Hutch winced as he recalled yesterday's scene in the garage. And the look on Starsky's face as he turned to leave. "Only your best friend could wound you like that. I blew it." Hutch thought, as he rounded the corner onto Starsky's street. "I blew it."

After a quick, disinterested questioning of the bail-jumper's mother, Hutch had rushed back to the precinct to find his partner. He wasn't there, no one had seen him. When he was trying to decide what to do next, Starsky walked in and over to his desk without looking at Hutch. He sat down, lost, staring at the blotter in front of him.

"Starsk..."

Starsky widened his eyes, as if to wake himself up. "No, this is no good." He muttered to himself.

He stood back up again. "I'm going. Tell Dobey what you want. I'll bring my own car in tomorrow."

Hutch moved to block his way. "Listen, we've got to talk. I want to talk to you."

"I'm a little sick of your conversation, Hutch. Leave it."

"I'll give you a lift home."

"No. I asked you to leave me alone. Do that." He headed out of the room and Hutch wanted to run after him, desperately, and try somehow to change this.  But he'd heard the strain in Starsky's voice and saw the aversion in his eyes. As much as he wanted to follow and plea, apologize, he knew that right now it would only be offensive, intrusive. Like a knife going back into
the wound it had cut. He unwillingly and unhappily hung back.

Dobey arrived back in the squadroom ten minutes later to see the blond detective leaning back in his chair gazing at a pink incident sheet. Walking up behind him, he saw the sheet was blank. "Having trouble with the 'once upon a time'?"

Hutch started and looked quickly at his captain. "Uh, no." He straighted in his chair and took a long breath. "I know how to start it, but I don't know how to finish it."

Dobey furrowed his eyebrows at that. "Where's your partner?"

"He had to run on an errand. I'm catching up with him later."

"Well, this is a productive team. What happened with the Perkins case?"

"She swears she hasn't seen him. But there's lots of relatives in the area, cousins I'd check on."

"Did you tell Maxwell and Russo?"

"No, they're not back yet. "

"Okay." Dobey said over his shoulder going to his office. "When you're done staring at that sheet, put it in your typewriter and do something with it.  If that's the Radul report, it's late already."

Hutch spent the rest of the day in a half trance, plodding through his tasks indifferently. When he headed back out to the streets to keep an appointment with a local snitch he pulled over to a phone booth. He couldn't fight the urge to call Starsky any longer. But as he stood there listening to the ringing at the other end he was apprehensive.

What do I say? Sorry doesn't even begin to cut it.

No matter. No answer. More futile calling until Hutch drove over after work to Starksy's block. The red Torino was in its parking space.

Hutch sat in his car. He had a spare key, but wouldn't use it. It wasn't meant for something like this. Much later, when the street had grown dark and quiet he was still there. He finally shook his head and went home.

The next day Starsky showed up and quietly but firmly told Hutch that they would be doing their caseload separately. That's the way he wanted it.

"You go look at the Radul evidence, I'm going to ask some more questions at his office."

"Starsk, we can't keep this up..."

"Hutch," Starsky whispered as he looked down. "Don't. ...I'm keeping up the only way I know how."

Hutch was trying to find the right words when the dark head came back up, the deep blue eyes set hard again. The doors had closed as fast as they'd opened. "You do your stuff, and I'll do mine." And so they parted for the day.

Chapter 4

Hutch finally pulled up in front of Starsky's apartment building. Taking the steps up to the entrance two at a time and jogging down the hallway, he came to a halt at Starsky's door. He held his breath and rang the doorbell.

Nothing.

"Starsky!" He rang again, waited, then rapped hard on the door. "Starsk, I'm coming in!" His hands shook with growing panic as he fumbled to put the key into the lock and turn it. He swung open the door.

"I'm okay. Go." Starsky sat on his couch, gazing ahead. He was still in his black jacket and was hugging a pillow close to him.

Hutch crossed the room and crouched down in front of him.

"Starsky." His partner met his look with exhausted eyes.

"It's nothing. I just got banged up, I'll be alright."

