a chance to get himself back under control; he’d been prepared for a reaction from White/Starsky, but he’d given little thought as to his own. In retrospect, the sweat that had suddenly appeared on his face added a nice touch of authenticity, as did the stutter that afflicted him initially.

   "Mr White...I’m glad you could come. A drink?" Without waiting for an answer, Hutch mixed and poured a drink for his companion and passed it to White who received it without comment. As he sipped the cocktail, however, a frown appeared on his face. Hutch held his breath; the drink had been designed a year or previously by a girlfriend of Starsky’s. He’d liked it so much that he’d gotten her to write down the recipe. The girlfriend hadn’t lasted, but the cocktail remained a favorite - ‘Starsky’s Sunrise’

   "What do you call this?" Holding his breath, Hutch told him. White’s reaction was encouraging or worrying depending on your point of view. The glass was slammed down on the sideboard ‘Starsky’s Sunrise’ sloshing over the side. "Let’s cut the crap. What are you offering?" White’s voice was hard and uncompromising, somehow the gun became evident again.

   The hope that had been rising in Hutch subsided. Slightly. Still, there had been something, the name ‘Starsky’ had certainly got a reaction. Aware that he was taking one hell of a risk, one that would, maybe, get him killed this time, Hutch prepared to continue his attack. First though, he needed to get White to relax some. Smoothly Hutch returned to the script he and the drugs boys had agreed on - if this didn’t work out, all that White said would be used as evidence.

   According to the script there would be no bust tonight, only the setting up of an exchange: the bust would be the following day. Also, according to the script, every word that was said would be instantaneously transmitted to the van parked outside. As Hutch disconnected the wire, disguising his movement by loosening his tie, he knew he had ten minutes at least before his ‘partner’ came running to the rescue. How to use those ten minutes? Flattering White to get close to Starsky? Soothing White, getting rid of the gun, or at least close enough to make using it difficult? White was a pro, but even pros enjoyed a little admiration, didn’t they?

   Hutch tried, he really did, but business was completed and White got ready to go. Hutch was getting desperate.

   "I heard you shot a couple of cops." Hutch didn’t like the look in White’s eyes, but this could be his last chance. "One of them, a son of a bitch called Hutchinson. I knew him. Him and his partner…Starsky, I think his name was…" Hutch was speaking softly, but he had White’s full attention. "Yeah, that’s right, Starsky and Hutch. I remember now: Starsky and Hutch."

   Something in White’s face told Hutch that he was getting through - he seemed almost in a trance. Slowly Hutch reached out his hand and laid it on White’s shoulder; another minute or so and Giggs would be pounding on the door - he was running out of time! "Starsk…the drink…do you remember when Jackie made it? She said she was fed up with you swigging out of bottles, she wanted you to drink something with a bit of class, and I said she was wasting her time…" White’s gaze drifted to the glass on the table. "…Hey, buddy.."

   Hutch didn’t get the chance to finish. A police car screamed up in the street below, sirens blaring. In an instant White was on his feet, his gun in his hand, pointing at Hutch. "No!" Frustration made Hutch react more impulsively than either his good sense or his recent injury recommended. He kicked the gun out of White’s hand, but didn’t have the requisite strength to follow it up. A shove from White made him lose his balance, and before he had time to take evasive action, he was rolling on the floor trying to keep White’s hands from his throat. "Starsky, please, listen to me. Think, it’s me, Hutch. Please!" This seemed to infuriate White even more, and, hampered by his physical weakness and a reluctance to fight his friend, Hutch could do nothing to defend himself when White shifted his grip and smashed his head against the side of a cupboard. Once again Hutch faded into unconsciousness with his so-called best friend looking down at him. The fact that, this time, Starsky wasn’t smiling, was no consolation!

   Hutch recovered consciousness just as the ambulance arrived to take him to the hospital. His pleas of "I’m fine, I’ve got to find Starsky…" were over-ruled firstly by Captain Dobey, and then, on arriving at the hospital, by his doctor, who insisted that he should stay in overnight for observation. Even then Dobey had to threaten to leave a guard on the door before Hutch promised to stay put.

