Kevin had found a large scrap of machine felt buried in a storage room that could serve as a blanket. As long as Mr. Capernicus and Eddie didn’t know about it, it would be worth trying to get it to David. Coming upon the prone body, Kevin was overwhelmed by the amount of new blood draining from the unmoving man. The blanket was dropped, forgotten.

Kevin’s distressed cries brought the two men quickly to where they had left the detective an hour earlier. Seeing the blood surrounding him, Eddie rushed forward and knelt beside Starsky.

"I don’t believe it! The idiot tried to kill himself!"

"What the…? Is he still alive?"

Kevin dropped to his knees and began rocking, arms hugged around himself. Eddie found a weak and thready pulse in Starsky’s throat. "Barely. He’s bleeding like a stuck pig, though."

"Well, don’t just sit there, wrap up his wrist, that’ll help stop the bleeding. Don’t bother taking the glass out, just raise his arm up or something." Capernicus ran an unsteady hand through his graying hair. The glare he focused on Eddie cowered him. "Do you want to tell me how this happened?"

"I...I mean...I just went outside..."

"What about him?" Capernicus jabbed an accusatory finger in Kevin’s direction. "I thought he was supposed to be watching him."

"He...I didn’t tell him to. I told him to go into the storeroom to stay out of the way..."

"Never mind, you imbecile!" Capernicus cut Eddie off with the slashing of his hand. The dirty rags Eddie was wrapping around Starsky’s wrist were stemming the flow of blood, though there was still a considerable amount of seepage. "We still need him. You keep him alive until we get Hutchinson."

"That’s crazy! In the shape he’s in…how do you expect me to keep him alive?"

"That’s your problem. If the cop dies before we get Hutchinson, you’re gonna join him in Hell."

Four hours had passed since the initial call had come in. Hutch paced Dobey’s office like a man possessed. "Are you sure there’s no way we could’ve missed it if they called early?"

"Of course, I’m sure. And if they couldn’t get through to me, do you honestly think they would have given up? They want you bad, Hutch. They’re just letting us sweat a little."

"Do you think something could have gone wrong? What about Starsky? What if..."

"Don’t. Don’t start with the ‘what ifs’. We’ll know when we know."

The energy that had propelled the blond across the room for the past two hours seemed to leave him instantly. Hutch slumped in the chair across from Dobey’s desk. Placing his face in his hands, the detective hoped his intertwined fingers masked his silent tears.

When the call came into the precinct, it could have very easily been chalked up as one of the typical night shift crazies. If it hadn’t been for a change in the duty roster, the call might not have even been taken seriously.

"BCPD, what’s the nature of your emergency?" Tanya Bartonelli was dog-tired. It had been a long, long week full of life’s little aggravations: a dead car battery, a sick puppy, and contract workers that were taking their own sweet time in finishing her deck. The last thing she needed on her shift was yet another prank call. At first, all she heard was heavy breathing, as if someone had been running or… Here we go again. With a bit of agitation in her voice she repeated herself.

"BCPD, what’s the nature of your emergency?"

"Th-th-they…they’re go-go-gonna k-k-k-kill h-h-him…I c-c-c-can’t le-le-le-let them d-d-d-do that…th-th-they…"

Something in the man’s voice caught Tanya’s attention. The caller was either stoned or drunk, or something…something just wasn’t quite right. The now alert dispatcher tried again.

"Sir, you need to slow down. What is your name, please?"

"Th-th-they’re going t-t-t-to kill hi-hi-hi-him!"

Kevin had waited until Eddie and Capernicus had left him alone to watch over Starsky, then crept into the office. A quick yank on the center drawer revealed the detective’s wallet and I.D. Kevin dug through both until he came across a business card with Starsky’s name on it and a phone number. Nearing panic, he quickly dialed the precinct number, all the while looking fearfully through the broken window for Eddie and Capernicus’ return.

"Yes, sir, I understand. But I can’t help you unless you slow down and give me the information that we need. Do you understand?"

Kevin took a deep breath to steady himself. Mikey had always told him that when he got excited or upset no one could understand him. Anxiously, he swallowed hard and concentrated as he had been taught to do. "Ye-yes, I unde-de-derst-stand, bu-bu-but please hu-hurry. They’re go-going to ki-kill him!"

