Hutch was concerned about his partner. He had watched Starsky become more and more quiet and withdrawn for the last week or so. At first he had put it down to tiredness or the heavy caseload they had been saddled with lately. Then he had started to notice strange behavior on the part of his friend. How he didn't look in store windows when walking down the street. How it would take several 'Hey Starsk' 's before he could get his wandering attention.

But the most bizarre incidents occurred when they had gone into a drugstore to pick up some toothpaste for Hutch. Starsky had seemed fine until they got halfway into the store when he suddenly bolted for the door. Hutch had followed him out and found him leaning against the Torino, with his forehead on the roof. When Hutch placed a hand on his shoulder, the other man had simply turned around with a forced smile and acted like nothing was wrong.

"Hey, buddy, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, Hutch. I just needed some air. Must have got a nose full of some perfume or something." Starsky made light of the moment. "Did you get your toothpaste?"

"No, I wanted to see what was wrong with you." Hutch was getting just a little annoyed with his moody partner.

"Well, go and get it. I'll wait out here in the fresh air for you." The smile on Starsky's face was a little closer to genuine, but still not too convincing.

Hutch knew a lost cause when he saw one. Muttering under his breath, he went back into the store and quickly completed his purchase. Coming back onto the street, he stood a moment to observe his friend. Starsky stood with his elbows on the roof of his car, dark curly head resting in his hands. He was staring off into space, and what little of his face Hutch could see looked sad.

The blonde didn't know what to do. He knew better than to push his volatile friend to come clean about what was bothering him. Starsky would gripe and groan about little things, complaining loudly when he was angry or something happened to upset his sense of right and wrong. But the big hurts, emotional or physical, he would either joke about or not mention at all. Just like this. What ever was bothering him was big and Hutch knew that when it broke it would be momentous, he just hoped that he would be there to pick up the pieces.

The detective was about to, once again, make a gesture of concern towards his partner when the background static of the radio was broken by their call number.

"Zebra 3, Zebra 3, shots fired, corner of 12th and Marshall. Zebra 3, do you copy?"

Starsky reached in through the open window and grabbed the mike to answer the call. "Zebra 3, we're on it."

"Zebra 3, there's a black and white on the way"

By this time, both men were in the car, mars light up and sirens on. Hutch responded to the dispatcher's message while hanging on for dear life as Starsky sped away from the sidewalk amid a cacophony of car horns.

Arriving on the scene, they found a small crowd clustered around a body on the ground. Pushing their way through, the two detectives were startled to see that there were actually two people on the ground, one a man about 40, the other a young boy about 8. Although the man was obviously dead, the child appeared unhurt.

The little boy was sobbing over and over, '"Daddy, please wake up, Daddy, wake up!!" His little voice was all the sound there was. The crowd was totally silent, mesmerized by the tragedy unfolding in front of them. The child was clutching his father's hand, patting him on the face with his other small palm, trying in vain to get some response.

The two detectives looked at each other. Hutch nodded at Starsky and went over to crouch beside the body. Putting his arms around the now wailing child, he tried to pull him close. Speaking in a low, gentle voice he worked at calming boy with little success. The little guy was hysterical, trying to hang onto his father for all he was worth, not wanting to listen to this stranger. Hutch managed to get him into a full hug and held on

tight, rocking the grieving child.

Starsky watched for a moment, throat working. Turning at the sound of the police cruiser arriving at the scene, he tried to put what was happening behind him out of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand. Instructing the uniforms to call the coroner and to start gathering witness information. Almost as an afterthought he told the young officer to call

child services. It was better to have them on site even if a mother should show up and he figured that the little boy would need more than just Hutch's shoulder.

As the witnesses were questioned it became evident that the whole thing was one big, awful tragedy. The father, John Dobson, was the owner of a small news and magazine shop. He had been held up by a young man who had taken the small amount of cash in the till and started to run out of the store. Dobson hadn't tried to stop or confront the man until his son, Jessie, appeared in the doorway of the shop. The gunman, who the witnesses said, was on some kind of drug, started and aimed his gun at the boy. Dobson had jumped at the thief and grabbed the gun. The short struggle had ended up on the street where the gun went off and Dobson was fatally shot. The shaking gunman had then turned the weapon on Jessie, but was stopped when a couple of the bystanders tackled him and, not too gently, disarmed him. They presented the crying thief to the detective with the impression that, if the law didn't take him, they would not be held responsible for his continuing safety.