   God! What a mess! How the hell had something as...as right as him and Starsky wound up like this? Hutch closed his eyes, the pervasive lights of the hospital room hurting. But the pain in his head didn’t come close to the agony stored up in his soul. Oh Starsk! To lose him once had been Hell; three times was more than a man should have to bear. As the sedative dragged him down into sleep, Hutch found himself trapped in his memories.

~~~~~~~~

   So it was, that the next morning, when White wandered into the Precinct Building, Hutch was having a thorough examination at the hospital, halfway across the city. White walked directly to the squad room, seemingly unaware of the attention he was attracting. He stood for a while, staring through the glass, the sense of rightness gradually pushing back the fog of confusion that had been plaguing him for… for…he didn’t know how long. He walked in and stood by his? desk. Gradually, two realities began to sort themselves out in his mind. His time in Vinni’s organization retreated into dream, and Detective David Starsky struggled to the fore. As his hand reached down to grasp the back of his chair, he became aware of a noise behind him - he hadn’t even noticed that there was anybody else in the room. He looked round to see first one detective, then another, with their guns drawn and aimed at him. As he turned, hands rising above his head, Dobey came out of his office, having been alerted by the front desk. The two men stared at one another. Brusquely, Dobey broke the silence that had enveloped the squad room, and ordered Starsky to be searched, before leading his former detective into his office.

   "You stay!" Dobey growled, pointing at a uniformed officer. "Rest of you, go! Starsky sit down!" Realities that had been beginning to slip again, settled at the crisp commands and Starsky did as he was told. Dobey followed his departing officers to the door. His hissed instructions had all the intensity of a shout, despite their actual volume. "Get Hutchinson here! Fast!"

   As Dobey moved back into the room, the uniformed officer took position by the door, his hand hovering near his gun. Dobey perched himself on the edge of his desk, uncertain as to how to proceed. The man in front of him had responded to his orders, but he looked and felt different from the Starsky he knew, even his posture was different. He did however look very pale, and his eyes were somehow unfocussed. Dobey swallowed. "Well?"

   Still not looking up, Starsky began. "I remember a crash…I was on my way to some kind of summit meeting…and then…a hospital..." A note of disbelief entered his voice, and for the first time he sought Dobey’s face, as if looking for reassurance. "…and then I went to work for…Vinni?" Dobey didn’t respond and the man in the chair looked down again.

   There was a pause. When Dobey spoke, his voice was hard. "Do you remember shooting a cop?"

   Starsky looked up with total disbelief, read the truth in Dobey’s eyes and lowered his head again. "No." His voice was hoarse, ragged.

   "What about…" Dobey paused, unsure whether to continue. Starsky looked up, resignation on his face. Dobey continued, his eyes not leaving Starsky’s. "What about…shooting Hutch?"

   Starsky froze, every last vestige of color leaving his face. Pictures, nightmare pictures, flashed through his mind and he suddenly became aware or the origin of the edge of wrongness he’d been feeling since he’d stood before his desk. Hutch…God…no…please! Desperation and horror vied for precedence as he forced himself to speak. To ask. "Hutch…I…" Tears hovered in the deep blue eyes. "Is he…?"

   "No, he’s alive." Dobey put in quickly. "He was badly injured, but he’s on his feet again."

   Starsky remembered how to breathe again. He moaned and buried his head in his hands, trying, futilely, to force back the tears. Dobey looked down on his errant detective, his face showing pity and compassion; the strength and nature of Starsky’s reaction almost convincing him that White was gone for good.

   Eventually the waves of images of him and Hutch that had flooded his mind were brought under some kind of control, and Starsky forced himself to speak once more. "I’m not looking for a free ride. I know what I’ve done. I just need a little help…" Starsky could feel himself struggling for coherency. "…a little understanding." An image of the person most likely to offer that understanding flashed into his mind, along with the knowledge that his own actions towards that person may have blown his chances. Desolation swept through him and he rose from the chair to stand with his back to the room. "I know I’ve got to prove myself." Starsky turned around, his face devoid of hope; his voice little more than a whisper. "You name the tune and I’ll dance."

   The emptiness in those eyes, washed clear by the tears, scared Dobey.

   "You want Vinni, and his outfit…I can bring them down." Looking at Dobey’s unyielding face, Starsky felt his world start to slip out of his reach again. He couldn’t believe the situation he found himself in, and he could tell from Dobey’s eyes that it wasn’t finished. Hell, where was Hutch when he needed him? Starsky stopped himself: Hutch could well be out of his reach now.

   Dobey shuffled some papers on his desk, considering his options. It was no good! As things stood, there was nothing else he could do. "I’m sorry…Starsky. I’ve got to book you."

   Starsky met the captain’s eyes, then bowed his head in acceptance, though not before Dobey had glimpsed the defeat there. At Dobey’s signal, the watching officer moved forward and grasped Starsky’s arm, leading him to the door. Starsky moved with him, feeling himself begin to drift again. Would he never be at rest, never have his own life, his home, an anchor? Suddenly he stopped. "Hutch. Can I see him?"

   "Wait." Dobey stuck his head around the door to the squad room and exchanged a few words. The door closed again and he turned back to Starsky. "He discharged himself from the hospital.." Starsky’s head snapped up in shock. "…we’re still trying to contact him." Starsky couldn’t bring himself to ask; more images, this time of a fight in a hotel room bombarded his already abused mind. "You will see him though." Starsky nodded, then allowed himself to be led away.