The dispatcher sighed with eternal patience. She realized that the caller probably wasn’t drunk, but could very well be one of the thousands of crazies living in the city who called to report a murder every time one of their favorite soap opera characters got offed.

"Who are they going to kill, sir?"

"D-D-David! M-m-m-my friend, D-d-d-David St-Starsky!"

"Who did you say?"

"They’re c-c-coming!" Kevin breathed in terror. The receiver was slammed down against the cradle as Kevin sprinted from the room to his chair near the unconscious detective.

Bartonelli received no response to her repeated inquiries, but could hear muffled noises in the background. Apparently, her frantic caller had not hung up the receiver properly, leaving the line active. The dispatch operator’s fingers flew over the keyboard, as the tracing device continued its search of the line.

Bartonelli pressed her headphones tighter to her ear to try and discern clues from the distant background noises. She could make out footsteps approaching the discarded receiver. The original caller or who? The killer?

A different, gruff voice barked into the phone, "Hello? Who’s there?"

Intuition caused Bartonelli to hold her breath, praying her computer wouldn’t choose to alert her that moment the trace was completed, and at the same time praying the man wouldn’t hang up before she was able to discern their location.

Dobey scribbled out the address of a secluded warehouse section off pier thirty-eight as Bartonelli rolled the information off for him. Excitement welled up inside him as he barked out Hutch’s name to get his attention. The intensity of his captain’s voice propelled Hutch into the office.

"Captain?" The fear reflected in the detective’s eyes was enough to make Dobey cringe. "What have you got?"

A feral grin graced Dobey’s face. "Him."

Hutch jerked the wheel of the Torino to the left, narrowly missing the small coupe that had ventured through the intersection, unsuspecting of the red whirlwind that barreled down La Porte toward the ocean. Even with lights and siren, Hutch was moving through the business district so fast that he would be on top of any oncoming traffic before they heard the car’s mournful wail. Tonight the siren sounded more like the hunting cry of a wolf closing in on its prey.

Dobey barely agreed to let Hutch go out ahead of the patrol cars he was issuing, knowing there was nothing in heaven or on earth that could have stopped the desperate man. He did manage to make Hutch promise he would only search the area and not move in until backup arrived.

They both knew it was a promise he wouldn’t keep.

As Hutch made his way into the wharf-side warehouse district, he cut the siren and pulled the bubble light off of the dashboard. Getting out of the car, Hutch scanned the area, grateful for the remaining sunlight illuminating the docks. A flash of movement from the top of a nearby building caught his eye, and Hutch looked up in time to see the silhouette of a man armed with a rifle disappear from the roof.

The hunted was about to become the hunter.

Capernicus sent Wally Johnson back up to the rooftop with a two-way radio after he’d reported seeing Hutch through his field glasses drive onto the nearby dock. The detective would soon be in his range. Capernicus then crossed over to where Eddie was prodding the unconscious Starsky with his boot.

"Well, Eddie, it looks like our hand’s been tipped even without making contact with Hutchinson."

"What do you mean?"

"He’s here at the wharf. Somehow Hutchinson found out where we are, so it’s just a matter of time before he finds this print shop."

"So what’s the big deal? That’s what you’ve wanted all along."

Capernicus grasped the bigger man by his shirt and drew him in until the two were scant inches apart.

"The ‘big deal’ as you put it, and I’ll use small words so you understand, is that first, somehow, someone tipped him off. And second, cops travel in packs like dogs. If Hutchinson is on his way, then you can be sure he’s not alone." Capernicus shoved him away, causing Eddie to trip over Starsky’s innate form and sprawl on the floor beside him. "That, you moron, is the ‘big deal’."

"Okay, okay, I get the picture. But I’m not the one who spilled it."

Capernicus gave him a thoughtful look. "No, probably not you. But who else?" He looked slowly around the room. "Eddie, have you seen Kevin lately?"

"Kevin? No, I…oh, come on now, Mr. Capernicus." Eddie stood up and crossed back over to his boss. "You don’t think that Kevin was…was smart enough to do that?"