Starsky thanked the two citizens and handed over the suspect to the uniforms. Still avoiding the area where Hutch, the crying child and the dead father were, he continued to question members of the crowd. Mostly fellow merchants, the witnesses were very forthcoming with information. James Dobson's wife worked as a secretary for one of the government offices downtown. One of the neighbours had called her to tell her that she was needed, but hadn't told her that her husband was dead. The same neighbour, Mrs. Jorgenson who owned the little coffee shop next door, brought out coffee and cookies for the officers. She offered to take the now quieted child from Hutch, but he refused, feeling that it would just upset Jessie again and it was better to wait until his mother arrived to move him.

The blonde detective had moved over to sit in the Torino, away from the body. Jessie clung to Hutch, still crying, but with the soft, shallow sobs of a child tired beyond his endurance. By this time the coroner, another patrol car and social services had arrived on the scene. The social worker came over to Starsky and got the pertinent details from him. The coroner and the crime scene photographer, who had arrived about the same time, were taking care of the body. Into this scene of organized chaos, Anna Dobson arrived.

Both Starsky and the social worker, a Ms. Smith, intercepted her at her car before she could get more than a glimpse of the body. They held her back from rushing to her husband, Ms Smith directing her towards the Torino and her child. Starsky quietly told her what had happened and held her up for a brief moment when her legs tried to give out on her. Gathering her strength, she went to relief Hutch of his tiny burden.

"Mom, oh Mommy! Daddy's hurt. I tried to wake him up, but he wouldn't." Jessie wept bitterly into his mother's chest. "I'm scared, Mommy…." Ms. Smith took the grief stricken remnants of a family under her wing and went away with them.

Starsky came over to his friend, who was still sitting in the passenger seat of the Torino, a sorrowful expression on his face. "I guess that about wraps it up here. We better get back to the station and process that creep." The darker man said.

Hutch just looked at his partner and wiped a slightly shaking hand across his face. "God, I hate it when it involves kids." Was his only comment as he shut the car door.

His partner had nothing to add to that statement and the two of them rode back to the precinct in silence.

The rest of the shift was taken up with processing the 'suspect', typing up reports and the other mundane tasks of police work. Throughout this whole process, Hutch worried. He worried about Jessie and his Mom. How would the little boy be affected by what he had seen that afternoon? How would they survive without their father and husband? Would they be able to pick up the pieces and go on? But most of all he worried about his partner.

If Starsky had been quiet and withdrawn before, he was almost comatose now. Sure, he took care of the paperwork, but it was without his usual flare for verbiage, without spark. A couple of times the blonde man had looked up from his own typing to see his friend staring off into space. When he had gotten up to get them both a cup of coffee, it took several moments for Starsky to become aware of the cup held in front of his face. When he finally noticed the offered drink, he had smiled thinly at Hutch and simply took the cup. Even the presence of some unclaimed doughnuts didn't interest him.

While his body had been in the interrogation room with the perp, he had allowed Hutch to do all of the interviewing without once saying a word. Totally not like him. The kid was a real mess. Obviously coming down off of something. His name was Stevie Banks and he had a record longer than his short, scrawny arm. It didn't take much time to take down what had happened, the whys and the wherefores. Hutch had glanced over at his partner a few times to see if he wanted to ask or say anything only to be met by that same blank stare that he had been getting all day.

He was beginning to get just a little mad.

Hutch couldn't help but notice how far Starsky had stayed away from him while at the crime scene. He had barely spoken two words to him since then, usually only when prompted and then his usually talkative partner only responded with single syllable answers. If he didn't know better he would have thought that they had had one of their big arguments and Starsky was sulking.

The blonde had no idea what was wrong with his friend, or what he had done to make him act this way, but he was determined to find out.

His chance came as they were leaving the office at the end of their shift. "Do you want to get some dinner? " He had asked, somewhat hesitatingly. "Maybe go to that Mexican place you like so much?"

It had taken a couple of minutes for what Hutch had said to him to register. "Um, thanks, Hutch, but, uh, I've got some plans for tonight." Starsky stumbled for an answer. "Maybe next week, okay, partner?"