~~~~~~

   Starsky had been sitting in the interrogation room for just over twenty minutes when the door finally swung open. Hutch closed the door behind him and leant against it, his brain buzzing, not knowing what to say, but knowing that, as investigating officer, and this an interrogation, his was the first move. "Starsky." It was surprisingly difficult to say the name.

   Starsky looked up, drinking in the sight of his friend why, in God’s name, had he wanted to back away from this man?, very much aware of the restraint in the other man’s posture and voice, of his unnaturally pale skin and the gauntness of his frame. He strove for something resembling normality. "Hutch." There was no response. Starsky swallowed, searching Hutch’s face for a remnant of the relationship they had shared before he’d shot…shot it to Hell!

   Nothing.

   "I don’t know where to begin." He tried to keep his voice level; there was no reason Hutch should have to put up with his emotional weakness, not anymore. Lacking any other resource, he turned to White for strength, used his hardness, his coldness. "I remember an explosion, the man whose job I took wanted it back…"

   "No!" The vehemence in Hutch’s voice fuelled by fear of what he could hear in Starsky’s shocked the dark haired man into silence. "We are…were friends. No, we were more than that. We were partners." Hutch’s voice broke and his eyes locked with Starsky’s as he took a step forward. Neither man needed reminding of what they had been. "You tried to kill me, Starsky..." Hutch made a grab for anger; he, too, needed to draw strength from somewhere. "Twice!" It didn’t work, although Starsky’s response nearly did.

   "Yeah, I know." Hutch gasped in shock at the coldness of the words.

   "Some problem ‘Starsky’, don’t you think!?" Hutch spun round, breaking eye-contact and putting a bit more space between them.

   Starsky heard the sarcasm in Hutch’s voice in the use of his name. Desperation rose up, and with it came a sense of urgency and purpose. In a very real sense, he was fighting for his life - not to mention his sanity. He stood up. "Hutch, it’s me. I’m back." Hutch raised an eyebrow. Starsky felt irritation stir, but he squashed it: there was no time for such nonsense. Okay then, if his ‘friend’ wouldn’t help, what about the cop? "I can bring these slime balls down, but you’ve got to help me."

   Hutch drew back from the quiet dignity in the voice. His reply was almost involuntary. "I can’t."