"Or dumb enough. I’ve learned in the last few days that he’s just full of surprises, so let’s find out. Kevin! Kevin, come on over here, I have something to discuss with you!"

The two men paused for a moment, listening intently. Finally, as Capernicus was about to call out a second time, a shuffling was heard behind some crates. "Kevin, come over here. I need to ask you a question."

The lilting tones did nothing to quell Kevin’s fears as he stepped out into view. "That’s a good boy." Capernicus’ voice was like silk. "Come out here, Kevin. David’s been asking for you."

Somehow Kevin didn’t believe the older man, but hesitantly took a step out of the shadows. Capernicus drew his gun and fired, striking Kevin squarely in the chest. The bullet flung the young man backward, the overwhelming pain not erasing the look of surprise on his gentle face.

"What the…?" Eddie exclaimed. Disbelief and the explosive roar of the .38 rocking him back. "What if it wasn’t him that squealed?"

"Doesn’t matter." Capernicus calmly put the pistol back in his belt and returned to the small office to retrieve his briefcase. "He’d outlived his usefulness long ago. Get the body out of here."

Starsky tried to keep his rasping breathing even, maintaining the pretense of unconsciousness. Still, he couldn’t prevent the single tear from escaping down his cheek.

Every nerve in Hutch’s body was taut as he scanned the deserted buildings, the pounding of his heart sounding unnaturally loud in his ears. Silently, he padded along the walls, keeping himself deep in the shadows. As he reached the first corner, he crouched, then risked a look down the alley that separated the buildings. In the second doorway, no more than a few yards from him, was the unmistakable glow of a cigarette and the faint smell of tobacco wafting to him.

Without his eyes leaving the figure in the doorway, Hutch felt the ground around him for a stone. He then lobbed the rock at the corner of the next building, directly across from himself. The shadowy figure tossed down his cigarette and gripped his rifle, crossing the alleyway to investigate the noise. As the gunman paused at the corner, Hutch stole up behind him and brought down the butt of the Python behind his ear, knocking him to the ground, unconscious. Hutch quickly handcuffed and gagged the man with his own handkerchief. The hood’s rifle was slung over Hutch’s shoulder as he trotted back through the shadows to Starsky’s car.

Hutch leaned into the Torino and depressed the button on the microphone. "All units, this is Zebra Three confirming address at Pier thirty-eight, southwest corner, lot area 1036, and requesting immediate assistance. Possible sighting of suspects at building Twelve A. Proceed Code Two, repeat Code Two. Possible Eleven-ninety-nine."

Hutch released the microphone and the static was immediately broken by a Baker unit’s response. "Ten-four, Zebra Three, this is Baker Five confirming en route, ETA three minutes, no lights or sirens. Stand by for Captain Dobey."

Hutch fairly shook in his impatience. He was about to speak into the microphone again when the sound of a single gunshot from within the nearest building broke the silence of the wharf.

"Shot fired, I’m going in!" he barked and threw the microphone into the car. The blond’s long strides ate up the tarmac as he made his way toward the warehouse, each footstep a prayer that he wasn’t already too late.

The two-way radio at Capernicus’ hip crackled to life. "He’s coming, Mr. Capernicus."

Capernicus snatched the receiver off his belt. "You see him, Johnson?"

"Affirmative."

"Then take him out now!" The extortionist slammed the radio unit on top of the desk, followed by both of his hands to either side of it as he leaned heavily against the wooden top. Thinking furiously for a moment, he turned to the print shop in time to see Eddie shutting the door to the storeroom where he had placed Kevin’s body.

Capernicus charged into the print shop and grabbed the bloodstained wooden chair, dragging it toward the office. Here he would have the best vantage point and the most protection from Hutchinson and his backup. As Eddie returned he jabbed a finger in Starsky’s direction. "Get him up. Yes, get him up."

Eddie unceremoniously hauled the unconscious detective to the chair and looked around the room for the handcuffs.

"No time for that." The extortionist picked a roll of duct tape off the floor and quickly bound Starsky’s wounded arms behind him. Capernicus yanked the detective’s head back by the hair, holding him up from where he slumped in the chair. The .38 appeared in his hand and rested against Starsky’s temple.