"Starsky, what's wrong? Are you mad at me or something?" He hadn't meant to ask that. It seemed to jump out of him on its own volition.

His dark haired partner was rather taken aback by this question. "No, I'm not mad at ya, buddy. I'm just busy tonight. There's some stuff I have to take care of. That's all. I'll see you later, okay?" And with that Starsky was off like a shot leaving Hutch to stand, gaping after him.

'Well if that's the way he wants to play it, I guess he'll just have to live with it!' Hutch fumed to himself as he watched his friend tear out of the parking area. They had the next two days off and maybe by then Starsky would have gotten over whatever was bothering him. At least that's what Hutch told himself.

                                              *****

Along about 8pm, Hutch realized that he had read the same sentence at least five times and still hadn't registered a word of it. Throwing the book aside in disgust, he got up and stretched. He had to admit to himself that he was more than a little upset by Starsky's actions that afternoon. Actually more than upset; he was perplexed, angry, but mostly concerned. It wasn't like Starsky to completely shut him out. They confided in each other. The two of them were partners, not only on the job but in their Friendship too. When one was hurting about something, he knew that he could go to the other and talk about it without fear of ridicule or rejection. This distant act hat Starsky was pulling hurt and confused him.

And, damn it, he was going to get to the bottom of it. To hell with Starsky's evasive maneuvers!

With that thought, Hutch grabbed his jacket, his car keys and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him.

Quietly fuming all the way to Starsky's place, he was in a fine mood when he arrived to find the Torino parked in front of the building. 'Good, he's home', he thought. 'You're not going to put me off this time Starsk, ol' pal. We're having it out now.'

Taking the stairs two at a time, he stormed to the door and banged it with his fist, hard. Getting no response the first time, and knowing that 'someone' was in there because he could hear music, he banged on the door again. "Come on, Starsky, open up this damn door before I kick it in!" Hutch shouted.

The door flew open, revealing a startled looking Starsky. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Hutch? And lower your voice. You're going to scare the neighbours!"

Hutch pushed his way into the apartment. Turning to his partner, he growled, "I'm here to find out what the hell's the matter with 'you'. I've watched you all week pull this silent treatment stuff and I've had it. Now what's going on?"

"I already told you nothing was going on. Now will you please just go home and leave me alone!" Starsky held the door open and gestured for the other man to leave.

"Nothing doing, pal. We're going to settle this tonight." Plopping himself down on the couch, Hutch crossed his arms and glared at his partner.

Starsky stood there for a moment staring at Hutch, totally aghast. Finally seeing the futility of arguing with this immovable object on his couch, he closed the door. Slapping his thighs with his hands, he started towards the kitchen. "Fine, you just sit there. I've got nothing to say and I'm going to go get myself something to drink. I don't suppose you want anything, do ya?" Ever the good host, Starsky waited for a reply from the scowling man.

Unbending a little, Hutch shrugged. Taking that as a 'Yes', Starsky proceeded into the kitchen and grabbed them both a beer. Coming back into the living room, he put one down in front of Hutch and settled down in the chair across from him. The two of them stared at each other across the coffee table, neither wanting to be the first to speak. Hutch was starting to get twitchy when Starsky finally broke the stalemate.

"Fine," he sighed, "I don't think it's any of your business, you know. And I really resent you charging in here like a mad bull, butting into nothing that concerns you." The words were angry but the tone was simply resigned.

Hutch leaned forward, closing the distance between them. "You know what concerns you, concerns me, Starsk. I know that something has been eating at you all week and I want to help you if I can. That's supposed to be what partners are for." He smiled slightly to take the sting out of his own words.

Starsky stared morosely at his shoes, not knowing quite how to start. Looking up into the compassionate eyes of his best friend, the dam finally broke.

Leaning his forehead on his hand, voice quiet, Starsky spoke. "Do you know what tomorrow is, Hutch?"

Confused by the question, Hutch didn't know quite what the other man was asking. "Well, yeah, it's Sunday, so what?"

"It's not just Sunday, Hutch it's Father's Day."

"Oh." Was about all he could think of.