   "Hutch, please. We can get them, but you’ve got to get me out of here. We can nail them!" Then, in a voice that raised the hairs on the back of Hutch’s neck. "I’ve got to nail them!"

   "Do you know what you’re asking?"

   "Yes." The word offered no compromise.

   "Your rap sheet makes Al Capone look like Bambi!"

   Starsky felt himself losing ground - surely there was something left. "Hutch! This is the only chance I’ve got to prove myself." He couldn’t turn him down, he couldn’t!

   Hutch’s next words proved him wrong. "I can’t…not after…I can’t risk it."

   Starsky felt the blackness billow up and swallow him, all of him. Hutch moved to the door, Starsky sank back down in the chair. There was nothing left to say. Whatever he said or did now, he was damned! The door clicked shut, and Starsky rested his forehead on the table.

   It was over.

~~~~~~

   Outside, Hutch managed to make it to the rest room before reaction set in. He was trembling all over, and his head was pounding; it was quite possible that he was about to be violently sick. Every instinct in him screamed that Starsky, his partner, was back and needed his help more desperately than he had ever needed anything in his life before. But his mind, his logic, his bitter experiences of the last months urged him to step back, to stop indulging in stupid optimism - again, to stick to procedure: to protect himself from any more hurt. God - Starsky - he needed him so much!

   When he exited the rest room some minutes later, he bypassed the interrogation room and headed for Dobey. "Well?" asked Dobey as the worn-looking blond entered his office. "Who have we got down there? Starsky…or White?"

   Hutch sat down rather suddenly and accepted the cup of water that Dobey handed him. He took a gulp. "Starsky."

   "No reservations?"

   Hutch didn’t reply immediately. "He’s not quite himself, but it is Starsky."

   Dobey digested this in silence, then asked the question that had been eating at him since Starsky’s sudden reappearance. "You know him better than anyone…" Indeed, there had been times when the closeness between the two had been frightening; to be known like that would have been too much for him. "…Can we trust him to deliver what he’s offering?"

   Trust. Hutch replayed the exchange in the interrogation room, examined again every nuance of voice and expression, searched within himself for a glimpse of his friend’s soul. "I don’t know what effect going back undercover will have, but, yes, I think it’s worth the risk." He hesitated a moment. "Starsky thinks so too, he wants this badly."

   Dobey sighed heavily. "It’s his only way out."

~~~~~~

   Hutch returned to the interrogation room to be told that the prisoner had been taken down to the cells a couple of minutes before. Wearily he made his way down, and had nearly reached his destination when he became aware of a commotion ahead. Heart suddenly pounding, he ran forward and grabbed the nearest officer. "What happened?"

   "Starsky," the name was snarled out, "…made a break for it!" Hutch froze. No more, please. "He didn’t get far though."

   "Where is he now?" The officer gestured to a nearby cell. Still stunned, Hutch moved to the door and peered in through the spy hole. Starsky was sat on the cot, cuffed hands hanging loosely between his legs. Relief and something Hutch didn’t have a name for, twisted in his stomach. "Give me the cuff keys." The keys were handed over. "Now let me in." The officer looked doubtful, but Hutch’s expression brooked no argument.

   This time, when Hutch entered the room, Starsky didn’t even look up. Hutch moved directly in front of him so that Starsky’s eyes were forced to notice his shoes at least.

   "That was stupid."

   Hutch smiled in satisfaction as Starsky’s head snapped up. His smile softened to match his voice. "Understandable perhaps, but stupid." Hutch fastened his hands on his partner’s upper arms and pulled him up. Starsky watched in silence as Hutch removed the cuffs. "I’d have thought you’d know by now that we work best as a team."

   Disbelieving, Starsky searched the other man’s face and found his answer in the tired blue eyes. In a flash of impulsiveness, that gave Hutch his first real sight of his friend in far too long, Starsky pulled Hutch into his arms and they embraced - hard, fierce, and with a mixture of relief and need that startled both men.