"If Hutchinson makes it past our men on the roof, I still have my trump card to play."

Hutch’s headlong flight toward the warehouse would have ended abruptly if he hadn’t stumbled. Several consecutive days without sleep had sapped his coordination and agility. As the detective twisted to dodge a broken skid he hadn’t seen until he was upon it, the sniper took aim from the roof and fired. As the shot blew past him, instincts kicked in and propelled Hutch to his left, tumbling behind some abandoned ink barrels. Hutch awkwardly holstered his Python and hefted the rifle, waiting for a second shot and popped up, firing in the general direction of the gunman. He waited a split second before ducking down, hoping to glimpse the flare from the sniper’s rifle.

As a third shot rang out, Hutch shifted his position, hoping to elude the sniper, then popped back up and took aim. But before he had a chance to pull the trigger, the distinctive sound of a third rifle fired closer still. Instinct again sent him facedown on the cement. In looking up to locate the new shooter, Hutch caught sight of Wally Johnson falling gracelessly from the rooftop to the alley below.

The sound of several feet running greeted Hutch as he wearily pushed himself to his knees. Dobey transferred his own rifle to his left hand and extended his right to the detective. Hutch’s blue eyes spoke his gratitude as he took the proffered hand and was assisted to his feet. Nodding to his captain, Hutch turned and sprinted toward the warehouse doors with Dobey, Agent Taylor and a dozen patrolmen close behind him.

Starsky drifted in and out of consciousness. Simply breathing took up all of his energy. Voices infiltrated his mind, volumes changing at disturbing rates. The pain that coursed through him seemed familiar now, almost as if it had always been a part of him. Occasionally it would intensify, forcing him to the brink of blacking out. But now he had to stay alert--Hutch’s life depended on it.

He could barely make out Eddie’s frantic, "He’s coming!" and Capernicus’, "Let him come. He won’t leave here alive."

Starsky continued his struggle to remain conscious. There was still one more thing he could do before the darkness overtook him for the last time.

Hutch was so exhausted he gave up trying to kick in the warehouse door after one attempt. A well-meaning patrolman came forward to try as well, but Hutch handed him the rifle and waved him off, then blew the door lock apart with a single shot from the Python. Stealth had been nullified by the shootout with the sniper. Now the only thing left was taking out Capernicus and getting to his partner.

A fierce shove erupted the door open. Hutch burst through like an avenging angel with the wrath of God burning in his eyes. The room was filled with shadows, the only light trickling in stemming from the dwindling daylight. Capernicus and Eddie were merely phantoms planted before the office. A dozen purposeful steps placed Hutch in the middle of the room, his gun leveled at Capernicus’ head. Eddie nervously stood behind and just to the side of his boss, obviously hiding something, though his hands were in plain sight.

Even the entrance of the dozen patrolmen couldn’t drown out the sharp click of the Python’s trigger cocking back. "You’ve been looking for me, Capernicus." Hutch ground out each word with a deadly precision. "Here I am."

Capernicus appeared to be unruffled, even facing fifteen gun barrels directed at him.

"So you are. It’s about time you found me. Perhaps you’re not the detective you think you are, Hutchinson."

"Shut up. Where’s my partner?"

"Skipping the pleasantries? Very well, have it your way." The two men stepped aside, revealing the chair that held Starsky’s ravaged body. Eddie shoved the chair from behind, moving it and its occupant ahead a few feet into the waning sunlight.

Hutch’s blood froze in his veins, his weapon wavering from its deadly bead on Capernicus. That can’t be…please, no! If it hadn’t been the man whose face he knew better than his own, Hutch would never have recognized his partner.

Capernicus stood rigidly next to the grotesque figure hunched over in the chair. It appeared that only his grip on the matted curls kept Starsky from falling to the floor. Capernicus’ other hand held a .38 pressed tightly against the detective’s temple.

The sound of multiple hammers cocking behind him both alarmed and reassured Hutch. He held out his free hand to hold the reinforcements back, but his eyes never wavered from the grisly sight before him. "Stay back! Hold your fire!"