"No. You don't look alright." He had a gauze bandage over one eye with a small round stain of blood on it. A bruise was creeping out under its edges. Another bandage wrapped around his left hand. Hutch saw the dirty scuff mark running up the jacket's left shoulder. Starsky was hunched over the pillow, his fingers clasping it. Hutch looked back up to the pale face.

"Look, you need to go back to the hospital. They weren't done with you."

"I'm not goin' back."

"You can't just sit here like this, Starsky..."

"Yeah, I can. It's all I want to do."

"Listen to me. I'll take you back and they'll make sure there's nothing else wrong. If there isn't, you'll probably be back here by...."

"Hutch," Starsky cut in irritably, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm fine." He turned his head away. "Why don't you just take off? I'm alright and I don't need you here."

Hutch stood back up in exasperation. During the end of Starsky's long hospitalization, after the Gunther shooting, he had developed almost a phobia of the countless needles, IV's, tubes and painful tests. He'd vowed he'd never go through that again. It was looking like he meant it. Hutch took a few steps away then turned back to look at Starsky.

"This is crazy. I know the hospital isn't your favourite place to spend time, but how can you just sit there - and I know you're in pain - and pretend you'll be alright? You're not fooling me, Starsk, so I know you're not fooling yourself. I don't know how to help you."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"Will you go?"

"I told you - no. You've done your job. Now go."

Hutch came back and crouched again in front of his friend and hesitantly put a hand on his knee. They stared at each other. "There's where you have no say," Hutch spoke. "I never, ever thought I'd let you down like I've done. I hate him, that part of me that did it. Probably more than you do. But I'm not going to let you down again, Starsk, and leave you like this."

Starsky peered at him, questioning with his eyes, but too soon the doubt and weariness clouded them over again and he dropped his head. Hutch saw the veil drop. He squeezed Starsky's knee then let go. "Did you at least get anything at the hospital before you left - for the pain? A shot or pills?"

Starsky was slow to reply. "In my pocket."

Hutch reached and gently pried the pillow from Starsky's hands. He dug into the jacket pockets and found a small plastic bottle. He looked behind him and sat back on the coffee table, reading the label. "How many did you take? Doesn't look like anything's kicked in."

"I can't take any."

"Why not?"

Starsky grimaced for a moment, wondering whether to answer. "I've taken those before. They knock me out.... I have to call my mother in an hour.  She's at the doctor's til then."

Hutch sighed and rubbed his mouth while he thought. "Why don't you take one, Starsk, and if it zonks you out, I'll wake you up in an hour to call her."

"I have to talk to her."

"I know. I promise I'll wake you up. I have to do something right here." He smiled weakly at his friend.

Starsky didn't return the smile. He was silent for a moment. "Okay, but you have to wake me."

"Sure." Hutch rose and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Returning back to his seat on the coffee table, he opened the bottle and handed a blue capsule to Starsky who washed it down with a few sips of the water.

Hutch then went to the bedroom and came back with the quilt pulled off the bed. He tried to cajole Starsky into lying down, but he insisted on sitting up, careful and rigid. It didn't take long before Hutch saw the drug taking its effect on his already worn partner. The dark eyes were drooping lower and the tension was sagging slowly out of his posture. Hutch took another pillow from the bed and when he came back he awkwardly worked the jacket off. He eased Starsky down onto his side, a pillow under his head and the other still in his arms, and covered him with the quilt.

An hour later he woke the groggy man as much as he could. Starsky was having a befuddled conversation with his mother and when Hutch saw that he couldn't continue he took the phone away and spoke to Mrs. Starsky himself. He explained that her son had taken some strong painkillers for a sore arm. They'd knocked him out for a little while. He didn't mention her illness.
It  wasn't his place. Not yet.

After hanging up he made sure his slumbering friend was comfortable again then settled down in the big easy chair.

There was a small sound. It crept  into the back of his dream and began advancing, weaving, back and forth. Humming. A man's voice. A long moan, then another.

Hutch bolted upright in his chair. Starsky had thrown his quilt off and was laying on his back on the couch, writhing slowly with pain. His legs climbed weakly up and down, his head was strained back into the pillow.

"Starsky!" Hutch darted over to him.

The dark head turned towards him and with frightened, beseeching eyes and he could only gasp one mournful word. "No."
 

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