   No, it wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

~~~~~~

   Eventually Starsky pulled back, slightly uneasy and a little disturbed by what he could feel within him. It had been a long time since he’d given attention to the needs of his emotions and now was probably not a good time to let loose. His position was far too precarious, both with regards to the likely legal repercussions, and his relationship with Hutch. If he was going down, he owed it to his friend not to take him with him - either professionally or emotionally. The warm hands still gripping his shoulders, though - they felt so good. They reminded him of what it felt like to be real.

   Starsky cleared his throat. "Can we get out of here?"

   Hutch started a little, it was like he was breaking out of a trance. "I’ll...I’ll have to speak to Dobey, but, yes, we should be able to." His voice became firmer. "My place, I think." Hutch led the way to the door, one hand still on Starsky’s arm, hoping desperately that leaving would be as easy as he’d suggested.

   Fortunately, Dobey hadn’t been idle, and within minutes he brought down the appropriate release forms. When all three men had signed, the captain looked at Starsky. Only his eyes revealed any sympathy for his erstwhile detective, his voice was hard. "You’re being released into Hutchinson’s custody pending the resolution of the case." Looking slightly dazed, Starsky nodded and started to move to where Hutch was waiting. Dobey held him back with a hand on his arm. When he spoke, his words contained a warning. "If you foul up, remember it’s his…" The black man jerked a thumb towards the watching Hutch. "…life on the line - as well as yours." Once again Starsky nodded, understanding that Dobey believed the blond man would not survive another defection intact. Guilt swamped him; from what he thought he remembered it was a miracle Hutch was still able to function at all! He stood passively as Dobey called over a uniformed cop. "Take him down to Officer Hutchinson’s car and wait."

   "Yes sir."

   As Starsky was led away down the corridor, Dobey turned his attention to a pale-looking Hutch. His voice was still harsh. "I don’t think this is a good idea. If he tries anything, you’re in no shape to tackle him."

   Hutch shook his head. "He won’t try anything."

   The weariness in the voice worried Dobey. "At least let me send someone with you." Again the blond head shook. Recognizing that Hutch had entered ‘us against the world’ mode, Dobey gave up. "Hrmph! Well, ring me when you get home. And be careful!"

   Hutch managed a smile in appreciation of the captain’s concern and then moved off after his partner.

   As he approached the car lot where Starsky and his escort waited, Hutch hesitated. He doubted whether Dobey, or Starsky for that matter, were aware of how bad he really was feeling. The doctor had recommended that he stay in hospital for a full twenty-four hours. When he had discharged himself the doctor had implored him to go home, go to bed, stay there and above all - no excitement! Some hope! Straightening his shoulders, Hutch started to move forward, only to stop dead again at the sight that greeted him.

   Starsky was waiting by the brown Ford that had been left by the back stairs. He was facing the car, hands leaning on the roof above the door. His head was hanging loosely between his shoulders, and there was such an air of dejection surrounding him, that Hutch suddenly found it hard to breathe. The uniformed escort was standing warily some distance behind the dark-haired man, his hand resting lightly on his gun.

   "Any trouble?" At the sound of Hutch’s voice, Starsky straightened up and turned towards the two men.

   "No sir. Quiet as a lamb." If he hadn’t been so exhausted, the patronizing tone would have irritated the hell out of Hutch; as it was he half expected Starsky to interject some sarcastic comment. But that was the old Starsky, this one didn’t even look up.

   After dismissing the escort, Hutch walked over to his car. He knew he should try to talk to Starsky, to try to disperse at least some of the pain that seemed to have enveloped his partner. But his reserves had gone, his only protection was to keep his distance. The keys were ready in the ignition, but Hutch was suddenly unconvinced that he was capable of driving. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure that Starsky was exactly with it! Still… "You drive." Hutch moved round to the passenger door and got in.

   Rousing himself, Starsky gave his companion a puzzled look, then did as he was told. Moving away from the garage, he asked, "So you can watch me?" He hoped his voice didn’t reflect the hurt he felt.

   "No, no it’s just…" Hutch hesitated again, not wanting to force any unfortunate memories to the fore. "…I had a…heavy night. My concentration’s none too good at the moment." Although unconvinced, Starsky accepted the explanation without comment. Hutch keeping things from him was probably something he would have to get used to. For both their sakes he needed to remain detached. How the hell did you remain detached from part of yourself!?