Out of his peripheral vision Hutch could see his captain take a hesitant step beside him. Dobey also called out for the uniforms to hold their position.

A moment of silence dominated the warehouse space, as if every man in the room quit breathing. Every man but Starsky. His breath came in shallow and tortured rasps that reached the ears of everyone in the room. Capernicus gave Hutch a moment to drink it all in before finally breaking the explosive silence.

"You were supposed to come alone, Hutchinson. Now that half of California’s finest are here, we’ll have to revise our plans." Capernicus looked on with perverse amusement as Hutch’s face drained of color. "What’s the matter, Hutchinson? You don’t recognize your partner?" Capernicus jerked the hand holding Starsky’s head back, revealing more of the battered face to his audience. Hutch’s gut twisted into a knot at the sight of the destroyed features, hardly recognizable in its deformity. Starsky’s skin seemed waxen and far, far too pale, a thin sheen of sweat glistened dully. The only sign of life came from the labored breathing and the fresh trail of blood that ran down his throat.

"You…" There were no words Hutch could bring to mind that embodied the hatred he had for the man before him. He involuntarily took a step forward, every muscle in his body trembling with a burning rage, except for the arm extending his gun. Only the cocking of Capernicus’ .38’s trigger froze Hutch’s advance as nothing else could.

"I wouldn’t advise it, Hutchinson. There’s only one reason your partner’s still alive. Drop your guns--all of you--or I will put him out of his misery right here and now."

No one in the room moved. Capernicus glared malevolently at Hutch. "Last chance. You drop your guns and get Hutchinson over here, or Starsky’s dead."

Hutch hesitated for only a split second before slowly lowering the gun to the side of his body, stiffly crouching to set the Python down. Capernicus marginally relaxed his hold on Starsky’s head.

The familiar sound of the Python’s hammer being returned to its safe position was all the indication Starsky needed to know Hutch was surrendering. Utilizing the absolute end of his strength, he awkwardly threw his weight forward and fell out of the chair, taking everyone in the room by surprise. Capernicus’ gun, still aimed at Starsky’s head, unintentionally fired in response to the movement.

Reflexes allowed Hutch to continue his descent into a firing crouch. Six continuous slugs caught Capernicus high in his chest, abdomen and face, forcing him backward in a grotesque death dance until the weight of his corpse drew him to the ground. As Eddie attempted to draw his own gun and flee, one slug from Captain Dobey’s service revolver struck him high in the shoulder and sent him to the floor.

Within a second the room was perfectly still, the silence only broken by the reverberating shots echoing through the deserted print shop. All eyes were focused on the broken and bleeding bodies lying on the floor, the forgotten wooden chair separating two of the still figures. Rage and anguish coursed through Hutch, finally erupting into a bellow of despair that propelled him forward, the Python dropping forgotten at his side. When he reached his partner, he fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the sight of the broken shell before him, fresh blood seeping from the bullet wound at the back of Starsky’s head. All other sound and activity fell away as Hutch tenderly reached out to touch him, hesitating briefly at the suffering evident there, before laying his trembling hand on Starsky’s back.

Hutch’s heart skipped a beat when he realized the slight movement under his fingertips was not from his own shaking, but from Starsky’s ragged breathing. His eyes widened with the awareness that his partner was not dead.

Not yet.

"Get an ambulance in here, now!" Hutch bellowed over his shoulder.

Captain Dobey was in the process of swallowing back tears as he picked up Hutch’s discarded gun. At Hutch’s cry he rushed over to his side.

"It’s already en route, called in before we got to the wharf. The uniforms are directing it in. I…" Dobey paused at the sight of Starsky’s almost indiscernible features. "Dear God…"

"But he’s alive…" Hutch whispered in awe, afraid to move Starsky for fear of causing him additional pain. "Oh, Starsk..."

Starsky’s eyes were blackened to a midnight hue. The left eyelid was torn, seemingly held in place with dried blood. A large protrusion and laceration over his right brow threatened a skull fracture. Vivid bruises layered his body in varying stages of age and color. Apprehensive hands explored the matted curls where blood continued to seep, determining the extent of the bullet wound. Rather than finding the penetration point, Hutch discovered a graze bleeding profusely from broken skin, but not from entering the skull. In light of the severity of Starsky’s condition, the relief that should have been overwhelming was only marginal.