"And not just any old Father's Day neither. It also happens to be the anniversary of the day my Dad died.'" Starsky's voice was so sad, so full of pain, that Hutch could feel it across the table. "It was a Friday, actually, when Dad was killed, but it's the same date as tomorrow. I can remember exactly what I was doing that day, ya know? Even after all these years. I was up in my room putting the finishing touches on my Dad's Father's Day present. Ironic, don't you think?"

Hutch knew the basics of Starsky's father's death. How he was killed on the way home. How the knock on the door had changed his friend's life forever. They had talked before about the consequences of that one fateful day when the young David Starsky was only 10 and the most important person in his life was forever taken away. But he had never known the exact date. It was something that just had never been mentioned.

"You know how hard it is, surrounded by all the hype for Father's Day, Hutch? Everywhere you go, there's reminders. The stores have big displays. I've stopped watching TV because of all the commercials pushing you to buy that 'perfect' gift. Even today at the drugstore, there it was. A whole huge rack of Father's Day cards. Do you know how much I would love to buy my Dad a Father's Day card?" Voice cracking, Starsky paused. He suddenly stood up, like sitting hurt. And maybe it did.

Although Hutch and his father didn't always see eye to eye, he knew that they loved each other. It was something that was never said, it was simply a given. He had no idea how he would have dealt with it if his father had died when he was a boy. He knew that he would have been a different person.

But the love Starsky had for his dad was unique. It had been based on hero worship, mutual respect and simple adoration. It had changed over the years to a love based on loss, hurt and the inevitable what-ifs. What if his Dad hadn't died that day? What would growing up with a father around through the hard teen years have been like? Would Starsky ever have come to California? Ever been a cop, ever met Hutch? Would all the years of loneliness that he had endured after his dad died been the only shaping of the man that he had become? Or would he still have been the Starsky that loved unconditionally, took such a child-like joy out of life because he knew how easily it was lost? Would he have been the person that Hutch loved? And the person that loved him in return?

Hutch's heart hurt for the pain that his friend was feeling today. And his heart broke for the little boy who had lost his father all those years ago. Walking over to where his partner was standing, staring out of the window, he put his arm around his shoulder.

"So that's why you've been so quiet all week. And why you couldn't even look at that little boy today. I should have figured it out. I guess I'm not as smart as I think I am."

Starsky turned to his friend and smiled. The first real smile that Hutch had seen in over a week. "I keep telling you that, but you never believe me." He wisecracked. His face suddenly crumpled and a sob escaped. "I'm sorry, Hutch. I know that it's silly to be this upset after all these years, but it gets to me, ya know?"

"I know, pal, I know. Come on, come and sit down." Hutch steered the tearful man over to the couch and sat down beside him. "It's not silly to feel grief, Starsk. After all, he was your father and you loved him. If you didn't feel like this once in awhile, you wouldn't be human. And you definitely wouldn't be the son of the father I think he was. I know it's not the same, but I still miss my grandmother and every once in awhile I feel lonely for her. I can't know the depth of your grief for your dad, but I think I can understand it."

The two of them just sat, quietly, for a while, Hutch's arm still around Starsky's shoulder. Finally, Starsky took a deep breath and patting his friend's knee, stood up. Going over to the stereo, he turned the record over. The sweet sounds of Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty Waltz issued from the speakers. Picking up a book that lay next to the stereo, he returned to the couch. Glancing over at Hutch's slightly bemused face, he laughed a little.

"Don't look so shocked, Hutch. I do have a little culture you know. My Dad loved Tchaikovsky. When I was about 5 or 6, I remember him taking me to see The Nutcracker Suite. Although I didn't understand any of it, I can still see his face and the pleasure he got from the whole thing. This is the music of my childhood, Hutch. And when I play it, I feel somehow safer, like I did before…" He paused.

Opening the book, which was actually a scrapbook, he continued. "I don't think I've ever shown you these before. They're pictures of my family, my parents, grandparents and such. But mostly of my Dad. I even have some newspaper clippings and my Dad's citizenship papers. Stuff like that." Starsky started to flip through the pages, when a folded piece of paper floated out.

Starsky made a grab for it, but Hutch beat him to it. Unfolding it, he quickly glanced at the words. Looking up at his partner, he smiled at the rather cross look on his face. "So what's this, Starsky? It looks rather nice."