~~~~~~

   The drive back to Hutch’s flat was completed in silence. Starsky was trying to sort through his options and isolate a few memories from amongst the dreams and nightmares tumbling through his brain. People, he remembered, significant people, but places, events were confused. He couldn’t easily distinguish between the reality he had lived, and the dreams that over the past months had tormented his sleep. He was dreadfully afraid that some of his nightmares could turn out not to be the figments of an overwrought imagination after all.

   Hutch, on the other hand, was simply trying to stay conscious. By the time Starsky drew up outside his flat, he was fighting a losing battle. He got out of the car, took a deep breath and managed about eight steps before he stumbled. Without thinking, Starsky put out an arm and steadied him; equally without thinking, Hutch clutched Starsky’s shoulder. The two men became aware of their instinctive reactions simultaneously; neither drew back. So much for distance!

   Starsky guided his companion into the building, torn between exhilaration at the familiar surroundings and concern for Hutch. Ignoring the blond man’s protests, Starsky steered him into the bedroom and deposited him on the bed before gently removing Hutch’s jacket, shoes and socks. Eventually Hutch gave up his protesting and just let Starsky take care of him. He had missed this so badly!

   Prior to his stay in hospital after the gunshot wound, Hutch had never felt such a terrifying sense of isolation. Even when he had been trapped behind glass as the plague ate through his body, there had been the message on the window, the awareness of Starsky’s presence, of his constant love and support. But this last time had been horrible. He had gained an unwanted insight into what it must be like to be alone in the world, to have no one for whom you came first. Relying on strangers to cater for his physical needs had been bad enough, but the loneliness had been the worst. The occasional bracing hand on his shoulder or sympathetic voice had in no way compensated for the absence of his partner. He would sometimes dream of a strong, warm hand clasping his own, or of that same hand brushing strands of hair from his forehead, of arms that held him tightly, anchoring him when the pain threatened to wash him away; of blue eyes that let him know he was not alone - no matter what, that promised to be there when he woke up.

   Old dreams and present reality mingled. Hutch drifted. Fingers tenderly caressed the side of his neck, and a long yearned for voice murmured in his ears - warm, soothing, faintly husky. Finally the sensation of soft lips on his brow led the way to a sleep more peaceful than he had known in a long, long while.

   When Hutch awoke, there was not a sound to be heard, and he lay in a pleasant state of unconcern for quite a while before becoming aware of several things. He was lying on his bed and not in it, he was still partially dressed and it was nearly 5.30pm. As this string of realizations hit him, so did the circumstances that had brought them about: Starsky! He sat up in one smooth movement as the more ominous implications of the peace and quiet hit him.

   He wouldn’t have run…would he? The unbroken silence suggested otherwise. He had seemed so sincere. Hutch felt his gut twist in an all too familiar way as a wave of betrayal slammed into him. He should have listened to himself back at the precinct, listened to the voice that had warned him to steer clear. Rising to his feet, he made his way towards the living area, wondering why his ex-partner had bothered with the buddy-buddy routine, and damning himself to all known hells for being taken in so easily.

   A sudden movement from the direction of the sofa sent him reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. The sight of a familiar, dark head peering round to look at him sent him clutching at the door frame for support.

   Starsky was off the sofa and grabbing at Hutch’s elbow in seconds. "Hutch! What is it?"

   Hutch took a deep breath, struggling to contain the turmoil within him, then turned to look into his partner’s eyes. "Nothing, just got up too quickly I guess."