"It’s only a flesh wound, it…it only grazed him."

"Thank God," the captain breathed. Dobey crouched across from Hutch, his eyes filling again with unshed tears as he took in the sight of his friend. He pulled out his clean handkerchief and applied gentle pressure to the back of Starsky’s head. At a loss of what to do, Hutch pulled out his jackknife and began sawing away at his partner’s restraints. Slowly, the duct tape began to fall away from the bound arms. A single, bulky piece remained wrapped tightly around Starsky’s right wrist, securing a filthy rag and a hard object to it. Unsure of what lay beneath the makeshift bandage, Hutch left the cloth in place. The raspiness of his partner’s breathing alarmed him.

"Cap’n, I know we shouldn’t move him until the ambulance gets here, but I’m afraid he can’t breathe well this way. Help me get him on his back." Dobey placed careful hands on either side of Starsky’s head and, in unison, the two maneuvered him onto his back, cautious in the event of past trauma to the neck or spine. As Hutch continued to monitor his partner’s breathing, a uniformed officer ran up to the captain.

"Sir, there’s still more of Capernicus’ men outside…" Gunfire punctuated the officer’s statement. "Our unit has them surrounded, but they’re blocking the ambulance from getting through." With a snarl Dobey propelled himself onto his feet and steered the uniform out of the warehouse, trailed by Agent Taylor. The captain would put an end to this siege if he had to pick off each gunman himself.

Left alone for a moment, Hutch began an endless litany to his partner, trying to offer comfort and encouragement. He tenderly repositioned Starsky’s right hand off the floor and across his partner’s stomach. "What’s this from, huh, pal?" What kind of hell have you been through? Trembling hands traveled up the immobile man’s arm. So cold--shock? Without a second thought, Hutch scissored his legs and eased himself under his partner’s torso so Starsky nestled in the crook of his arm. The labored breathing seemed to sound less distressed than it had when he was lying flat, but it was still unnerving. Hutch wrapped his other arm around the cooling man, fighting the desire to pretend the mangled body he held was not his partner’s.

A second officer jogged over to join Hutch with a blanket retrieved from his patrol car. With quiet efficiency he draped the blanket over the prone figure. "We’ve almost got it taken care of out there, Sergeant. Ambulance’ll be here in a few minutes." The officer attempted to give Hutch a smile of encouragement.

Hutch turned his attention back to his partner, gently securing the blanket as best he could. Starsky’s head lolled to one side, struggling to lift, too weak to even rise up. Hutch tenderly placed his hand into the matted curls and raised it so it rested against his chest, easing Starsky’s discomfort.

"It’s okay, buddy. It’s me, I’m here." One eye opened a fraction against the swelling and crusted blood. Hutch searched the gaze for any sign of recognition, but the lack of response shook him to his core. How many times had he closed the eyes of friends? How many men had he killed in the name of justice, and mercifully lowered their eyelids in death? The single cobalt eye meeting his stare was like one already dead, the spark of life extinguished. The overwhelming remorse forced a sob from Hutch’s throat as he turned his head away. He almost missed the voice as soft as the wind.

"‘utch…"

Hutch’s head snapped back to his partner’s face. He had lost hope of ever hearing his name spoken by his partner again. "Starsk! Thank God! I…just take it easy, I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay, now. Just hold on a little bit longer..."

Matted lashes fluttered, open fractionally. Hutch could see that the entirety of Starsky’s right eye was bloodshot, showing no white around the midnight iris.

A second choking sob ripped from Hutch’s throat. Tears that had been surfacing overflowed down his face.

"That’s my line, pal. Starsk…I can’t believe…just...just hang on, okay? Cavalry’s coming."

"You…n’hurt?" Starsky’s words were breathy, barely audible. His breathing came in high-pitched wheezes, the result of flailed ribs and fluid-filled lungs.

"Yes! Yes, I’m fine…just...be still."