Blushing furiously, Starsky made to grab the paper from his friend, who held it out of his reach.

"It's nothing… it's simply a poem I wrote. Don't read it okay? It's embarrassing."

"Nonsense, you've read enough of my scribblings, let me read this one of yours." Hutch teased gently.

"Fine, read it, but I'm not going to sit here and watch you." With that Starsky tried to get up off the couch. Hutch prevented him by the simple act of leaning over him. If Starsky had tried to complete the maneuver of standing, he would have dumped Hutch on the floor. Settling back down with a huff, he just stared at his partner. "Oh go ahead. Just no wise ass comments." He growled.

Hutch simply smiled at his friend and proceeded to read the poem out loud:

"If I knew then what I know now

I would have made the effort to be closer to you

To ask the questions I should have asked

But was too busy for the answers

Oh, but to take a step into the past

To just hold your hand a little longer

To sit beside you with my head on your shoulder

To let you know that I loved you just a bit more

I hope that where ever you went that you know

how I feel and the sorrow I felt at your going

And for all that was left unsaid until it was too late

Please know that if I could I would change

All that happened before and somewhere have found a way

To be what we both needed but couldn't be

But unfortunately, life is not clay for us to shape

The past is gone forever and we can only try to

love those left behind

And try to live with the regrets for what might have

been and never can be

I'll miss you forever, as much for what was as for

what might have been…"

Voice trailing off, Hutch turned to stare at his friend. Starsky, embarrassed, but pleased with the way the words sounded in Hutch's voice, stared back.

"Starsk, that's really good, I didn't know you wrote poetry." A slightly astonished Hutch exclaimed.

"I don't. I mean, that's about the only thing I've ever written. I wrote it a few years ago on another anniversary of my Dad's death. It just seemed to be right some how."

"Yeah, well, you should think about writing more. I always find it helps to put down in words what I'm feeling. Even if no one else ever sees it at least you've gotten it out."

"That's why you're the calm one of the group, Hutch. You just work your feelings out your way and I'll work mine out my way. Now put that back in the album and let me up."

Complying with his friend's request, Hutch moved over on the couch and let Starsky stand up. But before he had a chance to move away, Hutch grabbed his arm. "Starsky, you know that whatever you want, I'll stand behind you. Just don't shut me out when things get to be more than you can deal with on your own. This past week was hard on both of us because you wouldn't express your feelings and I didn't know what was wrong. Never be afraid to admit to me when you're hurting, pal. I'll do my best to be there for you. And I promise you the same. Okay?"

His partner smiled down at him, "I promise, Hutch. And thanks." Starsky put the album back beside the stereo. "Heh, you want to go grab a pizza or something? Suddenly I'm really hungry."

Hutch laughed at the plaintive note in his friend's voice. Here was the Starsky he knew and loved. "Sure. And tomorrow, we'll go someplace where there's no stores, no ads, just someplace where two old friends can hang out. How's that sound?"

"Great, as long as it's not off in the bush somewhere. I don't know if I can handle creepy crawlies."

The two friends, companions in arms, left the apartment. Turning off the lights and shutting the door on the sweet sounds of a waltz and a little boy's innocence.

                                             The End

                                         **************

This is an emotional story for me. I don't know if I handled it as well as I would have liked, but there it is. My own father died
in '91. Many years earlier my parents split up and we lost contact with my Dad for many reasons that I won't go into. Years of
hurt and missing him passed until my older brother told me that Dad had had a heart attack and surgery. At that point my
younger brother was 12 or so and hadn't seen our father since he was very little. I thought it was important for him to know his
Dad so Mom and I wrote to him. I've been forever grateful that we made the effort. Aaron (my little brother) and Dad were
able to spend some very good times together and Dad and I grew close again. Not many years after this Dad was diagnosed
with Alzeimer's Disease. He died at 72. I regret the lost years, but never, ever the time we did have.

My advice to anyone who is estranged from a family member or anyone else that you once loved is simple. Take the chance. If
they say no, then that's their problem. At least you tried. There are no sadder words than "I wish I had known then what I
know now."

And for those of you whose Dads are still here, give them an extra hug for those of us who wish they could hug their own dads
tomorrow.

Thanks
Otterlady
 

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