   Starsky stared at him for a moment, frowning. "Okay, why don’t you sit down? I’ll get some coffee while you phone Dobey."

   "Dobey?" For a moment or two Hutch’s features were blank. Then… "Shit! Dobey!" He grabbed for the phone and started dialing.

   Starsky’s, "I did give him a ring earlier, explaining things, but I think he wants to check with you," barely registered, although the oh-so-innocent tone caused a moment’s suspicion before the sound of the captain’s voice distracted him.

   Ruffled feathers duly smoothed and with his own equilibrium more or less under control again, Hutch accepted the mug of coffee offered him.

   "You thought I’d gone, didn’t you? …Just now, you thought I’d run out on you - again." Hutch flushed, but didn’t argue. Starsky swallowed and planted himself on the couch opposite. He peered into his own mug for a moment before turning earnest eyes onto the man who had once trusted him beyond all others. "Look, from what I remember, or think I remember, I know you have no reason to believe a word I say…" Starsky was impressed by the firmness of his voice: the pain barely showed at all. "…and I know I’ve got no right to expect you to. But, I swear, on everything we…once meant to each other, I swear I’m not going anywhere."

   Hutch managed to hold Starsky’s gaze for scant seconds before he had to look away. The tears locked in his eyes stung like acid. What could he say? He needed Starsky: no doubt about that. The need was rooted so deeply in his soul that there seemed nothing of him that was untouched by it. He loved Starsky: nothing could change that. But, and God this hurt, he couldn’t trust him. Not now, not like he used to. And the man before him needed his trust so badly… Words wouldn’t come. Hutch gulped down a mouthful of coffee - helpless.

   Starsky swallowed. Back at the station he’d thought he and Hutch had wanted the same thing, but…

   "Unless…"

   Hutch looked up. He noticed that, sometime during the afternoon, Starsky had washed his hair out. The dark curls were once more their familiar, unruly selves. Outwardly at least, only the expensive suit remained of White, the killer - the mouth, the hair, the eyes, were all Starsky. The recognition released the tears that had been held back for so long. They trickled, unchecked, down cheeks on which the last flush of sleep still lingered.

   Starsky swallowed again, aching to hold his friend, to make the hurt go away, but no longer sure whether he had the right. He forced the words out, struggling to keep his voice firm. "…unless that’s what you want..?" Despite his efforts, Starsky’s voice broke on the last word. He clamped his jaw shut and leant his head back on the sofa, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He would not cry! The emotions within him, denied release for so many months, seemed to gather in his chest, trying to force their way out. Starsky closed his eyes. Dammit! He had promised himself that he wouldn’t do this. Hutch didn’t need this, shouldn’t have to put up with his lack of self-control - not anymore. Seconds crawled by in which Starsky fought against the tears and tried to come to terms with the fact that he had single-handedly destroyed the best thing in both their lives.

   The hands grabbing his arms took the dark-haired man by surprise. He looked down to see Hutch perched on the edge of the coffee table in front of him, face still wet but full of determination and something else that Starsky was hesitant to put a name to. "Starsk, it can’t be the same, not yet, maybe not ever, but you’re…a part of me and I don’t think I’d survive if you left me again. We’ll get through this."

   With redemption staring him in the face, Starsky perversely tried to push it away. "But I tried to kill you…"

   "Yeah, and you loused it up both times." The whisper of laughter in his partner’s voice tingled through Starsky’s soul.

   "We’ll get through this." Hutch repeated the words, desperate to convince both of them. "Together, Starsk, we’ll get through this together."

   Wordlessly Starsky heaved his partner into his arms and held him, his own tears released at last. Hutch was right, it couldn’t be the same for them, not yet - not until the spectre of White was well and truly banished. The next few weeks would be hard, but they would win through.

   The two men clung to each other. And with his face buried in the soft silk of Hutch’s hair, Starsky swore that never again would this precious man be hurt through any fault of his.

   Never.

THE END