"Don’t worry about it, just a few strays. We’re okay now. Capernicus is dead, he can’t hurt you anymore, I promise." Hutch brushed away the bright red blood that began to trickle again down his partner’s jaw. It took a supreme effort not to give in to despair. "You…you just hang in there."

"Kevin? Who…?"

Hutch looked wildly around the room for additional officers not in the process of rousting Capernicus’ remaining men. "Dickerson! Nann! There’s another injured man in some sort of storeroom, check it out!"

The two uniformed officers nodded to him and began searching the warehouse for a storage room. Hutch quickly turned his attention back to his partner. "Okay, Starsk, they’ll take care of him. Don’t worry…"

A wave of agony lanced through Starsky, eliciting a strangled cry. His back arched with the severity of the pain, sapping the breath from him. One hand reached out blindly and Hutch interlaced his fingers between his partner’s bruised ones.

"Easy, buddy, easy. Don’t try and talk now, just…just hang on…"

The pain passed, but left Starsky gasping for breath and seemingly even weaker than before. Hutch’s mind raced in desperation against the horror of the moment. Other times, so many times before, he had found his partner at the last possible instant and Starsky would grouse at him, a brave front to mask his fear. But not this time. This time there were no ‘what took you so long?’ or ‘how do I look’ gibes to offer relief.

"…’isten…" A single tear escaped from Starsky’s left eye, mingling with the dried blood to leave a brown trail down his cheek. Hutch stroked the tear away, unmindful of his own, and shushed his partner, trying to keep him calm.

"No…lis’en…Hutch…I…I…we were…the best…huh?" Hutch felt a cold touch on his heart as surely as he felt his partner’s chilled skin under his fingertips. "Tell…Dobey…’n Hug…tell ‘em…tell…"

"No." Hutch shook his head adamantly. "No, you can tell them later…just…"

Starsky’s glazed eye opened a fraction wider and made contact with Hutch’s tear-filled ones. The midnight gaze that Hutch knew so well cleared for an instant.

"…aw, Hutch…don’t cry…s’okay…" Another jolt of pain lanced through him. "Hutch… r’member...I loved…you…"

"No…no! You’re not doing this! You are not saying goodbye!"

"Hutch…s’time…I can’t…" A racking cough convulsed through Starsky, bringing more frothing blood. Hutch recognized the unmistakable sound of the death rattle. "…you… hav’ta…let…me go now…"

"No! Not yet! You can’t give up, Starsk!" Frantically, Hutch wiped at the stream running from his partner’s mouth.

"No! You listen to me, Starsky! I need you here with me! I can’t do this without you!"

Hutch encircled Starsky’s shoulders, as if holding him tighter could hold him back from death.

"Starsky try! If you love me, then hold on!"

"Then don’t leave me! Promise you’ll hold on!"

Overwhelming fatigue and pain forced a sob from Starsky, all strength gone, the life running out of him. He wanted so much to simply let go and give in to the comforting darkness of death. Finally, he nodded marginally, silent sobs breaking forth as gasps.

"Say it! Say it, Starsky! You’ve never broken your word to me."

"…I…" Another onslaught of pain ripped through Starsky, arching his back and tearing the breath from him. Hutch’s grip never wavered, never offered him release from the vow. "…I… promise…"

"Swear to it! By…by…" Hutch’s mind raced. They both knew that Hutch would one day forgive him for breaking his word and slipping away. There had to be something more for Starsky to swear by that would demand his great heart to try. Hutch’s blue eyes took on a darker glint. "Me and thee…"

Starsky’s bloodshot gaze held his partner’s for a heartbeat. There was no other oath by which he could promise that bound him more to Hutch.

"…me…’n thee…" Starsky finally succumbed to the blackness that clawed at his consciousness.

Panic seized Hutch as his partner’s body fell lax. Rational thought left him until he was able to find the faint movement of the shattered chest, proving Starsky still held on to life, even if only by sheer stubbornness. No, Hutch thought savagely. By love.

Hutch pulled Starsky’s body higher into his arms, absently rubbing his hand gently over a still arm in a gesture to comfort them both, and remaining oblivious to the chaos surrounding them. Starsky had given his word that he wouldn’t leave him, and his partner had never broken his word.

Epilogue